Part 23 (1/2)

But it was her mother's opinion that worried Emily most. Philomene tolerated Joseph and was civil to a fault, but Emily knew her mother was waiting for Joseph to somehow prove himself further, this Sunday dinner invitation notwithstanding.

Emily was proud to bring Joseph into this den of women and young boys, a man of her own who was making something of himself. A man who came willingly into her mother's house and sat to table under the critical eye of three generations of women.

They fawned over Emily's chosen, but that didn't mean they were accepting, that they weren't watching for signs, unwilling to forget they had been property of the likes of him a dozen years before. Emily didn't remember the twisted life they hinted at, the slavery times, and each of the women hid the memory of those days as if there were shame in them, seldom talking particulars, at least when she was within earshot. They talked obliquely, as if it were an affliction she had escaped, a void of understanding that made her fortunate.

Emily and Joseph had no part of those long-ago days. Her only memory was of dancing for her father in the woods before he went off to war, with her mother looking on. Joseph had still been in France, undergoing his own struggle, trying to overcome the bitterness of being cheated of his inheritance by his older brothers, working his way toward the idea of opportunity in America. Neither of them was so tied to a past that they couldn't see a future stretched out before them like a twisting stream they could ford together. Joseph was full of infectious ideas of land and money, and when he was in a good mood, he talked to Emily for hours about his plans. He burned as hot with proving to his brothers back in France that he could acquire a fortune as he did for the company of Emily and their child.

It had taken six months after the baby was born for her wardens to finally invite Joseph to Sunday dinner, the time reserved for family. The table was full, piled high with food, every chair in the house pulled into the dining room to accommodate the guests. They were all here: Elisabeth, Suzette, Doralise and Yellow John, Gerant and Melantine, Bet and Isaac, and the small ones at the children's table. And Philomene, heavy with her tenth child, who would be uncle or aunt to Emily's little Angelite, although Angelite would be a year older. Broad and full around the middle, Philomene carried this baby low and was so big that she had to slowly ease herself into the chair at the dining room table.

Emily thought about how different she was from each of them sitting around Sunday's table, marveling that she could have come from them at all. The old ones had not shaken the submissive ways of their years as slaves. Even her mother was scarred, incapable of looking for the joy Emily intended to claim as her due. Her half-sister, Bet, was more like them, tame and too easily content.

Suddenly a blue-banded bowl went cras.h.i.+ng to the floor, spilling the creamed corn. Philomene stared around the table, looking in wonderment from face to face, as if the gummy yellow mixture had not splattered on her shoe or the sharp splintering of the bowl had not set Angelite to crying. Philomene settled her hands high across her stomach, fingers laced one over the other, and began to laugh.

”We got them this far,” Philomene said, exchanging a satisfied look with Elisabeth and Suzette. ”We can ease up just a little. My two girls can handle it now.”

Side by side, light and dark, Emily joined Bet in cleaning up the mess.

32.

N arcisse removed Emily's portrait from the wall opposite his bedroom door. The room was to be repainted a cool cream color before Liza moved in on Sat.u.r.day. arcisse removed Emily's portrait from the wall opposite his bedroom door. The room was to be repainted a cool cream color before Liza moved in on Sat.u.r.day.

He studied the picture as he had done so many times before. Emily stared back at him, chin tilted just so, the jaunty hat atop her head. He would give up the painting tomorrow, but it was still his to enjoy today. Her grace and dignity disarmed him as always, reached out to him, making him both sad and proud. He had protected her as best he could.

Narcisse had been without a wife for twelve years, drifting too long without a legitimate heir. Circ.u.mstances were no longer as rosy as they had been in the full bloom of his youth, back when he still counted upon the earth to deliver its bounty to him and fortune always smiled. The time had come to get his tangled affairs in order, to make right what had somehow gone so wrong. Within a few days he would marry again for the third time, and there were still the legal matters to finish off first.

So much time wasted, and misspent energy. How long ago could he have produced an heir if he hadn't been fooled? It had turned out to be the women's fault after all, not destiny, not some curse. Once the white children started coming, his manhood rea.s.serted itself vigorously, building to a potency that produced five children in the last four years and another on the way. Whether they came from the former slave woman who had managed to twist his thinking for so many years, the hill woman who had broken the former's hold, or the respectable Natchitoches woman who was to become his wife, Narcisse loved each of his children. They were his own blood after all, but his dreams were fastened on Edd, the youngest, the son he would legitimize in just a few days.

Just yesterday he stood up in the courthouse to formally adopt his two daughters by Clemmie Larioux, and he would continue to care for them as he would his colored children. Of course, he couldn't adopt his children by Philomene, but they all carried his last name, even the two little ones dead in the ground. One had come out blue, a son, the cord wrapped around his neck, never taking a breath, and another, tiny Josephine, wasn't strong enough to reach her first birthday, but they were christened Fredieus just the same.

Ten years of barren wives, fifteen more tricked into believing he couldn't sire a white child, four more before he had the inescapable proof of a white son who could live. The evidence swept away the last of his superst.i.tions planted by Philomene and allowed him with a clear heart to bring the mother of his heir into the light and make her his wife. His heir, Edd, named after his own father, Eduord. There was peace in knowing that when his life was done, his lands, everything he was, would pa.s.s to his son.

Narcisse planned to teach him to hunt, fish, farm, and dance, how to live life with gusto. He could carry him into town openly, starting him out early with a private tutor to open up the world of possibilities for the boy. Narcisse didn't hold to the notion the carpetbagger government pushed, that all children should attend a public school set up in the parish, regardless of their color, race, or previous condition of servitude, mixing indiscriminately. No good could come from that. It was wrongheaded to expect his taxes to pay for children he didn't know and had no responsibility for, whose own parents couldn't pay for their education. Everyone should take care of their own. He had engaged tutors for all of his children, white or colored. Those who couldn't afford to do similarly would have to fall by the wayside.

The wedding would be simple, small, with Joseph Billes as his best man and witness. Narcisse was very fond of Joseph, had been drawn to him from their first meeting in New Orleans almost a decade before, but he was beginning to pose a real dilemma. Already a few of the local men from town had come to him, speaking against Joseph. It was awkward, intercepting warnings about Emily and the man who was like a son.

Just a few weeks ago Narcisse had counseled Joseph about being so open about Emily. It wasn't the way things were done. Joseph listened politely, leaned forward, spat out his tobacco, and changed the subject. It wasn't that Narcisse didn't understand. He had gone down a similar path not so many years before. The difference was that Narcisse had the good sense to know how far he could go. Joseph flaunted.

Emily was as precious to Narcisse as his right arm, but his daughter was as headstrong in her own way as Joseph. She would be forgiven some things as Narcisse Fredieu's daughter, but she would never be forgiven forgetting her place.

At the end of the week Narcisse would marry. It was time to put certain things behind him. When his wife-to-be told him pointedly that the portrait made her uncomfortable, he knew what he had to do. She knew about his past, all of the wives, all of the children, many of the alliances, but there was no need to exhibit them.

Tomorrow he would give the painting to Emily. He hated to part with it after all this time, but a new chapter in his life was beginning.

33.

B ehind Billes General Store in Aloha, Emily heard the sharp, shrill whistle of the steamboat ehind Billes General Store in Aloha, Emily heard the sharp, shrill whistle of the steamboat Danube Danube in its steady advance upriver, announcing its intended stop at Billes Landing to deliver supplies. One long, two short, and another long. Rivulets of sweat ran down her face from the steady fire under the kettle, and when she wiped at her eyes, stubborn bits of lukewarm wax still clung to her hands from her candle making. She had hoped for the warm, rich signal of the in its steady advance upriver, announcing its intended stop at Billes Landing to deliver supplies. One long, two short, and another long. Rivulets of sweat ran down her face from the steady fire under the kettle, and when she wiped at her eyes, stubborn bits of lukewarm wax still clung to her hands from her candle making. She had hoped for the warm, rich signal of the Bart Able, Bart Able, whose captain, like the full-throated whistle of his steamboat, seemed much more respectful toward her. Although Joseph had told both Captain Montgomery of the whose captain, like the full-throated whistle of his steamboat, seemed much more respectful toward her. Although Joseph had told both Captain Montgomery of the Danube Danube and Captain Meecham of the and Captain Meecham of the Bart Able Bart Able that Emily acted on his behalf for deliveries, this captain did everything he could to put Emily in her place. He looked her up and down as if she were his for the taking whenever Joseph wasn't there, or spat in her direction and refused to allow his stevedores to load supplies into her wagon, even when she waited on the dock. that Emily acted on his behalf for deliveries, this captain did everything he could to put Emily in her place. He looked her up and down as if she were his for the taking whenever Joseph wasn't there, or spat in her direction and refused to allow his stevedores to load supplies into her wagon, even when she waited on the dock.

She locked up the store, hitched the horse to the wagon, loaded her basket of boiled eggs, and got down to the landing just in time to watch the broad stern of the steamboat pull away from the Billes Landing dock. The need to hurry gone, she eased her grip on the reins and slowed the horse's pace. They had already unloaded the delivery and moved on. The sharp, rich odor from the sacks of coffee reached her even before she got down from the wagon, mixed in with the sweetness of the oranges in their wooden crates. Sacks of cotton seed, two barrels of flour, two of beer, and several of sugar also lay heaped on the pier.

The captain, well aware that the steamboat's pa.s.sing was an opportunity for her to sell her eggs for five cents a dozen to the pa.s.sengers and crew aboard, hadn't waited for her, again. Captain Meecham would have waited.

The two cords of oak wood her uncle Gerant left were gone, and the landing was messy with the hasty leavings of the pine knots and pine kindling the stevedores loaded for use under their boilers. Joseph had a contract with the steams.h.i.+p line to leave timber for them weekly, and he employed Gerant to cut it. The landing needed sweeping after she got the supplies to the store. Yet another task added to the day.

There had been a time when Emily found each steamboat's unique whistle romantic, an intimate invitation from some mysterious place. Lately they all just signaled more backbreaking work, and she found herself relieved whenever she heard the one long blast that meant there was no delivery today, that the s.h.i.+p was just pa.s.sing through.

Joseph was due back in town tomorrow, Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and on Sunday she looked forward to him crossing the river for dinner at her mother's. Emily pulled on her heavy gloves, retied the fastening on her long-billed bonnet, and adjusted the sleeves of her s.h.i.+rtwaist so the sun couldn't get to her skin. Gerant was off working somewhere in the woods this week, and the other hired man was running errands, so it was up to her to get the provisions from the landing to the store. At least this was a small s.h.i.+pment. The sacks weighed almost as much as Emily, but she pulled and tugged, inching the bags forward bit by bit until she got each into a position where she could pull it up into the bed of the wagon. No matter how she maneuvered, she couldn't lift the barrels, and she dared not leave them on the landing for too long. She would have to take the wagon home and come back on foot for the barrels, turning them on their side and rolling them the mile to the store, pus.h.i.+ng them up the gentle rolls of the forest bottom, and making sure they didn't gather too much speed on the declines. Her back ached just thinking about it.

Most days the full burden of the store fell to her. She and Joseph had built up their merchandise until it included almost anything a family needed that they couldn't make or grow for themselves. They kept a regular stock of staples, brown and white sugar, flour, salt, coffee beans, vanilla beans, cream of tartar, and the like, but they often laid in raisins on the stems, figs, and dates. The local women chose from the bolt of gingham and two of calico for making their s.h.i.+rts and dresses, cottonade for bedsheets, and lowells for cotton sacks. The a.s.sortment of ribbons, b.u.t.tons, thread, needles, scissors, sunhats, stockings, and shoes was small, but so was the town. They even carried a few pots and skillets, smoothing irons, stovepipes, ax handles, and axle grease. The section nearest the front of the store was for medicine, castor oil, calomel, quinine, liniment, snake oil, iodine, and laudanum. Peppermint and licorice in sticks or blocks were favorites, but by far the biggest sellers were the whiskey and chewing tobacco Emily kept behind the counter. Most of her day was spent in the store, checking the shelves, stocking and restocking, waiting on customers, writing down deliveries and purchases in the big book. Cash was preferred, but usually they tallied their neighbors' purchases as credit until the crops were in and sold and they could afford to settle up their bills.

For months after little T.O. was born, the store suffered. There were many days Emily couldn't break free to cross the river, and if Joseph was gone, the store stayed closed, supplies sometimes disappearing from the dock. When Joseph handled the store alone, his memory never failed about who bought what, but Emily often found that he had not written down the transaction, and she would have to double back and reconstruct the lost day. Now that Angelite and T.O. were older, she could leave them with the Grands or bring them with her during the day, but Emily still dreaded the deliveries if she was alone. She could barely straighten up after rolling the barrels. Her hundred pounds were no match for a barrel filled with flour.

But she didn't complain.

”We need to talk about Emily.”

Philomene spoke directly to Joseph, her face arranged into its most severe expression, and although she never raised her voice, everyone in the dining room grew silent.

”Go on, then, madame,” Joseph said. He stroked the stiff hairs of his mustache between forefinger and thumb in an absent gesture Emily knew well. The Sunday dinner had been heavy, and he had overeaten.

”You're going to suck the life right out of her, loading her up with babies and still expecting her to run the store,” Philomene said.

Emily was horrified. She tried to catch Joseph's eye to let him know she had nothing to do with her mother's outrageous behavior, but Joseph and Philomene were locked in to one another as if they were the only ones in the room.

”Emily would follow you to the bottom of the swamp if you led her there,” Philomene went on. ”Since she doesn't have good sense when it comes to pleasing you, you need to be the one to look after her, better than you've been doing. Are you paying any attention to how run-down she's gotten, or are your eyes only for that store of yours?”

Emily reached out for Joseph's arm to give him a rea.s.suring touch, but he had already pushed away from the table, storming out of the house without a word. She ran after him into the full heat of the day. Emily caught up to him as he put boot to stirrup and swung up onto his horse. The bright sun blazed yellow orange from behind his head, and she had to use her hand to s.h.i.+eld her eyes as she looked up at him.

”You know how my mother is, Joseph,” Emily said quickly. ”I'm just tired with the children, that's all. I want to help out.”

He scanned her face, and she knew he took notice then of what they had all been telling her, the dark circles that had become a permanent fixture under her eyes, the edgy exhaustion in her voice.

”Don't come to the store tomorrow,” Joseph said. ”I can work something else out.”

”Are you coming back?” Emily's voice was small.

”She's right, 't.i.te,” Joseph said. ”Don't tell her I said so. We have to do this another way.” His voice softened. ”Of course I'll be back.”