Oppressed

by Kira Saito

  “Fine,” he said reluctantly.

  I had a strange feeling that my whole life was about to dramatically change yet again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Do You Have Any Idea What This Means? What Will Others Think?

  Darkwood Plantation

  A few miles outside of New Orleans, 1853

  Bright sunlight lit the gigantic looming white columns that hid behind the large iron gate. A warm breeze moved through the moss-drenched oak trees and brought with it the sticky sweet smell of jasmine and roses. Birds happily hummed and the early summer sky couldn’t have been a brighter shade of blue, but something told me that I should turn back.

  I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous to step foot in Darkwood again. Plantations didn’t make me nervous. I had been to plenty of them before and had attended my fair share of parties, afternoon teas, and weekend getaways. In Louisiana, there were many affluent gens de couleur libres who owned large plantations and used the institution of slavery to their advantage, so the idea wasn’t foreign to me. However, ever since I had learned that Emilie was my sister and my experiences with Edmond something inside of me had changed. I wasn’t sure how to describe it exactly.

  “Cecile. Jealousy and cruelty brought you here! Leave! Leave now!” Bade hissed, interrupting my thoughts. “Staying here will mean the end. The end of it all! Don’t be fooled! Don’t be fooled!”

  “Bade, I refuse to live in fear. I want to be here. I choose to be here. I made this decision. I’ll be fine, I promise,” I whispered. “I feel safe here.”

  “Who is that?” asked Lucus.

  I gave him a shy smile. “It’s Bade; he’s warning me that I should turn back.”

  “I see. Do you want to go back?” Lucus asked with a teasing smile on his lips. He reached for my hand and our fingers laced. A rush of excitement crawled up my neck and cheeks. I was pretty sure a ruined, evil, savage heathen wasn’t supposed to feel the way I did.

  Embarrassment washed over me as I caught Emilie staring.

  “No. I want to be right here.” I gave him a small smile.

  The irongate opened and I gave Emilie a bright smile. She was quiet and sullen, with her lids lowered and hands clasped delicately in her lap. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered. Emilie was older than I was, but I had the strange need to protect her. Was it guilt, shame or basic human decency? I wasn’t sure. “I promise.”

  She gave me a tight smile and nodded. “I know.”

  “Pierre, make sure that no one opens the gates for Edmond without my permission,” Lucus instructed the handsomely dressed gatekeeper.

  We rode down the richly paved oak-lined path and pulled up in front of the intimidating house. Under the blazing sun it was an immense, ethereal palace surrounded by lush gardens and an emerald green lawn. My heart picked up pace because I was anxious to see Madame LaPlante. I knew she wouldn’t be too happy about this at all.

  The shiny marble porch was blinding as we climbed the steps and entered the front door. I nervously clutched my bag full of herbs, oils, two dresses, and freedom papers. I took several deep breaths and reminded myself that fear was the greatest oppressor of all, and I could not and would not carry it in my heart.

  ***

  “Lucus, have you gone mad?” Madame LaPlante’s voice was a thin, angry stream of anguish as it drifted into the room. “Can’t you see the consequences of this? She’s kept by your cousin. Your cousin. She doesn’t belong in our world. This isn’t acceptable. And her sister is a freed slave! Yet you want them to stay under this roof. Do you have any idea what that means? What will the Richards think when this gets back to them? ”

  I held Emilie’s hand as we listened in on the argument between Lucus and his Maman. It had been going on for the past hour and it showed no signs of stopping. As I listened in it became clear that our Mamans were exactly alike.

  “Maman, please. They’re our guests; have some respect.”

  “Respect? No, Lucus, you need to learn how to have respect for your family and your position. You need to accept your place and all the responsibilities it brings! Why do you insist on rebelling? If they stay here, that free slave needs to stay in the cabins while the other one can sleep in the attic.”

  “That’s absurd and completely unacceptable!” Lucus screamed. It was the first time I had ever heard him raise his voice. “You claim that I should start acting like a man; well, this is me acting like a man. I refuse to let them sleep in the cabin or attic. And that’s final.”

  “Cecile, it’s okay, I can sleep in the cabin. It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Emile whispered.

  The argument from the other side of the door had obviously taken its toll on her.

  “No. You’re not sleeping in a cabin. You’re free.”

  “In name only,” she said softly.

  “No. You can’t think that way. We can’t think that way. Lucus isn’t going to let you sleep in the cabin, I know it. Trust me.” I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “Lucus…” Madame LaPlante said threateningly.

  “Maman.” Lucus’ voice was calm again. “Any so-called shame I bring on the family is my burden to bear, not yours.”

  “Why are you so incredibly naïve? Why can’t you see that she’s only out for thing? It’s as if you’ve fallen under some savage spell. Why can’t you see the truth? She’s after you for your fortune and position! That’s what women like her do! She’s finished with your cousin, and now she’s moved on to you. Why are you so blind to what she is?”

  “With all due, respect, Maman, sometimes I fear I can see the truth clearer than you.”

  Madame LaPlante sighed. “I’m trying to protect you, Lucus.”

  Lucus’ voice softened. “I know, and I thank you, but you can’t protect me forever.”

  “I don’t want to see their faces. As long as they stay under this roof I do not want to hear them or see them.”

  I should have been annoyed at her words, but I wasn’t. Maman’s reaction hadn’t been much better when she agreed to keep Justine under her roof.

  Lucus let out a frustrated sigh. “I suppose I have to pick my battles carefully, don’t I?”

  “Yes, Lucus, you do,” Madame LaPlante said.

  Lucus came into the room. His face brightened when his eyes met mine. He extended his hand for me to take. “I’m sorry you two had to hear that,” he said.

  I brushed off the whole incident as if it were nothing. “Trust me; we’ve heard it all before.” I glanced at Emilie and squeezed her hand.

  Lucus smiled. “Let me show you to your room.”

  I gave him a small smile as I reached out and took his hand. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Envoi Mort

  Darkwood Plantation

  A few miles outside of New Orleans, 1853

  Later that night, in our bedroom, Emilie and I sat behind a large curved mahogany desk.

  “Your handwriting is getting so good,” I said, as I admired her penmanship.

  “You think?” She quickly covered the leather-bound notebook with her hand.

  “What are you writing?” I asked, as I nosily tried to make out what she was furiously scribbling.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s silly. You wouldn’t be interested.”

  “I am,” I said genuinely.

  She looked at me and gave me a small smile. Her blue eyes shone. “I’ll show you when I’m ready. It’s personal. You understand, don’t you? ”

  “Oh.” I looked down at my hands and tried to hide my disappointment. I knew exactly what she was writing about and the truth was I didn’t have the courage to read any of it. “I understand.”

  She got up and stretched out her thin, graceful arms and ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

  I glanced out the window. “It’s raining, and if Madame LaPlante sees you she’s not going to be very happy.”

  She laughed softly. “You’re the one who say
s we can’t live in fear. If we’re staying here I’m not living in fear.”

  “Let me come with you,” I offered.

  “Oh sister, you’re always trying to protect everyone. I’ll be fine. I just want to feel the wind in my hair, the rain on my face and enjoy being free. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  I nodded reluctantly. “Okay, but please don’t be too long.”

  She stared at me for a couple of seconds and then shook her head. “Cecile, I’m an adult. You can’t control everyone all of the time.”

  “I’m not trying to control you. I care about you,” I said quietly.

  She let out a small sigh and pulled up the sleeves on her blue cotton dress. “The past is the past. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I love you, Cecile. Most people aren’t like you. Blood doesn’t matter to them. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Really?” My face brightened.

  She nodded and gave me a big hug. “Really.”

  We held each other for a few moments before she let me go and headed towards the door.

  “Be careful, “I called after her.

  “Oui, Maman,” she said, as she closed the door behind her.

  After she left, I got up and paced around the room while randomly passing Fiery Wall of Protection oil in corners and on various objects. I was on the lookout in case of another attack. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that simply escaping to the country was enough to protect me. I knew better, but I had wanted to get away from the bizarre whispers and stares that had followed me around the city. What had happened to Edmond? Had I really killed him in the Cathedral, and if so who had set the house on fire? Was it simply another King or Queen or was it something bigger than that? My fatigued brain needed time to think and plan.

  The rain had started to get heavier and with it came random gusts of wind which brought drafts of jasmine, moss, and wet grass into the spacious room.

  I heard a knock at the door. “Cecile,” Lucus said softly. “Are you awake?”

  I smiled and quickly glanced at myself in the gilded mirror. I straightened out my cotton nightgown and smoothed out my hair. I opened the door. My heart fluttered when I saw Lucus on the other side. His face was lit by the flame of a single candle and fire danced in his dark eyes.

  I stepped out of the room and closed the door behind me. The hallway was black, empty, and eerily quiet. “Bonsoir,” I said unable to hide my smile.

  “Bonsoir,” he said giving me a small smile. “How are you and Emilie?”

  “We’re good,” I said. “Thank you again.”

  “I have something for you,” he said, as he handed me a newspaper.

  “For me?” I eyed the paper suspiciously, as I took it from him. I was unable to contain my excitement when I opened the paper. “Bleak House!” I grinned.

  He nodded. “It’s the latest installment,” he said proudly.

  “You’re supporting my Dickens addiction?” Aside from tomatoes it was the most thoughtful present I had ever gotten. I had told him about my Dickens obsession a couple of weeks ago.

  “I am,” he said.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  He shrugged. “I want to know if Esther Summerson will finally admit that she loves Allan Woodcourt.”

  I laughed. “You can’t reduce the brilliance of Dickens into a love story.”

  “Love never reduces brilliance. Love is brilliance in its purest form,” he said, as he placed the candle on a nearby ledge and pulled me close to him. I crashed into him and a shock of excitement ran through my limbs as his lips found mine. He pressed me up against the wall and my body tingled as he covered my neck and mouth in a flurry of dizzying kisses.

  “Je t’aime,” he whispered over and over again. His hands traced the curves of my hips and his tongue danced with mine. The darkness of the hall embraced us as we stood there completely lost in one another, hidden from the world and all of its hostility. I savored the slight taste of brandy on his breath and the silky feel of his hair as I ran my fingers through it.

  I pulled back and placed my hand on his forehead. He was awfully hot and his skin had a yellowish tinge to it. “Are you feeling all right?” I asked, worried that he may have caught the fever.

  He nodded. “I feel fine. I’m a little tired. That’s all.” He examined me carefully. “Don’t worry about me, Cecile. I know that look. That scowl. That frown. The slight quiver of your lips when you’re thinking of what oil to blend or which gris-gris to make.”

  I smiled and decided that it was time to tell him how I truly felt. “Do you believe in spontaneous human combustion?” I asked.

  He took a thoughtful pause. “I’ve never really given spontaneous human combustion much thought,” he admitted.

  “That’s how Krook died,” I said recalling the previous installment of Bleak House. “And that’s how I feel when I’m with you,” I said.

  “You feel like spontaneously combusting and dying?” Lucus arched his brows slightly as if he were trying to decide if that was a good thing.

  I nodded and laughed, not quite understanding why. “Yes. I suppose what I’m trying to say is… I love you. Je t’aime, Lucus.” It was the first time I ever said those words and truly meant them. There was something distinctly liberating about that

  His eyes lit up and a soft smile spread across his face. He covered my mouth in deep kiss. “See. It didn’t take a million years. Maybe our revolution won’t either.”

  “Lucus! Is that you?” Madame LaPlante’s voice called from the other end of the hallway. My blood froze.

  “Bonne nuit,” I said quickly, as I removed myself from his arms and opened my bedroom door.

  “No, don’t go,” he whispered.

  “Lucus?” The voice was getting louder.

  I blew him a kiss. “Je t’aime. Our revolution will take one and a half million years.”

  I quietly closed the door behind me. I started to grin like an idiot.

  “Lucus, who were you talking to?” Madame LaPlante asked.

  “Maman, you’re hearing voices again,” Lucus said playfully.

  “Lucus. Enough with the games.”

  “Let’s go have some more brandy before bed,” Lucus insisted.

  “Lucus. I’m warning you. I know what women like that are capable of. They’re dangerous, don’t be fooled. The last thing I want is a bastard grand-child from you.”

  I shook my head as their voices drifted further and further away.

  “Cecile… Cecile… Cecile…” A haunting voice sang from behind the white lace curtains. “Help me. Please help me.”

  “Who are you?” I asked, as I followed the hypnotizing voice.

  “I need your help. I’m in pain. I know you like to help people. I need your help. Please help me…”

  I was lulled by the sing-song quality of the voice and without my consent my feet started to move closer and closer to the window.

  “Please tell me what you want.”

  “Help me… Help me…” The voice started to weep miserably.

  The room around me seemed to disappear as I started to climb out of the window and down the ivy-covered railing. A gust of cool wind slapped my face and fat raindrops mercilessly soaked my nightgown, chilling me to my very core.

  “Help me. Please. I’m over here. Come to me. Come to me.”

  I tried to resist the voice but I couldn’t. It pulled me closer and closer towards it. My heart pounded as I floated further and further into the darkness. I could feel that it wasn’t a loa but a human soul who hadn’t left the plantation.

  “Where are you? Who are you?” I asked, as I descended further into the darkness. I found myself running on a muddy path and towards a row of dim gas-lit lamps which I assumed were coming from the slave cabins.

  “Come to me. Come to me.” The voice lulled me into a zombie-like state.

  My feet stopped moving and I found myself surrounded by an alcove of low oak trees. Wild roots and ti
ny yellow flowers grew of out of the moist earth while the stench of swamp decay lingered in the air. In the distance I could hear the faint rhythm of drums as they wildly beat into the night.

  “I’m here,” I said cautiously. “How can I help you? Are you in trouble? Are you stuck on this side? I can help you?”

  The voice laughed wickedly and against my will I fell to my knees and started to wildly convulse and foam at the mouth.

  “They whipped me, shot me, and then set me on fire!” The voice lamented. “Now, I want my revenge!”

  “I’m sorry,” I croaked. “I want to help. I can help set you free.” Vile foam emerged from my mouth and caused me to vomit up a thick glob of congealed blood. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air and I immediately placed my hand over my nose in abhorrence.

  “I don’t want your help!” the voice hissed. “I want you to feel my pain and then you will become me!”

  The apparition appeared before me in a cloud of hazy red smoke. She had once been beautiful but now her brown skin was charred and she was dressed in a tattered brown dress. Violent raindrops slashed at her body and her cat-like eyes were glowing an odd shade of fuzzy yellow. A large gaping hole rested on the left side of her chest and oozed a heavy stream of black blood. She turned around and exposed multiple lash marks. “Look. I want you to take it all!”

  Damn. I knew exactly what this was. She was the product of an envoi mort trick or sending of the evil dead. If they wanted, Voodoo Kings and Queens were capable of sending a restless dead person’s spirit against their target. Once called upon the spirit inhabited the body of the target and the target began to transform into the dead person and experience the same pains they had upon their death. These symptoms would continue until the target eventually dropped dead and died from the same affliction as the spirit, or until the spirit was removed from the target’s body. Judging by the looks of it this girl had died a pretty gruesome death and there was no way I wanted to experience her pain.