Becoming Josephine: A Novel Read online

“Why? What’s a slave?” Her childish mind worked overtime.

  I avoided the question and pulled her forward.

  As we reached the bottom of the hill, a voice called, “You there! Stop!”

  “What’s a white devil doing here?” another voice said.

  I had no time to feel outrage at such a statement. Four slave men and one woman formed a wall in front of us.

  “My daughter was lost.” Hortense hid her face in my skirts. “We’re just leaving.” My voice was calm despite my trembling. I glanced at the top of the hill. Safety was on the other side.

  “What you think?” one of the men asked another. “Should we let them go?”

  The man spat on the ground.

  “It’s their fault Leon is being tortured. Maybe we should teach them a lesson.”

  “Daughter of a Grand Blanc! We’d be heroes!”

  My blood went cold.

  “What about the girl?”

  “I’ll take care of her,” the third man answered.

  Hortense wrapped her arms around my leg, her tears coming faster now. Blood pounded in my ears. No fear. I could not show them fear. I scrutinized their faces. The woman looked vaguely—yes, her name was . . .

  “A Grand Blanc’s daughter? Miss Rose! Is that you?” the familiar woman asked. “You back?”

  “Yes, it’s me. . . . Millie?” My lips quivered.

  “Is this your little one?”

  The largest man crossed his arms in annoyance.

  “Yes, this is Hortense. Hortense, say hi to Millie.”

  Hortense waved, her face stained with tears.

  “Well aren’t you pretty! Boys, Miss Rose was a sweet thing. Well, at least Mimi loved her.”

  “Thank you, Millie.” I changed the subject. “It looks like your shift is unraveling. I’ll send another one down for you right away.” I forced a smile.

  “Thank you kindly, miss.” She returned a smile packed with gray, rotting teeth.

  Hortense whimpered.

  “Well, we had better move along. They’ll be looking for us at the house. I should have tended to my sister an hour ago,” I lied.

  The larger man did not move, but the others parted just enough to let us pass.

  My legs shook so violently, I stumbled as we climbed the hill. Hortense’s sobs grew louder.

  “Shh, chérie.” I regained my balance. “Just a bit farther.” I dragged her alongside me.

  The men below argued with Millie. “I don’t care who she is!”

  “We could teach ’em a lesson. . . .”

  “Hurry,” I whispered to Hortense.

  We broke into a run at the top of the hill. Never had I felt fear among the slaves. I had loved them and they had loved me. Something had changed. Something sinister. The ease I had remembered from home did not exist.

  A fog of malevolence hung in the air despite the summer heat. Whites peered over their shoulders and blockaded their doors at sunset. Slaves ravaged crops and burned homes, watching orange flames lick the sky like devil tongues. Plantation homes collapsed amid a chorus of screams. On occasion, the Africans trapped a Grand Blanc and made him pay for his sins. Death did not come swiftly for them.

  The plantation owners convened to fight back. Whippings and hangings increased. Maman refused to speak of the slaves’ rebellion; to say the words aloud would evoke Ekwensu, the god of war. Despite her Catholic upbringing, she believed in the supernatural, the spirits of the land and sky, over and underneath it all.

  Hortense did not sleep well for weeks. Every night she awoke screaming. I held her, stroking her sweat-soaked hair, and sang her back to sleep. But the pain of seeing her live in fear tore at me. When I received an invitation from Uncle Tascher to visit Fort-Royal, I accepted in an instant. A change of scenery would dispel the demons, and I hoped the mood wouldn’t be as threatening there.

  Being in town helped, as did the charmed amulet I had hung over Hortense’s bed. Soon after our arrival in Fort-Royal, her nightmares ebbed and our days became placid again. We played for hours in the jewel-toned water, chasing birds or gathering crabs to prod with a stick.

  One brilliant afternoon, I accompanied Aunt Tascher to market.

  I squeezed several fresh mangoes. “These look good.” I chose a few soft-skinned fruits and paid the vendeur. “I’d like to find a toy for Eugène.” His name caught in my throat. How I missed him. His letters detailed his time with Alexandre, learning to shoot, and his favorite friends at school. I tilted my head back and gazed overhead to clear the tears from my eyes. Feathery clouds floated like seeds of the dent-de-lion drifting through the meadows at Fontainebleau. The very thing Eugène loved to chase on a summer day with his sister.

  “Here we are.” My head snapped down at Aunt Tascher’s voice. “I’ll make a new dress for Hortense’s doll.” She held up a piece of frilly pink cloth.

  “Oh, you’ll spoil her!” I teased. “You’ve given her many already.”

  “I can’t help myself. She’s such a sweet child.”

  We strolled arm in arm to the opposite side of the marketplace. As we entered the hat shop doorway, a pretty brown-haired lady exited. I moved to let her pass, but she blocked our entry.

  “Good afternoon, Madame Tascher,” she greeted my aunt. “Rose! Is that you?”

  My closest friend from school stood before me in a pale green brocade gown.

  “Juliette Despins!”

  “It is you!” she squealed as we embraced. “I heard you were home from France, but I didn’t know you had returned to town. How is France? You have two children? Are they here with you?”

  “One question at a time.” I laughed. “I’m so happy to see you!”

  “Why don’t you join us for coffee? I had the cook prepare a pineapple cake this morning,” Aunt Tascher said.

  “I would love to.”

  The three of us returned to the large white house in the center of town. I had loved Juliette like a sister. We created mischief together at convent school, sneaking late at night to meet boys from the school across town, putting salt in bad-tempered Sister Paulette’s hot chocolate, and wheedling extra fruit tarts from the nuns.

  We gossiped all afternoon, until Juliette excused herself to go.

  “I’d love it if you would come to dinner next week. I’ve invited half the town.”

  “I’ll see you then.” I kissed her cheeks.

  Juliette had married well. Her house stood impeccably elegant amid rows of mimosa and frangipani trees. In the front hall, a white marble staircase gleamed. Vases dripped with flowers and servants appeared poised in their suits and gloves. The aroma of spiced crab soup and yams poured from the kitchen, and my stomach rumbled. I had not eaten much that day; it would not do to bulge in my gown.

  I wandered among the guests, making new acquaintances and reconnecting with others. Yet, strangely, I felt at odds. My blue silk gown did not mimic the formal styles now worn in Fort-Royal. Parisians had shed the style three years prior; I had stepped back in time. The women eyed me with open hostility. I was no longer one of them. I had become an étrangère in my own home.

  The rude stares worsened as the dancing began. My card filled rapidly, and I spent only short intervals waiting, unlike many of my former friends. After several consecutive dances, I sailed to a chair to rest. I fanned myself and turned to find several pairs of eyes boring through me.

  “Rose, where did you find such a gown? Is it the fashion in France? It seems so . . . daring. Don’t you wear undergarments?” Annette asked with a malicious smile. “That neckline is positively risqué.”

  “Yes, quite . . . and your hair . . . it’s au naturel,” Diane continued, clutching Annette’s arm in solidarity.

  I regarded their blue powdered hair and heavily padded dresses. “As of late, style has become simpler in Paris. More like the forme
r styles here. Perhaps they are backward.” I smiled. “In truth, I’m relieved. I’m not as becoming as you ladies in ornate dress. But I’ve sent for the few formals I kept in France. I do hope they arrive soon. One hates to look out of place.”

  “The men seem to admire your loose gown,” Annette said with disapproval.

  I flicked my fan faster. Envious wretch.

  I leaned toward them and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “We know men aren’t the authority on taste. That is the ladies’ arena. I discredit a man’s opinion in such a matter. I’m so thankful I have you two to help.”

  An absurd assertion. I knew very well when I caught a man’s eye, and I loved it. What woman did not?

  Diane and Annette said nothing, but looked at each other in a knowing way.

  “And how is your husband?” Diane asked. “Alexandre made quite an impression on our little town. How elegant he was.”

  “An exquisite dancer,” Annette sighed.

  “I asked for a legal separation. It was granted. He goes his way, I go mine.”

  “Vraiment? Who has heard of such a thing! Paris must be quite progressive,” Diane said.

  “Or a moral abhorrence!” Annette added, her face lined in outrage.

  I had no chance to speak before Diane delivered another blow. “Speaking of morality, Alexandre took Georgette, the woman in navy; Pauline, the blonde; and Elodie in violet as lovers.” Diane inclined her head in their direction. “He paraded them around like prostitutes. They didn’t seem to mind that he was both married and had an official mistress.”

  My cheeks grew hot. I needed no reminder of my husband’s faults. Or my humiliation.

  “And the horrible things he said about you, Rose. He—”

  “As I mentioned, we are separated. I see no need to revisit the past.” How dare they be so malicious! I rose from my chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  A musician shouted to the crowd, “Mesdames, messieurs, this will be the last dance of the evening.”

  Jean-Luc, a gentleman I had known as a schoolgirl, stepped from the dance floor. “Rose, may I have this dance?”

  “I’d love to.” I looked over my shoulder at the women who had not been asked. “Enjoy the last dance.” The rudest thing I could muster without being dreadful. The audacity of those women! Our years of childhood laughter meant nothing to them. Why was I even here? I missed my son, the plantation was dangerous, and my friends were jealous and mean.

  I no longer belonged.

  Finding money for three passengers to France proved impossible. I wrote to Claire, hoping she might lend me the sum. I despaired at the months’ wait before her response. Being separated from Eugène any longer seemed impossible.

  Thankfully, Aunt Tascher held a weekly soiree that helped pass the time. The governor graced the Tascher home often, bringing the King’s militia, who had arrived from France. One balmy evening, we welcomed them for dinner.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” Uncle Tascher ushered them inside.

  The few ladies in attendance ogled the handsome crew while they removed their hats. Nothing was more romantic than a soldier.

  “Care for a drink?” Mimi circulated with a tray and the gentlemen selected their glasses.

  Uncle Tascher placed his hand on my back. “May I present my niece, Rose de Beauharnais.”

  “How are things in Paris?” I asked. “Is there any news?”

  A fleshy man with a mustache answered. “Yes, but all unpleasant, I fear.”

  The others nodded.

  “Please, go on,” I said. “You can’t leave us in suspense.”

  “Rose was always one for gossip,” Uncle Tascher teased.

  “It’s more than gossip this time, monsieur.” The man took a swig of wine. “We suffered a terrible winter that killed most of the wheat, so flour has been scarce. Riots broke out at the bakeries. And the Seine froze! Imagine that rushing river solid! Goods couldn’t be transported into the city. Hundreds starved to death and their bodies littered the streets. Even the wealthy have been hungry.”

  I said a silent prayer of thanks Eugène was well fed at school.

  “Good God, man!” Uncle Tascher exclaimed. “And what does the King have to say?”

  “He says nothing,” one soldier said.

  “He raises taxes to pay for his wars,” another replied. “There’s talk of a new government.”

  “With a constitution and an assembly. Like the Americans and the English.”

  The room grew silent.

  At last, the governor posed the question we all wished to ask. “And what of the King?”

  “He would remain on the throne, but with limited powers,” the stout man answered. “That is one theory. Some wish to abolish the monarchy altogether.”

  Another long silence.

  “Change is impossible to avoid,” a soldier said. “The country is dividing. You are either a Royalist or a Republican.”

  I did not care for politics, but even I could not avoid it. A change this great would affect the entire order of things.

  The tinkle of a bell interrupted our conversation. “Dinner is served,” a servant announced.

  I sat between my uncle and the most attractive of the militiamen, Captain Scipion du Roure. I could not help but be drawn to his caramel-colored eyes and golden hair.

  “This is delicious.” The captain took a bite of wine-basted fish.

  “Divine.” I smiled as I imagined kissing the padded apples of his cheeks.

  “Captain du Roure,” Uncle Tascher said, “what is your opinion of this constitutional monarchy?”

  “I am a servant of God, the King, and my country. In that order.” His expression became fierce. “If King Louis chooses a constitution, I also choose one. But I predict we will soon be in civil war.”

  “We are already in civil war,” the stout man said.

  “The beginnings of one, at least,” the captain agreed.

  I stopped chewing. Civil war? I could not envision Paris torn apart.

  “Has there been fighting on French soil?” Uncle Tascher asked.

  “There are some unpleasant details. It isn’t appropriate in front of the ladies, sir,” Captain du Roure answered.

  “We are not faint of heart, monsieur,” I said.

  “Please, go on,” Aunt Tascher encouraged him.

  “Very well. The King’s prison was burned to the ground. The Swiss guards were decapitated, and the frenzied crowd massacred innocents in the street.”

  Shocked silence permeated the room.

  “Just before we left”—he motioned to the others with the knife in his hand—“a mob of women marched on Versailles demanding the King address their demands. His Majesty and the Queen are being forced to live in the Tuileries.”

  A collective gasp stopped the captain.

  Riots? Massacred innocents? Eugène! Was he safe? Surely Alexandre would have informed me if our son were in danger. I clutched the captain’s arm. “Is there still violence in the streets? My son—he is at school in Paris.”

  “The violence is sporadic. Try not to worry, madame. The city is heavily guarded. The mobs are after weapons and food. The children are the last thing of interest to them. He’s perfectly safe.” He placed his hand on mine. “Really, you have nothing to fear.”

  His insistence calmed me some, though I could no longer eat.

  The heated discussion continued until the men retired to the study for cigars. I took a glass of champagne and dashed into the garden to clear my head. I could not protect Eugène from so far away. I had to get to him. But how? I had asked everyone I knew for money.

  A door behind me opened.

  “I guess we both needed a break.” Captain du Roure leaned against a webbed wall of ivy.

  “Indeed.” My eyes locked on a ribbon of puffed
skin snaking its way from the collar of his jacket along the tender skin of his neck, ending under the ridge of his jaw.

  “Gruesome, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t want to know how that happened,” I said.

  “I wish I didn’t know either.” He laughed. “I’d prefer to talk about the stunning dress you’re wearing.”

  “A gift from my uncle.” I looked down at my white satin gown. “Captain . . .” I attempted to suppress my emotion. “I’m worried about my son. I can think of nothing else.”

  He joined me on a bench under filmy insect netting. “The King dispatched hundreds of dragoons in the city, Swiss and French. As I mentioned, the schools don’t hold any value for the rebels. Your husband and his family would have sent word immediately.”

  I would send letters in the morning. Just in case.

  “Thank you for your reassurance. A mother always worries.”

  “It would be quite unnatural if you didn’t,” he said. “How long have you been visiting?”

  We spoke in the garden for some time before we joined the others to play cards and a game of trictrac.

  When the guests said their good-byes, the captain turned to me. “Would you care for a walk on the beach?”

  “That sounds divine.”

  We strolled to a secret cove, hidden by mangroves and palms. Inside the shielding embrace of the trees, the captain took me in his arms. “It has been so long since I’ve felt a woman’s touch.” He planted kisses along the curve of my jaw.

  “And I, a man’s.” I guided his hand to my breast.

  We kissed until a haze of passion overtook us and we made love on the sand.

  I met the captain many times between my abbreviated trips to the plantation. I enjoyed my time with him, but I held no illusions of love. Companionship was enough for now. It would not be prudent to fall for another solider.

  My time on the island grew more uncomfortable as news of the Revolution spread. Rumors of emancipation sparked uprisings among the slaves. The Grands Blancs lashed out to keep them at bay. Severed heads and hanged bodies rotted on display in the public square. I feared leaving the house without an armed escort. My hopes for a stable Paris and my longing for Eugène made me desperate to depart. At my insistence, Uncle Tascher arranged a meeting with the Governor in Fort-Royal. He might lend me the sum I needed for passage.