Above my own form.
Strange.
I wanted to ask Mammy what the words meant. What she was doing with the feathers. Why they were brushed across my forehead, over my eyelids. But my lips could no longer form questions.
I couldn’t even protest when the ornate mantel clock chimed the last of twelve resonant notes and Mammy announced my death. How could I be dead when I could see it all? Hear it all? Yet Mammy made it sound true enough.
“Dead. Eugenie de Valliers is dead. Gone from this world.”
The words quickened the dancers’ frenzied pace. Sweat glistened on their ebony bodies as they swirled about the bed, bare feet pounding the floor.
My body lay cocooned in eiderdown and lace, pale and lifeless, an empty shell like my life. There was no more to be done. With a sigh and a last thought of him, I, Eugenie de Valliers, gave up the ghost.
Two
“I s ye plannin’ to sleep the day away?”
I moaned, squinting my eyes against the sudden brightness. Outside I heard a cock crow. What was happening? Moments ago all had been peace and welcome dark oblivion. Now a sense of bustling urgency jarred my senses.
I did my best to ignore it.
“Now, Miss Eugenie, there’s no sense pretendin’ ye ain’t under that pile of blankets. I sees that dark hair of yours spillin’ out under the coverlet.”
What was Mammy talking about? My hair had lost its dark color years ago, first turning dull gray, then nearly white before I died.
Died.
My eyes popped open as memories assailed me. I was dead. Finally freed from the unhappy tedium of my life. I remembered the event clearly.
So what was happening now?
Why was my bedroom filled with sunshine? And why could I see Mammy, a much younger-looking Mammy, through the gossamer veil of mosquito netting as she bustled her large-frame about the bedroom?
“Go away and let me rest in peace.”
“Now, Miss Eugenie, I’d do that if I could. Ye know that. But Miz Bernadette says for me to get ye up and ready to go to town.”
Was Mammy daft? I hadn’t been to town in over thirty years. I’d fled to Belle Maison when word reached New Orleans of a British fleet heading toward the city... and stayed after learning of Zachary’s death.
A near physical pain shot through me at the memory. The only man I ever loved was dead, had been for decades, and I wished the same oblivion for myself.
My anger began to simmer, forcing aside unhappy memories. Mammy flit about the room, ignoring my order to leave, supervising the filling of a brass tub, laying out my clothing. As if she actually thought I would rise from my deathbed and ready myself for a trip to town.
And all the while she babbled on about parties and masked balls and which gowns did I wish to take with me. The old woman acted as if time stood still. She even looked as if it had with her body fuller and her voice firm.
It was infuriating.
“Go away, I say. Stop this awful charade.” A sob escaped, a silly, childish sob and I yanked aside the coverlet, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. I slid to the floor, marched toward Mammy and began crying in earnest.
It wasn’t until I was nearly beside her that I stopped. I stared down to where several pink toes peeked from beneath my long cotton gown.
I was standing, nay walking! And my feet had lost the wrinkled rages of age. The shock made me lurch toward Mammy.
“Is ye all right child?” Strong arms wrapped around me.
“What’s wrong with Eugenie?”
Glancing around, scarcely able to believe my eyes, I watched my mother walk into the room. Was she an apparition, a ghostly being sent to haunt me? But no, she appeared real enough. Her usually serene expression was only slightly marred by a thinning of her lips. “She is all right, isn’t she, Mammy?”
“I ain’t sure. She ain’t actin’ herself and that’s for—”
“Stop it!” I pushed away from the encircling arms. “Stop it, both of you. I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but I won’t allow
Strange.
I wanted to ask Mammy what the words meant. What she was doing with the feathers. Why they were brushed across my forehead, over my eyelids. But my lips could no longer form questions.
I couldn’t even protest when the ornate mantel clock chimed the last of twelve resonant notes and Mammy announced my death. How could I be dead when I could see it all? Hear it all? Yet Mammy made it sound true enough.
“Dead. Eugenie de Valliers is dead. Gone from this world.”
The words quickened the dancers’ frenzied pace. Sweat glistened on their ebony bodies as they swirled about the bed, bare feet pounding the floor.
My body lay cocooned in eiderdown and lace, pale and lifeless, an empty shell like my life. There was no more to be done. With a sigh and a last thought of him, I, Eugenie de Valliers, gave up the ghost.
Two
“I s ye plannin’ to sleep the day away?”
I moaned, squinting my eyes against the sudden brightness. Outside I heard a cock crow. What was happening? Moments ago all had been peace and welcome dark oblivion. Now a sense of bustling urgency jarred my senses.
I did my best to ignore it.
“Now, Miss Eugenie, there’s no sense pretendin’ ye ain’t under that pile of blankets. I sees that dark hair of yours spillin’ out under the coverlet.”
What was Mammy talking about? My hair had lost its dark color years ago, first turning dull gray, then nearly white before I died.
Died.
My eyes popped open as memories assailed me. I was dead. Finally freed from the unhappy tedium of my life. I remembered the event clearly.
So what was happening now?
Why was my bedroom filled with sunshine? And why could I see Mammy, a much younger-looking Mammy, through the gossamer veil of mosquito netting as she bustled her large-frame about the bedroom?
“Go away and let me rest in peace.”
“Now, Miss Eugenie, I’d do that if I could. Ye know that. But Miz Bernadette says for me to get ye up and ready to go to town.”
Was Mammy daft? I hadn’t been to town in over thirty years. I’d fled to Belle Maison when word reached New Orleans of a British fleet heading toward the city... and stayed after learning of Zachary’s death.
A near physical pain shot through me at the memory. The only man I ever loved was dead, had been for decades, and I wished the same oblivion for myself.
My anger began to simmer, forcing aside unhappy memories. Mammy flit about the room, ignoring my order to leave, supervising the filling of a brass tub, laying out my clothing. As if she actually thought I would rise from my deathbed and ready myself for a trip to town.
And all the while she babbled on about parties and masked balls and which gowns did I wish to take with me. The old woman acted as if time stood still. She even looked as if it had with her body fuller and her voice firm.
It was infuriating.
“Go away, I say. Stop this awful charade.” A sob escaped, a silly, childish sob and I yanked aside the coverlet, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. I slid to the floor, marched toward Mammy and began crying in earnest.
It wasn’t until I was nearly beside her that I stopped. I stared down to where several pink toes peeked from beneath my long cotton gown.
I was standing, nay walking! And my feet had lost the wrinkled rages of age. The shock made me lurch toward Mammy.
“Is ye all right child?” Strong arms wrapped around me.
“What’s wrong with Eugenie?”
Glancing around, scarcely able to believe my eyes, I watched my mother walk into the room. Was she an apparition, a ghostly being sent to haunt me? But no, she appeared real enough. Her usually serene expression was only slightly marred by a thinning of her lips. “She is all right, isn’t she, Mammy?”
“I ain’t sure. She ain’t actin’ herself and that’s for—”
“Stop it!” I pushed away from the encircling arms. “Stop it, both of you. I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but I won’t allow
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