Wild, Beautiful, and Free(66)

“Where will it all go?”

“Colonel Eshton has written, and likely it will go to troops on the western side of Virginia, not far from here. Someone from the village will deliver everything.”

I placed a hand over her hand with the floating pencil. “Missus Livingston,” I said, “you’ve spoken to Mr. Colchester?”

“Yes, he was just here. I must confess, I’m stunned by what he’s told me. He’s going to marry you?”

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” I smiled and squeezed her hand.

She looked at me, and I could see her forehead, right above her eyes, was pinched with doubt and concern.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Sure that this is what you want?”

“Yes, of course! I think it’s the most beautiful miracle ever.”

“But dear, that’s what I mean. It’s so unexpected. I know this may sound old fashioned, but really, a man like Mr. Colchester doesn’t marry schoolteachers or . . .”

She turned away, and I let go of her. I knew the rest of her unspoken sentence, but we had gone beyond that.

“Say it, Missus Livingston. I need to hear it.”

“He is a white man. Are you sure he means to marry you? I know you both have history where white men are accustomed to having mixed-race mistresses . . .”

Still she couldn’t say it. I knew the word, though I had not heard it spoken aloud since I was a child: placée. It is what my mother would have been had she lived—as good as a wife but less than a wife. Many fair-skinned negro women lived this way in Louisiana, with their white husbands in their own homes while they maintained white families elsewhere. Placées even bore them children, but nothing was sanctified by church or law. One could say they were only a step or two above the fancy girls in whorehouses. I refused to believe I had escaped that fate in Mississippi only to end up as Christian’s mistress now. I’d rather die alone.

“We are not going to be like that! He wants to marry me.”

“My dear . . .”

“No!” I cried and stomped my foot. “I believe him. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Jeannette Bébinn, from the moment you entered this house, you have felt like a daughter to me. I blame myself for not speaking to you sooner. He changed so much after you arrived. I thought he might be fond of you, but—”

I interrupted. “You admit I have been a good influence on him?”

She hesitated. “Yes, but what about his influence on you? He may mean well, but . . .” She paused. “There are laws. And you have no one else to protect you.”

I chafed. I didn’t think of myself as needing protection. I hadn’t thought of legality. Laws, in my mind, never existed in my favor. What Madame Bébinn had done to me was proof of that. I did believe, though, that Missus Livingston had my best interests at heart. I couldn’t be angry with her. Still, I was unsettled. By law, I might not have a choice about how I lived with Mr. Colchester.

“It will be all right,” I told her. “Please. Just leave us alone.”

My mind was so thick with worry that when I got to the hall, I walked with my hand on the wall to steady myself, like a blind woman in somebody else’s house. Mr. Colchester met me there. He held a picnic basket and had a plain gray blanket folded and draped over one shoulder. He took my hand, and we made our way on foot away from the mansion and toward the river. We walked awhile in silence before he finally spoke.

“Jeannette? You are not the same as you were earlier. What’s wrong?”

“Missus Livingston is worried. And now so am I.”

“She has scared you. I see that.” He stopped and turned to face me. “What did she say?”

“Nothing that wasn’t true. I forgot about your position and didn’t think about the consequences.”

“Position? Consequences?”

I felt his agitation growing and gently pulled my hand from his tightening grip.

“Christian,” I said quietly, “white men don’t marry women like me.”

“And do you think I’ve been just as thoughtless? Truthfully, Jeannette, I erased any doubts on that score long ago. I don’t care what the world thinks.”

“What about Founder? What did she say?”

“She is a puzzle, and I’m sure you already know that. But she will be what she will be.” He reached for me again, but I evaded his grasp.

“You said she counsels you?”

“It doesn’t matter! I know my own heart; I don’t need counsel. Let’s not think about it anymore, Jeannette. I could get blasted to kingdom come by the end of the summer, and none of this will matter. The time is precious. We’re here now. Please. I don’t want to waste it.”

He took my hand and led me down to the riverbank, where he spread out the blanket and placed the basket on it.

“Let’s sit here and talk as lovers—an experience neither of us knows well.”

I sat on the blanket and sighed. Lord knows how much I wanted to put away my worry. I was happy enough to ignore Missus Livingston and Founder, but there were questions in me that demanded more. I wouldn’t be easy until he delivered the answers. “Christian, I need to know.”

“What? Ask me questions. I will do my best.”