Oppressed (9 page)

I got up and started to pace again when I
heard a familiar voice whisper, “Cecile.”

“
Antoine?” I walked out
onto my balcony. “What are you doing here? Maman’s going to kill
the both of us.”

“
I need to you speak with you.”
His voice was determined, and when the moonlight hit his green eyes
and kissed his brown skin he appeared angelic. “I’m coming
up.”

“
No. Don’t you dare!” I
said even though I was ecstatic to see him.

He ignored me and climbed up onto the
balcony.

“
Romeo, oh Romeo, have you come
to save me? Or are you plain mad?” I gave him a big hug and noticed
that his body was rigid and tense. “Why are you here? Is everything
alright?” I searched his anxious face for an answer.

He took my hands into his and peered deep
into my eyes. He took a deep breath. “I love you,
Cecile.”

“
I know. I love you
too.”

He sighed. “
Non
, I love you as in, I love you more
than air, water, my Maman’s corn
calas
and everything else that is under the sun.
Marry me.”

I froze and placed my hand on his
forehead. “Oh no! Don’t tell me you’ve come down with the
Fever.”

He pulled me close to him and I
willingly rested my head on his chest as I had done so many times
in the past. “Marry me, Cecile. I’m serious.”

I looked up into his sincere eyes.
“Antoine, you know I love you as a brother but I can’t marry you
because you feel as if you have to save me. I’m going to be fine.”
I swallowed the massive lump that seemed to be a permanent fixture
in my throat.

He let out a low sigh. “I see you as
more than a sister, Cecile. I always have.”

“
I’m sorry. I don’t feel
that way about you,” I said slowly. It was horribly painful to say
that out loud. Antoine winced as if I had just slapped
him.

“
Why, Cecile! Why can’t you
marry me? Is it because I don’t have noble blood coursing through
my veins? Or is it because I’m a
gen de couleur libre
that offends your Maman
so?”

“
Antoine, you know none of those
reasons are true. I am in the exact same position as you. We’re
both trapped in a fragile world that rests between privilege and
oppression, but that doesn’t mean we should cling to one another
out of fear. If I agreed to marry you it would all be a lie.
Plaçage
is what it is.
There are no deceptions with
mariages de la main gauche
.”

He looked up at the stars and took a deep
breath. “I can’t bear the thought of you giving yourself over to
some stranger for some so-called security, protection, the illusion
that you’re somehow rising above your class and some shiny
trinkets, just because it’s what your Maman wants.”

“
And I can’t bear the
thought of marrying you just because you can’t bear the thought of
me giving myself over to a stranger. You deserve someone who loves
you entirely and completely,” I said as I freed myself from him and
stepped back.

“
And you?” His nostrils flared
and I immediately knew that he was annoyed. “What do you deserve? A
married man who sees you as no more than a fashion statement? A
pretty mistress who only further strokes his ego and caters to his
lust for extravagance and domination? He’ll see you no more than a
very beautiful possession! And you, Cecile, are much more than a
pretty bird. You’ll never be content being locked up in a cage,
regardless of how luxurious and comforting it may be.”

I shrugged and looked at my bare feet.
“Not all of them are married or get married… And there are
long-term promises, commitments, property and security,” I
reasoned, avoiding his rather difficult question. “Who knows, I may
even fall in love…”

“
Tell me, what you
deserve?” he asked again, as he tilted my head up from its low
position.

“
Please, Antoine.” I turned my
head to the side in order to avoid his hard gaze. “I need your
support, not your judgment. This situation is difficult enough. I
don’t want to lose my best friend.” I forced myself to look at
him.

“
Cecile, I will always be your
friend but I cannot and will not approve of what you’re about to
do.”

I felt a surge of anger course through my
veins. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do! Tell me, my dear friend,
what you would do? Marry you? Will that make all of my problems
magically vanish? Go on, tell me what I’m supposed to do? I’m not
blind, I see what goes on in this city and under my own roof, but
what can I do about it? Nothing! You know as well as I do that in
this fine city we are both slaves no matter how free they tell us
we are.” I never thought I would say the horrifying truth out loud,
but there it was.

“
That is why we cannot and
should not give up! Ever! We need to fight until we are truly
free!”

“
Not all of us are as strong as
you,
mon
ami
.”

His expression softened. “I wish you
could see what I see.”

“
And what do you see?” I
whispered, letting my anger melt.

He smiled and the corner of his eyes
crinkled. “I see a beautiful heathen who doesn’t understand how
much power and potential she actually has.”

I let out a small laugh. “Heathen? I
thought you despised heathens.”

“
No.” He extended his hand and I
took it, allowing him to draw me close again. “I despise the fact
that heathens are taught to believe that they don’t deserve to have
rights.”

I sighed, buried my head into his
chest and held him as if it were the last time I’d ever see him.
“My snobby Antoine, how I love you so.”

Chapter Ten

Bal de Cordon
Bleu

Salle Washington, Rue St.
Philippe

New Orleans, 1852

I stood in a large,
richly
painted, oblong-shaped room. Its walls were painted in gold
and fitted with alcoves and mirrors. Finely detailed blue and gold
ornaments hung from the ceiling along with five fully lit
chandeliers that bathed everyone in a joyous glow. To one side, on
an elevated gallery, stood an orchestra that played Vivaldi, while
on another side a floor-length window opened onto a balcony
overlooking the south side of the city.

I was surrounded by a sea of
top hats, silk, satin, dazzling jewels, laughter,
the clink of
champagne glasses, and whispers of promises, vows of protection,
love, security, and wealth. Hundreds of beautiful, educated, and
sophisticated girls of mixed-race dressed in expensive ball gowns
waltzed with elegant white gentlemen of means.

Night after night wealthy
plantation owners, merchants, Dukes and Princes flocked to
extravagant New Orleans ballrooms in hopes of securing the best
possible mistress or
placée
. The
Les Sirenes
of New Orleans were legendary for their
incomparable beauty, mystique and lure. All of the girls at the
ball, like me, were various mixtures of African, French, Spanish
and Indian blood. And even though I didn’t consider myself
especially alluring or a legendary
Les Sirene
, I had to admit the variety and sheer
diversity of beauty I saw around me was breathtaking. Some girls
had blonde hair that was tightly curled, while others had thick
straight hair that was so black that it appeared blue. Some girls
had ivory-colored skin coupled with distinctly African features
while others had dark brown skin with features that were strictly
European.

These particular balls, like many other
social customs in the city, were exclusive affairs and were carried
out according to a very specific set of rules and strict
regulations. Some balls were restricted to only white men and women
while others such as these were restricted to extremely wealthy,
blue-blooded white men and refined free women of color and were by
invitation only. Each single girl was accompanied by a guardian; in
most cases this duty fell into the hands of her Maman or Tante.
Once an acceptable match was found it was the man’s responsibility
to barter the girl’s worth with her guardian.

In addition to an initial deposit the man
had to buy his placée a house, and promise to financially take care
of her and any children that came from the match. Once an agreement
was reached the girl was officially spoken for and her status was
that of a respected common-law wife or placée and her immediate
financial future and reputation was secured. What made these
arrangements unique was that it was perfectly acceptable for the
man to be already legally married or get legally married to a white
woman after entering into an arrangement. Of course, some men
stayed faithful to their placées and never legally married, while
others had a real wife and several mistresses on the
side.

The balls and arrangements were unique to
New Orleans and were the only way the upper classes could overcome
the oppressive laws that banned mixed-race marriages. The
arrangements were particularly advantageous to free women of color
because they placed wealth and property into their hands. To an
outsider the custom might have appeared odd but I knew that to most
women it was a means of survival.

The sad fact was that elite
free women of color greatly outnumbered elite free men of color, so
there weren’t many eligible men we could legally marry. Antoine’s
Maman was from an elite family and she had been lucky enough to
fall in love and marry another prosperous
gen de couleur libre,
but not all of us
were that fortunate. Most of the girls at the ball were like me.
They had been raised to be placées since birth by their Mamans and
Tantes.

I smiled sweetly, batted my eyelashes, and
tried to ignore the weight of my updo. It had taken Emilie exactly
four hours to weave the pearls and tiny diamonds through my
raven-colored hair and while it looked stunning it was impossibly
heavy. I felt like a stiff china doll with too much rouge and
lipstick. I could barely breathe because Maman had insisted on
lacing up my corset extra tightly in an attempt to cover that inch
I had gained due to my recent praline binge. Even though I
pretended to be all refined and elegant, I felt exposed because the
décolleté on my red and gold silk ball gown was rather low. The
strands of pearls around my neck were new and shone brilliantly
under the glow of the chandeliers but at that very second they felt
like an impossibly heavy noose.

Beside me, Maman stood proudly, dressed in
a stunning satin royal blue Charles Frederick Worth ballgown
straight from the Parisian showrooms. Strands of shiny new pearls
hung around her neck and her dark brown hair was elegantly parted
in the middle and swept up in a loose bun. Her brown eyes were
intently fixed on the crowd as if she were a vulture scouring for
the fittest prey.

I glanced at her and realized I had
never asked her how she had felt when she met Papa at one of these
balls. “How was it?” I asked out of nowhere.

She turned to look at me. “How was
what?”

“
When you met Papa for the
first time?”

She smiled and for a brief second her eyes
filled with childish delight. “I loved him from the moment I laid
eyes on him. He was young, handsome and single.” Her voice was
wistful, distant and full of sadness. Her lush lashes fluttered and
her face contorted briefly. “But that was so long ago.”

My heart ached for her. “Why did he
get married?” I asked softly.

She gave me a tight smile. “You know
how it is. Everyone has their obligations. He had his.”

I tried to make sense of what she was
saying but I couldn’t. What kind of obligations?

She shrugged and turned her head. “It is
what it is.”

It is what it
is
. I was
beginning to question that phrase.

As I watched the couples swirl
and laugh
,
the sound of chains and desperate wails suddenly filled my ears.
The room started to close in on me and it seemed as if someone or
something was sucking the air right out of my lungs. I ran towards
the balcony- as elegantly as I could, of course. Once outside, I
gasped, taking in the damp scent of the muddy streets below and
letting out a giant sigh of relief. An icy wind chilled my bones
and I knew that Bade wanted to have a little conversation with
me.

“
Bade? What is
it?”

“
You don’t belong here,
silly Cecile!” Bade hissed.

“
Then where do I belong?
Tell me! Please!”

“
I keep telling you, but you
don’t listen! You humans never seem to listen! You’re meant to be
the official Voodoo Queen of New Orleans! You’re destined to fill
the hearts and minds of the people of this city with spirit, love
and serve as a reminder that even when circumstances seem
impossibly ugly and dreadful there is hope! Without hope this
glorious city will be nothing! Without hope, love, spirit, and
belief in the impossible, there is nothing! Life in this city is
being bought and sold left and right. The people need to unite and
they need to be reminded that life can never truly be bought or
sold!”