Alternate Endings to "Désirée's Baby"
Years pass by, and Armand has not heard anything from Desiree. He thinks about her everyday. How she was the love of his life. How he let her go because of something he knows she was not at fault for. One night, he is having dinner with an old friend who brings up the baby and how it was a dirty little disgrace. The friend goes on and on talking about Desiree and the child until Armand finally bursts like a broken water pipe.
“I am the one who is a dirty little disgrace. Not Desiree, not the baby. It's me. I have dark skin within me.”
The friend sits there. Eyes wider than the ocean. He stands up slowly, pushes in his chair, and walks out of Armand's home without saying goodbye. At that moment, Armand decides that he does not care what color the child is. He just wants to be with the love of his life. The rest of that night, Armand slaves over letters and papers trying to find where Desiree could possibly be. A week later, he wakes up at the crack of dawn to go on his journey when he hears a knock on his door. Confused by who could possibly be at his home so early, he hesitantly opens the door.
It is a child. The two stand staring at each other until the child says, “Hello. You are my father. My mother died last week. Someone shot her in the head.”
Armand stands in the doorway like a deer in headlights, but before he can say anything, he sees his old friend standing behind the child with a gun stained red. Within seconds, the child is shot.
“You're welcome, my good friend. Nobody has to know your secret.”
​
-- Sammie Blicker
His hands ferociously gripped the fraying paper like the notorious King Cobra. It seemed as if his anger was far too mighty and unpredictable to stay contained among his organs any longer; the furniture even seemed to hold its breath. Then, in an instant, he nonchalantly tossed the kryptonite -infested letter into the flames without a hint of doubt. His boots, which cried for attention with every clanky step, purposefully carried him to the safe, and then out the door. He kept his head down as rain garnished his tanned face. Armand’s fingers continually found themselves fiddling with the metal that rested inside of his secretive pocket. Passersby grew unsettled once locking eyes with him, for he exuded mania as concentrated as the cologne on his damp neck. His impressive strides shrunk once the rusty staircase materialized in his field of vision. Suddenly and uncharacteristically, Armand appeared timid. His feet shook as he climbed, acting as if he were experiencing the impacts of an internal earthquake. Armand never possessed the patience to wait for a proper welcoming, but he halted at the doorway after a single knock. A woman answered with a look of horror and excitement plastered on her round face. Upon entering, Armand found that he could no longer mask his disgust and hatred for his hostess, and his index finger found its way back to the hidden object. He pulled out the pearly-toned firearm with the passion of a hundred white suns. The old lady did not even blink as her chocolate-river eyes stared down the muzzle to the bullet.
She grinned and sighed, “I knew this day would come, sweet boy.” Armand shifted in his thick shoes and readjusted his grip with moist palms.
“You have cursed me eternally”, he barked.
A blood-curdling boom encompassed the home, but no unassuming pedestrian could begin to imagine the scene inside. A fair, frail girl stood hovering over a dead man’s body, staring with pride and fright at an appalled old woman, with a dark baby under her left arm and a white pistol in her right.
​
-- Shelby Coleman
Desiree knew the minute she walked out of Armand’s life that she would be raising her baby alone. She walked and walked for days carrying him, living off of the last bit of money they had left. They watched the sun disappear at night and climb every morning. Desiree had to find shelter soon and knew she couldn’t go anywhere where she was known by anyone. Her insecurity laid in the fact that she wasn’t sure what color she was. All of the walking she had done made her shoes dissolve into nothing. The pain in her bloody feet made the days longer and made the search for shelter more compelling. Thus, she found an abandoned barn house and thought it was the beginning for her, and the baby’s, new life. There was a sad-looking couch that was as old as time, but Desiree believed it was perfect for the baby to get some rest. As Desiree became familiar with the house, she grew wistful of all of the time she had spent with Armand. All of their memories made her knees weak. Each day for Desiree was like a turtle trapped in a fishnet. She grew into a depression and felt her brain spiral. She seemed as though she was developing into a maniacal state, and knew she couldn’t stop it from taking over her body. The baby’s caterwauling cries amplified her madness. Desiree fell to her knees, desperate for help, not only for herself but for the baby. She died on a drizzling Thursday afternoon, resigning. Not too long after, the baby starved to death and no one heard from them again.
​
-- Maxine Danni
For years, Désirée and the baby were nowhere to be found. There were many rumors floating around the small town in Louisiana: they died from starvation in the woods, Désirée killed herself and the baby, and others speculated that Désirée took her baby and fled to a small town in Alabama. However, Armand did not care about Désirée and his newly born child, for he convinced himself that the letter he found describing his origin was made up by Désirée as a result anger towards her own past.
​
It was a December evening; the evening prior to Armand’s birthday. Dark, heavy clouds began to swallow the stars in the sky, and lighting cracked followed by a screech of thunder. Armand, who sat alone, rocked in the chair that Désirée once cradled her baby to sleep in. He lit a fire across the room. Fire always seemed to make him feel less lonely during thunderstorms.
​
A new sound echoed across the house. It was light, but strong enough for Armand to hear it over the whispers from fire and the screams from the storm. Armand dragged himself from the chair, letting it swing back and forth as he carried himself towards the door. As he walked, a roar of thunder trembled through the sky, causing the floors of the house to shake; the stuffed bear on the rocking chair fell to the floor. Armand opened the door to a blank canvas. No one was there. As he looked around, the corner of his eye caught glimpse of red on the wood deck. A cake frosted vigorously with crumby white frosting sat below him, and it read “Happy Birthday Armand” in sloppy red gel. Then, a worn-out looking piece of paper, lightly touched with frosting residue, laid beside it reading “Love, Désirée”.
​
-- Sara Goodwich
It took months before Desiree was finally able to return home to her mother. Her mother was aware that it was Armand who marked the child with the curse of slavery, yet no matter how many times she tried to explain this to Desiree, her daughter remained full of shame, and heartbroken. Although Desiree's baby was a constant reminder of all that she had lost, this fact did not break the unconditional love that a mother feels for her child.
​
It was ten years after she had left Armand that she finally received a letter. She carefully examined the envelope and debated whether to open it. On the back of the envelope were specific instructions to send this letter to Desiree after Armand had passed. As she stood in the dining room and stared at the letter, her eyes filled with tears. She quickly placed the envelope in a drawer, wiped her tears, and continued on with her day. She never read that letter. There were many times when she considered reading it, especially in her final days, but she couldn't bring herself to actually do it. That letter sat in the drawer for another seven years after Desiree's death.
​
It was that baby boy, who was now a man, who finally read the letter. He had never known much about his father, for his mother hid that part of her life from him. He opened the letter and first read what mostly consisted of an apology. Armand confessed that it was him who cursed their son. Little did Armand know that Desiree had died holding on to that guilt. Armand also said that after Desiree and the baby left, his slaves became aware of his true genetic history, and they rebelled. He spent much time in his house hiding, and in his final hours, he reflected on all that he had lost. It was when Desiree's baby got to the end of the letter that he was completely shocked. At the end of the letter Armand revealed that he had given away the deed to his house. He had gifted the hundreds of acres of land to Desiree's baby
​
-- Danielle Jaffe
Armand walked down the hallway till he reached the blazing fire. He took out the letter, which had crinkled from being clutched in his fist, and threw the last letter into the fire. He watched till the embers ran onto the paper and every hint of Desiree burned alongside the proof of his true origin.
​
Within the span of a year, Armand Aubigny had, for the second time, fallen in love, as if struck by a pistol shot. The girl was fresh-faced and fairer than anyone else in Louisiana. Once again, the corbeille was ordered from Paris; then they were married. Isabel moved in and the burnt circle in the smoothly swept backyard was now covered. The negroes knew better than to dare speak of Desiree, and L’abri showed no sign of a previous mistress’s or child’s gentle presence.
​
The spring came with blossoming flowers and a new child. Armand had made sure none of the quadroon boys were ever to be near his latest son, unless they wanted to be punished. The mother spent most of her days recovering indoors near her child, where the curtained windows let in little light. The boy grew and soon began begging to play outside. Armand continuously refused. It wasn't until Armand finally absented himself from the home one day, that Isabel let her boy go outdoors. She watched as he ran around with the fairer boys and noticed his similarities to Armand. It was after questioning the blacks of L’abri for days away from Armand’s watchful eyes, that she was given the answer she was looking for.
​
That afternoon, Isabel waited outside. Upon Armands arrival, she grabbed one of the quadroon boys and placed him next to her son, waiting for a reply. Instead, he rode past her as if she weren't there. He went straight into his study and wrote a letter to Madame Valmonde before proceeding to come back outside. He felt the stares of the negros on his back as he heard the cries of Isabel standing alongside her son.
The years of guilt had finally caught up to him, making him unable to face them. Armand Aubigny walked across the deserted field, where the stubble attacked his feet as he disappeared among the reeds and willows that grew along the banks of the deep sluggish bayou; the same ones that had been walked on by a young mother carrying a young child just 7 years before.
​
-- Samara Jivani
The letters stopped coming. Armand had not received word from Desiree for months. His once cold and violent nature worsened. With each passing day, Armand reflected on his argument with Desiree. “She had to leave. I could not have looked at that child each morning. I made the right choice”, he thought to himself. At the age of twelve, Armand began to notice the difference in his mother’s complexion. Her skin was darker than most of the women in France. At first, he convinced himself that she was simply just tanner. Yet, after further consideration, he knew it was impossible to be so tan when the weather was always dark and gloomy. Armand refused to accept his mother’s race for years. The thought of being partially black made him sick. Convincing himself he was white; he took over his father’s plantation with fuming rage. His love for Desiree and their child caused him to bury his immense anger. It wasn’t until he began to see the same qualities of his mother in his child. Fury and hatred poured out of his mouth as he scolded Desiree. Guilt caused his heart to sink for just a second before he began to reassure himself of his “white” race. Armand returned to his old life before he had met Desiree, yet he disastrously became viler. The townspeople distanced themselves from Armand’s home, for the disappearance of slaves from his fields began to frighten them. It was only a matter of time before Armand began to disappear as well.
​
-- Ariana Kodad
​
​
With hesitation clear in his actions, he let the paper flutter into the burning abyss. Armand left his slaves with orders to clean up the remnants of the bonfire as he retired back to his room. That memory still follows him to this day, as he retires to his room after work.
​
Making sure that no one was around, Armand opened a secret door, hidden behind his bookshelf. A hidden shrine was what lay in the opening, with two clay pots. One a medium size white pot with flowers decorating the sides, another smaller one, baby blue with a single black rose on the front. With them, a small picture frame in between, of his wife and his child. It had been 10 years since that scarring week, when he found his loved ones remains. In her heart broken state, Desiree fled to the woods with her child and gets lost. While foraging for food, Desiree’s baby wanders off from where she left it, and what she returned to is what drove her to her end. A drunk group of hunters had found her child and used him as a target with their bows. Seeing her child’s body full of arrows, Desiree was so ridden with guilt that when the hunters left, she collected her child in her arms and used one of the arrows left behind to strike herself in the chest. Armand later got wind of the group that had done such a cruel deed and knew in that instance, it was his child. Sending out a search for his wife and baby, he came upon their bodies, already being consumes by the nature around them. Cremating them only made sense as no dressing could make the bodies look less gruesome.
​
-- Elizabeth Lannin
​
​
Armand stood fossilized, his eyes being the only things showing any sign of life as they wandered between the word “cursed” and the adjacent darkness suddenly plaguing his thumb. His vision blurred, and the words became illegible, but it did not matter since they were already imprinted onto his mind as skin is to flesh.
​
Armand bolted towards the bonfire, letter still in hand, frantically searching for any remnants of his lost love. He spotted surviving silk slowly surrendering to the flames. Armand, ready to burn his skin in pursuit of salvaging the silk, was stopped by his shocked slaves’ scrutiny. His hyperventilation and the fire’s crackle rhythmically intertwined to produce the only sound amidst the vast silence.
“Leave! Be free! You are cursed no longer! Leave!” Armand did not turn to see their reaction, for he fled before he could do so. He had no sense of direction, but his trembling knees steered his heavy feet into the darkness that inundated the night more than usual. His steps, guided by despair and fueled by hope, led him to the battered road.
​
In the distance, Armand could finally see a familiar stone pillar. There was a figure lying against it while she cradled a sleeping baby. Armand’s attention shifted to a nearby oak tree, and he began heading in its direction as his steps barely left an imprint in the dirt, the dry leaves beneath his tired feet still left intact. The darkness engulfed his silhouette into the safety of obscurity.
“If only she had changed her mind regarding her fate too.” Lying against the stone pillar stood Madame Valmonde. She was dressed in black lace from head to toe, speaking somberly to Desiree’s baby. It suddenly awoke and began crying out for “Dada.” Armand breathed an indescribable sigh of relief as his eyes moistened profusely, and a small grin grew on his face. He excitedly took one step out from behind the tree before stopping himself when he realized he was not whom his child called out for. Monsieur Valmonde emerged and took the baby from his wife’s arms, and together the three of them went back inside. It was as if Armand had been struck by a pistol once again, but this time in acceptance of his eternal enslavement to remorse.
​
-- Cecilia Nakfoor
​
​
Looking around, Armand quickly folded the letter and stuck it into his jacket pocket. He’s known the truth for a long while now, except he hasn’t been looking for a chance to share it with the world. Looking out the window he thought of what Desiree might think of him if she ever found out. Would she still love him after he’d been so cruel towards her? Would she except the fact that he was the one who’d had been cursed with the brand of slavery? So many questions roamed around in his head, like a lone wolf trying to find his pack. He thought back to the time of when his uncle met his mother. How he used to give her odd looks. Armand was just a little boy back then and he never truly understood it, at least not until he became of age. As he grew older, he spent more time with his uncle. They did everything together, played checkers, attended horse races, and even went hunting. Throughout this time, his uncle would tell Armand stories of the great king that once lived. The king was fair skinned, he only allowed the light to walk in his kingdom, all others were cursed outside of the kingdom to the dark woods. It was at this time that Armand learned the difference between the natural and the sable. Ever since that day, he became insecure and repelled by his heritage. He realized he must hide this gruesome secret until the end of time. Which is exactly what he did.
​
-- Nina Pitonakova
A fortnight has passed since the departure of Desiree and her son. Since then, Armand has destroyed every last remaining piece of her, and he has been riddled with disgust. Disgusted by his true heritage, disgusted with his offspring, and has grown increasingly erratic. He even would go as far as thinking he can still hear the sharp wails of his son, contrast with the soft coos of his former infatuation. Day by day his sanity began to wither, everyone closes to him were fading in and out of his life, like apparitions in the sunlight. Later that night, in his chambers, a violent storm was thrashing through the country side of Louisiana. But the real storm was inside Armand. Laying restless, he tossed and turned in the hot linen sheets and reassuring himself of Desiree and the baby’s death. He thought to himself, “They surely are dead. Dead. Dead. And even if they were to survive all this long, God’s vengeance will have struck them down by now this night’’. But just before he could rest, a brilliant glowing figure appears at his bed side. “My beloved’’ he stammers. Suddenly the distant wails he so often hears return, only this time strikingly loud, almost deafening. “It cannot be”. Desiree, with a brief swipe of her hand blows the entire side of the estate open to world. “My dear, you have brought this on your own’’. The screaming and wailing grow more intense. Desiree’s spirit vanished from his bedside. Thinking the worst is over, Armand tries to sleep, but the rain from the storm blows into his bedroom quarters, skimming the side of his face. Then the rain abruptly end. Fast asleep, the most awesome display of raw power strikes the Aubigny Estate. Everything up in flames. Including Armand.
​
-- Sydney Schiller
Hiding, but not dead, Desiree and her baby stay tucked away in the depths of the vast open land their setting has to offer. Desiree cares for her child as any mother would do, but with limited resources there is not much she has to offer. Their days are simple and warm under the beating southern sun. In her mind she knows that she is not at fault, but Desiree carries the burden of her ex-husband with her every day.
​
Back at L’Abri, Armand does the same things each day. He wakes up, researches, watches from his window, and goes to sleep. This cycle was never ending. His studies included women who would belong to him next, and he waited for their arrival. He had a list that detailed out every female in Louisiana that could possibly his name. He read, compared, and examined hundreds of beautiful white ladies, and looked through the large glass window in his kitchen hoping for a winner. This system had not proven successful yet, but he was hopeful. He knew love existed because he loved Desiree until she exposed his secret with her child.
​
The baby continued to grow and learn more about life. He took his first step, said his first word and learned to not go near bugs that would sting him all with his thoughtful mom in the middle of nowhere. He became accustomed to this life, but Desiree had not. She missed her bedroom, running water, and and the rest of the amenities that came with living in a house. Her heart longed to be back with other people, yet she soaked up every moment with her baby.
​
-- Abby Sinberg
Armand, six months after Desiree and his child left him, was in full remorse. Not only did Armand have a feeling of remorse, but he also felt ashamed of his actions. He knew he had to attempt to step foot on a long journey to try to get them back. That journey wasn’t going to be an easy one. Armand had no clue where Desiree and his baby even started to go. Leaving L’Abri meant leaving his house and slaves, but more importantly, it meant he had to finally accept that his child was black. He passed on his authority to his cousin as he parted from his slaves. Armand packed a small satchel consisting of an apple, a water filter, and a journal. Armand’s uncle, Thomas, came to say goodbye when he was stopped by a sudden sight of footsteps along with oddly shaped footsteps next to those. He knew they were Desiree’s just by the sight of them. Thomas decided to ignore them and continued on with saying goodbye to his nephew. For a long time, Thomas tried to convince Armand to stay in L’Abri in case Desiree returned. Armand finished packing up and started his mission. After three long, hot, rainy nights of his mission he ended up at his destination. A shed in the middle of a rainforest which Desiree and him always dreamed of going. Armand looked all around the shed and through the trees, yet there was no site of Desiree and his baby. While Armand looked for Desiree in the forest, Desiree had made an abrupt decision to come back him, so that her son could grow up with a dad unlike herself. When she arrived back at L’Abri, she noticed Armand was gone. The rage and sadness kicked into Desiree when she assumed Armand might be dead. Ironically Armand felt the same when he couldn’t find Desiree and his baby. Armand leaving with an idea that he couldn’t go back and fix his mistakes devastated him.
​
-- Keely Sullivan
Armand oversaw the servants carefully peeled back the aging wallpaper of the room that Desiree and her child once slept in. Paper that once watched his mother and father as they went about their lives would now find itself crumpled in the trash. Hands clasping one of the wallpaper shreds, aged yellow, one of the servants walked over to Armand.
“Will you be keeping this?” She asked, turning over a slip of wallpaper to his firm grasp.
Armand paled at the paper, revealing itself not to be a simple wall spread, but instead one with something extra on its flipside. The paper crinkled under his tightening grip, sowing deep lines into the dusty floral pattern, his eyes narrowing before scanning the last line.
​
“I will attend to the rest of this room,” Armand said hurriedly. He shooed the help out of the room with a flick of his wrist and immediately set off to work.
​
Within minutes, his fingernails bled crimson like the jaw of a wolf that killed for the first time in weeks, each scrap confirmed his suspicions. Armand’s hands shook violently, though his eyes kept glancing over his shoulder in case a servant passed by in the halls.
​
His brain barely had a chance to catch up with his hand before he found himself carefully cradling a lit match. The flame grew closer and closer to his already pained fingertips, yet he soldiered on.
Decades-old wallpaper catches aflame quite quickly, especially when the love letters, pasted on the back by a mother and father, are written with ink that is just as dry as the paper itself.
​
-- Jamie Trope
These words seemed to be branded into his head, the smell of burnt flesh sizzled. Armand’s shaky hands stuffed the letter into his pocket. Slowly he raised his head until his eyes met with the mirror. It was a standoff that lasted no longer than a minute between him, silence, and his reflection. A reflection that lacked familiarity and sparked rage. Rage that transcended into a wildfire. The fire’s blazes outside irrupted as a slave tossed another satin dress into the heat. Soon the contents in his path became destroyed glass, paper, and furniture laid in disarray scattered like contents after a storm. The final destruction was the mirror that hung so elegantly over the unlit fire place. The shards shattered as Armand’s fists connected with the black figure it projected. His body collapsed to the floor, sitting in the middle of his destruction, tears begin painting his face caressing his cheeks similar to how his Desiree once had. The fire simmered down outside as the slaves ran out of its fuel. Armand stood up slowly the sound of glass crunching echoed with each calm step he took. Every few steps the sound was accompanied by the dripping of blood that was released by his raw knuckles. His mind wondered thinking back to the day he let Desiree leave as he had watched idly from a window. His calm steps became more purposeful at the thought of her. He exited the house and began running through his backyard which had collected a gathering of his confused slaves. His run escalated into a sprint crying out Desiree’s name into the empty field. Without any responses his screech’s persisted only to be silenced by the discovery of a long thin white piece of fabric snagged by the protruding tree. He stared at the innocent piece of fabric, realizing she was gone. Walking back to his palace he dragged the fabric behind his emotionless face. He passed his slaves in silence who strangely felt pity for his erotic actions. Stopping at the dimming fire he glanced once more at the field that had swallowed his family and whispered, “I’m sorry”. Sweeping the fabric across the sparks, the end took on the blaze. The burning fabric, rapidly decreasing in size by each second, was still in Armand’s hand as he continued his calm march into the doorway of the house. The slaves watched as the inferno began consuming the house, its contents, and Armand all inside. Their attention was uninterrupted as they watched the magnificent glow. Too enthralled no one noticed the dark wailing figure which emerged from the field. At closer glance when the light illuminated its face it presented a bruised and beaten Desiree in her arms lay a fresh and clean baby. Limping through the crowd of slaves their eyes slowly became glued on her. Desiree started at the fire in front of her as her and her baby cried. Without a word she laid the baby at their feet and like a moth to a flame walked inside to find Armand.
​
-- Emma Yurko