Wild, Beautiful, and Free(5)

Papa’s eyes filled with tears. I moved closer and put my head on his shoulder.

“My wife had burned her there. Threw boiling water on her. I shouldn’t have tried to forget it. I’m ashamed I asked. But she was still so beautiful. Ma belle!”

And she was. There was a calmness in her face and a glow that felt like staring into the full moon on a summer night.

“I wish I looked like her,” I said.

“Ah, but you have her strength, Jeannette. You have her gentle soul.” He took me by the shoulders and held me in front of him. “You are beautiful in your own way, and it’s good that you don’t look like her. When you become a grown woman, it will be important.”

“But why, Papa?”

“There may come a time when you’ll have to pretend Mama was not your mama. That’s why I wanted you to have this. Even if you must pretend, you don’t have to forget.”

“I don’t understand.”

Before he could speak again, Calista called out, “Papa!” and ran to join us in the gazebo. Papa caught her up in his arms.

“Calista! Oh, look how tall you are! One day I’ll return to find my little girl all gone, and you will be a woman.”

“Almost, Papa,” she said. “Almost!”

“Look, a present for you too!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out another locket similar to mine. Calista knew how to open it, and she smiled even wider when she saw the portraits. The one of Papa was the same. Madame’s portrait looked recent, and I guessed it had been done when she’d gone to New Orleans last summer. She wore a midnight-blue gown that made her yellow hair bright. Her shoulders seemed stiff with pride.

I held out my palm and showed her my locket. We sat close, examining the portraits.

Papa said, “So you and Jeannette will remember us when we’re gone.”

“Oh, Papa, we will never forget you!” Calista threw her arms around his neck.

“Yes, but you both need to remember that you are my blood. Catalpa Valley is my blood and sweat, and it’s all I’ve got to give you. Calista, you will have what the law won’t allow for Jeannette. You must make sure she gets the land of Petite Bébinn.”

Calista laughed. “Papa! Jeannette and I will always be together.”

Papa pulled us toward him, a daughter in each arm. “Oh, I hope so. I hope so, my little ones.”

“Yes,” I said. “The moss from the oak will grow over us and keep us here.”

He laughed. “Let’s pray that we won’t need it. I can’t have you all living in the trees!”

He held us, and I thought about how I had been right about Madame. She owned nothing.

“Calista, where is your mama? Does she know I am home?”

I saw her hesitation. By this time of day Madame could be in one room and her mind in another. My half sister answered simply. “No.”

“Then go tell her. She’ll want to get herself ready for dinner.” He said the word ready like it had two rough edges he would sand down with his tongue.

“Yes, Papa!” Calista kissed him on the cheek and ran back across the lawn to the house.

When she was gone, Papa turned to me, took my wrist in his hand, and examined it. Dorinda had applied a soothing paste with a cloth, but the scrape still shone red on my skin. I lowered my eyes, but he lifted my chin with his other hand.

“You won’t tell me how you got this, will you? Not the truth anyway.”

I whispered, “No, Papa.”

“Because Madame had something to do with it. You don’t have to lie, Jeannette.”

“Please don’t be angry with her, Papa. I know she doesn’t like me. But I’m all right. She won’t really hurt me because of you.”

“True, but you must learn to protect yourself, Jeannette. Life will not be easy for you because I loved your mama. More people will be unkind to you, even worse than she. I will do what I can, but Madame is only a taste of the rest of the world. You must be strong, Jeannette. And you must never forget your mama.”

I would have said How can I forget what I didn’t know, but then I held her face in my hands. I opened the locket and looked at her again. Mama’s head was turned almost hesitantly as though she wanted to question someone about why she had to be in the frame. She had a fullness to her face—not fat like Dorinda but healthy, well cared for. I recognized this roundness in my own face and sought to find more similarities. We seemed to share small ears cupped like tiny seashells to the sides of our heads. But she would make you look twice. A spark in her dark eyes caught you, made you wonder. I looked more like Papa, and I thought nothing about my looks would ever inspire a second viewing.

As much as I loved examining her side of the locket, it was his face I would never forget. I wondered at how he could ever doubt it. To me the word mother is the same as father because he was so completely both to me. I mimicked his voice when I learned to speak. And he taught me how to read, sitting on his lap in the evenings in his study. His warmth was my sun, his calmness my moon. But I answered because I wanted to please him.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Did you study the maps today?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Tell me where your land is, Jeannette. What marks Petite Bébinn?”

“Petite Bébinn is bordered on the south by the line of laurel oak that runs up until you get to the cotton fields in the west. It is the farthest parcel of Catalpa Valley.”