Page 30 of The Unforgiven
“Don’t worry about Buster. He’s just fine,” Gabe replied, avoiding the question. “Jude will be there.”
“Really? I like Jude.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. He’s fun.”
Gabe hadn’t noticed Jude being particularly fun or paying much attention to Emma, but if Emma saw Jude being at Sylvia’s as a bonus, then so be it. “Come, let’s go home and get your things.”
“What about my tea?”
Gabe pulled out his phone again and texted Sylvia. “Grandma Sylvia is making you chips and egg, and your tea will be ready by the time we get to her house.”
“I hope she has something for pudding,” Emma mumbled, clearly disgruntled with the whole situation.
SEVENTEEN
SEPTEMBER 1858
Arabella Plantation, Louisiana
The days flew by, as days tend to do, but even after several weeks, Madeline still felt like an outcast. She’d lost her place in the world, and the people who’d been permanent fixtures in her life were all gone. Her new situation fit her about as well as someone else’s shoes, something she was reminded of every single day. She saw Mammy coming and going from the kitchen house from time to time, but their relationship had changed. Madeline still missed Mammy and wished she could pour out her troubles to her and find some solace in Mammy’s advice, but Madeline no longer trusted her old nurse, nor did Mammy try to seek her out. If anything, she tried to avoid Madeline, rushing away whenever she saw her coming.
Mammy had returned to her family, and she was happy in a way that Madeline could never hope to be. Mammy had a new vitality about her, despite doing harder work for longer hours. She reluctantly introduced Madeline to her sons, Zachary and Zane, who were strapping lads in their late twenties. Madeline thought they might be twins, but Mammy said they were born a year a part. Zack and Zane had five children between them, and Madeline watched from a distance when she ventured to the slave quarters one evening, driven by loneliness, as Mammy joyfully played with her grandchildren. Madeline never went back. Mammy didn’t need her any longer, and she had no wish to be a nuisance to her.
Sybil Besson was coolly polite but treated Madeline much as she would a new chair or a potted plant. She looked through Madeline but saw her well enough to avoid her whenever possible. She did, however, point out Madeline’s poor posture, a wrinkle in her skirt, or the inappropriate nature of a book she saw her reading.The criticism hurt Madeline, but it was Cissy who made her see her grandmother’s comments in a slightly different light.
“Madame is not one to show affection,” Cissy said as she went about dressing Madeline’s hair for the day. “She likes to nitpick, but it only shows her interest in you, Miss Madeline. She grooming you to be a fine lady. She grooming you for marriage.”
Madeline didn’t reply but took the comments to heart and spent several days mulling them over. Perhaps Cissy was right and her grandmother was beginning to warm to her, in her own way. If she wanted Madeline to look her best and be well-versed in the ways of society, then she had plans for her, and that couldn’t be a bad thing. Even if Sybil hoped to marry Madeline off at a young age to get rid of her, she was still thinking about her future and expecting her to make a good match, which was a start. Their relationship had begun on such a sour note that it could only get better, Madeline mused, grateful to Cissy for opening her eyes.
Madeline’s only companion was Amelia, since George was rarely at home. It was the busiest time of the year for him, and he was out in the fields every day, too preoccupied with the harvest to pay much attention to anyone but his overseer and workers. The sheds were filling with cotton, and the cotton gin seemed to be going around the clock to prepare the cotton for shipping. Madeline had met the overseer, Mr. Diggory, several times when he came up to the house to speak to George. He was a man of late middle years, with a rounded belly that strained against his waistcoat and a balding pate that he always kept covered with a wide-brimmed straw hat when outdoors. His teeth were stained brown from chewing tobacco, a habit Madeline found disgusting.
Mr. Diggory had been very pleasant to Madeline when they first met and expressed condolences on her loss, something that George seemed to approve of. Madeline briefly wondered if Mr. Diggory might have known her father, but George later mentioned that the current overseer had been in his employ for only four years. She supposed it didn’t really matter since she could hardly approach the man and question him about Besson family history. Even if he knew anything of the reason Charles Besson had beenbanished from the family home, he’d hardly tell her for fear of losing his position.
Amelia always joined Madeline in the dining room for breakfast and talked nineteen to a dozen while they ate, and for hours afterward while they worked on their embroidery or took walks in the grounds. Very little of what she said was of interest to Madeline, but at least it was some sort of companionship. Amelia wasn’t unkind, just self-absorbed and totally vacuous. There was little substance behind her beauty, and at times, particularly at dinner, when Amelia and George were finally in the same room, Madeline noticed that Amelia’s chatter irritated him.
She supposed it was normal for men and women to be interested in different things, but her own parents had enjoyed a much closer relationship, even after years of marriage. It was clear to Madeline that Amelia adored George, but she wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual. He always treated his wife with the utmost courtesy and respect, but his eyes seemed to glaze over when she began to regale him with the latest fashion trends from Paris that she’d heard about from her dressmaker or bits of gossip she’d gleaned from letters from her friends, which came regularly. Amelia had been a fixture in New Orleans society before the pregnancy and couldn’t wait to return.
Madeline’s only salvation was the library, which was surprisingly well-stocked and always empty. She found a comfortable spot by the window and spent hours reading, especially in the afternoons when Amelia rested and Madeline had time to herself. The library was a refuge, a place where she could hide from Sybil’s critical stares and Amelia’s constant prattling. There she could let her guard down and escape to a world of her choosing, finding friends among the characters in her favorite novels. Lonely and unsure of her place in the Besson household, she didn’t think she’d ever feel like a real part of the family.
Even Cissy was distant. Whereas Mammy and Tess always talked and laughed with the family, Cissy never responded to Madeline’s overtures of friendship. She said what she needed to say, which was usually surprisingly to the point, and then clammedup, turning her attention to the next task. Cissy made it very clear that Madeline was her mistress, not her friend. Madeline couldn’t blame her. Cissy had lived all her life in an environment where the line between the masters and the servants was clearly defined, and she had no desire to cross it for fear of repercussions. Cissy never seemed frightened, but she was wary, so Madeline stopped making overtures.
EIGHTEEN
Madeline was surprised to find George seated at the breakfast table one morning, readingThe Times-Picayune, which was delivered to the plantation several times a week. He read every edition cover to cover, even if it was several days out of date. George liked to keep abreast of what was happening in the world beyond his plantation, and there was much going on. He never spoke about politics in front of the ladies, but Madeline had glanced at the paper from time to time, when George carelessly left it lying around, and knew that tensions between North and South were escalating, as was the rhetoric, which was often incendiary and unpatriotic.
“Good morning, cousin,” George said, putting aside the paper. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes. Thank you. Where’s Amelia this morning?”
“She’s feeling unwell, I’m afraid. I told her to stay in bed today and rest. Grandmamma will look after her, which I’m sure will help Amelia make a miraculous recovery,” George replied with a boyish grin. “She hates it when Grandmamma treats her like a child.”
She treats everyone like a child, Madeline thought.Even George. “Can I go and see Amelia later?”
“You could, but you won’t be able to.”
“Why not?” Madeline asked, alarmed.
