The Marriage of Opposites
Page 42
“We work well together. So yes. It makes sense.”
My mother’s expression was sour. “You could never accept the fact that you were a woman and nothing more. I knew that when I was carrying you. You would cause trouble.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said, even though I wasn’t sorry at all. I was glad to have caused her trouble.
My mother stood up, away from the desk. The meeting was over. “Your husband’s family is sending his nephew from Paris. What happens next will be his decision.”
I stood as well. I didn’t think she could tell I was shaking. I wouldn’t have wanted her to know. “You prefer a man you don’t know to your own daughter?”
“It is the legal system that prefers such things, not I,” my mother reminded me. “I did not inherit anything, and neither will you. But you think you’re above rules, and you can do as you please. Be sure that’s not what you teach your children.”
I could not bring myself to tell Mr. Enrique that our plan had been overruled, but he knew. Everyone knew my husband’s nephew was coming. Mr. Enrique continued to see to the business, but I took to my bed. I felt a fever come over me, a jade green fever in my heart and my bones. My bitterness, inherited from my mother. I was so ill that my mother did not protest when Rosalie called Jestine to visit me. Jestine defied my mother and came to give me ginger tea, but it was not the cure I needed. I noticed she was wearing the pearls, and she laid them on my chest; they were cold as ice. I could focus once more. Jestine said the fever was inside my mind. It was true, a black curtain had come down ever since I’d moved into my mother’s house. The edges of the pink flowers on the vines at the window were blocked out by wooden shutters. I could not see anything that was beautiful.
My mother came to the doorway, a shadow. She had worn black ever since my father died. I looked at her and felt I was looking into a mirror. We resembled each other too much.
“You’re not to come here,” she said to Jestine. Then she turned to me. “If you don’t intend to die, you’d better get out of bed.”
When she left, Jestine and I looked at each other and broke into laughter. So much for compassion.
“You would have never traded places with me,” I said.
Jestine agreed with a nod. “Not for a day.”
Jestine took up her satchel and brought out a gift she’d made for me, a pale green dress. It looked so fresh, like grass and new leaves. “When you’re ready to give up your mourning it will be here. Then you’ll show your mother you’re not afraid to be who you are.”
I WOULD HAVE LIKED to close my eyes and go on sleeping, but I had children, seven of them. I did what I must, but I did so as a sleepwalker, still in mourning clothes. I was not ready for the green dress. All the same, something had changed inside me. I had one goal in mind: to escape my mother’s house. One afternoon I went to the store to pick up some sugar and flour for Rosalie, and Mr. Enrique signaled me to follow him. There was a staircase that led upstairs. I had remembered the area as a storeroom when we had an overabundance of goods, but now our merchandise had dwindled to a bare minimum, and the rooms revealed themselves to be lodgings. There were several bedchambers and a kitchen with an old stove left behind by the previous owners.
“We could rent this out,” Mr. Enrique said. He had had some of the workmen clean the place up and collect some unused furniture, too old to sell. “Or perhaps you have an idea for this place.”
I grinned. Mr. Enrique had saved me, as he’d once rescued my father. “I’ll take it.” I opened the shutters, and light spilled in. I could see the street and some vendors outside selling fruit.
“What will she have to say about it?” Mr. Enrique asked archly.
“She can say what she likes. It’s up to the stranger from France to decide our fates. My mother has no more say than I do.”
When I insisted we move into the rooms above the store, my mother didn’t challenge me. Perhaps she was thankful to be rid of me. We had caused each other enough grief, and she had aged enormously. She was so ill that she spent her days in my father’s chair. Often, in the dusk, a neighbor would pass by and she would call out my father’s name, as if she had seen him.
Our new lodgings were crowded, and we didn’t have enough furniture, but I preferred it. The younger children all shared a single room, with mattresses on the floor. The older boys, David and Samuel, slept in what had once been a parlor, and we used the kitchen as our common room. I heard Mr. Enrique in the morning, working in the office, setting out orders and keeping the ledgers. Rosalie often made him his tea. She stayed in his office for an hour or more, but I didn’t complain.
My mother’s expression was sour. “You could never accept the fact that you were a woman and nothing more. I knew that when I was carrying you. You would cause trouble.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said, even though I wasn’t sorry at all. I was glad to have caused her trouble.
My mother stood up, away from the desk. The meeting was over. “Your husband’s family is sending his nephew from Paris. What happens next will be his decision.”
I stood as well. I didn’t think she could tell I was shaking. I wouldn’t have wanted her to know. “You prefer a man you don’t know to your own daughter?”
“It is the legal system that prefers such things, not I,” my mother reminded me. “I did not inherit anything, and neither will you. But you think you’re above rules, and you can do as you please. Be sure that’s not what you teach your children.”
I could not bring myself to tell Mr. Enrique that our plan had been overruled, but he knew. Everyone knew my husband’s nephew was coming. Mr. Enrique continued to see to the business, but I took to my bed. I felt a fever come over me, a jade green fever in my heart and my bones. My bitterness, inherited from my mother. I was so ill that my mother did not protest when Rosalie called Jestine to visit me. Jestine defied my mother and came to give me ginger tea, but it was not the cure I needed. I noticed she was wearing the pearls, and she laid them on my chest; they were cold as ice. I could focus once more. Jestine said the fever was inside my mind. It was true, a black curtain had come down ever since I’d moved into my mother’s house. The edges of the pink flowers on the vines at the window were blocked out by wooden shutters. I could not see anything that was beautiful.
My mother came to the doorway, a shadow. She had worn black ever since my father died. I looked at her and felt I was looking into a mirror. We resembled each other too much.
“You’re not to come here,” she said to Jestine. Then she turned to me. “If you don’t intend to die, you’d better get out of bed.”
When she left, Jestine and I looked at each other and broke into laughter. So much for compassion.
“You would have never traded places with me,” I said.
Jestine agreed with a nod. “Not for a day.”
Jestine took up her satchel and brought out a gift she’d made for me, a pale green dress. It looked so fresh, like grass and new leaves. “When you’re ready to give up your mourning it will be here. Then you’ll show your mother you’re not afraid to be who you are.”
I WOULD HAVE LIKED to close my eyes and go on sleeping, but I had children, seven of them. I did what I must, but I did so as a sleepwalker, still in mourning clothes. I was not ready for the green dress. All the same, something had changed inside me. I had one goal in mind: to escape my mother’s house. One afternoon I went to the store to pick up some sugar and flour for Rosalie, and Mr. Enrique signaled me to follow him. There was a staircase that led upstairs. I had remembered the area as a storeroom when we had an overabundance of goods, but now our merchandise had dwindled to a bare minimum, and the rooms revealed themselves to be lodgings. There were several bedchambers and a kitchen with an old stove left behind by the previous owners.
“We could rent this out,” Mr. Enrique said. He had had some of the workmen clean the place up and collect some unused furniture, too old to sell. “Or perhaps you have an idea for this place.”
I grinned. Mr. Enrique had saved me, as he’d once rescued my father. “I’ll take it.” I opened the shutters, and light spilled in. I could see the street and some vendors outside selling fruit.
“What will she have to say about it?” Mr. Enrique asked archly.
“She can say what she likes. It’s up to the stranger from France to decide our fates. My mother has no more say than I do.”
When I insisted we move into the rooms above the store, my mother didn’t challenge me. Perhaps she was thankful to be rid of me. We had caused each other enough grief, and she had aged enormously. She was so ill that she spent her days in my father’s chair. Often, in the dusk, a neighbor would pass by and she would call out my father’s name, as if she had seen him.
Our new lodgings were crowded, and we didn’t have enough furniture, but I preferred it. The younger children all shared a single room, with mattresses on the floor. The older boys, David and Samuel, slept in what had once been a parlor, and we used the kitchen as our common room. I heard Mr. Enrique in the morning, working in the office, setting out orders and keeping the ledgers. Rosalie often made him his tea. She stayed in his office for an hour or more, but I didn’t complain.
