4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
F abienne wound up and clicked her watch, then brushed the lid before putting it into her pocket and redirecting her attention to the little house down the road. In some cases, not even her ritual helped against the nerves. She suspected her new life was one such continuous case.
It’s been two days since the meeting with Robbins. Two days in which two forces warred for their domination in Fabienne’s mind: one, her siblings were dead and there was no reconciling, and two, there was one reconciliation, but it came out the mouth of a madman and she didn’t even understand it. The second force was also why Fabienne hadn’t packed and left for home yet—her real home. And why she was lurking in front of her neighbor’s house.
She needed more information about this life. If the Friday charity meeting had been any indication, Caddie was quite the chatterbox—and the nearest neighbor.
Fabienne checked the watch one more time, purely out of habit. How had Robbins known about it?
The day she stole it was nothing special on its own. She’d been around seven, and on her first trip to Aunt Dionne. The details were fuzzy by now: a crowded street, loud, hot. A tall man in black clothes, asking her if she’s lost. The watch, dangling from his pocket like a delicious piece of candy. Nervous. Afraid. And then she ran back to Maman, who was still shopping for hats, and can’t we get on the way already ?
Antoine was the only one who’d noticed Fabienne’s misdeed, but like a good brother, he didn’t betray her to their parents, and the watch remained their secret.
Until now, apparently. Fabienne slid her fingers over the dried blue trace, and a memory nibbled at her temples. Hiding in the backyard. Getting dizzy from the wound. Blue rash spreading over her palm…
Panicked, she checked the palm. No rash—obviously. Had that truly happened before she lost consciousness that morning? Or had her mind already been drifting?
“Hello there, neighbor.”
She whipped around. A young man stood near, one arm in a sling, the other raised in greeting. Fabienne sighed inwardly. Another one. At least his greeting spared her the game of “where do I know this person from”. She hid the watch behind her back. “Uh, hello.”
“Are you visiting Caddie? Or just lurking?” His tone carried a clear trace of humor, reaching all the way to his brown eyes.
“I… uh…” Great start. You’re going to find out a lot of information that way.
“She’s preparing supper,” he whispered conspiratorially. He walked past, but turned to face her and proceeded backward toward the house. “Grandpa loves beef stew, but I’m tired of eating that. You know what they feed you when you’re in sickbed?”
“Stew?”
He gave an exaggeratedly solemn nod.
“Would you look at this!” Caddie materialized at the door. Wiping her hands on a rag, she glanced at Fabienne, then at the man. “You’ve brought me company.”
“Yes, I found this young lady lurking about, and I’ve promised her great food can be found here. Though I am appalled you don’t find me good enough company.”
Caddie set her hands against her voluptuous hips, attempting to look stern. “Jim Jones, don’t think I don’t know you come here only for the food.”
“Now that’s just atrocious.” He sniffed the air. “Is that chicken pie I’m detecting?”
Caddie playfully hit him on the head. “Go on in, scamp. It’ll be done in a moment.” She stayed behind and put a hand on Fabienne’s back. “I’m glad you came. You’re looking better, dear.” She sighed, and when she spoke next, her voice held a hint of sadness. “I miss having them all here.”
A phrase Fabienne didn’t need help deciphering. She’d heard it often enough in New Orleans. Was Jim a soldier, too? Home on sick leave?
Caddie served them an informal meal in a homey sitting room. Fabienne was halfway through her piece of pie—Jim had already gobbled it up, earning himself a warning about manners from Caddie—when Caddie jumped to the window and yelped. “Gertrude’s back. Prepare for the gossip!”
“At least I had my pie first,” Jim muttered.
A shrill voice filled the house as Caddie opened the door. “Have you seen it? Caddie, look, look at the newspaper!”
Fabienne leaned back to observe the visitor in the hallway. The woman was Caddie’s age, but couldn’t be more different: tall and thin, with sharp cheekbones and a hawk-like nose, her dark brown hair tinged with gray. She waved a newspaper, and Caddie ducked before it could slap her in the face.
“What is it?” Caddie followed her to the parlor.
“He’s done it! Atlanta has fallen! Ah, Jim… and Fabienne.” The woman stopped, her eyes lingering on Fabienne for a second. The slight narrowing was enough to make Fabienne shiver. “I wasn’t aware you were here.”
“I was… walking.”
Thankfully, Jim didn’t correct that to “lurking.”
“Of course you were. How lovely you have time for leisure activities.”
Fabienne furrowed her eyebrows. All the people here had been much kinder than she’d expected—and by now, she realized it wasn’t an act. Gertrude was the first one treating her… well, exactly the way Fabienne thought all of them would.
“Gertie.” Caddie broke the staring contest. “Atlanta?”
“Ah. The details are in here, though it isn’t much. The usual transcripts of telegraphs, and you know how those are.”
Caddie scanned the newspaper. “The Fifth would be there.” She looked up at Fabienne. “Dear, you must tell us if Brayden sends you a letter.”
Fabienne’s stomach twisted, no fault of the pie. So he was there, a wheel in their destruction machine. The last thing she needed was to hear more about a soldier’s life. She already knew what went through their mind. The North may have a noble cause, but those soldiers were poor heralds of it. They came brandishing their fine morals, only to rob houses, cause chaos, call women whores—and worse. She’d never forget the day two of those visitors insinuated themselves into Aunt Dionne’s home—the pair of eyes that followed Marion as she left the parlor, and the other one who cornered Fabienne in the hallway. At least his attempts to grope her brought him close enough for a well-aimed kick into his groin.
She thought she’d wasted all the tears during the past few days, but at the thought of her family, her eyes began to burn again. She wanted to snatch the damn newspaper out of Caddie’s hands and rip it into a thousand pieces. This was all their fault.
“I’m sure there will be plenty more to read about the deeds of our brave men in the days to come,” Gertrude said.
“Well, that’s great news.” Jim stood up. “I should go now. Lorraine is going to be in town.”
“You know she’s not real, Jim,” Caddie teased. “You’re thinking of the song!”
“That’s Lorena ,” Gertrude said with a straight face and straighter spine.
“And that”—Caddie turned to Fabienne with a lifted eyebrow—“is how you force Gertie to make a joke.”
“She is real.” Jim pointed a finger at Caddie, but in a friendly manner. “And I’m going to marry her one day.” He issued a nod to the gathered company and left.
Gertrude’s eyes followed him as he left, then swiveled back to Caddie. “I do hope whatever Sherman has in store means they’ll finally end the war. The battles—all useless. They need to go after the country, the people. It’ll be much easier, too.”
Caddie put the newspaper down. The engraving on the front page displayed a city in flames. That could’ve been New Orleans. That could’ve been Aunt Dionne’s house. When New Orleans had surrendered, there was nothing but dreadful stillness, the foreboding storm showing as smoke from the river. Fabienne and Marion had been in the city when the mobs gathered to rebel against the Yankees. The shouting, the smoke from the fired guns and fires that had broken out—in her twenty-one years, Fabienne had never seen anything like it. Never been so afraid.
“Easier,” she murmured before she could stop herself. “Easier for you, only.”
Gertrude fixed her eyes on her. Caddie opened her mouth.
Fabienne stood. “You’d never woken to a thunder of cannons and a burning sky in the distance. You sew your bandages in peace, unperturbed by groans upon groans of soldiers. You can easily spout your tactics when you’re not on the receiving end!”
“They are despicable people,” Gertrude said.
“So that’s how it is? You draw a line, and everyone below is evil, and everyone above a perfect angel?”
“Would you defend them, then?”
“Not all of them, certainly.” Aunt Dionne’s late husband came to mind. Bad habits and an even worse temper; he treated his wife barely any better than the slave girl, Betty, he used to own. Fabienne was lucky to have only met him once, years ago; by the time the Beaumonts made their last visit to Dionne, only a handful of old bruises and scars remained of his presence on this Earth. Aunt Dionne and Betty had developed a friendship under the tyrant, and after his death, Dionne offered the girl paid work and education.
“Ah, of course.” Gertrude gave her a cold smile. “You would be one of the good ones.”
Fabienne scoffed, more at herself than Gertrude. “The most I ever did was help a former slave get to the Underground Railroad. If that’s enough to be called good, fine. I may not support the South’s stance, but there are people who do a hell of a lot more against it. I suppose my priority is… my family.”
Gertrude raised an eyebrow. “Your family, not your husband?”
The melancholy Fabienne had felt at the thought of her family evaporated in an instant. Here we go, talking about him again.
“No,” she said, her voice starting to shake. “He can stay down there and make you proud with murdering, for all I care.” She rushed away from the wide-eyed, astonished faces of the two women.
Outside, Fabienne leaned on the wall and forced herself to breathe, her insides feeling as much on fire as the drawing in the newspaper.
My family . Now reduced only to Aunt Dionne, and even she’d been ill before they’d left. Perhaps Fabienne had no family left at all. It didn’t help that she didn’t want this life—she had no other life to return to.
She pulled out the watch, but this time, she only stared at it. Her little porte-bonheur . It’s done more bad than good. Unless… unless there was the tiniest chance Robbins wasn’t entirely mad. The forest path. Ten past two. He was up to something .
And she’d find out what it was. She’d go to the meeting.