I Am Madame X Read Online Free PDF

Parlange to warn us.
    “Friends, you will be attacked for sure if you stay,” he said heavily. “You don’t know the danger! The Yankees have been shooting women and children in their beds.” Rochilieu opened his square linen napkin and draped it dramatically across his lap. He tucked into the plate of beignets Alzea had placed in front of him. His mustache moved up and down as he chewed, and I considered the large mole on his nose. If Julie hadn’t thrown herself over the gallery, she’d probably have to kiss that mole every day, I thought with a shudder.
    From the opposite side of the table, Mama listened intently, with her long-fingered hands folded on the table. Her engagement ring, a diamond surrounded by six small rubies, sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows. I thought of Papa, and my chest tightened.
    “Well, I’m in favor of going with you,” Mama said.
    Grandmère dropped her coffee cup onto its saucer, and a spray of tan liquid splashed onto her knobby hand. “You’re not leaving Parlange!” she hissed.
    “I’m not staying here and risking my daughters’ deaths. Or worse, having them grow up to be country bumpkins like the Cabanel girls,” Mama countered. Eulalie and Nanette Cabanel lived with their parents on a nearby plantation and were notorious for never wearing corsets, not even to pay calls or to attend church.
    Ever since Papa’s death, Mama had dreamed of Paris. She knew several women—Creole war widows like herself—who had moved to the City of Light and found, if not prosperity and happiness, at least a relative peace.
    The argument that day was never resolved. But the next evening, while Charles and I were playing backgammon on the gallery, a shell whirled past the house. We looked up and saw a group of Yankee soldiers and a cannon in the middle of the road. The adults were in the parlor talking, and they ran outside when they heard the shell’s high screech and, moments later, the explosion as it crashed in the garden, striking and killing one of the dogs. “My God, they’re at our front door!” Grandmère cried. Mama wanted to leave at once. Instead we spent the night on mattresses in the basement. Rochilieu and Grandmère snored, and the rest of us didn’t get much sleep.
    The lone shell was apparently just a warning. Still, the next morning, Rochilieu said it was no longer safe for him at Parlange. If caught by the Federals, he’d be taken prisoner; if caught by the Rebels, he’d be shot as a deserter. “I’m leaving tonight, whether you come with me or not,” he said.
    He spent the day reading in the parlor, biding his time until night fell. No one said anything about our going with him, and I went to bed as usual at nine.
    Grandmère awoke me at midnight. Holding a lighted candle, she led me through the darkened house, past the bedrooms where Charles and Julie were sleeping, and outside to the front gallery. Rochilieu and Mama, with Valentine swaddled against her chest, were inkblots on the lawn below. Beside them, the horses moved restlessly under a magnolia tree. “You’re going with your mama and Lieutenant Rochilieu,” Grandmère said. “Julie and Charles are staying with me.” I ran to the barn to say good-bye to my chickens, Papillon and Sanspareil. Outside, Charles’s bear, Rossignol, was tethered to his post, asleep. “Farewell, Rossignol,” I sighed, feeling terrible that I had not had a chance to say good-bye to Charles himself.
    Back at the house, Grandmère tied a gunnysack around my waist. It was heavy and pulled at my abdomen whenever I took a step. “Mimi, this is very important,” she said. “There are enough gold coins in here to provide for you and your mother and sister in Paris, and you must never let it out of your sight, ever. Tu comprends? If the soldiers stop you, they will not search a child.”
    She kissed me on the forehead, then embraced Mama. In all my days at Parlange, I had never seen them touch each other. In