The Unforgiven Page 6

  “Paula,” Mr. Larson said, addressing Miss Cole, “I’m very sorry, but Charles made no provisions for you, since you weren’t legally wed. You will be paid through the end of the month, and of course, you may take anything that Charles gave you as a gift.”

  Miss Cole stared at Mr. Larson, but her eyes looked blank, as if she didn’t quite understand what the lawyer was saying to her. “I’m destitute,” she whispered. “And unemployed.”

  “I will be happy to provide you with a reference, if that will help.”

  Miss Cole didn’t reply. She sprang to her feet and fled the room, her sobs echoing through the house. Madeline looked after her, confused by this extreme reaction to her employer’s death, but then understanding dawned. Her father and Miss Cole were fond of each other, and Miss Cole had nursed hopes of a marriage proposal. Knowing that her father was courting came as a shock, but at the moment, Madeline was too overcome with grief and uncertainty about her own future to give any thought to Paula Cole’s predicament.

  “Madeline, your father stipulated that you must go to live with your kin at Arabella Plantation should anything happen to him.”

  “I don’t have any kin, Mr. Larson. It was just Mama, Daddy, and me. He always said so.”

  “Your father fell out with his family some years ago, but you do have relations—wealthy ones. You have a grandmother and a cousin. I sent a message this morning and received a prompt reply. They will be happy to have you.”

  “But I don’t know them,” Madeline cried. “Why can’t I remain at this house until I’m of age? Mammy and Tess will look after me. We’ll be just fine.”

  Mr. Larson shook his head. He suddenly looked older than his thirty-eight years and Madeline noticed that his hair was receding at the front. “Madeline, your father gambled frequently and suffered heavy losses. His debts will need to be paid. I will have to sell everything of value, including Tess, to pay his creditors.”

  Madeline let out a cry of disbelief. Tess had been with them since before she was born. Both Tess and Mammy were family to her, the only family she had left. “And Mammy?” she breathed.

  “You may keep Mammy since she’s too old to fetch much at auction. She will come with you to Arabella Plantation. You have until Sunday to pack your most precious belongings. I have arranged for the funeral to be held on Monday. I will drive you out to the plantation after that. Again, I’m very sorry, Madeline. I know how bewildered you must feel.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  She drifted up the stairs, closed the door to her room and sank to the floor, completely indifferent to the damage it might do to her gown. Bewildered didn’t begin to describe how she felt. Her beloved father was gone, her home was about to be sold from under her, and her trusted friend was about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Even Miss Cole, of whom she was very fond, would disappear from her life after the funeral, going to either another position or some dodgy boarding house until she could find new employment.

  Madeline closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool wood of the door as hot tears slid down her cheeks. She had a grandmother and a cousin she knew nothing about. Why would her father tell her his entire family was dead? What could have happened to cause such a permanent and drastic rift between mother and son? They’d agreed to take her in. Had they known of her existence all along or had they just learned about her from Mr. Larson? It was all too much to take in.

  “Madeline, are you all right, child?” Mammy called through the door. “Open up now.”

  “I just want to be alone, Mammy,” Madeline croaked.

  “Come now, open the door to your old Mammy. I will comfort you.”

  Madeline shifted away from the door, but she had no wish to see Mammy. No one could comfort her and no one could lessen the sense of mounting dread that threatened to engulf her. Only this morning her biggest concern had been ruining her new dress, but since then she’d lost everything she held dear. Well, everything except Mammy.

  The older woman pushed her way into the room and pulled Madeline into a warm embrace. She smelled of fresh bread, coffee, and her own musky scent that was so familiar. Madeline buried her face in Mammy’s ample bosom and wept. Mammy held her until the worst of her grief passed, then helped her to her feet and walked her to the bed. Madeline began to protest, but felt too exhausted to argue. She closed her eyes as Mammy drew the curtains to block out the harsh daylight.

  “You’ll be all right, child,” Mammy said as she smoothed Madeline’s hair from her brow. “The Lord is kind and forgiving and will not hold you accountable for the sins of your father.”

  “You mean the gambling and the drinking?” Madeline whispered, horrified that her father had sinned.

  “That too,” Mammy mumbled and left the room before Madeline could ask for an explanation.

  Chapter 7

  By the time Madeline came down, evening shadows had chased away daylight, leaving the parlor nearly pitch dark, with only the outlines of the furniture visible in the gloom. She walked past the open door and headed to the dining room. Mammy and Tess had retired to their rooms, having finished their chores for the day, but Mammy had thoughtfully left a tray for Madeline, knowing she’d get hungry eventually. She lifted the napkin and examined the cold chicken, cornbread, and greens on the plate. She sat down and ate slowly, savoring every bite as if it were her last. Every task she undertook in this house would soon be her last. In just a few days she would go into the unknown, and the unexplained.

  She tried to imagine what her father’s family might be like but drew a blank. Daddy had never spoken of his home or his kin. He’d always said that both he and Corinne had been orphaned at a young age and had no one but themselves to rely on. Madeline had never had grandparents, aunts and uncles, or cousins. When her mother had grown heavy with child, Madeline had nearly burst with longing at the thought of the coming sibling. She wouldn’t be alone anymore. She would have an ally in life long after her parents were gone. There were days when she’d prayed for a sister, and other days when she’d thought it might be better to have a brother. He wouldn’t be able to protect her or look after her as an older brother might, but it would still be nice to have a male relative in a world where females weren’t treated with respect unless they were on the arm of a man.

  Madeline pushed away her plate, no longer hungry. It had been a boy, a brother to love and spoil, but he never drew breath. He’d died before he was even born and took their mother with him. Perhaps he’d needed her in Heaven. He’d been too little to be alone, but Madeline had needed her mother too. She’d put on a brave face for Daddy, who had seemed to lose the will to live after losing his beloved Corinne and his long-awaited son. He’d stood on the edge of an abyss, and Madeline had been the only one who could coax him away and remind him that he still had a reason to go on. It had taken several years, and she’d thought Daddy was doing better. He’d smiled and laughed, and taken her on outings. They’d even had company on occasion, and now she’d learned that he had grown close to Miss Cole. Daddy had had everything to live for. Why would God take him now when he was finally on the road to recovery?

  It weren’t God that took him, child, it was the drink. Madeline could almost hear Mammy’s voice in her head. Yes, it had been the drink. Daddy had been fond of drinking, and he’d grown reckless since Mama died. It had brought him comfort and helped him sleep, and now he would sleep forever next to his wife and son while Madeline was left on her own, stripped of all she held dear.

  She heard a sniffle and turned to listen. She’d thought she was alone downstairs, but clearly someone was still here. She took the oil lamp and made her way down the corridor, shining the light into the empty rooms. She stopped when she saw Miss Cole huddled on a settee by the window, her head in her arms. Madeline walked softly into the room and set the lamp in a far corner, so as not to shine the light into Miss Cole’s face.

  The governess looked up. Her eyes were puffy from crying, her nose red, and her
legs drawn up on the settee in a most unladylike way. Madeline took a seat across from her and held out her hand, but Miss Cole didn’t take it. She seemed to draw even further into herself, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond Madeline’s shoulder.

  “He said I’d never be on my own again,” Miss Cole whispered. “He promised me a future, something I never dared to hope for.”

  “Did he say he loved you?” Madeline asked. She felt sorry for Miss Cole, but the idea of her father loving anyone other than her mother still hurt, even now that he was gone.

  Miss Cole shook her head. “I know he didn’t love me, not in the way he loved his wife, but he was fond of me and he would have come to love me in time. He was lonely. He needed someone.”

  “He had me.”

  “Men get lonely in a different way, Madeline. He loved your dearly, but he needed the love of a woman to let go of his grief. I could have made him happy,” she added miserably.

  “I’m sure you could have,” Madeline agreed, but she didn’t really believe it. Miss Cole was so different from her mother, so—what was the right word?—colorless. Corinne Besson had been beautiful and gay. She could tease her husband out of a sour mood in moments, and suddenly he would smile at her like a besotted boy and beg for a kiss, which she wouldn’t give until she was good and ready, and sure that he was putty in her hands.

  They had laughed a lot, her parents, and they had loved. Madeline had been young and ignorant of the ways of men and women, but she’d known happiness when she saw it. She’d known two people who couldn’t be apart for long and gravitated toward each other whenever they were in the same room. Her father’s hand had always reached for her mother, and she’d leaned into him when she thought no one was looking, her body fitting into the curve of his as if they’d been created as one and split into two halves, never truly whole unless together.

  He’d never laughed with Miss Cole, and his hand had never reached out to her. They were two separate beings who could never become two parts of a whole. Madeline would have known if her father loved this woman; she would have sensed it. Perhaps Miss Cole had wanted to be part of a family so badly that she’d magnified what Charles Besson felt for her. Perhaps she had been the one truly in love and with plans for the future.

  “What will you do now?” Madeline asked. She might have turned to Miss Cole for comfort before she knew of her feelings, but now Madeline felt resentful and annoyed. Miss Cole had been kind and caring toward her, but perhaps it was just a ruse to show Charles what a good stepmother she’d make and how loving she would be to a child.

  Miss Cole shook her head. “I don’t know. I have nowhere to go. Mr. Larson said I’ll be paid till the end of the month, but that gives me very little time to find another position.”

  “Have you no savings?” Madeline knew the question was indelicate, but she was curious what a woman on her own could do in this situation. She might have found herself on her own if not for these mysterious relatives who were willing to take her in without having met her.

  “I have some, but money goes very quickly when one has to pay for one’s lodgings. If I don’t find employment as a governess by the end of the month, I’ll work as a seamstress. Mrs. Bonnard’s shop always has openings, and she offers room and board.”

  “And a wage?” Madeline asked, curious. She sewed very well; her stitches were even and tiny, and her embroidery exquisite. Possible employment was something to keep in mind should things not work out with her relatives.

  “Mrs. Bonnard pays a pittance,” Miss Cole replied, her tone bitter. “The work is tedious and the hours are long, but it’s a respectable place, and sometimes gentlemen come with their mothers and sisters.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  Miss Cole looked up, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “Madeline, my dear, you will discover very quickly that a respectable marriage is the only desirable option for a woman. Your only value lies in your youth, your beauty, and your innocence. Once those things are gone, you have nothing to bargain with. You will spend your days alone, in servitude to someone else, struggling to survive.”

  “You still have youth, beauty, and innocence, Miss Cole,” Madeline replied, wondering if she misunderstood.

  “I’m twenty-two.” Miss Cole sighed. “And I’m neither beautiful nor innocent. Forgive me, Madeline. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Madeline didn’t really understand what Miss Cole meant or why she needed to be forgiven, but decided not to pursue the topic. Perhaps she simply meant that she was more knowledgeable of the world than someone like Madeline. Mammy had said that men didn’t like smart women because they made them realize what fools they really were, so perhaps Miss Cole was better off working as a seamstress after all.

  “I’d better start packing,” Miss Cole said as she slowly got to her feet.

  “Will you come to the funeral?”

  “Of course. I owe your father that much.”

  “Did he not leave you anything?” Madeline asked.

  Miss Cole looked at Madeline, her eyes full of sorrow. “He left me something precious, but I must dispose of it if I am to survive.”

  “I don’t understand,” Madeline replied. Why did grownups always talk in riddles?

  “No, you wouldn’t. And for your sake, I hope you never have to. Go to your family, Madeline, and make the most of this opportunity.”

  Madeline watched Miss Cole walk from the room, her back straight and her head held high. She was damaged, but she wasn’t broken. She’d find her way. Perhaps she wasn’t as colorless as Madeline had once thought, or as uncomplicated.

  Chapter 8

  April 2014

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  It was past midnight, but the streets of the French Quarter were thronged with revelers out in full force, laughing and talking as they spilled from the numerous bars on Bourbon Street and dispersed in various directions, some stumbling toward the next watering hole while others tried in vain to catch a cab. The doors of the balcony and the hum of the air conditioner drowned out most of the noise, but Quinn still couldn’t settle down. She tried reading and watching TV, but in the end she settled for a hot shower in the hope that it would relax her. She toweled her hair dry, pulled on one of Gabe’s T-shirts, and climbed into bed. Tomorrow morning her hair would resemble a bird’s nest, but she could always twist it into a bun to force it into submission. She sniffed at the T-shirt, wishing it smelled of Gabe, but of course, she’d taken a clean shirt instead of one he’d worn.

  Quinn reached for the glass on the nightstand and took a sip of water, though she would have much preferred a glass of wine or even a shot of whisky to help her sleep, but water would have to do. She turned out the light and stared at the murky white ceiling. Why did she feel so unsettled? Why was every nerve ending in her body pulsating with anxiety? She’d spent the day alone, taking in the sights and sounds of New Orleans, or “Noo Awlins” as Seth pronounced it. Quinn would normally enjoy such a beautiful city with a rich history, but something about the place left her feeling like a little girl who feared the monsters under her bed.

  It wasn’t the history that put her off. New Orleans had seen its share of upheaval, but so had every other city in the world. Quinn never flinched when unearthing the bones of soldiers who’d been slaughtered in battle or examining the remains of plague victims tossed into shallow pits and doused in lime to keep the pestilence from spreading. She was a historian, an archeologist, so this was her bread and butter. But this place unnerved her. She was in a room by herself, safe and secure, but she felt something in the room with her, something dark and shapeless—something she couldn’t name.

  Was it fear? But what did she have to be frightened of? She’d finally found the father she’d been searching for, and given the circumstances of her conception, he wasn’t nearly as off-putting as she might have expected. Seth was overjoyed to have found her, and although she’d known him for a grand total of four days, he seemed like a nice enough man
. She now had another brother to get to know, and she had a physical portal into the past in the form of Amelia’s fan. She might never find the answers about her psychic ability, because quite simply, Amelia Besson might not have been the one to have passed it on, but at least she would discover something of her family and its history.

  Perhaps her ability had come out of nowhere as one of those strange things that showed up in families from time to time. Was there always a history of madness? Was there definitely a gene for creativity or an aptitude for mathematics? Did people like Nikola Tesla or Thomas Edison come from ancestors with a scientific background? She wasn’t sure of the answer. Perhaps Quinn was the first in her family to have the gift of sight, and might be the last. What a relief it would be to know that her child would not be afflicted with the burden of seeing into the past. Human beings accumulated enough of their own baggage over the years, they didn’t need to sift through someone else’s dirty linen on top of that.

  Quinn rarely saw anything happy or uplifting. Most of her visions inevitably led to misery, disappointment, and, more often than not, death. At times, it came peacefully at an age when dying wasn’t unexpected, but it was usually a violent end that struck when the victim least expected it, and had decades of living stolen from them by hate, jealousy, or greed. It was a terrible burden to ‘live’ these memories, given the fact that Quinn could only watch, helpless to warn the victim or prevent whatever was about to happen. She experienced what the person felt, suffered their fears and shared their worries, but most of all she understood the hopelessness of their situation and tasted the terror of those final moments before life was extinguished and their story came to an end.

  Quinn stretched out her arm and turned on the bedside lamp. She never needed a nightlight, but tonight she wanted to see every shadowy corner of the room to make sure she was quite alone and the threatening dark presence could not take her by surprise. She needed to feel safe, and she needed a distraction. Quinn reached for the fan.