Becoming Josephine (13 page)

“He was bleeding, Maman. Why are all the people brown?”

“They’re slaves. They work our fields so we have crops. We wouldn’t have a home without them.”

“Why? What’s a slave?” Her childish mind worked overtime.

I avoided the question and pulled her forward.

As we reached the bottom of the hill, a voice called, “You there! Stop!”

“What’s a white devil doing here?” another voice said.

I had no time to feel outrage at such a statement. Four slave men and one woman formed a wall in front of us.

“My daughter was lost.” Hortense hid her face in my skirts. “We’re just leaving.” My voice was calm despite my trembling. I glanced at the top of the hill. Safety was on the other side.

“What you think?” one of the men asked another. “Should we let them go?”

The man spat on the ground.

“It’s their fault Leon is being tortured. Maybe we should teach them a lesson.”

“Daughter of a Grand Blanc! We’d be heroes!”

My blood went cold.

“What about the girl?”

“I’ll take care of her,” the third man answered.

Hortense wrapped her arms around my leg, her tears coming faster now. Blood pounded in my ears. No fear. I could not show them fear. I scrutinized their faces. The woman looked vaguely—yes, her name was . . .

“A Grand Blanc’s daughter? Miss Rose! Is that you?” the familiar woman asked. “You back?”

“Yes, it’s me. . . . Millie?” My lips quivered.

“Is this your little one?”

The largest man crossed his arms in annoyance.

“Yes, this is Hortense. Hortense, say hi to Millie.”

Hortense waved, her face stained with tears.

“Well aren’t you pretty! Boys, Miss Rose was a sweet thing. Well, at least Mimi loved her.”

“Thank you, Millie.” I changed the subject. “It looks like your shift is unraveling. I’ll send another one down for you right away.” I forced a smile.

“Thank you kindly, miss.” She returned a smile packed with gray, rotting teeth.

Hortense whimpered.

“Well, we had better move along. They’ll be looking for us at the house. I should have tended to my sister an hour ago,” I lied.

The larger man did not move, but the others parted just enough to let us pass.

My legs shook so violently, I stumbled as we climbed the hill. Hortense’s sobs grew louder.

“Shh,
chérie
.” I regained my balance. “Just a bit farther.” I dragged her alongside me.

The men below argued with Millie. “I don’t care who she is!”

“We could teach ’em a lesson. . . .”

“Hurry,” I whispered to Hortense.

We broke into a run at the top of the hill. Never had I felt fear among the slaves. I had loved them and they had loved me. Something had changed. Something sinister. The ease I had remembered from home did not exist.

A fog of malevolence hung in the air despite the summer heat. Whites peered over their shoulders and blockaded their doors at sunset. Slaves ravaged crops and burned homes, watching orange flames lick the sky like devil tongues. Plantation homes collapsed amid a chorus of screams. On occasion, the Africans trapped a Grand Blanc and made him pay for his sins. Death did not come swiftly for them.

The plantation owners convened to fight back. Whippings and hangings increased. Maman refused to speak of the slaves’ rebellion; to say the words aloud would evoke Ekwensu, the god of war. Despite her Catholic upbringing, she believed in the supernatural, the spirits of the land and sky, over and underneath it all.

Hortense did not sleep well for weeks. Every night she awoke screaming. I held her, stroking her sweat-soaked hair, and sang her back to sleep. But the pain of seeing her live in fear tore at me. When I received an invitation from Uncle Tascher to visit Fort-Royal, I accepted in an instant. A change of scenery would dispel the demons, and I hoped the mood wouldn’t be as threatening there.

Being in town helped, as did the charmed amulet I had hung over Hortense’s bed. Soon after our arrival in Fort-Royal, her nightmares ebbed and our days became placid again. We played for hours in the jewel-toned water, chasing birds or gathering crabs to prod with a stick.

One brilliant afternoon, I accompanied Aunt Tascher to market.

I squeezed several fresh mangoes. “These look good.” I chose a few soft-skinned fruits and paid the
vendeur
. “I’d like to find a toy for Eugène.” His name caught in my throat. How I missed him. His letters detailed his time with Alexandre, learning to shoot, and his favorite friends at school. I tilted my head back and gazed overhead to clear the tears from my eyes. Feathery clouds floated like seeds of the
dent-de-lion
drifting through the meadows at Fontainebleau. The very thing Eugène loved to chase on a summer day with his sister.

“Here we are.” My head snapped down at Aunt Tascher’s voice. “I’ll make a new dress for Hortense’s doll.” She held up a piece of frilly pink cloth.

“Oh, you’ll spoil her!” I teased. “You’ve given her many already.”

“I can’t help myself. She’s such a sweet child.”

We strolled arm in arm to the opposite side of the marketplace. As we entered the hat shop doorway, a pretty brown-haired lady exited. I moved to let her pass, but she blocked our entry.

“Good afternoon, Madame Tascher,” she greeted my aunt. “Rose! Is that you?”

My closest friend from school stood before me in a pale green brocade gown.

“Juliette Despins!”

“It
is
you!” she squealed as we embraced. “I heard you were home from France, but I didn’t know you had returned to town. How is France? You have two children? Are they here with you?”

“One question at a time.” I laughed. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“Why don’t you join us for coffee? I had the cook prepare a pineapple cake this morning,” Aunt Tascher said.

“I would love to.”

The three of us returned to the large white house in the center of town. I had loved Juliette like a sister. We created mischief together at convent school, sneaking late at night to meet boys from the school across town, putting salt in bad-tempered Sister Paulette’s hot chocolate, and wheedling extra fruit tarts from the nuns.

We gossiped all afternoon, until Juliette excused herself to go.

“I’d love it if you would come to dinner next week. I’ve invited half the town.”

“I’ll see you then.” I kissed her cheeks.

Juliette had married well. Her house stood impeccably elegant amid rows of mimosa and frangipani trees. In the front hall, a white marble staircase gleamed. Vases dripped with flowers and servants appeared poised in their suits and gloves. The aroma of spiced crab soup and yams poured from the kitchen, and my stomach rumbled. I had not eaten much that day; it would not do to bulge in my gown.

I wandered among the guests, making new acquaintances and reconnecting with others. Yet, strangely, I felt at odds. My blue silk gown did not mimic the formal styles now worn in Fort-Royal. Parisians had shed the style three years prior; I had stepped back in time. The women eyed me with open hostility. I was no longer one of them. I had become an
étrangère
in my own home.

The rude stares worsened as the dancing began. My card filled rapidly, and I spent only short intervals waiting, unlike many of my former friends. After several consecutive dances, I sailed to a chair to rest. I fanned myself and turned to find several pairs of eyes boring through me.

“Rose, where did you find such a gown? Is it the fashion in France? It seems so . . . daring. Don’t you wear undergarments?” Annette asked with a malicious smile. “That neckline is positively risqué.”

“Yes, quite . . . and your hair . . . it’s au naturel,” Diane continued, clutching Annette’s arm in solidarity.

I regarded their blue powdered hair and heavily padded dresses. “As of late, style has become simpler in Paris. More like the former styles here. Perhaps they are backward.” I smiled. “In truth, I’m relieved. I’m not as becoming as you ladies in ornate dress. But I’ve sent for the few formals I kept in France. I do hope they arrive soon. One hates to look out of place.”

“The men seem to admire your loose gown,” Annette said with disapproval.

I flicked my fan faster. Envious wretch.

I leaned toward them and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “We know men aren’t the authority on taste. That is the ladies’ arena. I discredit a man’s opinion in such a matter. I’m so thankful I have you two to help.”

An absurd assertion. I knew very well when I caught a man’s eye, and I loved it. What woman did not?

Diane and Annette said nothing, but looked at each other in a knowing way.

“And how is your husband?” Diane asked. “Alexandre made quite an impression on our little town. How elegant he was.”

“An exquisite dancer,” Annette sighed.

“I asked for a legal separation. It was granted. He goes his way, I go mine.”

“
Vraiment?
Who has heard of such a thing! Paris must be quite progressive,” Diane said.

“Or a moral abhorrence!” Annette added, her face lined in outrage.

I had no chance to speak before Diane delivered another blow. “Speaking of morality, Alexandre took Georgette, the woman in navy; Pauline, the blonde; and Elodie in violet as lovers.” Diane inclined her head in their direction. “He paraded them around like prostitutes. They didn’t seem to mind that he was both married and had an official mistress.”

My cheeks grew hot. I needed no reminder of my husband’s faults. Or my humiliation.

“And the horrible things he said about you, Rose. He—”

“As I mentioned, we are separated. I see no need to revisit the past.” How dare they be so malicious! I rose from my chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

A musician shouted to the crowd, “Mesdames, messieurs, this will be the last dance of the evening.”

Jean-Luc, a gentleman I had known as a schoolgirl, stepped from the dance floor. “Rose, may I have this dance?”

“I’d love to.” I looked over my shoulder at the women who had not been asked. “Enjoy the last dance.” The rudest thing I could muster without being dreadful. The audacity of those women! Our years of childhood laughter meant nothing to them. Why was I even here? I missed my son, the plantation was dangerous, and my friends were jealous and mean.

I no longer belonged.

Finding money for three passengers to France proved impossible. I wrote to Claire, hoping she might lend me the sum. I despaired at the months’ wait before her response. Being separated from Eugène any longer seemed impossible.

Thankfully, Aunt Tascher held a weekly soiree
that helped pass the time. The governor graced the Tascher home often, bringing the King’s militia, who had arrived from France. One balmy evening, we welcomed them for dinner.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Uncle Tascher ushered them inside.

The few ladies in attendance ogled the handsome crew while they removed their hats. Nothing was more romantic than a soldier.

“Care for a drink?” Mimi circulated with a tray and the gentlemen selected their glasses.

Uncle Tascher placed his hand on my back. “May I present my niece, Rose de Beauharnais.”

“How are things in Paris?” I asked. “Is there any news?”