Always & Forever: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 1) (5 page)

“
C’est vrai
,” Louella cut in. “Mam’zelle Josie ‘bout
grown, Bibi.”

Bibi looked into Josie’s eyes. “Well, den. Ursuline say dere
no baby in your maman.”

That didn’t make sense. Mama’s belly had grown larger every
month. Josie shook her head. “It’s just Ursuline. She’s old. Her eyes are all
milky, and she can’t see anymore.”

“It not her eyes dat tell her dis,
chérie
. Ursuline
use her hands. De belly, it have no movement, and the shape, it not a baby. ‘Ave
you not seen how ill your maman been dese weeks?”

“Lots of women feel ill when they’re expecting. Tante
Marguerite threw up every day, and Jean Baptiste is a fine baby.”

Josie watched Bibi’s face close down and felt the old wave
of loneliness when Cleo or Bibi shut her out.

She picked up the tray Louella had prepared. “You’ll see,”
she said. “When Dr. Benet comes, you’ll see.”

The priest arrived first. Father Philippe was a tall, thin
man who radiated the odor of bad teeth. Dust covered his boots, and white
circles under the arms of his black tunic revealed the extent of old sweat. He
kissed Josie’s hand and then asked to see Madame Tassin immediately. Grand-mère
admitted him to Maman’s bedroom and again shut Josie out.

It was approaching dusk when Dr. Benet drove up the alley of
oaks to the front of the house. Josie watched from the riverside gallery as
Papa helped him down from the carriage. The doctor’s only concession to his
aged, gaunt frame was to accept a hand getting in and out of the high-wheeled carriage
he needed for traveling down muddy roads. His voice rang with the vigor of a
much younger man.

“I’m sorry to have taken so long, Emile,” the doctor said as
the men climbed the gallery stairs. “I was on the other side of the parish. How
is she?”

Papa told his old friend what he knew and escorted him to
the bedroom where Father Philippe still prayed with Maman. Then Papa returned
to the gallery to take up his pacing as Josie sat motionless in the rocker.
Half an hour later, Dr. Benet and Grand-mère emerged from the house.

“How is she? Is the baby all right?”

“Sit down, Emile. It’s complicated.”

“Josephine,” Grand-mère said, “leave us, please.”

“But I want--” At Grand-mère’s raised eyebrow, Josie excused
herself.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, as you know,” Dr. Benet began.

Josie hastened on slippered feet to Papa’s study. It faced
the front gallery, and from the open window Josie could hear the doctor’s
report.

“But the baby?” Papa was saying.

“I’m coming to that, Emile. You’ve noticed, of course, Celine’s
growth. She did indeed appear to be carrying a child.”

Emile’s head dropped. “It’s lost then.”

“I haven’t made myself clear, my friend. The growth is not a
child. Her abdomen is swollen with tumors.”

Josie could make out her father’s profile in the deepening
twilight. He was immobile as he stared at Dr. Benet.

“I don’t understand. She’s--”

“Don’t be simple, Emile,” his mother snapped. “There is no
baby. There was no baby. Celine has a belly full of tumors.”

Josie’s hands found her rosary.

“Tell him the rest,” Grand-mère said.

“The tumors have ripened, Emile. The pressure of their own
growth is bursting them. Do you see?”

Papa made no response. Josie held on to the gallery post,
suddenly weak.

Grand-mère shifted her feet impatiently. “Get on with it,
François.”

“Celine has lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Benet went on. “Your
Ursuline did well to pack the bleeding. That gave us some time. But the
bleeding will come again. Maybe tomorrow, maybe tonight. And that will be
fatal.”

Papa stared at the shadows under the eaves. “Does Celine
know?”

“She knows,” Grand-mère said.

Josie slipped away to her mother’s room.
Dr. Benet can’t
know the future. Maman will lie very still, and she’ll heal inside. She’s too
young for God to take her yet.

 In the yellow light of the candles, Maman’s face was
sallow. Father Philippe sat close by Maman, his head bowed. Josie couldn’t tell
whether the poor man prayed or slept. She sat down on the other side of the bed
and took her mother’s hand. “Maman, how do you feel?”

“Only very tired, Josephine. The pain is gone.”

Father Philippe rose from his chair. “Mademoiselle, now you
are here, I will excuse myself for a moment.” He patted Maman’s hand. “I will
return soon, my dear,”

“Josephine,” Maman said, “hand me my rosary.”

As Maman counted the ivory beads and recited the prayers,
Josie knelt. She reached for her mother’s lace sleeve so as not to disturb the
prayers of her hands and closed her eyes to say her own prayers.

When Papa found her in the candle’s glow, her knees ached.
“Josie,” he said and took her elbow. Maman was sleeping, the rosary wrapped
around her fingers.

“I want to talk to your maman now, Josie. You have said good
night to her?” She nodded.

Josie sat in the adjoining parlor, Cleo keeping her company.
They watched the hands of the clock creep around the face. Father Phillipe went
in. An hour passed. A bar of light shone under Maman’s bedroom, but Josie could
hear neither Papa’s nor the priest’s voice.

“Do you think Maman is awake?” Josie said.

Cleo left her chair and put her ear to the door. “I don’t
hear anything,” she whispered.

“I’m going in.” Josie tapped twice and then turned the
crystal knob. The candle’s glow spread over the bed, and Maman was a vision
lying on the cream pillows. Her hair fanned out over the linen and her eyes
shone in the pallor of her face.

Josie smiled and breathed out in relief. “Maman, you look
like an angel.”

Maman raised a hand for Josie to come to her.

Father Philippe was folding his vestment, the vial of holy
water on the table nearby. Papa stood in the shadows, gazing out the window
into the darkness. When he turned, his wet face glistened in the candlelight.

Papa moved a chair for her. His voice husky, he said, “Sit
with your mother, Josie.” He patted his breast pocket for his cigars. “I’ll be
on the gallery. Cleo, I believe Father would appreciate a glass of wine.”

When the others left the room, Josie took her mother’s hand.
“Maman, you’re cold.” She tucked Maman’s other hand in and pulled the covers up
higher.

“Thank you, Josephine.”

“How are you, Maman?”

Maman gestured to the cobalt bottle on the table. Her speech
was slow and sleepy, and the lines of pain in her face were gone. “Dr. Benet
allows me as much medicine as I need.”

The laudanum bottle stood next to a bowl of gardenias,
Maman’s favorites. Bibi must have brought them in. How kind, Josie thought.

“You’ll soon be well again, Maman.”

Maman squeezed Josie’s hand. “It will all be over soon.”
Maman’s eyes closed.

Josie began to rise. “You need to rest.”

“
Non
, don’t leave me, Josephine.”

Josie sat down again. “I’ll watch you sleep, Maman.”

Maman’s eyelids fluttered and then closed. Her breathing was
shallow but steady, and Josie thought again how beautiful she was.

Suddenly Maman’s eyes opened wide, and she stared into the
shadows. “Josephine. It’s coming.” She pulled her arm from the covers, clung to
Josie with both hands. “I told him I forgave him, Josephine. But it isn’t true.
I can’t forgive him.” Fear whitened her face and thinned her voice into a
whisper. “And now I have to meet God.”

Maman’s hands were so cold. “Papa?” Josie called over her
shoulder. “Lie back, Maman. You need to rest.”

Maman’s hands let go of hers, and Josie shouted, “Papa!”

Papa rushed into the room. Maman lay collapsed on the
pillow, eyes staring, her arms outstretched.

“It’s Maman,” Josie said. “She’s . . .”

With one sweep, Papa threw the covers back.

Josie recoiled. Her maman’s gown, the bedding – everything,
drenched in blood.

“François!” Emile called, and then louder. “François!”

The doctor hurried through the gallery doors. He picked up
the limp wrist and felt for her pulse. He dropped her hand and pressed his
fingers to her neck. The doctor shook his head. “She’s gone, Emile.” He placed
his hand over her eyes and gently closed them. “She’s gone.”

Josie stood in the shadows behind Papa. She whimpered and
Papa grabbed her to him. Bibi hurried into the room, Cleo close behind. They
slid a chair under Josie and Papa set her down so she couldn’t see her maman on
the bed.

Josie bent over her knees and trembled. Cleo wrapped a shawl
around her shoulders and sat on the edge of the chair with her.

Grand-mère Emmeline entered, her gray hair loose but her
robe neatly tied. She placed her hand on Josie’s shoulder for a moment, then
nodded to Cleo to help her.

Together Grand-mère and Cleo pulled the covers up and
straightened them so that the pool under Maman’s body was hidden. They arranged
the white hands, chose a gardenia from the bowl and placed it on her breast,
then smoothed Maman’s lovely hair.

“Josephine,” Grand-mère said, “come kiss your mother
good-bye.”

Josie collected herself and faced the candle-lit bed. A
moment ago, Maman had lived. Now, the stillness of the body total and complete,
there was no mistaking death had taken her.

The only sound was the sibilance of the burning candle.
Josie put a hand to her mouth against the mingled scent of gardenia and blood
and leaned over to kiss her maman’s forehead. Josie then gathered her rosary
and knelt at the bedside.

Abruptly, Grand-mère’s harsh voice broke the stillness, and
Josie turned in alarm.

“Emile! You forget yourself!”

Papa was in the big velvet chair with Bibi standing before
him. She stroked his hair. His arms encircled her waist, and his head rested on
her breast. 

Papa sent Josie to bed in the hour before dawn. The
mockingbirds were already singing outside the window when she entered her
bedroom. How strange, she thought – as if nothing had happened.

Cleo pulled the mosquito net aside for her and folded the
coverlet down. She began to close the shutters, but Josie stopped her.

 “Leave them open, please.”

Josie lay in the bed and waited for the early light to erase
the shadows in the room. She relived every moment of the last hour – how lovely
Maman had looked in the candlelight, then the panic in her eyes, the coldness
of her hands, the strange words.

Josie puzzled over the outrage in Grand-mère’s voice when
she spoke to Papa. Bibi was like one of the family. Had it been so awful for
her to comfort Papa? At last Josie’s eyes closed on childhood memories of
Bibi’s soothing, loving hands.

Late in the morning, Bibi opened the netting and placed a
cool hand on Josie’s forehead. Josie reached her arms up to her as she had all
the mornings of her childhood, and Bibi sat on the bed and held her tight.

“There was so much blood,” Josie said.

“Shh. You don’ need to tink about dat.”

Bibi rolled the mosquito curtain over the canopy. “I bring
you a cup of Cleo’s good coffee, wit two sugars de way you like it. M’sieu
Emile wit Dr. Benet. When
le médicin
leave, you try to get your Papa to
rest.”

When Josie entered the dining room, Dr. Benet rose and held
out a chair for her. “My dear, let me help you to some coffee,” he said.

“I’ve had mine, Doctor, thank you.” She looked at her Papa,
and Bibi was right. The skin under his eyes sagged. He hadn’t shaved, he hadn’t
slept. He needed to rest.

“I’ll be back tomorrow for the funeral, Emile.” Dr. Benet
picked up his hat. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

Papa stood to shake his hand. “You did what you could,
François. Thank you.”

Dr. Benet followed Bibi to the front entrance. Papa remained
standing, staring vacantly at the dining table.

“Papa,” Josie said. She left her chair and took his arm.
“Papa, come to bed.”

Josie took him to his own room. He sat on the side of the
bed while she took his boots off, and then she helped him swing his legs onto
the coverlet. She loosened his collar, pulled the mosquito netting down, and
closed the shutters.

Grand-mère waited for her in the parlor. “He’s asleep?”

Josie nodded.

“You’ve made a good beginning, Josephine.” Grand-mère had
already dressed in her black linen gown. Her hair was neatly coiffed, and her
face showed none of the fatigue and loss her son’s betrayed.

“You are now the mistress of your father’s house, Josephine.
You will have new responsibilities in the Tassin family’s social obligations.
And now that there will be no male heir, you will continue learning to run
Toulouse.

“More immediately, though -- sit down, Josephine -- we must
plan your mother’s funeral. There will be perhaps fifty people here, and they
all have to be fed; some of them will stay the night, and we will have to find
beds for them. It won’t be just the family. Many of them you won’t have met,
and some are not even Creole.”

Grand-mère Emmeline delegated Josie to ready the beds for
all the overnight guests. Grand-mère herself draped the mirrors and oversaw the
cooking, the china, the extra servants they’d need in the house.

Throughout the day, Josie avoided her mother’s bedroom.
Ursaline, the midwife and her apprentice Marie carried baskets and basins out of
the room. Only Grand-mère looked in on them as they changed the bed and washed
the body.

At noon Bibi brought a pitcher of cool lemonade and a plate
of ham and cake. “Sit down, Mam’zelle. You wear yourself down you don’ eat.”

“What’s Papa doing?”

“Elbow John fixing his bath. You can see yo Papa after.”

By mid-afternoon, Josie had the house filled with make-shift
beds reassembled from the frames stored in the barn. Some of them were made up
with worn linen, but each had a plump pillow and mosquito netting.