Chapter 1
"A still life is the last I will see you
A painting of a panic attack"-Death Dream, Frightened Rabbit
Lyric shot out of sleep so quickly she nearly pitched off of the straw pallet beneath her. Adrenaline raced through her veins like wildfire. Her eyes flew wildly about the room but she found she recognized little of her surroundings. How had she come to be in this place; a small, crowded room resembling little more than a large square box? This was most decidedly not her bedroom! Where had the blue walls gone with their tiny gold flowers hidden amongst equally gold foliage? What met her eyes now was so old and rotted as to resemble driftwood. The walls were so pale and pitted that they were better suited to fire tinder.
There wasn't much inside of the decrepit structure either, save for a fireplace long since gone cold. Glancing around, she took note of other slumbering young women squashed and squirreled into every available corner. Slowly, almost painfully, recollection began to settle in, like flashes of lightning behind her eyes. Her father's death, expulsion from the Main House, her Manman's…Lyric pushed that last thought away, mentally sweeping it back with her hands as they moved the sweaty curls from her eyes.
"Lyric, Ki sa ki nan mal?" someone mumbled in sleepy Creole. Glancing to her right, she was met with a pair of concerned eyes. They blinked up at her in the darkness, the finely arched brows drawing together over soft hazel eyes.
"Did you have a nightmare?" The girl, Delphine, queried as she rubbed at those hazel eyes with the heel of her palm.
"Mwen se amann, Delphine." Lyric replied, gulping back the residual fear that was still making her heart race and her pulse pound at her temples. "I'm fine, really."
To give credence to the fib, she forced her lips into a reassuring smile.
"You go on back to sleep now."
Delphine returned the smile wanly, then rolled onto her side with a deep sigh. Lyric stared down at her sleeping back, guilt seeping through her to mingle with the residual terror. Before everything had fallen apart, Delphine had been her ladies maid. She too had slept in the Main House and had been, not privileged exactly, but infinitely more comfortable than she was now. When Lyric and her mother were banished to the Slave Quarters, Delphine had been expelled right along with them. Lyric wouldn't have blamed Delphine for hating her over the swift and merciless loss of position but she had remained a friend and confidant nonetheless.
I will always find you.
The words from the dream still echoed dimly at the back of her memory. Lyric pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against them, groaning in frustration. The blasted dreams had started not long after her mother's death. She could never recall much upon waking, save for the hazy outline of a man's face and the richness of his deep voice. She didn't know why she kept having them either. She could only assume that it was because of the stress and trauma of the past few weeks, the desire to be taken away from what had become a horrible situation.
The dream never changed; there was always a man, always a lighthouse, and always a promise. It always ended with the shadowy man promising to find her and then...nothing. She always woke up after that. Now, an all too familiar despondency was beginning to rise in her again and Lyric struggled to hold it at bay while she sat in that dark, cramped room that reeked of mildew and unwashed bodies. The odors mingled together, invading her nostrils and making her wrinkle her nose in distaste.
Lyric reminded herself that she should be grateful to have a roof over her head, leaky and tattered though it was. She should be grateful to be fed and clothed and have some form of employment. She knew she should feel grateful for a great many things but, at that moment, all she felt was a vast, aching loneliness. For the first time in her life she was really and truly alone and she hated the despondency because of how weak it made her feel.
The men and women of the Slave Quarters were no strangers to separation and death, they dealt with it on a daily basis and handled it with far more aplomb than she felt she was capable of. As a 'recognized daughter' of a wealthy plantation owner, she had never known what it meant to be hungry, to not have anything that was truly yours.
Even food was a novelty now. Every slave cabin was given a ration at the beginning of the week which they had to make it last until they were given the next one. This week's ration was ground up cornmeal mixed with what was left from the pig they had slaughtered for her father's funeral. What they could mix together with it was tasteless and mushy but no one complained about what they received. There was no room for high expectations in this life, not when there was so little to go around as it was. It made Lyric feel guilty that, for so many years, these people had lived in such squalid conditions on the edge of the Bayou.
As a child, she had been aware that she and her mother were more privileged than the other people of color on the plantation. That they were lucky not to have to work in the sweltering heat of the cane fields or reside in the crowded shacks behind the house. She knew that it was because of their relationship to the Master that life was different for them but she had never let it in. The reality of what life was really like for a person of color was quite a shock to her system.
How ironic, she realized, that she should feel just as out of place in the Slave Quarters as she had in the Main House. Had she ever truly fit in anywhere, she wondered? Certainly never with her gentry born half sisters with their carefully crafted manners and pale, translucent skin. No, her appearance was too Creole to attend the balls and Cotillions the wealthy girls her age were accustomed to.
Regardless, she knew her father had intended to make some kind of life for her. He had seen to it that she was educated, that she could read and write. He had made sure she was tutored in arithmetic, history, music and dance. He even made sure she could speak French and spanish fluently, along with her mother's native Haitian Creole. Lyric also suspected that he may also have been scouting potential husbands for her before he left to fight in the war but she would never know now. None of those things seemed to make a difference anymore.
Her education meant very little without her father to speak for her and memories of the kind and indulgent papa who had raised her flooded in, whether she wanted them too or not. Chief among them, unfortunately, being his death.
John Harris, at the age of 55, had been too old to fight for the Confederacy. He had been better suited to fine dining and attending the theatre than toting heavy artillery through the swamps. He certainly had no business stomping his way through the wilderness in the heat of the Louisiana sun. All the years of rich food combined with a sedentary lifestyle had swelled his joints with gout. Even Lyric's mother, a skilled herbalist in her own right, had been hard pressed to relieve his discomfort.
She tried to picture them again, in the warm parlor of their private quarters. Her father settling into his chair by the fire with his feet propped up on a footstool. Her Manman rushing about the room, grabbing this and that while she fussed over him….
"Bon mèt," Manman complained as she shuffled about, pouring a mixture of beet juice into a cup, "How many times I tell you to reduce all dat fancy meat you been eatin', huh?"
"Appearances must be upheld, Isadora," her father grunted as he struggled to remove his heavy boots. Lyric moved forward to help and he sighed in relief as his foot finally popped free of the too tight shoe.
"Thank you, my girl." He groaned. Lyric took one of his feet in her hands and rubbed the painful lump on his big toe.
"You need better shoes, Papa." She commented quietly. Manman banged around on her shelf, loudly, pulling herbs down as she searched for one specific ingredient.
"You be no good to anyone, least of all us, if you up an' die." Manman scolded, her accent growing thicker in her agitation. She mumbled something in Haitian under her breath before adding a dash of herbs to the beet juice. Nodding, she walked over to push the cup into John's hands.
" You drink dis all down, hear me!"
"Ugh, it tastes foul," her father complained around gulps, "like a steel fence."
He tried to hand it back to her unfinished but a glare from Isadora had him pressing it to his lips once again. He downed the rest without further complaint.
"You'll be tankin' me when all dat swellin' go down. No one said da remedy has to taste good." Her mother told him firmly.
"Yes, yes," Papa said, waving her away and settling back to let the beet juice do its magic. Lyric rubbed his feet a bit longer and finally, after what felt like a long time, he began to relax.
"Tell me about your day, Lyric girl," He said affectionately, "Did you learn a new piece?"
"We practiced more of the Beethoven today," she replied, smiling under his attention, "Shall I play some for you?"
"Don't be botherin' your father too much, Lyric," Her mother chided gently, "He need to rest if dat remedy gonta work."
"No one was ever bothered by a bit of music," Her father argued back good naturedly, smiling, "Why don't you play for us a bit?"
Lyric looked up at her mother as though asking for permission and after a few minutes of debating, Isadora sighed and nodded her head. Lyric grinned as she hopped up to walk over to her Pianoforte where it sat gleaming in the corner.
"I haven't learned all of it yet so you musn't be disappointed if I stumble a bit." She warned as she placed her hands on the keys.
"Says da girl dat play several hours a day!" Her mother laughed, her eyes twinkling with love and affection. She settled on the stool her daughter had just vacated and smiled across the distance at her. She watched her parents link hands as they waited. She smiled back at them and then slowly, carefully, she began to play.
That was one of the last times they had all been together. Lyric wished she could bottle that moment to keep for all time; the image of her Manman with her vivacious laugh that could brighten a room and her father with his proud smile and indulgent nature. Nothing remained now but ghosts in the shape of the two people she had loved most in the world. She felt their absence as strongly as she felt the rising humidity outside the cabin.
God, how Lyric wished she could return to those early days when things were simpler, if not better. She hadn't known then that she was about to lose her parents forever, that in a month's time both of them would be dead and buried. She could still remember, with vivid clarity, the day that everything changed. How she wished she could go back and warn her father, to beg him not to go to war.
"I will not keep a husband who refuses to enlist!" Lissette Harris's voice rang shrilly from behind the closed office door. The harsh words stopped Lyric in her tracks, momentarily making her forget that her french tutor was waiting for her.
"Be reasonable, Lissette," Papa's muffled voice came in reply, even through the door it was clear he was struggling to remain his composure, "I have no sons to protect Clarina and yourself in my absence. What happens if you find yourselves besieged by the Union? Who is to defend our home then?"
"I am already the laughingstock of Iberville Parish because I tolerate the presence of your paramour and her mongrel, "Mrs. Harris countered angrily, "I will not have it said that I am the wife of a coward as well!"
"You are treading on dangerously thin Ice, my dear." Her father replied flatly. Lyric came back down the stairs and moved closer to the door. She knew that tone, the one of barely controlled anger. He and Lissette had always quarreled, usually about Manman and herself, but this sounded different somehow. The tone was darker, more bitter than any she had heard before.
"You will enlist or I will see to it that a pair of petticoats are delivered to your offices come Monday morning." Lissette told him flatly.
Lyric gasped and covered her mouth. If she followed through on her threat, it would show all his business partners that his own wife thought him a coward, essentially stating that he should wear the dress instead of her. She would make him a laughingstock she claimed he had made of her!
"You wouldn't dare!" Papa thundered back angrily.
"You try me and see just what I'll 'dare', John!" Lissette clipped back before throwing the door wide and stalking out.
She was so angry that she didn't even see Lyric as she stomped by, which was probably a good thing. It would not have ended well for her if she were caught eavesdropping. Lyric watched the woman slam her way into the parlor across the hall, shaking the walls as she cracked the door shut behind her.
Sparing a glance into the office, she saw Papa sink down into his chair, a picture of anger and defeat. She wanted to go to him but knew that his pride would be too damaged to take her presence well. She watched his head fall against his folded hands as he gave a deep sigh. How she hated to leave him like that, stewing in his own juices. Unfortunately, she was already late for her lesson and would surely catch hell from Monsieur Gilliard as it was. With a heavy heart, Lyric climbed the stairs and wondered how this was going to affect everyone, particularly her mother and herself.
She found out soon enough. Lissette's threat had worked well. Her father had gone straight from his office to the enlisting site in town. As he said, he had no sons, so that harpy of a woman had browbeaten him into enlisting himself. It had been unsurprising, though no less painful, when they ultimately received the news of his death.
Lyric had fervently hoped he would be safe. A man of his age and position in the army could hardly be forced out onto the front lines. Indeed she would have been correct had his regiment not been overrun by the rebels. From what little she was told later, they had been caught early in the morning. The enemy had surprised them with a sneak attack on their camp. Her father had suffered a gunshot wound to the chest as he was exiting his tent and had died almost instantly.
Lyric could still hear her mother's agonized scream when they were told, followed by her fury as they were summarily removed from the house.
"You cannot do dis!" Manman wailed as everything they owned in the world was carted out of the room.
"I can do what I please with my possessions." Mrs. Harris informed her coldly. "Everything John owned became mine upon his death, including everything in this room. You reside here now on my...charity."
It was amazing that she could make the word 'charity' sound like a dirty word.
"Mama, please!" Lissette's youngest daughter, Clarina, plead from the doorway. She had just returned home from a shift at the hospital and hadn't even changed out of her uniform yet. There was a bright streak of red across the front, which stood out in bright clarity against all that white. Lyric felt herself focusing on that red smear, unable to tear her eyes from it as the world around her fell apart.
"This is cruelty!" Clarina persisted.
"No, Clarina!" Mrs. Harris spat, rounding on her last born as though she were now an enemy. "Cruelty was the years your father spent educating that." She paused in her rant to point at Lyric who sat in utter shock at the pianoforte. "Cruelty was the years he forced me to endure his mistress living under our roof. This-" she gestured at the men who were collecting the furniture, "is merely justice!"
"Non!" Manman cried as two men tried to lift her father's heavy chair from its place by the fire. She all but threw herself on top of it, pinning it to the floor with her slight weight. She turned pleading eyes over her shoulder to face the stoney eyed woman behind her.
"We have nothing left of him," her mother pled beseechingly, "Please don' take da only ting we have to remember him by."
"Everything you have, madam, is because I allowed it." Lissette replied in a voice as hard as steel. "It was a courtesy I extended for far too long."
"You cruel, despicable woman!" Manman hissed, dark eyes flashing with pain and anger. "I curse you! You have no sympathy for anyone, not even your poor dead husband."
Lissette's face froze in a mask of anger but Lyric detected a hint of fear in her watery blue eyes. She would never admit that she was superstitious enough to credit Isadora's curse but Lyric knew that under all her finery she was probably sweating buckets.
Manman's skill in Hoodoo was well known, with servants whispering about it in all the grand houses of Iberville Parish. Even slaves gossiped and Mrs Harris would be well aware that if Isadora wanted to 'Cross' her then she was certainly capable of doing so.
"I should have you kicked out into the streets!" Mrs Harris spat back coldly, suppressing her sudden fear under a layer of crafted gentile manners.
"I should send you out to fend for yourselves in the stinking swamps," she continued bitingly, "but I am a good christian woman and a good mistress so, for the time being, I will allow to live here and serve in this household."
"Mama, what are doing?" Clarina asked in a stunned voice. Mrs. Harris ignored her completely.
"When you're done here," Lissette said, turning to the overseer, "make sure the mongrel and her whore mother are relocated to the Slave Quarters. They will be where they always should have been, with the rabble!"
"Mama!" Clarina gasped, her mouth falling open in horror.
"See it done!" She commanded firmly. Then she exited the room in a rustle of taffeta, leaving the distinct odor of bitterness in her wake.
Their removal had been quick and efficient. They were deposited into the Slave Quarters by nightfall, no more than a few hours after they received news of her father's death. Her Manman had gone from being a kept woman to scullery maid overnight and her descent into the hollow phantom of the woman she had been began that night. She took to starring in wretched silence as the world around her changed forever, only lasting a few weeks in the Slave Quarters before giving up completely.
It had happened on a night when Lyric was forced to leave her on her own for a few hours. Sickness had ripped through the area and the slave population had been hit the hardest. She and Delphine had spent many sleepless night, caring for the infirm. It was on one such sleepless night that Manman had decided to take her own life.
Lyric didn't know how she had acquired the bottle of Opiates, though she assumed it was while she cleaned Lady Harris' room. The Mistress had suffered from terrible headaches for years. They would lay her up, sometimes for days. She had come to rely heavily on the many 'Miracle cures' that snake oil salesman peddled around town.
Lyric thought her mother would be alright by herself for those few hours. She did little more than sit in a chair by the fire anyway, looking lost and alone, not speaking even when her own daughter pled with her to eat something. She had been in the chair when Lyric left and the chair was where she expected to find her when she returned.
When she did finally return, exhausted and aching from being stooped over sick beds, she found her mother laying on her stomach by the fireplace, an empty bottle of 'Miracle Cure' dripping onto the floor by her head. Lyric choked back a sob at the memory of her mother's dead body, already cold and lifeless by the time she found her.
She squashed back the echo of her own voice as she screamed over and over again. She didn't even remember Delphine coming back to find her crying and rocking with her mother's lifeless form in her arms, or the Men who came to collect the body. There wasn't even a grave for her to visit, as her mother had been taken to be buried in the woods with other victims of the sickness outbreak.
For her father's funeral, at least, she had managed to sneak out long enough to sit on the steps of the church, listening and crying as the hymns sifted out through the thick oak doors. Lyric had even managed to follow at a discreet distance as the family traveled to the Cemetery. She had watched his burial from across the glen, saying a silent prayer under her breath as her sisters each laid a rose on his coffin. She left before anyone noticed her, walking home in despondent silence. She had gotten no such closure with her mother.
Now here she was, not the loved and protected daughter of the prominent John Harris. Just another Quadroon child to be discarded among the throng. It was hard to hold her head high when she had fallen so far.
Outside the sky brightened, turning from black to purple and finally to a rosy orange. Bird song replaced that of of frogs and insects and far off, a young alligator thrummed a call across the swamp to its mother. Soon enough, the heat would rise and the humidity would become unbearable. Soon, it would be time to head up to 'Breeze Knoll Plantation' and cook in the equally hot and muggy kitchen.
Forcing herself rise from the pallet, Lyric tried to shake off her sordid thoughts and the remnants of the bizarre dream. She tiptoed over to the corner where the chipped bowl and it's equally chipped pitcher resided. Pouring some water into it, she splashed it on her face and neck, telling herself that she would get through this nightmare somehow.
Next, she made her way over to the broken chunk of mirror that leaned cockeyed against the dirty window. Pulling her long, curly hair back away from her face, She peered into the reflective surface. Suddenly, she started, letting out a gasp.
Instead of a girl with coffee colored skin and honey colored eyes, a pale skinned, blue eyed girl gaped back at her. Gone were her dark, auburn tinted curls. Hair so pale it was almost silver had replaced them. She and the girl stared at one another until Lyric's eyes began to burn so painfully she had to grind the heel of her palms against them. When the discomfort finally passed she lowered her hands to discover the pale haired girl was gone. Her own dusky face blinked back at her.
"What in the world…" she exclaimed, reaching out to take hold of the piece of mirror. She turned it this way and that but there was nothing unusual to be seen. No matter which way she turned the thing, she couldn't get the image of the girl to return. Was she losing her senses completely?
The stirring of the other women, who mumbled and rubbed their eyes as they sat up, made her set the chunk of mirror back in its place. She was already an outsider with her history as a 'young lady' from the house, she didn't need to add 'looking for strange girls in the mirror' to the mix as well.
Instead, she busied herself by pulling a simple dress of checkered blue over her head, cinching it in at the waist to fit her slim figure. The dress, a hand me down from one of the other girls, was no more attractive than a burlap sack. She had accepted it without complaint, however, knowing she was lucky to have it at all. Despite her sadness at how much everything was turning on its head, she was trying to make the best of it, or so she told herself, as she pulled on a pair of worn leather shoes that were a size too small.
"Are you alright?" Delphine asked, startling her as she did the buttons up on the side of the shoes.
"I'm no worse for wear." Lyric replied evenly.
"Dreams again?" The girl queried.
"I'm always dreaming," Lyric responded with a sigh, "even when I'm awake."
Delphine gave her a quizzical face so Lyric shook her head and smiled. She didn't feel like talking about the odd incident with the mirror or the dreams. Delphine, like Lyrics mother, was a great believer in Hoodoo. She didn't need or want anyone taking it as a sign she was going to 'succeed her mother' or, at worst, that she had been 'crossed'. She had heard enough of that nonsense growing up and had no intention, nor interest, in becoming a practitioner.
"Pa enkyete, Delphine," She told her friend quietly, "I'll be fine. I'm just tired is all."
"I'm afraid dis life gonta be far diff'rent from what you accustomed to, Miss Lyric." Delphine warned mournfully, pulling on her own dress. Next she picked up a scarf to wrap in a tignon around her black curls. "As a free person of color you could leave dis place. The Mistress couldn't stop you none."
"What would I do, Delphine? Where would I go? I have no money until my inheritance comes through, if it comes through, and even if I'm free, as you put it... I still look colored. It narrows my options considerably."
"Why not go to New Orleans," Delphine suggested helpfully, "There be plenty of free Creole women der, and you be educated! Might be happier dan here, no?"
"Perhaps," Lyric mumbled as she climbed to her feet, "but until I have a way of getting there, I'll have to make the best of it."
To that, her friend had no response. They finished dressing in silence, folding their hair into tignon's and pinning them up. Soon enough it was time to head for the house. Georgina would already be heating the fire for the households breakfast and if Lyric and Delphine weren't there to help prepare it they would never hear the end of it.
The group of women made their way out of the shack and up the dirt path before they had to branch off with one group going to work in the sugarcane and Lyric, Delphine, and a younger girl named Eulalie going to the Main House.
Breeze Knoll Plantation rose before them, a large, sprawling estate. It sat regally in the shimmering heat, all white corinthian columns and high windows. The group made their way to the side of house rather than the front, to the kitchen door that would keep anyone in residence from seeing them. Delphine rapped on it sharply and the head of the kitchen opened it to usher them inside.
"Bonjou, Georgina!" Lyric greeted and the older woman patted her cheek affectionately. She had known Lyric most of her life, watched her grow from a gangly little girl into a young woman. She didn't like how things had turned out for Isadora and her daughter but had no power to do anything other than teach Lyric how to run a kitchen. The hope was that she could make something of herself when she did finally leave the property, even if it was only going from one form of servitude to another.
"You lookin' a might peaky, girl." The weathered old lady told her disapprovingly.
"She been keepin' us all up wit her nightmares again." Eulalie supplied tartly, brushing past Lyric to go peel potatoes. Lyric glared at her back in annoyance. Eulalie didn't like her and had no qualms about showing it. Lyric just tried to avoid her as much as possible.
"The Lighthouse one?" Georgina asked. Lyric nodded in reply. "Dreams are sometimes our links to da other side. Might be dat someone is sendin' you a message."
"Well, they're not doing a very good job then," Lyric replied sourly, "I can never remember anything when I wake up."
Striding over to the table where Georgina had laid out the recently risen bread, she took up a mound and began to slap and press it against the counter before folding it and starting the process over again. It was tedious but a necessary. At least it gave her something to do rather than sit around talking about her ridiculous dreams.
"Maybe you just ain't listenin'." Georgina scolded as she took up her own mound of dough. Lyric didn't answer, knowing where this conversation was headed. It was a conversation she didn't particularly want to have.
Instead, she focused on kneading the dough and on the little tune that had been niggling at the back of her mind since waking. She hummed as she worked, slapping at the dough as the tune rose and fell in her throat. As she and Georgina found their rhythm with slapping and kneading the bread, Lyric opened her mouth and began to sing.
Authors Note:
Well, here we are at chapter 1 of the story (Though this will appear as chapter two since the site doesn't let me mess with the numbering). I wasn't entirely expecting to get another chapter up this soon but I also wasn't finding much to edit and change anymore so I decided it was time. I would love to say that i'm going to update a chapter a week but as soon as I commit to that it won't happen so we'll just leave it for however quickly I get a chapter ready. XD
This particular chapter (and probably the next as well) was visited by the Exposition Bunnies! I tried to break some of it up with flashbacks but the exposition had to be there so I can get the story rolling. I tried to be kinder to Lyrics father in this version than I was in the previous one. He actually got a little bit of development this time around. I think when I was writing him before, I was more focused on getting the chapters up than developing anything that was happening in the background. Because I'm taking more time with my story telling, I wanted him to be shown as a kind man, someone who loved his children but was rather weak willed when it came to the women in his life. He's bullied by both Lissette and Isadora but in very different ways and for different reasons.
Also, I wanted to get a better feel for Lyrics 'fall from grace'. In the original story she had always lived in the Slave Quarters so none of the hardships were all that new to her. In this version, she lived in the main house until recently and is struggling to fit in. I tried to get across that she's not content with any of this but she also has nowhere else to go. She's trying to make the best of a bad situation but she feels very out of control of everything that's happening around and to her.
The song I added at the beginning is Death Dream by Frightened Rabbit. Its about a suicide and since Lyric is still dealing with the death of her mother it seemed appropriate to open the chapter with it. Isadora's suicide is going to come up on and off as the story progresses and I like to think of Death Dream as her theme.
As always, thank you for reading and for the Reviews. The next chapter will be a POV jump and hopefully I can get it up next week...it really depends on how i feel about what I've got written. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I will see you in the next one. Happy reading!