Page 32 of The Unforgiven
“We’ll be off, then. You enjoy your river cruise, Miss Madeline,” the captain said.
“Thank you, sir.”
Madeline could hardly breathe as the great steamboat slid away from the dock, its smokestacks blowing black smoke and the paddle wheel slapping against the water. The boat glided smoothly away from the shore and toward the middle of the river where a pleasant breeze ruffled the curls surrounding her face and the lace trim of her parasol. She breathed deeply, inhaling the damp smell of the river.
“Like it?” George asked.
“It’s wonderful. I wish we could stay here forever.”
“Forever is a long time, Madeline,” he said, grinning. “If you like it that much, I’ll take you along every time I go to New Orleans, although I usually go by land. It takes about the same amount of time, but I still have my carriage in town and can return any time I please.”
“Do you go often?” Madeline asked.
“At least once a month.”
George went on to talk about his business, but Madeline wasn’t really listening. She drank in the scenery and inhaled the bracing air. She would have gladly continued all the way to Ohio, but all too soon the boat reached New Orleans and began to steer toward the wharf. There was a lot of activity as it docked and the ramp was lowered to allow the passengers off before unloading the cargo bound for New Orleans. George escorted Madeline down the ramp and away from the docks.
“This is an unsavory area,” he said, referring to Rattletrap Square and the area around the docks. Madeline had passed the square before, with her father. She’d seen the poor white folk who lived like rats in tumbledown shacks and walked around barefoot all year round. Some of the children, who wandered around unsupervised at all hours of the day, were so filthy and thin that they looked half-dead.
“There are some who say it’s wrong for one human being to own another,” George said as they passed the square, “but isn’t it better to belong to a kind owner who offers his people three meals a day and a home in their dotage than to live like this?” He jutted his chin toward the smelly dwellings. “The mortality rate for poor white folk is much higher than it is for slaves.”
“Not all owners are kind though, are they?” Madeline asked, turning away from the poverty and desperation she saw.
“No, they’re not. I treat my people well.”
He sounded defensive, so Madeline let the subject drop.
“I have a meeting in Royal Street,” George said. “It won’t take long. You can wait for me in the reception area. I’m sure they can offer you a glass of lemonade.”
“Can I stay here?”
“Alone?”
“I’ll just walk by the river. You can come get me once you’ve finished. Please, George. I used to come here with my parents. I’ll be safe on my own. I promise.”
George considered this for a moment. “All right. But please, Madeline, don’t stray from this spot. Had I known you’d want to walk around, I’d have brought Cissy to accompany you.”
“George, I’m fine without Cissy. I used to come here by myself all the time when Daddy was…”
“When Daddy was what?”
“Daddy started drinking after Mama died. And gambling. Mammy and Tess were too busy with household chores to come with me, so I often came on my own, just to take a walk. I like it here.”
That wasn’t quite the truth since Madeline had usually come with Miss Cole, but she had no desire to sit in some stuffy office, sipping lemonade and waiting for George, when she could be outside on this glorious morning, enjoying the sights and sounds of the river.
George took out a pencil and paper from his porte-monnaie and scribbled an address. “This is where I’ll be should you need me.”
“Don’t worry, George. I’ll be fine.”
He gave Madeline a quick peck on the cheek and walked away. She felt an odd sense of relief. This was the first time she had been truly alone since Mr. Larson took her to Arabella Plantation. It felt good not to have to explain herself to anybody or make excuses—not that her grandmother or Amelia cared much where she was. She began to walk, enjoying her solitude and freedom. Being back in New Orleans was bittersweet, and she had a brief urge to visit her old home, but quickly suppressed it. The house had been sold, and going back would do nothing but cause her pain. She wished she could see Tess. Mr. Larson had said shewas still in New Orleans, but Madeline had no idea where she might be. She hoped Tess was happy and well treated.
Her thoughts turned to Mammy. Madeline had spent many a happy afternoon by the river with her mother and Mammy when she was little. Mama and Mammy had shared an easy relationship, and chatted and laughed like friends rather than mistress and servant. Madeline sighed. All the grown-ups she’d trusted had lied to her, or if not outwardly lied, withheld the truth. Only now had she begun to realize how little she really knew of her father, mother, and Mammy.
Mammy had never spoken of her past, never told Madeline where she’d come from or who her people were. She’d never mentioned she had children, and she must have had a husband at some point. Mammy had said that her sons’ father was gone, but she must have loved him and missed him when she lived with Madeline’s family in New Orleans. She hadn’t even gone to his funeral or visited her sons in all the time she’d been away from the plantation. Had her parents known that Mammy had a family and refused to let her visit them, or was Mammy not welcome at Arabella Plantation? George had said there was history between her and Sybil Besson. Perhaps her father had taken Mammy with him for a reason.
And what did Madeline know of her mother’s family? Or her father’s? They’d never spoken of their parents or any siblings they might have had. Was it possible that Madeline had other kin she knew nothing about on her mother’s side? Had her parents been protecting her or themselves when they kept her in total ignorance?
Madeline twirled her parasol as she walked. After a while the heady feeling of independence wore off and she began to feel lonesome. She saw several girls her age strolling along, chaperones in tow. The women were clearly the girls’ mothers and they followed the girls at a discreet distance, chatting amiably. Madeline felt a stab of loneliness. She would never take a stroll along the river with her mother, or have her there to guide her through the pitfalls of adolescence or the wonders of marriage andmotherhood. She’d have no one. Not even Mammy. There was so much she didn’t know or understand, but she had no one to ask.
