done.
Edmond picked up on my angst. He
sighed loudly and rose from his place. He grabbed my hand and
pulled me up from my chair and close to him. “You shouldn’t worry
about things like literature, anyhow. You should focus on playing
the harp. It’s such a noble hobby.”
“ Ah, yes, how I adore the harp,”
I lied. “You’re right, Edmond. You’re so right.” Lies, all lies. At
that very second it became painfully clear that my entire future
would be constructed on a huge pile of lies.
“ How lovely. You’re so lovely,
Cecile. I couldn’t have asked for a better placée,” he whispered
sincerely, and softly caressed my cheek with the tips of his
fingers.
I smiled shyly. “Thank you. You really
are too kind, Monsieur.” Another lie.
He smiled that arrogant smile of his,
took my hand and guided me towards the bedroom.
I quietly followed him and tried to fight
off the dull champagne headache and sense of despair that was
slowly starting to take ahold of me. I had been dreading this
particular part of the evening, but at this point I wanted to get
it over with. I didn’t even care that it would be my first time. I
had never expected my first time to be with someone I loved. I had
never really thought that much of it at all until I had become a
placée.
“ What in God’s name is
this?!” Shock and outrage flooded Edmond’s face once we reached the
bedroom. Horror filled his blue eyes as they rested on my various
altars and offerings. I had to admit I had gone a little overboard
on the number of altars I kept in my bedroom. I loved all of the
spirits and found it impossible to play favorites, aside from
Erzulie, of course.
“ For the spirits. They
need to be respected and fed,” I said weakly. My voice was low,
soft and held a quiet desperation.
His mouth was agape and his expression
became cold and devoid of any emotion, as if he were unsure of how
to react. I glanced at my dresser and for the first time saw it as
he may have. Perhaps the sight of multi-colored candies, candles,
Voodoo dolls, beads, jars of honey, random roots and herbs was a
tiny bit odd, but nothing to freak out about. I found it comforting
that the spirits were always with us.
“ What is that slave’s
name?” he demanded.
“ Justine. Why?”
Justine! Justine! Get in here, now!” He
yelled in a blind rage, completely ignoring my question.
“ Monsieur? Is there a
problem?” Justine entered the room and nervously examined my tense
expression.
“ This! This is the problem!”
Edmond lifted his left brow, let out several rapid, hysterical
breaths, and held up the offerings up to Justine’s very confused
face. “How dare you! How dare you keep these under my roof and out
of all places Cecile’s bedroom! You heathen! You don’t have the
right! You don’t have the right!”
“ Those…” I tried to
interrupt him.
Poor Justine. She was a strict
Catholic who religiously attended Mass on Sunday mornings at Louis
Cathedral and always judged me for messing with the
spirits.
“ I’m sorry, Monsieur.”
Justine’s lips trembled and her hands shook furiously as she took
the offerings from Edmond’s hands.
“ But…”I tried to interrupt
again but Edmond kept on ranting like an enraged
lunatic.
“ If I ever see this
blasphemy under this roof again I will sell you on back into the
market and won’t think twice about it. Do you hear? Do you want to
go back to the pen? Do you?” His pale skin was now a vivid shade of
red and the tiny vein that rested on his left temple was bulging
and throbbing wildly.
“ I’m so sorry, Monsieur,”
Justine repeated over and over again as she lowered her head. “It
will never happen again. Never again.”
Even if she wanted to defend herself
she couldn’t. And as much as I wanted to defend her I knew I
couldn’t and that fact maddened me and enraged me to no end.
Regardless of how liberal certain aspects of life were in New
Orleans it was still illegal for a slave or free
Edmond picked up on my angst. He
sighed loudly and rose from his place. He grabbed my hand and
pulled me up from my chair and close to him. “You shouldn’t worry
about things like literature, anyhow. You should focus on playing
the harp. It’s such a noble hobby.”
“ Ah, yes, how I adore the harp,”
I lied. “You’re right, Edmond. You’re so right.” Lies, all lies. At
that very second it became painfully clear that my entire future
would be constructed on a huge pile of lies.
“ How lovely. You’re so lovely,
Cecile. I couldn’t have asked for a better placée,” he whispered
sincerely, and softly caressed my cheek with the tips of his
fingers.
I smiled shyly. “Thank you. You really
are too kind, Monsieur.” Another lie.
He smiled that arrogant smile of his,
took my hand and guided me towards the bedroom.
I quietly followed him and tried to fight
off the dull champagne headache and sense of despair that was
slowly starting to take ahold of me. I had been dreading this
particular part of the evening, but at this point I wanted to get
it over with. I didn’t even care that it would be my first time. I
had never expected my first time to be with someone I loved. I had
never really thought that much of it at all until I had become a
placée.
“ What in God’s name is
this?!” Shock and outrage flooded Edmond’s face once we reached the
bedroom. Horror filled his blue eyes as they rested on my various
altars and offerings. I had to admit I had gone a little overboard
on the number of altars I kept in my bedroom. I loved all of the
spirits and found it impossible to play favorites, aside from
Erzulie, of course.
“ For the spirits. They
need to be respected and fed,” I said weakly. My voice was low,
soft and held a quiet desperation.
His mouth was agape and his expression
became cold and devoid of any emotion, as if he were unsure of how
to react. I glanced at my dresser and for the first time saw it as
he may have. Perhaps the sight of multi-colored candies, candles,
Voodoo dolls, beads, jars of honey, random roots and herbs was a
tiny bit odd, but nothing to freak out about. I found it comforting
that the spirits were always with us.
“ What is that slave’s
name?” he demanded.
“ Justine. Why?”
Justine! Justine! Get in here, now!” He
yelled in a blind rage, completely ignoring my question.
“ Monsieur? Is there a
problem?” Justine entered the room and nervously examined my tense
expression.
“ This! This is the problem!”
Edmond lifted his left brow, let out several rapid, hysterical
breaths, and held up the offerings up to Justine’s very confused
face. “How dare you! How dare you keep these under my roof and out
of all places Cecile’s bedroom! You heathen! You don’t have the
right! You don’t have the right!”
“ Those…” I tried to
interrupt him.
Poor Justine. She was a strict
Catholic who religiously attended Mass on Sunday mornings at Louis
Cathedral and always judged me for messing with the
spirits.
“ I’m sorry, Monsieur.”
Justine’s lips trembled and her hands shook furiously as she took
the offerings from Edmond’s hands.
“ But…”I tried to interrupt
again but Edmond kept on ranting like an enraged
lunatic.
“ If I ever see this
blasphemy under this roof again I will sell you on back into the
market and won’t think twice about it. Do you hear? Do you want to
go back to the pen? Do you?” His pale skin was now a vivid shade of
red and the tiny vein that rested on his left temple was bulging
and throbbing wildly.
“ I’m so sorry, Monsieur,”
Justine repeated over and over again as she lowered her head. “It
will never happen again. Never again.”
Even if she wanted to defend herself
she couldn’t. And as much as I wanted to defend her I knew I
couldn’t and that fact maddened me and enraged me to no end.
Regardless of how liberal certain aspects of life were in New
Orleans it was still illegal for a slave or free