14Th Station

By Keller Madere

The 14th Station is a novel about a young lady named Mary Farwell originally from New Orleans, Louisiana, who decided that living on a plantation out in the country would be an ideal situation for her. Consequently, she visited Nora and Thomas Becnel living on Tree Alley Plantation near the small town of Hahnville, Louisiana. Mary showed the Becnels a letter from her father indicating he desired for them to allow Mary to live with them for an unspecified period of time so she could get adjusted to living on a plantation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496932822

Keller Madere

This autobiography was written for a number of pertinent reasons. The original prompting was due to an incident that occurred at my sister Rosemary’s home on Burgundy Roan in Jacksonville, Florida, during the late 1990s. Gathered in the living room were my four sisters, Elise, Jeanette, Nita, Rosemary and me (Keller Paul Madere), along with my wife, Carolyn, and Charles Stalfort, Nita’s husband. After a lot of chit chat back and forth reminiscing about old family stories and happenings was taking place. Charles, or Chuck as we know him, brought out his tape recorder. Quizzically, he posed this simple question, “What can you all tell about Papa?” He was referring to our father, Ernest Hubert Madere. With feelings of unified dismay, none of us five were able to provide Chuck with any new information about Papa other than what he already knew! Astounding. Consequently, for our children, Joni, Colin, and Lana, to have some inkling regarding the places where I lived, the different jobs I had, and a glimpse into my psyche before they were born and grew up knowing me. This volume of information should give them an insight as to who I am. The other primary reason for writing this book was to give our three children historical and genealogical information about our family other than what they already knew. This data is provided in words, pictures, and other relative and associated ends such as school reports cards, German prisoner of war camps in Louisiana, B-36 Bombers, and rockets to the moon. In this first decade of the twenty-first century, family members tend to get scattered hither and yon. Children often get permanently disconnected from their backgrounds and family records. Items such as birth certificates, report cards, names, and addresses of first and second cousins, where aunts and uncles live, and similar pertinent items get lost in the shuffle as time steadily marches on. Hopefully, this ponderous book will soothe many misgivings our children may have about who they are, the backgrounds of their ancestors, and precisely where they themselves came from. At this time, Joni is in Boulder, Colorado, Colin is in Washington, District of Columbia, and Lana is in Maurice, Louisiana. For the most part, they do not have ready access to our relatives and friends to make possible necessary fact finding inquiries about us. On July 17, 2007, I thoroughly enjoyed my seventy-fifth birthday, having fortunately lived well through three quarters of a century. Whenever I, Keller Paul Madere, die, please have those making funeral arrangements promote an atmosphere of joviality and partying. Let smiles and laughter prevail with everyone having a pleasant time. Provide an ample amount of food and drinks to produce a delightful “going away” celebration for all the people thoughtful enough to attend! Thanks and good-bye.

Book preview

Chapter 1

M ARY FARWELL DROVE ALONG THE Huey P. Long Mississippi River Bridge twenty miles northwest of New Orleans humming one of her favorite tunes. The top of her red and white Ford convertible was down; and the bright, March sunlight glistened from her wavy, jet black hair. Mary was nervously excited. For the first time in her twenty-four year lifetime, she anticipated doing a planned adventure that really pleased her present mood and could affect what her future might en tail.

She turned her head slightly, and her green eyes noted four black women sweeping debris from the railroad tracks. One of the women was actually using a new broom. Then, she noticed painters whose white uniforms were spotted with red and silver paint.

Mary stopped her car and witnessed several things in motion at the same time. In the blue sky above a silver plane’s engines roared and numerous white sea gulls flew around in circles. On the bridge a bright aluminum passenger train with two locomotives was zooming across. Down in the muddy waters a gray paddled wheel steamship puffed it way upstream. She leaned against the bridge’s railing and casually viewed the scenery near and far.

So intently was Mary concentrating on the beauty of the landscape, the combined noises of the plane and train made her unaware of the young, tall highway officer sitting on a motorcycle nearby. He jumped off his Harley and rushed up to her saying, I wouldn’t do that, as he placed a black gloved hand on her shoulder. It’s a hundred and sixty-five feet down to the water. Please do not be the eighty-eighth person to leap off this bridge and drown.

Mary turned in surprise to the cop and responded, But, officer, I had no intention of jumping! Her rosy cheeks flushed as she noticed a scar on the right side of his face along with shiny black hair and a ruddy complexion.

The officer ignored her frank statement and gave her a thorough look over saying earnestly You are a truly beautiful woman! This comment amused Mary and she continued with I wouldn’t thing of jumping off this bridge or any other for that matter, she insisted.

Well then, why did you stop here? To look at the scenery, she replied. The officer’s comeback, Didn’t you see the NO PARKING signs? Mary’s reply, I did, but I thought it would nice to take a chance for just a few minutes. What would a few moments hurt? You are making a mistake, as I had no inten……

She was suddenly interrupted by a yellow taxi coming to a stop behind the cop’s motorcycle. Hastily getting from the taxi was a long, lean, muscular young man apparently in his thirties. His blond hair was parted on one side, and he briskly came forward saying, Hi Bono, not another suic….. He instantly checked himself as his keen blue eyes fully observed Mary. I’m wondering about that myself, the officer answered.

This newcomer quickly made a deep impression on Mary. She addressed him saying, I had no intention of committing suicide. I was just telling the officer that he had judged me wrongly. The officer came back with, Every time I stop somebody, that’s what they always say. Please, let me see your driver’s license. He removed his gloves and shoved them into a side pocket of his uniform.

It’s in my purse in the car, she said. Get it, and I don’t trust you near that railing, he said. Mary opened the purse and gave him her license. The officer carefully read and returned her license. Before closing her purse she said, See, I have lots of money, and why would I end my life with so many years ahead of me.?

Money doesn’t necessarily mean anything, the cop scoffed. More’n one person done ended his life off this bridge. Mary countered a bit testily, If you doubt my word, let’s go to the nearest phone where you can speak to my father. The officer cooled off somewhat with, Okay, I suppose you’re telling me the truth.

Mary gave him a sassy stare and said, You’ve given me a terrific idea. Instead of jumping off to commit suicide, I’m going to dive off this bridge just for the thrill of it! The officer drew in his breath with a sharp gasp and yelled, No you will not, not while I’m here! Simultaneously, he grabbed her and half pushed her into the open door of her car.

The stranger grinned with amusement at what was happening. Mary laughingly told the officer, I didn’t mean right now. The officer noticed her car was filled with luggage and inquired, Where are you headed for …..maybe California? Then she said, No, guess again, as I’m going to spend the remainder of this year on Tree Alley Plantation.

W-e-l-l ! drawled the officer. If this isn’t a coincidence. He touched the stranger’s arm and told Mary, Here is my friend who lives up that way. That’s also my destination, she maintained. The cop hesitated for a few seconds and distinctly remembered the birth name on her license. Thus, he said, Miss Mary Farwell, please meet Mr. John D’Arensbourg. I’m sure he will be delighted to ride with you up to his plantation.

John was puzzled momentarily but quickly regained his composure. He realized his good friend Bono was amused by the sudden turn of events. Every time they met, Bono would tease John about being a bachelor. John walked off toward the taxi and waved the officer to follow just out of Mary’s hearing range. He bellowed out, Man, what are you trying to do, I don’t even know this lady!

Bono maintained his tease, I just thought you might like to ride with a pretty girl. These two men had served together during World War II in the Pacific theater. John spoke up, Do you thing that is why I stopped? Well, if so you are all wet. I stopped only because I saw you, my best friend. Bono, Quit your kiddin’, you saw her and noticed how pretty she is! Nah, I simply wanted to know why you did not attend our annual banquet last night, that’s all.

Bono shook his head, No use for me to lie, John. I just didn’t feel like attending. John, Have you forgotten your pledge? Better not let it happen again. Former officer Bono quickly changed the subject with, Why don’t you revive some of that ole fighting spirit and take the lady over? John, Isn’t the war over? Bono, You could start a new battle with her, which would be quite interesting."

I admire your nerve, said John, but not to offend the lady, I will pay the taxi driver and ride home with her. Now you’re talking, said Bono as he laughed triumphantly. As John was in the car sitting next to Mary, she said to Bono, Officer, I’d like to have your name and address. Why? he wanted to know. Her reply, I want to let you know precisely what day I am going to dive off this bridge. Bono, You don’t mean that! Mary, I do. Bono, Here is my card. This means I’ll always have you on my mind." As they drove off, she threw a smile in his direction.

The cop caught John’s eye and gave him a wink. On reaching the foot of the bridge he inquired, Are you headed up Airline Highway or the river road?

John, I don’t know, I’ve never been up this way? Which one is better? Bono, Taking Airline Highway you will make better time as it has four lanes. When you arrive at the town of Boutte, turn at the Luling sign which takes you to the river road. The river road follows along side the levee with many curves and winding stretches requiring cautious driving.

Mary was well pleased as these developments were taking place. Occasionally, John stole side glances toward her face. After a while she sort of broke the ice saying, I’ve lived in New Orleans all my life and we would often drive east out to the Gulf Coast, but never in this direction.

John, Some folks never seem to get past the city limits. Mary, I’ve been out of town many times by train, plane, railroad, and steamship, she said sharply and brought the car to a stop while rounding a curve and seeing several cows blocking the road. John got out of the car and shooed the cows away. Mary, In horse and buggy days cows on the road were a minor nuisance. However, nowadays they are dangerous. John, Actually, a new state law will soon take affect that will ban livestock from our highways. Mary, Fine, that will be okay with me. John, I don’t think it is so fine. Mary, You don’t? Why? John, Ever since people lived along the Mississippi River, they’ve always had their cows roaming on the roads, levees, and river banks. It is simply an old tradition.

Mary searched his eyes for a moment and replied, You are old fashioned, aren’t you? When she noticed him blushing, she knew he really was, but nonetheless rather liked it for him being so. John, I like the good ole days. Mary, My dad says the only thing good thing about the good ole days was that there was no income tax to pay. John, Even though the people didn’t have all the modern things available today, they lived more sociably and seemed more contented and happier. Mary, That might be a matter of opinion, wouldn’t it?

John looked at the car’s odometer which read seven hundred fifty-three miles. After a long silence, he said, Take for instance this relatively new car. In the old days you seldom heard of deaths on the highway, but today automobiles are one of the leading killers of people. However, I couldn’t do without my car, I’d be lost without it. Guess you could say I like most of the new things coming out these days. Mary, Then why does one so modern as you decide to live on Tree Alley Plantation?

John, I have a good reason because such a place invites one to meditate quite a lot, he ventured in an effort to draw her out. Mary, Maybe I would like to spend some time there for a retreat. John, I think you need it. Mary, What causes you to think that? she snapped. John, Well, it was that rash statement you made to my friend Bono that you intended to dive off the Huey P. Long Bridge. Mary, So what, I know how to dive and swim very well. John,

I can swim and dive too, but not off that bridge unless it was to commit suicide and that is not for me.

Mary remained silent and then heard John say, Anyway, if you would like a place to pray, in the Alley of Trees you will find a statue of the Virgin. These words stung Mary as he had proverbially hit the nail on the head. Her father, as a coincidence, actually handled the financial affairs of Tree Alley Plantation. He had suggested to her that it was a quiet place for her to rest for awhile as she undertook to learn the sugarcane growing business. Also, he had mentioned the statue of the Virgin Mary. She had jokingly retorted that she would go into a retreat and pray to the Virgin to help her find a man whom she could love. John had seemingly read her thoughts.

Mary became more angry when he inquired, Are you running away from something? Yes, she snapped. I’m running away from me. I want to rid myself of city life. I hate every minute of it. John, It’s easier to face the facts. She turned toward him with fire in her eyes, I’ll have you understand that I have no facts to face. There is nothing to be ashamed of in my past! He saw a teardrop appear on the side of her elegant nose, but she made no attempt to wipe it away and kept her hands on the steering wheel.

I’m sorry, John apologized. She glanced at him and disclosed, "Ever since I was a little girl I had a desire to live on a large, sugar plantation. After graduating from LSU, I kept bugging my dad to buy one preferably located in St. Charles Parish. However, he kept insisting that he knew nothing about running such a place. I told him such a place would give our family some elbow room from the congestion of our city home.

Previously, I had studied numerous books and government pamphlets on how to grow sugar cane. Now, I was determined to get the practical experience out in the field on a plantation. After getting some actual field work, I had hope Father would lighten up and acquire a plantation for our family.

You are very unusual, John said with a smile. You have really aroused my curiosity. Please tell me more about your background and lifestyle up to now. Maybe I am unusual, as you say; and I am not bragging about liking to climb in high places. I’d love trying to scramble up Mount Everest or the Alps. Also, I enjoy seeing things grow out of the ground and machinery of any kind fascinates me. I like to tinker with auto engines, plow the ground with a tractor, and inhale the scent of freshly plowed earth."

John, You’d smell it a lot better walking behind a plow pulled by mules. Why are you so against modern methods of getting jobs done? she queried, smiling up at him. He said, Because I was taught that way. My father forbade any of those newfangled things on our farm. I could never violate the things he stood for."

After three miles of silence, she confided, I’m a Yoga student and practice deep breathing exercises, fasting, and standing on my head. In my room I stay undressed and sleep without any night clothing. This practice gives my skin a chance to breathe and using covers is preferable to wearing pajamas or a nightgown. Too, I enjoy walking in our flower garden in the nude.

To that mouthful, John could only give a whistle. Now keep your thoughts out of the gutter, she chided. Your thoughts should be pure with a contrite heart. Bare flesh blends with nature. It makes me think of when God put Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Their will was free from all weaknesses and they had no sensual cravings. There was no rebellion of flesh against the spirit. Therefore, they felt no shame being naked in the garden. I always have a similar feeling, yet my will, of course, is not free from weakness.

Intrigued, he inquired, Do you go to church? Mary, Yes, I go to Mass almost every Sunday. John, Why not every Sunday? Mary, Sometimes I just do not feel like going. John, You should force yourself to do penance."

Do you attend church? she asked. I go to Mass and receive Communion every day, he answered. Well, there you are being unusual too! she exclaimed.

They were passing through the nearby little town of Luling and Mary continued driving until she heard him say, See that big horse tied to the gate over there? This is where I live. It was the entrance to White Gold Plantation.

As Mary stopped the car, a black stallion recognized his master, perked up his ears, and galloped toward them.

Thanks for the ride, and I’m really glad I met you, John said as he got out of the car. Mary appeared to be reluctant that they were parting, as she had enjoyed his company. She smiled and pressed down hard on the gas pedal.

Her car leaped forward as the tires skidded and she drove merrily along on River Road alongside the levee.

Upon reaching the small, rural town of Hahnville, Mary recalled her father’s description and knew that Tree Alley Plantation could not be much farther. She came upon a white church and noticed a priest walking nearby. A friendly little brown fox terrier ran up to Mary as she stopped the car. From the porch of the rectory, Father Vincent Gerard greeted Mary. He was sixty-five years old, short and bald, with a round, red face. Father, I’m Mary Farwell. My home is in New Orleans, but I am here looking for Tree Alley Plantation. Supposedly, the Becnels live there. I mean Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Becnel.

Father Gerard, Why yes, I know them well. Tree Alley is on the other side of town, you can’t miss it. A big, white gate is in front with an alley of trees leading to the home. Mary, I intend to spend some time with the Becnels. Father, I’m glad to hear that and you are welcome to our church.

When she was about half mile away, she could see the big white entrance gate. She admired the big gate and wondered, Why would anyone want such an elaborate gate? Well, I imagine, to each his own.

Two little Negro boys were sitting on a bench near the entrance. Is Mrs. Becnel at home? she asked them. Yessum, one boy replied. You want me open gate? the other asked, jumping up. She gave them each a dime and they were jubilant. Then, she drove down through the alley of oak and pecan trees, noting how they alternated. Between live oak trees the immense pecan trees were just budding out with new, spring time leaves. Bushy tailed squirrels ran across the road and up into the pecan trees.

Abruptly, Mary saw the statue of the Virgin Mary and stopped, studying it curiously. The statue was life size and stood near an oak tree. Over the statue’s head was a copper metal roof. Its body had recently been painted blue and white. Long ago, the statue had been erected by one of the early owners of Tree Alley Plantation. Attached to the cast iron base was an inscription with raised letters that read:

BLESSED BE THE IMMACULATE HEART OF MARY.

MANY THANKS FOR FAVORS GRANTED.

Charles J. Durande 1830

In front of the home examining rose bushes in a garden was sixty-three year old Mrs. Dora Becnel, a short, plump brunette wearing a hearing aid. Mary saw her, drove up close, and asked, Are you Mrs. Becnel? She answered, Yes, I am. Mary, "I’m Mary Farwell, and I have a letter for you and Mr. Becnel from my father.

Mrs. Becnel read and reread the letter until her curiosity was completely satisfied. Mary’s father’s letter had intimated his desire that Mrs. Becnel allow Mary to live with her and her husband. We’ll appreciate you staying with us, she said, cordially smiling a welcome. We never had any children of our own. A while back we adopted two orphan boys, but now they are married and moved away. Mary looked up at the old house and said, I’m sure I shall enjoy my stay here.

Mrs. Becnel, My husband is out in the field and I an certain he will be pleased to see you. Let’s go in the house and I’ll show you around. They walked up the steps to the second story gallery completely surrounding the home, which was rather unusual. On some of the exterior walls, the white plaster had fallen, exposing the soft, red bricks. What a spacious, interesting veranda, Mary said delightfully. Her hostess replied, The saying goes that this home was built in 1825.

The large living room was in the center of the home. From there was the dining room in the back, of equal size and connected to the kitchen. On each side of these rooms were three bedrooms. This will be yours, Mrs. Becnel said, designating one of the loveliest rooms. How beautiful! Mary exclaimed, And it has a private bath!

Big, forty-five year old, chocolate colored Ivory Dorsey was their cook who always wore a red turban. Her question was, Is you got us company, Mrs. Dora? Mrs. Becnel, As if you didn’t know, Ivory. This is Miss Farwell who has come to spend some time with us. You don’ say! was an amused Ivory’s reply. Placing her hands on her wide hips, she gave Mary the once over and replied, What er pretty gal! Thank you, Mary acknowledged pleasantly.

At noon, Thomas Becnel arrived. He was a tall white haired man in his sixties with a gray mustache and pointed beard. I have a surprise for you, his wife said. This is Mr. Farwell’s daughter Mary. I know all about you, he said with a twinkle in his hazel eyes as he held her hands. Your father phoned me last Saturday about your impending visit. You did not tell me a word about Miss Farwell, his wife retorted pretending to pout.

I wanted her visit to be a pleasant surprise for you, he explained. During the course of their dinner conversation Mary brought forth, Mr. John D’Arensbourg was introduced to me this morning. Do you know him? Indeed we do, he is one of our best friends, said Thomas Becnel. He owns White Gold Plantation just on the other side of Hahnville. You passed his place on your drive here.

I know, Mary said, but she told them no more about it. John is quite a guy, Mr. Becnel mused aloud. I like him in spite of his queer ways of looking at different aspects of our lives. Queer? Mary questioned with her interest peaking. Mr. Becnel, Well, I’ll try to get you to understand like this: For over a century the D’Arensbourgs have owned White Gold Plantation. Each generation has stuck to the same way of doing things. They are very religious but also superstitious about making any changes. John has followed in their footsteps with this tradition. What was good enough for them is good enough for him. He will not try out anything new, no machinery, working tools, or implements. Too, he could easily afford an automobile, yet he goes about in his buggy or rides his horse.

I saw his horse this morning, Mary volunteered. Mr. Becnel continued, He studied agriculture at Louisiana State University and knows the latest in farming methods. But, by golly he still sticks to the old ways cause he was reared to accept nothing new. I’ll admit he has been successful, however his costs of operation must far exceed ours. Though smart and conservative, he is not the forward type. His father was a stern and dominating person. When John returned from the military serving in the Korean war, he had planned to become a Trappist monk. The death of his father changed his mind about that. Nonetheless, the last time I spoke to him, he still was nursing the idea.

Ivory came in with a platter of golden brown fried chicken. She could not refrain from joining in the conversation about John. Aunt Lucy tells me she keep at him to get him er wife an’ he keep sayin’ toreckly. She placed the chicken on the table muttering, But toreckly don’ never come wid Mistuh John. Aunt Lucy is John’s housekeeper and cook, the hostess explained. She has looked after him since he was a little baby.

Does John live alone? Mary asked with a frown wrinkling her forehead. Mr. Becnel, Yes, he lives alone and his home is a duplicate of this one. He was born on Christmas day, and I was there. His mother died a week after his birth.

Has he no brothers and sisters? Mr. Becnel, "He is an only child. During World War II he was a Navy fighter pilot and fought against the Japanese in the Pacific area where he shot down seven Jap planes. Soon after returning home from his service in the Army Air Force, his father died of a heart attack.

A lull came over the