by Zia Wesley
“I wish I knew what to believe this morning,” Aimée said.
“Then believe what I tell you and put this silliness from your mind. You think far too much and those worry lines,” she said pressing her finger between Aimée’s brows, “make you look like an old woman.” Rose bounced off the bed and stood before the open window, stretching her arms over her head in the sunlight. “Isn’t it glorious?” She was secretly thrilled to know she would soon be married.
Aimée smiled wanly and nodded agreement, wishing more than ever to be worthy in her cousin’s eyes. She adored Rose, and if her wise cousin put no store in the fortune-teller’s words, than neither would she.
“Promise me you will say no more of this nonsense,” Rose said, hoping Aimée would follow her advice as she always did and forget about the devastating prophecy.
“I promise,” Aimée said. She would put the encounter with Euphemia David away like a vivid nightmare and remind herself it was not real.
Aimée continued, “But Rose, what did the old woman mean about you loving a boy?”
Without the slightest hesitation she replied, “Oh, just poppycock like all the rest.”
As they dressed for Sunday mass, Aimée wondered about divergent ideas of goodness. Rose thought they had done nothing wrong, but what would Aunt Lavinia and Father Christophe think? Something altogether different she was sure. So, how was she to know for herself? How was it possible to be a good girl in her cousin’s eyes and in Father Christophe’s, when their ideas of goodness were so different?
“And what of the slaves?” Aimée asked aloud.
“What of them? What are you talking about?”
“Well, if we will burn in hell for consorting with witches, why don’t they?”
“Because they are not Catholic, silly. They don’t believe in hell—not in Catholic hell anyway. Now braid my hair.”
Aimée reached out the bedroom window and plucked two gardenias from the bush growing there. She tucked one behind her right ear and handed the other to Rose, who settled herself on a small chair. Aimée asked, “But if they don’t believe in it, does that mean it won’t happen to them? We believe they will burn in hell because they are not Catholic.”
“Oh stop. It’s too confusing and makes my head hurt. What does it matter anyway?”
“Because I know that Mother would wish me to be a good Catholic and to obey the rules of the church,” Aimée said.
“Your mother is no longer here to tell you what to do,” Rose replied, frustrated by her cousin’s constant whining about goodness and Catholicism.
“Aunt Lavinia is, and she always reminds me, ‘Your mother would wish you to do this or that,’ or ‘How would your mother feel if she knew you had disobeyed?’ It’s just the same as if she were here.” Except something was missing, she thought to herself. It really was not the same at all.
“Aunt Lavinia is so much stricter than my mother,” Rose said. “Probably because mine was not born Catholic, but she surely wants me to be.”
Aimée finished braiding Rose’s hair, secured the gardenia behind her ear, and sat down to let Rose reciprocate.
As Rose plaited her cousin’s flaxen strands, she silently wished, as she always did, that she were as beautiful as Aimée. She looks like a living cameo, with her perfect, heart-shaped face, ivory skin, Cupid’s bow mouth and that little nose that tilts up slightly at the tip. I wish I had her silky blonde hair. Too bad she doesn’t know how beautiful she is. But, who might she impress here anyway? All the important boys are sent abroad to school.
Rose sighed audibly. She wanted to say how much she hoped the witches’ prophecy would come true for her, but could not do so without bringing up the same possibility for Aimée.
“There,” she said, fixing the gardenia behind Aimée’s ear. “Perfectly beautiful as ever.”
Once they were dressed, the girls checked each other’s appearance, straightened waists and sashes, smoothed skirts, and made sure they looked their best. The social highlight of their week was Sunday mass at the local church that served the plantation families. It gave them occasion to wear their best clothes and ride in the buggy, even if there were no young men for them to impress.
As they left the room to join the rest of Rose’s family at breakfast, Aimée clasped her cousin’s hand and said, “I wish we could live together all the time.”
“Me too. I like you ever so much better than my sisters.”
“At least you have sisters,” Aimée said reproachfully. “But Aunt Lavinia and Uncle Jean-Luc could not manage without me.”
“Humph, pompous old Uncle Jean-Luc has a hundred slaves to look after them. I don’t know why they need you.”
“That’s unfair, Rose. Had they not adopted me when mother died, they would be childless, and it is a daughter’s filial duty to look after her parents in their old age.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Aimée, must you believe everything you are told?”
“I suppose I try to. Do you think that sins cause some people to be childless?”
“What an odd question. I’m sure I have no idea.”
“Aunt Lavinia thinks so, but hasn’t told me her sin.”
Chapter 3
Martinique,
August 13, 1777
Two weeks passed following her visit to Euphemia David, and Rose blithely went about her daily routine, secure in the belief that her mother was unaware of the incident—until the afternoon a visitor arrived from Fort-Royal. The woman, a dressmaker, was stepping into her carriage as Rose returned home. Rose entered the house, and saw her mother sitting on the edge of a small wooden chair. She is waiting to pounce, Rose thought, as she paused just inside the doorway.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” her mother asked in a low, angry voice.
“To what specifically might you be referring?” Rose replied.
“Well, I could begin by asking how you enjoyed your little visit to the old obeah woman.”
Rose held her breath.
“And if that were the only indiscretion that had been brought to my attention, I would probably allow you to explain why you chose to do something so utterly foolish.” She raised her index finger, signaling the girl to keep quiet. “But you are not simply foolish, are you?” She paused dramatically, rising from her chair and walking towards Rose. “No,” she growled between clenched teeth. “You are a stupid, stupid girl, Marie-Josèphe,” she said as she slapped her sharply across the face.
Rose held her stinging face and tried to speak, but her mother cut her off. “Go and sit,” she commanded.
Still holding her smarting cheek, Rose sat in the little wooden chair.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to carve a cultured, civilized life out of this jungle island we live on? How your father and I strive to insure the good reputations and social standings of our daughters so they may marry well and, God willing, leave this place? And you choose to carry on with the son of a tradesman?”
“He is of no consequence.” Rose blurted out.
“I gave you no permission to speak.” her mother fumed. “I assume you refer to his station, in which case, you are quite correct. He is of no consequence... unless of course, someone should learn of the affair and then, you wretched girl, you are ruined. Ruined by a boy of absolutely no consequence.” She began to pace back and forth. “I will not tell your father of this... of this boy... because he might kill him, creating an even larger scandal and insuring your ruin. I will inform your father only of your visit to the obeah woman and no one shall hear another word of your disgraceful behavior. I am confining you to the cellar of the soucherie for two weeks and then sending you away to the Jesuit school in Fort-Royal, where you will remain until we may secure an appropriate betrothal on your behalf. Rest assured that I will not burden poor Lavinia with the knowledge that you brought Aimée along on your little adventure. It would send her into a fit of apoplexy from which I fear she might never recover.”
Rose
kept silent and offered no apology, wishing she could tell her mother how excited she was about the obeah woman’s prediction for her. She wisely held her tongue, knowing her mother was not open to hearing good news at that moment.
~ ~ ~
The cold, dark cellar of the soucherie, the plantation’s sugar refinery, was Rose’s home for the next two weeks. A kitchen slave, forbidden to speak with her under threat of the lash, brought her food. Only two visitors were allowed: the local midwife, who subjected her to a humiliating examination to insure no child occupied her womb, and Father Christophe. The priest received her confession and preached about celibacy as if he didn’t already know her soul was damned. Mimi crept over to visit on the nights she was able to, but Rose thought it better to not send any messages to Aimée. It was Mimi who revealed that the information had been leaked by Euphemia David herself, who had been astounded by the revelation of two future queens on her very own island. She proudly bragged of the discovery to everyone she came in contact with, and would continue to do so for the remainder of her life.
The time alone forced Rose to reflect, something she rarely did. The old vodouisant had been wrong about one thing. Rose did not love the young Creole boy, William. His low station simply made him safe for experimentation. What she loved was his strong muscular body and his hardness. She also loved his need for her, and his unquenchable passion. It was a delicious pleasure she might gladly have shared with others like him were more to be found on Martinique. In fact, her reflections focused more on her enjoyment of the forbidden encounters than remorse, of which she felt none.
Her first intimate experience had been with an old family friend when she was no more than a child. Rather than frightening her, the abuser had been gentle and clever, making the improprieties a sensual game that Rose grew to enjoy. She willingly kept it a secret on the condition that it would continue, which it had until she was twelve and the man left Martinique. The early promiscuity, coupled with her natural curiosity and fearlessness, made her bold in a way that was uncommon amongst her class. It was a boldness that would both serve and undo her in the future.
She also thought about other choices she had made, some more dangerous than the affair, like the herbs she got from one of the family’s cooks, a lesser vodouisant from the African Gold Coast. Not just the usual herbs to protect her from evil and ward off illness, but the other ones she used to avert pregnancy. Thank the saints and loa they work, she thought. She took great comfort in the predictions of Euphemia David as well, and spent many uninterrupted hours imagining what her future life would be like in France, with her husband and children.
Despite Rose’s silence, it did not take long for the news of her punishment to reach Aimée through the slave grapevine. The slaves may have been prevented from talking to Rose, but that did not stop them from talking with each other. This method of communication was the fastest on Martinique.
Aimée prayed the news would not reach Aunt Lavinia, taking comfort in the fact that her aunt rarely socialized with anyone because of her “delicate condition” and predilection towards hysteria. Still unaware of the true reason for Rose’s punishment, Aimée blamed herself for what her cousin had now to endure. Had she dissuaded Rose, stood her ground, and refused to participate, maybe Rose would not have gone alone. It was my fault for not following the precepts of the church and for not making Rose follow them too. Although she could think of no time that Rose had ever heeded her council.
Now that her transgression weighed heavily on her conscience, she prayed harder and more often than usual, making bargains with God with promises of future fealty. She also laid offerings of sweets and flowers on her mother’s grave, beseeching her spirit to protect her. Making offerings to her mother in times of need had been a regular practice since the age of five, when Da Angelique taught her how to honor the loa, spirits of her dead parents. Many other graves in the churchyard were similarly adorned with flowers, candles, fruits, banana beer and rum, and she never saw this for what it actually was—the vodoun practice of feeding departed souls. She did not identify any of the small acts she regularly performed as such—pouring flower-infused water over herself after bathing, wearing a secret gris-gris bag of roots and herbs around her neck for protection, or burning the hair she collected from her hairbrush to prevent anyone wishing her harm to use it against her. These small daily rituals were no different to her than her nightly prayers.
The persistent ministrations of Aunt Lavinia and Father Christophe also made her a devout Catholic, fully accepting of the precepts of the Church. At the age of twelve, after contracting a dangerous fever, Aunt Lavinia had kept a prayer vigil by Aimée’s bed for three days. When the fever broke, her aunt explained that Jesus in his mercy had saved her mortal soul. Later, Da Angelique told her a different story. The offerings made on her behalf by many of the slaves and the charms placed beneath her sick bed had “sent dos evil spirits back where dey belong” and made her well. At the time, Aimée had believed both explanations but now she began to wonder which might be stronger, God or spirits.
She wished to please everyone, but found it increasingly difficult to continue to blindly accept beliefs she had previously not challenged. Consequently, the things in which she normally took comfort no longer soothed her.
She longed to discuss these things with Rose, despite her cousin’s lack of interest in such matters. Unfortunately, her only friend was gone, and she blamed herself and felt more alone than ever. She vowed to be more pious, to try harder to be good, because once again, someone she loved had been taken away from her—first her father, then her mother and now Rose. It must be my fault, she thought.
~ ~ ~
That evening at dinner, she asked her aunt and uncle if she might join Rose in Fort-Royal. Her uncle’s reply was swift. “Absolutely not. I am relieved that she is gone. The girl has become a willful heathen, a terrible influence whom you will be the better without. And you are needed here, Mademoiselle. Your aunt is neither well nor strong and you are finally of an age to be of real service to her.”
The words chilled Aimée’s heart. Service? Is that all I am? Will I be bound to them forever? If Aunt Lavinia is unwilling to spare me to attend school in Fort-Royal, will she ever allow me to marry? The last thought gave her a knot in her stomach. Pleading a stomachache, she excused herself, and went to her room to think.
Alone in her room, the importance of leaving Martinique and going abroad to Paris suddenly became clear. I will be fifteen soon, she thought, already too old for marriage in some minds, and what will happen if I remain on Martinique? Even if I were not forced to stay at home to care for Aunt and Uncle, what else might I do? Nothing ever happens here, and I would die of boredom. I suppose I might be a governess to someone else’s children. But, I want my own children and a handsome husband who will escort me to grand balls where I shall wear beautiful gowns and dance and dance. She imagined her presentation at court as she held the edges of her muslin skirt, executed a clumsy curtsey, lost her balance and almost toppled over. What does it matter if I lack grace, or do not know the latest dances? If I could travel abroad I would master everything. I must convince Aunt and Uncle to send me. It is my only hope. But, how?
Aimée had always been an obedient, well-behaved child, out of fear that her aunt and uncle would put her in an orphanage if she were difficult or less than perfect. She never begged or pleaded to get her way. She had no right to argue or to show displeasure in their decisions on her behalf. In truth, she would not have had these rights even if she were their own child. Therefore, the decision to send me abroad must appear to be their idea. What might induce them to put my wishes before their own?
She needed to discuss this with Rose, who was so much cleverer than she, but Rose was unavailable. So she asked herself what Rose might do and pondered the question for several weeks, until the solution hit her like a cocoanut falling from a tree. The only problem was that it required some duplicity. In fact, it would be a huge lie. She strug
gled with this for another week before deciding to proceed. If she did nothing, she would certainly die an unmarried woman, probably caring for strangers on an isolated, tropical island.
~ ~ ~
The following Friday she made her weekly confession to Father Christophe, as usual.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she confessed.
“What is your sin, my child?” the priest asked automatically, with no genuine expectation. Aimée had never confessed anything of the slightest interest to him.
“I am not certain.”
“Not certain, eh? Well, what have you done?”
“I have done nothing. It is just thoughts of a sort.”
“Ah, pernicious thoughts.”
“No, no, Father. Nothing like that.”
“Well, thoughts of what nature, my child? There are many types of sinful thoughts.” He absently picked at some errant threads hanging off the end of his belt.
“As you are aware, I have a rather large dowry as a result of the sale of our family plantation upon my mother’s death.” She paused.
He lifted his head attentively. “Yes?”
“Well, my aunt and uncle, out of nothing more than kindness towards me, wish to keep me with them—while I wish for something else.”
“Do you presume to know better than your elders?”
“Oh, no, Father, but I would like very much to attend a convent abroad.” At least that much was true, she thought.
The priest sighed heavily. “And in what way is this a sin?”
“Well, I feel rather ungrateful. Is it not a sin to repay their kindness with my own selfish desire to enter the Church?” She crossed her fingers, legs and ankles, hoping she wouldn’t topple over where she knelt.
“Enter the Church? Do you mean to become a nun?”
