The Unforgiven

by Irina Shapiro

  “Are you all right in there?” Quinn asked the baby as she stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. She turned sideways to examine her belly. It had noticeably rounded over the past week, the little bump firm and the skin sensitive to the touch. Her breasts were fuller and crisscrossed with bluish veins, like rivers on a map, while her nipples had grown darker and larger. Quinn laid a hand over her stomach and waited. Some expectant mothers said they felt movement as early as sixteen weeks, but she was close to twenty and hadn’t felt anything yet. She longed for confirmation that her baby was well. There was no reason to think otherwise, but she hadn’t been feeling well the past few days. Perhaps it was the food, or the humid New Orleans weather that she couldn’t get used to. Her face looked flushed, even in an air-conditioned bathroom.

  Quinn stepped into the shower and allowed the water to cascade over her shoulders. They felt stiff with tension. She pressed her forehead to the cool tiles to try to alleviate the headache that had been building instead of improving. She wished she could just take a day to rest, but Jason Womack would be meeting her in the hotel lobby at ten, so she had to get ready. He’d gotten in later than expected, but sent a text to schedule their meeting. It’d be a long day.

  When she got out of the shower, Quinn checked her mobile again and found a voicemail from Gabe. Finally.

  “Hello, love. Sorry I haven’t been around. Hope you’re having a grand time with your dad. Talk to you soon. Love you.”

  Quinn tried calling Gabe back, but the call went to voicemail again. This wasn’t like him. Even his message sounded odd. He had a deep, melodious voice, but he sounded almost breathless, as if he were nervous. What was going on? Quinn was about to call Phoebe when the room phone trilled.

  “Ms. Allenby, there’s a Jason Womack here for you.”

  “Thank you. Please tell him I’ll be right down.”

  Quinn pulled on her clothes, twisted her still-damp hair into a bun, and threw her mobile into her bag. She’d have to call Phoebe tomorrow, since it would be too late to call by the time she returned to the hotel. Perhaps she was just being paranoid and homesick.

  Quinn came downstairs to find a burly, curly-haired man in a baseball cap waiting for her.

  He smiled and came toward her, hand outstretched. “Dr. Allenby. A pleasure. I’m all yours until the end of next week, so if you’ll just give me an outline of what you’d like to cover, we can get started.”

  Quinn shook Jason’s hand. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and had a disheveled look, but the warmth in his eyes and the lift at the corner of his mouth when he smiled put Quinn at ease. She had no worries about going off with him, especially since Rhys had recommended him so highly.

  “I’d like to start with filming the River Road and the plantation itself,” she said, “and then move on to the slave quarters and fields. I can add a voiceover later. Let’s just get as much footage as we can, so Rhys can pick and choose what he’d like to use.”

  “May I suggest taking a boat into the bayou?” Jason said as he picked up his bag. “Perhaps we can do that tomorrow.”

  “I have no reason to believe that anything pertaining to this episode happened in the bayou,” Quinn replied, although it was a good idea. She still didn’t know exactly what had happened to Madeline, and the bayou was synonymous with Louisiana. It couldn’t hurt to have the footage should a need for it arise. “Yes, let’s do that.”

  “May I make another suggestion?” Jason asked as they stepped into the balmy morning and walked toward his SUV.

  “Of course.”

  “Let’s not ask the museum staff for permission to film.”

  “Why ever not? I’ve already mentioned it to one of the guides.”

  Quinn glanced at her watch. She’d left a message for Dina Aptekar Hill last night to make an appointment, but never heard back from her. The plantation had already opened to visitors this morning, so if Jason wanted to shoot when the place was empty, they’d have to do it on a different day. She explained this to Jason, who shook his head.

  “They will most likely refuse, since this footage will be used for commercial purposes. We will need a permit, and that could take weeks to obtain. Are you familiar with the expression ‘slow as molasses’?” he asked, chuckling at the disbelief on Quinn’s face. “File the paperwork and have them send the permit directly to Rhys Morgan, with the understanding that you will return to film the plantation. Rhys will have it on file should any issues arise once production starts. And in the meantime, we simply act as tourists. I have a small hand-held video camera. I can shoot discreetly inside the house without anyone thinking it’s anything more than a vacation video of a historically minded couple on their honeymoon.”

  “Honeymoon?” Quinn asked in surprise.

  “People love honeymooners. Everyone needs that assurance that love and romance are alive and well. They’ll be less likely to harass us. Besides, you are engaged, are you not?” he asked, cutting his gaze to Quinn’s ring. “Who’s to say I’m not the lucky man?”

  “You’ve really put some thought into this, haven’t you?”

  Jason smiled and put on an exaggerated Southern accent. “My granny always said you should be prepared for any eventuality if you hope to succeed in life.”

  “What else did your granny say?”

  “She said it’s easier to apologize after the fact than to ask for permission, get denied, and then do it anyway and get caught red-handed.”

  “You make it sound like we’re going to rob a bank.”

  “Some people take their history very seriously and believe it belongs only to them. Hey, Rhys said this is the story of your family. Is that so?”

  “Yes. I’ve just recently discovered that my roots come from Louisiana.”

  “And you with that posh British accent.” He chuckled. “Well, that’s even better. Who can deny a lovely young lady a tour of her family’s ancestral home?”

  Quinn followed Jason and got into his truck. She wondered if he’d ever moonlighted as a paparazzo. He seemed like the kind of man who’d hide in the bushes or use a zoom lens to get a prize shot, indifferent to the rights of the people he was photographing and intent only on getting what he needed. Perhaps that was necessary in his line of work, but she didn’t feel overly comfortable with his methods. She’d mention it to Rhys later. In the meantime, she hoped Dina wouldn’t be at the plantation this morning to foil Jason’s plan.

  Chapter 31

  September 1858

  Arabella Plantation, Louisiana

  Madeline slept late the morning after the dinner party. She’d thought the mint juleps and the soothing rocking of the carriage would make it easier to fall asleep once she undressed and climbed into bed, but her mind had refused to settle, picking over the details of the gathering and trying to make sense of the undercurrents that had shaped the conversation. She might have slept longer, but Cissy roused her when she came in and threw open the curtains with an air of defiance. Cissy had chores to attend to and didn’t take kindly to her schedule being disrupted. She helped Madeline dress and arranged her hair into a simple style, which took hardly any time since Cissy clearly had no patience for anything more elaborate.

  Madeline went downstairs, hoping to find Amelia seated at the breakfast table. Amelia hadn’t left her room since the night she lost her baby, but she had to come out sometime. Instead, Madeline found a trunk by the front door.

  “Bette, is Mr. George going on a trip?” she asked the maid as she rushed by with a basket of laundry.

  “I wouldn’t know nothing ‘bout that, Miss Madeline,” Bette replied.

  “It’s Amelia who’s leaving,” Sybil said as she stepped out of the parlor.

  “Where is she going?” Madeline asked, surprised to see her grandmother up so early, since she rarely made an appearance before ten. But Sybil was up, dressed, and in something resembling good spirits.

  “Amelia is going to visit with her family in Boutte. I think it will do her a world o
f good to spend some time with her mother and sisters. Won’t it, Amelia?”

  Amelia was descending the stairs, parasol in hand. She’d lost weight and her skin was as white as bleached cotton, but at least she was out of bed, which had to be a sign of progress.

  “I expect so,” Amelia replied. The dead-eyed stare of the past two weeks had been replaced by something resembling an interest in the world around her.

  “Enjoy your visit, Amelia,” Madeline said, glad to see Amelia up and about but sad to see her go. The house would be very quiet with just Sybil for company. George was too busy to pay her much attention, and the servants kept their distance, all too aware of Sybil’s displeasure if they got too friendly.

  “Thank you, Madeline. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Ready, Miss Amelia?” Jonas asked, having come back inside after making sure Amelia’s trunk was securely stowed in the back of the carriage.

  “Yes.”

  Madeline stepped outside with Amelia. The morning was cool and fresh, and full of promise. Perhaps she’d take a walk after she waved Amelia off.

  Amelia’s head snapped up when she noticed a rider approaching from the direction of the fields. George galloped up to the house and leapt off his horse before it fully stopped. Madeline would have expected Amelia to be pleased that he had made it in time to see her off, but she frowned as if she’d been hoping to get away without seeing her husband.

  “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” George demanded. He looked wounded and Madeline felt a pang of sympathy for him.

  “George, I…” Amelia looked flustered. “I thought it best.”

  “It’s never best for a wife to leave her husband without a word of farewell.” George took Amelia by the shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “I will miss you, Millie, but I want you to stay as long as you need. I want to see you smile again.”

  Amelia’s eyelashes shimmered with unshed tears. “Thank you, George. I appreciate your kindness.”

  George leaned in and kissed Amelia on the forehead in a fatherly fashion. “Be well, Millie.”

  He helped Amelia into the carriage, shut the door, and gave the driver the go-ahead. The carriage began to move and was halfway down the avenue within moments, growing smaller as it rolled toward the gates. George stood still, staring after the conveyance long after it had disappeared from view.

  “I think we need to cheer ourselves up, Maddy. What do you say?” George asked as he came back in the house and joined Madeline in the dining room. He held his cup out for coffee and reached for a beignet.

  “Aren’t you going back to the fields?”

  “Not today. What do you say to a picnic lunch by the lake?”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. But wear something plain. You can’t sit on the ground in those silly hoop skirts. It would be like trying to sit while wearing a church bell. Quite a sight, to be sure, but not very comfortable.”

  Madeline giggled. “All right. I will wear something simple.”

  “Excellent. Meet me in the foyer at noon.”

  “Shall I ask Mammy to pack us a basket?” Madeline asked, her spirits rising by the moment.

  “Leave all the planning to me. You are my guest.” George winked at her and gulped the last of his coffee before springing to his feet and presumably heading for the kitchen house to place his request. Madeline hastily finished her breakfast and stepped outside. She had over two hours until she had to meet George, and she felt too restless to remain indoors. She walked for about an hour, going all the way to the River Road and back down the main avenue, then headed inside to change. Cissy tsked with disapproval, but removed Madeline’s hoop skirt and helped her into a dress of simple sprigged muslin. Madeline wore a ruffled petticoat beneath, and a pair of sturdy shoes, suitable for walking on the grass.

  “Don’t forget your bonnet, Miss Madeline. You must keep the sun off your face to protect your complexion.”

  “I know, Cissy,” Madeline replied. Everyone always seemed concerned with her complexion. She couldn’t help it if her skin turned a golden brown the moment it was kissed by the sun.

  “Ready?” George asked as she came downstairs. He was holding a wicker hamper and had a colorful blanket slung over his arm. “Cook packed us freshly baked corn bread, cold chicken, cole slaw, and plums for dessert. A feast fit for royalty, I’d say,” he joked. George normally dressed like a fashionable town swell, even when at the plantation, but this afternoon he was wearing light-colored trousers, a linen shirt, open at the collar, and comfortable shoes. The simple attire made him look younger, and more vulnerable somehow, not at all like the wealthy scion of an aristocratic family.

  Madeline walked with George to the lake. She’d seen it from her window, but never actually walked there because it was too far to go alone. The water shimmered in the afternoon sun, and a gentle breeze caressed her face. Madeline wished she could take off her bonnet and remove the pins from her hair. It would be so lovely to turn her face up to the sun and not worry about getting too tanned or behaving improperly.

  “I think this is a good spot,” George said as he spread the blanket under an old leafy oak. “Come and sit down, Maddy.”

  Madeline carefully lowered herself to the ground and spread out her skirts around her, making sure to cover her ankles. The tips of her shoes peeked out from beneath the fabric, and she sat stiffly, her legs directly in front of her and her hands folded in her lap.

  “Seriously, Madeline. Have you never been on a picnic? Take off your bonnet, kick off your shoes. You can even roll down your stockings and wet your feet in the lake. I won’t tell anyone. It’s just you and me here, and no one to judge us.”

  George demonstrated what he meant by taking off his shoes and socks and rolling up his trousers. He walked to the edge of the lake and dipped his toes in. “The water is gorgeous,” he said. “Want to go for a swim?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never gone swimming.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. Come on. I won’t let you drown, I promise. It’s so refreshing.”

  Madeline glanced at George from beneath her lashes. The water did look awfully tempting, but she felt shy about removing her clothes.

  George experienced no such qualms. He removed his trousers, pulled his shirt over his head, and waded into the lake wearing only his cotton drawers. Madeline sucked in her breath as she watched him. She’d never seen an unclothed male, not even her father. Charles Besson had always been meticulously dressed, complete with a waistcoat and a necktie. George’s skin glowed in the sunlight and his muscles rippled as he swam out to the center of the lake.

  “Come on, you ninny,” he called as he waved to her. “Look, no hands,” he cried out and lifted his arms above his head, promptly sinking beneath the glittering surface and then reappearing moments later. He shook the water from his eyes and smiled broadly.

  Madeline could resist no longer. She removed her dress and rolled down her stockings, remaining only in her camisole and pantaloons. She walked to the edge of the lake, gasping when the water swirled around her ankles. It was cool and inviting, but the bottom of the lake felt slimy and treacherous. Madeline inched forward, afraid of slipping on the cool mud.

  George swam back toward the shore to meet her. He shook his head and sprayed Madeline with water, making her giggle and turn away from the flying drops, and the sight of him. His near-nudity embarrassed her, but George seemed oblivious to her maidenly sensibilities.

  “Give me your hand,” he said. “The bottom is slippery.”

  Madeline gave George her hand and allowed him to lead her waist-deep into the water.

  “Lie back and allow yourself to float. I’ll hold you. There’s nothing like floating on a calm lake and looking at the clouds,” he said as he slipped his hand beneath her calves and lifted her legs up while easing her back into a reclining position.

  Madeline complied and leaned back on G
eorge’s arm. Her arms and legs floated on the surface of the lake, her limbs relaxing of their own accord. She felt weightless as she gazed up at the sky. It was peacock blue, with wispy white clouds lazily sailing overhead and passing in front of the shimmering sun. All sound faded as Madeline’s ears dipped beneath the water. The moment felt oddly peaceful, and timeless. She could be content to float this way forever.

  George removed the arm from beneath Madeline’s legs and stretched out next to her, but his right arm still supported her from beneath, making her feel safe. They floated side by side, staring up at the endless sky for what felt like hours.

  “This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time,” George said after they finally emerged from the water and reclined on the blanket to dry off.

  Madeline glanced in embarrassment at her see-through undergarments, but he didn’t seem to care. His drawers were soaking wet, and she could see the bulge of his manhood as he folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, sighing with pleasure. He remained like that for some time, but then his eyes flew open, as if he’d just remembered something important.

  “I’m hungry,” he said. He sat up and rummaged in the basket, taking out the food the cook had packed for them, as though searching for something. “I asked Cook for lemonade, but she only packed a bottle of wine.”

  “I don’t usually drink wine,” Madeline replied. She didn’t mind the bubbly taste of champagne or the minty flavor of the julep, but the sourness of wine didn’t appeal to her. Lemonade would have been perfect, but it was too far to walk back to get some.

  “Just a small glass.” George poured her a glass of wine. The liquid looked blood-red as it caught the rays of the sun.

  Madeline accepted a plate of food and took small sips of the wine. The food was simple, and the wine warm from sitting in the sun, but it was the most delicious meal she’d ever had. She felt so happy just sitting there with George, enjoying their al fresco lunch and drying off in the warm sunshine. The wine gave her a pleasant feeling of peace, and she didn’t protest when he refilled her glass. Her limbs felt languid, and her mind slowed, thinking only uncomplicated thoughts.