Love that Binds

Winter of ’48 came down hard on Lafayette, cold enough to make your breath show in the air and your bones ache if you stayed outside too long. It was in that bitter season that Liora brought a little boy into the world, just a few months after I had my own baby girl, Marceline. Lord knows, during my pregnancy I kept myself tucked away in my own home, mindin’ my business and tendin’ to my belly, because I didn’t know how Liora would take to the news of me carryin’ a child. She hadn’t taken well to her own. She kept her temper behind closed doors, hid her fits from the white folks she wanted so badly to impress, but the Black maids in that house saw enough to know somethin’ wasn’t sittin’ right in her spirit.

Little Ruth, barely grown, but sharp as a tack, had started whisperin’ to me that Miss Liora wasn’t the gentle young madam she pretended to be. The other girls saw it too. They didn’t know the whole truth, not the blood nor the spirits nor the darkness that clung to her like a second skin, but they knew enough to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. Still, they came to me with their worries, especially after Mrs. Lorraine left.

Mrs. Lorraine had worked in that house longer than anybody besides me. A god‑fearing woman, steady and upright, she quit the moment Liora married Mr. Claude. Let her tell it, she left because she saw Liora bringin’ different men into the house after Claude went off to work. Lorraine believed infidelity was a mark of wickedness, and she wasn’t about to stay in a house where sin walked around bold as daylight. She hurried out before she got caught in any mess that might blow up if Mr. Claude ever found out. She wasn’t the only servant to leave, but she was the one whose absence left the deepest hole.

Truth be told, I don’t think Liora cared one bit about losin’ her maids. If anything, those who left were blessed to walk out with their lives.

So why was I back in that house, only four months after givin’ birth to my own baby?

Because Mr. Claude had sent his men to fetch me.

I left Marceline with my sister‑in‑law, who was kind enough to help while Anthony was at work. She had her two little ones there, so I knew my baby would be safe and tended to. With that comfort in my heart, I went to see what Mr. Claude wanted.

He met me in his office as soon as I arrived. Claude Landry was a respectable young man, only twenty‑three, just a few years older than Liora, and he carried himself with a gentleness that made me ache for him. He asked me to sit across from him at his desk, his face tight with worry.

“Mrs. Gallows,” he began softly, “I apologize for callin’ you out of your home after you just had your own baby, but I fear Liora is not adjustin’ well to bein’ a new mother.”

I kept quiet while he explained what the doctors had told him, how some first‑time mothers struggled to bond with their babies, how the adjustment could take time. But Liora had refused to hold her child. Refused to be in the same room with him. Wouldn’t feed him, wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t acknowledge him. In desperation, Claude had called for me, rememberin’ how Liora once told him I raised her after her mama died.

I kept the truth of why that was locked tight inside my chest.

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Claude,” I asked gently, “what is the child’s name?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Gallows,” he said with a small smile. “My son been named Charles, after my older brother.”

I smiled back, though inside I felt a cold certainty. Of course, Liora wanted nothing to do with the child. Tenderness and affection were things that made her meaner, not softer.

After our meeting, in which I agreed to help care for the infant, Claude had a new maid, Jaqueline, show me to the nursery. As we walked the halls, Jaqueline whispered in a hush, her voice tremblin’ like she feared Liora or somethin’ else might hear her. She told me bits and pieces of what had been happenin’ in the house, her words quick and nervous. I saw spirits driftin’ along the edges of the hallway, but I kept my mind fixed on the baby.

And then I stood in the nursery, lookin’ down at young Charles Moreau.

He was a beautiful child with light brown hair, hazel eyes like his father, skin pale and soft. A white child through and through. Nothing in him showed he carried Black blood. Nothing at all.

I was so busy starin’ down at him that I didn’t hear Liora walk into the room.

“I see Claude called you,” she said, her voice sharp as a blade.

I didn’t turn around, but I answered her. “Your husband said you were havin’ a hard time.”

Liora laughed, a cold, bitter sound that made the air feel colder.

“Hard time? I never wanted the little fucker. I tried everything to get rid of this… parasite. Every abortification, and nothing took. I guess your God wanted the little bastard to live.”

She sneered as she stepped up to the crib, starin’ down at her own baby with a disgust so deep it made my stomach twist.

“This child is nothin’ but a burden,” she said, her voice flat and icy. “But since I have him, I might as well use him for somethin’.”

She turned and walked to a soft armchair by the fireplace, her movements smooth and careless. My eyes followed her, but I stayed close to the crib.

“You shouldn’t speak that way about your child, Liora. Your husband…….”

“My husband what?” she snapped, laughin’ again. “That fool is so blinded by love he can’t see how much I hate him.”

“Why do you hate him, Liora?” I asked quietly, finally leavin’ the crib to sit across from her. “Mr. Claude has done nothin’ but love you and give you whatever you want.”

“Love?” she scoffed, her eyes narrowin’. “I don’t want his love. I don’t need it.”

She leaned back in the chair, her face lit by the fire’s glow, and in that moment I realized, clearer than ever, that whatever softness had once lived in Liora had long since died.

I drew in a slow breath, steadyin’ myself the way Mémé Solange taught me when I was a girl, then let my words come out soft but firm, each one shaped by the life I had lived and the life I intended to keep.

“Then hate your husband and everybody else walkin’ God’s green earth if that’s what you want,” I told her, my voice low, my hands folded in my lap to keep them from shakin’. “Let that darkness you carry keep on runnin’ your life, Liora. Let it swallow you whole if that’s the path you choose. But hear me clear, sister. Whatever poison you hold in your heart, whatever wickedness you feed on, you gon’ keep all that far away from the family I done built with my husband. I won’t have you touchin’ what’s mine.”

I turned my eyes back toward the crib, toward the little boy sleepin’ so peacefully he didn’t know the world he’d been born into.

“I’ll care for your son,” I said, softer now, almost a whisper. “He innocent. He doesn’t deserve to be tainted by the things you carry.”

To my surprise, Liora smiled, Lord, not the smile she used on white folks or the one she used when she wanted somethin’. No, this smile was somethin’ else entirely. Somethin’ cold. Somethin’ sharp. Somethin’ that made the hairs on my arms rise.

“Understood, sister,” she said, standin’ up in that silken robe that clung to her like a second skin, barely hidin’ her figure. “Care for the little bastard. I don’t care.”

She stretched, slow and lazy, like a cat that knew it owned the whole room.

“It’s nice to see you finally found a backbone, Nadira,” she said, her voice smooth as cream but cuttin’ like a razor. “But don’t let it go to your head. Out of the love I got for you, I’ll let your words slide.”

She walked toward the door, her bare feet whisperin’ against the floorboards. Then she stopped, turned, and looked at me with eyes that held no warmth, no softness, no sisterly affection, just possession.

“Don’t forget, sissy,” she said, her voice low and almost tender, though there wasn’t a drop of tenderness in it. “I was here first. Love that carpenter. Love that little girl you pushed out. Hell, love that white man’s son. I don’t give a damn.”

She smiled again, that same eerie smile that didn’t belong on any human face.

“But remember… you was mine first.”

She left the room, her shadow stretchin’ long behind her, and the breath I’d been holdin’ finally slipped out of me in a shaky sigh. My whole body felt tight, like I’d been standin’ in a storm that hadn’t quite passed.

It chilled me to my core, but I knew better than to let Liora see it. I can only imagine what hellish game she wants to keep playing. I can only hope that she leaves me and mine alone. As for Mr. Claude. He was so lost in his love for Liora that I do not know if I could save him or even if it would be worth it. He’s a grown man so for the being I’ll keep my word and care for my nephew who will never know the love of his mother.