Page 34 of The Unforgiven
Madeline recalled the lesson on ancient mythology Miss Cole had taught about the Wheel of Fortune. At the time, Madeline had thought it was a silly fable, but now it seemed more real and sinister than she had been willing to admit. Fortuna had spun the wheel, and all their futures had changed in the blink of an eye.
“Enjoy your good fortune,” Miss Cole had said. It was strange to think of losing her father and her home as good fortune, but Madeline had gained a comfortable future whereas Miss Cole had lost her only chance at happiness and comfort.
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child;
but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
The Bible verse from Corinthians came to Madeline as she resumed her walk. She wasn’t a man, but it was time to put away childish things. Life was no longer black and white, but countless shades of gray, and she had to adjust her thinking to this new reality. She had to stop mourning her old life and move forward.
NINETEEN
“There you are,” George said, and he strode toward Madeline. “I was getting worried. You weren’t where I left you.”
“I was just walking,” Madeline replied, her mind still on Miss Cole’s predicament. Their encounter had dampened her spirits, but she decided to put the governess from her mind for the time being. Her heart went out to Miss Cole, but she wasn’t her responsibility.
“There’s a lovely restaurant I want to take you to, but I thought we’d make a stop on the way. Do you mind?”
Though Madeline’s stomach growled with hunger, she could hardly object to George’s request after he’d been so kind to her. She’d been to a restaurant only once, on her fifteenth birthday, when Daddy had taken her to Antoine’s. It had been a wonderful experience—or would have been had Daddy not overindulged in drink. Few other patrons had noticed, but it had upset Madeline. Perhaps the only reason he’d always had breakfast with her was because it was the only time he was truly sober.
Rather than hail a carriage for hire, George gave Madeline his arm and seemed all set to walk.
“Is it far?” she asked. The day had warmed up considerably since they’d disembarked the boat and she was beginning to perspire, even in the shade of her parasol.
“Not at all. It’s just in Basin Street.”
Madeline looked up at George in surprise. St. Louis Cemetery was in Basin Street. Her mother was interred there, but Daddy had never taken her to visit her mother’s grave. He’d thought she was too young to go to the “City of the Dead,” as he called it.
“Are we going to the cemetery?” Madeline asked as she tried to keep pace with George.
“I always visit my parents’ vault when I’m in town, and I thought you might wish to visit yours,” George replied. “My mother died when I was very little, but I knew my father well, and I miss him still. It eases me somehow to visit his final resting place.” He gave Madeline a searching look. “We don’t have to go if you feel uncomfortable. A cemetery is not a pleasant place.”
“No, I want to go. I’ve never visited my mother’s grave, and I’d like to see where Daddy is interred. I never really got the chance to say goodbye,” Madeline added. Her father had been taken to a mortuary after his accident and funeral arrangements had been made quickly and without a fuss. There had been a service at St. Louis Cathedral, with only a handful of people in attendance, and then Mr. Larson had asked Tess to take Madeline home while he, his fiancée, Mammy, and Miss Cole went on to the cemetery to see her father interred.
Madeline drew closer to George as they entered the cemetery. Many paths branched off the central avenue, and they were narrow and bare of any greenery, the whole place like a sea of unyielding stone. Imposing tombs stood shoulder to shoulder, their windowless walls gray even in the autumn sunshine. Some had the family name engraved above the entrance, but others didn’t, the identity of the occupants having been obliterated by time. Those who weren’t interred in family tombs had been laid to rest in above-ground stone caskets that littered the surface of the cemetery as if the gravediggers had wandered off before completing their task.
“Where are your parents?” Madeline asked.
“The Besson family tomb is just over there,” George said, “but your parents are not there.”
I didn’t think they would be, Madeline thought bitterly. Her parents had been outcasts, as she was just beginning to understand.
They walked until they had almost reached the wall surrounding the cemetery. Here, the caskets were plainer, more neglected, and even closer to each other, the dead laid to restpractically one on top of another. George showed Madeline two stone coffins side by side. “Here they are. Your brother is with your mother.”
Madeline stared at the inscriptions on the gravestones. The one on her father’s looked fresh, but the lettering on her mother’s grave was slightly weathered.
Corinne Besson
Died July 17, 1852
Aged 29
Charles Besson
Died August 4, 1858
Aged 37
Madeline traced the letters with her finger. Her brother wasn’t even mentioned, having been stillborn. Had her parents given him a name or had he gone to his grave nameless?
