House of Rougeaux(17)

All the next day Abeje was wakeful, but too tired to rise. She lay beside Ayo who slept, still feverish but tranquil now. The women brought water, tea and maize porridge. That evening Abeje went again into the stream to cleanse herself, and slept well that night. Next day, when Abeje returned to the Sick House she sensed the fever among the people had now passed its peak, though it would be some weeks before it was finally spent. She had but a few days left at Mont Belcourt Estate to do what she could, and the people there now knew the plants they could brew for medicine.

Ayo recovered and they had their last evenings by the cooking fire. Abeje taught her Iya’s songs and she sang them to her rag doll, Claudine. The other children gathered round and wanted to learn also, and the songs became new when she heard the children sing them together. Abeje closed her eyes to listen. Their voices danced like the sun on the sea. She longed to see her brother. She had so much to tell him.



* * *



It was two more years before Adunbi earned permission from Old Monsieur to travel as far as Mont Belcourt to see his daughter, and it took him many Sundays of work to pay for his absence. When he returned her brother was much changed, reminding her of when he fell in love with his wife. He laughed and sighed when he told his sister the story of his visit, and he shook his head in wonder. Ayo, now twelve years old, looked just exactly like her mother, and was so clever. He said he would treasure those days all his life.

But that was not all.

Phoebe told him Madame Belcourt planned to send her two youngest children, Thérèse and Nicola, for schooling in Québec City, in the country of Canada, where Monsieur’s son now lived. Madame Belcourt had relations there, and she meant for Ayo to go with the girls as their maid.

Ayo told her father that one day, up at the Great House, she heard the Belcourt girls speak with their mother. Thérèse asked Madame Belcourt, “Maman, why can’t coloreds read and write?”

“I guess they are not smart like we are,” said Madame.

“Hetty is smart,” said Thérèse, meaning Ayo.

“That may be,” said Madame crossly, “but God does not want coloreds to learn letters. Their place is for helping their Monsieurs!”

Later when the three girls were alone Thérèse said to Nicola, “Hetty is smart, isn’t she?”

Nicola, who was the younger, said, “She surely is.”

Thérèse looked at Ayo and whispered, “Would ye like to learn letters, Hetty? If ye could?”

“Oui, I would,” said Ayo, a thrill of danger running through her.

“Why can’t we teach her ourselves?” said Nicola.

“That makes trouble,” said Ayo. She did not dare say more.

“When we are away in Québec City, then,” said Thérèse.



* * *



Adunbi told Abeje how Phoebe held Ayo’s small hand in hers, and he said to her, “She is your daughter,” by which he meant to ask Phoebe’s feelings. Phoebe nodded. Tears started from her eyes and Ayo wrapped her arms around her waist, around the only mother she knew.

“I want her to go,” said Phoebe. “Anything the Holy One gives me to bear is worth this chance for her. To be away from here, maybe someplace better.” To Ayo she said, “A mother may be away from you, but a mother’s love you carry in your heart. Isn’t that so?”

“Oui, Maman,” said the child, hope and sadness both dancing in her large, clear eyes.

Abeje listened closely to everything Adunbi said. She did not like to think of Ayo and Phoebe parting from each other. And still, she remembered the visions of Ayo and her destiny in a faraway place, Québec City, in the Provinces of Canada. Abeje recalled she heard about this land from Luc. He told her of free people, whole villages, that lived among békés in parts of America and Canada. There might be bridges for Ayo. This child might yet cross to freedom, while she was still alive on this earth.

Adunbi had more to tell. On his last night at Mont Belcourt, Ayo had asked her father, “Is the Irishman who brought me to my mother still living?”

“Groom, child? Oui, he is.”

“Can he read and write?”

“I expect so.”

“Then when I can write, I will send a letter to him, for you.”

“A letter...” Adunbi marveled. “Groom might be willing,” he said, “if it be kept secret.”

Ayo asked the name of Groom, the names of the sugar estate and the parish.

“I heard him say once,” said Adunbi, struck with an idea, “that his wife has relations in America.” Groom was married now.

“Then Groom’s wife will get a letter,” declared Ayo.

“From who, child? Not Miss Hetty Belcourt. That would be dangerous.”

“No,” said the child, gazing at her rag doll. “A letter will come from Claudine.”



* * *



In another year, Ayo was gone away with the Belcourt girls. She left behind three old people thinking of her and praying for her every day.

Abeje found she could still call upon the spirits of the plants for her, since spirit-path did not know distance any more than dreams knew the dreamer. And in this same way she called them also for Phoebe, especially Anaya, to soothe the jagged edges of that broken heart.