A chill gripped Cécile’s body. She could not stop her hands from shaking, recalling Armand’s encounter with slave catchers. Another memory flashed into her mind—Hannah disappearing from sight yesterday just as Cécile saw the slave catcher pulling the slave along. Cécile caught her breath: Hannah hadn’t reappeared until the slave catcher was out of sight.
Was this Hannah’s secret—that she was a slave running from slave catchers? Was that why she had dressed so strangely to go outside? Why she had walked with her head lowered and her shawl almost covering her face? Why no one Mathilde knew had ever heard of her? And was this the reason Hannah had understood so well when Cécile needed to keep her own secret about the gloves and Tante Tay’s necklace? What had Hannah said then? Sometimes even when we don’t want to, we must keep secrets…
“Hannah was sold here in New Orleans last year,” Monsieur Lejeune was explaining now, “but her new owner, Talbot, beat her every day. She escaped, and people put her in touch with my sister and me. We took her in.”
“So you and Mademoiselle Lejeune help runaways? It’s a brave thing you are doing,” Armand said.
Stunned, Cécile looked at her tutor as if she had never really seen him before. Monsieur Lejeune and his sister were well known in New Orleans society. Cécile couldn’t imagine them helping slaves escape. Every free person of color knew that helping a slave escape was punishable by death.
Monsieur brushed Armand’s compliment aside. “Since people are in and out of our home frequently, we thought it best that Hannah stay someplace else. I knew your good family needed a maid.” He paused. “We didn’t think Talbot would look for her here in New Orleans. We thought he’d assume that she ran north. We had no intention of putting your family or any other family in danger.”
“What will happen to her now?” Armand demanded.
“We have been trying to get Hannah out of New Orleans, but right now it is impossible,” Monsieur Lejeune replied. “We are keeping her hidden until something can be arranged. But with those handbills everywhere and slave catchers closing in—”
“How can we help?” Armand asked.
Again, Monsieur Lejeune studied Armand, as if assessing how far he could trust him. “If you truly wish to help, go home. Speak of this to no one but your family. Be sure that every hint of Hannah’s presence is removed from your home. If anyone asks, act as if you and your family have never met her. Don’t come here again, unless you absolutely must.”
Armand nodded and said softly, “Good-bye, monsieur. Please tell Hannah that the Rey family will do everything we can to protect her.”
On their way home, Cécile and Armand walked in silence. Finally, when they were nearly home, Armand asked Cécile to help him burn his painting. “It’s the only thing left to show that she was in our house,” he said.
Cécile’s head jerked up in surprise. She tried to remember the half-finished painting she had seen in the dusky courtyard. The portrait had reminded her of someone, hadn’t it? She just hadn’t recognized Hannah dressed in the fashions of a fine lady.
It was one more thing she hadn’t noticed. Cécile hadn’t even recognized the signs that her brother was smitten with Hannah. Was that because she’d been so worried about the necklace? Or was it more than that?
Armand interrupted her thoughts. “You know, Cécé, I never had the chance to really talk to Hannah. But she was so graceful, so smart and kind. And she had the gift of finding beauty in the smallest things.”
Cécile knew that her brother’s heart was breaking. She squeezed his hand.
Armand said, “Sometimes I wish we could avoid seeing all the meanness in the world.”
Like a whisper in the trees, Cécile heard Madame Irène’s words. Open your eyes so you can see.
Was this what Madame Irène had meant? Until the last few days, Cécile had been blind to all the things around her that happened to people of color. When she had thought about people of color, she’d thought only of people like herself, the gens de couleur libres, the free people of color; she had rarely thought about slaves, and certainly not maroons. She touched the paper in her pocket, the only thing that kept her free. It seemed very fragile now. According to Monsieur Lejeune, Hannah had once been free. Only a few days ago, Armand could have been put into slavery if he hadn’t had his papers with him.
Cécile’s body shivered. Her eyes were opening, but Armand was right—she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.
Cécile wished that she had never taken the cameo necklace. She had seen and learned so many hard lessons since then.
She heard Madame Irène’s voice whisper again: Open your eyes so you can see.
15
SHADOWS IN THE NIGHT
That night, Cécile dreamed that she was riding bareback on a great black horse. All she could hear was the thunder of the horse’s hooves. The pounding of the hooves became so loud, she could feel the vibration in her body.
Cécile sat up in bed. She heard the banging loudly now. It was real, and it was coming from downstairs. Someone was beating on the door.
She heard her father and grandfather talking to each other downstairs. Then she heard men shouting commands.
She slipped on her robe and ran into the hall. Armand had just come out of his room, already dressed, and had gone to the top of the stairs.
Cécile said, “What’s happening? Who is it, Armand?”
She could hear her father’s voice booming, and Grand-père’s raised in measured protest.
Armand said, “Get dressed. Hurry.”
Cécile raced into her room, quickly putting on her clothes, and hurried back into the hall.
“They’re slave catchers,” Armand whispered, grabbing Cécile’s hand. “We need to warn Monsieur Lejeune. Let’s go.” He led the way toward the courtyard stairs.
Once they were outside, Armand signaled that they would climb over the fence behind the huge cistern where rainwater collected. He climbed over first and waited to catch Cécile.
They raced toward the Lejeunes’ house in the darkness. As she ran, Cécile saw Madame Irène’s face in her mind. A strange and hopeful idea began to take shape.
Breathless, Cécile and Armand pounded on the Lejeunes’ door. It seemed to open instantly. Monsieur Lejeune was in his robe. Looking past them both right and left, he said, “Come in quickly.”
“Slave catchers.” Armand was panting so hard that he was barely able to get words out. “They’re at our house, looking for Hannah. I fear they may come here next.”
Monsieur Lejeune blanched. “We have her well hidden here, but the danger is great.”
“Monsieur?” Cécile said. “I know a safe place for her.”
Cécile’s tutor and brother turned to her in surprise.
“Where is it?” Mademoiselle Lejeune asked urgently. Monsieur’s sister stepped into the room, her eyes puffy with sleep. Behind her, Hannah appeared, already dressed.
“I know where you can go, Hannah,” Cécile said, running to hug her around the waist. “There are maroons in the swamps who will keep you safe. I know how to find them.”
Monsieur Lejeune looked shocked. “How on earth do you know this, Cécile? And the swamps—mon Dieu! That’s out of the question; that is a dangerous and inhospitable place.”
“Monsieur, Cécile is telling the truth,” Armand said. “And yes, the swamps are inhospitable—they are uninviting and scary enough that slave catchers won’t enter. There is no safer place for Hannah now.”
Monsieur Lejeune began to protest again, but Hannah stopped him. “I’ll go,” she said.
“But the alligators—” Monsieur began.
Cécile said, “I made friends with some maroon children. I know how to find them, and I’m sure they could get Hannah safely to the others tonight.”
As Monsieur Lejeune continued to protest, Cécile thought about why it was that Hannah had to leave. There was no doubt in Cécile’s mind that slavery wasn’t fair or right. Yet people who wanted only to be free
were chased and hunted. Again she heard the whisper of Madame Irène’s voice in her mind. Open your eyes so you can see.
“We’re wasting time,” Armand said loudly, jolting Cécile from her thoughts.
Cécile, Armand, Hannah, and Monsieur Lejeune made their way through the dark streets, all four of them swallowed up in the silent shadows of the night.
They followed the dirt road Cécile had taken before. She led the way into the marsh, trying to remember where the children had turned off onto the path that led toward the cypress forest. Everything looked different in the dark.
Finally, Cécile found the path and followed it to the stand of ancient cypress trees, their gnarled, gigantic roots extending into the water. She stopped, relieved. The others waited as she climbed carefully over the spreading roots, feeling for the one dark shape that was not a root but a boat. Her heart thudded. What if a snake or an alligator was lurking near the boat? What if this was not the right stand of trees? What if someone else in trouble had already taken the boat tonight?
Finally, a shape moved and rocked at her touch. Softly, she called Armand and Monsieur Lejeune. They turned the boat over, setting it in the shallow water that lapped at the edge of the marsh. Silently, Armand and Monsieur Lejeune picked up the paddles, stepped into the boat, and assisted Hannah and Cécile.
In the dim light, Cécile searched for the carved niche that held the horn. There! She lifted it out and showed the others. A cord was attached to it, and Cécile slipped it around her neck.
Monsieur Lejeune said quietly, “Don’t blow the horn yet. We’re still too close to the city. We must paddle a ways into the swamp.”
Suddenly, there was a rustling in the trees. Monsieur Lejeune held his finger to his mouth, signaling that they should remain quiet. All of them held their breath and waited. Had a slave catcher followed them here? Cécile felt sweat tickling her lip, but she dared not move to wipe it off.
The rustling began again, louder this time. Cécile heard movement through the thick reeds. She stopped breathing.
The sound came closer. Cécile turned her head to look. Coming out into the clearing was a beady-eyed possum, its eyes shiny in the darkness.
Cécile heard the others sigh with relief, but she still felt terrified. “You’re right, monsieur, we are too close,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”
Armand and Monsieur Lejeune lifted the paddles, gently pushing the boat into deeper water. They moved slowly through the dense marsh, making only the smallest sounds as the paddles slid in and out of the water. No one spoke.
The moonlight grew fainter as they entered the cypress forest. Cécile saw vines and moss drooping from the tall trees, looking like ghosts ready to pounce at any second. A foul smell filled her nose. Bugs buzzed around her head, biting and stinging. Broken trees jutted up out of the water like elephant trunks. The cypress trees were so wide at the bottom, they looked as if they wore women’s skirts. Small patches of fog clung to the water, like smoke lifting up from a fire. Cécile knew the vast cypress forest had stood sentry over the swamp for eons. Sounds were everywhere—frogs, katydids, birds, and other, unknown sounds. Sometimes Cécile thought she saw eyes peering out from the trees and the water.
Even breathing seemed different. Air did not fill Cécile’s lungs the same way it did outside the swamp. She felt as if she might be suffocating. She heard plopping sounds in the water and wondered if water snakes or alligators were swimming near.
Cécile wasn’t sure whether minutes or hours had passed when Monsieur Lejeune stopped paddling. “I think we’ve gone far enough,” he said. “Any farther, and I’m not sure we can find our way back.”
“Cécé, it’s time,” Armand said. “Try your horn.”
Cécile lifted the horn and put it to her mouth. She blew into it. Nothing, not a sound.
Cécile was shaking. She blew again. Nothing.
“I’ll try if you want me to,” Armand said.
Cécile shook her head and closed her eyes. She blew again, harder this time. The horn blasted. Cécile blew three more times. The sound of the horn seemed to belong to the swamp, blending in with all the splashing, croaking, squawking sounds. Cécile blew the horn again.
“How will they find us?” Hannah said.
“I don’t know,” Cécile replied. “I just believe they will.”
They sat, quietly waiting. Cécile prayed that the two children would come soon, before daybreak, before alligators or slave catchers set upon them.
The moon appeared overhead, breaking through the thick canopy of trees. Cécile scanned the water’s edge, where she saw a clump of lavender flowers. It seemed strange to see such beauty out here in this place. She felt strengthened by the flowers’ loveliness and called out, hoping the children could hear her, “It’s me—your friend Cécile.”
As she waited for an answer, she heard Hannah gasp. Armand pointed.
Cécile followed Armand’s gaze. She froze. Six pairs of yellowish, triangular eyes looked at them, slowly moving toward the boat. Alligators!
Then from nowhere she heard it, the most ancient of sounds—the sound you might hear if the earth itself decided to speak. The alligators stopped moving toward the boat. One by one, they turned and disappeared under the water. Cécile remembered Abena saying that one of their leaders could call alligators.
Monsieur Lejeune tapped Cécile’s hand and nodded toward the closest bank. A man who must have made the strange sound waded out into the reeds toward them. Cécile tightened her fingers around the horn. He didn’t know them; would he think them enemies? Cécile was about to call for Abena and Caimon when she heard Caimon’s voice.
“It’s all right,” he called to her. She saw him standing on the bank where the man had been. “We’re here.” Cécile didn’t see Abena, but she knew the girl was there, keeping a watchful eye.
Armand and Monsieur Lejeune guided the boat toward the bank. Cécile explained Hannah’s situation.
“She can find safety with us,” the man said. He reached out and pulled the boat ashore. The group stepped out of the boat.
Cécile said good-bye to Hannah. She could barely see Hannah’s face through her tears.
“Thank you, Cécile,” Hannah whispered. “I will always hold you in my heart.”
Cécile flung her arms around Hannah. “I don’t want you to leave, Hannah,” she whispered. But she knew that Hannah had to leave, or she would surely spend the rest of her life in slavery.
When Cécile loosened her arms and let Hannah go, she knew that she had found something more valuable than the cameo necklace—she had found her heart. She could feel it breaking now.
Cécile watched as Hannah hugged Monsieur Lejeune. Last, she hugged Armand and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek.
The man pushed the boat back into the murky water. Armand and Monsieur Lejeune climbed in and helped Cécile. All on the boat watched as Caimon took Hannah’s hand. In a moment, Caimon and Hannah, the man, and Abena had all disappeared into the mists of the swamp.
Cécile felt salty tears on her lips. She dared not look at her brother. What sorrow slavery brings, Cécile thought, and what awful choices we must make for freedom.
It didn’t take long for Armand and Monsieur Lejeune to paddle the boat out of the swamp and back to the cypress trees where Cécile had found it. As she stepped from the boat, the moon broke through the clouds again, lighting up the spot where they stood.
Cécile looked out on the marsh, its grasses and stagnant water silvery in the moonlight. She turned her head in one direction, toward the city, and then in the other, toward the dark silhouette of the cypress forest. She thought of the old woman’s words: Open your eyes so you can see.
Since Cécile had first heard those words, her eyes had opened to much that was painful, sad, and frightening in the world…but she was not sorry. How else could she have seen Hannah’s trouble, or known how to help her?
The old woman, Madame Irène, had known Cécile would open her eyes to the worl
d around her and open her heart to Hannah. She marveled at how the loss of Tante Tay’s necklace had led her to the children, who had then led Hannah to safety. Everything in the world, she thought, was like an intricate, delicate piece of lace, woven together like a fine shawl.
Cécile saw the old woman’s face in her mind. Now Madame Irène was smiling, and this time, so was Cécile.
Just as Cécile discovers in the story, people called maroons really did live in hidden settlements deep in the swamps near New Orleans.
Even today, the vast swamps are dangerous and hard to navigate. Cypress trees draped in Spanish moss block out the sun. Quicksand and dense vegetation make walking treacherous. Alligators and poisonous snakes live in the mazelike waterways.
Yet in the 1700s and 1800s, these very dangers offered safety to escaping slaves, because slave catchers rarely ventured into such forbidding places.
Enslaved men first became familiar with the swamps because they were forced to work there, cutting down cypress trees for their valuable wood. Over time, many went deeper into the swamps, beyond the reach of overseers and slave owners. In the most hidden, hard-to-reach places, they built cabins for their families, hunted and fished, and planted gardens of corn, sweet potatoes, and squash. Maroon communities sometimes lasted for generations.
Although they lived in hidden settlements, maroons were not cut off from society. Using the natural resources available in the swamps, they made goods to trade, including cypress logs, sassafras tea, and cypress or palmetto baskets. Going cautiously into nearby villages and even into New Orleans, they traded these items for money, flour, sugar, guns and gunpowder, clothes, and other things they could not make themselves. They stayed in touch with enslaved friends and relatives and sometimes helped other slaves escape. Sometimes they slipped onto nearby plantations and stole food or other necessities.
Many people knew that maroons existed. Some considered them modern-day Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich and helping the poor. But others—especially slave owners—hated and feared maroons, seeing them as outlaws and troublemakers.
The Cameo Necklace (American Girl Mysteries (Quality)) Page 8