The Unforgiven

by Irina Shapiro

  “Oh, she’s peart. Thank you for asking, Mr. Besson. Blessed me with another boy this summer. I’m thankful they are both well, but a girl might have been nice. That’s six boys I’ve got,” the captain said, his chest swelling with pride. “Six fine boys.”

  “My congratulations to you both. I might have a boy of my own before long,” George boasted, beaming at the captain.

  “Well, it’s about time, if you ask me,” the captain replied, patting George on the back.

  “It sure is.”

  “They’ve finished the loading, captain,” a crewman informed him.

  “We’ll be off, then. You enjoy your river cruise, Miss Madeline,” the captain said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Madeline could hardly breathe as the great steamboat slid away from the dock, its smokestacks blowing black smoke and the paddle wheel slapping against the water. The boat glided smoothly away from the shore and toward the middle of the river where a pleasant breeze ruffled the curls surrounding her face and the lace trim of her parasol. She breathed deeply, inhaling the damp smell of the river.

  “Like it?” George asked.

  “It’s wonderful. I wish we could stay here forever.”

  “Forever is a long time, Madeline,” he said, grinning. “If you like it that much I’ll take you along every time I go to New Orleans, although I usually go by land. It takes about the same amount of time, but I still have my carriage in town and can return any time I please.”

  “Do you go often?” Madeline asked.

  “At least once a month.”

  George went on to talk about his business, but Madeline wasn’t really listening. She drank in the scenery and inhaled the bracing air. She would have gladly continued all the way to Ohio, but all too soon the boat reached New Orleans and began to steer toward the wharf. There was a lot of activity as it docked and the ramp was lowered to allow the passengers off before unloading the cargo bound for New Orleans. George escorted Madeline down the ramp and away from the docks.

  “This is an unsavory area,” he said, referring to Rattletrap Square and the area around the docks. Madeline had passed the square before, with her father. She’d seen the poor white folk who lived like rats in tumbledown shacks and walked around barefoot all year round. Some of the children, who wandered around unsupervised at all hours of the day, were so filthy and thin that they looked half dead.

  “There are some who say it’s wrong for one human being to own another,” George said as they passed the square, “but isn’t it better to belong to a kind owner who offers his people three meals a day and a home in their dotage than to live like this?” He jutted his chin toward the smelly dwellings. “The mortality rate for poor white folk is much higher than it is for slaves.”

  “Not all owners are kind, though, are they?” Madeline asked, turning away from the poverty and desperation she saw.

  “No, they’re not. I treat my people well.”

  He sounded defensive, so Madeline let the subject drop.

  “I have a meeting in Royal Street,” George said. “It won’t take long. You can wait for me in the reception area. I’m sure they can offer you a glass of lemonade.”

  “Can I stay here?”

  “Alone?”

  “I’ll just walk by the river. You can come get me once you’ve finished. Please, George. I used to come here with my parents. I’ll be safe on my own. I promise.”

  George considered this for a moment. “All right. But please, Madeline, don’t stray from this spot. Had I known you’d want to walk around I’d have brought Cissy to accompany you.”

  “George, I’m fine without Cissy. I used to come here by myself all the time when Daddy was…”

  “When Daddy was what?”

  “Daddy started drinking after Mama died. And gambling. Mammy and Tess were too busy with household chores to come with me, so I often came on my own, just to take a walk. I like it here.”

  That wasn’t quite the truth since Madeline had usually come with Miss Cole, but she had no desire to sit in some stuffy office, sipping lemonade and waiting for George, when she could be outside on this glorious morning, enjoying the sights and sounds of the river.

  George took out a pencil and paper from his portemonnaie and scribbled an address. “This is where I’ll be should you need me.”

  “Don’t worry, George. I’ll be fine.”

  He gave Madeline a quick peck on the cheek and walked away. She felt an odd sense of relief. This was the first time she had been truly alone since Mr. Larson took her to Arabella Plantation. It felt good not to have to explain herself to anybody or make excuses—not that her grandmother or Amelia cared much where she was. She began to walk, enjoying her solitude and freedom. Being back in New Orleans was bittersweet, and she had a brief urge to visit her old home, but quickly suppressed it. The house had been sold, and going back would do nothing but cause her pain. She wished she could see Tess. Mr. Larson had said she was still in New Orleans, but Madeline had no idea where she might be. She hoped Tess was happy and well treated.

  Her thoughts turned to Mammy. Madeline had spent many a happy afternoon by the river with her mother and Mammy when she was little. Mama and Mammy had shared an easy relationship, and chatted and laughed like friends rather than mistress and servant. Madeline sighed. All the grownups she’d trusted had lied to her, or if not outwardly lied, withheld the truth. Only now had she begun to realize how little she really knew of her father, mother, and Mammy.

  Mammy had never spoken of her past, never told Madeline where she’d come from or who her people were. She’d never mentioned she had children, and she must have had a husband at some point. Mammy had said that her sons’ father was gone, but she must have loved him and missed him when she lived with Madeline’s family in New Orleans. She hadn’t even gone to his funeral or visited her sons in all the time she’d been away from the plantation. Had her parents known that Mammy had a family and refused to let her visit them, or was Mammy not welcome at Arabella Plantation? George had said there was history between her and Sybil Besson. Perhaps her father had taken Mammy with him for a reason.

  And what did Madeline know of her mother’s family? Or her father’s? They’d never spoken of their parents or any siblings they might have had. Was it possible that Madeline had other kin she knew nothing about on her mother’s side? Had her parents been protecting her or themselves when they kept her in total ignorance?

  Madeline twirled her parasol as she walked. After a while the heady feeling of independence wore off and she began to feel lonesome. She saw several girls her age strolling along, chaperones in tow. The women were clearly the girls’ mothers and they followed the girls at a discreet distance, chatting amiably. Madeline felt a stab of loneliness. She would never take a stroll along the river with her mother, or have her there to guide her through the pitfalls of adolescence or the wonders of marriage and motherhood. She’d have no one. Not even Mammy. There was so much she didn’t know or understand, but she had no one to ask.

  Lately, Madeline had begun to wonder about relations between men and women. She suspected there was more to getting married than simply going to live in your husband’s house and sharing a room. She’d overheard Cissy chatting with one of the other household maids. They were giggling and talking in low voices, but Madeline had heard Cissy speak of kissing a man.

  “Did you go with him?” Bette asked as she dusted the mantel.

  “Not yet, but I will,” Cissy replied. “And soon. When he lays his hands on me, I forget everything in the whole world, Bette.”

  “I felt like that with my man,” Bette said, sighing. “And now, when he lays his hands on me I want to whack him over the head with a cast-iron skillet.”

  “Why does that happen, you think?” Cissy asked. “All that passion turns to hate.”

  “Because the man who whispered sweet nothings in your ear and took his time to please you becomes selfish and indifferent, and his eyes follow other women wh
en he thinks you ain’t looking. Not like they’s so fine, dem other girls, but they’s forbidden fruit, and you’s nothing but a core left from an apple he’s already eaten.”

  Cissy giggled. “You do have a way with words, Bette, I’ll grant you that. You think I should wait?”

  “I think you should be careful. If you get with child, you’ll lose your place. They’ll send you to the fields to pick cotton. Mrs. Besson won’t have you in da house.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t like to see slaves breeding, I reckon, but that don’t stop her from enjoying the benefits.”

  “At least they don’t sell the babies on,” Cissy said.

  “For now,” Bette replied. “If things get hard, they just might. Easy money to be had from selling babies, and no loss of labor.”

  “You got a point there,” Cissy conceded. “I best mind myself. I don’t want no baby.”

  “Then keep your legs crossed, my girl.”

  Madeline hadn’t really understood what the women were talking about, but found their conversation intriguing. She had thought you had to be married to have a baby, but it seemed you could have a child without the benefit of wedlock. So how did the baby come about? If Cissy wasn’t married and lived in the big house, sharing a room with Bette, how could she have a baby? Perhaps she could ask Amelia.

  Madeline turned to see how far she’d come. Realizing she’d wandered a lot further than she’d planned, she decided to turn back. George would be finishing his business by now, and Madeline was getting hungry. She turned around and began to walk back at a brisk pace. She wasn’t enjoying her stroll anymore.

  Madeline was only a short distance from where she’d promised to wait for George when she saw a familiar face. Miss Cole hurried along, a paper-wrapped package beneath her arm. She might have hurried past, had Madeline not called out to her.

  “Madeline, is that you?” Paula Cole seemed shocked to see her, and a bit dazed.

  “I’m just here for the day,” Madeline explained. “Cousin George brought me. He had some business in town.”

  “And he let you wander around on your own?”

  “Only for a short while,” Madeline replied, offended on behalf of George. She couldn’t help but notice the pallor of Miss Cole’s cheeks and her haggard appearance in the unforgiving bright morning light. She seemed to have aged years since the funeral. “Are you all right, Miss Cole? How are you getting on?”

  Miss Cole tried to smile, but faltered. “I’ve been better, Madeline, but I have employment and a roof over my head. I work at Mrs. Bonnard’s shop.”

  “You look so pale,” Madeline said, hoping she didn’t sound rude.

  “I hardly see the light of day,” Miss Cole replied. “All the seamstresses get up at dawn and sew for two hours, then have breakfast and go back to work until midday. We’re allowed half an hour for our midday meal and then it’s back to our stations till six. Then dinner. The doors are locked by eight. The only day we have off is Sunday, and even then we have to follow the rules. We must attend church, then see to our laundry and personal hygiene. No visitors are allowed.”

  “But you’re out here now,” Madeline said.

  “The boy who delivers the packages took ill, so Mrs. Bonnard sent me to bring this to a client. I only work on collars, buttons, and hems, so she can spare me for an hour. I’m grateful for the respite, but since I get paid per the number of items I complete, I won’t get paid for this time.”

  “But that’s so unfair.”

  Miss Cole gave Madeline a strange look, like she was about to say something, but changed her mind. “It was good to see you, Madeline. I hope you appreciate your good fortune.”

  “I wish you well, Miss Cole,” Madeline called as Miss Cole walked away, her back ramrod straight and her shoulders tense.

  Madeline looked after her for a time. She’d spent the first fifteen years of her life being coddled, but now her eyes were beginning to open to reality. Miss Cole was stuck in the back room of the shop all day long, with no time to herself or any opportunity to meet new people. She had a job and a roof over her head, but not much more, and would likely remain trapped in this job until she either died or the shop closed its doors, in which case, she’d try to find a similar position. There were few opportunities for women, and as Miss Cole had no family to turn to, she had to do whatever it took to survive. Her life could have turned out very differently had Charles Besson lived. Had he remained at home that night, drank less at the card game, or left earlier, he might still be alive and all their lives would have gone on as before.

  Madeline recalled the lesson on ancient mythology Miss Cole had taught about the Wheel of Fortune. At the time, Madeline had thought it was a silly fable, but now it seemed more real and sinister than she had been willing to admit. Fortuna had spun the wheel, and all their futures had changed in the blink of an eye.

  “Enjoy your good fortune,” Miss Cole had said. It was strange to think of losing her father and her home as good fortune, but Madeline had gained a comfortable future whereas Miss Cole had lost her only chance at happiness and comfort.

  When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child;

  but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

  The Bible verse from Corinthians came to Madeline as she resumed her walk. She wasn’t a man, but it was time to put away childish things. Life was no longer black and white, but countless shades of gray, and she had to adjust her thinking to this new reality. She had to stop mourning her old life and move forward.

  Chapter 19

  “There you are,” George said and he strode toward Madeline. “I was getting worried. You weren’t where I left you.”

  “I was just walking,” Madeline replied, her mind still on Miss Cole’s predicament. Their encounter had dampened her spirits, but she decided to put the governess from her mind for the time being. Her heart went out to Miss Cole, but she wasn’t her responsibility.

  “There’s a lovely restaurant I want to take you to, but I thought we’d make a stop on the way. Do you mind?”

  Though Madeline’s stomach growled with hunger, she could hardly object to George’s request after he’d been so kind to her. She’d been to a restaurant only once, on her fifteenth birthday, when Daddy had taken her to Antoine’s. It had been a wonderful experience—or would have been had Daddy not overindulged in drink. Few other patrons had noticed, but it had upset Madeline. Perhaps the only reason he’d always had breakfast with her was because it was the only time he was truly sober.

  Rather than hail a carriage for hire, George gave Madeline his arm and seemed all set to walk.

  “Is it far?” she asked. The day had warmed up considerably since they’d disembarked the boat and she was beginning to perspire, even in the shade of her parasol.

  “Not at all. It’s just in Basin Street.”

  Madeline looked up at George in surprise. St. Louis Cemetery was in Basin Street. Her mother was interred there, but Daddy had never taken her to visit her mother’s grave. He’d thought she was too young to go to the “City of the Dead,” as he called it.

  “Are we going to the cemetery?” Madeline asked as she tried to keep pace with George.

  “I always visit my parents’ vault when I’m in town, and I thought you might wish to visit yours,” George replied. “My mother died when I was very little, but I knew my father well, and I miss him still. It eases me somehow to visit his final resting place.” He gave Madeline a searching look. “We don’t have to go if you feel uncomfortable. A cemetery is not a pleasant place.”

  “No, I want to go. I’ve never visited my mother’s grave, and I’d like to see where Daddy is interred. I never really got the chance to say goodbye,” Madeline added. Her father had been taken to a mortuary after his accident and funeral arrangements had been made quickly and without a fuss. There had been a service at St. Louis Cathedral, with only a handful of people in attendance, and t
hen Mr. Larson had asked Tess to take Madeline home while he, his fiancée, Mammy, and Miss Cole went on to the cemetery to see her father interred.

  Madeline drew closer to George as they entered the cemetery. Many paths branched off the central avenue, and they were narrow and bare of any greenery, the whole place like a sea of unyielding stone. Imposing tombs stood shoulder to shoulder, their windowless walls gray even in the autumn sunshine. Some had the family name engraved above the entrance, but others didn’t, the identity of the occupants having been obliterated by time. Those who weren’t interred in family tombs had been laid to rest in above-ground stone caskets that littered the surface of the cemetery as if the gravediggers had wandered off before completing their task.

  “Where are your parents?” Madeline asked.

  “The Besson family tomb is just over there,” George said, “but your parents are not there.”

  I didn’t think they would be, Madeline thought bitterly. Her parents had been outcasts, as she was just beginning to understand.

  They walked until they had almost reached the wall surrounding the cemetery. Here, the caskets were plainer, more neglected, and even closer to each other, the dead laid to rest practically one on top of another. George showed Madeline two stone coffins side by side. “Here they are. Your brother is with your mother.”

  Madeline stared at the inscriptions on the gravestones. The one on her father’s looked fresh, but the lettering on her mother’s grave was slightly weathered.

  Corinne Besson

  Died July 17, 1853

  Aged 29

  Charles Besson

  Died August 4, 1858

  Aged 37

  Madeline traced the letters with her finger. Her brother wasn’t even mentioned, having been stillborn. Had her parents given him a name or had he gone to his grave nameless?

  “Would you like a moment alone?” George asked. “I’ll just go pay my respects to my parents and come right back.”