Wild, Beautiful, and Free(93)

“Yes. Having you gone, there’d be less of a chance of you finding out about the will. It would clear her way.”

“What do we do?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think we have to do anything. She’s not in charge; we’re both here. We just have to be who we are—Jean Bébinn’s daughters.”

She nodded. “Yes. Maybe we can pursue our legal rights after the war.”

That made sense to me. But there was a thing I had to do, something to make sure I was all right within myself.

“I want to see her, Calista. Is that all right? It might bring on another stroke. Make her worse.”

Calista laughed. “Or it could make her want to live just to spite you.”

“Yes.” I smiled. “That would be more like her.”

“In which case you would be saving her life.”

“I don’t know which would be the greater burden.”

She laughed and embraced me again. “I want her to know you’re here. Don’t pay no mind what it’ll do to her. See her for your own peace of mind.”

I nodded. “But not today. I’m not ready yet. All right? Maybe tomorrow.”

“All right.”

Walter joined us for dinner that evening. It wasn’t fancy, just a roast chicken and potatoes. But Calista had Annie light all the candles so the dining room was bright and festive. I noticed Walter had combed his hair and trimmed his beard. When he wasn’t laughing or telling a story, he sat with his left arm across his torso and held his right hand with the index finger and thumb touching and pressed to his lips. I’d seen him look this way in the classroom when he was studying or listening with care. Only now he seemed to be studying Calista.

After breakfast the next morning Calista and I went upstairs to the red room, which was in the same wing where Papa used to sleep and where he had died. I took Calista’s hand, and we opened Madame’s door. The room was heavy with deep August heat, but the bed was stacked with quilts. Madame, propped up by pillows, lay with the blankets pulled up to her chest.

“Mama,” Calista whispered. She went to the left side of the bed and spoke closely into Madame’s ear.

I was behind Calista, partly concealed by her taller figure. Madame’s skin was as pale as cotton and seemed loose, like it was barely attached to her skull. The left side hung even more so, the eyelid bent downward and the corner of her mouth the same, as though those features were melting off her face. My nurse’s heart responded, and I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know anything about her affliction. There was nothing for me to bandage, no medicine I could give.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“Mama, Jeannette is here.”

Madame’s eyes moved around in their sockets like she was trying to focus. “Who?”

“Jeannette Bébinn. My half sister. Papa’s daughter.”

Madame twisted up the side of her mouth that could move. “No no no no,” she moaned. “I don’t know her.”

“She’s right here, Mama.”

Calista stepped aside so I could be in Madame’s sight line. Her eyes widened and took in my face and hair. She looked me up and down. For a moment, I thought she would have another stroke, just like I had said. Her body tensed up, and her paper-white cheeks briefly grew flushed with blood. I thought she was going to sit up and strike me, but then she had this calm come over her. She lay back and formed careful words.

“I don’t know you,” she said slowly.

I saw her retreating, and I knew well what an army did in this circumstance—pursue. I carefully grasped her wrist as gently as possible so I wouldn’t scare her.

“It’s all right, Madame,” I said. “Because I know you.” I paused. “And all that you’ve done to me. I don’t hold you a grudge. I forgive you.”

She didn’t contradict me. Instead I detected a small wry grimace, almost a smile, set in the corner of her mouth.

“Nigger girl,” she said.

I stood and stared at her. I thought of Fanny and focused on the memory of my friend’s face and prayed to reach all my powers of compassion to help quell my anger. I took Calista’s hand. I curtsied to Madame, and to my surprise, Calista did the same.

“I am the daughter of Jean Bébinn,” I said quietly. “My sister and I give you leave to remain in our home. Rest assured, you may die here and do so comfortably. We shall see to it that you have all you need. Good day, Madame.”

Calista and I left the room as we had entered it, hand in hand. Madame made a fuss, and it sounded like she was slapping the bedcovers. I think she was saying, “Give me leave? She gives me leave?” I didn’t turn around. When we got downstairs, I embraced Calista.

“She’s your mother. I honor her on that count, but I won’t see her again.”

Calista sighed. “It’s all right. I understand.” I saw the tears in her eyes. I put my hands on her face and kissed her cheek.

“Come,” I said. “Let’s sit in Papa’s library. It’ll help us feel better.”

The room was vacant. Standing at the threshold of Papa’s library, I put my hand to the locket at my throat. The room wasn’t the same. Madame or the soldiers had moved things around. But I recognized Papa’s books. And there were maps still laid out on the large table near the front window. I walked around and touched the spines of the books on the shelves and the surface of his desk. I sat at the table with the maps.