nothing at all… I often wondered, if life was so
worthless what was important? What was valuable? As soon as these
thoughts started to enter my head I stopped them and reminded
myself that I shouldn’t think about it. As Maman always said, “It
is what it is.”
I snuck a sideways glance at Emilie. Her
full lips trembled and her almond-shaped blue eyes fought back
tears.
Emilie lowered her head and without a
word made her way back into the kitchen where she proceeded to bang
together pots and pans in protest.
“ Emilie! I swear, don’t make me
use the whip on you. I’ve been way too lenient with you!” Maman
screamed.
“ Maman please,” I
whispered. “Not tonight…”
She sighed loudly as if she were suddenly
very tired. Dramatically, she brought her hand to her forehead as
if she were fighting off a very strong headache. She examined me
closely for a few seconds; her harsh frown vanished and was
replaced by a soft smile. She reached out and grabbed a lock of my
raven colored hair and lovingly twirled it around her thin finger.
“You’re so beautiful, Cecile. You’ll never have to worry about
poverty or oppression. You’ll always be taken care of. Your
children will always be taken care of. Only the best for you. Now,
go on and take a bath before supper. I can smell the absinthe and
debauchery seeping from your pores. I hope you enjoyed your little
escape, as it was your last.”
I smiled. At that moment I felt close
to her, close enough to want to share the details of my day. For
whatever reason I wanted her to care about how I felt. I wanted her
to see the world through my eyes. “The spirits were so happy today.
You should have been there. It was magical… All those people
together. Dancing.”
She shook her head.
“ Eh
bien , the
spirits aren’t going to pay your bills, Cecile, or feed your
children. You need to stop with these silly childish notions. Trust
me, fine gentleman don’t want a heathen, they want a well-mannered
lady. The only purpose the loa have in our lives is to make sure we
land and keep a suitable protector, non ? We need to protect our dignity and preserve what
little freedom we have.”
“ But Tante
Celeste…”
“ Tante Celeste needs to stop
filling your head with that nonsense. You need to think logically
like an adult. This is reality,” she said, indicating our lavish
living room with its velvet curtains, heavy mahogany furniture, and
Parisian candlesticks. “You’re not a child. I gave birth to you
when I was sixteen, and look at you acting as if you’re still
a bebe at your age. You’re not getting any younger.”
Determined not to start another argument,
I forced a smile. I left her standing in her expensive living room
with her tear-streaked face and thought, if this was all so real
then why did it feel so fake?
Chapter Nine
It Doesn’t Feel
R ight…
The LaNuit Household, Rue de
Rampart
New Orleans, October
1852
After supper, I lay in bed and listened to
the sound of a violin as it played in the distance. Its haunting,
bittersweet melody swam in the chilly night air and mingled with
the scent of sultry jasmine, roses, and oncoming rain. I loved the
smell of rain and the way it seemed to wash the entire world clean
and covered the vile smell of death that permanently lingered over
the city.
I could hear Emilie thumping
around the kitchen while Maman played the piano. Tante Celeste’s
sweet voice from a few houses down sang La Sonnambula in French. These smells and
sounds were the ones that gave me comfort, and I wondered if my new
home would be the same. How much say would I have in
that?
I closed my eyes, but sleep
wouldn’t come, so I started to pace around my room as I always did
on restless nights. Light wind prompted the curtains to dance in
the cool night air, soft moonlight caressed my skin, and a
beautiful white dove flew through my open window and landed on my
shoulder. I knew had company. I wrapped my satin
worthless what was important? What was valuable? As soon as these
thoughts started to enter my head I stopped them and reminded
myself that I shouldn’t think about it. As Maman always said, “It
is what it is.”
I snuck a sideways glance at Emilie. Her
full lips trembled and her almond-shaped blue eyes fought back
tears.
Emilie lowered her head and without a
word made her way back into the kitchen where she proceeded to bang
together pots and pans in protest.
“ Emilie! I swear, don’t make me
use the whip on you. I’ve been way too lenient with you!” Maman
screamed.
“ Maman please,” I
whispered. “Not tonight…”
She sighed loudly as if she were suddenly
very tired. Dramatically, she brought her hand to her forehead as
if she were fighting off a very strong headache. She examined me
closely for a few seconds; her harsh frown vanished and was
replaced by a soft smile. She reached out and grabbed a lock of my
raven colored hair and lovingly twirled it around her thin finger.
“You’re so beautiful, Cecile. You’ll never have to worry about
poverty or oppression. You’ll always be taken care of. Your
children will always be taken care of. Only the best for you. Now,
go on and take a bath before supper. I can smell the absinthe and
debauchery seeping from your pores. I hope you enjoyed your little
escape, as it was your last.”
I smiled. At that moment I felt close
to her, close enough to want to share the details of my day. For
whatever reason I wanted her to care about how I felt. I wanted her
to see the world through my eyes. “The spirits were so happy today.
You should have been there. It was magical… All those people
together. Dancing.”
She shook her head.
“ Eh
bien , the
spirits aren’t going to pay your bills, Cecile, or feed your
children. You need to stop with these silly childish notions. Trust
me, fine gentleman don’t want a heathen, they want a well-mannered
lady. The only purpose the loa have in our lives is to make sure we
land and keep a suitable protector, non ? We need to protect our dignity and preserve what
little freedom we have.”
“ But Tante
Celeste…”
“ Tante Celeste needs to stop
filling your head with that nonsense. You need to think logically
like an adult. This is reality,” she said, indicating our lavish
living room with its velvet curtains, heavy mahogany furniture, and
Parisian candlesticks. “You’re not a child. I gave birth to you
when I was sixteen, and look at you acting as if you’re still
a bebe at your age. You’re not getting any younger.”
Determined not to start another argument,
I forced a smile. I left her standing in her expensive living room
with her tear-streaked face and thought, if this was all so real
then why did it feel so fake?
Chapter Nine
It Doesn’t Feel
R ight…
The LaNuit Household, Rue de
Rampart
New Orleans, October
1852
After supper, I lay in bed and listened to
the sound of a violin as it played in the distance. Its haunting,
bittersweet melody swam in the chilly night air and mingled with
the scent of sultry jasmine, roses, and oncoming rain. I loved the
smell of rain and the way it seemed to wash the entire world clean
and covered the vile smell of death that permanently lingered over
the city.
I could hear Emilie thumping
around the kitchen while Maman played the piano. Tante Celeste’s
sweet voice from a few houses down sang La Sonnambula in French. These smells and
sounds were the ones that gave me comfort, and I wondered if my new
home would be the same. How much say would I have in
that?
I closed my eyes, but sleep
wouldn’t come, so I started to pace around my room as I always did
on restless nights. Light wind prompted the curtains to dance in
the cool night air, soft moonlight caressed my skin, and a
beautiful white dove flew through my open window and landed on my
shoulder. I knew had company. I wrapped my satin
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