The second week of Lent, Joseph was hardly through his parents’ gate when his mother accosted him. ‘Joseph! You must make your father see sense!’
Joseph glanced to his father on the piazza. ‘About what?’
‘When Bishop England returns to Haiti, your father says he’s going with him!’
Joseph’s father stepped forward and drew her attention. ‘Iamseeing sense, Anne. Dr. England needs me. I speak French as well as Creole. And if he falls ill again’—Joseph’s father grinned—‘don’t you want him to be in good hands?’
‘What ifyoufall ill? What if you die of fever thousands of miles from?—’
‘Nothing is going to happen to me, Anne.’
‘You cannot promise that! How can you do this to me? I’m already losing Cathyandour grandchildren in a month!’
‘They’re not dying, Anne—they’re moving to Missouri.’
‘Halfway across the continent, surrounded by Indians! And nowyouwant to go sailing off to a godforsaken island full of murderers!’ She turned away and covered her face with her hand for a moment. Tears filled her eyes, but she managed a few more signs. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, René.’ She rushed to their Mary Garden and knelt to beg the Virgin’s intercession.
Joseph and his father followed but kept their distance. Joseph felta surge of hope: his mother seemed genuinely grieved at the thought of losing his father. Surely this proved the man had stopped tormenting her. Joseph still didn’t understand him. He asked in a low voice, as if his mother could hear: “How can you wish to visit a place where—where your father was beheaded?”
“He probably deserved it. And my going to Haiti has nothing to do with him. I am going to visit my mother.”
Joseph frowned. “You…know where she’s buried?”
“She isn’t buried anywhere. She’s still alive.”
Joseph gaped at him.
His father glanced over the gardenia bushes to ensure that his wife was still at her prayers. “After we met Ninon on Sullivan’s Island and she told me the truth about my mother, I started wondering: If she didn’t die when I was born, what if she wasn’t dead at all? What if she didn’twantto give me up? You know what my grandmother Marguerite was like.” He sat on the bench nearby, and Joseph joined him. “I met with Ninon again. She told me everything she could remember about the plantation where I was born. I wrote it all down, and added a few details I learned from other Saint-Domingue émigrés. Two years ago, before Dr. England left on his first mission to Haiti, I asked him to take my information to President Boyer, to see if enquiries could be made. You know how easily Dr. England wins people over, so Boyer agreed to help. Having a dictator on your side has its advantages. Last year, when Dr. Clancy returned from Haiti, he brought word that my mother had finally been found, very much alive.”
Bishop Clancy knew they were colored now, too? Even if the news had been sealed in a letter, no good could come of this. Joseph’s father was putting all of them at risk. If their secret became known in Charleston… Joseph could transfer to another parish, and Cathy was already planning her flight with Perry. But for Hélène, their mother, and their grandmother, starting over would not be so easy.
Movement drew Joseph’s attention to his mother, who rose from her prayers. She threw Joseph a hopeful glance and returned to the house.
His father murmured in her wake: “I don’t think you can understand, Joseph. You’ve had a mother all your life. This is my only chance to meet mine.”
Joseph also knew that state law would not permitherto visit South Carolina instead.
“You could come to Haiti with me, son.”
“I’m a Priest now.”
“You know very well that Dr. England could use a second pair of consecrated hands there even more than here.”
“I have classes to teach at the seminary. Besides, Mama would never let us both go.”
His father sighed. “Would you write your grandmother a letter, then?”
“Can she read?”
“I’ll read it to her.”
“What would I say?”
“Anything. Tell her about yourself. She’ll be as proud as I am.”
“I doubt she’s even Catholic.”
“Anyone would be proud of you, Joseph.”
