Waiting for the Queen by Joanna Higgins

closer.
    He turns and, seeing us, bows. “Ah, my lady! I am merely teaching my servant an important lesson. Allow me to proceed, if you please.”
    â€œAnd what lesson might that be, Monsieur Rouleau?”
    â€œOne in obedience. You would agree, would you not, that such lessons are necessary for our servants. Otherwise”—his shoulders lift and fall—“we have anarchy and rebellion and even revolution.”
    â€œHow is this girl rebelling?”
    â€œBy accepting what I ordered her not to accept.”
    â€œAnd what might that be?”
    â€œGifts—from the Americans. The free-thinking Americans.”
    â€œWhat, exactly, have they given her?”
    â€œBoots, my lady, when I forbade it.”
    â€œBoots! Can they not use boots? Are boots not useful in their work for you?”
    â€œBe that as it may, I have forbidden it, and I am their master. Not the Americans. My slaves must not have divided loyalties.”
    â€œWhich Americans in particular have given your slaves boots?”
    â€œThe Kimbrells, mademoiselle.”
    â€œThe ones who attempted to build them a maison? ”
    â€œIndeed, the very ones.”
    â€œAnd why do you not wish them to have a house?”
    â€œPardon me, but it is not for me to fully explain my reasoning to you, mademoiselle. Perhaps you might ask your father for enlightenment. Or the marquis. Now, if you will excuse me.”
    Roughly, he pulls the girl away from the river. She has nothing at all on her feet!
    In this cold. In the mud.
    â€œMonsieur Rouleau! You are a cruel man. And as stupid as those peasants who tore up the gardens at Le Petit Trianon out of spite.”
    He glowers but is clever enough not to reply.
    â€œAlso, you have ruined my morning!”
    â€œIs something wrong, Eugenie?” Maman asks at our dinner.
    There is rye bread and cheese on my plate, and a dish of applesauce on the side. There is even a spice cake at the center of our table. I have been looking at all this food for some time but cannot eat.
    â€œEugenie!” Maman says. “The cheese is decent, as is the bread. Our servant has not managed to ruin these, at least. Are you becoming ill, my daughter?”
    â€œPapa, Maman—I believe I now understand something about freedom.”
    â€œAnd what is that?” Papa says.
    â€œI think . . . it is a state of being in which we can better our situation. We have the right, at least, to do so if we choose. The opposite is . . . slavery. If one is a slave, then one has no such right or power. One cannot better one’s situation at all.”
    â€œAre there Americans here,” Maman asks, “who speak such good French?”
    â€œI have talked with no one! It is what I have seen for myself.”
    When I finish telling them about Rouleau and the boots, Papa strikes the table. He has not done so since we left France. “The man is a tyrant! I must speak to Talon.”
    â€œHe will simply call you a republican.”
    â€œHe may call me what he wishes, but we should not tolerate such behavior here, in our settlement. The man is getting his revenge for having been burnt out. He is taking out his anger on his few loyal slaves, slaves who helped put out the fires on his plantation! Rouleau himself tells the storywith satisfaction. His behavior violates human decency. I am going to speak with him this night.”
    â€œWho? Not Rouleau?”
    â€œTalon.”
    â€œThere was not supposed to be strife here,” Maman says.
    â€œWhat is supposed to be and what is seldom conjoin, I am afraid.”
    When he leaves, Maman says, “I wish you would just remain inside, Eugenie. Play the harpsichord. Read. Why must you be out so much?”
    â€œSylvette needs her walk, and I, too, or I shall forget how.”
    â€œThen go with Florentine. He at least can . . . protect you.”
    â€œOh, Maman, I would probably be the one to protect him!”
    â€œAre you