The Unforgiven (Echoes from the Past Book 3)

by Irina Shapiro

  Madeline gave up on watching for the canoe and headed back inside the cabin. She needed to use the chamber pot again, and she was thirsty. Mammy was out back, hanging out the washing, so Madeline drank a cup of water, then squatted over the pot, sighing with relief. She was just about finished when she noticed something shiny beneath Mammy’s cot. Curious, she used the handle of the broom to reach for the object. It was nothing but an old button, but it looked to be from a fine garment, not from something worn by a slave. Madeline picked up the button and held it up to examine it more closely. A strange feeling came over her as she was transported to another time, the experience just like the one she’d had in the nursery several weeks ago.

  Madeline saw a handsome white man lying on the cot, his arms folded behind his head and a lazy smile tugging at his sensual lips. He was ten to fifteen years older than George, and a little darker in his coloring, but the family resemblance was unmistakable. The man’s well-toned body glistened with sweat, and a damp forelock fell into his eyes as he gazed upon a woman pouring a cup of beer from an earthenware jug. She stood with her back to him, her mocha skin glowing in the light from the open door. She wasn’t thin, but she was shapely, with long legs, rounded buttocks and full breasts that strained against the thin linen of her shift.

  “You’re so beautiful, Clara. Take off that silly shift. I want to look at you.”

  “You ain’t so bad yourself,” the woman replied, and turned to smile at him.

  Madeline sucked in her breath. The woman was Mammy, she was sure of it. She looked to be only a few years older than Madeline was now, but she couldn’t mistake the features, or the familiar timber of her voice.

  “Come back to bed,” the man drawled. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

  Mammy handed him the cup and watched him drink. “You’s the lustiest man I’ve even known.”

  “And have you known many men?” he asked, his tone playful rather than angry.

  “Enough to know you’s a fine one, and I’m lucky to have you.”

  “You don’t have me, my African queen. My wife has me, by the balls most of the time, but you have my love, which is something she’ll never get.”

  Mammy raised her brow in a way that made the man laugh. “I can’t buy my freedom with your love.” She said the words with a smile, but there was steel in her voice.

  “I will grant you your freedom, but only once I’ve tired of you. You’ll leave me before the ink is dry on your papers, and I will perish without you.”

  “You’ll find another ‘African queen’ to warm your bed,” Mammy replied, not without bitterness.

  “Don’t say such things. I only want you.”

  “And you has me,” Mammy replied with a sigh. “You has me, and you owns me.”

  “I like your spirit. Now come here. I’m ready for you.” The man threw aside the sheet that covered his middle to expose a stiff cock that rose proudly from a thicket of dark curls. “In your mouth this time,” he said, closing his eyes in anticipation.

  Mammy climbed onto the bed and crouched between the man’s legs, taking him obediently into her mouth. It was obvious from the revulsion in her eyes that she didn’t want to perform this unsavory task, but she did it just the same, as much a slave in bed as out of it. The man moaned with pleasure, oblivious to Mammy’s distaste.

  Madeline dropped the button, appalled by what she’d seen. Who was the man, and why had Mammy allowed him to treat her that way? He’d seemed playful and relaxed, but would he have forced her or had her whipped if she refused?

  “What you doing?” Mammy asked as she came back in the cabin, an empty basket on her hip.

  “Clara. Your name is Clara,” Madeline said. “I never knew that.”

  “You never asked.” Mammy tilted her head and gazed at Madeline, a look of profound sadness transforming her face. “You saw me, didn’t you?”

  Madeline nodded. “Mammy, am I going mad? I keep seeing things. Things from the past. What’s happening to me?”

  “It’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mammy replied as she set her basket down and poured herself a drink.

  “But I don’t understand,” Madeline cried. “Why will no one tell me the truth about anything? A few months ago I was still a child, living with a father who loved me, and believing myself safe from harm. Since then I’ve been orphaned, disgraced, lied to, and banished. And none of it was my doing. There isn’t a person in this world who genuinely loves me,” Madeline cried.

  “I love you, child,” Mammy said and sat down next to Madeline. She put her arm around Madeline’s heaving shoulders and kissed her temple. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

  “Then tell me the truth. I’m a grown woman now, and I have a right to know.”

  Mammy sighed. “I tried to protect you, Madeline. I thinks it best that you don’t know. But you’s right. It’s time you knew the truth. Come, let’s sit outside. It’s too hot in here, and too crowded with memories.”

  Madeline followed Mammy outside and took her customary seat, while Mammy took the chair on the other side of the open doorway. Her gaze seemed to glaze over as she stared out over the silent bayou. The water shimmered in the hazy winter sunshine, and the gnarled branches of the trees pointed to the sky like wasted limbs. The sinister beauty of the bayou was timeless and eerie, and made Madeline feel as if she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to leave this place and never come back, but not before she was armed with the truth that had been withheld from her for so long.

  Mammy didn’t look at Madeline as she began to speak, her voice low and husky. “My mama was born in Trinidad. She was a healer, a wise woman. White men called her a witch doctor or shaman, but she be no witch, just a woman who knew things. She learned from her own mother, who learned from hers. The knowledge was passed down generation to generation, but only to the women. A marriage had been arranged for her with the son of an important man who was also a Dougla.”

  “What’s a Dougla?” Madeline asked.

  “A person of African and East Indian blood. My mama was to marry him when she turned sixteen.”

  “Did she?”

  Mammy shook her head. “She was taken by a Dutch slaver when she was out collecting plants and roots for her medicines. He took her away.”

  There was no anger in Mammy’s voice. She spoke as though in a trance, detached from what she was feeling, but Madeline didn’t believe her demeanor for a moment. Mammy was like the deceptively calm surface of the Mississippi, hiding powerful currents beneath the surface. She wasn’t one to feel nothing. In fact, she probably felt too much, and had no wish to relive this part of her family’s history, which she’d buried deep inside and never shared with anyone.

  “What happened to her?” Madeline asked, ashamed of how little she knew about the person she’d claimed to love. Mammy had been there for her, a loving, caring presence for as long as she could remember, but Madeline had taken what she had to give without giving anything back, without ever truly seeing Mammy as a person in her own right.

  “He brought her here, to Louisiana, to sell. It was a long sea voyage. They made many stops and loaded more slaves. The Dutchman wanted a woman to warm his bed on lonely nights at sea, so he took my mama. By the time she came off that ship she was pregnant. She begged him to keep her, to protect their baby, but he was deaf to her pleas. He sold her at auction, and demanded a higher price ’cause the new owner was getting two for the price of one.”

  “That’s barbaric,” Madeline exclaimed, outraged by the man’s indifference.

  “That’s life, child.”

  Madeline grew silent, thinking on what Mammy had said. How could a man sell his woman and child? How could a man take someone who was free and sell them for his own profit without a twinge of conscience? How could such a man live with himself? Without any remorse, Madeline assumed. There were many others like him, men who didn’t see the people they enslaved as human beings, and didn’t recognize the children they’d created as their offspr
ing.

  “What happened to her?” Madeline finally asked.

  “She was bought by a cruel man. He didn’t beat her, or work her too hard, but he took her baby away. He sold me on when I was six, old enough to remember my mama, but not old enough to fend for myself. He sold me to George’s great-grandfather, Maurice. Maurice Besson was a frugal man. He didn’t want to waste money on strong men, so he bought children and worked them like adults.”

  “Did you ever see your mother again?”

  Mammy shook her head. “No. But I remembered the things she tried to teach me. She tell me to take every chance, and never trust anyone with my heart.”

  “Who was that man I saw you with in my vision, Mammy?”

  “That be Jean, Maurice’s son and George’s grandfather. He took a shine to me, so I came to him willingly, hoping I might benefit if I please him.”

  “Was he kind to you?” Madeline asked, wondering if the man’s playfulness was just a prelude to cruelty.

  “He was kind enough, but his wife would have skinned me alive, given half a chance.”

  “Sybil?” Madeline said, finally understanding the animosity between the two women.

  “Jean brought me here many times. He liked his pleasure uninterrupted.”

  “Did Sybil know?”

  “Not at first,” Mammy replied. “She was mad in love with him, that girl. He was handsome and charming and liked to give pleasure as much as he liked to receive it. Sybil was too innocent to think he might be laying with other women, especially slaves, who, in her mind, were lower than cockroaches. But there came a time when things couldn’t be kept hidden any longer.”

  “How did she find out?” Madeline asked, although she thought she already knew.

  Mammy smiled ruefully at Madeline, her gaze glazed with memories of that time. “Jean got me with child, and when my baby came out nearly as white as Sybil’s own children, she knew. My baby had three white grandparents,” Mammy said by way of explanation. “She was beautiful. She had green eyes like my father. My mama always spoke of his eyes. Clear green, with dark blond lashes. The Dutchman was a handsome man, if a heartless one.”

  “What happened to your baby, Mammy?” Madeline hadn’t seen any white slaves at Arabella Plantation. Perhaps Jean Besson had sold the child to hide his infidelity.

  “My girl was allowed to remain with me until she was eight, but then she was taken into the big house to serve the family. Sybil thought it was the best way to remind her of her place, and to punish me and her wayward husband. She served her own father and his children, and suffered daily humiliation from his wife.”

  “Where is she?” Madeline asked softly. “What happened to your girl?”

  “She was too pretty to remain invisible. The son of the house fell in love with her. He wasn’t like his father, who lied and promised me my freedom to keep me sweet. He freed my girl by marrying her.” Mammy turned to face Madeline. “My daughter was your mother, Maddy. She was my beautiful Corinne.”

  Madeline stared at her, mouth open in shock. “You’re my grandmother.”

  “Yes, child. I’m your grandmother, and I’ve passed on my mama’s gift to you. You can see the dead when you touch their things. Corinne could too. She hated it. It frightened her, so when your daddy married her and took her away to New Orleans, he buy everything new for her. When your mama died, I took away all her things right away. I didn’t want you to see.”

  “But you left her fan,” Madeline protested.

  “She never got to use the fan. It was safe to leave you something of her. She loved you, Madeline. So much.”

  “Did my father know, Mammy? Did he know my mother was his sister?”

  Mammy shook her head. “Sybil was too proud to tell him. She cast him out for marrying a woman with Negro blood, but she didn’t tell him the whole truth, and Jean was gone by then, carried off by yellow fever. Charles never knew. When they married, I went with them. Sybil was angry, but she did nothing to get me back. She couldn’t bear to look at me. In her eyes, I’d ruined her life. She was still too proud to blame her own man.”

  “It must have been awful for you to have to return here.”

  “It was, but I got to see my boys. I found me a man after Jean tired of me, and we had a family. He loved my Corinne like she be his own, but I hadn’t seen him or my boys in fifteen years. My man died two years ago,” Mammy choked out.

  “I’m sorry, Mammy,” Madeline whispered. “I never knew what a hard life you’ve had.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t a bad life, Maddy. I had my girl, and I had you. I was happy to see her free, and respectable. Your daddy, he loved her something fierce. Loving her is what killed him in the end.”

  “And George? Does he know?”

  Mammy shook her head. “Sybil is too ashamed to tell her grandson that his uncle married a slave girl who was his half-sister. Too dirty, too shameful. But George, he no different from his grandfather. Handsome, charming, and ruthless.”

  “Oh, Mammy, you don’t think he ever loved me, do you?” Madeline cried.

  “Oh, he loved you, child. He loved you lying beneath him and taking what he had to give. He only cared for his own selfish needs. And now there’s a baby in your belly, and it’s an added benefit, unless it comes out black. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?” Mammy asked, her tone bitter.

  “Can that happen?”

  Mammy shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, but it’s possible I s’pose. ’Tis in the blood, ain’t it?”

  “Mammy, what do I do?” Madeline wailed, more confused than ever. She had believed that George cared for her and would make things right once he found out about the baby, but if Mammy was to be believed, he had simply used her, much as the Dutchman had used Mammy’s mother and like Jean Besson had used Mammy and then discarded her when he got bored. Were all men so callous?

  No, Madeline thought defiantly. Her father had married her mother, despite the cost to himself. He could have inherited the Arabella Plantation. He could have enjoyed a life of wealth and privilege, but he’d chosen the woman he loved over money and reputation. There were good, honorable men out there. There had to be.

  “You give that baby to George. Let it take its rightful place in the family,” Mammy said, giving Madeline a hard, calculating look.

  “It’d be the ultimate revenge, wouldn’t it, to have your great-grandchild inherit it all?” Madeline asked, smiling for the first time.

  “I ain’t looking for revenge; I’m looking for justice. Let that baby be blessed and happy. It deserves it. You—you go away from here. Ask George for money and go away. Make a life for yourself away from this place. Build a future, a family of your own.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  “They own me, my girl. I can’t just leave unless George frees me. They’d hunt me down. Sybil would like nothing better than to whip me senseless, even after all these years. Her hurt runs deep. And I have my boys here and their children. No, you must go on your own. You’ll find your way. You’ll survive. You’s got it in you.”

  “I’m afraid, Mammy. I’ve never been on my own.”

  “No one’s ever been on their own till they is. You’ll be fine, child, as long as you has George’s money. You set yourself up nice, and find a good man to look after you. A kind man. It ain’t hard for a pretty girl to find a suitor. And when you finds him, you tell him nothing, you hear? You tell him you’re as pure as spring water.”

  “Won’t he know I’ve had a baby?” Madeline asked, intrigued by the idea of a clean slate.

  “He’ll know nothing, unless you tells him. Give him his own baby, and he’ll love you for it.”

  “My head hurts,” Madeline said. “I need to lie down.”

  “You go. I’ll wait for Joe.”

  Madeline went inside and stared at the cot with fresh eyes. Her mother had likely been conceived in that bed. It was an odd thing, knowing that. Madeline lay down and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. She understood now why no one had told h
er the truth and why Sybil could barely look at her. Would Sybil be capable of loving Madeline’s baby, a child born of a mother conceived in incest and a father who was the mother’s first cousin?

  Madeline laid her hand on her stomach and felt a flutter of movement. What a heavy burden for a child to carry. Perhaps Mammy was right and she should just leave and allow her baby to grow up in security and comfort. It would never learn the truth, and the sordid details would die with Mammy and Sybil. She owed her child that much. She owed it freedom from shame.

  Chapter 41

  May 2014

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Quinn stepped out onto the wrought-iron balcony. The French Quarter pulsed with life, as crowded with locals and tourists as the City of Westminster on an average day. The day’s balminess had dissipated, replaced by a comfortable coolness. Quinn leaned against the railing and inhaled the fragrant air of the Southern night. She heard distant music and bursts of laughter as a group of people walked by, the women teetering tipsily on high heels and responding playfully to their men, who were teasing them. One of the men grabbed a woman around the waist and pulled her close, planting a passionate kiss on her lips as she melted into him, clearly eager for more. Quinn looked away, surprised by the twinge of envy in her gut.

  She’d traveled for work many times, had been away from her parents, partner, and friends, but this was the first time she’d felt such desolation. It wasn’t just being away from Gabe; it was being here, in this place. Something about it disturbed her, challenged her, and left her reeling. She wasn’t alone, but she felt emotionally adrift and completely out of her element. For years, she’d wanted to know the truth about her lineage, her family, but now that she knew where she’d come from, she felt nothing but anger and sadness.