Page 132 of Frankly, My Dear

Selene stood in the schoolroom early that afternoon with Etienne and the half dozen black children who’d had the courage to show up for class.

After failing miserably to get their participation in a spelling bee or even their favorite Hokey Pokey, she arranged the unnaturally silent children on the floor. Dropping down with them into a cross-legged position, Selene made up a new story for them, “Beauty and the Bayou Beast,” and then taught them “Old MacBaptiste Had a Farm.”

It took a long time, but finally she got the children to relax and sing along with her. “…and on his farm, he had a three-legged chicken. Ee-aye, ee-aye, oh. With a squawk, squawk here, and a squawk, squawk—”

“What is the meaning of this outrage?”

The room went deathly silent, and everyone looked up to see a livid Giselle standing in the doorway. A midnight-blue riding habit adorned her petite frame, and her golden blonde hair was arranged neatly under a pert black hat with swaths of blue netting. She tapped a small riding crop against her leg, waiting impatiently for an answer.

The children were struck mute with fright.

“I’m giving the children their lessons,” Selene said, standing. She towered over the diminutive Creole lady by at least a head.

“By singing some foolish song about chickens?” Her cupid’s-bow mouth made a moue of derision.

“Yes, by singing.” Selene clenched her fists at her sides and forced herself to be polite. “Would you like to join us?”

“Me?” Giselle laughed. “Non, I have come for my son. We will go riding together.”

Etienne shuddered at her side. Selene saw the absolute terror in his eyes.

“A ride would be pleasant, E.T.,” she tried to convince him. After all, he needed to get reaccustomed to his mother sometime.

“I don’t feel good,” he lied.

Selene patted him on the head and addressed Giselle, “Perhaps tomorrow would be better.”

Giselle raised her whip slightly, almost as if she considered striking Selene. Then, slowly, she lowered it.

“What is this E.T.?”

“My nickname,” Etienne answered in a small voice.

“Non, it is not. Etienne is the name I gave you at birth, and the only one you will answer to. Is that clear?”

The boy nodded.

“And what are all these pickaninnies doing here in the house? Out, out!” She waved her hand toward the doorway, and the children scampered out, except Etienne, who slipped a hand in Selene’s.

Giselle’s eyes narrowed with hatred as she noticed Etienne’s gesture.

“Come to my room, Mademoiselle Selente. It would seem you and I have much to discuss.” Without waiting for an answer, she swept from the schoolroom, never questioning that her orders would be obeyed.

It took Selene a half hour to calm Etienne down and straighten out the schoolroom before she made her way to James’s bedchamber. By then, Giselle was pacing with increasing furor at Selene’s failing to follow immediately.

Selene’s eyes darted around James’s room. She inhaled sharply with pain on seeing the shirt and trousers he had worn the night before thrown carelessly over a chair back.

Giselle smiled maliciously.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a wingback chair. She dropped gracefully into the one opposite. Staring thoughtfully at Selene, she tapped her riding whip on her knee.

“Has James returned yet?” Selene asked finally, breaking the awkward silence.

Giselle forced her lips into a rueful pout. “Oui. Unfortunately, the Cajun family that provided safe harbor for me all these months has mysteriously disappeared. Their home abandoned. Nothing left but an old gown of mine to prove that I was there.”

“How unfortunate!” Selene commented, not really surprised by the news.

“So tell me, mademoiselle, when do you intend to leave?”