One Midnight (ONC 2024) ✔️

Chapter Five- The River

February 27, 1720

My bones melt as I, with tears running down my cheeks, take in the sight before me. After that stint at the beach in what I was told was Alabama before our arrival here in La Nouvelle Orleans, I thought I would never taste the sweetness of fresh air again. I thought I was going to die that night.

The people who ran La Mutine dumped us off at that awful Ship Island as if we were nothing more than cattle. No food or water. Not even a blanket. I made a sand bed for myself while hermit crabs pinched my legs every night we stayed there, angry that I disturbed their humble habitat. It was almost as if death itself was singing a cradle song, lulling me into eternal slumber like the rest of the women who departed before me.

I try to take all that happened to us out of my mind and close my eyes for a moment and listen to the sound of the water as it crashes and flows, like tiny fairies with their wings atop the water, floating along with the current. This river is truly the only beautiful thing here. The rest of what is the city is lonely.

Yet now, here I am, standing by this river, taking in the scene before me. There are only but a few homes here, nestled near the river but also surrounded by a multitude of trees — more than I have seen in such a long time. I do not care that it is the middle of nowhere and that there is nothing for miles and miles. La Nouvelle Orleans has taken my heart in an instant, even if it is unseemly to the eyes. My future is clear: a lifetime of isolation from my tiny home by the river. I can see the pure potential this place offers. I feel the energy of this place pulsating like a steady heartbeat.

The wind brushes against me, a gentle hug, as if welcoming me to this land. The other women must feel the same way as me, for I see in their faces the relief and joy of finally being away from the ship and, dare I say, from France and from the darkness of Salpêtrière, with that cruel tyrant Marguerite Pancatelin as my lord and master for all of those God forsaken years. I cringe at the thought of that wicked and unforgiving face, curled up in disgust every time she looked at me, which was hardly ever because she chose to never look me directly in the eye. All of us, to that woman, are nothing more than a blight on society — something that should never have been born.

I saw it in Pancatelin the moment we were told we were serve the remainder of our sentences in a new land, the malicious delight that adorned her unsightly face.

I shake her off of my head and gaze upon the two men who have just approached us at the river's shore. The women behind me whisper something about police as two men, of course, they are law enforcement officers, walk up to where we are standing. One of them is younger than the other. He is also shorter, but he has a bright smile on his youthful face. The other, taller man, is stern, gazing upon all of us with a narrow gaze. The officer stands tall, and the women whisper amongst each other. I can hear some of their words — that he seems frightening with his unsmiling eyes. I do not know if he is intimidating or not, for he has not spoken one word since he came up to us.

"I see the women have arrived." The younger, shorter fellow smiles as he faces us. "I trust your journey here was tolerable."

I am surprised at this politeness toward us. How insensitive of this man to assume that our voyage here by that horrible ship was tolerable. I almost want to take him by his fancy uniform and impose on him the deplorable conditions we faced on that ship.

The older officer stops him with a stern gesture of his hand and does not look at him. "Ignace, these women are prisoners serving the rest of their life sentence here. Do you think they would find this journey tolerable?"

I stifle a smile and try to not look directly at the officer, but our eyes meet. And for a moment, he narrows his gaze, pauses and then looks away. I am left a little confused by the way he paused, but I stand there for a moment longer. It seems as if the man has official business to say.

"If you all will follow me." He makes a powerful gesture with his hand. "The men you all are to wed are eager to meet you."

My heart stills. Marriage? Is this part of the deal that they keep us here in La Nouvelle Orleans? After what happened to us at Dauphin Island, being told we were unwanted because we were criminals of the worst kind for a woman, I did not think that these people would even entertain the idea of it. I suck in my stomach, and I feel it in all of us, the sense of dread. Some of us, I feel, do not seem to mind getting married. But for me, I do not want it. I do not want any part of it.

"But sir," I try to speak, but my small voice trying so desperately to break through the steady chatter of the other women. "I do not wish to marry any man."

The taller of the two officers turns around and arches a brow. "It is why you are here. This is what you signed up for. This is non-negotiable. You are to meet the man that is to be your new husband shortly. Our men need wives, if this place is to become anything at all."

I think of the society that once branded me a prostitute. They cruelly threw me into prison for a crime I did not commit. I am still a virgin. Does this man that I am supposed to marry know the truth about what I am? No one can force me into this marriage, no matter the circumstances. I will not allow myself to marry. I shatter as I turn to look back at my only source of consolation — the river.