Page 74 of The Unforgiven
Madeline glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon, and Joe would be taking her to the cabin in about an hour. He’d returned from the bayou yesterday evening, having delivered the last of the supplies, and informed her grandmother that all was in readiness. Mammy was awaiting Madeline’s arrival. Madeline supposed she was ready to go.
She paced the length and breadth of her bedroom and then wandered to the hallway, restless and filled with dread. Madeline wasn’t sure what had made her go there, but she found herself in the nursery. It had been cleaned and prepared for the baby that never came, the crib polished to a shine, and soft cotton bedding embroidered with pink and blue flowers covered the tiny mattress. Bette had scrubbed the floor and cleaned the old toys that lined the wooden shelves. She’d dusted every nook and cranny, but now a fresh layer of dust covered all the surfaces, the nursery abandoned once more, patiently waiting for a child to fill it at last.
Would Madeline’s baby occupy this nursery? Would Sybil summon one of the nursing mothers from the slave quarters and oust Madeline from her baby’s life as soon as it was born, fearful of the love that would bind the child to its mother? Of course she would. This would be Amelia’s baby, and it would crave Amelia’s love.
Loneliness and desolation sweep over Madeline. How had she come to this impasse in her life? Only a few months ago she had been in New Orleans, happy with a father who loved her, and spoiled and indulged by Mammy and Tess. She’d still been a child, an innocent. She still felt innocent, despite the sin she’d committed and the unlawful love she’d made with another woman’s husband. Deep down she’d known she was doing wrong but had given in to her loneliness and desire to be loved. Mammy had often said that there’s a price to pay for every moment of happiness, and now Madeline finally understood what she’d meant. She would be paying for her recklessness for years to come, maybe even for the rest of her life.
Madeline sank down onto a window seat. A polished wooden horse’s head on a stick, the kind boys liked to play with and pretend they were riding a fearsome stallion, gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window, its painted eyes staring straight at Madeline. She reached out and touched its brown mane made of yarn. It was shaggy and soft.
Madeline yanked her hand away in fright. She thought she saw two boys in front of her, fighting over the horse.
“Let me play. It’s my turn,” one of the boys whined.
“It’s mine. I got it for my birthday.”
“Why can’t you share, Charles?” the younger boy cried.
The imagine faded, leaving Madeline wondering if she’d imagined the whole thing. She reached out and carefully touched the horse again, her fingers pressed to the sun-warmed wood. The boys reappeared. They were about six and eight, both dark blond with light eyes and fair skin. Their matching outfits made them look even more alike.
“Leave me alone, Albert. I only just got it yesterday. You can play with it tomorrow. I promise,” Charles replied, and held the horse out of his brother’s reach. He straddled it and began to prance around the nursery, smiling slyly at his brother’s disappointment.
Madeline yanked her hand away and slumped against the back of the seat, panting with shock. Was she imagining things, or had she really just seen her father and his brother playing in their nursery? How was that possible?
She looked around. The room was silent, and dust motes floated peacefully in the shaft of light from the window. No one had occupied this room since George was a child, so why couldn’t she see him? Madeline touched the horse again.
This time the boys appeared to be a little older, possibly eight and ten. The horse stood forgotten in the corner as they satside by side at the table, an open book in front of them. A bearded and bespectacled middle-aged man stood before them, slate in hand, droning on in a voice reminiscent of boring church sermons that seemed to go on forever. He appeared to be teaching them arithmetic. Madeline couldn’t help smiling when she noticed Albert elbowing Charles when the tutor wasn’t looking and making him spill ink on his work. Charles kicked him back under the table, and a scuffle broke out.
“If you’re not back in your seats in two seconds, I will tell your mother, and then you know exactly what will happen,” the tutor said.
The boys froze in the act of pummeling each other and immediately slid back into their seats, eyes on their teacher.
“That’s better. I would hate to see you two punished again. If I recall correctly, you couldn’t sit for several days.”
The boys nodded in unison, their eyes pleading with the tutor not to tell.
“Whoever solves this problem first, and correctly, will have an extra ten minutes to play after lunch.”
The boys bent their heads to their notebooks, all playfulness forgotten as they applied themselves to the problem.
Madeline let go of the horse and got to her feet. If she could see the past by touching the horse, might there be other objects that could show her something? She went around the room, laying her palm on various toys and books. Nearly half the objects in the nursery seemed to be imprinted with memories of their owners, but the newer ones showed Madeline nothing. Perhaps they’d belonged to George and were purchased long after Charles and Albert had outgrown playtime.
Madeline replaced the last toy on its shelf and moved toward the door. It had been comforting to see her father as a boy, but a little unnerving too. Why was she seeing these strangethings? Perhaps it was just her mind playing tricks on her because she was so distraught.
She returned to her bedroom and curled up on her bed. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, but no one came to comfort her. She was a pariah.
THIRTY-EIGHT
MAY 2014
London, England
It was dinnertime by the time Gabe pulled up to Sylvia’s house in Ealing. He’d picked up a sandwich and a cup of tea just after noon when he’d stopped at a petrol station, but now he was hungry and tired after driving for most of the day and sitting in rush-hour traffic for nearly an hour once he entered London proper. He hoped Sylvia had given Emma her tea so he could just give her a bath, read her a story, and put her to bed as soon as they got home. He needed a quiet evening, and a large glass of something very alcoholic to dull the anxiety he’d been feeling over the past few days. Tomorrow morning, he’d call the airline and see if there were any seats left on his upcoming flight. Emma would be coming to New Orleans with him.
Gabe just barely squeezed into a spot and thanked the gods of parking that he’d been able to find a spot so quickly. The lights in Sylvia’s front room were on, so thankfully she was at home and he wouldn’t have to wait. He rang the bell and allowed himself a happy smile. He couldn’t wait to scoop Emma up and give her a great big hug. He’d been gone for less than a week, but he felt as if they’d been apart for a month.
Sylvia yanked open the door and stared at Gabe with a look of pure trepidation. She paled visibly, and stepped back to allow him to come inside.
“Is something wrong?” Gabe asked, taken aback by Sylvia’s obvious distress. “Where’s Emma?”
