gambled away most of his inheritance. After some investigating, I discovered it was actually his folly that had been the reason for Désirée’s and his father’s forced move to Fontainebleau. I fumed at his selfishness. Désirée’s budget grew strained supporting all of our needs. I sold my jewelry and harp to assist with the bills, but knew I had to make a change. A letter arrived one spring afternoon that prompted my decision.
March 13, 1788
Chère Rose,
I have troubling news. Manette and your father are very ill and have shown little improvement in these last days. I fear their end may be nearing.
I hope you may consider making the trip. I cannot send you money, but perhaps a friend will understand the urgency of your visit and take pity.
I hope my grandchildren are well.
Je t’aime.
Maman
I had to go to Martinique, no matter the price. I checked the date on the letter. Six weeks had passed.
Dieu
, I hoped I was not too late. I asked the one person who would help me without question, without expectation: Fanny.
Three short weeks later, Hortense, Mimi, and I set sail. I would return home at last.
Return to the Island
Martinique, 1788–1790
I t had been nine years since I had set foot on my native soil. I’d left a child and returned a mother. Joy bubbled in my veins.
“Hortense, we’re here!” I slid my arm around her and kissed her.
Hortense looked confused. “But it’s a big forest, Maman.”
“Yes.” I laughed. “It is.” I glanced at Mimi. Tears glistened in her eyes. “We’re home,” I said, voice soft.
She grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Don’t know if I’m happy or sad.”
Mimi would rejoin her friends and family, but to see the rugged plantation again might shock her. She had grown accustomed to the easier life in France, I knew. I understood her ambivalence.
Trois-Îlets looked the same, frozen in time like my memories, though I felt a stranger, a woman from another world. Wilderness crowded the island, chewing at signs of civilization. The forest dripped with shades of jade, olive, and lime—and the smell! Earth baked in tropical sunshine, the mingling of wildflower blossoms and lush foliage. I gulped in breaths of fragrant air. Not a single French
parfum
could match it.
Nostalgia swelled as dormant memories pushed to the front of my mind: Catherine seeking shelter from an afternoon shower under drooping leaves; me, stealing hunks of sugarcane and chomping them until the sweet juice ran in my mouth; the two of us hiding in secret coves. Lord, I had missed it all.
The enchantment of my recollections faded with the first sight of my childhood home. How uncivil the sugar mill appeared. Moss covered the stone facade, and underbrush from the forest invaded the garden.
I had not yet reached the front door when Maman barged through it.
“Rose!” She embraced me fiercely. The scent of sugar and wet leaves filled my nostrils. She had not changed.
“Oh, Maman!” I buried my face in her shoulder. A flood of emotion poured from my chest. The hardship of our years apart crushed me. Heartache, loneliness, struggling to belong. The birth of my children—every moment I spent far from the shield of her arms. A torrent of tears gushed down my cheeks.
“Shh. I know. I know.” She stroked my hair as I sobbed. “You’re home now.”
“I’m s-sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m ruining your dress.”
“Nonsense,
doucette
.” She eyed the cotton sleeve of her sensible dress.
Hortense tugged at my skirts, fear marring her delicate features. “Maman, what’s the matter?”
I sniffled and bent to kiss her head. “I’ve missed Grand-mère. That’s all.”
Maman crouched down to Hortense’s eye level, holding a doll. “Hello, Hortense. I’m so happy to meet you, darling. Your mother has told me all about you.”
Hortense smiled shyly. “Hello, Grand-mère.”
“I have a present for you.”
Hortense perked up. “A present?”
Maman flicked the rag doll to and fro as if
March 13, 1788
Chère Rose,
I have troubling news. Manette and your father are very ill and have shown little improvement in these last days. I fear their end may be nearing.
I hope you may consider making the trip. I cannot send you money, but perhaps a friend will understand the urgency of your visit and take pity.
I hope my grandchildren are well.
Je t’aime.
Maman
I had to go to Martinique, no matter the price. I checked the date on the letter. Six weeks had passed.
Dieu
, I hoped I was not too late. I asked the one person who would help me without question, without expectation: Fanny.
Three short weeks later, Hortense, Mimi, and I set sail. I would return home at last.
Return to the Island
Martinique, 1788–1790
I t had been nine years since I had set foot on my native soil. I’d left a child and returned a mother. Joy bubbled in my veins.
“Hortense, we’re here!” I slid my arm around her and kissed her.
Hortense looked confused. “But it’s a big forest, Maman.”
“Yes.” I laughed. “It is.” I glanced at Mimi. Tears glistened in her eyes. “We’re home,” I said, voice soft.
She grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Don’t know if I’m happy or sad.”
Mimi would rejoin her friends and family, but to see the rugged plantation again might shock her. She had grown accustomed to the easier life in France, I knew. I understood her ambivalence.
Trois-Îlets looked the same, frozen in time like my memories, though I felt a stranger, a woman from another world. Wilderness crowded the island, chewing at signs of civilization. The forest dripped with shades of jade, olive, and lime—and the smell! Earth baked in tropical sunshine, the mingling of wildflower blossoms and lush foliage. I gulped in breaths of fragrant air. Not a single French
parfum
could match it.
Nostalgia swelled as dormant memories pushed to the front of my mind: Catherine seeking shelter from an afternoon shower under drooping leaves; me, stealing hunks of sugarcane and chomping them until the sweet juice ran in my mouth; the two of us hiding in secret coves. Lord, I had missed it all.
The enchantment of my recollections faded with the first sight of my childhood home. How uncivil the sugar mill appeared. Moss covered the stone facade, and underbrush from the forest invaded the garden.
I had not yet reached the front door when Maman barged through it.
“Rose!” She embraced me fiercely. The scent of sugar and wet leaves filled my nostrils. She had not changed.
“Oh, Maman!” I buried my face in her shoulder. A flood of emotion poured from my chest. The hardship of our years apart crushed me. Heartache, loneliness, struggling to belong. The birth of my children—every moment I spent far from the shield of her arms. A torrent of tears gushed down my cheeks.
“Shh. I know. I know.” She stroked my hair as I sobbed. “You’re home now.”
“I’m s-sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m ruining your dress.”
“Nonsense,
doucette
.” She eyed the cotton sleeve of her sensible dress.
Hortense tugged at my skirts, fear marring her delicate features. “Maman, what’s the matter?”
I sniffled and bent to kiss her head. “I’ve missed Grand-mère. That’s all.”
Maman crouched down to Hortense’s eye level, holding a doll. “Hello, Hortense. I’m so happy to meet you, darling. Your mother has told me all about you.”
Hortense smiled shyly. “Hello, Grand-mère.”
“I have a present for you.”
Hortense perked up. “A present?”
Maman flicked the rag doll to and fro as if
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