Read Online Always & Forever: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 1) by Gretchen Craig - Free Book Online
Authors: Gretchen Craig
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Bibi.”
Bibi poured tea into another of the delicate cups and turned
to serve Maman. But Maman just at that moment was rising from her chair and
knocked the cup with her elbow. The tea spattered Maman’s silk gown. The blue
china shattered on the hard wood floor.
“You clumsy cow!” Quick as a snake, Maman slapped Bibi’s
face. The kerchief on Bibi’s head flew off, and Josie was embarrassed for her
that the wooly hair was uncovered in front of Maman and Papa.
“Now, Celine,” Papa said. “It was just an accident.”
Maman’s lips were tight and almost white as she looked full
in Papa’s face.
“Don’t you take her part. Don’t you dare take her part.”
“I’m just saying, Celine . . .”
Papa glanced at Bibi as she held her belly and bent down to
retrieve the kerchief.
Papa said again, “It was an accident.”
Maman’s face turned red as she glared at Papa. Then she
turned from him and very deliberately grabbed a handful of Bibi’s hair and
yanked her up.
Josie began to cry. Cleo trembled, her eyes on Bibi’s face
as Maman slapped her again and again, the white hand bright against the brown
cheek.
Papa rushed to gather Cleo in his arms. Cleo first, Josie
remembered. Then he grabbed Josie’s hand and took the girls to his own room,
away from the sound of Maman’s slaps, of Maman’s chanted “slut, slut, slut” in
time to the blows.
In the bedroom, he pulled Josie and Cleo into his lap and
rocked them, humming to cover the sounds from the parlor. Josie breathed in the
smell of his cologne, of tobacco and pomade, and held Papa’s big hand in both
her own.
She heard Bibi leave the parlor, her steps heavy and
uncertain. Then Maman’s sobs began.
“Maman’s crying,” Josie said.
Papa shook his head and hummed louder.
Josie looked at Cleo on Papa’s other knee. Cleo leaned
against his chest, her thumb in her mouth. Papa had put red pepper salve on
Josie’s thumb all last summer, but Cleo, just as big as Josie, could still suck
hers. Josie reached over and tugged Cleo’s hand down.
Cleo’s eyes flashed, and she put her thumb back in her
mouth, snuggling deeper into Papa’s lap.
“He’s my father,” Josie said, and pulled at Cleo to unseat
her from Papa’s knee.
“Josie,” Papa said.
Josie shoved Cleo and reached for the kerchief that covered
her black curls.
“Josie! I won’t have this. You’re not going to be like that,
not you.” Papa stood up and pushed Josie onto her bottom. “Sit there,” he said.
He sat in the rocker and pulled Cleo back into his lap.
Cleo’s thumb went into her mouth and she leaned her head
against Papa’s chest. On the cold floor, Josie curled into her own lap and
sobbed. The rain blew against the window, and Papa’s chair rocked back and
forth.
The night of Maman’s funeral, then, as lightning cracked
through the clouds, Josie at last understood. Maman hated Bibi, and Cleo,
because Papa loved them. And the baby Bibi had been carrying that rainy night . . . that was Thibault, Papa’s baby.
Josie covered her face. Shame weakened her knees, and she
collapsed to the floor, as she had done at Papa’s feet so many years before.
CHAPTER SIX
Far into the night, lightning struck the old live oak in the
courtyard. Josie felt the blast before she heard it. She fumbled with the
netting and rushed to the window. Cleo, from her pallet on the other side of
the room, was right behind her.
“Move over,” Cleo said. She opened the sash and pushed the
shutters aside, heedless of the rain spattering her.
The tree, only forty feet from the window, blazed like a
giant torch even in the downpour.
Papa rushed into the room with a candle held high. Josie
didn’t know the two men who followed him. They were fully dressed, and the
scent of tobacco and liquor told her the men had probably been playing cards in
Papa’s room.
Papa put the candle on the table. He picked up Josie’s shawl
from the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Bibi poured tea into another of the delicate cups and turned
to serve Maman. But Maman just at that moment was rising from her chair and
knocked the cup with her elbow. The tea spattered Maman’s silk gown. The blue
china shattered on the hard wood floor.
“You clumsy cow!” Quick as a snake, Maman slapped Bibi’s
face. The kerchief on Bibi’s head flew off, and Josie was embarrassed for her
that the wooly hair was uncovered in front of Maman and Papa.
“Now, Celine,” Papa said. “It was just an accident.”
Maman’s lips were tight and almost white as she looked full
in Papa’s face.
“Don’t you take her part. Don’t you dare take her part.”
“I’m just saying, Celine . . .”
Papa glanced at Bibi as she held her belly and bent down to
retrieve the kerchief.
Papa said again, “It was an accident.”
Maman’s face turned red as she glared at Papa. Then she
turned from him and very deliberately grabbed a handful of Bibi’s hair and
yanked her up.
Josie began to cry. Cleo trembled, her eyes on Bibi’s face
as Maman slapped her again and again, the white hand bright against the brown
cheek.
Papa rushed to gather Cleo in his arms. Cleo first, Josie
remembered. Then he grabbed Josie’s hand and took the girls to his own room,
away from the sound of Maman’s slaps, of Maman’s chanted “slut, slut, slut” in
time to the blows.
In the bedroom, he pulled Josie and Cleo into his lap and
rocked them, humming to cover the sounds from the parlor. Josie breathed in the
smell of his cologne, of tobacco and pomade, and held Papa’s big hand in both
her own.
She heard Bibi leave the parlor, her steps heavy and
uncertain. Then Maman’s sobs began.
“Maman’s crying,” Josie said.
Papa shook his head and hummed louder.
Josie looked at Cleo on Papa’s other knee. Cleo leaned
against his chest, her thumb in her mouth. Papa had put red pepper salve on
Josie’s thumb all last summer, but Cleo, just as big as Josie, could still suck
hers. Josie reached over and tugged Cleo’s hand down.
Cleo’s eyes flashed, and she put her thumb back in her
mouth, snuggling deeper into Papa’s lap.
“He’s my father,” Josie said, and pulled at Cleo to unseat
her from Papa’s knee.
“Josie,” Papa said.
Josie shoved Cleo and reached for the kerchief that covered
her black curls.
“Josie! I won’t have this. You’re not going to be like that,
not you.” Papa stood up and pushed Josie onto her bottom. “Sit there,” he said.
He sat in the rocker and pulled Cleo back into his lap.
Cleo’s thumb went into her mouth and she leaned her head
against Papa’s chest. On the cold floor, Josie curled into her own lap and
sobbed. The rain blew against the window, and Papa’s chair rocked back and
forth.
The night of Maman’s funeral, then, as lightning cracked
through the clouds, Josie at last understood. Maman hated Bibi, and Cleo,
because Papa loved them. And the baby Bibi had been carrying that rainy night . . . that was Thibault, Papa’s baby.
Josie covered her face. Shame weakened her knees, and she
collapsed to the floor, as she had done at Papa’s feet so many years before.
CHAPTER SIX
Far into the night, lightning struck the old live oak in the
courtyard. Josie felt the blast before she heard it. She fumbled with the
netting and rushed to the window. Cleo, from her pallet on the other side of
the room, was right behind her.
“Move over,” Cleo said. She opened the sash and pushed the
shutters aside, heedless of the rain spattering her.
The tree, only forty feet from the window, blazed like a
giant torch even in the downpour.
Papa rushed into the room with a candle held high. Josie
didn’t know the two men who followed him. They were fully dressed, and the
scent of tobacco and liquor told her the men had probably been playing cards in
Papa’s room.
Papa put the candle on the table. He picked up Josie’s shawl
from the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders.
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