Free Becoming Josephine by Heather Webb Page A

woman’s rotten odor wafted in my direction. She reeked of old garbage. Other beggars followed and soon they surrounded us. They snatched the goods from our hands in haste, as if we might change our minds.
    The number of them! If only we had more to give—shoes and blankets, soap and firewood. An overwhelming helplessness engulfed me.
    “That is all we have for now,” Anne shouted. “I will be back at the same time next week.”
    “God bless you. You’re an angel!” a woman shouted back.
    “Shall we go?” When Anne saw my expression she laughed and put her arm around me. “We’re helping as much as we can. That’s all that matters.”
    “There are so many! I had no idea.” Guilt flooded my heart. I had so much to be thankful for; my woes seemed inconsequential. I blushed at my own frivolity. I would join Anne each week to do my part, uncomfortable or not.
    “Can you imagine if we didn’t have Penthémont to go home to?” Anne said. “We would be among them.”
    I shuddered at the thought. Désirée could only help with my expenses for so long. I would need to find other means to support us soon.
    During the ride back to the convent, my head reeled. I must make my own money. I had only one skill worth something in my social circle. I smiled.

    My scheme unfolded at Fanny’s Thursday salon.
    “Tarot cards?” Fanny asked. “You little Creole witch. I love it.”
    “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” I said.
    I sat in the almost quiet corner behind a gold silk curtain, waiting for the lovesick, the ailing, and those in search of money.
    “Will I ever find love again?” a young woman asked, wistful.
    I hid my surprise. She could not be serious. Her sensuous beauty blossomed from every angle. Her emerald eyes sparkled with mischief, while her silvery blond hair formed an angelic halo. I would be shocked if every man in Paris did not love her.
    “A woman of your beauty must be loved already.” I smiled. “But we’ll consult the cards.”
    I drew the Devil, followed by the Lovers and the Hierophant.
    “You will celebrate love in abundance. But you must take caution, for your lust may result in your ruin.”
    “I knew it!” Claire squealed. “Jean loves me.”
    I laughed. She’d heard only the pieces she wished to hear. “I’m certain he does.”
    She placed the fee on the table. “
Merci beaucoup.
I’ll be back next week!”
    Later, as I prepared to leave for the evening, our paths crossed again.
    “Rose, are you a Creole? Your accent gives you away.”
    “I am from Martinique.” A servant helped me into my cloak.
    “And I, Guadeloupe.”
    “Your fair skin—I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said.
    “We moved to Paris when I was nine for my schooling and to be near court.”
    “Court? I long to attend!”
    “I’m afraid I don’t have enough influence to secure an invitation for you. But I’ll be attending a soiree hosted by a duchess friend of mine next week. Would you care to join me?”
    “I would be honored!”
    I smiled. It was time I ventured among the nobility.

    Claire and I became fast friends, and many nights I accompanied her to popular salons. On more than one occasion I found her in a closed parlor, locked in a passionate embrace with her lover’s hand in her décolletage. I teased her for her caprice in love, though I admired her passion. How I wished I could release my own bitterness. But I was in no hurry to be made a fool again.
    Through Claire and Marie-Josèphe, my circle of friends expanded. My evening schedule filled and my confidence grew. Men began to dote on me as I treated them with the playful disregard I had learned from Claire.
    “Can I get you a drink, madame?” a gentleman asked at a ball.
    “
Merci
, but Monsieur Tautou is bringing me one now. Perhaps later.” I smiled and sauntered away.
    “I’m going to the opera tomorrow evening,” another monsieur said. “I’d be honored if you would accompany me.”
    “Thank you. I will send