A Romance of the Republic

by Lydia Maria Child

"That I can easily imagine," replied his friend. "But I wish you to understand distinctly, that it depends entirely upon Mrs. Fitzgerald and yourself to decide what is to be done in relation to this perplexing affair. We are ready to do anything you wish, or to take any position you prescribe for us. You may prefer to pass in society merely as my young friend, but you are my step-son, you know; and should you at any time of your life need my services, you may rely upon me as an affectionate father."

That word brought cherished hopes to Gerald's mind, and he sighed as he answered, "I thank you."

"Whatever outward inconveniences may arise from this state of things," resumed Mr. King, "we prefer to have them fall upon ourselves. It is of course desirable that you and my daughter should not meet at present. Your vacation has nearly expired, and perhaps you will deem it prudent to return a little sooner than you intended. We shall remain here till late in the autumn; and then, if circumstances render it necessary, we will remove Eulalia to Cuba, or elsewhere, for the winter. Try to bear this disappointment bravely, my son. As soon as you feel sufficiently calm, I would advise you to seek an interview with your mother. Her heart yearns for you, and the longer your meeting is deferred, the more embarrassing it will be."

While this conversation was going on in the parlor, the two mothers of the young man were talking confidentially up stairs. The intense curiosity which Mrs. Fitzgerald had formerly felt was at once renewed when Mrs. King said, "Do you remember having heard any one singing about the house and garden at Magnolia Lawn, the first evening you spent there?"

"Indeed I do," she replied; "and when I first heard you in Rome, I repeatedly said your voice was precisely like that singer's."

"You might well be reminded of it," responded Mrs. King, "for I was the person you heard at Magnolia Lawn, and these are the eyes that peeped at you through the lattice of the veranda."

"But why were you there? And why did you keep yourself invisible?" inquired Mrs. Fitzgerald.

Rosa hesitated a moment, embarrassed how to choose words to convey the unwelcome facts. "My dear lady," said she, "we have both had very sad experiences. On my side, they have been healed by time; and I trust it is the same with you. Will it pain you too much to hear something disparaging to the memory of your deceased husband?"

Mrs. Fitzgerald colored very deeply, and remained silent.

"Nothing but an imperious necessity would induce me to say what I am about to say," continued Mrs. King; "not only because I am very reluctant to wound your feelings, but because the recital is humiliating and painful to myself. When I peeped at you in your bridal attire, I believed myself to be Mr. Fitzgerald's wife. Our marriage had been kept strictly private, he always assuring me that it was only for a time. But you need not look so alarmed. I was not his wife. I learned the next morning that I had been deceived by a sham ceremony. And even if it had been genuine, the marriage would not have been valid by the laws of Louisiana, where it was performed; though I did not know that fact at the time. No marriage with a slave is valid in that State. My mother was a quadroon slave, and by the law that 'a child follows the condition of the mother,' I also became a slave."