1720

Nicolas advised me to follow the sound of the music at midnight, for it would lead me to him. The sound I hear is elevating, undulating phrases as they rise and fall. It sounds distinct to my ears. I have never heard playing quite like his. Of course, I have heard many a man in the crowded streets of Paris indulge the children and common folk with shanties and bar tunes, but nothing like this. The sound is intoxicating to me, though distant. It calls to me, as if beckoning my name. The closer I get to the sound, the more colorful it becomes in my mind. The patterns and colors, they all swirl to meet one another, dancing close together and lifting me higher. It stays in my mind, this haunting melody of his.

I almost forget to rap on the door, in the secretive manner that he taught me. I must be careful, so as not to wake up the people in the other homes. If they see me going into his home, tongues will wag. I look around me, and hope there is no one standing outside. There is no one.

He opens it and quickly lets me in. There is barely enough light to illuminate his small home from the lantern that rests on his only table. His harpsichord is at the far right of his home.

"You came," he says, ushering for me to come closer.

"What is it that you must speak with me so urgently about, Nicolas?"

He frowns. "I am sorry to ask you to come to my home, but there is no other option, Marie."

"People know what I am," I say.

"And they would assume that I am asking you to--"

"You haven't thought this well enough, Nicolas. If I'm in your home, it would be worse. What if someone peeks into the window? Then what would become of it?"

"I will put the curtains down, then," he says. "That way no one will be able to see inside." He goes to his window, and pulls down the thin fabric that he uses for a curtain.

"Now tell me what is so urgent." I cross my arms against my chest. "It must be urgent if you are asking me here."

"La Nouvelle Orleans is collapsing," he says, frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"Bienville wishes for it to become the capital, Marie. There are so many things wrong with this place. You know it."

"I have seen some of the women becoming sick," I say in reply. "We can't grow wheat here either. The women are hungry for bread we cannot make."

"We also do not have sufficient sewage. Some of the women are already becoming sick. And as the bread issue, we must find a way to irrigate. Perhaps put the wheat in higher ground, no?"

"That could work," I say, musing on the prospect.

"Oh, yes," I say.

"I need help, Marie. Your help. Men's help. Everyone help. There should be others coming soon."

"Then why the secret?"

"Some of the men disagree with expansion of the outpost."

"Why did you think of asking me?"

"I overheard your conversation, I admit," he says. "It was wrong of me to eavesdrop. But you seemed not against expanding. And so I thought I would ask."

"I am of no help. I am just a lowly woman from Paris."

"You are the only person that I can think of that knows the river the best. You are always by the river."

"But what does this have to do with me helping? I do not know what I can do to help."

"Marie, the water in the river is the answer. Some of the men have been using the swamp water and boiling it. It is the reason why we are falling ill. Bienville is beside himself, he is asking for everyone to help. I asked you here tonight for this reason, for if anyone hears this in daylight, imagine the mass panic it can cause. You can teach the women and men how to bathe properly, you can teach them how to boil the river water in a way. I've seen you do it for Francois. Did you learn this in Paris?"

I nod, realizing that my father's technique in boiling water for our wounds and treating them as children. "I used to, yes. When I was young. My father was poor, but he was very intelligent and taught himself how to read on his own."

"Can you read?" he asks.

"From what he taught me, yes, before I was arrested, yes."

"Good," he says. "Now, you can teach the women how to boil the water. Some of them may not know. And Madame--"

Three raps at the door in a similar style to mine. They make my freeze in my tracks.

"That would be him," he says, bringing himself to the door and opening it.

He stands tall in the open doorway, a figure almost enshrouded in darkness. He wears a long coat and steps forward, one step at a time until he is inside Officer Moreau's home. I immediately take a step back and do not look directly into the eyes of Officer Leblanc.

"What is Madame Guidry doing here?" he asks, arching his brow. "Nicolas, I did not peg you for --"

"She is here because she is going to help us with the issue, Ignace."

"Her?"

"The one that what, Ignace? Come, Brother, we are here not for anything else but to discuss in private what is going on with La Nouvelle Orleans. Bienville wants this place to be the capital and we want to respect his wishes."

Officer Leblanc turns to look at me and scoffs. "What does she have to do with it? Could this not be a conversation among men?"

"She knows how to boil water and treat wounds, Ignace. She can be an asset, especially with our failing infastructure. Look at all of the women here now. When it was only men, we could go off and leave home for many months at a time and not worry about the women. But now that women are here, and the majority of them are married, we need a woman who knows how to do these things."

"I see," Officer Leblanc frowns. "Forgive me, Madame Guidry."

I say nothing to that Officer Leblanc and give him a look that makes his eyes widen, and he looks away, scratching his neck. He may be charming and what many would consider desirable and handsome, I see right through him like a paper thin veil. He is little better than Francois, but at least Francois is honest about the kind of man that he is. Gruff, and stops at nothing to get what he wants. He does not hide behind fake smiles and suave flirtations.

I step away from the men and walk up to Nicolas's harpsichord, pressing down, one by one what feels like random notes to me. I continue what I am doing, until I am met with silence all around me. The colors from each note hop in my mind, one by one until I am lost in the colors. In my mind, I am swimming in the river. The music soars as I descend further down into the water until I am lost in myself.

"What on earth?" I hear Officer Leblanc ask, his voice filled with confusion mixed with awe.

"Stop, Ignace. Let her finish."

I swell higher and higher until it fades away, just beyond my reach. I open my eyes and I have the sensation that I have returned to my body.

"What are you?" Leblanc asks, something akin to shock and almost some kind of disgust painted across his face. "How did you learn to play Monteverdi like this?"

"What?" I ask, shrugging. "What are you talking about? I was just fooling around on it."

"Some notes?" Leblanc scoffs. "You played Monteverdi to perfection. I went to school for music, you know. Not even the best musician in my class... I am looking at you, Nicolas, played it like you just did."

I look over at Officer Moreau who seems dumbfounded. He does not even open his mouth to speak. It is as if he is seeing right through me, but not at me. He shakes his head, blinking several times.

"What was that?"

Leblanc pats him on the shoulder. "You have just seen Madame Guidry play your favorite Monteverdi piece."

"How?" he asks, looking at me with shock. "How did you learn it?"

"I do not know how," I say. "I just heard it and played what I was feeling. I did not realize that I was playing your piece."

"You even use both hands," Officer Moreau says. "It took me hours and hours to learn that music."

"I do not know how it happened, I swear. You must have heard something else. It is midnight and you are tired."

Nicolas goes back to the harpsichord and plays something with decorum and his hands fly on the instrument. When he finishes, he turns his head and with narrowed eyes looks, not at me, but almost through me.

"Play it," he says. "That is another Monteverdi."

"I do not know if I can," I say, shaking my head. "I have never had any music lesson. I'm a poor girl from Paris."

"Play it," Leblanc says. "Didn't you hear the man? We all want to see if you can do it."

I sigh and walk up to the piano. "I will play again."

But it was too late. Others had become coming in to see Officer Moreau.