Feeling a surge of some relief at the sight of John Henry, Katie tipped her head to him and smiled, knowing he'd feel her greeting rather than see it.  She lets Alex take her arm and offers little resistance of yet; she'd rarely ever called on someone in high society, much less been invited to stay, so she restrained her urge to resist, she checked her jealousy back a notch, and she tried to be tactful.  "Next week you said, Miss ... Moreland?"  A glimmer of hope sprung to her eyes when she heard 'Uncle' though it evaporated almost instantly when the young woman elaborated.<br/><br/>She replayed the layout of rooms in her mind-- across the hall was the room where John had laid her traveling parcels the last time she was here, though she recalled with a tinge of self-consciousness that this wasn't where she'd slept the night.  She didn't question the nature of the visions the stranger Alex had experienced, for certainly if she was affiliated with Baptiste, then she was probably a follower of the Loa he often spoke of.<br/><br/>Climbing the staircase, she briefly found herself consumed by the vivid memory of collapsing back onto those stairs with Baptiste pinning her down, the shirt gliding smoothly over his head as her kisses worked at his chest.  She snapped out of the reverie.  They turned the corner to the two pairs of upstairs doors, and Katie found herself turning her hat in her hand nervously.  "So... are you from New Orleans, then?"  She was trying to contain her jealousy from bleeding through, though she did sincerely appreciate the courtesy.<br/><br/>The door opened onto the small room; the ceiling angled with the slope of the roof, and a skylight stood propped open to the New Orleans night.  The interior walls were a vivid emerald green, the structural walls bare brick with two narrow windows where white sheers fluttered gently in the evening breeze.  A large bed occupied the better part of the room, with a dresser, an oil lamp with a frosted shade etched into a rose, a basin and-- having just been added-- a broad-shouldered tub full of tepid, clear water.  A steaming kettle hangs beside it on an iron hook like some waiting fruit, next to a linen wrap and what looks to be a cotton shift.  Katie takes a moment to trail her fingers over the embroidered quit on the bed, a faint smile at her lips as she does so.