Adeline whispered, “But . . . but where will Victoria and I go? What will we do?” She was breaking, shattering, as was every foundation, every sure thing in Tory’s life.
“Go? You need not go. I gave you this house, my mother’s house. It came to me when she died. You have the deed; Sugar Tree is yours. But I cannot send you any further money, nor can I return here ever again.”
He patted his breast pocket, reached inside, and drew out a photograph. “I regret that I must return your gift, Adeline; however, it is too risky for me to keep.” He stared at the image. “I-I . . . would treasure it, could I retain it safely.”
He placed the photograph on the tea table between himself and Adeline, and Tory glimpsed the picture: a likeness of her mother, taken some years before.
Then, as though he had not destroyed two lives, he stood and began to draw on his gloves.
Tory glanced at her mother, but Adeline seemed stunned. Frozen. Unable to move or speak. A shell of the woman Tory knew.
The icy cold that had swept over Tory dissolved and fell away. In its place surged a hot and powerful rage, an anger she had not known could exist.
She advanced on Monsieur Declouette and, standing within inches of him, she screamed, “You, Monsieur Declouette, are a horrible, deceitful, dishonorable scoundrel! You are not a gentleman and you are not my father! You have hurt my mother, and I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
She did not know she was hitting him, pummeling his chest with her fists, until he caught her hands in his and restrained her against his chest. His vest smelled of mint and cherrywood tobacco. She struggled and shrieked and tried to break free, but he held her fast until, after many minutes, her rage faltered, and she, exhausted and limp, slumped in his arms.
Monsieur Declouette stroked her cheek again and again. “Ah, my poor poppet. I am sorry to have wounded you so.”
Tory did not believe his words or the tenderness of his touch: They were as false as he was. As her father was. She submitted to him because he was stronger than she was, and she had no strength left to fight him.
When her sobs quieted, he released her. “Good bye, Victoria. Good bye, Adeline.”
Tory heard the heavy door of the front entrance close behind him. She left the parlor and wandered upstairs, leaving Adeline crumpled on the parlor carpet, weeping softly.
Tory went to her bedroom, stripped off her torn and soiled underclothes, and crawled into her bed. She wanted to sleep, to escape the turmoil in her heart. But long after Monsieur Declouette was gone and before slumber took her, Tory smelled the cherrywood tobacco of his vest and felt the gentle caress of her father’s hand upon her cheek.
Chapter 2
Sugar Tree, Tory’s home, sat upon a low alluvial bluff deposited by an ancient course of the Mississippi river. The five acres atop the ridge belonged to the house, and the raised wedge of property formed a natural levee against seasonal or storm flooding.
Not many plots in the Mississippi basin could boast of a rise like that upon which Sugar Tree sat: The northern side of the bluff faced Lake Pontchartrain, several miles distant; the other sides sloped down toward fertile bottom land interspersed with swampy bayous, eventually reaching the banks of the river’s present course.
The house’s drive, lined with Southern sugar maples, wound its way down the bluff and intersected a dirt track. The track ran westward into farming country and roughly east toward the nearest market village. From the village, the track meandered to the southeast where it joined the old Metairie Ridge road leading to town—the bustling city of New Orleans.
According to Sassy Brown, much of the land around them had once been part of the Sugar Tree plantation owned by Monsieur Declouette’s mother, her father before her, and his father before him. Generations of Sassy’s family had served Monsieur Declouette’s mother and her family—before the war as their property and after the war as paid servants. The war (which Sassy could recall in great detail and which she said Southern white people referred to as the “War of Northern Aggression”) had decimated the South—killing off a generation of its young men, stealing its dignity and traditions, stripping it of its wealth.
Reconstruction had been the final blow to Southern white aristocracy. According to Sassy, Monsieur Declouette’s maternal great-grandfather had sold off his plantation, piece by piece, to keep ahead of exorbitant Reconstruction taxes. He had carved off bits of Sugar Tree until all that remained was the house and the raised strip of land surrounding it.
What Sassy did not speak of was how the war had set thousands of negroes free from their slavery—and how the newly freed men and women no more knew how to survive in the free society they entered than that society knew how to receive them. Many on both sides fell back on what was familiar and “comfortable,” the master and servant model, which reinforced the racial divide. As years passed, that divide was further fortified by pride, bitterness, and increasingly stringent laws that segregated blacks and whites into distinct classes, one below, the other above.
In short—and despite the care Tory’s mother took to educate her and ensure that she grew up as a lady—Tory was ignorant of life beyond Sugar Tree. In the ten years of Tory’s short childhood, she had never left Sugar Tree land, had never glimpsed what lay outside its boundaries. She knew that the outskirts of New Orleans began several miles or more south and east of them, but she knew nothing of the city or its surrounds. What she knew of the world she had learned from the many books she devoured.
During the years that Monsieur Declouette had sent adequate funds for Adeline to manage the household, servants had run the errands and done the marketing in the nearby village, or taken a wagon to fetch whatever Adeline or Tory needed from town. The gardener had husbanded the green garden and fruit trees; another man had tended a flock of chickens and a number of sheep and cows—enough to keep them in eggs, meat, and milk. What the tiny estate produced above the requirements of the house was taken to market in the village for cash money or for barter.
Tory’s acquaintances were the negroes who staffed the house and grounds of Sugar Tree. Their white neighbors did not ascend the winding drive to come calling, nor did Tory interact with their children or have friends her age. The sole white people with whom she had personal contact were her governess, Miss La Forge, and Monsieur Declouette.
She did not perceive that she and her mother, living in relative wealth and ease under Mr. Declouette’s protection, experienced the world differently than did most of their race. She was unaware that Adeline’s mother had leveraged her daughter’s natural beauty to lift her above the rest of her family, how Adeline’s parents had worked themselves into early graves to educate their daughter and place her where she would attract the attentions of a wealthy patron.
When Monsieur Declouette had reduced the amount of money he sent, Adeline had been forced to let the majority of the staff go. She had leaned upon Sassy Brown and on Venus and Ellen (who lived but a mile west of them) to keep house and make the most of what the land could provide. When bills came due, Adeline had them sell off livestock rather than suffer the indignity of bill collectors at her door.
Despite their reduced income, Adeline had maintained—had insisted upon—a façade of gentility. It was as though Adeline had deluded herself into believing that Monsieur Declouette would, someday, acknowledge Adeline as his companion and Tory as his daughter and that Monsieur Declouette’s world would, eventually, accept her as their equal.
With Henri Declouette’s announcement, Adeline’s façade crumbled to dust. She had no money—none at all—to pay wages, to buy what the house and land could not provide. She had nothing to maintain the carefully crafted delusion.
Overnight, life at Sugar Tree changed.
When expectations of wages dissolved, Venus and Ellen abandoned them. Tory thought Sassy would go with them, but the old woman did not. All Adeline could offer the old woman in exchange for her service was her board and a share of whate
ver food they had. For her own reasons, Sassy remained at Sugar Tree and retained her sleeping quarters in the lean-to behind the outdoor kitchen. Sassy may have been slowing down with age, but she did what she could from morning to evening and continued to eke out three meals a day from whatever food was available.
“Told ye t’ have a care. Told ye we was all riding the same train,” Sassy grumbled to Tory. “Now your mère ain’t got two nickels to her name. She cain’t pay me . . . but I might as well stay on as not. I got no place else to go ’cept my granddaughter and her sharecroppin’ husband’s leaky hovel—and they got no room for me nor food to feed ’nother mouth.”
Tory said nothing in response to Sassy’s complaints. She did not see how her actions—however precipitous they may have been—had anything to do with her mother’s penniless state. Had not Monsieur Declouette planned to break off his attachment to Adeline before he arrived?
In the weeks following Monsieur Declouette’s final, disastrous visit, Adeline attempted to adapt to their straitened circumstances. She closed off large sections of the house—the library, dining room, and the entire second floor. She and Tory lugged their bedframes and mattresses downstairs and set them up in the drawing room. Mother and daughter lived, ate, and slept in two rooms—the parlor and, across the hallway, the drawing room.
The most severe adjustment was to Adeline and Tory’s daily routine. Each morning, Adeline and Tory dressed in their most serviceable clothing and went out to the green garden to plant, weed, and harvest what it produced. The garden was where she and Tory, under Sassy’s direction, spent the cool of the day.
For those first weeks, Adeline tried hard to acclimate to the many changes while retaining her dignity, but beneath her calm exterior, her heart was broken. She followed Sassy’s lead and did what needed to be done, although her mind and thoughts were often elsewhere.
In her mother’s distraction, Tory fell more and more under Sassy Brown’s supervision—but she did not mind much. If truth be told, Tory reveled in the hours she spent out-of-doors and in the arduous work Sassy insisted she do.
“If ye don’t hoe your rows each day, the weeds’ll be taking the green garden, missy, and the garden is most all we have. Ye’ve never sit down t’ table with naught to eat, but I have. ’Tis not pleasant t’ have an empty belly and naught t’ fill it.” Sassy wagged her bandana-wrapped head. “Ye’ll likely find out soon enow.”
Never got to eat my fill when we did have food. Tory cast her eyes down so they would not reveal her angry, contrary thoughts.
Tory learned to feed and water their rooster and half-dozen chickens, to gather their eggs, and to milk the lone cow. Under Sassy’s stern instruction, Tory skimmed and strained the milk, churned butter, kneaded bread, and picked over beans, chickpeas, and other garden produce.
Tory also learned to clean. With no maids to tidy up after them or wash their clothes, Adeline and Tory had to assume the household tasks.
Tory’s normal, healthy appetite spiked under the unfamiliar physical activity and became a ravening need. Tory was shooting up, her growth adding to her cravings. Although Adeline frowned at Tory’s hunger complaints, she did not object to the larger portions Sassy served the girl—not that they were “large” portions but certainly more than what Sassy served herself or Adeline.
It still wasn’t enough. Tory was always hungry. If she had a moment of free time, she would forage among the garden thinnings and sneak early or unripe produce, sometimes paying with a belly ache or loose bowels.
The house’s greatest need was for fresh meat. Adeline had sold off most of the stock, but kept the chickens for eggs and the cow for milk. At least milk was plentiful and they enjoyed an egg twice a week. Still, their lack of meat meant the green garden and what it produced was their primary source of food.
So needy were they for meat, that Sassy taught Tory how to set snares to catch the rabbits, squirrels, mice, and voles that plundered their garden. Tory disposed of the mice and voles and handed the rabbits and squirrels over to Sassy to stew. Sassy skinned and cooked the first three rabbits caught in Tory’s snares; the fourth rabbit was young and still small, so Sassy did not kill it. Instead, she helped Tory to repair an old hutch to keep the young rabbit.
“If we trap a mating pair, we can be breeding them,” Sassy insisted, “feeding them from the garden thinnings. In a few weeks, the female will bear a litter and, soon after that, we’ll have meat on our plates, regular like.”
Adeline insisted on one remnant of their previous lifestyle: Tory’s lessons, even if they were shortened or infrequent. During the heat of each day, Tory spent two hours in the parlor at her books. Adeline no longer supervised Tory while she studied; instead, she set Tory’s lessons, went on to other chores, and checked her work at the end of the short school period.
This arrangement suited Tory. She sped through her lessons and used the remaining minutes to sketch, copying the mannequins in the now-outdated fashion magazines, telling herself, “Someday, I will dress as these women; someday I will create beautiful gowns and fashions.”
SEPTEMBER ARRIVED AND, with it, Tory’s eleventh birthday. Unlike every prior birthday of Tory’s short life, Monsieur Declouette sent no gift. True to his warning, five months had trickled by without note or letter.
In the hot outdoor kitchen, Sassy, Adeline, and Tory were putting up muscadine juice and jellies. Two cauldrons steamed and bubbled on the wood-burning stove. Adeline stirred them while Sassy and Tory picked over the grapes, mounding the acceptable ones on a cloth for the next batch.
Even with the door and windows open, the heat in the kitchen was oppressive. Dark red juice stained their hands and aprons; the kerchiefs they bound around their heads did little to stem the sweat that trickled down their faces and soiled their scalp and hair.
Although Louisiana enjoyed a long growing season, the three of them were picking and canning as much of the produce as they could manage against the wet, colder months. Tory longed to gorge herself on what they were putting up for winter, but Sassy was more determined than Adeline had been to keep Tory’s appetite on short shrift.
“Ye’ll thank me soon enow when the cold rains come, I dare think,” Sassy said. “Ye have enough t’ eat t’ keep body and soul together—and enow ’tis good as a feast.”
Tory glowered at Sassy’s back. “Well, I’m hungry.”
“Tory.” Adeline’s one-word rebuke was gentle but firm. “You may thin the carrots if you wish something more to eat.”
Tory pulled and ate young carrots most every day, but they were poor fare for a growing girl. However, Tory wasn’t blind; her mother, too, was suffering from self-imposed deprivation. As hard as she worked, she ate no more than she had before, and Tory noticed the plump curves of her mother’s cheeks sharpening, the waistband of her dress slackening.
Tory spied a split grape and a lone ant crawling on it. She pinched the ant and, turning her head a little, slipped the grape into her mouth. It was warm, soft, and overripe. Tory sucked on its sweet pulp and swallowed the skin without moving her jaws.
“This be the last o’ the grapes,” Sassy announced. “Winesaps be next.”
Tory’s ears perked up. At her first opportunity, she would revisit the grape vines and glean what their picking had missed.
“How many apple trees?” Adeline asked. Her question was heavy with weariness, but Tory enjoyed the picking. She was brave enough and physically able to climb the tall ladder and harvest fruit out of reach of pickers on the ground. Furthermore, hidden by tree boughs, Tory often ate her fill of whatever fruit hung around her.
Tory’s ever-hungry stomach lurched.
“Hello! Anyone in the house? Anyone at home?” A man’s deep voice. A stranger. The voice continued calling as the unknown visitor wandered down the side of the house.
Sassy and Tory’s mother exchanged surprised glances.
“See who it is, please, Sassy,” Adeline asked.
Sassy wiped her hands on her apr
on and left the kitchen. Tory and her mother heard Sassy speaking near the back door, then opening the door and ushering the man inside.
Adeline scrubbed at her stained fingers. “Tory, run to the drawing room and lay out my green day dress. You know the one. Wash your hands well beforehand.”
“Who is it, Maman? Who has come?”
“I do not know, but Sassy has shown him to the parlor. Oh, my hands! Why can I not remove these stains?”
A lady’s hands reflect a life of gentility. A gentlewoman’s hands are always clean and soft.
Tory ran to the back of the house and went inside. As she crept down the long hallway toward the front of the house, she met Sassy returning from the parlor where, presumably, she had installed the visitor.
“Where ye going, child?”
“To lay out Maman’s green dress.”
“Ah. Bien.” Although Sassy said, “Good,” her expression did not signal “good.”
“Who is it, Sassy? Who is the man?”
“Not now, child. I need t’ prepare your mother.”
Prepare my mother?
Tory went to the drawing room that served as her and her mother’s shared bedchamber. She washed her hands in the wash basin and dried them on the hand towel. Conscious of her own stained fingers, Tory drew on an old pair of her mother’s gloves and, with care, removed her mother’s green day dress from her cedar chest. She spread the summer dress, with its short, puffed sleeves, upon Adeline’s bed and, with the edge of her gloved hand, worked the creases out of the delicate fabric. Thinking also of her mother’s grape-stained hands, Tory searched for and found a pair of crocheted gloves and placed them near the dress.
They will hide the stains, she decided.
She was cleaning Adeline’s comb and brush when her mother entered the drawing room. Tory glanced up and was startled by the pallor of Adeline’s ebony face.
Tory Page 3
