She took it as a joke. She scolded but could get nothing else out of him.
I began to speculate. Perhaps the fighting and Mr. Colchester’s impending departure had made them think better of marrying early. They had decided to wait. Or—and this was a fond hope—they had broken off the engagement. It was possible. I couldn’t read his face—the insurrection was forever before us. Colonel Eshton had gone, and Mr. Colchester was organizing a small band to follow. He seemed grim at times. But then he would still meet me with some measure of contentment. He still sat in the evenings with me and Missus Livingston. We spoke as before, only now he shared his thoughts and plans about the growing army. I admired his bravery. I feared for his life. One evening I returned from the schoolroom to find him in the library trying on his uniform with Missus Livingston suggesting alterations. The dark-navy wool set off his brilliant eyes. Chevron stripes marked his left sleeve. I was proud of him and had never loved him better.
June was nearly done. The summer settled over Lower Knoll and the neighborhood. Roses exploded with riotous blossoms and seductive scents. Wild strawberries grew in the wood near the ruins of my cottage, and the children gathered them in the late-afternoon sun. I ended classes earlier so they could enjoy these free moments before going home to chores. I felt they should be outside as much as possible, and I thought the same for myself.
One evening I ventured out to the back terrace of Fortitude. It had been a favorite gathering place when Mr. Colchester’s friends had been there, and I had not had the opportunity to visit it in recent weeks. The left side of it afforded a distant view of the river. At some point the moon would be visible, too, but it wasn’t late enough yet.
I paced awhile across the length of stone. A measure of contentment steadied me, and I was grateful for the solitude. But I heard voices, including Mr. Colchester’s. To avoid them, I moved down into the yard and sat on a bench at the edge of the wood. The seat was hidden by a small portico and shaded by large oak trees. None of the trees was as old or as grand as the oak Calista and I had once played in, and their branches, even with full leaves, seemed naked without Spanish moss draped over them. Still, it reminded me of home. I settled myself and enjoyed the gathering darkness and the growing scents of the garden’s roses, jasmine, and lavender.
Within a few minutes, though, I realized Mr. Colchester was coming across the lawn to my place. I became self-conscious. I felt I was out of bounds, enjoying the grounds in a way that only Fortitude’s owner and his guests had a right to do. I moved quickly to go back into the house, but he was soon at the bench.
“Where are you going?”
I performed a brief curtsy. “I don’t want to disturb you, sir. You must want your seat.”
“What?”
“You want to be alone.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth.” He moved to the bench and sat down. “On such a night I want to be in the company of a friend.”
He motioned for me to join him, but I remained standing. “The night, sir?”
He sat back and crossed his legs. “Do you ever feel homesick on nights like this, Miss Bébinn?” He tilted his head backward and inhaled deeply.
I looked up and surveyed the line where the sky’s pink hue had deepened into a pale blue now darkening. “Yes, sir. Summers in Catalpa Valley are very hot, but I never minded. It felt like everything was overgrown and would keep growing just luscious and crazy.” A small smile formed on my lips. “I guess I thought Eden must be like that. The earth smelled rich. The flowers were like perfume.”
He nodded. “Louisiana is like that,” he said. “Not always so beautiful but magnetic still.”
“How do you mean?”
“New Orleans is crowded, smoky. On a night like this the streets can stink so bad you don’t want to go outside. But you do because New Orleans is like a huge front porch, and the city stands there greeting the world. All sorts of people come through the port. All over the place, people are making deals; people are making love. The energy radiating through the air. I adored it.”
My face burned.
“But come away from the city, and it’s all wild and beautiful—the moss hanging long like lace from the trees; the still waters croaking with life in the bayou.”
“Catalpa Valley is closer to the Mississippi,” I said. “A little further north. But just the same. Just like that.”
A sensation like a warm, loving river flooded my chest and overtook me. I wanted to say more and knew what I wanted to say—in fact, I hungered for the words in my mouth:
“Fifty thousand acres make up our plantation, Catalpa Valley. The parcels are named Belle Neuve, Baton Bleu, Siana Grove, Chance Voir, Belle Verde, Mont Devreau. There is a section Papa set aside for me, five thousand acres, called Petite Bébinn. That is my home.”
“You must have wanted to go with your friend, to go all the way back home.”
“I did, very much.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I shifted back and forth on my feet. If he knew what he was asking me, he’d know I could have started walking south right then, at that very moment, and not stopped until I saw Calista’s face again and wrapped myself in Dorinda’s arms. I put my hand in my pocket and touched the stone from Papa’s land.
“It’s not safe,” I said. “Fugitive Slave Act will keep it that way for now.”
“You’ll go back someday?”
“I hope to. Maybe after the fighting if slavery is finally abolished.” I grasped the rock but kept it hidden in my pocket as I stepped toward him. “Even if it isn’t, I will find a way to return and free the people on our plantation. I miss it. But I haven’t grieved it all this time, because I had a home here, Mr. Colchester. I grieve it now because this home is going to change, which is just as good as losing it.”
Tears crept into my throat, but I kept speaking to keep them at bay. “I’ve known freedom here, true freedom. And I have been given the space and the attention in which I could become fully myself—with attention from you. In our every interaction, with every gesture, I’ve come to know what it is to be appreciated for myself, my thoughts, my words.” I looked up at the sky again. It was a deepening shade of indigo. “And now I must find another place, and until then I’ll be lost.”
He leaned forward and clasped his hands.
“Will you be sad to leave me, Jeannette?” he said. “I would be sad for you to go.”
He paused, and I, startled, tried to see his face. In the gloaming it was hard to discern his features. He’d never called me by my name before. I was sure he was making fun of me. It seemed with each word he breathed life into an ember within me.
“It has been a mystery to me,” he said, “how I could be surrounded by people who have all come from the same place—for almost every soul in Lower Knoll fled Louisiana—and yet you are the one, the strange one, who still holds it within you. You hold it as I do. We have shared this bond, and I think I will lose something of myself if we can’t go on like we have.”
God, what sentimentality was this?
“And yet we can’t go on,” I said. “Times are changing, sir. The fighting—nothing will be the same. Some bonds will have to be broken.”