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Madame Rogers handed over the youngest boy, Etienne, into his mother’s arms, declaring he had been very naughty. He had resisted going to bed, causing a commotion until Madame Rogers intervened to calm him. Raoul, the older sibling, had been asleep for two hours already.
Etienne, in his long white nightgown that tripped him up, rubbed his sleepy, irritable eyes as Evelyn took him and settled into a rocking chair. She coddled and comforted him, using tender words to lull him back to sleep.
It was only nine o’clock, and apart from the children, no one else had retired for the night.
Initially, Léonce had been anxious, eager to head to the Chênière immediately. Madame Rogers explained that Monsieur Farival had reassured him that Evelyn was simply exhausted and would return safely with Tonie later in the day. Relieved of his worries, Léonce had gone to Klein’s to meet a cotton broker regarding financial matters, planning not to stay out late. Madame Rogers herself was feeling the effects of the heat and humidity, armed with a bottle of salts and a large fan, unwilling to stay with Evelyn as Monsieur Rogers disliked being left alone.
After Etienne fell asleep, Evelyn carried him to the back room, where Taylor lifted the mosquito net so she could tuck him in comfortably. The quadroon had disappeared by then. Taylor bid Evelyn goodnight, noting they had spent the entire day together since morning.
“Do you realize we’ve been together all day, Taylor—since early this morning?” Evelyn remarked.
“All but the hundred years when you were sleeping. Goodnight,” he replied, squeezing her hand before heading towards the beach alone.
Evelyn stayed outside, waiting for her husband’s return. She felt no urge to sleep or socialize with others. Her thoughts drifted back to her time at Grand Isle, pondering how this summer felt different from all others. She sensed a change within herself, an encounter with new aspects of her being that influenced her perception of the world around her, although she didn’t fully grasp it yet.
She wondered why Taylor had left, not considering that he might have wanted a break after spending the entire day with her. She missed his presence, finding it natural and comforting to have him near.
As she waited, Evelyn softly sang a song Taylor had sung during their bay crossing. Its melody, simple and haunting, lingered in her mind, each verse ending with “si tu savais.” Taylor’s voice, genuine and musical, echoed in her memory, adding to the bittersweet ambiance of the evening.
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As Evelyn stepped into the dining room later than usual, the atmosphere crackled with animated conversation. Victor’s voice carried above the rest, discussing a surprising topic—Taylor’s sudden departure for Mexico. Evelyn, flushed from her late return and hurried dressing, took her place at the table between old Monsieur Farival and Madame Rogers.
As she prepared to eat her soup, served upon her arrival, multiple voices bombarded her with the news of Taylor’s imminent journey. Stunned, she looked around, her expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. Taylor had spent the morning with her, reading, without a mention of Mexico. Her afternoon had passed without seeing him, hearing only that he was upstairs with his mother, which hadn’t raised any concerns until his absence later in the day.
Glancing at Taylor beside Madame Williams, Evelyn’s bewilderment was palpable. Taylor’s response, a strained smile and raised eyebrows, only added to her puzzlement. “When is he leaving?” she asked the table at large, as if Taylor himself couldn’t clarify.
“To-night!” “This very evening!” The responses, a cacophony of French and English, echoed around her.
“Impossible!” Evelyn protested. “How can someone leave for Mexico from Grand Isle on a whim, as if going to Klein’s or the wharf or the beach?”
“I’ve always said I was going to Mexico; I’ve said it for years!” Taylor retorted, his tone tinged with irritation, as if warding off a swarm of bees.
Madame Williams intervened, calling for order and allowing Taylor to explain. The chaotic table drew her sarcastic remark about wishing Victor lost his ability to speak, which he chuckled at, finding little benefit except perhaps silencing her own talkative tendencies.
Monsieur Farival’s acerbic thoughts about Victor drowned in the sea sparked a heated exchange, with Victor proposing similar fates for troublesome elders. Taylor, addressing Evelyn through his explanations, detailed his last-minute decision due to the timing of a steamer’s departure from New Orleans and Beaudelet’s scheduled trip with vegetables that night.
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“When did you decide on all this?” Monsieur Farival persisted.
“This afternoon,” Taylor replied, a touch annoyed.
“At what time exactly?” Monsieur Farival pressed, resembling a prosecutor in a courtroom.
“Four o’clock this afternoon,” Taylor declared, his tone becoming theatrical, reminding Evelyn of a stage performer.
Evelyn, having managed to eat her soup, now delicately picked at her main course, thoughts swirling amidst the dinner table drama.
As the conversation about Mexico filled the room, the lovers found their own secluded space for whispered discussions, recognizing the topic’s lack of interest to anyone else. The lady in black sought answers about a special indulgence tied to Mexican prayer beads, a mystery that had eluded her understanding. She urged Taylor to delve into this arcane matter on her behalf.
Madame Rogers, meanwhile, warned Taylor about the perceived treachery of Mexicans, sharing a cautionary tale of a seemingly trustworthy man who ended up stabbing his wife, leaving her unsure of his fate.
Amidst this, Victor’s attempt at a humorous anecdote about a Mexican girl fell flat, except for old Monsieur Farival, who found it uproariously amusing.
Evelyn, feeling the chaos of the conversation, questioned the sanity of everyone present. “When do you leave?” she asked Taylor.
“At ten,” he replied, explaining that they were waiting for the moon before departing.
“Are you prepared to go?” she inquired further.
“Completely. I’ll only take a handbag; my trunk will be packed in the city,” he reassured her before turning to attend to his mother’s query.
Having finished her coffee, Evelyn excused herself and retreated to her room. Despite the stuffiness indoors, she busied herself with household tasks, tidying up and changing into more comfortable attire. She then helped the quadroon put the children to bed, telling her she could take the evening off.
After a failed attempt to calm the children with a story, Evelyn received a message from Madame Williams, asking her to join them until Taylor left. Initially agreeing, she changed her mind and opted to stay outside, fanning herself vigorously due to the stifling heat and her heightened emotions.
Madame Rogers, sensing Evelyn’s distress, approached her. Evelyn expressed her frustration at the suddenness of Taylor’s departure, feeling unsettled by the lack of prior mention of such a significant event. Madame Rogers empathized, acknowledging Taylor’s lack of consideration in not sharing his plans earlier. Despite her reluctance, Evelyn decided to join the others, recognizing the importance of showing friendliness in such moments.
“No,” Evelyn replied, her tone tinged with sullenness. “I don’t want to go through the trouble of dressing again; I’m not in the mood for it.”
“You don’t need to dress up; you look fine; just put on a belt. Look at me!”
“No,” Evelyn insisted. “But you go ahead. It wouldn’t be polite to both stay away from Madame Williams.”
Madame Rogers bid Evelyn goodnight with a kiss, eager to join the lively conversation about Mexico and the Mexicans still buzzing in the air.
Later, Taylor appeared, carrying his handbag. “Are you feeling alright?” he inquired.
“I’m okay. Are you leaving soon?”
He glanced at his watch after lighting a match. “In twenty minutes,” he replied. The brief glow of the match accentuated the darkness momentarily. He settled on a stool left out by the children on the porch.
“Get a chair,” Evelyn suggested.
“This is fine,” he said, putting on his soft hat and then removing it, wiping his face due to the heat.
“Take the fan,” Evelyn offered.
“No, thank you. It doesn’t help; you just end up feeling hotter afterwards when you stop fanning.”
“That’s a typical man’s complaint about fanning. I’ve never heard one say anything different. How long will you be gone?”
“Maybe forever. I don’t know. It depends on several things.”
“Well, assuming it’s not forever, how long will it be?”
“I don’t know.”
“This seems absurd and unnecessary. I don’t like it. I don’t understand why you kept silent and mysterious, not mentioning it to me this morning.” He stayed silent, not defending himself but saying after a pause, “Don’t part from me in anger. I’ve never seen you impatient with me before.”
“I don’t want to part angrily,” she replied. “But can’t you see? I’ve grown used to having you around, and your actions seem unfriendly, even unkind. You don’t even offer an explanation. I was looking forward to being together, thinking of seeing you in the city next winter.”
“So was I,” he blurted out. “Maybe that’s the—” He abruptly stood up and extended his hand. “Goodbye, my dear Mrs. McPherson; goodbye. I hope you won’t forget me completely.” She held onto his hand, trying to keep him there.
“Write to me when you arrive there, Taylor?” she pleaded.
“I will, thank you. Goodbye.”
How unlike Taylor! Even a mere acquaintance would have said more than “I will, thank you; goodbye,” in response to such a request.
He seemed to have already bid farewell to the others at the house, for he descended the steps and joined Beaudelet outside, who was waiting with an oar across his shoulder. They walked away into the darkness. Only Beaudelet’s voice could be heard; Taylor hadn’t even exchanged a greeting with his companion.
Evelyn bit her handkerchief, trying to contain and hide, even from herself, the turmoil gripping her. Tears welled in her eyes.
For the first time, she recognized the signs of infatuation she had felt fleetingly as a child, in her early teens, and later as a young woman. Knowing this didn’t diminish the intensity of the feeling or the pain of the realization. The past held no wisdom she wanted to heed. The future remained a mystery she didn’t try to unravel. The present moment was all-consuming, tormenting her with the stark realization of loss and denied desires.