The Unforgiven (Echoes from the Past Book 3)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Don’t,” Emma said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t talk to Miss Aubrey tomorrow. She’ll think I’m a snitch. No one will want to be my friend if they find out.”

  Gabe opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again, considering what Emma had said. She was right. No one liked a snitch. Perhaps he’d have to find some other way of voicing his concerns. Emma really liked Miss Aubrey and wished to remain in her good graces.

  “All right. I won’t say anything, I promise. In any case, you won’t be going to school tomorrow,” Gabe began, about to tell Emma that they would be going to see Phoebe and Graham when his mobile began to vibrate in his pocket. “Hold on,” he said as he checked the display. “Hello, Mum.”

  “Gabe?” Phoebe’s voice sounded strange, almost strangled. There was a shaky intake of breath on the other end of the line.

  “What is it?”

  “Gabe, you must come at once, but without Emma.”

  “Why? What’s happened?” His heart began to beat faster, and his breath caught in his throat. His mother never summoned him home, so this had to be serious.

  “Your father’s had a heart attack. I’m at the hospital with him now.”

  “Mum, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I just have to get a few things sorted.” Gabe hung up and looked down at Emma. The expression on her face was way too serious for a child of four, and she slid her hand into his, needing reassurance that everything was all right.

  “What’s wrong with Grandad?” she asked, her voice small.

  “Grandad is a little unwell, but there’s nothing for you to worry about. Nothing at all,” Gabe lied smoothly. Emma had been traumatized enough already; there was no need to frighten her. He’d tell her the truth once he knew what they were dealing with. But if he couldn’t bring her to Berwick, what was he supposed to do with her? Gabe sorted through the options. He could ask Pete and Brenda to look after her, but Brenda often worked night shifts and Pete wasn’t equipped to look after a little girl. Jill had her shop, which didn’t close till seven, and Quinn’s parents were in Spain.

  Sylvia.

  Gabe dialed her number and hoped she’d pick up.

  “Gabe? Is Quinn all right?” Sylvia asked the moment she answered her mobile. The question surprised Gabe at first, but he quickly realized Sylvia would never expect a social call from him.

  “Yes, Quinn is fine. Sylvia, I have a favor to ask. My father’s been taken ill and I must leave for Berwick tonight. Would you mind terribly looking after Emma for a day or two?”

  “I’d be delighted. Emma and I will have a wonderful time. She’ll hardly notice you’re gone.”

  “Brilliant. I’ll drop her off in about an hour, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. Just remember to pack her pajamas, toothbrush, favorite film and toy, and several changes of clothes.”

  “Will do. Thanks again, Sylvia.”

  “Not a problem. Jude is actually at home until next Wednesday. Then he leaves for Dublin. He thought Emma was charming.”

  Gabe cringed inwardly. He would have preferred it if Sylvia could give Emma her full attention, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was only for a few days.

  “Em, guess what?” Gabe said, trying to sound like he was filled with excitement.

  “What?”

  “You are going to have a sleepover at Grandma Sylvia’s.”

  “I am?” Emma sounded less than thrilled. “Why can’t I come with you? I can look after Buster. He’ll need someone to play with him.”

  “Don’t worry about Buster. He’s just fine,” Gabe replied, avoiding the question. “Jude will be there.”

  “Really? I like Jude.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah. He’s fun.”

  Gabe hadn’t noticed Jude being particularly fun or paying much attention to Emma, but if Emma saw Jude being at Sylvia’s as a bonus, then so be it. “Come, let’s go home and get your things.”

  “What about my tea?”

  Gabe pulled out his phone again and texted Sylvia. “Grandma Sylvia is making you chips and egg, and your tea will be ready by the time we get to her house.”

  “I hope she has something for pudding,” Emma mumbled, clearly disgruntled with the whole situation.

  Chapter 17

  September 1858

  Arabella Plantation, Louisiana

  The days flew by, as days tend to do, but even after several weeks Madeline still felt like an outcast. She’d lost her place in the world, and the people who’d been permanent fixtures in her life were all gone. Her new situation fit her about as well as someone else’s shoes, something she was reminded of every single day. She saw Mammy coming and going from the kitchen house from time to time, but their relationship had changed. Madeline still missed Mammy and wished she could pour out her troubles to her and find some solace in Mammy’s advice, but Madeline no longer trusted her old nurse, nor did Mammy try to seek her out. If anything, she tried to avoid Madeline, rushing away whenever she saw her coming.

  Mammy had returned to her family, and she was happy in a way that Madeline could never hope to be. Mammy had a new vitality about her, despite doing harder work for longer hours. She reluctantly introduced Madeline to her sons, Zachary and Zane, who were strapping lads in their late twenties. Madeline thought they might be twins, but Mammy said they were born a year a part. Zack and Zane had five children between them and Madeline watched from a distance when she ventured to the slave quarters one evening, driven by loneliness, as Mammy joyfully played with her grandchildren. Madeline never went back. Mammy didn’t need her any longer, and she had no wish to be a nuisance to her.

  Sybil Besson was coolly polite, but treated Madeline much as she would a new chair or a potted plant. She looked through Madeline, but saw her well enough to avoid her whenever possible. She did, however, point out Madeline’s poor posture, a wrinkle in her skirt, or the inappropriate nature of a book she saw her reading. The criticism hurt Madeline, but it was Cissy who made her see her grandmother’s comments in a slightly different light.

  “Madame is not one to show affection,” Cissy said as she went about dressing Madeline’s hair for the day. “She likes to nitpick, but it only shows her interest in you, Miss Madeline. She grooming you to be a fine lady. She grooming you for marriage.”

  Madeline didn’t reply, but took the comments to heart and spent several days mulling them over. Perhaps Cissy was right and her grandmother was beginning to warm to her, in her own way. If she wanted Madeline to look her best and be well versed in the ways of society, then she had plans for her, and that couldn’t be a bad thing. Even if Sybil hoped to marry Madeline off at a young age to get rid of her, she was still thinking about her future and expecting her to make a good match, which was a start. Their relationship had begun on such a sour note that it could only get better, Madeline mused, grateful to Cissy for opening her eyes.

  Madeline’s only companion was Amelia, since George was rarely at home. It was the busiest time of the year for him, and he was out in the fields every day, too preoccupied with the harvest to pay much attention to anyone but his overseer and workers. The sheds were filling with cotton, and the cotton gin seemed to be going around the clock to prepare the cotton for shipping. Madeline had met the overseer, Mr. Diggory, several times when he came up to the house to speak to George. He was a man of late middle years, with a rounded belly that strained against his waistcoat and a balding pate that he always kept covered with a wide-brimmed straw hat when outdoors. His teeth were stained brown from chewing tobacco, a habit Madeline found disgusting.

  Mr. Diggory had been very pleasant to Madeline when they first met and expressed condolences on her loss, something that George seemed to approve of. Madeline briefly wondered if Mr. Diggory might have known her father, but George later mentioned that the current overseer had been in his employ for only four years. She supposed it didn’t really matter since she could hardly approach the man and question him about B
esson family history. Even if he knew anything of the reason Charles Besson had been banished from the family home, he’d hardly tell her for fear of losing his position.

  Amelia always joined Madeline in the dining room for breakfast and talked nineteen to a dozen while they ate, and for hours afterward while they worked on their embroidery or took walks in the grounds. Very little of what she said was of interest to Madeline, but at least it was some sort of companionship. Amelia wasn’t unkind, just self-absorbed and totally vacuous. There was little substance behind her beauty, and at times, particularly at dinner, when Amelia and George were finally in the same room, Madeline noticed that Amelia’s chatter irritated him.

  She supposed it was normal for men and women to be interested in different things, but her own parents had enjoyed a much closer relationship, even after years of marriage. It was clear to Madeline that Amelia adored George, but she wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual. He always treated his wife with the utmost curtesy and respect, but his eyes seemed to glaze over when she began to regale him with the latest fashion trends from Paris that she’d heard about from her dressmaker or bits of gossip she’d gleaned from letters from her friends, which came regularly. Amelia had been a fixture in New Orleans society before the pregnancy and couldn’t wait to return.

  Madeline’s only salvation was the library, which was surprisingly well-stocked and always empty. She found a comfortable spot by the widow and spent hours reading, especially in the afternoons when Amelia rested and Madeline had time to herself. The library was a refuge, a place where she could hide from Sybil’s critical stares and Amelia’s constant prattling. There she could let her guard down and escape to a world of her choosing, finding friends among the characters in her favorite novels. Lonely and unsure of her place in the Besson household, she didn’t think she’d ever feel like a real part of the family.

  Even Cissy was distant. Whereas Mammy and Tess always talked and laughed with the family, Cissy never responded to Madeline’s overtures of friendship. She said what she needed to say, which was usually surprisingly to the point, and then clammed up, turning her attention to the next task. Cissy made it very clear that Madeline was her mistress, not her friend. Madeline couldn’t blame her. Cissy had lived all her life in an environment where the line between the masters and the servants was clearly defined, and she had no desire to cross it for fear of repercussions. Cissy never seemed frightened, but she was wary, so Madeline stopped making overtures.

  Chapter 18

  Madeline was surprised to find George seated at the breakfast table one morning, reading The Times-Picayune, which was delivered to the plantation several times a week. He read every edition cover to cover, even if it was several days out of date. George liked to keep abreast of what was happening in the world beyond his plantation, and there was much going on. He never spoke about politics in front of the ladies, but Madeline had glanced at the paper from time to time, when George carelessly left it lying around, and knew that tensions between North and South were escalating, as did the rhetoric, which was often incendiary and unpatriotic.

  “Good morning, cousin,” George said, putting aside the paper. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Where’s Amelia this morning?”

  “She’s feeling unwell, I’m afraid. I told her to stay in bed today and rest. Grandmamma will look after her, which I’m sure will help Amelia make a miraculous recovery,” George replied with a boyish grin. “She hates it when Grandmamma treats her like a child.”

  She treats everyone like a child, Madeline thought. Even George. “Can I go and see Amelia later?”

  “You could, but you won’t be able to.”

  “Why not?” Madeline asked, alarmed.

  “Because I’m taking you on an outing. I’m in need of a companion, and you’re in need of a change of scenery. You’ve been cooped up in this house for three weeks. Things would be different if Amelia wasn’t near her time, but I’m afraid socializing is off the table right now, until after the child is born. Cissy, fetch Miss Madeline’s bonnet and parasol,” he said to Cissy, who had come in with a fresh pot of coffee and a plate of bacon.

  “Sho thing, Mr. George.”

  “There’s no need to rush. Miss Madeline hasn’t had her breakfast yet, and I think I’ll help myself to a bit more bacon.” George held out his cup and Cissy refilled it before leaving the room. George popped a piece of bacon into his mouth and rolled his eyes in ecstasy, making Madeline laugh.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as she helped herself to bacon and eggs.

  “You’ll see. I promise you’ll like it.”

  Madeline felt a frisson of excitement. George was right; she had been cooped up. She didn’t receive any social invitations of her own, and life at the plantation was quiet and uneventful. Madeline had nothing to compare it to since she didn’t know what it had been like before Amelia’s pregnancy, but she hoped there would be more diversions after the baby came. She rushed to finish her breakfast and accepted her bonnet from Cissy, who adjusted the angle and tied the ribbons just beneath Madeline’s left ear before allowing her to leave.

  “There now. That’s better. You enjoy yourself, Miss Madeline,” Cissy said as she handed her a parasol.

  The butler, Jonas, held the door open for Madeline and gave her a respectful bow. “Have a good day, Miss,” he said solemnly.

  “Thank you. I am sure I will.”

  George was already outside, waiting for her by the carriage. The driver, whose name Madeline didn’t know, was seated on the bench, and tipped his hat to her as if she were the daughter of the house. He would have ignored her at any other time, as almost everyone at the plantation did, but being with George elevated her status and suddenly made her visible.

  For the first time in her life Madeline longed for something of her own. How splendid it would be to have her own home and her own servants and not feel like a poor relation, treated like a charity case and constantly reminded of her good fortune to have been taken in and not consigned to the streets. It was a heady feeling to be treated with respect, especially by George, who made her feel like a lady as he held out his hand and helped her into the carriage, then took a seat opposite her, smiling broadly.

  It was a glorious September morning and Madeline felt lighter than she had in weeks. Wherever George was taking her had to be better than spending the day hiding in the library, nursing her grief. The carriage rolled along the avenue and through the gates, then turned onto the River Road.

  Madeline’s mouth formed a little ‘O’ of disbelief when the carriage pulled up to a busy dock. The Natchez V, one of the most graceful and elegant steamboats she had ever seen, was in the process of being loaded with bales of cotton. About a dozen Negro men came and went, sweating profusely as they brought the cargo aboard while the crew waited for them to finish and urged them to hurry. Several passengers looked on from the upper deck, expressions of boredom and impatience on their faces. They’d seen this countless times, but for Madeline it was all new.

  “That’s our cotton,” George said proudly. “It’s going up the river to a mill in Ohio.”

  “Are we going to Ohio?” Madeline asked, shocked. She’d never been further than the Arabella Plantation, and the thought alarmed her. She didn’t have anything with her except a small reticule in which she carried a handkerchief and a few coins.

  “No, silly, we’re only going as far as New Orleans. Amelia mentioned you have a fondness for steamboats, so I thought I’d bring you along. We can have lunch in town after I’ve completed my business and return by the River Road. I thought it’d make for a pleasant day.”

  “Oh, it will. Thank you, George,” Madeline gushed. She’d never been on a steamboat despite begging Daddy to take her. He’d always promised to take her someday when she was older, but that day never came. Madeline wasn’t sure how long the trip to New Orleans was, but just being aboard a boat would be an amazing treat all the same. “Can we go on the upper deck?” s
he asked, breathless with excitement.

  “Of course. We can do anything you like.”

  Madeline beamed. George was so kind. He gave her his arm and they ascended the ramp. Had Madeline been younger, she’d have wanted to run around and explore the great vessel, but since she was fifteen she had to contain her curiosity and behave in a ladylike fashion.

  “Let me give you a tour of the boat. It’s not due to sail for another half-hour at the very least, so we can explore at our leisure.”

  “Yes, please.”

  George showed Madeline every inch of the boat. He even took her up to meet the captain, who knew him well and welcomed them inside like old friends. The captain was a short, round man of about fifty, with a neatly trimmed white beard and light-blue eyes in a face tanned to deep bronze by years spent on the water.

  “Would you like to take the wheel?” the captain asked, grinning at Madeline. “No one is allowed to steer but myself and my first mate, but you can be honorary captain until we sail.”

  Madeline nodded. The wheel felt smooth and warm beneath her fingers. What would it be like to spend one’s days on the river, just going from place to place, and never stopping anywhere long enough to put down roots? She gave the wheel an experimental nudge, wondering how far the Mississippi flowed. Did the steamboat sail as far as New York or Boston?