Alexandre, crouched near the door of the study, heard the words spoken by his Uncle Bernard and felt himself go cold with fear. Only two days ago his mother’s brothers had arrived on the boat landing with no warning. Bernard and Joseph Fadyen had come to Vieilles Chantantes with no fanfare, no announcement, and immediately made themselves at home in the house where they had been raised.
On the first day of their arrival they had spent a good deal of time in their sister’s bedroom, in the presence of the shell they had once known as vibrant girl and woman. Alex had crouched at the door then, too, but had been unable to hear the murmured conversations that had transpired between the two men and his mute mother. They had talked and talked for hours, until time for supper came and they left the room with grim expressions. An air of determination enveloped them. Supper that night had been a strained affair, not for lack of hospitality, but for the shock of the two men being there at all.
Today, the second day of their visit, had been spent in a general assessment of the fields and other areas of production on the plantation. They had ridden out with Hercule to take stock of the rice and cane, not returning until late in the afternoon, well past dinner. On their return they retired to this room. When Alex was sure they would not come out he curled himself against the thick wooden door and listened closely.
“I have no intention of sending Alexandre away,” Géraud told his brothers-in-law.
“You are neglecting him,” Joseph said.
Géraud stared at the two brothers with a blank expression. They were both fair and as unlike their sister Elisabeth as they could be in coloring, in build, and in temperament. Where she had once been wild and vivacious they were reserved and serious. Their blue eyes bore into him now until he found himself looking at the carpet.
“He’s uneducated, and been allowed to run wild, Géraud. We understand that circumstances here have been less than ideal,” Bernard explained, “but Alexandre is getting older. In a few years he’ll be a young man and expected to take on the usual duties of his station.” He took a sip of the dry sherry offered him. “As there are no daughters from your marriage, and Joseph and I have only sons as well, this plantation will come into Alexandre’s hands some day. He must be prepared.”
“He’s of an age, Géraud, he’s of an age,” Joseph agreed.
“A boy; he’s a child,” Géraud mused aloud. “Why, he’s never been off the plantation grounds in his entire life.”
“An error in judgement that can yet be rectified,” Bernard stated.
“His mother...” Géraud began, but he was interrupted.
“His mother is incapable of anything in her present state. Has there been an improvement? No. Elisabeth is still confined,” Bernard said.
“They are close,” Géraud offered.
“Elisabeth does not acknowledge the people around her. There’s no indication that she sees or hears her son, or anyone else for that matter, although I do agree that keeping up a level of activity around her is better than locking her away,” Joseph said as he studied the claret colored liquor in the small crystal goblet he held. “The situation, as it stands, is impossible, Géraud. Bernard and I are most willing to take Alexandre with us and see to his education. He must be introduced to society; he should travel. He should know something of the world before the burdens of responsibility here shift to his shoulders.” Joseph drained his glass and stood, stretching to his formidable six foot two and motioning for the other men to remain seated. “If you’ll excuse me, I should like to talk with Marceline and Françoise now, before supper.”
“How long will you be staying, may I ask?” Géraud inquired.
Joseph raised an eyebrow to the question and Bernard looked away, embarrassed by his brother-in-law’s rudeness. Many allowances for Géraud’s moods and behaviors had been made for over twelve years, but a question about the extending of hospitality to family came close to crossing the line of insult.
“As long as seems fit,” Bernard answered. He discarded his glass and rose to follow his brother from the room.
Alex, still huddled at the foot of the door, scrambled away as his uncle’s footsteps neared. His own heart was beating wildly in his chest and he felt as if it would burst. There was a convenient room to hide in as the men passed and he squatted against the door listening for their footsteps to traverse the upper hall and descend the stairs.
They wanted to take him away. Away from Vieilles Chantantes, his mother, the river, and Vi-vi. It was something he never anticipated. He was dizzy from the horror of it all, dizzy with the need to tell it all to Vi-vi, for only Vi-vi could make things right. He closed his eyes tight and wished himself away to one of his many hiding places on the plantation.
And when he opened them again he was staring into bottle green eyes under a moonlit sky, as far away from his fate as he ever imagined being.
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“Are you all right?” Vee asked A.J.
“I...I don’t know,” he admitted. He didn’t. One minute he had been walking through the crowded room holding this beautiful woman’s hand, the next he had been somewhere else. That place in his head where he had been watching another life unfold. And then he was back here, outside on the porch in the dark.
Geneviève laughed at him, a light little chuckle, and took the glass from his hand that she could tell he didn’t even know he held.
“Too much wine, yes? Perhaps you should come back inside and have something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” he told her. He wasn’t. He was content to be outside with her while the party raged on inside. He was content just to be with her. Instant attraction. It was something he was familiar with. Not unlike ‘convenient attraction’, where he would take up with a woman for the evening after or between shows in any given city. This felt different, though, without the usual awkward moments that he would gloss over with humor or chatter.
“Oh, but you will be. The food is very good. As soon as you smell it, you’ll be hungry.” She tugged at his hand and he obediently followed her back into the house.
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It was quiet inside the room Nick entered. Quiet in a way he didn’t know quiet could be. There was no sound of the party outside the room, no music, no thumping bass, no tread of feet on the floors. But the quiet went beyond that. There was no underlying electronic hum. No sound of the many appliances that ran in the house, not even the gentle thrumming of a digital clock. It was a silence so acute that he could hear his own breathing.
When he had entered the room he recognized it as a bedroom, and one of some significant size, as well. There was a large carpet covering the floor that reminded him of those that graced the floors in some of the better hotels he had stayed in during his extensive travels. It covered the better part of the floor, leaving only an edge of gleaming floorboards to frame it like a giant piece of artwork.
Everything in the room appeared oversized. The rug, the enormous twin armoires that took up an entire wall, the portrait of the beautiful woman over the fireplace mantel. As his eyes took it all in he became aware of the feminine trappings of the room. Rose patterns in the fabric of the furniture, woven into the rug, and on the heavy draperies and bed hangings.
It was only then that he noticed the bed and the figure in it.
“I’m sorry...,” he began to say, but the words didn’t make it to his mouth. Instead, he approached the tall four-poster on feet he didn’t control, and he bent over the inert figure.
It was the woman in the portrait, as still as the picture itself. Her eyes glistened with moisture, but they didn’t register his presence.
“Mon charmant fille,” he heard himself say, “Ma fille douce.” Beautiful one. Sweet one. This poor creature trapped inside herself. He felt sadness wash through him, sadness and anger and a complete helplessness. He bent low and caught the clean scent of her perfume. Well tended, but utterly alone. Her isolation inundated him and his sadness became profound, a personal thing that wound around him and tugged at his heart. His lips brushed the crown of her head; he felt hope and expectation that she would in some way respond to his caress, and was disappointed, but not surprised, when she remained still.
Nick sat on the bed and took her hand in his. Warm, alive, limp and unresponsive.
He sighed, and closed his eyes. And when he opened them, he found himself alone in a room he didn’t recognize, with tears on his face.
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“Arrêtez-vous, la halte!” Géraud found himself saying to the shadows in the arbor. He was tired and furious. It had been a long night, a grueling night that culminated in the birth of a son. His wife lay in a stupor, unable to respond to any of the women who had attended to her as she had lain there, not helping at all during the long, arduous labor.
Géraud still had no idea how the woman had not died. She should have died. He had wished her dead for these many months preceding this ill fated birth. Of course it would have to be a son as well, a further slap in the face to his pride. The house behind him was ablaze with light; relatives had come from near and far to be at hand for this event. Géraud was almost grateful for this intrusion in the arbor that had sent the dogs to wailing, for it had taken him away from the oppressive atmosphere of the house where mixed emotions raged.
He stood still, quiet, and listened. He held a hunting rifle and readied it. At this point he was willing to shoot blind into the tangle of vines and fruit, the devil be damned for the consequences. The only sounds now were those from the house. A baby crying, voices rising and lowering in conversation, the women all a gabble over the odd circumstances, the strange behavior of Elisabeth, the strength of the newborn. The air that surrounded him, though, was still.
A low growl came from between the vines. It was no sound that Géraud was familiar with. The dogs that had reacted to whatever it was in the arbor would have nothing to do with the place, and he had left them whimpering at the foot of the porch. Another growl accompanied the rustling of leaves. Géraud raised his gun and prepared to shoot.
A wolf.
A gray wolf with eyes that shone pale in the weak light that managed to make its way into the arbor. It stopped and stood before him, and Géraud found himself unable to shoot, unable to move at all. The anger that had fueled him drained away to be replaced by fear and a knowledge that to harm the animal would be his undoing. Instead, he lowered his arms and began a slow retreat to the entrance of the arbor, each step he took mimicked by the forward pacing of the wolf. It growled again; a threat. A warning. So Géraud made his way out, backing through the narrow rows while trying not to trip over roots until he was outside of the entrance.
The wolf disappeared.
Géraud felt his legs weaken, his knees buckle as he fell to the earth.
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Kevin stumbled and tripped, finding himself looking at dirt and actually saying ‘Ooof’ out loud.
“Y’all okay?” Brian asked him.
Kevin looked up from the ground and saw that Brian had appeared out of nowhere.
“Yeah, I just fell over something.” He allowed Brian to help him to his feet, brushing dirt from his shirt and pants.
“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” Brian said. He clapped his hand on Kevin’s back, then left him to make his way to the house. His walk to the woods had been invigorating; strange. He remembered it well enough, but there had been a surreal quality to it and even now he couldn’t exactly remember how far into the thicket of trees he had gone or what he had done when he got there. He remembered the moon, high above the tall trees, and he remembered the sounds of the woods, the hooting of owls and the crunching of leaves and sticks under his feet. Somewhere, the woods had butted up to the grape arbor and he had strolled into it, led by the ambient light of the house. He had sniffed the fruit that hung on the vines and generally enjoyed the moment of solitude.
Kevin watched Brian walk away, his only thought being that Brian should be taking his own advice and not be out walking on unfamiliar ground. A tap on his shoulder made him start.
“Sorry man, what are you doing out here?” Howie asked him.
Kevin was surprised at the anger that flared in him at seeing Howie. It went beyond the minor annoyance at having been startled. His initial reaction was to hit the man with something, and it was his gut instinct that stopped him and made him reassess his response to something so trivial.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Howie said.
“Why not? Seems like everyone is,” Kevin replied in a curt tone before taking long strides to return to the house.
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© 2002 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2002 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
