“You look at me, my girl! I don’t know where you got this ridiculous notion that you will abandon your protector and set yourself up as a teacher.” She said the last word as if it were a great insult. As if she’d said ‘set yourself up as a slops collector.’ “You will write Valere. You will grovel if that’s what it takes. You will beg him to take you back. Now. This instant.”
“No, Maman.”
Estelle’s voice rose half an octave. “No? You tell me no? After all the work I put into writing a contract that every girl in New Orleans envies? After bringing him to the point, extracting every advantage from him — for you — you will not throw that away.”
“It is my decision, Maman.”
“You will do as I say!” Estelle strode two steps and slapped Tansy across the face.
The cat leapt from the sofa and ran to the other room. “Maman!” Alain cried. He wrapped his arms around Tansy’s neck, inserting himself between her and his grandmother.
Tansy held him tight. “I’m all right, darling. It’s all right.”
Estelle whirled away and paced the floor, her heels a rapid tap across the floor boards. She halted in front of Tansy and leaned in. “Where is the paper? Where is the ink? You will write Valcourt at once and beg his forgiveness.”
Tansy got to her feet, Alain in her arms, his legs wrapped around her waist. “I’d like you to leave, Maman. I don’t want you here now.”
Estelle reared back as if she’d been struck. “Leave? You tell your own mother to leave?”
Tansy stiffened her legs so her knees would hold steady. “Until you are calm, until you accept that I am a woman grown, yes, Maman, I want you to leave.”
Estelle’s lips tightened till they were white. Her eyes sparked with fury.
“You’ll be sorry for this — ” She swept her arm out to encompass Tansy’s dreams, her ambitions, her outrageous foolishness. Her voice shaking and furious, Estelle finished, “ — this madness.”
She banged the door behind her, the cottage suddenly quiet, calm, normal.
Alain clung to her neck, his face buried against her shoulder. As she rocked him, waiting for their hearts to slow down, a lightness came over her. She’d done it. She’d stood up to Valere. She’d even stood up to Maman. Tansy had taken back her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
In her sparkling converted storage room, Tansy breathed in the smell of wax and polish. She opened the window for air, then stood at the front of the room, her hands clasped in front of her. Seven chairs at seven small desks. That’s how many boys she would have. This would be the first day of the first year of school for them. She knew exactly what she wanted to do to introduce them to their new lives.
Denis leaned into her door. “If this were the theatre, I’d say break a leg.”
Tansy smiled. “Then we’ll pretend I am Lady Macbeth about to go on stage.”
“Oh, no. Not that horrible woman. Perhaps you are Portia in all her wisdom and compassion.”
Rosa stopped beside him. “You have everything you need?”
Tansy nodded toward the tables, each with a slate, each slate with a child’s name printed on it. She wished Christophe were here to see her new classroom. “I have everything. We’ll have a wonderful time.”
“They are fortunate children, Tansy, to be with you. We’ll see you at lunch.”
A minute later, the bell rang, the front doors opened, and the sounds of dozens of feet filled the hallway. After much laughter and shuffling, the boys lined up in two rows facing each other and waited. Rosa said a few words of welcome, then called her ten students by name to follow her.
Denis did the same, then Mrs. Thatcher. That left seven very small boys looking a little frightened, awaiting their fate. Smiling, Tansy drew them into a circle. She read her list of names and said how do you do to each of them, then marched them into their classroom.
All day long, she encouraged and demonstrated, loving every minute. When the day was over, tired as she was, she walked home feeling tall and proud. She had broken her contract with Valere. She would still have her cottage, that was part of Maman’s initial bargaining, but she would have no more allowance, no more support for herself and Alain. There would surely be difficulties ahead, but these students were hers. She would regiment their days and their studies, guiding and nudging and cheering them on. She would teach them all their letters and later in the year, she would teach them how to read, every one of them. What a glorious new life.
~ ~ ~
In October, scudding clouds, gusty winds, and that characteristic, hard-to-describe light in the sky promised a tropical storm. Rosa dismissed the students an hour early so that everyone could scurry home before the storm hit. Tansy held on to her tignon against the growing wind and collected Alain from Mrs. O’Hare’s. Together they checked all the windows and latched all the shutters.
Tansy liked storms, the energy blustering outside, the sense of safety inside, the heightened awareness. Thunder and lightning, however, terrified Martine. Tansy tapped on her back door. “You better come over now before the rain starts.”
Martine answered the door with a big grin. “Frederick is here. He says he will single-handedly keep the lightning away, and he’ll personally see to it I’m too busy to notice the thunder.”
“I’ll stay with you, then,” Alain said, taking a step to move inside.
Martine passed her fingers over her mouth to hide a smile. Tansy put her hand on his shoulder. “Then I would be alone, Alain. Please, will you stay with me?”
“Frederick will miss you, Alain, but I’ll keep him company and you take care of your maman.”
By five o’clock, it was dark. Rain drummed against the roof and wind bent the lemon tree in the courtyard. Tansy and Alain ate a picnic supper on the floor by lamplight, General Ney curled up between them. They played a game of cards. They wondered where the birds were taking shelter. They hoped all the dogs on the streets had found a dry haven away from the wind.
The wind intensified, and the sporadic bursts of rain developed into a steady onslaught. Alain climbed into her lap, uneasy, so Tansy gathered blankets and together they constructed a tent between the sofa and the chair. They added a pallet and pillows and settled into their snug refuge, the lamp still lit and casting a rosy glow through the sheltering blanket.
The last big blow that roared upriver from the Gulf had been when Alain was just a baby. Valere had stayed with them, worried she might be frightened or that the roof might tear away. They’d huddled and cuddled in her bed and listened to the wind howling with Alain between them. She’d loved him then, those first two years, hadn’t she? She’d made herself forget the searing heat, the all-encompassing thrill of that first stolen kiss with Christophe.
Somehow, she’d molded herself into a woman content with Valere’s attentions. She’d called it love, and she supposed it had been. A tepid, dutiful love. When had that conviction she loved Valere turned to affection, then to tolerance? Why had it happened? Had she simply grown up? His lack of humor had not bothered her those first years. His stolid nature had seemed to promise security. Then those same qualities became stifling, like a damp gray blanket growing heavier with every proof that she could not admire Valere.
Who said admiration was necessary between a placée and her protector? No one, of course. Certainly not Maman. She remembered how Evangeline Ebert cried when her mother had negotiated a contract with a bald man twice her age with bad teeth, over-long fingernails, and a morose nature. Attraction, much less admiration, did not figure into the transactions that governed Tansy’s world. She’d been fortunate, compared to Evangeline. Valere was a handsome man. Always clean. Of an even temperament until his world had tilted — first a disagreeable wife, and then Tansy’s own demands. Whatever else, though, they’d had Alain together.
Her dissatisfaction had not been born the night she’d gone to Christophe, the night she’d felt her whole being afire, encompassed, and complete with Christophe’s bod
y atop hers, in hers, possessing hers. Even after that, she’d gone back to Valere. Even then she’d been willing to suppress her own wants, her own larger self, for the protection Valere offered.
And now, she had no protector. Instead, she would protect herself. She would protect Alain.
Once Alain was asleep, Tansy crawled out of the tent and stood at the French doors to watch the storm. Lightning splintered the dark in near-continuous display. The willow tree in the Thompsons’ courtyard beyond her back wall lashed furiously in the wind. A piece of roof tile hurtled past. She really should have had someone put planks across these back doors with their many panes of glass.
Eventually, too tired to watch anymore, she settled in with Alain, spooning his warm body beneath the tent. A thudding, shattering crash woke her. She climbed over Alain and lit the lamp. Some missile had knocked the shutter off and splintered the window in Alain’s bedroom. She put a hand to her stomach at the glass shards glittering where his body would have lain. The wind pushed in, twisting the curtain, driving the rain. She tried to pull the shutter to, but it was impossible. She dragged the bed away from the window hoping the rain would not drench the mattress, but the fierce wind drove her out. Chilled and wet, she retreated into the parlor and pushed a table and then another against the door to keep the wind from bursting through.
She dried off and returned to hold Alain against her, to keep him safe. She couldn’t go back to sleep with the violence of the storm swirling into the next room.
She could clean and dry the floors, the bed, the furnishings, but how much would it cost to replace the shutter and the window pane? She recalculated how much money she had for the month. She’d feel the pinch, now Valere had cut off her allowance.
Rosa had warned her it wouldn’t be easy. No matter. She could do the laundry herself from now on and she need not buy the best wine Gallatin’s had to offer. She’d manage.
~ ~ ~
A few blocks over, Valere sipped a last glass of wine and watched the gutters overflowing, water runneling down the center of the street in a swift stream. He remembered the last time a hurricane had hit New Orleans. Alain had been just a tiny baby, and Tansy had snuggled with him as the wind shook the cottage. She’d been happy with him then. Maybe she wouldn’t be so irritable once this storm sucked the last of the heat out of Louisiana. She’d had more than a month to settle down, to realize she needed him. She’d certainly be over this nonsense of working. Tansy didn’t need to work.
He heard Abigail stirring in her bedroom. She’d been glowingly pretty when she announced to her parents, her brother and sister, and him, all at the same time, that she was to have a baby. Not “we,” but “I am to have a child,” she’d said. He would have liked for her to tell him privately first. Wasn’t that what wives did? Tell their husbands first, blushing, proud, and maybe a little anxious that he’d be pleased? That’s what Tansy had done. Abigail had not given him the chance to take her into his arms and assure her he was the happiest of men. He would have kissed her. He would have reminded her that she was cared for, both as wife and mother of his child, but he could not in front of her starched-lace family.
Still, he was pleased. He’d promised her a child, and he’d delivered. He’d enjoy having a little girl, maybe with her mother’s fair hair and blue eyes. A little girl he could spoil and show off and buy presents for. Now, before Abigail went to sleep, he’d tell her how happy he was. They could cuddle in her warm bed and listen to the thunder and the howling wind.
He tapped on her door and entered, eager to pet her and fuss over her. She met him in the center of the room, her feet planted, her arms crossed.
“You are not needed here, Mr. Valcourt.”
For a moment, he stood there in his dressing gown, befuddled. Not needed here? He glanced toward the windows, safely shuttered. She wasn’t afraid of the storm, is that what she meant?
“I didn’t think you were afraid, Abi —”
“You have accomplished your purpose in this room. You have no business in my bed hereafter.”
Then he understood her. He had impregnated her; his efforts were no longer required. Anger and shame blended in a hot flush. “I think you misunderstand, Madame. I have come as your husband. I have come because it is my right to come.”
Abigail snorted through her small nose. “You have had your rights. You have a child growing in me at last.”
“That does not necessitate our suspending marital relations, madam.” He took a step closer. “Not at this early date.”
Imperiously, Abigail held her palm out to stop him. “Oh, but it does. They are suspended. And if the child I bear is a boy, an heir to the great Valcourt estates, they will be suspended ever more.”
A blaze of lightening outlined her small form in the flowing white nightgown. She stood with her chin high, her mouth a prim, smug line. He’d tried all these months, he really had tried. He’d been patient and kind. He’d thought perhaps she had come to accept, if not welcome, his attentions to her body. He never hurt her. Tansy seemed to like to be held for a time when he was finished, and he’d remembered to do that with Abigail, too. And still she scorned him. The look on her face was pure loathing.
He hated her. At that moment he would gladly have wished her to the devil, her and her sister and their endless carping, their endless discontent. Her face, so pretty he’d once thought, was only hard and mean. She would never be happy with him. He would never have a peaceful home with her.
Thunder shook the house. His hands fisted. He could overpower her, take her, punish her for making him feel dirty and useless and unwanted. The law allowed a man to rule his wife, to master her. He’d heard other men speak of taking their reluctant wives, of forcing their needs on their women. He’d heard them boast, proud of what they’d done to prove themselves masters in their homes.
Valere wiped his hand over his eyes. He couldn’t do it. He’d forced himself on Tansy, and he’d hated himself for it. He’d never do that again, to any woman.
Feeling like a whipped dog, he retreated to his own room. His life was in a shambles, his dream of wife and children and happiness shredded. Even Tansy, his own dear Tansy who had always made him feel loved and welcome, had turned him away. He went to bed and wrapped his arms around a pillow and hugged it to him while the rain lashed the roof and the thunder rattled the windows.
~ ~ ~
The next day, Valere crept around his too-quiet house. He heard Abigail and her hatchet-faced sister murmuring in the parlor. Perhaps he’d have a word, show his wife her little tantrum meant nothing to him. He shoved the door open. There she sat with her embroidery, a beam of sunshine gilding her hair. How could a woman this pretty be filled with so much ugly spite? His eyes flickered over Lucille, the hateful bitch, the source of all the poison in his marriage.
“Ladies,” Valere said.
Abigail stopped speaking mid-sentence, her needle poised in the air, and looked at him with cold eyes. “Mr. Valcourt?”
Valere licked his lips and glanced at his wife’s sister. Lucille for once did not glare hot darts at him. Worse, she smirked.
Humiliation roiled through him with the certain knowledge she knew Abigail had dismissed him like a dog who’d peed on the floor.
He turned on his heel, his ears hot with shame. He would go out, play cards, have a drink with his friends. That’s what he’d do. And then what? Go home to dinner with Abigail, her sitting prim and silent at one end of the table, he sitting glum and silent at the other end? And after supper? He’d find no peace in this house. Even the servants no longer made any great effort to please him.
Through the afternoon, he played cards, discussed the storm, drank too much. Several of the men made off-hand comments about their wives, without fondness or even respect. This was the way of it, then. Men did not look for comfort at home. He’d known that. He’d only forgotten when Abigail had bewitched him with her pretty face and false smiles. He didn’t need her anyway. He had Tansy.
By n
ow, she’d know how foolish she’d been. She had missed a second month’s allowance. She would be sorry she’d made him do that. It was time he insisted things go back to the way they were. Whether he came in the early afternoons or at midnight, Tansy would be glad to see him, just like she used to be.
He stopped at the store and had the clerk wrap up a set of wooden blocks for Alain. That would please Tansy. He wanted to please her, he always had. He tapped on her door with his cane.
When she took his hat from him, he swept her into his arms for a kiss, feeling very gallant. Then he turned to his son, playing on the floor with the ever-present soldiers. “How are you, Alain?”
Alain only glanced up and returned to his lines of attack. “Hello, Papa.” Valere felt a little deflated, but, well, the boy was involved with his Brits and French.
“Will you make coffee for me?” he asked Tansy. She’d turned her head when he kissed her, but she seemed all right now. His pretty, sweet Tansy.
“Of course I will. Sit down. You can help Alain with his battle plans.”
Valere sat with his feet straddling the approximate contours of the battlefield. “So who’s going to win, this time?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The children today. Shouldn’t Alain look at him when he’d been asked a question? Valere gestured at the arrangement of the French forces. “Your line there is broken in the middle. You almost have a V instead of a straight line.”
Now Alain looked at him, but Valere did not like the expression on his face. “The V is so that more of them will survive the first charge.”
“Well, see here. I’ve brought you a new toy so that you don’t have to be everlastingly playing soldiers.” Valere handed him the package wrapped in green paper.
Alain hopped to his feet and hugged the package to him. “Thank you, Papa! What is it?”
“Open it and see.” Valere smiled as Alain tore at the paper, his eagerness making up for the earlier lack of enthusiasm.
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