Chapter Five

five

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" JEMMA asked, although the question seemed stupid. She'd heard the woman perfectly.

"Our family, although proud and distinguished, has a curse on it. Every seven years, on March twelfth, one of us dies. In a most unpleasant way, I might add. We've hired you in hopes that you can break the curse before that date next year."

The plaques on the family burial vault loomed in Jemma's mind.

One of us is going to die if she doesn't fix this!

Jemma glanced at Simone, whose face registered no shock. Looking around, she saw that none of their faces did. They all believed this.

"What makes you think I can break a curse? I'm a teacher, not a…a…"

"You have more talents than you think. Don't be so sure you can't save this family. We looked into your background. We know about you. A couple of mediums we've consulted in the past have told us what you might be capable of. And we know you need this position. We know about your old job, the one you lost after you tried to kill yourself. We know that your father, Carl Barker, died just a couple of months ago and that you spent nearly your last penny giving him a proper burial. You were living with a man you're not married to and he put you out—"

"He didn't put me out," Jemma spit, her face hot. "I left."

"Rather than raise another woman's bastard, of course you did."

Jemma sat, the stillness of her body in contrast with the many questions running through her head, each clamoring for first place in line.

How did they know all these things?

Who were these people?

Would they hurt her?

How crazy were they?

And something else, a surprising thing beneath her fright. She'd grown to like it here. She'd put Lulu's and Charlie's warnings aside, had convinced herself that they were the crazy ones. She had a place here, even if it wasn't her home, even if the Duchons weren't her family. She'd ignored the whisperings of her intuition, shut her eyes to the ghosts, because she wanted so much to stay.

Even now, as a part of her shouted for her to stand up and run, another part glanced at Fosette's open and inviting face. That part also glossed over the anxiety shining out of the woman's eyes.

"I don't know how you know all these things about me," Jemma started, faced with the futility of denying any of the truths. "But I think there's been a mistake. I'll pack my things and head to the train station." She pushed her chair back and stood.

"And go where? And with what money?" Honorine asked mildly. "You accepted the job I offered you because you're all but penniless. Are you going to go back to that man? Why, he probably has his whore moved in already. Your parents are dead and they left you with nothing." She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Jemma. "Where will you go?"

Jemma looked across the table at Russell, with his slight paunch pushing against an oxford shirt, the boxy shoulders of his blazer well out of fashion. At Simone, her gray eyes studying an amber liquid in her goblet. At Laurence, in a dowdy tie and blazer. At Honorine, who spoke in tones that suggested nothing more unusual than the day's menu.

"Please, Miss Barker, sit down, and I will explain why we hired you."

"No, I don't think I will. I'm leaving."

She pushed herself out of the room and up the stairs, a mix of fear, sadness and confusion weighing down her steps. As much as she liked it here, she had no idea what intentions the Duchons had for her. Since they knew she was from Chicago, they should also know that she wasn't some na?f. She'd seen plenty growing up, and one thing she learned early on: leave crazy people to be crazy.

Jemma squashed the pile of wrinkled clothes flat before slamming her suitcase shut. She couldn't believe her new life was ending before it had really begun. She'd grown to like the ease and the budding acceptance this chapter had offered.

After she packed, pushing aside the fact that she had a four-mile trek ahead of her (perhaps longer if the buses had stopped running for the evening), she turned to find Fosette leaning against the bedroom doorframe.

"You can't leave."

"You're wrong. Please move out of my way."

She was afraid that Fosette would do no such thing, but she allowed Jemma to pass. She ignored the questions rising in her mind, each one a wave with a bigger one behind it, as she scurried downstairs, quick footsteps behind her. Jemma turned to the woman when they were halfway down.

"You knew. You treated me nice, and all the time you knew why I was hired. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Jemma, I'm so sorry, but please, listen to Grandmère. We had good reason for bringing you here, and you never would have come if we'd told you the truth. You'd have thought we were mad and never even responded to us."

Jemma's lips tightened, holding back a retort, which Fosette seemed to sense.

"All right, it sounds crazy. I know that. But you're safe here. No one's going to hurt you! Can you just come back in and sit down and listen? After that, you can decide. But we do need you."

She didn't want to be pulled in by Fosette, but curiosity tugged at her. They needed her. And as much as she didn't want to admit it to herself, she needed the job.

At the very least, it couldn't hurt to hear them out.

She returned the suitcase to her bedroom and followed Fosette to the dining room. As they took their seats, Fosette said, "There's nothing for you back in Chicago. Your place is here now. With us."

"Do you know about this, too?" Jemma asked Agnes, who pushed a rolling cart toward the doorway that led to the kitchen. Surely someone around here had to be sane! But the maid only stopped for a brief moment before she disappeared into the next room.

"You're wasting your time expecting any answers from her," Honorine said. "She's dumb."

Jemma faced the family matriarch, her mouth open.

"That's right. She cannot speak. Miss Barker, as I've told you, we believe you have the power to break the curse that's been set on our family. It's vital that you do this before next March twelfth, before another of us dies."

"Is that what you're paying me for?"

Honorine gave a brief nod.

"Then you're wasting your money. I don't know the first thing about curses, let alone breaking them. And yes, you're right. I need the money. That's why I accepted this job. I don't know how you know all these things about me, but since you did all that digging, you should've known that I don't know how to do what you're asking."

Jemma sat back, puffing out a quick breath.

"I trust that you'll figure things out."

"How, Mrs.Duchon? I don't see how I could possibly do anything to help you." She looked at the others' faces, searching for any hint of reason among them. Turning back to Honorine, she insisted, "I don't even think I believe in curses. None of this makes sense."

"Whether you believe or not, this is real. And if you do not break the curse, Miss Barker, you face the same possible fate as the rest of us."

"What?"

"The curse affects all of the Duchon line. And you are a part of that line. You are our family, our prodigal daughter returned. If the curse remains unbroken, you also risk a most horrible death."

Simone cackled, her head thrown back, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. Jemma paid that only cursory attention as Honorine's words echoed in her head. The woman was telling her she was related to them. That she could die, just like them.

"You're wrong," Jemma whispered to Honorine, shaking her head at the absurdity. "That can't be."

"You know you were adopted, right?"

"Yes…but I can't—" The words "be part of this family" rested behind Jemma's lips, only for her to bite down on them. Whether she believed it or not, that she belonged with these people, she wanted to, wanted to be part of their beautifulness, as if it were a thing that rubbed off. Jemma knew she was no ugly duckling, but she was as drab as one when compared with this family of swans. Her certainty had little to do with the shape of her eyes or the way her nose stopped in a rounded point. It had nothing to do with her figure, which was willowy and fine. But her skin and kinky hair, which set her firmly in the brown camp, made her second tier in a world where "if you're light, you're all right" was the place many of them aspired to be. A flush warmed her face. Had any of the Duchons seen her shame at being adopted but never feeling wanted?

"Be part of this family?" Honorine finished for her. "How do you think we know so much about you? Why do you think we offered you this position, out of all the people we could have hired? It's not a job for just anyone. The curse has to be broken by family."

Jemma looked at each of the others, her mind a chaotic minefield. Honorine was lying; she had to be. Yes, she knew Carl and Mabel Barker had adopted her as a baby. They'd told her as much when she turned fourteen. Apparently her mother hadn't wanted to, but Daddy had insisted.

"We owe you the truth," he'd said, a self-satisfied gleam in his eye.

Jemma hadn't asked for the truth, though, had been fine believing that the adults who raised her were her biological parents. She'd never once noticed a lack of a resemblance, because like her, Carl and Mabel were brown-skinned people, and she looked like she belonged to them.

And yet…

Something had bothered her from the time she was very young, when she'd first seen a ghostly woman sitting at the foot of her bed. When Jemma had told Mama about it, her mother had looked frightened but had tried to explain it away. While Daddy, for some reason she didn't understand then and had only a wisp of understanding dancing just beyond her grasp now, had seemed furious.

But to be one of the Duchons?

"I don't believe you," Jemma said, crossing her arms. "If I'm actually part of this family, who are my mother and father? How am I related to you, to each one of you?"

"Your mother's name was Inès Lily Duchon—"

"Was?" Jemma interrupted.

"She died, tragically, right after you were born."

"Who was she to you?"

"My youngest daughter."

Jemma caught Simone's gaze. If that was true, it made Simone her aunt, Fosette and Laurence her cousins, Russell her uncle.

"That makes you my…"

"Grandmother," Honorine finished, giving Jemma a brief nod.

The horror and pride this elicited in Jemma shocked her, brought about a self-loathing that she should want so badly to be one of them. She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head.

"No, no, no, no, this can't be. I am not related to you people."

"Your birthday is March 12, 1935. You were born upstairs, in the room you occupy now."

"Who's my father?" The question seemed to come on its own.

"A man your mother fancied but wasn't married to."

Another blow.

"But…if I was born here and I'm related to you, why did you give me away?"

"That was your mother's wish."

Jemma pushed back from the table, rising to her feet without being fully aware of it. None of this made sense.

She needed proof, and yet she didn't want it. Because if it was proved to her that she was Honorine's granddaughter, that her mother had wanted her to go away (Why? Why?) , Jemma didn't think she was ready for whatever answers she'd get to the questions that would arise.

"I don't believe you."

"I told you this ungrateful brat would react this way," Simone said to Honorine. "We were right to get rid of her."

"Maman!" Fosette cried.

Jemma stumbled backward, turned and was across the foyer, almost at the front door, when she remembered her suitcase. Three hundred dollars a week or not, she couldn't stay here. Before she could run upstairs, Honorine approached.

"Miss Barker, you cannot leave the property. No, we have no intention of stopping you. But part of the curse binds you to this house, to this property. You're bound, like all the Duchons who were here when your mother placed the curse."

"My—my mother?"

"Yes. Inès cursed our family with her dying breath. None of us has been able to leave the grounds since the day you were born."

"But why…why would she do that?"

Honorine held out her hands, palms up. Jemma rushed toward her, stopping short of grabbing the woman and shaking her.

"Why would my mother curse you? Her own family? Me? Don't you see that what you're saying makes no sense?" A hard laugh erupted from Jemma. Why was she asking questions like this, as if what Honorine had said could possibly be true?

"And yet a part of you does believe." Honorine's eyes held Jemma's gaze. "I see it. You'd do well to believe what I'm saying if you want to live beyond your next birthday. You saw the plaques on our vault. You know I'm telling the truth."

The rest of the family hovered in the archway to the dining room, Laurence standing behind his sister, his hands resting on her shoulders. Menace shone out of Simone's eyes, while Russell dug a pinkie nail between his teeth.

Jemma's eyes darted to the front door, just steps away. She could be out of here in seconds, suitcase be damned. She'd steal money to get on a train if she had to. Anything to get away from here.

And then Fosette was there, slipping her hand in Jemma's, whispering in her ear.

"It really is a matter of life and death. If you help us, you help yourself. We're family now."