Lady Gouldian

by Read, Calia

  Behind Serene, Étienne mouths the word “no” and shakes his head. Politely, I nod at Serene, and wait for her to continue.

  “She keeps talking about NASA.”

  “NASA?” I repeat.

  Confused, I look between Serene and my brother. What is NASA?

  Serene leans in, eyes alight with excitement. “Oh, it’s a space program from my time and the fact that Alex knows this has me thinking she’s well beyond her time.”

  Once again, Étienne shakes his head. Not even he—the most forthright person I know—has the heart to tell her she’s wrong. The joy and pride on Serene’s face is almost infectious, the longer I look at her, the more convincing her story becomes.

  “Anyways, let me show you to your room,” Serene says. “To be honest, I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

  “Me comin’ home with my tail between my legs?” I ask as we walk down the hall.

  “No. I’ve been waiting for you to come home in general. It was torture not showing you all the changes.”

  “And do you know who she told instead? Me,” Étienne says behind us, his voice droll.

  I look over my shoulder at him. “My God. The nerve of her.”

  Étienne grunts in reply.

  We stop in front of one of the guest rooms, and I nearly sigh with relief. There were three guest rooms at Belgrave, and each one had a theme. There was the Pink Posies Room, that never went a day without fresh flowers. The Sunrise Room, and the Ships and Sails Room, with a hand-painted mural of the Isle of Palms, proudly displaying the palm trees. However, it’s the rich colors of the Atlantic waters lapping at the shore that capture your eye. If I had to pick a room, it would be the Sunrise Room. The name originated from its location of facing the front of the house and all the natural lighting that came in. It was always Momma’s favorite room, too. She would put her favorite guests in this room, and that’s why she put great care into decorating it.

  I don’t think Serene knew that, and thankfully, she hasn’t changed next to anything about this space.

  “I hope this okay,” Serene says, interpreting my silence for disapproval.

  At once I nod. “It’s lovely. Just lovely.” I hurry into the room and place my handbag and valise on the bed as though the matters settled.

  Linking my hands in front of me, I look toward the doorway, where Serene and Étienne stand, almost uncertain to step over the threshold. In a different time, I would have happily welcomed them in, and then proceeded to tell them about my travels. Étienne would soon tire of all my talking and excuse himself. But Serene would stay. Like Rainey, we could talk for hours. The importance and topics of our conversations didn’t matter.

  Standing here now, silently, knowing full well our past routine makes me squeeze my fingers together so tightly my nails dig into my skin. I don’t want to talk.

  Not yet.

  “Well. We will let you rest. I’m sure you’re tired.” Uncomfortably, Serene looks to Étienne. “From all of your traveling of course.”

  “Of course,” Étienne says right behind her.

  “Of course,” I agree.

  I look between the two of them, wondering when they will ask about my time at Brignac House. It is a matter of time. I simply needed to prepare myself.

  “Right,” Serene says, emphasizing her word with a clap. “Well, let us know if you need anything.”

  Once my brother and sister-in-law leave the room, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I sit on the edge of the bed and slip off my shoes. I don’t realize how badly my feet have been aching until this very moment, and yet, I still don’t pay them much attention because my heart is aching far worse.

  Over the years, I’ve often contemplated what I’d say to Asa if I was to come face to face with him. I envisioned myself being the very definition of brave and telling him how much I still loved him, even after everything we’ve been through.

  But that was before I stepped into church, saw him standing at the altar, and every eye in the room turned to look at me.

  I lie down on the bed and curl into a fetal position. My stomach churns as I think over today’s events.

  Asa’s married, and it’s not to me.

  The tears build behind my eyes. They’re begging to be set free. If I knew how to let them go, I would. Instead, the painful emotions build inside me until I’m nearly choking on them.

  What did you think would happen when you stepped into the church? That Asa would change his mind, and marry you instead? You’re foolish and ignorant. You are—

  I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out the negative whispers in my head.

  No matter how heartbreaking and embarrassing today might have been, there’s still one small beacon of hope in my life, and that is that I’m finally with my family, once and for all.

  When I open my eyes, my room is dimly lit. Light outlines the windows and closed curtains, trying its best to get inside.

  I didn’t shut the curtains. Who shut them? I feel a momentary sense of panic. At once I sit up in bed. I swallow, feeling a small burn in my throat. My mouth feels dry. How long have I been asleep?

  As I look around, it takes me a moment to remember I’m no longer at Brignac House. As much as I loathed that dreaded place, I cherished my room. It was my safe haven, a port in a never-ending storm. To be away from the four walls that consistently protected me from my mother-in-law and husband for years, is alarming.

  The silence is unsettling. I can still hear the shrill sound of Matilda’s voice in my head, either crying out for one of the servants, her husband Robert, or me. Once one of us arrived, she demanded to see Oliver. Matilda always wanted Oliver.

  You are safe. Matilda can’t get to you.

  You.

  Are.

  Safe.

  “Aunt Nathalie, you snore.”

  Clutching a hand to my chest, I look to my left and find my niece staring at me with wide eyes. “My God, Alex. You scared me!”

  Alex, on the other hand, serenely stares back as though we’re having a deep, meaningful conversation. The child has an unnerving stare, intense and sharp as if she’s trying to understand the inner workings of my mind.

  I take a deep breath and gather the sheet around me. “You cannot walk into people’s livin’ quarters without their permission.”

  Alex shrugs and climbs onto my bed. “I knocked. You didn’t hear me. Because of your snorin’.”

  “I do not snore,” I say indignantly.

  Alex sits across from me; she crosses her little legs and blinks at me with her green eyes. “You do.”

  I have a strong suspicion this conversation could continue for hours. Alex has a calm, yet stubborn gleam in her eye that Étienne possessed. As a child, my parents said he would debate with anyone until he wore the other person down. He could have had a glowing future as a lawyer.

  “Very well,” I concede, reminding myself she’s a child. “What do you need?”

  “Momma and Daddy sent me up here. You missed dinner last night.”

  I sit up straight. “I missed dinner?”

  Alex nods. “Yes. Daddy wanted to wake you, but Momma said no and that if he woke you, he had to change Trace’s diapers for an entire month.” She crinkles her small nose. There’s a tiny smatter of freckles across her pale skin. “His diapers are smelly.”

  I nod, as though I understand what my niece is saying, when I’m truly trying to understand how I slept for so long. Why am I so surprised? Even though I found a safe space at Brignac House, I could never quite become comfortable enough to sleep longer than two or three hours.

  I was constantly hyperaware that I was alone and that at any second, Matilda could scream my name. I had to be ready. Had to be prepared for what she needed of me.

  When I think about it, I’m surprised I didn’t sleep longer than I did.

  There’s a small meow from my doorway. I begin to turn my head, but I only see a blur of orange, black and white. And then the fur ball leaps onto my bed, d
irectly onto Alex’s lap.

  “My goodness. What is that?”

  Alex begins to lovingly pet the cat’s coat, while the cat purrs. “A cat.”

  “I know, but who’s cat?”

  “Mine.” Alex bends down and rests her cheek against the cat’s head. The cat opens its bright green eyes, looking irritated that the petting stopped. “His name is Chandler Bing.”

  “Chandler Bing?”

  Alex nods and continues to pet it. Once again, Chandler Bing purrs. “Momma helped me name him.”

  “That make sense then.”

  “I like to call him Chan-Chan. He’s so fluffy and soft.” Alex squeezes him tight and Chan-Chan’s feline eyes meet mine. The pure terror there says, “Help me. Save me from this child.”

  I don’t think there’s anyone that can save him from the smothering love of Alexandra Lacroix. “How did you talk your daddy into lettin’ you have a cat?”

  She rubs Chan’s-Chan’s head. “I found Chan-Chan when Momma and I took a walk. At first, she said no, but he kept meowin’ and he was dirty and hungry so Momma let him come home with us.”

  “Well, who could say no to such a charmin’ cat such as Chan-Chan?” I say.

  Étienne could, that’s who. At least, before Serene and the children he would have.

  “Do you have any more pets?”

  “No.” Alex’s shoulders sag. “I want a baby pig, though.”

  At that, I quirk a brow. “A pig?”

  Instantly, Alex nods. “Oh, yes. I would love a pig. Daddy says no.”

  “That sounds like your daddy.”

  “Momma said she might consider it if we can name the pig Chris P. Bacon.” Alex’s brows become furrowed. “I don’t know why she likes that name.”

  All I can do is shake my head and smile. This is a beautiful little girl. An incredible mix of Serene and Étienne. And I have already missed so much of her life.

  Sadly, I look down at the quilt. This is not how I imagined my relationship being with Alex. When she was born, I had every intention of visiting often. I wanted to watch her slowly grow. I wanted to be part of fond memories, understand family nicknames, and be someone she could depend on for advice.

  I loved my Aunt Christine. She was always good to me. But we weren’t extraordinarily close. She visited infrequently, and as a little girl, I was always shy. It seemed right when I would relax around her, she would leave, and I would have to start all over again the next time I saw her.

  I don’t want that for me and Alex.

  I clear my throat. “What would you like for me to call you?”

  “Everyone in the family calls me Nat. But my parents called me Nattie.”

  Alex smiles at me. “Momma calls me Lex.” She leans in, her face solemn. “Alexandra when I’m in trouble.”

  I mimic her actions. “I think I will call you Lex, if that’s all right with you?”

  Alex is quiet for a moment before she sheepishly nods.

  “Lex it is.”

  Since the first time Lex stepped into my room, she goes silent. I pat her on the knee. “How about I get dressed and meet you downstairs for breakfast?”

  Lex’s eyes light up as she rapidly nods and jumps down from my bed. “Okay! I’m goin’ to find Chan-Chan!”

  In the hallway, I hear her hollering, “Chan-Chan? Chan-Chan, where are you?”

  Pulling back the sheets, I place my feet on the floor and walk to the restroom. Once I’m done, I immediately pull back the curtains in my bedroom. The sunlight that floods my room momentarily makes me squint, but as I step back and look around, nerves become soothed at my surroundings.

  I find my valise sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. As I search for clothes to wear, I look down at my wrinkled attire and sigh. I fell asleep before I had time to change into a nightgown, but when I left Brignac House, I was in such a rush, I don’t think I packed one.

  My mind wasn’t right. All I could fixate on was Asa’s marriage to Juliet Breymas. The animosity runs deep between the Breymas and Claiborne family, but so do Southern manners. Robert and Matilda received an invitation to Juliet’s upcoming nuptials and I came across the invite while I was in the library. It was tossed on the table, as though someone had opened the envelope, took one look at the invitation, and cast it from their hands. I wanted to do far more than that.

  My heart dropped to my stomach at the sight of Asa’s name directly above Juliet’s. How did he meet Juliet? When did he meet her?

  And as all those thoughts ran through my mind, anger and possession rushed through me, nearly choking me. I wanted to burn the invitation. Those words needed to melt, and the invite needed to become ash at the bottom of the fireplace.

  Instead, I left the invitation where it was, but the location and date remained seared into my brain. It would be in Charleston on November fifteenth, 1919.

  Finding the invitation wasn’t by sheer luck. Rather, it was a realization. It was almost as though I’d been asleep and suddenly, I was awake. So much time had gone by and the man I loved was getting married in seven days. I couldn’t let that happen.

  After that, I didn’t think twice. I began to make plans to return to Charleston and packed what little of my clothes would fit into my valise. My mind found me in a frazzled state. I told my maid I was going away, and I had to leave quickly. She didn’t ask questions. Simply nodded and said she would take care of the rest of my wardrobe. But if Matilda gets ahold of it, I have a feeling every beautiful design would meet its unlucky demise with a pair of scissors.

  I shake my head at the thought and take the first blouse and skirt I see from my valise. The embroidered red silk blouse tucks into the high waisted, navy blue skirt. It has six white buttons lining the right side of the skirt and large pockets for me to place my hands in.

  Quickly, I take out the pins in my hair, only to put it back into a low bun.

  Once upon a time, this morning ritual would’ve required two maids and me sitting in front of my vanity, pondering what I would make of the day before me.

  I had one maid at Brignac House, and in most cases, she was assisting Matilda’s maids during one of her “spells.” Very swiftly, I learned the life I had at Belgrave was a luxury not extended to most.

  As ludicrous as it may sound, I’m better for it because that was only the first change that I had to face that would steel me toward the many challenges that awaited me.

  When I walk into the hallway, I’m relieved to see no servants or Alex waiting for me. I have no doubt that if she did spot me, she would follow me all the way to the dining room, incessantly questioning me.

  I turn the corner and reach the marble staircase. In the light of the day, the Baccarat chandelier that hangs in the middle of the foyer isn’t lit, but light pouring in from the windows makes the crystals glint brightly. The tall imposing columns against each doorway mimics the four fluted Corinthians columns on the portico.

  Serene has changed next to nothing about my childhood home. (With the exception of the amount of ancestry portraits in the hallway. But that should’ve been done a long time ago.)

  “What could be takin’ her so long?”

  “I told her to rest, so my guess is, she’s resting.”

  “She’s been restin’ for over fifteen hours.”

  “Interrupting weddings can be exhausting.”

  I don’t have to be in the room to know that Serene finished her words with a smile, and with Étienne probably frowning.

  “Livingston was right,” Étienne says after a beat of silence. “She has changed.”

  Serene doesn’t immediately reply. “I haven’t talked to her long enough to know that, but I think it’s fair to say life will change us all at some point.”

  “Life changed me, Livingston, and Nathalie the moment we lost half our family. What else can life want from her?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I knew the answer.”

  The two of them become quiet for a moment, with only the sound of their f
orks scraping against their plates.

  “What do you think happened to her at Brignac House?” Serene asks out of nowhere.

  Étienne doesn’t respond immediately; when he does, his voice sounds drained. “I don’t know.”

  It’s not what happened, but how life began for me that’s important because there, they’ll see I built a house out of my love for Asa. One so large and grand it rivaled the likes of Belgrave. Each room stored a time of my life I held dear. Some happy, others filled with heartbreak. If they ever discovered this house, and inspected each floor, it would lead them closer to the truth and the final resting place of my heart…

  CHAPTER THREE

  1899

  Nathalie

  “Do you think clouds can sleep?”

  Asa looked over at me. “No. Why do you ask?”

  Unlinking my fingers from behind my head, I pointed above me to the vast blue sky. “Look. The clouds haven’t moved.”

  Frowning, Asa focused his attention to the sky. “They’re movin’. We simply don’t notice because we’re not carefully lookin’ at them.”

  Squinting, I peered at the clouds with a dedicated concentration. I thought I saw a cloud inch forward, but I didn’t know if it was because I desperately wanted it to. “I suppose you’re right. But I still want to believe they can sleep.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Clouds can cry,” I stated confidently. “Did you know that?”

  At that, Asa frowned and looked at me peculiarly. “Surely you jest.”

  “I do not. When you see the clouds buildin’ and rain fallin’ from the sky, those are the clouds cryin’ for us.”

  Asa was quiet for several seconds as he mulled over my explanation. It made sense to me, but what would he think? At some point, he nodded. “That is certainly a very interestin’ thought.”

  I could tell he didn’t hold my words in high regard. But Asa was a profoundly serious person.

  “I believe it’s true,” I said.

  “If you believe in somethin’ enough, it will happen.”

  I smiled widely.

  I thought this might be the greatest day of my entire life.

  Out of all my brothers’ friends, Asa had always been the kindest to me. My thoughts weren’t unimportant to him. He was kind and listened to me. When my brothers told me to go, he said it was okay if I stayed because I didn’t make much noise. Not like Rainey. And so they agreed with him, because it was Asa. And Asa was reasonable and calm. And perfect.