Wild, Beautiful, and Free(38)

Anything you want, ma chérie. Anything you want, Jeannette.

The thought scared me. Thrilled me. What could I want beyond a full belly and a place to rest in relative safety?

With Mama’s blood running through me, the things I might want would have, as I was a mulatto, a natural limit. I wasn’t one to dream outside my head, yearning for fantasies. Where I was, at Fortitude, was a small miracle in itself. Who was I, Jeannette Bébinn, with my papa dead, to think I could have anything more?

But something messed with my peace of mind. It felt like seeds in a cotton boll. In my quiet time I picked at the seeds and tried to clear my thinking. I didn’t think too kindly of the world, that’s for sure. I was prone to believe I had value because I’d seen it in Papa’s eyes. And I was God’s child, too, which meant everything. That was what I believed, and because I believed it, it was hard for me to accept what little was offered to me, a girl the world only saw, as Madame had pointed out, as a little nigger girl. It didn’t seem right, not when Papa had meant for me to be more. Surely the lives of the children I taught meant more. And yet the land ran with crazy white men willing to fight a war because they didn’t see it that way.

One day I went to visit the cottage. It was built out of wood and had two rooms, one meant to be a kitchen. At the back was a plain set of stairs that went up to a sleeping area—not a full room, really, and not an attic since it didn’t go the length of the building. A man couldn’t stand up straight in the space, but I could, and that was all that mattered, all I needed. That was all the cottage was: a roof, walls, window holes with no glass, and those stairs. I felt drawn to the little house, though. I would climb the stairs and look out the opening where a round window would eventually be. I could see the road leading to the riverbank and the oak trees bare of leaves and acorns.

I had just finished looking out the window hole and was going down the steps, which I always did carefully because there was no rail, when I heard a rustling noise that seemed to be coming from under my feet. I stopped and listened and thought maybe I was hearing the sound of my own petticoats against the stairs. But then, standing there, I heard a bump and another rustle. I knew the space under the stairs was meant to be a closet or cupboard, but right then it didn’t have a proper door, only a thin slab of wood leaned against it. I thought a squirrel or raccoon had gotten in there and needed to be let out.

When I got downstairs, I went around to shift the piece of wood, and when I did, I saw a pair of dark eyes look up at me, and I just about jumped out of my skin. I recognized the child right off. She sat with her legs crossed underneath her and held in front of her the book she’d been reading.

“Jelly! How did you get in here? You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Bébinn, I didn’t mean to.”

She crawled out of the closet. Her dress was dusty from sitting on the unswept wood, and the tips of her fingers were pale with cold. “It’s quiet here. I can’t rightly hear the words in my head when I’m around everyone else. Reading is easier when I’m in there.”

I nodded. “Yes. I find I can think in this cottage better than anywhere else. Maybe because it’s not finished.”

I walked her home and thought about how I’d probably needed to see her just then. She reminded me of my work and how much I enjoyed it. Jelly’s eyes always seemed eager for filling. When I saw the ten-year-old sitting in the classroom with her big eyes, I felt like I’d need buckets to pour into her the knowledge she was looking for, but I only had a cup, maybe a small pitcher at most. It wasn’t going to be enough no matter how hard I tried, because I had to see to other students who didn’t take to learning as easily as Jelly did. It was something of a relief to know she was taking it on herself to read and add onto whatever I managed to relate to her in school. Maybe one day, if things changed, she could go to college. She could certainly become a teacher.

After I took Jelly home, I walked on to Fortitude in the growing darkness. The new year had been celebrated the week before, so it was 1860, and I considered the new decade as I climbed the hill. Missus Livingston had said that a new president of the United States would be elected this year. Who the new president was would tell me whether I had a chance of returning to Louisiana. But it seemed too far off to contemplate in that moment. I pulled my cloak tighter around me and sat on the front steps. I didn’t want to go in just yet. The moon was rising. Missus Livingston would probably have with me a conversation about the election very similar to the one we’d had the night before. She tended to repeat herself unknowingly. It didn’t seem polite to keep alerting her to this. I thought it better to just listen. If I stayed on the steps, I could delay our little scene for a few minutes longer. I got up and walked down the drive. There must be some remedy to my discontent. I refused to believe such a remedy involved moving on to another position. What change would there be other than location? I could travel the world and still feel this way. The restlessness was within me. It would follow me wherever I went. My heart trembled at the thought because it seemed to foretell a restless life. I looked up at the evening stars and felt a wordless prayer rise from my chest. I didn’t know if it would go anywhere or whether it would find someone who could interpret it. It was just out there floating in the cold winter air. Behind me, I heard the hall clock in the mansion strike the hour, and I knew I was late. Missus Livingston would be wondering where I was. I answered the clock’s summons and turned away from the moon and the stars. I slowly climbed the steps of the mansion and went in.