Wild, Beautiful, and Free(62)

“Nothing could be further from the truth.” He moved to the bench and sat down. “On such a night I want to be in the company of a friend.”

He motioned for me to join him, but I remained standing. “The night, sir?”

He sat back and crossed his legs. “Do you ever feel homesick on nights like this, Miss Bébinn?” He tilted his head backward and inhaled deeply.

I looked up and surveyed the line where the sky’s pink hue had deepened into a pale blue now darkening. “Yes, sir. Summers in Catalpa Valley are very hot, but I never minded. It felt like everything was overgrown and would keep growing just luscious and crazy.” A small smile formed on my lips. “I guess I thought Eden must be like that. The earth smelled rich. The flowers were like perfume.”

He nodded. “Louisiana is like that,” he said. “Not always so beautiful but magnetic still.”

“How do you mean?”

“New Orleans is crowded, smoky. On a night like this the streets can stink so bad you don’t want to go outside. But you do because New Orleans is like a huge front porch, and the city stands there greeting the world. All sorts of people come through the port. All over the place, people are making deals; people are making love. The energy radiating through the air. I adored it.”

My face burned.

“But come away from the city, and it’s all wild and beautiful—the moss hanging long like lace from the trees; the still waters croaking with life in the bayou.”

“Catalpa Valley is closer to the Mississippi,” I said. “A little further north. But just the same. Just like that.”

A sensation like a warm, loving river flooded my chest and overtook me. I wanted to say more and knew what I wanted to say—in fact, I hungered for the words in my mouth:

“Fifty thousand acres make up our plantation, Catalpa Valley. The parcels are named Belle Neuve, Baton Bleu, Siana Grove, Chance Voir, Belle Verde, Mont Devreau. There is a section Papa set aside for me, five thousand acres, called Petite Bébinn. That is my home.”

“You must have wanted to go with your friend, to go all the way back home.”

“I did, very much.”

“Why didn’t you?”

I shifted back and forth on my feet. If he knew what he was asking me, he’d know I could have started walking south right then, at that very moment, and not stopped until I saw Calista’s face again and wrapped myself in Dorinda’s arms. I put my hand in my pocket and touched the stone from Papa’s land.

“It’s not safe,” I said. “Fugitive Slave Act will keep it that way for now.”

“You’ll go back someday?”

“I hope to. Maybe after the fighting if slavery is finally abolished.” I grasped the rock but kept it hidden in my pocket as I stepped toward him. “Even if it isn’t, I will find a way to return and free the people on our plantation. I miss it. But I haven’t grieved it all this time, because I had a home here, Mr. Colchester. I grieve it now because this home is going to change, which is just as good as losing it.”

Tears crept into my throat, but I kept speaking to keep them at bay. “I’ve known freedom here, true freedom. And I have been given the space and the attention in which I could become fully myself—with attention from you. In our every interaction, with every gesture, I’ve come to know what it is to be appreciated for myself, my thoughts, my words.” I looked up at the sky again. It was a deepening shade of indigo. “And now I must find another place, and until then I’ll be lost.”

He leaned forward and clasped his hands.

“Will you be sad to leave me, Jeannette?” he said. “I would be sad for you to go.”

He paused, and I, startled, tried to see his face. In the gloaming it was hard to discern his features. He’d never called me by my name before. I was sure he was making fun of me. It seemed with each word he breathed life into an ember within me.

“It has been a mystery to me,” he said, “how I could be surrounded by people who have all come from the same place—for almost every soul in Lower Knoll fled Louisiana—and yet you are the one, the strange one, who still holds it within you. You hold it as I do. We have shared this bond, and I think I will lose something of myself if we can’t go on like we have.”

God, what sentimentality was this?

“And yet we can’t go on,” I said. “Times are changing, sir. The fighting—nothing will be the same. Some bonds will have to be broken.”

He stood and stepped toward me. “That’s strange talk! Explain yourself.”

“As a people, we come together to preserve the Union, but in other ways we must fend for ourselves, each individually.”

“How so?”

“Those of us who have no family to influence our decisions, we can make choices for ourselves. We can decide whether or not to fight, whether to seek the field or stay at home, whether to find a way to profit and seek fortune.”

“What do you care for fortune?”

“I don’t. I only use it as an example.” I sighed. “But if I had it, I wouldn’t have to wait to go back home.”

“Fortune has its own anchors.” He took another step toward me and this time touched my arm. “But you and I are not alone.”

“You are not. I am, sir. You’ll have a wife soon.”