Beyond paradise Read Online Free
Author: Copyright Paperback Collection (Library of Congress) DLC, Elizabeth Doyle
how they look. Girls don't bother with their hair."
'Those are peasant girls," snapped her mother. "You are shaming your father." This is what she always said when she, herself, felt ashamed.
"I will fix it tomorrow," Sylvie promised.
"Good. Now before you get married, I also want you to work on your cooking."
"Maman," Sylvie sighed with exasperation, "Etienne has servants. I won't be cooking his meals."
"Just because he has money, don't forget that he is of the bourgeoisie. Someone else might cook and clean for you, but it is you who must make sure that the house has good etiquette. It is etiquette which makes you who you are. Don't let a servant raise your children. Or Etienne, for that matter. And you must step in even to cook the meals if they are not served properly. It is still your household."
"I promise," Sylvie said. "I promise."
Later that night, Sylvie shuffled into her bedroom, feeling truly exhausted. She had always hated going to bed at a "seemly hour." She had always imagined that the world changed at night, that something magical happened to the sky, and that the ocean turned black. She had the feeling that she was missing something spectacular when she went to bed. And tonight would be the hardest night of all for finding rest. Tomorrow would be only her second adventure of a lifetime. The first, the voyage to Martinique, had been such a terrible disappointment that it hardly counted. But tomorrow, she kept trying to forget for fear she would let out an excited squeak, tomorrow she would see a pirate. And meet secretly
BEYOND PARADISE
25
with a dashing pirate hunter. Had she known, her mother surely would have killed her.
In their bedroom, Sylvie's younger sister was already brushing her hair. Chantal would be a beauty some day, Sylvie thought. Taller and larger-boned than Sylvie had been at the same age of fifteen, Chantal was already developing rather impressive breasts. And her golden hair always made Sylvie sigh over the drab, muddled color of her own. But to Chantal, Sylvie was the princess. Sylvie was the adult, at age eighteen. Sylvie was the one who had a slender waist and pronounced cheekbones. Sylvie was the one who would soon be leaving the house, and starting a grown-up life on her own. It seemed so exciting to a girl who still had nearly three years to go.
"Where were you today?" Chantal asked excitedly, the moment Sylvie closed the door behind them. "Did you see Etienne?" Chantal bounced gaily on the bed, squeezing her sack-like bed gown against the backs of her knees.
"Yes, I. .. saw him." Sylvie smiled weakly, then moved to the dresser.
"What do you talk about?" asked Chantal excitedly. "What do you talk about when you're together? Have you thought of names for your children?"
Sylvie tried not to laugh, but failed. "Turn out the lantern," she instructed, trying to conceal her chuckle.
Chantal did as she was told, and Sylvie undressed in the dark. "Do you think he is handsome?" the younger sister asked, sitting upright on the bed, her pale eyes glowing in the blackness.
"Handsomeness doesn't matter," lied Sylvie, because she wanted Chantal to be a good daughter. And she wanted Chantal to be happy. It would be a better life for her if she learned to want those things which she was destined to have, and to be-
Elizabeth Doyle
lieve in the ideals which would rule her destiny. "It doesn't matter what a man looks like."
"Well, when Maman and Papa pick a husband for me, I hope he will be handsome," she grinned.
Sylvie was determined not to lose this battle. She wanted her sister to be more content than she herself could ever be. She loved her sister. "Marriage isn't for your sake," she explained, pleased that she sounded so convincing, "it is for the sake of family." She was now in her nightgown, and slid in bed beside Chantal. "Look at this blanket," she said, wrapping it around her slender body. "It was made by our great grandmother. She is gone now, but her blanket stays with
'Those are peasant girls," snapped her mother. "You are shaming your father." This is what she always said when she, herself, felt ashamed.
"I will fix it tomorrow," Sylvie promised.
"Good. Now before you get married, I also want you to work on your cooking."
"Maman," Sylvie sighed with exasperation, "Etienne has servants. I won't be cooking his meals."
"Just because he has money, don't forget that he is of the bourgeoisie. Someone else might cook and clean for you, but it is you who must make sure that the house has good etiquette. It is etiquette which makes you who you are. Don't let a servant raise your children. Or Etienne, for that matter. And you must step in even to cook the meals if they are not served properly. It is still your household."
"I promise," Sylvie said. "I promise."
Later that night, Sylvie shuffled into her bedroom, feeling truly exhausted. She had always hated going to bed at a "seemly hour." She had always imagined that the world changed at night, that something magical happened to the sky, and that the ocean turned black. She had the feeling that she was missing something spectacular when she went to bed. And tonight would be the hardest night of all for finding rest. Tomorrow would be only her second adventure of a lifetime. The first, the voyage to Martinique, had been such a terrible disappointment that it hardly counted. But tomorrow, she kept trying to forget for fear she would let out an excited squeak, tomorrow she would see a pirate. And meet secretly
BEYOND PARADISE
25
with a dashing pirate hunter. Had she known, her mother surely would have killed her.
In their bedroom, Sylvie's younger sister was already brushing her hair. Chantal would be a beauty some day, Sylvie thought. Taller and larger-boned than Sylvie had been at the same age of fifteen, Chantal was already developing rather impressive breasts. And her golden hair always made Sylvie sigh over the drab, muddled color of her own. But to Chantal, Sylvie was the princess. Sylvie was the adult, at age eighteen. Sylvie was the one who had a slender waist and pronounced cheekbones. Sylvie was the one who would soon be leaving the house, and starting a grown-up life on her own. It seemed so exciting to a girl who still had nearly three years to go.
"Where were you today?" Chantal asked excitedly, the moment Sylvie closed the door behind them. "Did you see Etienne?" Chantal bounced gaily on the bed, squeezing her sack-like bed gown against the backs of her knees.
"Yes, I. .. saw him." Sylvie smiled weakly, then moved to the dresser.
"What do you talk about?" asked Chantal excitedly. "What do you talk about when you're together? Have you thought of names for your children?"
Sylvie tried not to laugh, but failed. "Turn out the lantern," she instructed, trying to conceal her chuckle.
Chantal did as she was told, and Sylvie undressed in the dark. "Do you think he is handsome?" the younger sister asked, sitting upright on the bed, her pale eyes glowing in the blackness.
"Handsomeness doesn't matter," lied Sylvie, because she wanted Chantal to be a good daughter. And she wanted Chantal to be happy. It would be a better life for her if she learned to want those things which she was destined to have, and to be-
Elizabeth Doyle
lieve in the ideals which would rule her destiny. "It doesn't matter what a man looks like."
"Well, when Maman and Papa pick a husband for me, I hope he will be handsome," she grinned.
Sylvie was determined not to lose this battle. She wanted her sister to be more content than she herself could ever be. She loved her sister. "Marriage isn't for your sake," she explained, pleased that she sounded so convincing, "it is for the sake of family." She was now in her nightgown, and slid in bed beside Chantal. "Look at this blanket," she said, wrapping it around her slender body. "It was made by our great grandmother. She is gone now, but her blanket stays with
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