Free Sweet Unrest by Lisa Maxwell Page A

person’s bank account. The price the rich Creoles would pay to have one of the new portraits was amazing. But Lila still believed in the old ways. While Armantine didn’t have much faith in the old ways, she respected them enough to let the promise of good food and strong drink bring her to the banks of the Mississippi on the summer solstice. She respected Lila enough not to try convincing her otherwise.
    “Oooh, look,” Lila said in reverent tones. “Here come Thisbe.”
    Armantine looked up to see a row of dark shadows coming out of the trees. A woman stood at the center, and around her arm a large snake was coiled. She was old, with ashy skin hanging from her slim bones and thick lines carved into a sharp face. Armantine couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s sense of drama as Thisbe walked silently, with slow, measured steps, toward the people waiting by the fires.
    Though Armantine had heard tales about Thisbe, this was the first time she’d seen the old woman in the flesh. The daughter of a local plantation owner, Thisbe had spent the early part of her life as one of his slaves, but then something had happened to make her owner free her. The stories surrounding Thisbe were as thick as the waters of the bayou and just about as clear. No one knew why she’d stayed on, even after she was free, just like no one knew what had inspired her father to free her—or what had caused him to give her a small cabin at the edge of his land. But everyone was sure it was nothing good.
    This situation had given Thisbe a great deal of power and influence among the slaves along the River Road. Since she was free, she didn’t answer to the planting seasons and could help tend to the sick or ailing while their loved ones toiled all day. Since she had her own home, she could help slaves whose masters didn’t provide for them well enough. Since people believed she had the gift of sight, the slaves listened to her, and the Creoles called on her for all sorts of things. And feared her for all sorts of reasons.
    The fire threw shadows across the angles of her wizened face, and when she drew near enough that Armantine could make out her features clearly in the fire-lit night, Thisbe raised her hands and chanted an eloquent invocation. When the invocation ended, a drum sounded from the darkness, and Thisbe moved on surprisingly nimble feet to the driving beat. Little by little, others joined her in the dance.
    Lila grabbed Armantine’s hand. They danced through the night, and time tilted, as it often does in dreams, until the sun started to rise.
    Armantine woke on one of the long, rough benches the dancers had rested on throughout the night. The fires were still smoldering and bodies were draped comfortably across the ground and each other, huddled for warmth in the almost-cool morning air.
    She stood and stretched her sore limbs, swayed for a minute as the world spun, and tried unsuccessfully to rub the headache from her eyes. She had somewhere to be, she realized. Jules was not going to be happy if she missed their afternoon appointments.
    Testing out her balance, she headed toward the road. Even at a brisk pace, it would take the better part of the morning to walk back to the city unless someone came along and offered her a ride. She looked back over her shoulder. Visible now in the morning light, the Dutilettes’ huge mansion rose from an alley of trees. Armantine shivered. She never did like that place, and she would do anything to get Lila free of it if she could. Lila had certainly gone back already. There were breakfasts to deliver and baths to draw for the people she served.
    As Armantine walked, the stiffness of the night worked itself out of her muscles. She needed a bath herself. Maybe some breakfast. She hoped Cook would have some fresh beignets or some fruit she could eat before the work of the day began.
    She was deep in thought about the day ahead, so she didn’t notice them at first as she rounded the bend. Had