Page 62 of The Unforgiven
“Like you did for me?”
“Was it special and wonderful?” George whispered and then ran his tongue along Madeline’s lower lip.
“You know it was.”
“Then I served you well. And I will do so again.”
Madeline tried to put Amelia from her mind, but her conscience gnawed at her, reminding her every day that she was usurping Amelia’s rightful place. The letters from Amelia didn’t help. She’d written several times, inquiring after the family and regaling them with news of her hometown. Amelia seemed in better spirits and begged George’s forgiveness for not rushing home. She was regaining her health and vitality, and praised his generosity of spirit in putting her needs before his own. Sybil ranted and raged at Amelia’s selfishness and her shortcomings as a wife, but Madeline wished that Amelia would never return. Amelia was happy with her family, and Madeline was happy with George. It could all be so simple if everyone just did what they wanted.
Madeline sometimes caught Mammy’s worried gaze on her, but she’d barely seen the old woman in the past few months. Madeline had no reason to visit the kitchen house, and Mammy had no call to come into the main house. Their paths rarely crossed, and the ache caused by the betrayal of her old nanny began to heal. Madeline still grieved for her father, but the pain lessened every day as she blossomed from an innocent child into asensual young woman. She was young, she was in love, and she was happy for the first time since her mother had died.
George spoiled her, and often took her for carriage rides and on his monthly visits to New Orleans. They didn’t go on a steamboat again, but Madeline cherished the memory, and instead enjoyed riding in a fine carriage with her handsome George by her side. She was almost sixteen, but she felt like a woman of the world when she accompanied him to restaurants or joined him for an evening at the theater. George always introduced Madeline as his beloved cousin and treated her like a charming ingénue in front of his acquaintances. She didn’t mind. She understood his obligations to Amelia and gladly acted the part, playing the innocent and gazing at George with adoring eyes, the easiest part of all, as he squired her about town.
As October gave way to November and then December, the plantation grew quieter and grayer. The cotton-picking season had ended, and after weeks of ginning the cotton, finished bales were sent down the river to their various destinations. George sent nearly five hundred bales of cotton to Mr. Monroe’s textile mill in Kingston, New York, a transaction he was very pleased with.
A quantity of cotton was held back, to be carded and then spun by the slaves. The finished cotton would be used on the plantation for new bedding and clothing. Sybil supervised the carding and weaving process, and then allocated the finished cloth to various purposes. Madeline was given lengths of cotton to make new undergarments and night dresses for herself under the supervision of Sybil, who was practical to a fault.
“Why should we pay a seamstress when we can easily do this ourselves?” Sybil demanded. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” she added, giving Madeline a meaningful stare.
Madeline cringed under her grandmother’s gaze. What if she knew about her intimate relationship with George? What would she do? She’d been eager to send Madeline away to a school for girls, and perhaps she would insist on it before Amelia returned. But Sybil said nothing more and Madeline began to relax.
She didn’t mind sewing since the weather wasn’t suited to walking and George spent much of his time at the neighboring plantation. The sugar cane at the Arabella Plantation was still processed by hand, a long and laborious process that required several steps and all able-bodied slaves. Mr. Campbell of Oak Ridge Plantation had recently invested in a steam-powered mill and George was smitten. He spent hours at Oak Ridge, discussing the charms of the steam engine with Mr. Campbell, who was only too happy to show off his new “baby.”
But eventually, all the cotton was shipped, and all the sugar had been ground, and the plantation entered a period of quiet contemplation as the end of the year approached. This was a time of rest for the slaves, and a time of idleness for the owners. The new sugar crop would not go in until January, so George had nothing to occupy him till then. He became listless, since he no longer rode his acres every morning. The fields were bare and brown, the endless acres often shrouded in a soupy fog in early morning. George still consulted with his overseer every day, discussing the rotation of the fields to ensure the soil didn’t grow depleted, and making plans for the spring planting.
The days grew cooler, the fecund humidity of summer replaced by drier, brighter weather. George often left in the morning and didn’t return for a day or two, joining his friends in various entertainments, since everyone now had more free time. Madeline missed him when he was gone but didn’t utter a word of reproach, waiting patiently for George to return. Even Gilbert’s visits became less frequent as his family attended various parties and prepared for their own Christmas ball, to which the Bessons were invited.
Sybil took Madeline to New Orleans to order a new gown for the social event of the season. Madeline hoped to see Miss Cole at Mrs. Bonnard’s establishment, but there was no sign of her in either the front parlor, where the gentlemen waited for their ladies to finish the fittings, or the back rooms, where numerous seamstresses crouched with a mouthful of pins, tucking and adjusting until the gowns fit just right and the hems were perfect.Madeline hoped that Paula Cole had been able to escape the hardship of her new life and found employment as a governess. It lifted her spirits to think that Miss Cole had moved on to something better.
Madeline had her last fitting on her sixteenth birthday. She hadn’t told anyone it was her birthday, fearing they would feel obligated to celebrate and get her presents, but she intended to enjoy her outing to New Orleans, particularly since George had promised to take them to lunch after they finished their business at the dressmaker’s. Madeline was taken to the back room by herself, since Sybil’s gown was finished and ready to take home. Her grandmother elected to have a cup of tea in the parlor, especially since the proprietress, Mrs. Bonnard, asked if she might join her. The two women had known each other for years, and as much as Sybil pretended not to care, she enjoyed a good gossip now and then.
The fitting room was nearly empty, with only one customer being fitted for a silk ball gown in a startling shade of green. The bright color made the woman look sallow, but she seemed quite pleased with the dress, turning this way and that and admiring herself in the long mirror. The lady appeared to be hard of hearing and yelled at the poor seamstress as she crouched on the floor pinning the hem.
Madeline’s gown was the color of liquid gold. It wasn’t a shade she would have picked for herself, but Mrs. Bonnard had suggested it, and she had been right. The color brought out Madeline’s dark hair and hazel eyes, and made her look youthful without appearing too prim in a gown of white or cream. Her father used to say that her eyes were the color of the bayou on a sunny day. How proud he would have been to see her looking so lovely, and so mature. She was no longer the girl he’d loved, but a woman, ready to shape her own destiny.
“How does that feel, miss?” the seamstress asked as she stood back, surveying Madeline with a critical eye. “I had to let it out a bit at the waist, and I took up the hem another inch. It was still too long.”
“It feels fine,” Madeline replied. Cissy hadn’t laced her corset as tightly as she usually did, which accounted for the loosening of the waist, but Madeline didn’t mind. She hated the feeling of not being able to take a deep breath, especially when dancing. Her waist was small enough that she could get away with this tiny indulgence.
“Would you have a forwarding address for Miss Cole?” Madeline asked as the seamstress began to unbutton the gown, her fingers deft on the cloth-covered buttons.
“Miss Charlotte,” Madeline called to her when she failed to respond. “It is Charlotte, isn’t it? Miss Cole used to be my governess, and I would like to write to her and find out how she’s faring in her new position. You wouldn’t be betraying her confidence if you told me where she’s gone.”
“She’s gone to the cemetery, Miss Besson,” Charlotte replied quietly, so the other seamstress wouldn’t overhear.
“What do you mean?” Madeline whispered. “I saw her only recently, and she seemed well enough.”
The seamstress came closer to Madeline and began to adjust her sleeve, so her face was close to Madeline’s ear. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny you ever heard it from me, but Paula Cole died of severe hemorrhage.”
“Did she cut herself?” Madeline gasped.
Charlotte looked exasperated but then must have remembered Madeline’s tender age and rearranged her face. “She was in the family way, Miss Besson, not that I should be telling you that,” she whispered. “But as you knew her, maybe you’ll mourn for her. She had no family, and Mrs. Bonnard didn’t see fit to pay for a fancy funeral. She just used whatever was owed to Miss Cole to pay for a pine box and a burial service. Not even a stone to mark her life.”
Madeline shook her head. “I don’t understand. What brought on the hemorrhage?”
Miss Charlotte looked distinctly sorry that she had ever opened her mouth, but it was too late to back out now. She had to explain. She helped Madeline out of the gown and assisted her in dressing in her own clothes while she waited for the other seamstress to leave the room.
“You see, whoever the father was, he had no wish to marry her, and Mrs. Bonnard would have cast her out without a reference, and possibly without paying her wages once it became known she was with child. Paula tried to get rid of the child before her condition became apparent.”
