 A Circle of Dreams by Annie Rogers
Prologue
St. Lucie, West Indies 1838
Anne-Cecile Diamant opened the door to the mahogany armoire. As I did all those years ago, she thought. The day Philippe was lost. A day like today. The sun was shining, I could hear birds, see white clouds scattered across the blue sky. I thought we might have rain.
Pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve, she touched it to her temples, damp with sweat. She reached into the armoire and pulled out a small white psalter, the little book given to her son as a christening gift. Inside was a slender gold chain with a tiny diamond-encrusted cross. These belonged to her son, Louis, now grown with children of his own. There had been another cross, identical to this, which she had put on Louis’ twin brother, Philippe, in this very room. On the day they had escaped with their lives, fleeing a slave uprising. The day Philippe had disappeared.
She punished herself with the thought. He was so small, only four. He must have been terrified. She remembered fastening the little cross around her son’s neck and tying the psalter around his middle with a scarf before they headed down the track to Malgretoute beach to board a ship for Martinique and safety. She remembered her own terror at finding her brother-in-law grievously wounded, her sister-in-law and three children dead on the track. Remembered running across the dark sand, carrying Louis, brigands with cutlasses coming to kill them. She remembered Philippe being thrown into a boat and hearing the oars thrusting through the water as it made for the ship. And then she remembered nothing until later in the caves. The dark caves where they had hidden for four years until it was safe to come back and claim the estate.
She reached into the armoire again. A small baby’s cap, handmade lace with ribbons that had tied under her little boy’s chin. One of the few objects she had brought from France when they came to the West Indian island of Sainte Lucie, barely escaping the terrors of the French Revolution. She fingered the hand-embroidered “P” where the ribbon attached to the cap, remembering the dark curly hair of her infant son, the baby’s cap the only tangible object she had that connected her to Philippe. Only the cap, all the rest memories.
Yet she had never given up hope. She had gone to Martinique to search for him, only to learn that the ship had never arrived, was rumored to have been lured onto the rocks by pirates. All aboard had perished. I would have known, she thought, if Philippe was dead. Even after all these years a mother would know. I am old now, but I can’t, I won’t rest until I find him. Her heart tripped a beat and she was suddenly dizzy. Gripping the side of the armoire, she steadied herself before leaving the room through the door that opened onto the wide shaded verandah of the estate house. I’ll just lie down for a few minutes, she thought, her heart hammering. Then I’ll feel better.
The dark-skinned woman stood in the shadows of the verandah, watching the old woman settle herself on a chaise pulled close to the house wall, well out of the brilliant rays of the late afternoon sun. Not be with us much longer, she thought, taking note of the swollen feet and ankles, the blue tinge at the edge of the pale lips. She shook her grey and grizzled head, her face suffused with sadness. Searching, she thought, her spirit already searching.
“That you, B’til?” the old woman called softly. “Yes, Mistress Diamant, I brewed you some herbs. Help you feel better.”
“Come and sit with me, B’til.” She patted a space on the chaise. “I’ve been remembering...”
B’til sat next to Anne-Cecile Diamant and patted her bony hip.
“We both are old now, Mistress. Much to remember.”
“I’ve been thinking about Philippe.” Anne-Cecile’s face was etched with sadness. “Why couldn’t we ever know what happened?”
“The spirits keep that knowledge from us, Mistress.” She held up her hand, a faint bluish tinge rimmed her nails. “I been flying again. I know you have no peace until you know.”
“You’ve taken the herbs that help you join the circle of women?” Anne-Cecile’s face changed, hope evident in her eyes. “What did you see?”
“Like all the other times. I see the ship, the lights on the cliff top. I hear the waves, then the timbers splintering as the ship comes on the rocks. I feel the water in my lungs. Then nothing. I be sorry, Mistress.” B’til clasped the pale, veined hand of the woman who had given her freedom, the woman who treated her as an equal, a sister.
Hope faded from Anne-Cecile’s eyes, like a candle’s wick flickering out. “I still remember the first time you made the circle with me, B’til. The time we both flew into the spirit world and searched. It took weeks for the blue to fade from my hands.” She inspected her hands as if the blue tinge might still be there all these years later. “I would know if he were dead,” she said fiercely. “I would know.”
“Your other son gives you grandchildren. Can you not find joy there?”
“Of course, B’til. But every time I see Louis, I see Philippe as he would have been. It is the not knowing that pains me so. I had to give up Marcus, but I know where he is, that he is alive and well.”
B’til was surprised that Anne-Cecile spoke of her third son, the child she had given birth to during the four years they had hidden in the forest, hidden from the brigands and the French army who sought to slaughter all the aristocrats. The child who was fathered by Makus, her slave. B’til had raised him as her own, and he had been freed along with all the Diamant slaves as soon as Anne-Cecile could emerge from hiding. Marcus had been sent to Boston to be educated, boarded with Unitarian abolitionists. He was there now. They did not know if he would ever come back to the island where he was born.
Anne-Cecile continued, as if she could read B’til’s thoughts. “It is enough to know he is alive. I have given him all I can. The world is not ready for me to acknowledge him. But you have the papers?”
“Yes, Mistress. The papers you gave us in a box in the caves. Before he die, Makus show me where they be.
“And you will share the secret with the next one after you?”
“It is done, Mistress. There are keepers who know the story.”
“You have been a sister to me, B’til. A comfort through all these years.” Anne-Cecile sat up and tried to stand, but was overcome with dizziness.
“Something else I must show you, B’til. In my bedroom.”
“Later, mistress.” B’til helped Anne-Cecile back onto the chaise. “Lay back down now and rest. Sip the herbs I brewed for you. They are sweetened with honey from the orange trees. Plenty time to show me later. I sit with you a bit.” She held the hand of the woman who had been part of her life for so many years, felt the reedy pulse, the occasional skipped beat. Her spirit
fly soon, B’til thought, but she still be searching.
She walk this place until she know.To view Chapter One of A Circle of Dreams and Joup! you need Adobe Reader  Copyright© 1987-2006 Annie Rogers LLC dba Bivens and Jensen Publishing. All rights reserved |
