Failed Moments

Chapter 7: Arch Your Back

Chapter 7

Arch Your Back

CHANTAL ARCHAMBEAU SAT in the back of the carriage and inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh evening air as she headed home. Patrice often spoiled her by sending a driver when she went out to Beaumont, and she had to admit she liked the special treatment. Not the most verbal of men, Patrice showed he cared by arranging for the carriage. He had become family—the little brother she never had.

In the past, the return rides from the Beaumont Plantation had been even more enjoyable with her mother, Giselle, by her side. Their lively discussions often caused the driver to turn his head and check on them, which made them laugh. People sometimes thought the mother and daughter judged the winner of their numerous battles by measuring the volume of their voices rather than the strength of their arguments. Tonight, they would have so much to discuss. Chantal couldn’t wait to run up to her mother’s bedroom to tell her about the gens de couleur meeting at the café. This meeting marked the beginning, and neither of the strong Archambeau women would rest until they saw the end—the end of s*****y.

Chantal and Patrice met when he’d just become a teenager. Already a young woman in her twenties, Chantal soon took note of Patrice’s potential. Both Giselle and Chantal heard thirteen-year-old Patrice promise freedom to Andre—nothing short of majestic, in Chantal’s opinion. When she submitted to her mother that Patrice should have delivered on this promise long ago, Giselle disagreed and suggested he would never renege. The time had to be right. Patrice was destined to do great things in his life, and this would be one of them. Chantal never wanted to argue that point.

Deep in thought as the carriage started down the final stretch of road, Chantal asked herself, would Patrice seize this opportunity and realize the potential he had to be a great leader? While he had broken new ground in terms of the humane treatment of slaves at Beaumont, he had done nothing of late. All of his changes had taken place within a few years of assuming control of the plantation. Little brother needed to get back on track and just needed a little prompting.

She was also concerned with Patrice’s insistence on being secretive about his forward-thinking practices. What good would it do to have nothing more than one plantation where a kinder and gentler form of s*****y was practiced? Patrice had to be an example, in order to make others change. Chantal hoped he would embrace the idea that it was not good enough to be the best of the worst. Time for Patrice to grow up. No more discussion of potential. The carriage pulled up to the café and Chantal headed straight up the stairs to her mother’s bedroom.

Conversations between the two Archambeau ladies were explosive—both were head bobbers and finger pointers. As the intensity increased, anyone might assume they were embroiled in a bitter fight, but the astute observer would take note of the little side smiles offered in response to particularly strong points. Chantal explained the evening’s events to her mother and surprisingly, no argument ensued—Chantal’s report ended with a hug. Giselle wished she had been part of the evening’s activities, but she’d finally lost her battle with chronic lower back pain. She knew Chantal would offer the right encouragement to Patrice at each of the appropriate moments. So shrewd, my Chantal, making sure the meeting took place at the café. There would have been no other way to insert a woman into the proceedings. Smart girl, just like her mother!

A natural beauty as a young woman, Giselle was born a slave and served as the concubine of one of the most forbidding grand blanc plantation owners. Her dark, smooth skin shone in the strong Caribbean sun and when she graced those in her presence with a smile, she lit up the room. The master had taken note of Giselle when she turned twenty and moved her into the plantation house. While assigned some duties in the kitchen, her real job involved tending to the needs of the master. Phillipe Archambeau visited her most evenings and often became enraged when he had difficulty maintaining a strong erection. Whenever his body failed him, he took it out on Giselle by choking, punching, paddling, or kicking her. Even on a good night, there was nothing tender about intimacy with the master. The head of the kitchen staff stopped by Giselle’s room each morning to determine if her appearance and condition would permit her to work. Many days, she did not meet the standard. The last night she spent with her master provided a lasting memory.

“Turn around, Goddamn it! I can’t stand to look at your ugly face.”

Giselle scurried off her back, and dropped to her knees on the edge of the bed. She needed to be exactly at the right level for her diminutive master—her eyes level with the windowsill. As she raised her head to make sure she lined up properly, Giselle spotted a striking red bird perched on a branch of a tree, which pressed up against the house. The bird’s hunched posture and downward pointing tail made it unusual, but the black coloring around its eyes commanded most of Giselle’s attention as she became lost in its gaze. In the end, however, the beautiful bird proved to be a distraction, and Giselle realized her mistake when Master Archambeau administered the first strike of the paddle; she’d forgotten to arch her lower back.

“Goddamn stupid w***e. Can’t you do anything right!”

The force of the paddle drove her stomach to the bed and she quickly got back on her knees and arched her back, but her eyes were still above the windowsill. The paddle again provided feedback. When Giselle assumed the position for the third time, she got it exactly right, but her master’s erection failed him. The next five shots from the paddle told her who was to blame. Her masked friend couldn’t bear to watch any more, turned its back, and flew away as the beating continued. Eventually, Giselle felt him inside her and then, thankfully, it was over with a few quick thrusts.

The next morning, Philippe Archambeau told Giselle she was not aging well and her unattractive twenty-one-year-old body had to be the source of his erectile troubles. Dismissed from her duties in the house and sent back to the fields, Giselle paused as she departed and passed the full-length mirror at the end of the hallway. Something wasn’t right. She adjusted her clothes, hair, and tried to straighten up, but resumed her slouch in response to shooting pains in her lower back. Giselle’s formerly smooth, dark skin was covered with bruises, and her smile, which featured gaps from lost teeth, no longer lit up the room. She agreed with the master and had to admit she had aged very badly during her period of personal service. The pretty young girl who had entered the house one year earlier was gone.

Life in the fields was a miserable experience of a different sort. The sun, brutal, the hours, extreme, and the overseers ever present and ready with the whip. Giselle was taunted by the head overseer, who joked that she might be too ugly for the master, but seemed just fine to him. The a***e was about to begin again.

Thankfully, Philippe Archambeau died a sudden and unexpected death when he choked on a chicken bone. The funeral attendance reflected the amount of grief generated by his passing—just his older sister, Chantal, and a few of the other plantation owners paid their respects. Everyone agreed—the world was a better place without Philippe Archambeau.

Chantal Archambeau, as sole heir, received all of the proceeds of the estate and had no interest in running a plantation or staying in St. Domingue. Paris seemed like a more fitting place for a single woman of means such as herself. When it became apparent that Giselle was pregnant with the deceased master’s child, Giselle was moved back into the house and experienced the first real peace of her adult life.

The plantation sold before Giselle gave birth and the new owner purchased all of the property with the exception of four slaves who were either close to Chantal or who had received the most brutal punishment at the hands of her brother. Chantal gave each of these slaves their freedom and a sum of money to begin their new lives.

For herself, Giselle assumed the only last name she knew, Archambeau, and for her daughter, she thought it fitting to use the first name of the woman who set her free. Her daughter’s name, therefore, became Chantal Archambeau. Giselle’s goal in life was to make sure her daughter would never be subjected to the same brutal treatment she received as a young woman. Status as a gens de couleur business owner provided an excellent starting point, but Giselle continued to push her child to be a fighter—someone who could stand up for herself. She had done a good job.