A soft belch forced its way between my lips. The girls chortled at my impropriety, and while there is never a good occasion for a burp other than in private as relief to gastric distress, it seemed particularly impolite at the moment. I could not help myself. My stomach felt bloated, my limbs gravid. Sneaking a look in the mirror, I noted the foreshadowing of jowls and a general puffiness about my face. Was I, too, getting fat? The old man, now below Marie’s knee, signaled that he was going to begin again.
“All through that summer and into the fall, the prodigals returned to make their claims on their late father’s fortune. First, the four girls, all of whom lived nearby, each with a dandy husband on her arm, and each one chagrined by the paltry remains of the estate. Their mother, the Mistress, had nothing but disdain for her girls and told each fancy man to go out and make his own money. Then the eldest, named after the father, arrived only to discover that there was little left in his name. We had to build a new house, his mother shouted at him. Did you expect me to live on the street? Her son left four days later, bound for the Argentine. Lastly came Georges driving in a carriage from Baton Rouge with his young bride. The poor woman, she had no idea what kind of man she had married. I kept my distance but could not avoid her when she came into my kitchen to find my daughter and me at the stove. Who is this enchanting girl? Hardly more than a child herself, she had never been told, it seems, about Georges’s black bastard. Clothide bowed with a grin at the compliment. Is she yours? the woman asked. Is your husband one of the men who works here as well? Gaston? I took hold of Clothide and covered her ears from behind. I am not married, I said. Her father is a Buckra man. She took my baby’s hands in hers for a moment, and then excused herself. As for Georges himself, he refused to even look at his daughter or speak one word to me. He was only here to court favor with his widowed mother, but she would have none of it. Over dinner that last night, Madame told her son and daughter-in-law, There is nothing left. I have barely enough to pay my own bills. From where I stood, facing Madame with a tureen of rice in hand, she spoke as if in a trance. Your father ate it all, she said. Like a pig, every scrap.
“Next day, after they had gone, Madame called me into the parlour. Marie, how long have you been in my employ? Near thirty years, Madame. And your girl, she is already eight, is she not? I nodded. Till this week, she said, I had not noticed how much Clothide resembles her father.
“I had no answer, for the admission of her son’s behavior toward me had never before been brooked, though I was certain she knew at the time of my pregnancy and had held her tongue all along. To speak of the matter would have meant shame on her part and on mine. My husband, she said, treated you most grievously, Marie, as has my son. Both could not control their appetites. Oui, Madame. Had he lived, she said, the Master would have never given you the terms of your contract. Not while you kept his belly full. I made the sign of the cross as she mentioned his name and felt a brief swell of remorse over the use of the Vaudoux to get rid of him, but that quickly passed. How much money do you have? Nearly three hundred Spanish dollars, Madame, but I had that amount when the big fires came. Yes, I know, enough to buy your freedom and Clothide’s, too. She stood before me, but I could not bear to look in her eyes. Marie, she said, we shall go to the courts tomorrow, you and I. We shall sign the papers for you and your daughter, and when you are ready, you are free to go on your own, and you are to keep what you have earned and saved, and I will make amends of one hundred more. But Madame, I protested, you said you have nothing—She held up one finger to her lips. I cannot bear the sins of my husband and my children. Now, come give me a kiss, for I shall miss you.
“Clothide and I went to the Tremé and found a place with Hachard, an ancient crow now, but enlivened by our presence. Mr. Puckett gave me her old job cooking in a tavern for the Cajun people, and on Sundays, I went back to the old church, though Sunday nights I still danced the Vaudoux. When the yellow fever struck the following summer and so many died throughout Orleans, I worried mostly for my child and for old Hachard, but they escaped the plague. My misfortune was to contract the fever in June of ’96 and quickly wither. Do not worry, ma chérie, I told my daughter weeping at my bedside, Hachard will take care of you and besides, you are a free person. Don’t go, she cried as I left this world, don’t go, and the last thing I remember was the sight of my mother being led away as I shouted the very same words.”