call spirits to me so that they flickered over my palms.
Because of this, I kept my hands closed.
I suppose I was nervous about what she might say to me. What if she warned me away? What if she uttered a jealous curse?
I found my way downstairs easily enough. I wanted to see what else I would discover in this house that had held so much sorrow, perhaps a sign that would tell me whether I should stay or go. In the parlor there was a small piano, painted white. I ran my hands over the keys without making a sound. Then I listened to a bee, tapping against the window, struggling to get inside. I could spy the sea from this room, as green as Samuel’s eyes. Perhaps that was all the sign I needed.
The maid was in the kitchen, the baby in her arms as she cooked a soup for lunch. I could smell curry and chicken gravy. The maid had set out johnnycakes on a platter and was drinking a cup of steaming balsam bush tea. Hot food in hot weather, local people say. Such meals heat you up inside and then when you finish and put them aside, you feel cooler. I recognized the maid from the market—an African woman named Rosalie, who had always lived with the Petit family. Her accent was the same as ours, a rich Creole French. When she turned from the stove to see me standing there, she took a step away. The baby in her arms had golden hair and dark blue eyes, nearly violet in color. She waved her small hands at me. Perhaps this was another sign.
“May I hold her?” I asked.
The maid grasped onto her. “Maybe you’re a spirit,” she said, uneasy.
“I’m not. You know Adelle, who works for us. I’m Moses Pomié’s daughter.”
She wasn’t convinced it was safe to have me in the house. “You might have come to steal her.”
“I didn’t. I was invited to this house by Monsieur Petit.”
“He didn’t invite you to hold this child. As you can see, he’s not here. I am. So it’s my decision.”
I understood that if a person made a pledge to a ghost, she would fear being haunted if she failed to keep her word. I would have to win them both over, the maid and the spirit of the mistress of this house. I gazed at the stove. There was a heavy cast-iron pot, and the fragrance of the food was unmistakable.
“Curried lime chicken soup. That’s my favorite, I must say. I’d like your recipe.”
“I don’t give my recipes to strangers.”
By then we were speaking informally, as if we knew each other. “I’m not really a stranger.” I picked up a wooden spoon from the table. “May I?”
Rosalie shrugged, so I took a taste.
“I could never make a soup as good as this one.” Indeed, it was very good. But my compliment got me only so far. Rosalie was still wary, so I told her the truth about my visit. “Monsieur Petit has asked to marry me.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard so. Not that he mentioned it to me.”
“I’ll likely say yes.”
“You’re here due to love?”
We gazed at each other. I saw that very few lies could get past this woman. “Due to circumstance.”
“Because he won’t love you,” Rosalie informed me. She was a straightforward woman, not yet thirty. “Just so you have that clear in your mind. That won’t happen. He already loved someone.”
“Fine,” I said. At that time I didn’t care about love. I didn’t even believe in it, since it had never affected me.
Rosalie saw that I was studying Hannah. She was darling, so pretty she looked like a bluebell in a garden.
“She’s a very good baby.” Rosalie shifted the child in her arms. “Maybe you’ll spoil her.”
“I won’t. You won’t let me.”
Rosalie threw me a look. She knew what I meant. If I came to live here, I would keep her on. I would share the baby with her. She decided to let me hold Hannah. As soon as the child was in my arms, she gazed into my eyes as if we somehow knew each other.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” Rosalie said, “but she’s taken to you.”
I smoothed the baby’s hair. I felt something
Because of this, I kept my hands closed.
I suppose I was nervous about what she might say to me. What if she warned me away? What if she uttered a jealous curse?
I found my way downstairs easily enough. I wanted to see what else I would discover in this house that had held so much sorrow, perhaps a sign that would tell me whether I should stay or go. In the parlor there was a small piano, painted white. I ran my hands over the keys without making a sound. Then I listened to a bee, tapping against the window, struggling to get inside. I could spy the sea from this room, as green as Samuel’s eyes. Perhaps that was all the sign I needed.
The maid was in the kitchen, the baby in her arms as she cooked a soup for lunch. I could smell curry and chicken gravy. The maid had set out johnnycakes on a platter and was drinking a cup of steaming balsam bush tea. Hot food in hot weather, local people say. Such meals heat you up inside and then when you finish and put them aside, you feel cooler. I recognized the maid from the market—an African woman named Rosalie, who had always lived with the Petit family. Her accent was the same as ours, a rich Creole French. When she turned from the stove to see me standing there, she took a step away. The baby in her arms had golden hair and dark blue eyes, nearly violet in color. She waved her small hands at me. Perhaps this was another sign.
“May I hold her?” I asked.
The maid grasped onto her. “Maybe you’re a spirit,” she said, uneasy.
“I’m not. You know Adelle, who works for us. I’m Moses Pomié’s daughter.”
She wasn’t convinced it was safe to have me in the house. “You might have come to steal her.”
“I didn’t. I was invited to this house by Monsieur Petit.”
“He didn’t invite you to hold this child. As you can see, he’s not here. I am. So it’s my decision.”
I understood that if a person made a pledge to a ghost, she would fear being haunted if she failed to keep her word. I would have to win them both over, the maid and the spirit of the mistress of this house. I gazed at the stove. There was a heavy cast-iron pot, and the fragrance of the food was unmistakable.
“Curried lime chicken soup. That’s my favorite, I must say. I’d like your recipe.”
“I don’t give my recipes to strangers.”
By then we were speaking informally, as if we knew each other. “I’m not really a stranger.” I picked up a wooden spoon from the table. “May I?”
Rosalie shrugged, so I took a taste.
“I could never make a soup as good as this one.” Indeed, it was very good. But my compliment got me only so far. Rosalie was still wary, so I told her the truth about my visit. “Monsieur Petit has asked to marry me.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard so. Not that he mentioned it to me.”
“I’ll likely say yes.”
“You’re here due to love?”
We gazed at each other. I saw that very few lies could get past this woman. “Due to circumstance.”
“Because he won’t love you,” Rosalie informed me. She was a straightforward woman, not yet thirty. “Just so you have that clear in your mind. That won’t happen. He already loved someone.”
“Fine,” I said. At that time I didn’t care about love. I didn’t even believe in it, since it had never affected me.
Rosalie saw that I was studying Hannah. She was darling, so pretty she looked like a bluebell in a garden.
“She’s a very good baby.” Rosalie shifted the child in her arms. “Maybe you’ll spoil her.”
“I won’t. You won’t let me.”
Rosalie threw me a look. She knew what I meant. If I came to live here, I would keep her on. I would share the baby with her. She decided to let me hold Hannah. As soon as the child was in my arms, she gazed into my eyes as if we somehow knew each other.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” Rosalie said, “but she’s taken to you.”
I smoothed the baby’s hair. I felt something
Similar Books
