Wild, Beautiful, and Free(89)

Mont Devreau

Petite Bébinn

“What’s that you keep saying?” Walter asked. “Is it a prayer?”

“Well, for me anyway, it’s kind of a prayer. It’s a list of names, the names of the parcels of land at Catalpa Valley.” I told him about Papa’s lessons and how he’d wanted me to know the land I would someday inherit. I’d had to recite the names to him more than once a day.

“He would make me study the maps and sometimes have me ride with him when he checked on the fields.” I also told Walter how reciting the names had become a steadying prayer, something to hold on to—my hope that I would see those lands again.

“I know how you feel,” he said. He told me about his family’s land, how the orchards were a sea of pink and white blossoms every spring and heavy with red, pink, and green apples each autumn.

“It’s the cycle of it all,” he said. “Knowing that it’s still going on, even though I’m not there. Some nights when I was in the hospital, my shoulder would hurt so badly, but then I would think about what month it was and what the apple trees were doing and what chores I’d be doing if I was at home. I’d be pruning trees or checking them for bugs eating at the bark.”

“Yes, life going on. You’re right. That’s mighty comforting.”

I wish the whole way had been as inspiring. But there was another day when Walter and I came upon the ruins of what must have been a great plantation. Shattered and blackened walls hinted at the original size of the great house. That and the tremendous chimneys that remained. The green lawns displayed the scarring from the hooves that had trampled it. The gardens were overgrown with weeds. Piles of rubbish stood where the perpetrators had burned whatever they couldn’t take with them. At camp that evening, I tortured myself with wondering whether the soldiers hosting us had burned the plantation and whether they had done the same to Catalpa Valley.

About a week into our journey I saw a property marker with the image of the catalpa flower. I looked around and recognized the edge of the northernmost parcel of Papa’s land.

“This is it, Walter,” I told him. “This is where Catalpa Valley begins! Come on, we’re not far now.” I wanted to ride faster, but he made me slow down.

“Miss Bébinn, we don’t know who’s around, friend or foe,” he said. “You don’t want to startle anyone into taking a shot at you.”

He was right. I reminded myself of my resolve to be more watchful, and I listened to him. I slowed, but my heart felt like it was already flying ahead of me. After many more miles I finally saw it in the distance and down the gravel drive: the great house, Papa’s house, still standing. The oaks in front stood as they had before, but now they looked overgrown, with dried moss straggling down from their branches. Some soldiers guarded the drive. They took up their weapons, and one stood as we approached.

“State your business,” he said.

Walter gave his name and regiment, and then he said, “My business is escorting Miss Bébinn here home.”

“Miss Bébinn?” The soldier squinted at me. “You kin to our Miss Bébinn and Madame Bébinn?”

So Madame was still alive after all. I dismounted. “Yes. Is Miss Bébinn here? Is she all right?”

“Yeah.” He motioned behind him. “She up at the house now, tending to her mama.”

I ran. My feet flew. I found more Union soldiers sitting out on the gallery. One of them stood, but before he could say anything, the front door opened, and a tall woman with coppery-blonde hair and high cheekbones stepped out. Her dress fit oddly, and I could see why—it was roughly made with unfinished fabric. Her features had matured, but I knew my sister’s face like I would know my own. She threw her arms open and ran down the steps, screaming wordless cries of joy. Finally my name spilled from her lips.

“Jeannette! Jeannette! Jeannette!” She grabbed me.

“I’m home! Calista, I’m home!”

I sobbed. I would have fallen to my knees, but she held me up, held me tight like she would break me with her love. Oh, how we cried! I hadn’t known, not really, how much I had ached for this moment. Most likely I hadn’t allowed myself to know it. How could I have borne this pain otherwise for twelve years without going crazy?

We must have been a sight. Calista spun me around like we were girls. For a while that was how it seemed—like it was just the two of us playing in the yard. No soldiers, no Madame. Calista held my forehead to hers. Here she was, my blood, my kin. How I had missed this. How I had missed her.

Finally, she wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and we moved as one toward the house. It felt like she would never let me out of her sight again. Her hold on me felt so strong and so good.

“Oh, Jeannette, how did you get here? Where did you come from?”

“Oh my goodness!” I’d forgotten about Walter. Where was he? I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and turned to look for him. He was walking up the drive with our horses.

“Vicksburg,” I said. I raised my chin in Walter’s direction. “General Grant was kind enough to send this lieutenant with me.”

The soldiers around us started to hear the name of the town.

“Vicksburg?” they asked. “Has it fallen?”

Calista and I looked at each other. I think she had forgotten the soldiers too. We recovered ourselves well enough to exercise our manners.