by Zia Wesley
“Yes, Father, I would like to.” God forgive me, she thought. Mon dieu, can I ask God to forgive me when I am lying to his priest?
“Oh, my. I had no idea. Become a nun,” he mused. “And thus relinquish all your earthly goods to the Church instead of to your aunt and uncle? Yes, now I see your quandary.” In fact, he understood it very well. He thought of the generous amount of Aimée’s dowry, and began to calculate the percentage that would stay with him for sending a child in his ward to a convent.
Aimée knelt quietly, her hands clasped together beneath her chin, squeezing them so tightly that her knuckles went white. She hoped the priest could not hear the wild pounding of her heart in her chest. Please don’t let him see I am lying, she prayed.
After what seemed like hours of silence he said, “But surely Aunt and Uncle would wish you to be closer to God, would they not?”
She exhaled gratefully, her whole body relaxing. “One would think so, Father. They are such devoted Catholics.”
“You have not sinned, my child. It is not a sin to wish to serve God. It is the highest calling. In any case, say five Hail Mary’s and one Our Father for the salvation of your soul, and I will think on this matter and speak with your family as I see fit. Go with God.”
Aimée left the confessional in a state of elation. My plan is working. I told a lie to Father Christophe and he did not know. Her aunt and uncle would never refuse a request that came from him... from her spiritual guardian.
Before leaving the church, Aimée lit a candle and said a special prayer of thanks to the Blessed Virgin. Nevertheless, she suspected it to be the offerings to her mother that had helped her wish come true, for surely her mother would want her to have a family. For the second time she wondered if the spirits of the dead might be as powerful as God. Is it heresy to even think so? How can I be sure which actions tipped the scales on my behalf? Lately, she seemed to be plagued by questions she had never before entertained about God and spirits and morality. She wondered why she suddenly cared so much and if it was because she was almost fifteen.
As she fairly skipped home, she planned and plotted the next steps. Once she was ensconced in a French convent, common decency would require her to pay a visit to her relatives in Paris. Her sophisticated French relatives would instantly surmise that becoming a nun was neither to her taste nor best interest, and present her to all of the most eligible bachelors. I will pray harder, and tomorrow morning, before sunrise, I will lay more flowers and sweets on Mother’s grave. I will not stop until Father Christophe has convinced Aunt and Uncle to send me away.
She walked home watching the heavens for a sign of God’s disapproval, but nothing happened. Please let it be all right, she silently prayed, and let me go to Paris.
Chapter 4
Even with the help of Father Christophe, it took Aimée six months to sway her aunt and uncle’s resolve to keep her with them. She had not needed to tell any more lies as such. She simply imagined a bleak future of familial servitude, rather than her romantic dream of wealth and opulence. This charade transformed her into an unhappy, moping young woman whom Lavinia found intolerably unpleasant.
“Surely, there is something you can say to stop her fits of uncontrollable sobbing,” Jean-Luc told Lavinia. “The girl mopes or cries and complains of stomach pains, headaches, and God knows what else. She has become unbearably tiresome, and I find her behavior unacceptable. You must put a stop to it, Madame.” He saw his future with two hysterical women in his house—and that would simply not do. “Please remember,” he added, “that she is not our own daughter. But if she were, I would most likely feel exactly the same. So, if you cannot reverse this tide of sentiment, I shall send her abroad and thereby restore some modicum of peace to this house.”
“I am not sure I know how to reverse this particular tide, Monsieur. But I shall try.”
“That is all I ask of you.”
But Lavinia was powerless against Aimée’s despondence, and the histrionics finally caused her uncle to make good his word, which turned the tide in her favor.
One night as her uncle retired for the evening, he announced to Lavinia, “I have decided that Aimée shall set sail for France sometime in June. I will leave it to Father Christophe to arrange for her attendance in a convent school of his choosing. At an appropriate time, she will travel to Paris to meet my brother and his family with the purpose of ‘investigating’ the possibility of establishing herself amongst the Parisian gentry.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. But her heart sank at the thought of Aimée in Paris. The girl would no doubt be dazzled, and quickly abandon her plan to take vows. She would be lost to Lavinia as well as to the church. She was unable to express this sentiment to her husband, so simply said, “You are quite right, Monsieur. It is proper for her to meet her only other relatives.”
“Once she has had a taste of Paris, I doubt the convent will still suit her,” he mused. “And she surely will not want to return here. Perhaps they might find an appropriate husband for her. Sophie is at the pinnacle of Parisian society, and Aimée desirable in many ways. She is a tenth-generation aristocrat, after all, despite having been raised in this colonial backwash. And her dowry is substantial enough to be attractive to suitors lacking money. She may even do well.”
Lavinia thought I could have told you that, and then said aloud, “But Parisians are so treacherous towards outsiders; even to their own, for that matter. As lovely as Aimée appears, she is still a country girl with no social graces or idea of how to comport herself in polite society. She may feel awkward and out of place.”
“Yes, quite true. Well, sink or swim, she must meet them anyway. It would not do for her to be on the continent without contacting them. They might think they were being overlooked. I’ll post a letter to Antoine next week.”
There goes any chance of her ever coming home, thought Lavinia. Who will be my companion now?
~ ~ ~
Aimée was ecstatic with the news, and now that her departure was imminent, Lavinia began to wish the best for her, albeit for selfish reasons. If the girl made a fool of herself amongst her husband’s family, whom would they blame for her lack? Lavinia, of course. She did not wish to be blamed for the girls’ shortcomings.
Lavinia explained, “You know so little of society, Aimée, but I think you may find it more stimulating than you can possibly imagine. Uncle feels it would be a mistake to choose to devote your life to God without first experiencing a bit more of life.”
Aimée was thrilled by these words, and smiled broadly at her aunt. Yes, she craved exactly that. She had been praying for this conclusion, and now that their goals were aligned, perhaps she might feel less guilty about her pretense to become a nun.
“Oh, yes Aunt,” Aimée enthusiastically replied. “Having known so few of my family, I look forward to meeting my father’s other brother and his wife. I shall welcome the opportunity to meet them and to visit Paris.”
“Your Aunt Sophie will arrange introductions for you to all the best people in Paris. She is quite the social butterfly, and such introductions are the only way to assure any social success. Parisians are meticulous in their social hierarchy and customs. But if properly managed, these should yield an ample number of potential suitors.”
Aimée heard the word “suitors” and her heart soared.
~ ~ ~
Weeks of preparations followed. Two of the island’s best seamstresses artfully created an entire new wardrobe: six day dresses for travel and the convent, with two pairs of sturdy shoes for negotiating country grounds and the cobbled streets of Paris, gloves, hats, waistcoats and purses to match the day wear and six fully accessorized evening ensembles for formal dinners and social gatherings. Two formal gowns, with matching satin slippers and shawls, were fashioned for balls and the opera, which was currently all the rage. Aimée felt like a princess. She was enchanted by the finery, and thrilled to think of wearing them all in Paris. Secretly, she considered them her trousseau.
Father Christophe enrolled her in the Couvent de la Visitation in Nantes, in southern France. As it was unacceptable for a young lady of her stature to travel alone, Da Angelique would accompany her on the journey and serve as her personal maid in France. She was no longer a child. She was a young French aristocrat, a young lady of substance and worth.
When all was finally ready on the day of her departure from Fort-Royal, her trunks were loaded onto the ship that would take her to France. “I shall miss you every day, Aunt Lavinia, and I pray for your continued good health. Thank you so very much for all you have given me and for this gift.” They embraced, and Lavinia wiped a small tear from one eye.
Jean-Luc extended his hand to her as he would a son, tipped his hat and said, “Safe journey.”
Tears poured from her eyes as she hugged her cousin Rose. “Promise you will write me with all the news, Yeyette,” she implored. “I will miss you so very much.”
“I promise I shall. And remember,” Rose whispered into her ear as she kissed her damp cheek, “I will be there one day soon also.” It was the first time in more than a year that a reference to Euphemia David’s predictions had been made, and Aimée was so excited by the prospect of her voyage it did not disturb her.
“Yes, dear cousin,” she whispered back, “we shall be in Paris together.”
Chapter 5
Le Couvent de la Visitation,
Nantes, France
August 1779
Eight weeks later, after an uneventful voyage on a French passenger ship that also carried sugar, Aimée and her companion arrived at the Couvent de la Visitation in Nantes. The short carriage ride from the docks passed through the most beautiful countryside Aimée had ever seen, and both were surprised that the slave had been permitted to ride in the carriage rather than on the seat with the driver. They drove through rolling green hills, the tallest of which were crowned by towns with extraordinarily high stonewalls. On the fertile flatlands, small thatched houses sat in the midst of orderly fields of wheat and barley, or orchards and vineyards heavy with fruit. The sky was deep blue with only a few small, puffy white clouds, and the air felt comfortably dry and warm.
Aimée and Da Angelique were the only passengers in the open carriage, and in less than an hour’s time, they passed through the cloistered walls of the convent and rolled to a stop. As the footman helped her to step down, Aimée closed her eyes and took the first deep breath she had taken in months. She drank in the warm, fragrant air and felt immediately welcomed. Then she giggled. How funny it is to arrive in a convent, filled with the hope of meeting a husband, she thought.
It was mid-summer, and the well-kept grounds were a verdant green. She looked up at the church’s bell tower rising majestically into the sky, and thought it might be high enough to send her prayers even closer to God’s ears. All of the buildings were constructed of dark gray granite blocks with small, deeply set windows imbedded high in the walls. The church was the tallest structure in the complex, with two long, single-story buildings stretching out from either side. Wisteria vines shaded walkways between the buildings, their sweetly scented purple flowers drooping down like a floral veil. The heady scent of the blossoms reminded her of home, and she thought, I am going to be happy here.
Turning to Da Angelique she said, “Isn’t it lovely?”
The sturdy slave surveyed the landscape and frowned. “Dis look like da prison in Fort-Royal,” she said. She was a short woman, almost as wide as she was tall. The darkness of her ebony skin was enhanced by the riot of color she wore on her head—a traditional headscarf, wound around her head several times and knotted on the side. She shook her head imperceptibly, unable to find any beauty in the bleak, foreign place. Her feet, enclosed in full leather shoes for the first time in her life, pained her terribly, and she hoped the climate would remain warm enough to not have to wear them at all. “Where everybody?” she asked. “Why nobody here t’meet you?”
“Hush now,” Aimée said. “Make sure they unload all of my trunks.”
Aimée liked the look of the manicured grounds, neatly laid paths, geometric buildings and, mostly, the neat and tidy rows of trees and flowerbeds. No jungle vines encroached and entangled the buildings or would reach out to grab one’s ankles as one walked. No screaming mynahs or macaws disturbed the carefully managed silence. Instead, a soft, yawning quietness seemed to envelop her, making her feel safe. All of these thoughts and impressions flooded her mind at once, and her outward response was a wide, spontaneous smile. However, she was not prepared to feel the ground rocking beneath her feet. Da Angelique took hold of her arm to steady her, but found herself off balance as well. After an eight-week voyage, their bodies still rocked to the rhythm of the ship on the water.
They stood swaying on solid ground as the coachman unloaded Aimée’s trunks and drove away. The Mother Superior approached, her hands folded inside the sleeves of her habit. Her long, milky-white face looked painfully squeezed by her starched wimple, and the thin lips of her hard mouth seemed to press together in disapproval. She removed her hands from the sleeves and extended them forward to greet Aimée. When their hands clasped, Aimée was surprised to find that on this warm, sunny day, the nun’s hands were icy cold.
The Mother Superior arranged her face into what she hoped might resemble a smile, and said, “Welcome to the Couvent de la Visitation, Mademoiselle de Rivery.”
Aimée observed that the woman spoke without seeming to move her lips. “Thank you, Mother.”
The Mother Superior immediately turned and began walking briskly.
Aimée walked unsteadily beside the nun as they spoke. “I am afraid that I feel rather unsteady on my feet,” she said.
Without slowing her pace the nun replied, “Yes, it will take several days for you to adjust to being on land after such a long voyage. You may feel quite nauseated when lying down as well.”
“Oh,” was all Aimée could think to say.
“You are not the first girl from Martinique to stay with us, you know. Several years ago Margot de la Sort came to us for a period of two years. A fine young lady from an excellent family. You must know them.”
“I know of the de la Sort family, but did not know Margot, as she was much older than me.”
The Mother Superior stopped abruptly and faced Aimée. “‘Than I,’ child. ‘She was much older than I... was,’ you see?” she corrected. Mon dieu, her accent is deplorable; this girl is here to stay, she thought. From as far away as twenty paces she had seen that Aimée would never attract a sophisticated suitor. She was beautiful but without grace, and those clothes. The Parisians would devour her, and then spit her out, after which she would make a perfect novice. Her sizeable dowry will help me to build the new rectory, she thought—and almost smiled.
Aimée flushed bright red. She was not accustomed to being corrected. Hoping to make a good impression, she hid her embarrassment and simply replied, “Yes, thank you, Mother.”
“Remember, you are here to learn. It is our goal to improve all aspects of your demeanor.”
“Yes, Mother.” So that I will make a good wife, she reminded herself. She had already decided that she would endure anything (even criticism from an ice-cold nun) to achieve her goal. Then she silently chastised herself for thinking ill of the woman. She is a servant of God, and I need all of his help I can get.
The convent was much larger than Aimée had imagined. Besides the hundred pupils, the Mother Superior explained, it housed an additional thirty widows, along with forty nuns and novices who ran the convent and taught the classes.
As a young nun approached them, the Mother Superior said, “This is Sister Constance. She will show you to your quarters and then take your maid to hers. Constance, this is Mademoiselle de Rivery. I will leave you now and see you at vespers.”
Constance was a chubby young woman with so many freckles that at first her skin appeared to be rusty brown. Her bright, cinnamon-colored eyebrows told Aimée she was a redhead. “Welcome, Ma
demoiselle,” she said with a genuine smile, taking Aimée’s elbow to help steady her as they walked. “I am sure you will like it here,” she assured. “I came here four years ago to study, like you, then last year decided to stay and take vows. The food is wonderful.”
Aimée smiled at the thought that cuisine may have been the deciding factor in the girl’s choice to serve God. However, she was sincerely pleasant, almost jovial, and talked nonstop. “You must tell me all about Martinique. I have never met anyone from anywhere off the continent. How exciting it must be to have grown up on an island. Are there jungles and wild animals?”
Aimée tried to answer, but the girl barely left space between her questions, which made Aimée giggle.
Constance gave her arm a squeeze, and said, “I know we are going to be such good friends.” With a bouncing step and a slower pace than the Mother Superior’s, she led Aimée to one of the tiny rooms in a long two-story building. Aimée looked up at the window set high in the wall. “Why are the windows so high?” Aimée asked.
“Well,” Constance recited the reply by rote, “the purpose of the window is to allow light in, but our focus here is inner contemplation, so one has no need to look out.” She paused, and then said with a wink, “It also prevents anyone from looking in.”
Surprised by the young nun’s wink and inference, Aimée opened then closed her mouth and smiled. She supposed that one could follow a holy calling and still be humorous, although this was her first experience of such a person, and she liked her immediately.
~ ~ ~
Aimée quickly settled in to convent life and agreed with Constance that the food was indeed exceptionally good. Her days began and ended with a long mass, filled in between with lessons in Latin, French, history, literature, art and music as well as the more practical arts of sewing and embroidery. She even learned to weave on a small handloom. The classes that prepared the girls for marriage were the most enjoyable. However, being a convent, the preparations did not include the “private” aspects of marriage, which were never mentioned. Had she not been raised in the country, she would have remained ignorant of their existence.
