Free Oppressed by Kira Saito Page B

house, and promise to financially take care
of her and any children that came from the match. Once an agreement
was reached the girl was officially spoken for and her status was
that of a respected common-law wife or placée and her immediate
financial future and reputation was secured. What made these
arrangements unique was that it was perfectly acceptable for the
man to be already legally married or get legally married to a white
woman after entering into an arrangement. Of course, some men
stayed faithful to their placées and never legally married, while
others had a real wife and several mistresses on the
side.
    The balls and arrangements were unique to
New Orleans and were the only way the upper classes could overcome
the oppressive laws that banned mixed-race marriages. The
arrangements were particularly advantageous to free women of color
because they placed wealth and property into their hands. To an
outsider the custom might have appeared odd but I knew that to most
women it was a means of survival.
    The sad fact was that elite
free women of color greatly outnumbered elite free men of color, so
there weren’t many eligible men we could legally marry. Antoine’s
Maman was from an elite family and she had been lucky enough to
fall in love and marry another prosperous gen de couleur libre, but not all of us
were that fortunate. Most of the girls at the ball were like me.
They had been raised to be placées since birth by their Mamans and
Tantes.
    I smiled sweetly, batted my eyelashes, and
tried to ignore the weight of my updo. It had taken Emilie exactly
four hours to weave the pearls and tiny diamonds through my
raven-colored hair and while it looked stunning it was impossibly
heavy. I felt like a stiff china doll with too much rouge and
lipstick. I could barely breathe because Maman had insisted on
lacing up my corset extra tightly in an attempt to cover that inch
I had gained due to my recent praline binge. Even though I
pretended to be all refined and elegant, I felt exposed because the
décolleté on my red and gold silk ball gown was rather low. The
strands of pearls around my neck were new and shone brilliantly
under the glow of the chandeliers but at that very second they felt
like an impossibly heavy noose.
    Beside me, Maman stood proudly, dressed in
a stunning satin royal blue Charles Frederick Worth ballgown
straight from the Parisian showrooms. Strands of shiny new pearls
hung around her neck and her dark brown hair was elegantly parted
in the middle and swept up in a loose bun. Her brown eyes were
intently fixed on the crowd as if she were a vulture scouring for
the fittest prey.
    I glanced at her and realized I had
never asked her how she had felt when she met Papa at one of these
balls. “How was it?” I asked out of nowhere.
    She turned to look at me. “How was
what?”
    “ When you met Papa for the
first time?”
    She smiled and for a brief second her eyes
filled with childish delight. “I loved him from the moment I laid
eyes on him. He was young, handsome and single.” Her voice was
wistful, distant and full of sadness. Her lush lashes fluttered and
her face contorted briefly. “But that was so long ago.”
    My heart ached for her. “Why did he
get married?” I asked softly.
    She gave me a tight smile. “You know
how it is. Everyone has their obligations. He had his.”
    I tried to make sense of what she was
saying but I couldn’t. What kind of obligations?
    She shrugged and turned her head. “It is
what it is.”
    It is what it
is . I was
beginning to question that phrase.
    As I watched the couples swirl
and laugh ,
the sound of chains and desperate wails suddenly filled my ears.
The room started to close in on me and it seemed as if someone or
something was sucking the air right out of my lungs. I ran towards
the balcony- as elegantly as I could, of course. Once outside, I
gasped, taking in the damp scent of the muddy streets below and
letting out a giant sigh of relief. An icy wind