The Cameo Necklace (American Girl Mysteries (Quality))

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The Cameo Necklace (American Girl Mysteries (Quality)) Page 7

by Evelyn Coleman


  Madame Irène smiled. “So you didn’t think I’d stolen it?”

  Cécile felt the same heat she had felt the night they’d met. Perspiration trickled down her forehead. The heat seemed unbearable, even though Cécile felt as if the air in her lungs had turned to icy water.

  Cécile whispered, “I didn’t say you stole it.”

  “I told you, little one: Those we cannot know have your necklace.” The old woman closed her eyes. “Daughter of Aurélia…beautiful woman. Strong.”

  Aurélia?

  “How do you know my mother’s name?” Cécile asked. “Is this some kind of trick?” Her thoughts felt fuzzy, as if she had been standing too long in the heat of the summer sun.

  Madame Irène smiled. “My dear, I know many things without being told.”

  The old woman went on slowly. “Cécile, you are a very good girl; I have seen your heart. You will find what you seek.” Her gnarled fingers brushed Cécile’s hand.

  Cécile snatched her hand away.

  “Open your eyes as I told you, and you will find something even more valuable than the necklace.”

  Cécile’s thoughts swam. The old woman had said almost the same thing on the wharf. Open your eyes so you can see.

  Cécile shook her head, trying to clear the confusion from her mind.

  “It will be all right,” Madame Irène said. “Everyone makes mistakes. If it helps you to know, you will get the necklace back soon. Very soon. And you will learn much more than you seek.”

  Once again, the woman touched Cécile’s hand. “Open your eyes, Cécile Rey.”

  13

  CHASE

  “Cécile! Cécé!” Armand called. The old woman had already walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

  Cécile turned to see her brother trotting toward her across the square. She watched as he suddenly slowed and waved to a friend. Armand called to Cécile, “Wait right there.”

  Cécile sat down on a bench, thinking about all the troubles she’d had in the last week. She felt overwhelmed. She was trying to think of what she could possibly say to Tante Tay, when she looked up and saw the two children once again walking toward her, their jet-black hair flowing as they moved.

  Hardly able to believe what she was seeing, Cécile watched the two children walk toward her. In their dark cloaks, they looked almost like twins, except that the girl had beads in her hair. The dust around them seemed to glow as the last rays of the sun lit their faces. Their clothes were ragged, yet Cécile thought there was something regal about both of them.

  She sat very still, waiting for them. They were only a few yards away when Cécile saw the girl reach into her cloak and then hold out something in her hand. Could it be the necklace? The old woman had said she would get it back. The girl waved to her, and Cécile dared to hope that her prayers were being answered.

  Then she saw a blur of motion and heard pounding footsteps. In a flash, the children turned and took off running in the other direction.

  Cécile yelled, “Wait! Wait!”

  It was too late. Two policemen thundered past. The children ran away as quickly as deer in a forest. Cécile raced after them, calling back to Armand, “Come on! It’s them!”

  She heard Armand shouting for her to stop, but she kept running after the policemen and the children, out of Congo Square and into the neighborhood beyond. Cécile didn’t take her eyes from the four figures racing ahead.

  After several blocks, the policemen stopped their chase. They doubled over, panting like dogs, and then turned down a side street, shaking their heads. Beyond them, the children kept on running, never looking back.

  Cécile ran after them. She could barely hear Armand now. She knew it was getting late. She felt her heart pumping wildly in her chest, a sharp pain piercing her side. She grabbed her side and kept running. She could not let the children get away this time. They had Tante Tay’s necklace. She was sure of it.

  She noticed that buildings along the street were spaced farther and farther apart now. The street was turning into a dirt road. She saw the children run past the last house on the road. Up ahead was marsh.

  Cécile realized she was getting close to the cypress swamps, and panic seeped into every muscle of her body. She slowed, frightened and gasping for breath. She could no longer hear Armand. Ahead, she couldn’t see anything but reeds and grasses, standing water, and a few tall trees poking up from the marsh. The air smelled different—rich and dank, swampy. Beyond was the dark outline of the cypress forest.

  Cécile stood still, her heart feeling as though it were trying to escape her chest. Where had the children gone? The marsh was silent except for grasses moving in the breeze and the sharp call of a bird.

  Then Cécile thought she heard faint whispers coming from behind a stand of ancient-looking cypress trees a little way down the path. She tiptoed closer. The huge, gnarled cypress roots spread out into the marsh like a great rumpled skirt.

  Peering around the trees, she saw the two children bent down among the roots, grasping a large root as if they were going to pry it out of the earth. To Cécile’s amazement, the root lifted, and the children turned it over. Cécile saw that it was hollowed out. With one smooth movement, the children pushed the root out into the marsh. It was a boat! The boy grabbed paddles that had been hidden under the boat and hopped in.

  “Mon Dieu,” Cécile breathed.

  Both children quickly turned, looking around, their eyes wide.

  Cécile called to them, “Please don’t worry. The police stopped chasing you blocks ago. It’s only me, the girl on the elephant. I just want to get my necklace back.”

  The girl straightened. With sure steps, she scampered across the cypress roots toward Cécile. She reached into her cloak, and when she withdrew her hand, it was clenched around something. Cécile could see that the girl had a ring on every finger.

  The girl stepped closer. “Here,” she said. She opened her hand, her silver rings flashing in the setting sun. In her palm lay Tante Tay’s cameo necklace, nestled in its circle of black lace.

  Cécile started to reach for the necklace, but then stopped. Had the children hoped to trade it for clothes, or food to eat?

  “Do you need something for it?” Cécile stammered.

  The girl shook her head. “The necklace isn’t ours to trade,” she said. Her French was rough, Cécile noticed, like the French spoken by some slaves and people who lived in the bayous upriver.

  The boy who had saved Cécile from the elephant hopped out of the boat. He moved it back under the tree and flipped it over. Once again, it appeared to be only another cypress root.

  The girl said, “We saw you wearing the necklace before you fell. The back part was broken.”

  The boy added, “We’ve been trying to give it back to you. But you’re always someplace where the police like to chase us.”

  That’s true, Cécile thought. Hadn’t she seen the children coming toward her on the wharf on Saturday night, and again when she was riding the elephant? And even in Congo Square, they had been coming to her.

  “Here,” the girl said again. She reached out, and her thin fingers brushed Cécile’s as she set the necklace in her hand.

  Cécile saw that it looked exactly as it had when she’d taken it from its velvet box. She turned it over. “But it isn’t broken,” she said.

  “I fixed it for you,” the boy replied with a shy smile.

  “Merci. Thank you so very much,” Cécile said, fighting back tears. She stretched out a hand to the girl. “Forgive my manners. My name is Cécile Rey.”

  The girl did not take Cécile’s hand, but she smiled. “I am Abena, and my brother’s name is Caimon.”

  “We must go now,” Caimon said. “It’ll soon be dark in the forest.” He pointed his chin toward the cypress swamp looming beyond the marsh.

  So they do live in the swamps, Cécile thought. Monsieur John had been right about that. “Do you live there with your family?” she asked.

  Abena
nodded. “Our mother escaped from slavery with us when we were very young. She has passed on now, but the others take care of us,” she said. “They are our family.”

  “Do you trade at the French Market with the Old Goat Man?” Cécile asked. She didn’t want to be rude, but she had so many questions.

  Caimon nodded. “You mean Philippe, the butcher.”

  Cécile didn’t know if her next question would make the children uncomfortable, but she had to know. “Are you maroons?”

  Caimon smiled again. “Some call us that.” He glanced again toward the setting sun. “Now we’ve got to go.”

  “Just one more thing,” Cécile said. “I never had the chance to thank you for saving me from the elephant. Merci. I was so scared.”

  Abena said, “All animals love Caimon. They will do anything he asks.” She paused. “Many of our people have a way with animals. One of our leaders can even call alligators.”

  Cécile reached out her hand to Abena. “Good-bye,” she said.

  Abena and Caimon looked at each other. After a minute, Abena took Cécile’s hand, and then Caimon did the same.

  Caimon and Abena walked down the path toward the forest of cypress trees. Cécile was puzzled.

  “Wait,” she called. “Why aren’t you taking your boat?”

  Abena and Caimon exchanged a glance before turning back to Cécile. “Come over here,” Caimon said, motioning for her to follow with a wave of his hand. Silver rings flashed on his fingers, too.

  They returned to the stand of cypress trees. Abena squatted and pointed to the small wooden boat that looked as if it were just another root.

  Abena smiled gently. “If the police had come, then we would have taken the boat. We leave it here in case any of our people need to escape quickly back into the swamp. Look.” Reaching into a little niche carved into the side of the boat, she lifted out what appeared to be the curved horn of an ox and showed Cécile a small hole at one end. “If we blow this horn, its sound carries far into the swamp. Then our people know that someone is in trouble, and they come to help.”

  The old woman’s voice echoed in Cécile’s mind: Hunters want to kill lions…Lions only want to eat. Now Cécile understood those words. Abena’s people did only what they had to do to find food and stay free, yet they were hunted.

  Abena set the horn back in its hiding place. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said.

  “I won’t,” Cécile said. “I promise.”

  A voice rang out over the marsh. “Cécile! Cécé, where are you? Cécile!” It was Armand calling.

  “We must go,” Abena said.

  Watching Caimon and Abena disappear down the path toward the cypress forest, Cécile felt an ache spreading in her chest. She wanted to know more about the children. She wished they could be friends. But she knew that wouldn’t happen. Hidden away deep in the swamps, they were the ones she could not know.

  14

  HANNAH’S SECRET

  That night, Cécile waited in her bed until she was sure that everyone was asleep. Then she tiptoed into Tante Tay’s room. She took the velvet box from the dresser and, with a deep sigh, placed the necklace back inside.

  The mystery of who had picked up her necklace had been solved. It had not been taken by the man selling orange buns, or the circus performer carrying the fancy doggy purse, or Madame Irène, or Agnès Metoyer, who, as it turned out, had truly admired something of Cécile’s for once. The two maroon children had picked up the necklace only to give it back to her in good faith.

  Cécile closed her eyes and asked for blessings for the children to keep them safe. Then she prayed for Madame Irène, who had been right about everything.

  When Cécile woke the next morning, she pulled open her drapes, and sunlight streamed into her room. She smiled, thinking happily, “Tante Tay will be home tomorrow!” How good it felt to be able to look forward to her aunt’s homecoming again. Down in the courtyard, she heard Maman talking with Mathilde. They were probably making plans to welcome Tante Tay and little René home. Cécile wanted to help.

  As she stepped from her room, she found a surprise outside her door. It was a little hand-woven bag with white lace trim and small pink flowers. It matched her new party dress.

  Cécile walked over and picked it up. It had the most beautiful, delicate scent she had ever smelled.

  Cécile hurried to the courtyard to see if Maman had made it for her. She almost bumped into Armand, who was walking down the stairs with a huge smile on his face.

  “Good morning,” Cécile said.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Armand replied cheerfully.

  Cécile thought he was practically beaming. “What makes you so happy today?”

  Armand just shrugged and continued ambling down the stairs, seemingly lost in dreamy thoughts. Realizing that she wasn’t going to get an answer, Cécile raced past him to join Maman and Mathilde, seated at the courtyard’s breakfast table. They were making a list—probably a menu for tomorrow’s welcome dinner.

  “Maman!” Cécile said, holding out the sweet-smelling sachet. “Did you make this for me? It’s so lovely!”

  Maman looked up, surprised. “Why, no—no, I didn’t, but I just found a tin of tea on my writing desk. It smells exactly like the tea that helped my headache so quickly the other night.”

  Mathilde said, “And I found a jar of ointment on the kitchen windowsill this morning. It’s for my joints. Hannah had me try it once before. I put some on my knees, and Lord, my pain was gone.” The cook looked around the courtyard. “Where is Hannah? Have you seen her today?”

  “No,” Maman said. “Have you, Cécile?”

  Cécile shook her head. “Usually she opens my drapes before I wake up. This morning she didn’t come. Do you think she left us these gifts?”

  Armand walked up. His smile was gone, and Cécile thought he looked as poorly as on the day he’d fainted from yellow fever.

  “I found jars of paints by my door—incredible paints made from fruits, vegetables, leaves, flowers. There are colors I have never seen in paint. Until just now, I thought I was the only one who’d gotten a gift.”

  Maman and Mathilde exchanged worried looks.

  A sinking feeling was grabbing Cécile. “Has Hannah left us?” she asked.

  “Mathilde, come with me,” Maman said. The two women rushed to the servants’ quarters above the kitchen, Cécile and Armand right behind them.

  Maman threw open Hannah’s door. The small room was empty except for a neatly made bed, a chair, and a pitcher and basin on a side table. There were no clothes, no comb and brush, no keepsakes. Hannah was gone, leaving nothing behind except for the small gifts.

  “But why? Why would she have left without a word?” Maman asked.

  “She was doing a fine job here,” Armand said. “She seemed happy with us.”

  Cécile held out hope. “Maybe,” she said, “Hannah has just gone to visit her family, or her friends.”

  “Why would she take everything she owns and leave us all gifts?” Armand said.

  “Do you know any of her friends, Mathilde?” Cécile asked.

  Mathilde shook her head. “Not a soul I know admits to knowing her.”

  “How strange,” Maman murmured. “She surely knows Monsieur Lejeune. She told me that he suggested she ask us for work.”

  Suddenly Cécile’s mind flashed back to her conversation with Hannah as they had walked to the tea party just the day before.

  “She does know Monsieur Lejeune,” Cécile said slowly. “I saw them talking together in Jackson Square last Sunday. But—but yesterday, I asked Hannah about him, and she said that she’d never heard of him.”

  Cécile swallowed a lump rising in her throat. She felt sure that Hannah was in some kind of trouble. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have lied or left the Reys without a word.

  Cécile looked at Armand’s wrinkled brow. He appeared to be worried, too.

  “Come on, Cécé,” Armand said urgently. “Perhaps Monsieur Lejeune kn
ows something. We’ll go talk to him now.”

  Cécile and Armand sped toward Monsieur Lejeune’s home. Armand banged on the door.

  Monsieur Lejeune called through the door, “Who is it?”

  Armand told him.

  A moment passed before Monsieur Lejeune opened the door. “Good morning, Armand, Cécile. May I help—” Then he stopped mid-sentence. “What has happened? Are you all right?”

  “May we come in?” Armand asked.

  Monsieur Lejeune peered over Armand’s shoulder. “Are you alone?” Cécile had never seen her tutor so unnerved.

  “Of course we are.” Armand shoved past him.

  “Armand!” Cécile cried out.

  Monsieur held up his hand. “It’s all right, it’s all right. Come in, Cécile.” He closed and locked the door behind them.

  “I think you’re aware that Hannah has left our house,” Armand began, his voice tight. “Tell us what is going on.”

  The two men studied each other.

  “If she is in some difficulty, we want to help. That’s all,” Armand said. “Please, tell us what you know.”

  Monsieur Lejeune nodded once. “I will not tell you where she is, but I promise you that she is safe, at least for now.”

  “What do you mean, she’s safe?” Armand asked, almost in a whisper. “Safe from what?”

  Monsieur Lejeune cleared his throat. “I did not want to involve you and your family. You must believe that.” He paused. “A slave trader has put up handbills for Hannah all around New Orleans. Yesterday she saw a slave dealer questioning one of your neighbors. She had to leave quickly—for her safety, and your family’s, also.”

  “I don’t understand,” Cécile said. “Hannah could just show her papers, couldn’t she, Armand?”

  “Is Hannah a slave?” Armand asked Monsieur Lejeune, sounding much calmer than Cécile felt.

  “The short answer is yes. She was free, but she was forced back into slavery in Virginia.”

 

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