Authors: Jill Marie Landis
Kate opened the second gift from Damian and held up a
necklace of peanuts in the shell strung on a piece of twine. Each peanut was painted a different color.
“How lovely!” She carefully drew the peanut necklace over her hat and head until it rested on her shoulders.
“I made it,” Damian announced. “Eugenie helped me string ‘em and Marie let me use her watercolors.”
Diamond earrings dangled above the peanuts, but Kate wore the necklace just as regally. Colin was lost.
Next she opened a set of paintings from Marie, scenes from the gardens at
Belle Fleuve
.
“Thank you, Marie,” Kate said. “You’ve gotten quite good. I’ll treasure these always.” Her eyes glistened suspiciously bright as she studied the paintings.
There was one more gift to open from Marie. Colin wasn’t certain what his niece had created that was in this rolled, wrapped, and ribbon-tied package. Kate carefully untied the ribbon and then unrolled the long page to reveal a detailed map.
“Me and Marie worked on it together,” Damian explained.
“I let him paint in the larger portions,” Marie added.
“It’s … it’s quite wonderful.” Kate seemed to be having trouble getting the words out.
“It’s a map of
Belle Fleuve
and River Road.”
“I see,” Kate said.
Marie leaned over and slipped her arm around Kate’s neck.
“We didn’t want you to forget the way home,” she whispered.
I
’
ll never forget the way home
.
Could Colin see her tears? Kate caught him staring at her more than once that evening, but for the most part he was withdrawn. She prayed the woman Captain Stevens saw him with wasn’t the reason. She made slow work of rolling up the map and retying the bow until she composed herself. Then she suggested they study the menu. Kate helped the children order and the waiter headed for the kitchen.
Marie said, “I wish we were going to have Irish Christmas at
Belle Fleuve
.”
“I’m sure that you’ll be happy not to have to clean the house, for that’s a big part of Irish Christmas.”
“Clean the house?”
She nodded, careful to avoid looking at Colin.
“From top to bottom. Every piece of glass, every mirror and windowpane must sparkle. The yard must be swept clean and the stables mucked out. A candle is placed in the front window.”
“Why?” Damian asked.
“To welcome Mary and Joseph.”
“Who are out in the cold night seeking shelter,” Marie reminded him.
“But not really.” Damian sounded uncertain.
“It’s to remind us of their story. When it’s time to blow out the candle, it’s customary for someone named Mary to do it.” Kate smiled on Marie. “Did you know that Marie is another pronunciation of Mary?”
Marie beamed.
“For dinner there are lots of traditional dishes, including spiced beef and soda bread,” Kate added.
“How will we celebrate, Uncle Colin?” Marie asked.
“I don’t want to clean the house.” Damian shook his head.
Kate was slow to look up and when she did she found Colin frowning at his plate.
“We’re going to the Boltons’ on Christmas Day.”
“But what will we do at
Belle Fleuve
?” Marie pushed.
“Simon’s going to butcher a couple of hogs. I imagine we’ll also have some of Eugenie’s sweet potato pie.” Colin reached for his water goblet and took his time drinking water.
“Did Saint Nick come to
Belle Fleuve
when you were a boy?” Damian wanted to know.
“No, he didn’t.”
Colin was clearly uncomfortable, looking at Kate as if to say
this is all your fault
.
Damian shrugged. “Well, he didn’t come to Kansas either. My Grandma and Grandpa Hart said there wasn’t any such person as Saint Nick.”
Kate ached for all the wonder and magic they had missed. Before she could comment Colin carefully lined up his fork and knife on his empty plate and sat back.
“In Louisiana we call him
Pere Noel
. On Christmas Eve we used to line our shoes up by the fire, and he would come and fill them with treats. We burned a birch log on the fire and my mother would make certain the grand dinner was complete with all of our favorite dishes.”
“Do you think
Pere Noel
will come this year? Will he know there are children in the house again?” Damian’s eyes were full of anticipation.
Kate held her breath, willed Colin to say yes.
Colin shrugged and met Kate’s gaze. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
She fought the urge to take him aside later and promise him that she would go to the French Market in the morning and send him a box of the finest fruits — a pineapple and oranges — along with pecans and candies. Colin would only see such a gesture as another intrusion that would leave him further indebted to her.
The meal proceeded far faster than Kate wanted. For dessert, they ordered an old Creole favorite,
pain perdu
, a bread pudding topped with candied pecans. She had made arrangements for the fare to be paid later but Colin asked for the bill.
“That’s been taken care of already, sir,” the waiter informed him.
“As usual,” Colin said as the man walked away.
Kate shifted in her chair and then sat tall. She refused to let him ruin her day.
“I invited you all to dine with me, Colin. It’s entirely proper that as hostess I take care of the charges.”
“As you like, Kate.”
His cool silence assured her this would be his last visit.
As they left the dining room and headed through the lobby to the entrance, the children walked ahead chattering about their presents. Kate found herself beside Colin. If he intended to say anything of a personal nature, this was the opportune time.
She looked his way and caught him staring at her. The intensity of his gaze spoke volumes.
The warm appraisal in his eyes told her he hadn’t forgotten their night together any more than she had. If only they had more time. If only she could speak to him privately.
The children stopped at the entrance.
“Will you come to the dock with us, Aunt Kate?” Damian clutched his box of soldiers to his chest.
“Not this time.”
Marie’s eyes filled with tears. Kate thumbed them away.
“We’ll have none of that, Marie. Just think of the next few days. Cora will make certain you’ll have a wonderful Christmas Day.” Kate wished she could say the same of Colin.
Unwilling to suffer another long good-bye, she suggested, “Let’s say good-bye here. You’d best be on your way if you’re going to make the boat.”
She hugged them both twice, made certain Damian’s jacket was properly buttoned, and forced herself to smile as they walked down the steps.
Beside her, Colin remained cool and silent. There was a second when she thought he would take her hand, but he didn’t.
“Good-bye, Kate. Thank you.” He made a stiff bow.
She wanted to tell him she hoped to see him again soon, to assure him that she still loved him and wanted to come home, but the words stuck in her throat. He was the one who’d sent her away. He would have to ask her to come back. A silent nod was the best she could do, and then they were gone.
O
n the morning of Christmas Eve the mouthwatering aroma of roasting pork filled the air at
Belle Fleuve
as Simon and the other men tended the barbecue near the cabins. In her day, Marie Delany had presented new clothes to all the slaves — dresses, kerchiefs, and aprons for the women and girls; new shirts and pants for the men. All Colin had to give he’d already given — a place to live, essential provisions, and the promise of better days to come.
Eugenie found him that morning. The aches and pains that had been her excuse for not going to New Orleans were gone by the time Colin and the children had returned. She’d been bustling about all day.
“I made some sugar cookies and a batch of candy for all the children. I’ll leave Miss Marie and Damian’s up in the top cupboard for you to put out tonight after they’ve gone to bed. Simon was able to trade some crayfish for oranges and we got some pecans put by. I’ll leave you some of them too.”
“I don’t deserve you, you know?”
“I know that, Mr. Colin. I surely do.”
She hadn’t mentioned his visit to Kate, nor had he volunteered any information. Most likely she’d heard all the details from the children anyway.
“Simon got plenty of wood gathered up to haul to the levee for tonight,” she said.
“Wood?”
“For the bonfire.”
Colin had forgotten all about the bonfires that would be lit along the levee. It was a Christmas Eve tradition he’d taken part in every year until he left home. More and more he was reminded of how much of his past had been stolen by the war. Seeing the flames from all of the pyramids as they burned for miles along the edge of the levee was a spectacle to behold.
“Those children should see it,” Eugenie said.
He knew she was right.
“Thank Simon for me,” he said. “Tell him to round up a couple
of men. I’ll meet him in front of your cabin at noon to drive down and build the pyramid.”
T
hat night Eugenie left them a light dinner in the kitchen and Marie helped Colin dish up. They ate quickly and then Colin told them to bundle up because they were going somewhere special. Simon had all of the children from the cabins loaded in the back of the wagon already, and when he pulled up to the back door, Colin, Damian, and Marie climbed up onto the high-sprung seat.
“What’s so special, Uncle Colin?” Damian asked.
“What’s the surprise?” Marie wanted to know.
“Please tell us where we’re going.”
Colin only nodded and said, “You’ll see.”
They arrived at the levee where some of the men waited by a low fire burning near a tall pyramid made of dried ratoon cane, willow branches, and logs. A riverboat aglow with lights drifted slowly on the current.
“That looks like a haystack.” Damian pointed at the pyramid. “What is it?”
“Just wait and watch.” Colin caught their excitement.
“Should be near seven by now,” Simon noted.
“Just about.” Colin took out his watch and turned it toward the low firelight. Promptly at seven the steamboat whistle blew.
“Light ‘er up!” he called.
Simon lit a long torch and instructed the other men to do the same. They tossed them into the center of the pyramid. The dry tinder caught almost immediately, sending flames and sparks high into the sky.
“They’re everywhere!” Marie pointed out other pyramids to Damian. “Bonfires are up and down the levee on both sides of the river!”
“Ours is the biggest!” Damian clapped and jumped up and down.
Colin doubted it was the biggest. In fact, most of the stacks
looked to be exactly the same height. But as a child he had been just as excited watching the fires burn. The flames were reflected in the water, and sparks vied for attention with all the stars that dusted the cool December night sky.
Seeing Marie’s upturned face gilded by the bonfire’s glow, it was as if Amelie were beside him again.
“Bonfires are an old tradition the Cajuns brought to Louisiana.”
“Who are the Cajuns?”
“People who were forced to leave their homeland and move here. They were afraid the Christ child wouldn’t know where they were, so they lit the string of fires to show Him the way.”
Colin felt Marie slip her hand into his. “It’s so beautiful,” she said. “I wish Aunt Kate could see this.”
“Me too,” Damian added.
“So do I.” Colin’s words slipped out without warning.
“I can just imagine the Christ child following the light,” Marie said. “He is the light of the world.”
And Kate is the light of my life
.
The touch of Marie’s hand and her innocent clarity moved Colin in a way nothing else had and melted his heart. He’d nourished the darkness of all the war years, all of his exile. He’d locked that darkness inside until Kate walked into his life and pushed and prodded and demanded he save him from himself. She’d rescued
Belle Fleuve
for him, for the children. And he’d been too wounded in body and soul to accept the sacrifices she had made out of generosity and love. She had not avoided the truth to shame him, but to spare his feelings.
The sadness behind her smile at the St. Charles and the way her eyes misted with tears she had tried to hide were impossible to forget. She’d accepted the children’s gifts with grace and worn Damian’s peanut necklace as if it were precious as gold.
Colin had fallen in love with his wife and sent her away when everything she’d done she had done for him. Because she loved him.
That he’d lashed out and put his wounded pride before his love for her was his greatest shame of all.
Up and down the river, the bonfires sparked and raged like towers of light. Overhead the stars became part of the festival of light. Colin stared up into the heavens.
Forgive me my pride. Forgive my anger. Bless me with Your strength and love. Walk with me as I beg Kate’s forgiveness and let me bring her home again
.
His prayer was inspired by the night and the words of a child. Once he had spoken, a peace he hadn’t known in years settled over him.
Damian, worn out from running and jumping around the bonfire, walked over and tugged on the hem of Colin’s jacket.
“Do you think
Pere Noel
will find us?” the boy asked.
Colin waited as if considering.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe we should put our shoes out by the fireplace just in case,” Damian decided.
“I’ll light a candle in the window,” Marie added.
Damian clapped his hands. “Good idea, Marie. If Aunt Kate follows our map tonight, the candle will show her the way.”
O
n Christmas Day, Kate donned a coat and decided to go for a long walk. The streets were nearly empty. Strolling past a church on the corner of Canal and Dauphine she stopped to admire the Gothic architecture, complete with buttresses and a central tower. Its architecture never failed to amaze her. Would she ever leave a mark on New Orleans other than Captain Stevens’ steamboat house?