The Casquette Girls (27 page)

* * *

Even though it had only been a few days since I discovered her, I had become obsessed with Adeline Saint-Germain. She was one more puzzle for me to figure out. Considering that my father’s parents had died so soon after my mother left, family was not a topic I frequently broached with
him—not that I really wanted to now—it’s not like I could casually bring up a three-hundred-year-old relative without raising a few questions, which I certainly wasn’t prepared to answer. That left me with Adeline’s necklace and her diary, neither of which I ever left farther than arm’s length.

My attachment to these artifacts was different
from the love I usually had for all things vintage. I had an unexplainable, overwhelming need to protect them. Someone had obviously gone to extraordinary lengths to hide the diary, and knowing that they must have had the same kind of ability as me fueled my obsession.

Unfortunately, thanks to Franz Kafka and a mountain of other “so you can catch up with the other Sacred Heart students” homework, plus my mentorship, I was swamped. I fell asleep each night translating the pages, figuring that when I finished the entire thing, maybe I would show it to my father and ask him about it. The ornate handwriting, faded antique ink, and eighteenth-century French made the translation process drag, but I continued obsessively nonetheless, hanging on to every word, romanticizing her grand adventure.

* * *

I felt myself gradually becoming more and more withdrawn, which wasn’t difficult given that no one at school spoke to me except for
Thurston Van der Veer, (who turned out to be Annabelle Lee’s boyfriend). This, of course, made me a massive target with Annabelle’s clique. Having to avoid the one person in school who paid attention to me only further annoyed me.
Didn’t he know other girls were not allowed to speak to Annabelle Lee Drake’s boyfriend? Didn’t he know that his attention was causing me to become the most hated girl at Sacred Heart?
Sometimes I just wanted to scream at him to GO AWAY.

The worst part was that although I could feel the hate emanating from Annabelle Lee (and so could everyone else), she was always sweet as pie to me, even though the fake tone in her voice sent a signal to all those within earshot that I was not to be welcomed, spoken to, assisted, or even looked at until she decided what to do with me. She was a shark, constantly circling, just waiting for the right time to attack. No one wanted to be near the shark bait. With good reason.

As far as I could tell, there were only three people who didn’t bow down to her authority.

The first was her BFF, Désirée, who, don’t get me wrong,
was deeply woven into the social order threads of the student population but whose general attitude of disdain seemed to trump everything, including Annabelle’s dictatorship. I guess that’s what happens when you are born with everything, or when your father is the mayor. Or maybe it’s just what happens when you are that beautiful – rules no longer apply to you.

The second was her little sister, Katherine Lee Drake, who was my chemistry lab partner.
Knowing the only interaction I had to look forward to was the sophomore who was obligated to work with me made me feel extra pathetic, but I shouldn’t complain because she was nice. Unlike Dixie Hunter, who, every day, made it apparent how ready and willing she was to do whatever necessary to earn a permanent place in Annabelle’s throng.

Everything about high school seemed so trite now. I pretended not to care.

Then there was the only person who outright refused to bow down to any social hierarchy in the school: Tyrelle. I did everything I could to try to win him over – my next step was to cook up the dusty box of brownie mix in our pantry (with no milk or eggs, of course) and beg. The grapevine told me that he was the son of one of the most famous rappers to ever come out of New Orleans, or all of the Dirty South. His father had been in more scuffles with the law than could be counted on two hands, and one of his brothers was currently serving time for an infraction involving a gun. So, everyone steered totally clear of him, as if he was suddenly going to pop a cap. Tyrelle seemed to like it that way, but I was pretty sure the only thing he was popping was the curve in our Pre-Cal class.

I tried to keep a low profile, but sometimes my parlor trick made that impossible. On multiple occasions, I hadn’t been able to keep my locker from slamming open, and once it had nearly clocked the head of a burley lacrosse player whose locker was on my left; another time it nicked his hand. On that occasion, he had thought I was flirting and said something idiotic like, “So, you like it rough?”

Tyrelle, whose locker was on my right, had laughed (at the locker slamming the lacrosse player, not at the lacrosse player sexually harassing me). I wanted to punch them both, but I was so nervous wondering if Tyrelle had witnessed how my locker had flown open I just ran away.

The
angrier I became at Annabelle Lee Drake, the more impossible it became to control my abilities – until today, that is. (Not that I found the logical explanation for why it was happening.)

I was at Café Orléans
,
technically working, but since customers hardly ever walked through the door, I was pulling double duty and having my French tutoring session with Jeanne. A week ago, I would have cherished getting to spend one her rare moments away from the university laboratory, but instead it was agonizing. I just wanted to tell her everything and ask questions, but, with no evidence to support my claims, the scientist in her would have fretted over my lunatic hypothesis. Much more than her brother, Jeanne struggled to ever take off the lab coat and look at something without her soon-to-be doctoral title. Of course, I did have one piece of proof that something in my life was awry, but I wasn’t willing to reveal that just yet.

I was returning from the bathroom, trying to fabricate an excuse so I could go home and curl up with Adeline’s diary, when Jeanne looked up from the table with a perplexed brow.

“Why are you creating these lists?”

She’d been reading a page in my notebook – my documentation of everything I had successfully been able to move or not move telekinetically.

I grabbed for the notebook, but she quickly pulled it out of my reach. I coyly tried to turn the tables. “What do you think the lists are?”

“Ugh, a list of objects that contain metals and a list of… random junk.”

I ripped the notebook from her hands and scoured the lists.

She was right.
I am an idio
t
,
I thought, but was too excited to be down on myself about the oversight. “How do you do that!”

“Do what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“What are the lists for?”

“Um…”

Maybe I should just tell he
r
?
Her giant brain might have just come up with the explanation I had been searching for. “It’s just something for my chem lab.”

“And what exactly are you studying in your chem lab?”

“Um, something about mineral properties… you know, melting points and freezing points, stuff like that.”

“In a sophomore-level chemistry class? I thought that school was supposed to be the best? Sheesh, no wonder the sciences are going down the tubes.”

My answer must have been spastic-enough sounding, because she bought it. At least, I think she did. We spent another forty-five minutes conjugating irregular French verbs, but I couldn’t think about anything but metals. I was clawing at the walls to finish the lesson so I could get out and test her theory. Needless to say, apprenticing with my father in the metal shop was about to become a lot more interesting.

(translated from French)

10
th
March 1728

One would think that, stuck aboard a ship with no one but nuns and orphans, I would be writing nonstop out of boredom, but alas, somehow the time has slipped by. The good news is I have finally gotten my sea legs, as the sailors say, so now it is easier to write without feeling dizzy from the constant push and pull of the ocean’s grip. The weather has been tumultuous, with rain pounding down on our vessel both night and day, but now the sun is shining, and one of the sailors has secured my parasol to help shield against both the blazing rays and the spray of the ocean. The cool mists are refreshing, but they are good for neither paper nor ink.

As the sailors hustle around me, pushing the ship to her limits to make up for lost time, I sit in solitude, recording this adventure, wondering where in the world you are, and praying that writing will distract me from the ever-present cabin fever. Father, I do trust that you have a good reason for sending me to
La Nouvelle-Orléans
; however, I am angry about the way in which you sent me. I would have thought my nursemaid (of sixteen years!) would be a better choice of traveling companion than Monsieur and Madame DuFrense, who still seem like strangers to me, though we have had a few good conversations. I might as well be traveling alone, Papa, which is exactly what I told Monsieur Cartier that morning in Paris, when, to my surprise, he showed up at the dock to bid me
bon voyag
e
.
It could have been quite a romantic parting, but he spoilt it by, again, rather adamantly insisting I sneak him onboard the ship in my luggage.

The gentleman has a funny sense of humor, Papa. He pretended to tease, but my intuition told me that if I had taken him seriously for even a second, his words would no longer have been a joke. I believe he actually
did
want to come aboard the ship in my trunk! Despite the strange request, I do admit to favoring him, and I do hope to see him again on the other side of the Atlantic. I feel like we could have many grand adventures together, just like you and me, Father.

Alas, keeping the spray of water from ruining the pages is becoming too difficult, so this story will have to continue at a later date.

11
th
March 1728

It’s hard to imagine being aboard this ship for months. Almost none of the other passengers will speak to me – everyone knows I am the daughter of a count. This leaves me with only the Monsieur and Madame DuFrense, Captain Vauberci, and the Reverend Mother Superior Marie Lorient. Apparently, the sisters of the Catholic faith have a strict hierarchy, which mirrors the rest of French society, and this is why three of the nuns do not speak to me at all. Thankfully, it wasn’t because they thought I was a lady of ill repute. I hope that over time the usual societal hierarchies can be abandoned, even if only temporarily, while we are trapped aboard this ship, otherwise I might have to throw myself overboard to avoid dying of boredom. I will try not to harp on this now, and will instead give you the details you requested, no matter how banal I consider them.

The breakfast mostly consists of a little bread and hard cheese. The DuFrenses and I are also given a lump of sugar for our tea and some dried fruit, which riddles me with guilt as the orphans, who get none, sit near us at one long table. We eat breakfast with the captain at a small, round table.

If I have counted correctly, onboard there are twenty-six teenage girls, all being sent to
La Nouvelle-Orléans
at the request of the King, and six sisters of the Order of Saint Ursula, who are looking after them and who will, as I understand it, board and school them until they are all married off to French settlers in the new colony. All of the passengers are stacked in bunks of six to a room except for three orphans who for some reason were given their own cabin. Of course, I have my
own première classe
cabin, as do the DuFrenses.

I find the couple I am traveling with pleasant enough – Claude DuFrense plans to develop real estate in the city and has been telling me much about the layout of the town. His fervor for the endless investment opportunity is infectious; however, his wife is less than thrilled to be “ripped away from the heart of the world.” Martine DuFrense is an opera singer, and she has made it abundantly clear
that her life is over, having left Paris. Claude promises to build her the grandest opera house in all the world and being reminded of this momentarily raises her spirits, but most of the time she stays locked up in their cabin, sinking further into depression.

I hope that once the weather permits a bit of socializing on the deck, we can be friends. As things stand now, I end up spending most of my time talking about our destination with the crewmen, who have no problem speaking out of social order – as long as the captain is out of earshot.

17
th
March 1728

I apologize for not writing, but the task of reliving the boring days by writing them down is even worse than living them. My health has been good, but some of the orphans have suffered from seasickness. The poor things sometimes look so pale and can do nothing but lie in their cabins suffering from light-headedness and fevered dreams. Other than a couple of screams in the middle of the night from these girls, there really has been nothing to report.

There is a strong sense of camaraderie amongst the orphans, despite the seasickness and only having the slightest amenities. Every day I grow more jealous of them because they have all become friends. The orphans have each other, the DuFrenses have each other, and the nuns have each other – even the crewmen have each other. I try not to wallow in my own misery because, as you know, being emotional makes it more difficult for me to control myself.

Captain Vauberci senses my loneliness and sometimes allows me to sit next to him while he uses foreign instruments to study the stars and keep us on track even as Mother Nature fights his efforts. He tells me stories as he drinks spirits in between shouting commands at the crew, always trying to make up for lost time. I often wonder if his kindness to me is just out of obligation because of the fame your name carries, Father? But I do not care either way; he is the only companion I have. If only the society ladies could see me now, sitting alone with the drunk, middle-aged captain. It would be enough gossip to keep them entertained all season.

23
rd
March 1728

As my loneliness continues to grow, there are three girls in particular whose relationship drives me mad with jealousy. They are sisters – triplets, in fact, with the exact same fair skin and blonde hair so bright it shimmers white like the moon. They don’t get the same special treatment that my ticket affords me, but they are the ones I previously mentioned who have their own cabin to share, despite being with the “King’s daughters” (as I have heard the orphans being called by the crew). These triplets have a sense of spirit that seems to transcend societal constraints, yet they still do not speak to me. I cannot understand why not, and this drives me mad.

I long to talk, to laugh, to sing, to dance, but more than anything, I long to know these sisters. And yet every time I approach them, they stop their excitable whispers. They don’t look at the ground when I pass like the other girls do; they look at me with suspicion, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust me – a feeling I am all too accustomed to from hobnobbing with the Parisian aristocracy. Sometimes at night, I pass a cabin and can hear them singing to entertain or comfort the other girls, and last night I caught them on deck, dancing under the light of the moon! They looked like goddesses, with their hair loose and wild, and their nightgowns fluttering in the nautical breeze. They danced and giggled, utterly unconcerned that their bare feet were exposed to the elements! I have never wanted anything more than to join them, but fear of rejection kept me in the shadows, alone in my misery.

Each day, I find myself becoming more and more withdrawn, Papa.

This is absurd! Let it be written that I am determined to befriend these girls. If I can survive sixteen years of the scandal and rumors that come with being the daughter of
le
Comte de Saint-Germain
, then I can certainly win over three sisters aboard this ship. Tonight, I will devise a plan.

24
th
March 1728

At breakfast, I snuck my lump of sugar and dried fruit into a fold of my dress, along with a seashell given to me by a sailor, and left these small tokens (wrapped in a hair ribbon) on the pillow of the sister who I’ve heard called Cosette.

28
th
March 1728

After three days of leaving small treats to no avail, I returned to my cabin to find the hair ribbons tied to my doorknob. I hope this is a sign that things are progressing favorably.

29
th
March 1728

Today was the most eventful evening I’ve had since you left me in Paris, Papa. I was feeling restless and could not sleep, after another day that had dragged, and even though we are not supposed to leave our cabins after dark, I threw my cloak over my gown and slipped into the narrow path of light created by the beams of the crescent moon.

On deck, nightfall had unveiled a sky of a million stars.

The sounds of the crashing waves disturbed the silent night, and the cold spray enlivened my senses. The closer I got to the far end of the ship, the more I thought that I heard the beautiful sounds of song. I hurried to find the source.

At the end of the stern, I saw the backs of Cosette, Minette, and Lisette. They were sitting with their feet dangling, seemingly without fear of being washed overboard, singing “Au Clair de la Lune.” The melody blended with the rippling waves in a delicate harmony, as if the ocean itself also knew this tune. The sailors sat perched like stone gargoyles at their night posts, so comforted by the lullaby that they allowed the girls to continue rather than sending them back to bed.

Careful not to disturb them, I sat next to Cosette, and after a breath I joined the verse: “
My candle is out, I have no more light.”

They looked at me for a moment, and then we continued the lullaby together, looking back toward the hidden horizon. As I searched for the line where the real stars ended and their reflections on the black waves began, all thoughts emptied from my head. I closed my eyes and became lost in the motion of the boat.

Soaking wet, we continued to sing for another hour through our chattering teeth. At some point during the song, everything became as it should. We knew that our voices blended together were stronger than each was on its own. It was a feeling of kinship I had never felt before. A feeling of great power.

I had thought nothing could ruin that moment of perfect serenity, until a bloodcurdling scream suddenly tore through the S.S.
Girond
e
.

Instantly the four of us, along with several of the lullaby-hazed seamen, took off running towards the screaming. By the time we reached the dormitory corridor, there were already half a dozen sailors with swords in hand, ready to battle any intruder who may have stowed away and only now been discovered.

We found a nun cradling an orphan inside one of the cabins. Another nun was holding up a lantern to the girl’s ghostly face, and a third began shooing the men out of the room. Sweat fell from the girl’s shaking face and there was a smear of blood across her neck. Minette took her hand and called out her name, but, despite her chest rising and falling, nothing made her respond.

Cosette grabbed the hand of one of the other girls in the room and demanded an explanation. The girl told Cosette they had all been asleep in the pitch-black room and not seen a thing, and the other girls, all trembling, nodded in agreement.

As one of the nuns cleaned the wound, it was deduced that the sick girl must have suffered a terrible nightmare due to seasickness and scratched herself in her sleep. Nevertheless, the captain stationed a sailor to guard the door, and the novice stayed with her throughout the night in case she woke.

Alas, I just saw shadows pass through the faint light shining under my door. I must now extinguish my flame, as we are not allowed to use candles or lanterns in our rooms, not that I have either.

1
st
April 1728

The injured girl, Sophie, keeps a temperature too high to wake from. Cosette sneaks into the girl’s room in the middle of the night with a pulp made from herbs she brought onboard from Paris. She applies this to the girl’s wound, which she seems to have developed a mild obsession with. I find this to be a tad gruesome.

Some of the girls continue to suffer from seasickness, especially in the mornings, but the symptoms usually dissipate by lunchtime. Nothing more out of the ordinary has happened. I spend my days either on my own or with the DuFrenses, and my nights with my three new companions.