"This is a curious turn of events, but again, I must remind myself that you desire a child." He stroked his thumb along my back. "And perhaps it's jealousy. I don't imagine it pleased you to see me on the porch with Rosa."
No, it hadn't. And my jealousy had been twofold—jealousy that my husband had sought out another woman, and jealousy that she knew pleasure at his hand.
"Is that her name? Who is she exactly?"
Damien just shrugged. "A whore, nothing more. Don't trouble yourself overmuch."
Marley reread Marie's handwriting three times, swore, then finally stuffed her feet in sandals and headed out of the bedroom Damien had put her in.
Something wasn't right with these letters. She understood why Marie's husband was named Damien. It was a family name. Okay. The first Damien du Bourg had built the house, and Marie was his wife from France. Sure, fine, whatever. But how in the hell could the woman Marie saw her husband cheating on her with be named Rosa?
She ran down the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the empty house. It hadn't bothered her to be alone here the night before when she had retreated from Damien to the big house, but suddenly she was aware just how vast and shadowed the structure really was, even in the strong sunlight of mid-morning. With a shiver, she jogged out the front door.
So the Rosa that Marie had described didn't really sound like the Rosa that Marley had met twice, but she still thought it was an unusual coincidence. One that made her uncomfortable.
Avoiding the side of the house with the pigeonnier, since she didn't want Damien seeing her out of the window and questioning her destination, Marley ducked around to the north side of the house and hoped she could remember the way to Anna's cottage. Since she was practically running, five minutes later she burst out in front of the house, winded and sweaty.
Anna was on the porch. "Mornin', Marley. Didn't expect to see you today, but it's a pleasure. Come on up here and have a chat."
Wiping her palms on her denim shorts, Marley sucked in her breath and climbed onto the porch.
"How are you, Anna?" she forced herself to ask.
"Still here. That's something. How about you? I thought you left, thought you were heading back north."
Marley shook her head. "I decided to stay in the house until Damien's next party… I'm hoping my sister will show up."
"Mmm-hmm." Anna raised an eyebrow. "Was that Damien's idea?"
"Yes." She would not blush, would not blush… too late.
"He's hard to say no to, isn't he? All the du Bourg men are like that."
"Actually, I wanted to ask you about Marie's letters. She mentioned a woman named Rosa, a woman that her husband was, well, you know, with." God, how old was she? She couldn't even bring herself to say sex out loud. "Don't you think it's strange that the current Damien du Bourg knows a Rosa too?"
And who was the present Rosa exactly? But Marley supposed if she wanted the answer to that, she should ask Damien.
Anna just shrugged, her lilac T-shirt slipping off her bony shoulder. "Not so much. These families round here all use the same names, generation after generation. The du Bourgs only have two names: Phillipe and Damien. They just switch them out."
"For two hundred years?"
"Yes."
"What about when they have girls?"
"They don't have girls."
"Ever?" How was that genetically possible?
"Never. They're not a real fertile folk."
"Why do you live here, Anna?" Marley kind of thought Anna was a retired nanny or housekeeper, but it occurred to her she had no reason to assume anything.
"My great-grandmother was the quadroon mistress of one of the Damiens. He gave her this house in 1834. My family has lived here ever since."
"Oh. Well, that was nice of him." Marley was embarrassed. That was a really stupid thing to say, but it had just slipped out, Anna's explanation shocking her.
Anna laughed, the sound trailing off into a cough. "Suppose it was. But I'm sure my great-grandmother, Marissabelle, earned it. It's not easy to keep a du Bourg man pleased and satisfied."
Great. Just what she wanted to hear. Like Marley didn't have enough anxiety over sleeping with Damien, now she had to hear it was in his genetics to be unsatisfied. "Because they're rude and arrogant? Or because they're, you know, always wanting attention?"
"All of the above. And Marissabelle wasn't an obvious choice for that Damien… she was too old to be innocent and fresh, too young to be a jaded sophisticate, both of which might appeal to a man like that. Instead, she was right in the middle, twenty-five years old, the daughter of a mulatto slave and her white master, not much loved by either. But while they were never the most caring of parents, her father did pay for her to receive an education and for gowns, and the usual frills for a young girl."
"How did she meet Damien?" Marley pulled her shirt off her sticky back and leaned closer to Anna. Her voice was soft and soothing, but hard to hear, genteel Southern, and Marley wanted to know the story, hear what had happened between Anna's ancestor and yet another Damien du Bourg.
"That's a long story."
"I have time."
Anna stared at her for a second, then made a sound with her teeth. "Well, when Marissabelle was eighteen, her father planned to marry her off to some white man he knew who didn't mind her black blood, and who welcomed the money her father offered. Since an interracial marriage would have been illegal, they planned to pass her off as white. But Marissabelle had fallen in love with a slave on the plantation she had grown up on, and he got her with child. When the baby was born black, her father beat her for ruining her chances to make something better out of herself. She ran to the baby's father, the man she loved, but he turned her out. He wasn't going to risk trouble just for a woman he'd taken a tumble with."
"God, that's horrible."
"Yes, it was." Anna glanced over at her. "Picture a young girl, raised to think she was beautiful, a bit spoiled materially, knowing nothing about the hard truths in life, not understanding the brutal reality of racism. She didn't understand that no matter her father being white, she was still a black girl. Her mother wasn't going to stand up to her father, and her father wanted her to abandon the baby, pass it off as belonging to another one of the slaves on his plantation. Her man had broken her heart. And when she went to her father's friend, the one who had thought to marry her, he told her he could tolerate marrying a quadroon, but he'd never marry a slut. However, he had a deal for her. He'd find her a place to stay, let her keep her baby, pay for all her and the babe's needs, if she would just spread her legs for him whenever he asked her to."