Pamela Morsi (7 page)

"Nothing will have to change in your life
when we marry, monsieur," she said. "Nothing."

He looked at her curiously, puzzled.

"Of course nothing will change," he answered.
His words softened and he took her hand in his. "I will still be
the lucky young man who captured the heart of the most beautiful
woman on the Vermilion River."

Aida's heart sank and the taste in her mouth
was bitter.

"We should—" she began.

A sound in the brush behind them startled
them both. Laron pushed Aida protectively behind him. Bears and
wolves were rare on this prairie but not impossible. Pirates, wild
Indians, and escaped slaves were just as rare, but equally
dangerous. And Laron was not carrying his gun.

Both sighed with relief that was close to
laughter as Jean Baptiste stepped onto the bank.

Sonnier was almost more surprised to see them
than they were to see him.

"Pardon," he said hastily. "I was . . .
taking a walk."

Obviously embarrassed at being caught by a
female on his return from answering nature's call, he moved to
make a hasty retreat. Laron called out to him.

"My friend, could you escort Mademoiselle
Gaudet back to the dance," he said.

Aida looked up at him, surprised.

"I must travel upriver tonight," he told her.
"It is late already. I have only stayed this long that I might
dance with you."

"But—"

"I will dream every night of the sight of
you, my bride, riding in a pirogue of flowers," he told her, laying
a feather-light kiss upon her knuckles.

She nodded slowly. "It must be spring then."
Her tone was flat.

"Good, then that is settled," Laron said. "It
is time that I head out. Monsieur Sonnier, if I might trust this
lady's safety to your arm."

Jean Baptiste bowed with such enthusiasm that
Aida managed a natural smile at him. He was safe. She didn't mind
taking his arm.

As they walked toward the sounds of music in
the distance, Aida heard, rather than saw, Laron boarding his
pirogue. He had dutifully danced his one dance with her. He didn't
want to marry her. He wanted to be married to the most beautiful
woman on the Vermilion River. And he didn't even want to do that
until spring, he said. In spring he would be suggesting the fall.
In fall, the spring once more.

He was heading upriver. As he did every
Saturday night, for a no longer so secret rendezvous.

He hadn't said, and she would never admit
that she knew. But without question, he was heading upriver to see
the German widow.

The distance between the fais-dodo at the
Marchands' and the homestead of the German widow was significant.
But Laron poled the pirogue with enthusiasm. Up the wide Vermilion
to tiny Bayou Tortue, guided by the light of the moon on the water
to the lonely, desolate outpost of the woman he loved.

The spring, Laron thought to himself. He
would wed in the spring. He hoped the good father and Aida's poppa
would accept that. He could hardly blame them if they did not. Two
years was a very long engagement indeed. If he was very lucky he
could hold off his marriage until spring. But no later. In spring
he would be the husband of Aida Gaudet.

Aida Gaudet. He shook his head as he thought
of her. She was so pretty, too pretty. It was that prettiness that
had originally attracted him. That, and the sense of challenge. All
the men on the river wanted her, but Laron had been the one to make
the catch. And what had he caught? He wasn't sure that he knew.

Laron had no illusions about the beautiful
Mademoiselle Gaudet. He had no real interest in her, either. But
she was to be his wife. He knew appealing to her vanity was the way
to delay the wedding. She couldn't resist the image of herself in a
pirogue bedecked with flowers poling to the church, with every man,
woman, and child on the river watching with awe from the bank. In
the spring, almost certainly, he would be forced to go ahead and
wed her. And in the spring when that happened, he was also certain
that he would no longer be welcome on this bayou.

Up ahead he could see the glow of light from
the Shotz cabin. It was a welcoming sight, one he was hoping for.
He hadn't told her to expect him, of course. He never said when he
was coming or going. It was not their way to speak of it. But then
perhaps that was because in the beginning, it was not their way to
speak. In fact, in the beginning, they could not speak. Helga's
French had been minimal and Laron knew not one word of German. Some
things did not require talk.

Laron eased his pirogue next to her dock in
the darkness without even bumping against the wood. However, the
minute his foot creaked upon the cypress boards, he heard stirring
from inside the house.

The curtain covering the doorway was thrown
back and a pair of small bare feet hurried down the planking.

"Oncle! Oncle!" a tiny voice called out in
French. "You are home at last."

Jakob Shotz threw himself in the direction of
Laron Boudreau, confident that he would be caught, and he was.

"Tout-petit! You should be abed already," he
told the child.

The little boy rewarded him with a wet baby
kiss right on the mouth.

"I was in bed," the little one said in
flawless French. "But I was not asleep. I'm a big boy and don't get
sleepy."

"You are getting big," Laron agreed as he
secured the child upon his hip. "I'm not sure if I can carry you
and these provisions as well."

The little boy's eyes widened appreciably as
Laron retrieved the heavy weighted sack from the pirogue.

"What did you bring me?" he asked
excitedly.

Laron feigned confusion. "Bring you?"

"What did you bring me? What did you bring
me?"

Laron laughed as he began walking toward the
house, sack over his shoulder, child in his arms.

"What did I bring you?" Laron repeated the
question. "Hmmm. Muskrat hide?"

"No, no." The little boy shook his head.
"Something else."

"Haunch of venison?"

"No, no, something else."

"A pound of coffee?"

"No, no Oncle, it must be for a boy," Jakob
explained.

"Oh for a boy!" Laron exclaimed with the
appearance of sudden understanding. "Then it must be the sweets I
brought."

"Sweets?" The child's eyes were wide as he
licked his lips.

"Pralines," Laron answered. "My sister made
them, and she makes the best ones on the river."

"Pralines!" the little boy called out. "He's
brought pralines!"

Laron laughed at the child's enthusiasm. He
glanced up to the porch. In the doorway stood a young girl of
eight. Her long blond braids hung down on either side of her head;
her blue eyes were bright with excitement.

"Bonsoir, princesse," Laron said to her,
bowing low and feigning a threat of dropping the little fellow in
his arms. "How is Her Majesty on this lovely moonlit night?"

Elsa giggled and offered a curtsy in reply.
"As well as any girl might be when she has two brothers," she
answered as she drew aside the doorway curtain. Laron followed her
into the cabin. The interior was fragrant with the scent of
tarragon, thyme, and burning tobacco. "One of my brothers is a baby
and the other a brute," Elsa announced.

"I am not a baby!" Jakob protested
loudly.

The twelve-year-old brute sitting on the
floor next to the smoldering hearth did not dispute her. He was
looking faintly bored and tapping a corncob pipe.

"Hello, Karl," Laron said. "Have you taken up
smoking?"

The boy didn't get a chance to answer; his
sister did it for him.

"He's smelling up the whole house with that
thing. It makes me sick!" she complained.

"Dumb girls get sick at everything," he
replied.

"I never hardly ever get sick!" his sister
shot back.

"Then my smoking shouldn't bother you."

"Men usually smoke on the porch," Laron told
him in a tone so factual it was free of any hint of reproach or
even suggestion.

Laron turned his gaze to the far side of the
room and made immediate eye contact with the lady of the house.
Helga Shotz stood before the table, which was piled high with
cowpeas being sorted for drying. Her dark blond braids were twisted
like heavy ropes across the top of her head. The plain blue dress
of Attakapas homespun she wore matched her eyes. The bell-gathered
skirt, which only partially disguised the width of her hips, was
covered with an apron of sunbleached cottonade. Helga was a large,
sturdily built woman of thirty-one years. With strong features,
broad shoulders, ample proportions, and an abundance of feminine
curves, she would never have been described as pretty or dainty by
any man. Laron Boudreau knew her to be beautiful.

He nodded to her slightly in greeting. She
replied likewise.

"I have brought you supplies, Madame Shotz,"
he said.

"We are very grateful, Monsieur Boudreau,"
she answered. Unlike that of her children, Helga's French was
heavily accented with the guttural sounds of her native tongue.
Some might have found the sound harsh. To Laron it was an
intriguing, exciting sound. He found this woman endlessly
intriguing and exciting.

Laron crossed the room and moved beyond her
to the larder and began stowing the items from his sack. The
children near the fireplace were arguing. Elsa was now insisting
that her brother should smoke outside. Karl was loudly informing
her that he was not her hired man. And little Jakob was warning
both that the pralines were meant for him and him alone.

Squatting to reach the lower shelves, Laron
turned slightly and surreptitiously patted the ample backside of
Madame Shotz.

She slapped at his hand and blushed furiously
as he grinned up at her.

"Missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you, too," she answered. "How was
the fais-dodo?"

"Lonely."

She shook her head as if she didn't believe
him. "There must have been lots of pretty girls there."

Laron shrugged. "None of them was you."

Helga blushed with pleasure.

The sounds of the children's disagreement
increased in volume. Laron gave a nod in that direction.

"Difficult week?" he asked.

"One of the worst," she admitted.

"Your son is growing up," Laron said.

Helga nodded solemnly. "More than you
know."

He finished his unpacking, stowing all the
goods he'd brought in their rightful and familiar places. Finished,
he stood, taking a long leisurely stretch, his hands nearly high
enough to touch the ceilings before he nonchalantly took his place
beside her.

"Thank you for the supplies, Monsieur
Boudreau," she said. "I do hope you remembered to bring the salt. I
am out completely."

"I brought it." Laron leaned forward slightly
as if to get a better look at the abundance of pale green legumes
with their very black nubs. He whispered quietly into her ear.
"Sweet Madame, I have also brought something else, much more
exciting."

Helga covered her giggle with a hand to her
mouth.

Any more conversation was lost as the
children's disagreement increased in volume.

"You are mean and hateful!" Elsa declared
loudly.

"And you are stupid and ugly!" her brother
shot back.

"Mama make him—"

Elsa was not allowed to finish her complaint
as her mother held up her hand for immediate silence.

"Enough!"

The three quieted immediately, but her elder
children were still looking daggers at each other.

"I think it is time that you went to bed,"
Helga told the three of them in German. "Monsieur Boudreau is
probably tired and he did not bring his boat this long distance to
hear children quarrel."

"Oncle must put me in bed, no one else,"
Jakob demanded in French.

"I will put you in bed," his sister told him.
"It's my job."

Helga nodded. "And you must go right to
sleep, my baby," she said. "Remember tomorrow is Sunday, and since
Monsieur Boudreau is here, we shall have beignets for
breakfast."

Little Jakob licked his lips in anticipation
and then sighed with acceptance of the

good-night ritual. He allowed Elsa to lead
him to the loft ladder. The sounds of their feet overhead could be
heard before Helga spoke once more to her eldest son.

"You also, Karl. You need your rest as well
as the others."

The youngster continue to puff on his pipe.
"I am not tired," he said in French. Then in German he added, "And
I know exactly why Monsieur Boudreau has traveled in his boat this
long distance."

Laron did not understand the boy's words, but
from the tone of his voice and the shocked reaction on his mother's
face, he knew the comment had been hurtful. She lowered her head
not quite fast enough to hide her distress.

He wanted to come to her defense. He wanted
to demand to know what was said. He wanted to wash young Karl's
mouth out with soap. He wanted to do something. But he didn't know
what it could be.

"I brought my cards," Laron piped up,
pretending to have missed the undercurrent in the room. "I promised
to teach you bourre. If you aren't tired, we can play."

Karl hesitated a long moment. Finally he
shrugged. "All right, I have nothing else to do."

Laron pulled out his cards and smiled at
Helga. "You go ahead and finish with your work," he said. "We men
will do our best to stay out of your way."

She raised her eyes, which still glistened
brightly. "Karl has said many times that he wanted to learn the
cards," she said, forcing a smile.

Laron nodded and stepped past her.

"Let us go outside," he said to Karl.

"Why?"

"I want to smoke my pipe," he answered. "And
I would never offend your mother by doing so inside her house."

Walking outside alone, Laron waited on the
porch, wondering if the boy would follow him. The way things were
going the last several weeks, he would not have been surprised if
the boy was too stubborn to even do that.