Always & Forever: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 1) by Gretchen Craig Page A
Authors: Gretchen Craig
Ads: Link
LeRoy
said.”
“I told you, Mother,” Albany said, “we fortified every foot
of the levee. We are quite safe.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said, and put a hand to her heart.
Josie wondered that Mrs. Johnston didn’t seem to realize her neighbors’ levees
upstream were as crucial to her security as her own.
“You are quite recovered, Josephine?” Chamard said.
Josie thought she only barely blushed to have his eyes on
her. “Completely,” she said.
“I’m sure she suffers more than she lets on,” Abigail said.
“She has terrible bruises on . . . she’s terribly bruised.”
Bertrand’s smile hinted at the indecent, and Josie knew her
face must now be in full flush. Phanor assumed that same teasing familiarity,
she thought, but of course Phanor lacked the refinement of Bertrand Chamard.
Bertrand oozed elegance; Phanor, for all his charm, was ignorant and immature.
But Phanor had dug the trench around Maman’s grave. Would
Bertrand have done that so kindly and simply?
When the party rose to go in to dinner, Josie found she was
a little stiff from her fall. Albany too quickly offered his arm, and Bertrand,
with an amused nod of his head, offered his to Abigail.
Over strawberry preserves and cream, Abigail asked, “Exactly
how are you and Josephine related, Mr. Chamard?”
Bertrand put his spoon down and considered. “It’s very
complicated among us Creoles, Miss Johnston. We tend to have many children, and
we count anyone with a tinge of family blood as close relations. Now Josephine
and I. Let’s see.”
He turned to Josie. “Your mother Celine was René and
Marie-Louise’s next to youngest daughter. Yes?” Josie nodded. Chamard thought a
moment. “That makes Josephine my second cousin once removed.”
“Kissing cousins?” Abigail said. Josie played with her
strawberries and cream.
“ Oui , Mademoiselle,” Bertrand asserted. “Kissing
cousins.”
Josie glanced up and Bertrand winked at her.
“If I were a betting man – well, I am a betting man – I’d be
willing to wager my young cousin and I share a certain birthmark.” He looked
directly at Abigail. “I don’t wish to be indelicate, but it seems all of Great
Grand-mère Helga’s offspring carry her remembrance.”
Josie twisted the napkin in her lap and felt the heat
radiate from her face down past her bare shoulders. She did indeed have a patch
of reddened skin, very like a rash, just at the small of her back, as had
Maman. Josie had even seen it on her little cousin Jean Baptiste. But to
mention it in company –Abigail’s face was ablush too. Who was he trying to
embarrass? Her, or Abigail? He was insufferably crude.
“Ah, I see it’s true, isn’t it, Josephine? But I’ve
distressed you. J’en suis au regret, ma chérie .”
The ladies rose. Josie smiled sweetly at Albany as he held
her chair for her and pointedly ignored her cousin.
After supper, the party gathered in the music room. The
Johnstons’ piano was a Chickering like the one Josie had at home, but while the
ivory keys had yellowed with age on hers, Abigail’s keys were smooth and
bright.
“Will you play for us, Josephine?” Mrs. Johnston asked.
Josie quit breathing. She touched the curls over her ear and
ducked her head. The silence as Mrs. Johnston waited for a reply became
impossible for Josie to break.
Albany came to her aid. “Perhaps you would play a duet with
me? I am only a poor player, but if you will play slowly, I believe I can keep
up.”
What kindness, Josie thought. She arranged her skirts on the
bench, and together they made their way through a Mozart sonatina arranged for
two. They earned no accolades, but they had not disgraced themselves either.
Josie touched Albany’s hand in gratitude as they rose from the bench, and he
led her to the blue damask chair near his mother.
Abigail played next. She had great facility. Her fingers
flew over the keyboard, seemingly without thought. Bertrand sang a German
melody with her, and
said.”
“I told you, Mother,” Albany said, “we fortified every foot
of the levee. We are quite safe.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said, and put a hand to her heart.
Josie wondered that Mrs. Johnston didn’t seem to realize her neighbors’ levees
upstream were as crucial to her security as her own.
“You are quite recovered, Josephine?” Chamard said.
Josie thought she only barely blushed to have his eyes on
her. “Completely,” she said.
“I’m sure she suffers more than she lets on,” Abigail said.
“She has terrible bruises on . . . she’s terribly bruised.”
Bertrand’s smile hinted at the indecent, and Josie knew her
face must now be in full flush. Phanor assumed that same teasing familiarity,
she thought, but of course Phanor lacked the refinement of Bertrand Chamard.
Bertrand oozed elegance; Phanor, for all his charm, was ignorant and immature.
But Phanor had dug the trench around Maman’s grave. Would
Bertrand have done that so kindly and simply?
When the party rose to go in to dinner, Josie found she was
a little stiff from her fall. Albany too quickly offered his arm, and Bertrand,
with an amused nod of his head, offered his to Abigail.
Over strawberry preserves and cream, Abigail asked, “Exactly
how are you and Josephine related, Mr. Chamard?”
Bertrand put his spoon down and considered. “It’s very
complicated among us Creoles, Miss Johnston. We tend to have many children, and
we count anyone with a tinge of family blood as close relations. Now Josephine
and I. Let’s see.”
He turned to Josie. “Your mother Celine was René and
Marie-Louise’s next to youngest daughter. Yes?” Josie nodded. Chamard thought a
moment. “That makes Josephine my second cousin once removed.”
“Kissing cousins?” Abigail said. Josie played with her
strawberries and cream.
“ Oui , Mademoiselle,” Bertrand asserted. “Kissing
cousins.”
Josie glanced up and Bertrand winked at her.
“If I were a betting man – well, I am a betting man – I’d be
willing to wager my young cousin and I share a certain birthmark.” He looked
directly at Abigail. “I don’t wish to be indelicate, but it seems all of Great
Grand-mère Helga’s offspring carry her remembrance.”
Josie twisted the napkin in her lap and felt the heat
radiate from her face down past her bare shoulders. She did indeed have a patch
of reddened skin, very like a rash, just at the small of her back, as had
Maman. Josie had even seen it on her little cousin Jean Baptiste. But to
mention it in company –Abigail’s face was ablush too. Who was he trying to
embarrass? Her, or Abigail? He was insufferably crude.
“Ah, I see it’s true, isn’t it, Josephine? But I’ve
distressed you. J’en suis au regret, ma chérie .”
The ladies rose. Josie smiled sweetly at Albany as he held
her chair for her and pointedly ignored her cousin.
After supper, the party gathered in the music room. The
Johnstons’ piano was a Chickering like the one Josie had at home, but while the
ivory keys had yellowed with age on hers, Abigail’s keys were smooth and
bright.
“Will you play for us, Josephine?” Mrs. Johnston asked.
Josie quit breathing. She touched the curls over her ear and
ducked her head. The silence as Mrs. Johnston waited for a reply became
impossible for Josie to break.
Albany came to her aid. “Perhaps you would play a duet with
me? I am only a poor player, but if you will play slowly, I believe I can keep
up.”
What kindness, Josie thought. She arranged her skirts on the
bench, and together they made their way through a Mozart sonatina arranged for
two. They earned no accolades, but they had not disgraced themselves either.
Josie touched Albany’s hand in gratitude as they rose from the bench, and he
led her to the blue damask chair near his mother.
Abigail played next. She had great facility. Her fingers
flew over the keyboard, seemingly without thought. Bertrand sang a German
melody with her, and
Similar Books
