Wild, Beautiful, and Free(7)

I thought Papa said this to spare me the sight of his blood, but he coughed, and I heard him utter “Barbaric” under his breath.

Papa stayed in his bed for ten days.

I sat by his bed and chanted the litany.

Belle Neuve

Baton Bleu

Siana Grove

Chance Voir

Belle Verde

Mont Devreau

Petite Bébinn

The sound of Papa’s breath moved through the room. As long as I could hear it, I felt safe. From my perch I’d open the windows a crack so Papa could take in the fresh air, the air of the land that had always sustained him. It made no sense to me how Madame wanted the room shut up. What made Papa sick wasn’t out there. If it were, we’d all be in our beds suffering. Papa burned from the inside out. I didn’t know if the air could heal him, but it helped him feel a little better. I hoped it did.

Papa’s bedroom faced the front of the house and had large windows overlooking the front grounds. The sill was long enough, wide enough, for me to sit there. The drape, thick and scratchy brocade, with a bronze-and-yellow pattern, hid me from Dr. Clarke and Madame. Only Dorinda knew I was there. She brought me warm milk and bread with pieces of roast pork wrapped in paper so I’d have something to eat if she couldn’t get to me for too long.

The first day I felt certain Papa would get well. The second day the fever worsened. By the end of the week a yellow pallor bled over his skin, and my insides began to feel cold.

At night when the house slept, I left my seat and crawled under the covers of Papa’s sickbed. I wasn’t afraid. I’d known Papa’s warmth longer than I’d known the heat of the sun. But I could feel it draining away, and hard as I tried, I couldn’t replace it with my own. I didn’t waste time being afraid. If Papa was going to leave me, I figured there’d be plenty of time for fear when it happened. And I didn’t want Papa feeling any fear from me. I was Jean Bébinn’s daughter. Still.

Papa woke from a nightmare.

“Chérie, I’ve been wrong.”

“Wrong about what, Papa?”

“All of my plans for you . . . Petite Bébinn.” He struggled for another breath.

“Please, Papa. Rest.”

“I thought I would be here.” He coughed. “I thought I would be here to give you the land. That you would be grown and could have it.”

“I am still your daughter, Papa.”

“But I can’t look after you anymore. There’s no one to take care of you.” A tear ran down his cheek.

“I will take care of myself.”

“The world is set against you, Jeannette.”

“I don’t need the world. I will have my own corner of it. I will have the land—if not Petite Bébinn, then somewhere else. I will find it, Papa. I will.”

“If you are to do that, you must be white. When you are old enough, go away from here. Go far, where no one knows about your mama. You are light. Your features are mine.”

I grasped the bronze locket I wore around my neck.

“And you must never wear that, when you are grown. Even now, perhaps. Keep it hidden.”

“Papa, I can’t.”

“You must, Jeannette. The law won’t let you own land.”

I wiped his tears with my pocket kerchief. “I will be all right, Papa. Please rest now.”

He nodded, smiled, and put his arms around me. His breathing quieted, and in the calm we both fell asleep.

Madame’s wail woke me.

The sound collapsed on us like a shattering glass. But Papa didn’t move.

His arm lay heavy over me, and I felt a chill from his body like he’d been encased in a cloud. My papa was dead.

Her cries offended me. I couldn’t believe she would shed one honest tear for my papa. There was something shameful about her behavior, and though I felt Papa’s loss growing like a sad black fog inside me, I wouldn’t show myself breaking into little pieces of pity like she was doing. I slipped out of Papa’s embrace, stood on the bed, and pushed my hands against my ears. I shouted at her.

“Stop it! Stop it! You shame my papa with your noise!”

Madame looked up at me. Her hands shook at her sides. “How dare you!”

“You only cry for yourself! You know Calista and I are the mistresses of Catalpa Valley now.”

She screamed and slapped me. “Get away from him!”

“No! You get away!”

I put up my arms to block her blows, and when she didn’t stop, I pushed back. My forearm struck her on the side of the head, and one of the combs holding her hair clattered to the floor. I pushed her again, and she tripped over her skirts. Robie, stunned, managed to catch Madame before she fell. If he hadn’t caught her, I’m sure I would have stomped on her where she lay. I didn’t care how much I hurt her. It didn’t matter. My papa was dead, and this wicked woman wasn’t, and that wasn’t right to me. It wasn’t fair that I now had no one to care for me. I jumped from Papa’s bed, grabbed the comb from the floor, and threw it at Madame.

“I am glad you are not my mama. I will build my own home now. I will live on Petite Bébinn, and you will never step foot on my land or in my house! Calista will have to care for you. I never will.”

The comb struck her breast, and Madame’s face froze. The tears on her cheeks glistened. Her voice, in a tone I shall never forget, went quiet and hard.