Part 7 (1/2)
Eugene turned. ”Suzette?”
”M'sieu Daurat. If I could just talk to you. You're a gentleman, like Louis Derbanne was. And he freed his children. Look at what he did for Doralise.”
It was the wrong beginning. Suzette knew it, but the words she had rehea.r.s.ed were taking a crooked course of their own. She spoke in a rush, needing to get it out while she had this chance.
”M'sieu Derbanne recognized blood ties,” Suzette said. ”He did the right thing for his own flesh and blood.”
She tried not to think of Palmire's children, sold one after the other by the Widow Derbanne. Because Because they had Derbanne blood. She circled Eugene quickly and dropped to her knees, head bowed, in front of where he stood. A small sharp stone cut at her knee, and she rocked herself on it to clear her mind. they had Derbanne blood. She circled Eugene quickly and dropped to her knees, head bowed, in front of where he stood. A small sharp stone cut at her knee, and she rocked herself on it to clear her mind.
”He treated you like a son. He would want you to look out after Gerant and Philomene. He would say it was your responsibility. M'sieu, please.”
Suzette forced herself to stay on her knees, staring at the eyelets of Eugene Daurat's shoes as she talked, willing the crisscross pattern of the laces to hold her together. Something dangerous and wild was threatening to lift her up, to set her clawing at the doll man's throat. Even through the material of her dress and unders.h.i.+ft she could feel the soft, warm pulsing and the stickiness around her knee where the blood had been loosed. She ground her knee down harder on the rock.
”Gerant has been trained in the house. He knows how to be around people of quality. He's clever with his hands. He could help you around your own house, or in your store. You've seen yourself how he can make tools out of wood, and fix things better than grown men. If you don't step in, he could end up on the McAlpin place, where they whip their Negroes into early graves. I'm begging. I never asked you for anything for myself. You can figure out a way to free him.”
Suzette knew she had pushed in the wrong direction, but she couldn't seem to stop. It used to be that Eugene would make vague promises about freeing his children, but any talk of freedom now just set his jaw. She didn't have to see his face to feel the tightening of his body, like a cornered loggerhead turtle pulling its head into its sh.e.l.l.
”Or buy him for yourself. Save him. I'm begging you, save him. I'll do anything you want, just don't let him be sold away from Cane River.”
Eugene backed away from her, leaving her there, and turned to walk back toward the house.
”I'll do what I can for the boy,” he said over his shoulder, and with quickened steps he hurried away.
Even with her eyes closed and the stale taste of dust in her mouth, Suzette could still see the crisscross of his shoelaces, long after he was gone.
Narcisse didn't arrive until midafternoon. Suzette listened for his approach and went out to him as he rode on to Rosedew atop his sorrel mare.
He looked prosperous in his dark broadcloth suit and new riding boots. He had recently married and bought land downriver near the parish line, close to the farm where Oreline and her husband lived. Suzette had been lent to both of them to cook and serve for their opening parties.
This time, she promised herself, she would say the words as she had practiced them. ”M'sieu Narcisse. I am so sorry for the loss of your aunt.”
In front of her was an aspiring young planter sitting high on his horse in his stiff black jacket and tie, but Suzette could still see the pudgy little boy trying to order her and Oreline around in the piney woods behind the big house.
Suzette did not look directly at him. ”You know us here on Rosedew. You spent time in my mother's kitchen. She always thought high on you. More than any of the other cousins who came to visit. She always told me that you would make something of yourself, even when we were little. She knew you had a good heart. A kind heart.”
The lies were second nature. They were expected and easily accepted.
”Our family was always faithful to the Derbannes. My father was born here. My mother has been cook for thirty years. You must need good workers you know and trust. Take Elisabeth and Gerasime together. They would be grateful and work hard for you. You've tasted my mother's cooking. With Mademoiselle Tranquillin being so new to marriage, Elisabeth could help her get the house set up and running smooth. And Gerasime is a steady hand in the field. He handles an ox as well as he plays the fiddle.”
Narcisse's heavy brows pushed together toward the center of his wrinkled forehead in a gesture Suzette knew well. He was anxious to get down from his horse and get inside out of the drizzle, but he was also drawn by the idea.
”Oui, Suzette, I know your family,” Narcisse said uncomfortably, ”but I can't afford to buy two more slaves now no matter how helpful they might be.” Suzette, I know your family,” Narcisse said uncomfortably, ”but I can't afford to buy two more slaves now no matter how helpful they might be.”
”M'sieu Narcisse, they need to be sold together to a good place. The kind of place you would run. They've been together for over thirty years on Rosedew. Already they'll be separated from all of their children and grandchildren. They'd work harder if they were sold together.”
”I can't go into debt trying to keep the two of them in the same place. It's likely they'll both end up on Cane River somewhere and they can visit each other Sundays.”
Narcisse spoke into the distance as if Suzette were not standing close enough to the sweating mare to feel the heat pouring off her.
Narcisse paused. ”But I could use someone for the house who would give Tranquillin a hand with the cooking,” he said, as if the notion had just appeared out of the sky. Just as quickly he was finished with the subject. ”I need to go in to Cousin Oreline. See to it that someone takes care of my horse.”
He swung himself easily off his mare, splattering mud on Suzette's dress as his boots landed in a small puddle. He threw the reins in Suzette's direction without looking back and disappeared into the house.
Suzette had wanted to do more than plant a seed with Narcisse Fredieu, but a seed planted was better than nothing.
Suzette asked Oreline for permission to go to ma.s.s the next morning to say prayers for Madame Francoise, and Oreline wrote the pa.s.s. Suzette set out on foot before daybreak to get to St. Augustine by six o'clock. Doralise Derbanne would be there, as she always was on Wednesday mornings. Suzette listened to the ma.s.s from outside on the gallery. St. Augustine had risen in status since its struggling early years and no longer allowed slaves inside the sanctuary for any reason.
Doralise was one of the first out of the church. She looked calm and steady, older than Suzette remembered, with fine lines around her eyes, and the corset couldn't hide the thickness around her middle. But she was still the portrait of refinement to Suzette, and the few gray strands in her hair only made her more stately. Doralise might be colored, a woman, and her marraine, marraine, but she was still one of the Ones with Last Names. Suzette had to be careful. but she was still one of the Ones with Last Names. Suzette had to be careful.
”Suzette?” Doralise said, surprised.
”Madame, I have come to see you,” Suzette said. ”Rosedew is finished, and they are going to sell all of us away.”
Doralise reached out and touched Suzette on the arm, nothing more than a moment's contact. Suzette reminded herself that this was the woman now living with the father of her children.
The words poured out too hot and fast and random. ”You're a mother. You understand. Have mercy on us. What if your daughter, Elisida, was in danger of being sold away from you and there was nothing you could do? You have a part in this family. They're planning to sell Gerasime and Elisabeth and Palmire and Apphia and Solataire all to different places, and our children somewhere else altogether.”
Suzette took a deep breath. This was too important to let get away from her. The thought of the fleeting touch steadied her. Doralise was listening, even sympathetic. She began again.
”Mam'zelle Oreline has promised to buy Philomene and me together. But that leaves Gerant. Mam'zelle Oreline can't get M'sieu Ferrier to buy in an eleven-year-old boy. It's no use, his mind is set against it. If you or M'sieu Eugene could buy Gerant, he'll be treated right. M'sieu Eugene told me he would free them both, but now he doesn't say anything at all except that the times aren't the same as they were before. Please. Please. Think about what could happen to my boy. Help M'sieu Daurat do what is right. I talked to him already, but he didn't say what he's going to do. Gerant could get sold away from Cane River.”
Suzette began to sob. ”I don't have anything but my family, and now even my children could be taken away from me. Madame Doralise, if you help me now, I'll always do anything I can for you. Always.”
Doralise shook her head slowly.
”I do not have as much power as you think, Suzette.” She reached out to her again, and Suzette felt the smoothness of the soft gloves wrapped around one of her callused hands. ”But I will try to find a way to help. Now I must go.”
With each step of the long walk back to Rosedew from St. Augustine, Suzette felt the tiredness spread beneath her skin and lodge itself deeper than muscle or bone. She had done what she could. Nothing was certain. Nothing was settled.
8.
T he girl came to Elisabeth one afternoon in the cookhouse. The wind had been howling for the better part of the day, an unearthly screeching sound that made Elisabeth restless. he girl came to Elisabeth one afternoon in the cookhouse. The wind had been howling for the better part of the day, an unearthly screeching sound that made Elisabeth restless.
”Memere Elisabeth, I cannot talk to Elisabeth, I cannot talk to Maman, Maman,” her granddaughter began without preamble. ”She is ...” Philomene paused and looked away. ”She is nervous again.”
”Then talk to me,” Elisabeth said.
”I've had two glimpsings.” Philomene made the announcement as if this were an everyday occurrence.
Elisabeth looked closely at Philomene, staring deep into the intensity of her b.u.t.termilk-colored face. She swiftly crossed to the door, leaned out, and spat in the dirt outdoors.
”Tell me about both of them, quick.”