Page 62 of Frankly, My Dear

The red and green cane…ribbon cane, it was called…rose only about a foot tall, having been planted only a few months ago. James had told her they wouldn’t harvest the cane until October. Actually, the grinding season, roullaison, the most grueling and yet merriest of times on a sugar plantation, would last two to three months once it started.

Selene could see the monumental effort it would take to make such a vast enterprise prosper, and she had to admire James’s efforts to succeed. Was he out there now, working alongside the slaves and free workers.

All day Selene had pushed aside thoughts of James and his lovemaking that morning. It had been spontaneous, explosive, and wonderful. Even now, Selene’s lips felt full, kiss-swollen. She touched them softly with the tips of her fingers, savoring the memory of his lips on hers. Her breasts still ached with erotic fullness.

What would it be like to really make love with him? If this heavy petting was so incredible, what might the real thing be like? Selene raised her chin with wounded pride, knowing she would never find out. James was right. They had no future. And an affair would just make their parting all the harder.

Well, at least she could help make his job easier by getting his house in order. And his son.

Selene grimaced at that last thought and pushed away from the window. She searched through the empty servants’ rooms that occupied the rest of the fourth floor, then the bedrooms and bathroom on the third floor. She noticed that the tub was already full, and clean towels, as well as clothing were laid out. The only thing missing was Etienne.

After leaving the house, she walked down the wide street that ran through the double rows of slave cabins with their fenced-in vegetable plots where chickens and an occasional pig wandered about. Reba had told her that James allowed his workers to sell their excess products to the caboteurs, the grocery boats that came by on occasion. Nursing mothers nodded at her from their doorways, along with elderly women knitting socks and a few infirm gentlemen rocking in their front-porch chairs.

After passing through the neglected orchard with its many fruit and nut trees, Selene finally found the missing brat up in a grape arbor. He was throwing grapes, one at a time, up in the air, and the mangy dog, aptly named Dreadful, was catching them in his mouth before they hit the ground.

Grapes! He’s feeding a dog grapes. Even a city girl like me knows grapes can’t be good for an animal. Can they?

The dog was yipping wildly at the game, and purple slobber dripped in globs from his huge mouth. A real Kodak moment. Curling her nose with distaste, Selene walked casually up to the trellis, not wanting to warn Etienne of her intentions.

“Etienne, I found the strangest bug near the house,” she lied silkily, pulling an empty handkerchief from her pocket, pretending to be intrigued by its contents. “The bug has red eyes and big pincers. Do you know what it is?”

He made a loud, raspberry noise with his mouth, ignoring her question.

She gritted her teeth, stifling an angry admonition. “That’s all right if you don’t know,” she said in dulcet tones. “I just thought you knew a lot about bugs, and this one is so-o-o big. Oh, well…” Turning, she began to walk back toward the house.

A shuffling noise behind her alerted her to Etienne’s descent from the arbor. But she kept walking.

“Oh, let me see the thing,” he grumbled, obviously intrigued, coming up next to her. Geez, the child smelled as if he’d been wallowing in a manure pile.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, grabbing him by the waist and throwing him over her shoulder. He kicked and flailed and bit at her shoulder, calling her every colorful, foul name he could think of…and there were a lot of them…but she held on doggedly, rushing toward the house. The barking dog and a bunch of astonished black children who’d been playing nearby followed after her. Several times, Selene’s grip slipped, but she managed to keep hold of the squirming whelp until she reached the bathing room. Setting him on the floor, she reached behind her, locked the door, then threw the key out the open window.

“You are going to take a bath,” she said, advancing on him.

“Yer an ugly salope…a bitch…and I ain’t gonna take a bath.”

“Young man, you’re getting one swipe of soap across your tongue for that bad word.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch,” he shouted.

“That makes seven swipes, I think.”

“If you touch me, you…you maigrichon, I’m gonna tell my papa.”

“Maigrichon?”

“It means skinny bones.”

“Thank you for teaching me so many French words, Etienne.”

He snarled like a rabid dog.

Selene chucked him under the chin. “And, by the way, do tell your papa. I think he will thank me for giving you a bath.”

“I’ll tell him you tried to rape me.”

Selene had to laugh at the boy’s vivid imagination. “I doubt that you even know what that word means.”

She saw the quick look of confusion on his face and knew her guess was right. In that moment of vulnerability, she attacked and wrestled the boy to the floor. Finally she had to straddle his stomach and hold his hands over his head, tearing his clothing off his body until he was naked. She stood and threw all his dirty clothing out the window, then held him to the floor once again.