by Kira Saito
She smiled and for a brief second her eyes filled with childish delight. “I loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was young, handsome and single.” Her voice was wistful, distant and full of sadness. Her lush lashes fluttered and her face contorted briefly. “But that was so long ago.”
My heart ached for her. “Why did he get married?” I asked softly.
She gave me a tight smile. “You know how it is. Everyone has their obligations. He had his.”
I tried to make sense of what she was saying but I couldn’t. What kind of obligations?
She shrugged and turned her head. “It is what it is.”
It is what it is. I was beginning to question that phrase.
As I watched the couples swirl and laugh, the sound of chains and desperate wails suddenly filled my ears. The room started to close in on me and it seemed as if someone or something was sucking the air right out of my lungs. I ran towards the balcony- as elegantly as I could, of course. Once outside, I gasped, taking in the damp scent of the muddy streets below and letting out a giant sigh of relief. An icy wind chilled my bones and I knew that Bade wanted to have a little conversation with me.
“Bade? What is it?”
“You don’t belong here, silly Cecile!” Bade hissed.
“Then where do I belong? Tell me! Please!”
“I keep telling you, but you don’t listen! You humans never seem to listen! You’re meant to be the official Voodoo Queen of New Orleans! You’re destined to fill the hearts and minds of the people of this city with spirit, love and serve as a reminder that even when circumstances seem impossibly ugly and dreadful there is hope! Without hope this glorious city will be nothing! Without hope, love, spirit, and belief in the impossible, there is nothing! Life in this city is being bought and sold left and right. The people need to unite and they need to be reminded that life can never truly be bought or sold!”
“But…”
“No buts! There are hundreds of greedy Kings and Queens in this city who want power and control purely for selfish purposes. Your heart is pure and you have spirit, which makes you the perfect leader. You don’t need a wealthy protector; you’re strong enough to protect yourself. Don’t say yes! ”
“Cecile!” Maman’s shriek pierced my ears.
I rolled my eyes, took a deep breath and turned around.
Her eyes were filled with rage. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Run, silly Cecile!” Bade hissed.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked as she glanced around the empty balcony.
“No one,” I lied.
She grabbed me by my thin arm and pulled me close. “You’ve caught the very selective eye of Monsieur Edmond,” she whispered proudly into my ear. She guided my attention towards a tall twenty-something year-old man with dark brown hair, icy blue eyes, a long refined nose and a strong jaw. With his perfectly tailored jacket, ruffled white shirt, fine silk tie, impeccable hair and nails it was obvious he was exactly the type of protector Maman had in mind for me. “His family is from French nobility. He’s the richest man here, young and handsome too. He’s married, but it is a marriage of convenience. You simply can’t ask for anything more. For once stop acting like a heathen and act like a proper lady. You’re slumping. Stand up straight, hold your head up high, and smile more.” Her nudge prompted me to stand up straight and widen my already fake smile.
My body tensed. No. My plan had been to hide and spend the rest of the night on the balcony, but now I would actually have to socialize and politely refuse a possible offer. I had to listen to Bade and Erzulie. I do have a choice. I do have a choice. I repeated those words over and over in my head as I walked towards Monsieur Edmond. I do have a choice. I do have a choice.
“Monsieur Edmond, may I present my lovely daughter, Cecile Antoinette Fanchon LaNuit.”
I felt embarrassed as Monsieur Edmond’s cool blue eyes appraised me carefully from head to toe and took in every inch of my face and body. He let a low sigh of approval and his pink bow shaped lips formed an arrogant smirk. Suddenly and for no rational reason whatsoever I had an overwhelming urge to run away. “Exquisite,” he said, as he took my gloved hand and gave it a long dramatic kiss that seemed to linger forever.
I smiled innocently and batted my eyelashes, all the while thinking what I could possibly do to get out of the situation. “Thank you,” I said coyly just like I had been taught by Maman.
“Shall we?” He extended his arm for me to take.
I glanced over at Maman and whatever courage I had quickly vanished and turned into fear. I smiled some more and took his arm. Round and round we spun on the dance floor. Around me muffled voices laughed and couples became dark shadows.
Monsieur Edmond looked deep into my eyes. “Tell me, Cecile, what is it that makes you happy?”
I wanted to tell the truth. I wanted to say dancing in Congo Square, speaking to the loa, drinking absinthe, eating too many sweet pralines, and arguing with Antoine made me extremely happy- but alas that wasn’t a really respectable response. “I…”
“You?”
I could see Maman carefully watching us from the corner of the ballroom and anxiety washed over me. “Playing the harp, Monsieur Edmond.” It was such a lie. I hated playing the harp, but I was forced to take lessons because every prospective placée knew how to play a musical instrument. It was supposedly part of our charm.
“How charming.” He smiled approvingly. “You must play for me sometime.”
“Yes. Nothing would please me more than playing the harp for you.” Lie.
“Do you like the opera?” he asked.
“Oui, Monsieur. New Orleans has the best houses in the entire country.” Truth.
He scoffed. “They’re nothing compared to the houses of France.”
“Perhaps, but they are unique in their own way.”
He laughed. “Oh, sweet Cecile, your innocence is endearing.”
I felt like smacking him, but I kept on smiling.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Seventeen, Monsieur. You?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Do you enjoy bird-watching?”
“I’ve never been, Monsieur.” How boring.
“Hmm. I must take you bird-watching sometime.”
“Nothing would please me more, Monsieur.” Another lie.
I smiled, fluttered my lashes some more and prayed that the waltz would end already, but it didn’t. We spun around the dance floor for what felt like eternity. Edmond kept asking me questions about myself and I felt as if I were at an interview rather than a ball.
I carefully scanned each answer before I responded. I gave him generic happy answers. The type of answers he wanted to hear. The type of answers a proper lady was supposed to give. The type of answers that I knew would make him feel comfortable. Every time I replied I sounded like a stiff imposter rather than myself, and I wondered if I would have to spend the rest of my life acting like a stiff imposter for the sake of security.
An icy wind swept through the ballroom and sent shivers down my spine. “Run, Cecile! If you don’t follow the path you’re meant to follow it will never end well, because you won’t ever love him!” My body went rigid as I took in Bade’s words but Edmond didn’t seem to notice my distress.
“You’re absolutely stunning, Cecile. I find you quite charming as well.” He smiled widely and flashed me a pair of pearly white teeth. “Would you do the honor of joining me for a glass of champagne on the balcony?” he asked as soon as the waltz ended.
I wanted to say no and run, but I caught sight of Maman smiling. She gave me an encouraging nod and no suddenly came out as, “Oui.”
We sipped champagne on the balcony, where Edmond spoke about France and his fondness for hunting, fencing, and his family’s vast fortune. I listened, occasionally nodded and asked him random questions to show that I was very interested while in reality I was thinking about Congo Square and caramel
pralines.
“Have you ever been to France?” he asked.
“Oui, I spent a summer studying in Paris. It’s a wonderful city but it doesn’t compare to the magnificence of New Orleans.” Truth.
He smirked and his eyes widened as if I had said something absolutely ridiculous. “This city is full of thieves, savages, and the horribly unrefined. It’s an abomination.”
I wanted ask, then why are you here? But instead I said, “I’m sure you’ll find that despite its problems the city has more spirit than anywhere else in the entire country. The opera, the theatre, and Congo Square! The spirits are alive and well; and the food, the glorious food! And it’s the only Southern state where gens de couleur libres can own property…” I stopped speaking when my eyes fell on his unimpressed expression.
He laughed sarcastically. “Spirit? You refer to human bondage, the inability to marry beyond one’s race, and constant divisions ‘spirit’?”
“Every place has its problems, Monsieur,” I said softly.
He scoffed. “Not as bad as this disaster.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to his question so I kept quiet and stared ahead at the city that stretched out so beautifully before us and tried to think of another topic in order to avoid an argument. placées weren’t ever supposed to get upset, so I bit my tongue.
He placed his arm around me and brought his lips to my ear. “Cecile, these streets are filthy, vile and a threat to a woman so refined and beautiful as yourself, non? Every day is a struggle. Most are bound by illiteracy, poverty, and slavery. Even when they say “you’re free” we both know it’s a lie. That’s not what you want for your children, is it? I have no illusions when it comes to love- maybe we’ll grow to love one another and maybe we won’t- but that doesn’t matter. What matters is I can offer you protection and security in return for your charming company. Any children you have will never have to worry about being victims to this mess,” he said, as he dramatically waved his hand over the balcony. “Where there is vast wealth there is power, non? Everyone understands that.”
My body tensed at his words and my shoulders slumped as if a heavy weight had been placed on them. I glanced at the city’s rooftops and then looked down at its dimly-lit, muddy streets. I closed my eyes and took in the random familiar sounds I loved so much, such as the voices of passionate young Creole men engaging in duels, shrill screams, drunken laughter, haunting violins playing into the night, and every so often the wild howl of a distant wolf. Despite my undying love for the city, I knew that the rich lived in luxury while the poor suffered, struggled and fought day and night just to make ends, meet regardless of their race or sex.
Besides poverty and oppression there was the constant threat of disease and death, which was everywhere. The city was notorious for its murders and other horrendously violent crimes. It seemed as if every day children were trampled by horse carts, bodies were fished out of the canal, swamps, and river. Wild and savage cuttings, shootings, and other grisly crimes were a normal part of day-to-day life, and on top of that there were a lot of people who mysteriously died because they could not handle the often brutal climate.
I was one of the lucky ones and at that very second I knew I had to think like a rational adult and not a spoiled child who danced with eccentric, moody spirits. Even if I had spirit, how was that going to help anything? I had to think about my future and the future of my children realistically.
Rumors of war and revolution were brewing in the air and every day more and more restrictions were being placed on gens de couleur libres. Before my very eyes I saw our class being stripped of our rights and liberties. The rest of the country did not recognize us as an official class, and in its eyes we were no different than the common uneducated slave. Only in Louisiana was our position and positive contribution to society openly acknowledged, even encouraged, but that was rapidly changing.
I couldn’t make sense of why the government wanted to oppress us since as a majority we were flourishing as doctors, teachers, merchants, artisans, business and property owners. More and more of us were quickly acquiring education and skills that would ensure the security of our own future and the futures of our children. But the more we rose the more restrictive laws had started to become. The situation had become so ugly that it was now a challenge to walk freely through the city without fear, because even the most respected free person of color could be whipped, fined, or imprisoned at the whim of a white person.
For the most part the upper white class respected us as long as we “knew our place” and never imagined ourselves equal to them, while the lower classes feared us; especially those who did not understand our privilege and wealth. Those who despised and feared us the most were the poor white immigrants flooding into New Orleans from other parts of the country, as well as the slave class. They saw us as a threat and found it unjust that we were thriving while they were struggling. I could understand their frustrations, partly because poverty and cruelty was rampant in the streets, but I could not understand their hatred. Were we not all human? Did we not all have the same basic needs?
I knew that as dramatic as Maman could be, she was only trying to protect me from what appeared to be a very uncertain and frankly very terrifying future. A match with Edmond would ensure my security and the security of my children, who would have the opportunity to be included in Edmond’s social circles, be educated and live in France where there was no slavery and there was much more racial equality. After taking all of these things into consideration it was clear what I had to do, even if I didn’t necessarily want to do it.
“Please speak to Maman,” I said. My eyes were still closed and my voice was faint and strained.
“Silly Cecile! It won’t end well! This life isn’t for you! He isn’t right for you. He’s greedy and possessive. You need to be free. People need to be free! The city needs to be free!”
I felt Edmond’s fingers gently stroke my bare back and his hot champagne-infused breath on the nape of my neck. A dreadful chill ran down my spine and my hands unwillingly shook. “Excellent,” he whispered. “I assure you you’ll be very well taken care of.”
I fought back tears of utter confusion, opened my eyes and smiled at him sweetly. When I spoke I said exactly was expected of me, “You’re too kind, Edmond.”
The rest of the night flew by in a grotesque blur that consisted of Edmond and Maman passionately arguing over the specifics of the contract. I stood there and watched in silence while the details of my life and future were carefully drawn out without any concern as to what I thought or felt.
“Two thousand?” Maman scoffed as she looked at Edmond in fury. “Look at her! Look at those eyes, that skin and that figure! She’s in perfect condition, plus she’s attended one of the best schools and can play the harp beautifully.” She raised an eyebrow. “She’s worth at least three thousand dollars and that’s how much you’ll deposit into her account. That’s how much she’s worth and not a penny less.”
Edmond’s eyes lingered on me as if he were debating whether or not I was actually worth the extra thousand and I felt silent rage and unexpected humiliation wash over me. “Three thousand it is,” he said after careful deliberation.
“Of course you’ll have to make arrangements for her home on or near Rue de Rampart and it will be equipped with a slave or two, a cook and an errand boy. I insist that any children that come out of the arrangement are officially recognized as yours and are educated in France. I also insist on another deposit in case the match ends unexpectedly because I won’t have Cecile left with nothing. You’ll also pay for her day-to-day expenses and fully embrace her into your social circles when possible. As well I won’t have the Madame harassing Cecile out of petty jealousy if she were to find out about your arrangement. We are all adults, non? These are acceptable terms, are they not, Monsieur Edmond?” Maman’s mouth was a hard line of determination as she tried to negotiate the best possible deal for me.
Edmond smiled at me and looked b
ack at Maman. “Those are completely acceptable terms. I assume there are no other gentlemen in her life? That’s one thing I cannot tolerate as long as she’s under my protection.”
Maman shook her head and gave me a knowing glance before turning her attention back to Edmond. “There is no one.”
My heart sank. I looked at my diamond-encrusted satin slippers and wished that it was yesterday and Antoine and I were in Congo Square dancing like heathens.
Chapter Eleven
Don’t Look at Me Like That…
Cecile LaNuit’s Home, Rue de Rampart
New Orleans, 1852
Heavy rain beat against the window pane, while the scent of melted wax, fresh roses, aromatic French perfume, and sweet honey from the various altars I kept on the mahogany duchess dressing table filled the air. Flames from the rows of pink, yellow and black candles I had lit earlier cast a ghostly glow on my face as I peered at myself in the mirror and clasped a delicate diamond necklace around my neck. I had spent the better half of the day getting my hair done so that it shone and felt like fine dark silk. I had chosen to wear a black silk gown decorated with tiny blood rubies and a small gold cameo mostly because the colors matched my anxious, melodramatic mood.
I glanced around my brand new bedroom and admired the freshly polished cherry wood armoire with its intricate cupid carvings, the matching full-tester bed and its rich wine-colored satin canopy, and the way the light lace curtains bellowed in the cool evening wind. I officially had my own home and was the envy of the neighborhood bourgeois snobs; even annoying Isadora, who refused to believe that I had landed the protection of Monsieur Edmond.
Yesterday Maman had held an extravagant mid-afternoon tea, complete with scrumptious petit fours, for me. All our friends had congratulated me and had presented gifts and advice on how to make the match work to my advantage. I had smiled and said thank you but inside I had felt like crying because I was no longer able to see my best friend or go to Congo Square, simply because I was now a kept woman.