Oppressed (13 page)

“
I warned you,” Oshun whispered,
as she sat on the bed beside me dressed in a loose white silk gown.
“I warned you! He will do everything to kill your spirit unless you
break it off! Break it off now!” Her voice was wretchedly gloomy,
but powerful- so powerful that the bedroom windows shook and
shuddered with such force that I was afraid they were about to
crumble.

“
Shhhh, please,” I whispered. I
was afraid Edmond would wake up. That was the last thing I wanted.
To my horror, tears started to slide down my face and I let out a
helpless whimper.

Oshun stopped her wailing and held me
in her arms until my tears evaporated and I fell into an uneasy
slumber.

Chapter
Thirteen

There are Many Ways to Get
R
id of an
Unwanted Lover

Cecile LaNuit’s Home, Rue de
Rampart

New Orleans, 1852

“
You know there are many ways to
get rid of an unwanted lover,” said Tante Celeste, as she slowly
sipped her café au lait. “You don’t have to be noble and suffer for
the sake of keeping up appearances. This city loves to
gossip,
oui
,
but another scandal is always around the corner. You can use a
potion and get him to leave, it’s that easy and you know exactly
how to make the right potion,
non
?”

I carefully examined her beautiful face
with its high forehead, round child-like cheeks and wide hazel
eyes, and saw that she was dead serious. I shook my head and
laughed. Only my dear Tante Celeste would actually suggest I
literally get rid of Edmond the ever-so-effective Voodoo way. Why
couldn’t I have been her daughter instead of Maman’s? She was the
only one who seemed to notice my misery and insisted on coming over
for afternoon coffee every Wednesday.

Tante Celeste, like Maman, was
only a little girl when she fled Haiti during the revolution. In
New Orleans, at the age of sixteen, she became the placée of a
wealthy French merchant. The match had been filled with fidelity
and love until the day her protector had died. Marcus Jean Louis
had adored Tante Celeste, and never had the need to legally marry
another woman. After his death she was devastated but resilient.
She started to sell
gris-gris
, advice, potions and various oils from her home, and had
become independently wealthy.

She was the official Voodoo Queen of Rue
de Rampart and the unofficial Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, which
embarrassed and annoyed Maman to no end because, after all, only
savages believed in spirits and the city had a Voodoo Queen on
every street corner. Maman rarely spoke to her and hated when I
visited her. Maman didn’t want me associated with Tante Celeste,
because while being a Voodoo Queen in New Orleans was position that
held respect, it was also one that was incredibly dangerous. Every
disease, epidemic, murder, revolt or other strange occurrence was
blamed on the Queen.

However, I adored Tante Celeste because
she was wild, beautiful, and dangerous but undeniably kind. She
took her role as Voodoo Queen very seriously, and never refused
those who needed her help. People from all walks of life, ranging
from fabulously wealthy royalty to the most down-trodden, flocked
to her when they needed help. And help them she did. She helped
abused lovers get revenge, made love matches, helped those who were
wrongly accused win court cases, made protection charms, cursed
those who deserved it. The list went on and on.

“
I’m serious, Cecile there are
many tricks and oils; and don’t forget the loa. If you’re not
happy, do something about it,” she said, as she observed my
miserable expression.

I laughed. “Sure! That wouldn’t be
suspicious at all. You know how the authorities love to blame all
of the city’s crimes and misfortunes on Voodoo. If Edmond were to
magically disappear that would be the end of me.”

Every day there was some
sensationalized story about Voodoo and Hoodoo. In
The Times
Picayune
and
the
Daily
Crescent
followers were painted as uneducated, evil, superstitious
barbarians who had no right to be free. Some writers and
politicians went as far as to claim that Voodoo was a prime example
of why anyone of African descent was unfit to vote, associate with
a white person or hold public office of any kind.

I found the whole situation amusing and at
the same time disturbing, because even though Voodoo/Hoodoo had
been well and alive in the city since the first slaves from the
Bight of Benin set foot in New Orleans in 1719, it was only now
that it was getting so much media attention. The ignorance of it
all enraged me to no end. Did people truly believe everything they
read?

I brushed off her suggestion outwardly,
but I was seriously considering using her advice because I was in a
somewhat desperate position. It had been exactly three months since
Edmond and I had begun our relationship and things weren’t getting
any better. He still scoffed at everything I said, freaked out if
he saw the slightest evidence of anything Voodoo/Hoodoo-related,
was unnecessarily cruel to the house staff to the point where he
had mercilessly whipped Justine and the poor cook numerous times,
and on top of all of that I’m pretty sure he had his slaves follow
me every time I left the house so I never bothered going anywhere
anymore unless he was with me.

I had tried everything in my power to make
him happy but nothing seemed to work, and the harder I tried the
more he seemed to take pleasure in being vile. He was a relentless
vampire who had for some reason or another set his sights on me and
was now determined to suck me dry.

Although his
day-to-
day
actions spoke otherwise, he insisted that he was madly in love with
me and showered me with expensive gift after gift. I now had
countless jewels, the latest Parisian ball gowns, paintings, marble
statues and a pile of other incalculably expensive items- even a
golden harp which, to my distress, he forced me to play every
Friday night after dinner.

He stayed over every night and his real
wife knew that he was keeping me, which frightened and embarrassed
me to no end even though I couldn’t exactly pinpoint the reason I
felt that way, given our arrangement wasn’t anything unusual within
the city. I wanted desperately to end the match, but I knew that
would mean scandal and ruin within the community, so instead of
doing anything I stayed with him and smiled every time he scoffed,
criticized, or ridiculed me. Of course, I had no one to share these
thoughts with, so I kept them locked away and hidden. Even if I
told anyone, it wouldn’t matter, because most women both white and
colored had it much worse than I did.

Antoine’s prediction had been right. I
felt like a bird trapped in a very luxurious cage. Oh, how I missed
Antoine. Not having him in my life was akin to a walking around
with a severed limb. I had drifted so far from who I was that I had
even resorted to hiding my Voodoo altars in secret locations
throughout the house and every time Edmond came over it was
Justine’s job to make sure he never went anywhere near
them.

I knew the spirits were annoyed with me
because according to them I was disrespecting them by hiding their
altars and not following the path I was meant to follow. Oshun had
been right, Edmond was stealing my spirit. When I looked in the
mirror I barely recognized myself anymore. Instead, I saw Maman,
and I often wondered how long it would be before I finally had the
guts to do something about it. Until I pulled that courage out from
deep within me I knew the spirits would continue to shun me; after
all, they only helped those who chose to help
themselves.

Tante Celeste raised her left
eyebrow and looked at me in silence for a few moments before she
spoke. “I take it the
love
isn’t,” she cleared her throat, “doing you any
favors?”

I furiously shook my head and grabbed a
praline off the platter in front of me. I needed sugar before I
could properly answer her question. The truth was I hated it, no I
LOATHED it, when he kissed me or had sex with me; not because he
was particularly bad or it was horribly unpleasant, but because I
simply did not like him.

I actually detested his company to the
point that it was preferable that he had sex with me so I wouldn’t
have to listen to him scoff. Bed was the only place he didn’t scoff
or rant. Come to think of it, bed was the only place he was rather
quiet, which was why I continued to pretend that I was insanely
enamored with him so I wouldn’t have to talk to him. However, I
prayed and made offerings to all the spirits, sinners, and saints
every day that I would not get pregnant. The last thing I wanted
was to carry any of his children- that would tie me to him for
life. Somewhere deep inside of me I held a tiny bit of hope that I
would be able to free myself from him. The whole situation was
rather complex to the point where I didn’t understand it myself.
“It is what it is,” I said, channeling Maman.

She shook her head, fluttered
her lush lashes and let out a miserable sigh. “You look
awful,
ma
cherie
.”

“
Why,
merci,
that’s exactly what I needed to hear,
especially this week. Edmond’s Oncle is holding a holiday ball
tomorrow. Edmond’s insisted that I go with him. A pretty mistress
has to look pretty, doesn’t she, or what is the point of keeping
her?”

“
Interesting. Does the
Madame know that you are taking her place?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. Even if she
does know, what can she do? Have me whipped or accuse of some crime
that will put me on trial? That would on make Edmond angry, and I’m
pretty sure her position is no different from mine. She’ll be left
in ruin if scandal surrounds her.”

“
Ms. Cecile, your new gown has
arrived!!!” Justine rushed into living room and brought a gust of
cool winter air with her. “It’s gorgeous! Monsieur insists that you
wear it to the ball!”

Of course he
does
. I got
up from the sofa and took the Parisian ball gown from her. “Thank
you, Justine.”

She waved off my thanks and quickly left
the room, probably to go yell at the cook. I had secretly started
to pay Justine for her services and was also teaching her how to
read and write, because I had realized that unlike Maman I simply
didn’t have the heart to keep a slave, nor did I want
to.

I already knew that although there were no
chains on my feet, my position in society was only slightly more
valuable than that of Justine’s or of any other slave in the city.
I could have easily been in her place. That fact alone paralyzed me
with a fear so profound that I had taken a vow to help those less
fortunate than me in any way possible. When the time was right I
was determined to legally free her. Since she wasn’t legally in my
name I would have to sweet-talk Edmond into freeing her, and in
order for that to happen I would have to be extra sweet and
obliging.

Tante Celeste eyed the ball gown.
“It’s stunning.”

I nodded in agreement. Despite his many
flaws, Edmond had impeccable taste in clothes and the beautiful red
satin ball gown trimmed with tulle, swan’s-down, crystal beads, and
black pearls was no exception.

Tante Celeste finished the last of her
coffee and got from the sofa. She lovingly stroked my cheek and
embraced me. “Cecile, I am always here for you. You can always come
to me, no matter what.”

“
You’ll help me get rid of the
body?” I whispered, only half-jokingly.

“
Oui,”
she said with dead
sincerity.

Chapter
Fourteen

The Planter’s Eccentric
Son

Darkwood
Plantation

A few miles outside of
New Orleans,
1852

I stood in the middle of a very lavish
ballroom with high ceilings, fully-lit crystal chandeliers,
finely-detailed porcelain statues, and a waxed floor so shiny that
I almost slipped a couple of times. I caught a glimpse of myself in
the carved gold leaf mirror that was carefully decorated with
flowered garlands, and noticed that I was slumping and scowling, so
I forced myself to stand up straight. Although the red satin ball
gown I wore was stunning and I had spent hours getting my hair
done, on the inside I was a ball of nerves and anxiety.

Excitement, laughter, vibrant music from
an elegant orchestra filled the air along with the sweet smell of
bread pudding drizzled with praline sauce. My attention fell to a
lavish table on which sat a Bayeux centerpiece with elaborate
bronze d'ore mounts. It wasn’t the centerpiece that caught my
attention, but rather the mounds of pralines that sat in it. My
stomach roared viciously and I wanted nothing more than to grab a
fist full of pralines and shove them down my throat.

Beside me, Edmond sipped a flute of
champagne and eyed the other guests disapprovingly. “Look at that
coat!” he huffed. “What was he thinking, choosing to wear something
made by an American rather than a Parisian? Americans simply don’t
have the eye for design or quality.”