Authors: Jill Marie Landis
Marie nodded. When she slipped her hand into Kate’s, unexpected tears filled Kate’s eyes. She felt Marie’s hand tighten around hers as they passed Amelie’s room. A breeze wafted through Marie’s room as the two of them made themselves comfortable on the small bed. Side by side they stared at the ceiling.
“Do you think Mama can see us from heaven?” Marie asked.
“I think she can see us perfectly. She’d be very proud of how brave you were today. You and Damian both.”
“Damian is out there having fun with those other children.” There was disapproval in Marie’s tone. “He’s forgotten Mama already.”
Kate slipped her arm around the girl and smoothed back her hair. “Damian is younger than you are, that’s all. He hasn’t forgotten.”
“I’ll never be happy again,” Marie sighed. “I certainly don’t see how I could.”
“Someday you will laugh and play again. Your life will never be the same, but you’ll be happy and laugh and play. You’ll see.”
As Kate stared at the cracks in the plaster ceiling she wished she could believe it.
Neither slept. They were silent until Marie rolled to her side and slipped her arm around Kate’s waist.
“I miss my mama,” she cried.
Kate’s heart contracted. She curled her arm around the girl and held her close.
“I miss her too, honey,” Kate sighed. “I miss her too.”
T
he Boltons were the last to leave. Buoyed by a brief conversation with Jason, Colin watched the couple’s carriage roll down
the drive toward River Road before he sought out Kate. He hadn’t seen her for a good hour and a half, not since she’d disappeared with Marie. He was about to look for her when Damian ran to him in tears. Colin braced himself to keep the boy from knocking him down.
“I don’t want to wash up and nap, Uncle Colin. Tell her I don’t have to.” The boy crossed his arms and glared at Myra, who was bearing down on them.
“I’m sorry, sir, but he’s sweaty and exhausted and full of sweets. I think he needs to rest a while,” she said.
“No. I won’t. I don’t have to do what you say. You’re nobody!” Damian planted his hands on his hips. “Only Uncle Colin can tell me what to do now, right Uncle Colin?”
Colin studied the boy. Damian needed to know who was in charge now.
“Myra did a fine job raising Kate, and while she’s here she will look after you and your sister too. You’re to do as she asks and you must also obey Kate and Eugenie.”
“But—”
“Go with Myra and let her wash that cake off your face. Then take a nap. There’s no shame in resting when you are tired.”
Irritated, Damian tapped his foot.
“Go.” Colin waited, relieved when the boy finally turned his back and plodded off with Myra in his wake.
Eugenie had nearly cleared the makeshift serving table on the gallery. How long would it be, if ever, before they could afford more furniture? Colin scoffed at the thought. A handful of days ago he’d been willing to vacate
Belle Fleuve
. It was premature to think about furnishing the place.
“Where’s Kate, Eugenie?”
“She took little Marie upstairs. Would you like me to fetch her?”
“I’ll go.” He needed to see Kate, to make certain she was all right.
Eugenie glanced at his cane. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he said.
He climbed the stairs slowly, stopping at the open door to Amelie’s room. The curtains lifted on the soft breeze. The bed was freshly made and a vase of fresh flowers had been placed on the dresser, but the room held an aching emptiness.
He took a step. A floorboard creaked beneath his weight.
Two doors down, Kate opened the door to the children’s room and held her finger to her lips. She stepped out and closed the door behind her without making a sound.
“Marie is asleep.” She came toward him.
He missed her smile. Once she’d realized Amelie was gone, Kate’s sparkle, her hope, the light that kept her fighting to make things better for everyone, had been extinguished.
She wore a heavy black gown that dwarfed her trim frame and gave her the appearance of a child playing grown-up. It washed out her complexion. Her spectacles magnified her red-rimmed, swollen eyes.
He watched her glance into Amelie’s room and thought for a moment that she was going to wilt, but then she drew herself up. The light in her eyes was gone, but there was a new hardness to her lips.
“I failed her,” she said.
“Do you really think you could have kept her alive?”
“At least
I
was willing to try.”
“And I wasn’t? Is that what you are saying?”
“You resigned yourself to her death.”
Standing taxed his strength but there was nowhere to sit on the gallery. Pain gave an edge to his voice.
“My sister knew she was dying and accepted it. I hope I helped her go in peace. Let go, Kate. Regret won’t do any good. I spent years wishing I hadn’t gone to war, wishing I had protected my mother and sister.” He shrugged. “If I hadn’t reenlisted, I’d still be able to walk.”
“You are walking.”
He shook his head. “Barely.”
He waited, expecting a word of encouragement. Expecting the old Kate.
Instead she looked at him a moment and shrugged. “I understand you better than ever now, Colin. I know why you locked yourself up the way you did. Why you gave up. This feeling of loss, of helplessness, is unbearable.” She clasped her hands and walked to the railing overlooking the front lawn.
“People die, Kate.”
He was going about this badly. This was not the way to put the light back into her eyes.
“Walk with me,” he urged. “Let’s go down and sit in the garden.”
“I’m too tired.”
On impulse he took her hand. Shock flashed across her face but she didn’t pull away. He was glad. She matched her steps to his slow shuffle as he made his way down the stairs again. Her hand was small, dwarfed by his.
“I thought you were crazy for insisting Amelie might return and that I should be ready,” he said. “What happened to all of that determination?”
“What good did it do me? Amelie’s gone. The house … this place …” She sounded hopeless as they stepped out onto the lower gallery and headed for the garden.
“It wasn’t until I buried my sister in the Baudier mausoleum today that I understood what you’ve been trying to tell me. This place, this land, is our birthright. It’s been in my family since 1720. Somehow, some way, I have to restore
Belle Fleuve
and build a life for those children. Talking with Bolton has given me a glimmer of hope. We—”
She cut him off.
“I’m so happy you’ve had that epiphany, Colin.” She clasped her hands and turned away, then walked over to the long windows
overlooking the garden maze. “That will free me to go back to New Orleans.”
“You can’t.” Suddenly he didn’t want her going anywhere. “I’m barely on my feet.”
“You’re getting stronger every day.” She continued to gaze toward the river. “I … I must go. I’ve found work with the architect Roger Jamison. It’s a wonderful opportunity to finally put my training to work and become a professional. I can no longer afford to work on drawings in my spare time.” Her brow creased with worry. “Because I need … to be useful.” She seemed hesitant to say more.
“I think you may have misunderstood when I said that I would care for Amelie’s children.”
“You’re not going to?” Kate asked.
“Yes, of course I am, but I can’t do it alone.”
He crossed the room, took hold of her hand, and watched the color leave her face. He wasn’t saying anything correctly.
“I can’t do this alone, Kate. I need you here pushing and prodding. I need someone who won’t quit when things get tough.”
She turned. “What are you saying?”
“You can’t leave. Not yet.”
She laughed, but there was no warmth in it. “A month ago you couldn’t wait to see the last of me.”
“The children need you.” He couldn’t imagine dealing with them on his own. When he had no idea what to say to them, Kate did. If it hadn’t been for her the house would still be a shambles and he’d be wallowing in self-pity.
“I’ll see them often. In fact, I’ve been thinking of ways we could share—”
“I need you
here
, Kate. We all do.”
He needed her to keep him from crawling back into the darkness, but to tell her that would make him feel less than a man.
“Please, Kate, for the children. Stay.”
They had paused beneath an oak draped with Spanish moss,
a tree that had seen generations of his mother’s family grow and prosper. He let go of Kate’s hand, cupped her chin, and made her look up at him.
“At least give me time to come up with a plan.” He paused a moment and then smiled. “Unless you already have one?”
“My plan is to move back to town and lose myself in work.”
“Just give me a few more weeks. A month at most.”
Her gaze searched his face, but she was the first to look away.
“Two weeks,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose I can stay two more weeks.”
He grabbed her hand again, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.
“Thank you, Kate. After the way I treated you, that’s more than I deserve.”
S
tunned, Kate watched him walk away. The sound of Eugenie’s voice as she called out to Damian drifted on the still air. Watching Colin negotiate the path back to the
garçonnière
, Kate placed her palm over the back of her hand where he’d kissed it and closed her eyes. Was her skin really hot to the touch or was she imagining it?
She’d waited years for him to notice her, to see her as something more than Amelie’s best friend. She’d waited years to step out of the shadows of this house and have him truly
see
her.
I need you, Kate. Stay for the children
.
Stay for the children, not for him.
She opened her eyes to the brightness of one of the saddest days of her life. The sun was shining on the river, dancing like diamonds on the water. The recent storm had turned the leaves and grass bright green. Hidden promise in the soil was waiting to be awakened. She walked over and touched her palm to the rough trunk of the ancient oak and wondered if Colin would find a way.
Two weeks
.
She would stay because he needed her, and when she left, she’d leave the better part of her heart behind.
S
omehow Kate made it through the evening meal with Myra and the children and saw them tucked in for the night. With the walls closing in on her, she put on a wrap, slipped outside, and found herself at the Baudier crypt. A wrought-iron bench had been placed near a huge cement urn that held a fern so overgrown its roots hung over the lip.
Somewhere an owl hooted. Kate wasn’t aware of time. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting in the dark alone when she heard a twig snap behind her. Turning, she thought she saw movement near the oaks, but there was nothing but shadows. A chill went down her spine. A few erratic heartbeats later, Kate saw Eugenie walking toward her.
“Miss Kate, you best come inside. No sense in your sittin’ out here in the dark by yourself.”
“Night or day, it’s just as dark.” Kate slid over to one side of the bench and patted the space next to her. Eugenie hesitated before she finally sat down.
“The sadness will ease. You’ll see,” Eugenie said.
“How do you know?” Kate realized how harsh she sounded. “I’m sorry,” she added, immediately contrite. Surely Eugenie had suffered a life that was unimaginable. “That sounded as if I have absolutely no feelings. I’m truly sorry.”
“No need to apologize. You’re just hurtin’.”
Kate thought of the children upstairs aching for their mother, knowing Amelie was out here in the dark. Kate detested the raw hopelessness that held her in its grip.
Eugenie’s voice cut through the silence. “I didn’t think I could go on when my son went missin’,” she said.
“Tell me about him.” Eugenie needed to talk as much as Kate needed to take her mind off her own sorrow.
“Mica was fifteen, but he was a big, strappin’ boy and always willin’ to work alongside his daddy and the others. We were so scared the Union soldiers garrisoned here were gonna conscript him into the army that we kept him busy and out of the way. When the
day came that Miss Marie decided to move up to her cousins’ place, she had us load up a wagon with the furniture from her room, some linens, and a few of her clothes. The soldiers had taken most everything else, the silver, the china, odds and ends. Miss Marie was frantic and looked wild around the eyes, you know?”
“Was she ill by then?”
“She was thin. Didn’t eat much. None of us did ‘cause there wasn’t much to eat. She was sick at heart. We got the things she wanted packed up ready and told Mica to drive her up River Road to her cousins’ place.”
Eugenie pleated the skirt of her black gown with her fingers and smoothed it out again. “That’s the last time we saw him.”
“Would he have run off?”
“No. Never.”
“Do you think he was conscripted? Or maybe he went off to fight in a colored regiment.”
Eugenie shrugged. “Not without tellin’ us. A couple of days later Simon went up the trail and found the wagon. Everything in it was gone, so he went on to the Baudiers’ and found Miss Marie there, but by then she was too far gone to tell him what happened.”
“Too far gone?”
Eugenie was quiet for a long while before Kate heard her whisper, “She finally lost her mind, Miss Kate. Simon said it was one of the worst things he ever seen.”
“Did you tell Colin?”
“He don’t need to carry that burden too.” She cleared her throat. “We searched the road all the way to Baton Rouge, but there was no sign of Mica. Simon’s got a sister up in Cleveland. We found her, but there was no work anyplace with so many newly freed folks lookin’ for jobs up north. We couldn’t stand the cold, so we headed south and lived here and there. Did what we could until we ended up back here at
Belle Fleuve
. I’m sure the Lord led us home, ‘cause two months after we came back, Mr. Colin comes ridin’ in ‘bout ready to collapse, and we were here to look after him.”
“That was a blessing,” Kate agreed.
“God always sees us through the darkness, Miss Kate. He’ll see you through this.”