Wild, Beautiful, and Free(37)

“It wasn’t peaceful where you come from?”

“No. I came from New York City.”

“But you know peaceful.” She sat down and motioned for me to do the same. When I did, she peered at me closely. “You wouldn’t feel it if you didn’t know it. Must have had peace sometime.”

“I did. The place where I was a girl was peaceful. But I was taken from there.”

I drank my tea, but she said nothing more. Finally, I asked a question.

“Missus Livingston said you were from Louisiana. Maybe you know where I’m from?”

“Where you from? Who your people?”

I told her. I don’t know why, but I felt I could tell her. I spoke of Papa and recited the litany of our land. I told her about Catalpa Valley and Madame and how she’d sold me to Amesbury after Papa had died.

She sat back and considered me again closely.

“You’re free with that information,” she said when I was done. “You don’t seem concerned about being half-negro.”

“It’s just who I am. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

She drained her cup and wiped her mouth. “It’s not about shame, girl. It’s about safe.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“How old are you?”

“I am twenty.”

“Then you old enough to know.”

She got up and opened her door.

“Time for me to nap now. You can come on back another time. I ain’t going nowhere.”

I was confused, but I accepted her dismissal. I thanked her and returned to my own room.

That evening, at dinner, I thought about how my interview with Founder had only brought on more questions. I figured the absent Mr. Colchester must hold the answers to what I didn’t know about Lower Knoll.

“Have you had any word,” I began, “of when Mr. Colchester might return?” I uncovered a fragrant dish of stew with roasted vegetables.

“No, and I must admit, he is often negligent on that count. When Mr. Colchester does take up residence, it’s often on a whim. Founder likes to say, ‘You look for Christian when you see him!’” She chuckled.

“Christian?”

“Yes. His name is Christian Robichaud Colchester. Founder and I call him Christian, but of course he’s Mr. Colchester to most everyone else.”

“Is he very informal?”

“Not particularly so, but he was born and raised a gentleman. He’s twenty-eight years old. He was very young when he inherited his father’s estate. I find, sometimes, he needs to be reminded of his manners. He can be, well, rough sometimes.”

“But you like him?”

“Oh yes; it’s obvious he has a kind heart. You can see that from Lower Knoll. But he’s restless and sometimes, I think, unhappy. No more than other young men, though.”

“What is his personality?”

“He is clever and well read but comes off as rather peculiar. He has traveled a great deal—I believe he is in Europe now. I never know for certain.”

“Peculiar?”

“I don’t know—how can I describe it? When he speaks to you, it can be hard to tell whether he is serious or making a joke, whether he is pleased or not pleased. I admit, I often just don’t understand him. I’ll leave it at that.”

October, November, and December passed away. If it seemed I was settled and satisfied in my life at Fortitude, it was an untrue image. Missus Livingston spoke of the restlessness of young men. She didn’t know that young women could have the same energized spirit. I was such a woman. I’m sorry to say I was perturbed, maybe even more than when I’d lived in the slave quarters at the Holloway Plantation. Because then I’d had a sense of something I had to do, of vital work coming up next. My whole body had been bent on leaving that place and then on making sure I didn’t get sent back. What reason was there to have such a focus at Fortitude? And yet I had this feeling of something to come. I didn’t know if I had to do anything to help it along. It felt strange. Ungrateful. Here I had good work I could do, I had good food to eat, and I lived unharmed.

Perhaps my restlessness was stoked by my connections. Missus Livingston was kind, and I enjoyed our evening hours together, but our conversation was neither challenging nor inspiring. I didn’t develop any particular friendships in the village, though I hoped that would change once I was living in the cottage. On the odd occasion that Founder allowed me to sit with her, she seemed more interested in speaking generally about human nature and “the way people are.” She saw me as hugely naive and needing guidance in this area. She intrigued me, but she was not a close friend, nor did it seem she would become one. So I was dissatisfied with my society but unsure of what connection I did want. Were all women supposed to be as placid as Miss Temple and Missus Livingston? Aunt Nancy Lynne had something of a fire about her, and that determination had lit me up on days when I’d thought I would never leave Holloway’s. Would I ever have such a friend again?

There were times when I would walk down the hill from Fortitude and I had a sensation like the valley, the world, was laid out before me on a table like a feast. It was like that faraway dream I’d once had. But in the real-life picture, I thought I could hear a voice that was either my papa or something bigger talking to me.