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Evelyn stepped outside, still reeling from the emotional intensity of the evening. The doctor’s carriage waited at the porte cochère, but she declined the ride, opting to walk alone. Dr. Mandelet directed his carriage to meet him later, choosing to accompany Evelyn on her walk home.
Under the starlit sky, the night air was a blend of mildness and spring freshness. They strolled slowly, the doctor’s measured steps contrasting with Evelyn’s distracted pace, reminiscent of her walks at Grand Isle, where thoughts raced ahead, elusive yet compelling.
“You shouldn’t have been there, Mrs. McPherson,” the doctor commented. “That wasn’t the place for you. Adèle is unpredictable at such times. There were others who could have been there, less susceptible women. I found it rather cruel.”
Evelyn shrugged, her mind preoccupied. “Does it matter? Someone has to think of the children eventually; might as well be sooner than later.”
“When is Léonce returning?”
“Sometime in March.”
“And your plans for travel?”
“Maybe—not sure. I don’t want to be coerced into anything. I prefer to be left alone. Nobody has the right—except perhaps children—and even then, it’s complicated—or it used to be—” Her words trailed off, reflecting her inner turmoil.
“The trouble is,” the doctor sighed, grasping her unspoken sentiments, “youth is ensnared by illusions. It’s Nature’s lure to ensure the continuity of life, oblivious to moral quandaries or the constructs we impose and struggle to maintain.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “The past feels like a dream—better to wake up and face reality, painful as it may be, than to live in perpetual illusion.”
As they parted ways, the doctor offered his support. “If ever you feel inclined to share your troubles, know that I would understand and offer help. There aren’t many who would, my dear.”
“I don’t feel like talking about my troubles right now,” Evelyn admitted. “But thank you for your sympathy. There are moments of despair that overwhelm me. All I want is to live on my terms, even if it means disregarding others’ lives, hearts, and beliefs—but I don’t want to trample on innocent lives. Oh, I’m rambling, Doctor. Goodnight. Don’t hold it against me.”
“Visit me soon,” the doctor insisted. “We’ll discuss things you’ve never dared talk about. It’ll be cathartic for us both. Whatever happens, don’t blame yourself. Goodnight, my dear.”
Evelyn sat on her porch step, the night calming her turbulent emotions. She reminisced about Taylor’s affectionate words, longing for his presence. The thought of waking him with a kiss filled her with anticipation, despite Adèle’s reminder to think of the children, a responsibility that weighed heavily on her soul.
Entering her home, she found Taylor absent but his message, filled with love and farewell, left her reeling. She collapsed on the sofa, awake through the night, lost in contemplation and emotion, until Celestine arrived in the morning to begin the day.
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Victor was engrossed in patching a corner of the gallery, with Mariequita nearby, fascinated by his work and eager for conversation. The sun’s heat bore down on them as they chatted for over an hour. Mariequita hung on Victor’s every word as he vividly recounted the dinner at Mrs. McPherson’s, embellishing every detail to make it sound like a lavish feast fit for royalty. According to Victor, the flowers were in opulent tubs, champagne flowed from colossal golden goblets, and Mrs. McPherson herself was a vision of beauty and luxury at the head of the table, surrounded by enchanting women.
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Mariequita, caught up in the tale, began to suspect Victor’s infatuation with Mrs. McPherson, and his ambiguous responses only fueled her belief. She grew moody, shedding tears and threatening to leave him to his high society acquaintances. Victor, in a bid to console her, declared his intention to confront Célina’s foolish and disrespectful husband.
Their conversation still centered on the allure of city life and the dinner when Mrs. McPherson unexpectedly appeared. Both youngsters were stunned by her presence, seeing her as almost ethereal. Mrs. McPherson, looking weary from her journey, mentioned she walked from the wharf and praised Victor’s repair work on the porch.
Victor, taking some time to process her arrival, offered her his room for rest. Mrs. McPherson, indifferent to any fuss, accepted any corner. Victor, considering the arrangements, mentioned the possibility of Philomel’s mother coming over to cook during her stay.
Mariequita, initially suspecting a romantic tryst, quickly abandoned the idea as Mrs. McPherson’s nonchalance and Victor’s surprise dispelled any such notion. Instead, she observed Mrs. McPherson with great interest, fascinated by her reputation for hosting extravagant dinners and captivating men.
As they discussed dinner plans, Evelyn expressed a desire to visit the beach for a refreshing wash and perhaps a swim. Both Victor and Mariequita protested, citing the cold water. However, Evelyn was determined, considering the sun’s warmth. Victor hurriedly packed his tools, offering his room for Evelyn to freshen up.
Evelyn, heading towards the beach, seemed lost in thought, not dwelling on any particular topic, except for the lingering feelings from Taylor’s departure, which kept her awake until morning.
She repeated to herself, almost like a mantra, “Today it’s Hamilton; tomorrow it’ll be someone else. Léonce McPherson doesn’t matter to me, but Raoul and Etienne!” She now understood the clarity in her past words to Adèle Rogers about giving up what’s nonessential but never sacrificing herself for her children.
A deep despondency had settled in during that sleepless night, never lifting. She felt no specific desire, no longing for anyone’s presence except Taylor’s. Yet, she also realized that even he and thoughts of him would eventually fade from her life, leaving her alone. Her children seemed like adversaries who had conquered her, trying to bind her in a soul’s enslavement forever. But she knew a way to evade them. These thoughts weren’t on her mind as she walked to the beach.
The Gulf’s water sparkled before her, a million sunlit lights dancing on its surface. The sea’s voice was alluring, a constant whisper, beckoning the soul to wander into solitary abysses. Along the empty beach, not a soul in sight, a bird with a broken wing struggled in the air above, descending towards the water.
Evelyn found her old, faded bathing suit still hanging in the bath-house. She put it on, leaving her clothes behind. But as she stood by the sea, utterly alone, she shed the uncomfortable garments, standing naked for the first time in the open air, vulnerable to the elements.
The sensation of standing bare under the sky was strange and awe-inspiring, yet delightful. She felt like a newborn, seeing the familiar world in a new light. The foamy waves embraced her ankles, inviting her further. She waded in, feeling the sensuous touch of the sea around her.
She swam out, her body enveloped by the sea’s caress. Memories flooded her mind—the night she swam far out, the fear of losing the shore. Now, she swam on, reminiscent of childhood meadows that seemed endless.
Exhaustion crept in, her thoughts drifting to Léonce and the children. They were part of her life, but she refused to be possessed by them wholly. Mademoiselle Reisz’s words echoed in her mind, mocking the idea of possession. Exhausted, she thought of Taylor’s note, his lack of understanding, and the missed opportunity to confide in Doctor Mandelet.
As she looked into the distance, old fears momentarily resurfaced, then faded. She heard echoes of her father’s voice, her sister Margaret’s laughter, the barking of the old dog, and the sounds of everyday life.
The End
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