The young woman sauntered in like a cat that was used to the privilege of human company. She appeared to be no more than eighteen or nineteen and had the same lovely face and amber eyes as the woman in the portrait. Her hair was coiffed in an elegant chignon, with a few wisps left dangling over her eyes. She was slender and tall, and she wore a simple white cotton dress with a high bodice and lace collar, and in her hands she held a moth-eaten copy of Around the World in Eighty Days. By her appearance, Rémy assumed she was Dujon’s daughter.
Mme Dujon appeared, and the men took turns kissing her hand. Rémy saw an older version of the young woman in the mother, but her eyes were creased from worry, and her hands were bony and somewhat shaky. Pale and stooped, she showed the men to their places while a servant poured glasses of punch from a glass pitcher. Before they knew it, other servants brought in platters of fruit, cake, fried fish, plantains, and loaves of cassava bread. While Professor Landes explained the nature of their mission, the young woman listened with rapt attention, like a mongoose observing a henhouse.
“It was the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen,” said Landes. “About a week ago, I was checking my seismoscope and saw wild scribbles that could only mean one thing, that sometime during the evening of April twenty-second, three small earthquakes were registered. It corroborated another sighting I had heard recently about whitish fumes rising from the upper valley of the rivière Blanche. When I reported this to the governor, he immediately created a scientific committee to investigate the matter and put me in charge. Lieutenant Rémy and Sergeant Aubert are with me to assist in surveying the area, and M. Mirville will take chemical samples to his laboratory.”
Georges Dujon grunted his approval. “That’s well and good. I’m glad the governor has decided to take decisive action. The tremors have gotten the workers all jittery lately. We’ve hardly gotten any work done.”
Suddenly a delicate voice spoke from the end of the table.
“Papa, I would like to join Professor Landes on his expedition. That is, if it’s all right with him.”
All eyes turned to the young lady. Her cheeks colored, but her voice was persistent.
“My dear Emilie, our mission is purely scientific,” said Landes. “It’s not a pleasure excursion. I doubt you’ll find it interesting at all.”
“Oh, but I will,” she said, growing ever more determined. “I want to get a good look at the crater. I have an interest in the volcano that’s purely scientific.”
“That’s completely out of the question,” said Mme Dujon. “Don’t bring up the subject again.”
“Please, Professor Landes,” she persisted. “I’ve been watching the volcano for several weeks. I’ve even kept a journal about it. I promise I won’t be any trouble. I can hike as well as any man. I’ve done it many times already.”
Landes’s eyebrows rose. “Emilie, you never cease to amaze me. Since your school days, you always had an inquisitive mind and a curious nature. I’d hate to dampen your enthusiasm.”
Georges Dujon cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, that outspoken creature at the end of the table is my daughter, Emilie. She likes to think of herself as an amateur naturalist.” He poured himself another rum punch. “But even if I wanted to, I can’t spare Emilie right now. We’re right in the middle of the harvest. I couldn’t run the plantation without her.”
“But, Papa, I want to go,” she said with greater insistence.
“Absolutely not!” said her mother. “Can we please change the subject?”
As they were bantering and arguing, Rémy noticed that the old native woman from the porch was constantly hovering near Emilie. She never spoke but would pour drinks for the men or serve dishes from the outside kitchen, all the while keeping her eye on the young woman, like a protective shadow.
Interrupting them, Rémy said, “M. Dujon, is it true what you said, that your daughter helps you manage the plantation? That seems extraordinary for such a young lady.”
“Don’t let her youth fool you,” said Georges. “She’s as clever and capable as any manager I’ve ever had. She knows the plantation like the back of her hand. And the workers love her. Sometimes I think they respect her more than me.”
“They respect me because I make sure they get paid on time,” countered Emilie. “Even if it means we have to take a loan from the bank.”
“See what I mean?” said Georges wryly. “She’s as cunning as a fox. Well, I guess I can spare you for one day. But just one day. And I don’t want you riding in those breeches of yours. You’ll wear a proper skirt.”
“How else do you expect me to climb a forty-four-hundred-foot mountain?” she said.
“Disgraceful!” said Mme Dujon, frowning.
Emilie assumed a look of indignation. “I find it much more modest to climb a mountain in breeches than in a skirt that billows up with each gust of wind.”
“That’s what they call a rational costume,” said Professor Landes.
“Well, in her case it’s highly irrational,” said Georges.
While everyone laughed, Rémy noticed that the elderly black nurse would speak in the young lady’s ears in hushed whispers. What few words he could catch were in the local Creole language, which was difficult to understand. She seemed to be a motherly figure to the girl, constantly giving her advice and admonishments, keeping her under her watchful gaze. Whatever the case, the old nurse and the béké girl seemed to exist in a world of their own; speaking a language only they could understand.
Professor Landes set down his fork. “Actually, Georges, I came to make an important request.”
“Yes? What is it?” said Georges.
“I need a couple of experienced guides who can lead us up the mountain. Perhaps you could recommend some of your workers. Ideally we’ll be heading out from Morne-Rouge on the trail they call the Aileron, which is the most practical and direct route up to the summit.”
“Yes, I’ve used that route numerous times myself,” said Dujon. “I have some men who I’m sure would be happy to take you for a fair price. It’s a strenuous hike.”
“That would be wonderful,” said Landes.
“Has anyone here actually seen the summit of Mount Pelée?” said Rémy. “I’m new to the island and not so familiar with the geography.”
“Yes, I’ve been there myself numerous times,” said Georges Dujon. “Think of the crater as an enormous bowl that sits at an elevation of four thousand four hundred feet. It measures two hundred yards in diameter, and lying at the bottom is a clear lake of spring water, slightly sulfurous in taste but otherwise fresh. Around the rim are boulders and lava beds from previous eruptions. The lake is a favorite spot for swimming and picnics.”
“How deep is the lake?” said Rémy.
“No one knows,” said Georges.
“Come again?” said Rémy.
“They’ve taken soundings over the years, but no one ever found the bottom. They say it’s bottomless.”
The table went quiet while Rémy contemplated that revelation.
“Professor Landes, I still want to go,” said Emilie. “I know the route up the Aileron as well as anyone else, and I can be a tremendous help to you. I promise I won’t be any trouble.” Rémy noticed that her eyes gleamed with excitement.
“I see no reason why not,” said Professor Landes. “We’d love to have you come along.”
“It’s still out of the question,” said Mme Dujon, glaring.
“Maman, I have every intention of joining this expedition,” said Emilie. “I want to see the crater as much as anyone. I have a right to go.”
Rémy cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Emilie, perhaps you should listen to your mother. The trip could be dangerous, and I cannot guarantee your safety. We have no idea what we may find at the summit.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said with determination. “I’ve lived on the slopes of Mount Pelée all my life. I have a vested interest in the volcano.”
After an awkward silence, Professor
Landes said, “You give a convincing argument, Emilie. You’re certainly welcome to join us. Rest assured, Mme Dujon, your daughter will be safe. I’m certain we’ll be in no immediate danger. These small seismic shocks we’ve been experiencing are in no way indicative that the volcano is going to erupt. I still believe this is only a passing phase. Most geologists believe they indicate the mountain is just settling down. The governor is only sending us up as a precautionary measure. Does this reassure you?”
“Not in the least,” said Mme Dujon. “But if she’s that determined, I won’t stand in her way. She’s always had an adventurous streak. It comes from reading too many Jules Verne novels.”
The table erupted in laughter. Rémy turned to watch the young lady, who was laughing in spite of herself. When they finished, Georges Dujon asked two of his best workers, Durancy and Césaire, to lead the expedition. As soon as they learned of their remuneration, they heartily agreed and went to saddle their horses. Before they set out, M. Dujon asked Prof. Landes if he would take Maurice up to Morne-Rouge and drop him off at the home of their cousin Luc Aubéry. Dujon thought the fresh air and mild climate of the mountain retreat would do wonders for his consumption. Professor Landes heartily agreed, and a short while later, the members of the scientific committee were saddled and ready to go. Emilie had already changed into a pair of khaki jodhpurs and riding boots, and she carried a knapsack with supplies and slung a canteen of water across her shoulder. When she reappeared, more than a few eyebrows were raised.
“Emilie, you look as if you’re heading out on a trek in search of the mythical El Dorado or Shambhala,” said Landes.
“My costume is strictly practical,” she said. “A good pair of breeches is the best protection against mosquitoes and wasps, not to mention thorny plants.”
Rémy mounted his horse, grinning. “All you need now is a Berthier carbine.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but you look ravishing,” said Sergeant Aubert, giving her an admiring glance. “And I’m glad you decided to join us.”
“I don’t recall anyone asking you your opinion,” said Rémy. “Carry on, Sergeant.”
The young lady blushed again, but Rémy pretended not to notice. He admired the young woman’s pluck. She had a resolve that he found refreshing. She was nothing like he imagined the daughter of a West Indian planter to be. She was down-to-earth, spirited, and adventurous. But it was her outspoken nature and boldness that he found most charming. At the very least, Emilie Dujon would provide an amusing diversion for what promised to be a long and arduous climb.
After thanking their host, the party set off down the dirt road and then traveled the picturesque, winding road that followed the course of rivière Blanche up to Morne-Rouge. Once they reached the mountain village, they would leave the animals at a stable and pick up the walking trail that led up to the summit. And at that point, there would be no turning back.
Chapter 11
As she rode Balthazar at a steady trot, Emilie was acutely aware that Lieutenant Rémy was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She found herself growing curious about the lieutenant. He was quiet and unassuming, nothing like she imagined a seasoned army officer to be. He also had an elusive, mysterious quality about him. With his silent, watchful gaze, he seemed to be the polar opposite of Lucien’s brash, arrogant nature. But what most attracted her to Lieutenant Rémy was his quiet demeanor and unspoken masculinity. He was so different from Lucien.
During the journey the climbers engaged in light conversation while they gazed at their magnificent surroundings. The scenery was changing constantly. At one moment they would be gazing down into valleys a thousand feet below them and later across a mosaic of banana and sugarcane fields. The horses trotted at a pleasant gait as they climbed higher and higher across vast chasms and cliffs and then through valleys that became ascending gorges. In the distance they spotted hills flanked by lush vegetation that ranged from pale green to emerald to sapphire. It was breathtaking. They climbed higher and higher, and as they climbed, the city of Saint-Pierre grew smaller and smaller until it was no larger than a chessboard. Flanking the road were leafy palms and gigantic ferns that resembled enormous ostrich feathers, clumps of bamboo, flamboyant trees with their canopy of orange-red flowers, breadfruit and mango trees, balata trees, and ceibas with their oddly buttressed trunks. Every now and then, they would spot a wooden shack in the distance or the spinning blades of a sugar mill. Sometimes a donkey cart would pass them by, its owner tipping his hat in greeting. Occasionally donkeys brayed from the bush. And looming ahead, bold and resolute against the brilliant blue sky was Mount Pelée, dominating the skyline as an ever-present reminder of their mission.
Professor Landes called out from his carriage, “Emilie, it’s still not too late for you to turn around if you are so inclined.”
“I have no intention of turning around,” she said, patting her horse.
“Professor Landes, you don’t know my sister very well,” said Maurice. “She would rather climb a mountain or gallop through the fields than attend a fancy dress ball. Those were my breeches before she pilfered them.”
Emilie feigned indignation. “Surely you don’t expect me to climb a forty-four-hundred-foot mountain in a corset and a skirt, do you? And as to my outdoor excursions, I’ve found that one good gallop a day clears my mind of petty grievances and annoyances and opens my eyes to all the possibilities of life. Does that make me sound philosophical or adventurous? I can’t decide which one I prefer. Anyway, breeches give me greater mobility despite the dictates of polite society.”
Her brother grinned. “You never cared much for the dictates of polite society, did you? I believe Sister Marie said you were like a wild horse in desperate need of taming.”
To Emilie’s consternation, the lieutenant brought his horse next to hers.
“Mademoiselle, if you don’t mind my saying so, while I was in Africa, I saw some Berber women riding horses just like you. Even with their veils, they had a true spirit of freedom. In fact, with your golden tan, you remind me of those mysterious ladies of the desert. Tell me something, is it true what your father said, that you help him manage the plantation?”
“Yes,” she said. “I used to tag along behind my father and Julien, our manager, watching everything they did. From my youngest years, I learned all about the cultivation of cacao and coffee. I guess you could say managing the farm is in my blood.”
“So you’re one of those békés I’ve heard about?”
Emilie nodded. “We’re a proud and independent bunch despite what you may have heard. Oh, I know what you metropolitans think of us, that we’re provincial, that we’re anti-Republican, that we’re naive, that we were lucky to have escaped the guillotine. I’ve heard all those things and worse. But if you had lived here as long as we have, you’d see things differently. Martinique is our home. We’re as much a part of the land as anyone else. It’s the only life I’ve ever known. We have one foot planted in France and one in the West Indies. We have the best of both worlds.”
“I noticed that right away,” he said. “Your accent is a mixture of aristocratic French and the local Creole dialect. It’s quite charming. How long has your family lived here in the Antilles?”
“More than a hundred years,” she said. “My great-great-great grandfather came here as a militia officer and bought a parcel of land to fulfill his dream of becoming a rich planter. He started with sugarcane and gradually we switched to cacao and coffee. I could never see myself living anywhere else. I feel as if I’m a part of this land.”
“That’s plainly evident,” he said. “Why did you come with us today?”
“Strictly out of scientific curiosity,” she said.
“Coming from you, I would believe that,” said Rémy. “You seem to have a very curious nature.”
“And where are you from, Lieutenant?” she said.
“He thinks he’s from the jungles of Senegal,” said Sergeant Aubert, who had brought his horse alongsid
e theirs. “And he thinks his father was the chief of the Bambara. He even speaks their language. Ask him; he’ll tell you all about it.”
“Is that true?” said Emilie with amusement.
“Don’t listen to that buffoon,” said Rémy. “He belongs in the stockade for gross insubordination. Actually, my dear, I was born in Strasbourg, but my heart will always be in Africa. My father died when I was a child, so I had to make my own place in the world. My grandparents helped raise me, but my mother had it rough. She never remarried, so I helped support her until she passed away a year ago. Being a proud Frenchman, all I ever wanted was to serve my country, so naturally I joined the army. As you can see, I am one of those dreadful metropolitans you békés disdain so much.”
“Oh dear,” she said, taken aback. “I harbor no such feelings. We’re all French after all.”
Aubert grinned. “Don’t worry, mademoiselle, the lieutenant was just teasing you. Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but I think you’ve hurt the young lady’s feelings.”
“I’m aware of that, Sergeant,” said Rémy. “But we were having a private conversation. Take no offense, mademoiselle. I’m a proud Republican, and I suspect that deep down inside, you are too. And please don’t listen to those anti-Republicans who call us robbers, atheists, freemasons, Jacobins, and filthy Dreyfusards; I assure you I’m none of those. Carry on, Sergeant.”
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