Wild, Beautiful, and Free(8)

“That child will make herself sick with all that fussing. Take her to her room, where she can rest for a good long time.”

Robie picked me up by my waist, and I kicked at him.

“Take her out of here!”

I spat at her.

She said, “We’ll see who is the mistress of Catalpa Valley.”

Robie kept whispering, “I’m sorry, miss, I’m sorry,” while he carried me down the hall. He said it one more time when he locked the door after putting me down in my room. Only it wasn’t like my room. The maps of Catalpa Valley were gone. My papa’s books were missing. I sat in my newly empty world and waited.





Chapter 2


After a while that barren room—my room and not my room—got to me. Papa gone. The maps of Catalpa Valley gone. Papa’s books, the ones I’d been reading—all gone. I lay on the bed and cried. They were a child’s tears, full of grief and bitterness and frustration. I wanted to keep crying those tears. It seemed to me I should weep for the rest of my life. And I tried to keep crying. Brought up wails from the bottom of my throat and squeezed my eyes until they burned. But finally I felt empty, like I had poured myself all out.

I sat up and wiped my nose with a handkerchief from my pocket. A voice came to me then. Whether it was Papa’s or an angel’s, I don’t know. It said, Sleep now, Jeannette. You must rest, else the journey will be too much for you.

I didn’t question it. I climbed under the covers and fell into a deep and comforting sleep. When I woke hours later, the warmth of the morning sun shining in my face, I felt a settling had come over me. That was what it seemed like. I felt strong. I got out of bed, changed out of the dress I’d worn for over two days, and washed myself. I buttoned up a clean dress and opened my window, which looked out over the back lawn and the path to the gazebo where I’d sat with Papa. The Spanish moss on the grand oak tree shifted back and forth in a late-summer breeze. Where was Calista, and where was our future now?

Papa had prepared me for this time. He had known that one day the maps and the books might be taken away. It was why he had sat with me for hours, why he’d asked me the questions again and again. I stood at the window, and from my tear-soaked throat I spoke the words I knew as prayer, as litany. I spoke the words imprinted on my soul.

“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.”

The words comforted me. I pretended that I could see the maps laid out as big as real life outside my window, and I pointed in the direction of each parcel as I said its name. The land was alive to me in a different way now—no longer mere lines on paper on Papa’s desk. I would have to trust it and trust the feel of the dirt beneath my feet. I didn’t know what would happen to me next, but I knew the daughter of Jean Bébinn would be ready.

No one came to me until the late afternoon, when Dorinda brought me a small bowl of grits, collards, and red beans and a cup of milk. I hadn’t thought about being hungry, but when I smelled the food, suddenly I was starving. While I ate, she looked me over.

“You been taking care of yourself?”

I nodded.

“Good.” She dabbed at my cheeks with the hem of her apron. “Crying in here all by yourself. Ain’t right. Your poor sister don’t know what to do with herself. Been crying nonstop since Master died, but Madame ain’t paying her no mind. Miss Calista been sitting next to Master in the parlor.”

“Papa’s in the parlor?”

“Yeah, in his coffin, dressed nice and ready to be buried.”

“When will they bury him?”

She looked at me, her eyes floating with pity. “I wouldn’t be concerned about that, Jeannette. Not sure Madame’s gonna let you go anywhere anytime soon. She talking about how you were with your papa all that time. How you might have what he died of. Said we gotta keep you away from everyone.”

“Where is Madame?”

“Shut up all day in Master’s library. Been in a fit, got all sorts of strange men coming and going.”

I wanted to be angry and indignant, but again the reason—that’s the best I can call it—settled over me. What did it matter if I was standing next to a hole in the ground when they put what was left of Papa in it? And I felt sure he wasn’t there, that what they would put in the hole had nothing to do with Papa. I had been with him when it had mattered most, to hear the words he’d most wanted to tell me, to know how much he’d loved me. Madame could have the shell of what remained. It was all she deserved and all she knew she had had of him in his lifetime. She had to keep me shut away to keep from being reminded of it.

“Dorinda, you have to take me to Calista.”

She gathered my dish and cup into her apron and looked around as though Madame might come in at any moment.

“Not now,” I told her. “Tonight. After Madame is asleep.”

“I don’t think she’s slept since Master died.”

“I have to see her, Dorinda. Please.”

“All right. I’ll come after the house has settled.”

Calista’s room was in the east wing of the house and one floor below. For once I would be grateful to take the back steps, as it would be the quietest way for Dorinda and me to make our way there. I waited a long time, sitting by the window and watching the daylight fade. When Dorinda finally appeared, she said, “We gotta be quick. Madame ain’t sleeping, just like I said. But she’s in your papa’s library downstairs. Come on. Miss Calista’s waiting for you.”