Ever My Love: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 2) by Gretchen Craig Read Free Book Online

When his father rode up on the latest of his fine
black stallions, Gabriel hurried out to meet him.
    Father and son embraced, trying to express three years of
love and affection. “ Mon Dieu, it’s good to see you,” Chamard said.
    “Come sit with me, Papa. I’ve brought a fine brandy home
just for you.”
    The two put their feet up and listened to the crickets,
drank their brandy, smoked their cigars. Chamard inquired about his neighbor
Josephine and her children and received Gabriel’s amazed report of girls grown
into young ladies.
    “And your maman?” Chamard said into the dark.
    Gabriel knew from Nicolette’s letters that their father had
not let go of Cleo willingly. Papa was still in love with Maman, she wrote, but
what could he do? Maman was her own woman, freed by Tante Josephine, made
independent by her own talent and perseverance. And, Nicolette added, Pierre
LaFitte would belong to Maman alone. They shared a life in music, and Cleo
would never have to wait for Pierre to come to her from his other family.
    “She’s well,” Gabriel said.
    Chamard shifted in his chair, drank his brandy. “What did
you think of LaFitte?”
    I hardly know the man, Gabriel thought. And what does Papa
want to hear? That he beats her, that she’s sorry she married him? “He seems a
good man,” Gabriel said. “He’ll take care of her.”
    Chamard nodded. “You must let me know if she ever needs
anything.”
    Talk turned to the years they’d been apart, what Chamard had
done with Cherleu, how his pony had run in the last race. And then they
explored all the deeds and exploits, and even the studies, of Gabriel’s years
in Paris.
    Late in the evening, Chamard put his brandy snifter down.
“Son, you could have remained in Paris,” he said. “It would be easier there for
you. You could even pass for white, I think, if you wanted to. Yet you’ve come
back.”
    “Father, I’d rather be here on this river than anywhere else
on earth. I’m home to stay.”

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    While Marianne tended to Peter, his Grandmama Lena sat on
the floor, her hand on her grandson’s foot, her head on his bed, asleep.
Charles dozed on the porch in a rawhide chair tilted back against the wall.
    When Peter had intermittent spells of peace, Marianne’s
tired mind wandered. Moonlight beamed between the boards of the walls, making
silver bars on the floor. When a wet wind blew from the northwest, this house
must be nearly as cold as being on the levee. At least it had a floor. Over at
the Morgans’, she understood, the slave cabins had packed dirt instead of board
floors.
    Six pegs in the wall for the slaves to hang their meager
belongings on. One stool, a few cots. Not a scrap of paper, not a picture on
the wall. No crystal vase filled with roses. No books on a polished table.
    But of course the slaves couldn’t read. She had heard some
of them could learn to, but it was against the law to teach a slave to read.
Ridiculous law. Maybe, if Petie survived, she’d try him with chalk and slate.
No one would have to know.
    Has Petie ever dreamed of being able to read? What might a
slave do if he had leisure? They worked most of the daylight hours, more than
that at harvest time. But everyone has a dream.
    When Lena woke, Marianne lay down on the swept boards. Hard
as the floor was, she fell asleep instantly. Late in the morning, when the sun
beamed through the window and warmed her face, she sat up, stiff and sore.
    Lena smiled at her, showing the three or four teeth she had
left. “Petie better, Miss. Feel for yoself.”
    Marianne put her hand to Peter’s forehead. Cool. Almost as
cool as her own.
    Peter watched her with big black eyes as she unwound a
bandage. The gauze stuck to the wound and Peter flinched as she peeled it off.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to be gentle.” Peter steadied himself and endured the
rest without a murmur.
    She checked all the wounds. The festering had been drawn
out. The discharge had ceased. Marianne