Sandra Hill - [Creole] (25 page)

“Harriet, remember when I told you to be careful of snakes?” he said cautiously.

“Yes.” What if he wasn’t teasing? She looked down in panic. Not a reptile in sight.
The stinker!

“Well, try to remain calm, honey. I have something to tell you, and I want you to remember that not all snakes in the bayou are poisonous. In fact, most of them are completely harmless.”

“What’s your point?”

“Do you promise not to scream?”

“I’ll scream my head off if you don’t stop razzing me. I’m not afraid of snakes, by the way. Just cautious.”

“You’re not afraid of anything, are you, darlin’?” He came up close to her and held his arms wide open.

“As if!” she snickered.

“The most harmless of all the bayou snakes aren’t even on the ground,” he continued in a patient monotone, as if he didn’t want to alarm her. He continued to hold his arms wide open. “They’re…tree snakes.”

Tree snakes?
The fine hairs on the back of Harriet’s neck and all over her arms came to attention in a slow-motion wave, just before she forced herself to look upward. Dozens of slender, slimy black snakes hung from the tree limbs, just waiting to fall into her hair, or slither down the neckline of her gown.

“Yikes!” Harriet screamed so loud the earth seemed to shake; then she launched herself into Etienne’s waiting arms with such force that she knocked him over. The snakes probably fell from their perches with all her flailing about, but Harriet wouldn’t know. Scrunching her eyes closed, she was still screaming into Etienne’s ear. He was
sprawled on his back on the path with her plastered on top of him.

The brute was laughing so hard tears streamed down his face. “They’re just…they’re just vines,” he finally sputtered out.

Harriet stilled.
The man is sick. Sick, sick, sick!
“Are you saying those aren’t really snakes?”

“I never said those were snakes. I merely gave you a short lecture on the types of snakes in the bayou. You know what a lecture is, don’t you, honey?”

“You are such a toad,” she stormed, pounding his chest.

“There’s one other thing we men have that toads don’t.” Etienne chortled, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist with his horny hands. His “other thing” was prodding her with intimate insinuation.

She snorted with disgust and tried to peel herself off of him. “I would imagine that toads have that appendage, too.”

“Not that, sweetheart. What we men have that toads don’t is a brain to outmaneuver the ever-devious, reluctant female.” He ran both palms from her shoulders to her rear in emphasis of their positions. The lech had her right where he’d wanted her. “Dumb-men jokes aside, you were just outsmarted, Dr. Ginoza.”

And Harriet realized that she was.

Etienne heard Abel’s strong baritone voice ripple out into the evening air, accompanied by the raucous squawk of a mouth organ, as he and Harriet neared the house. Laughter and talking followed, coming from the kitchen. Then the lyrics and music started over again.

Abel must be teaching Saralee to play her new gift. It was just like him to pick a bawdy song.

In the distance, he saw Cain striding toward the bayou stream and a waiting pirogue, his medical satchel in hand. One of the black families from a neighboring area must have requested the services of the swamp doctor, as Cain was sometimes called, although there were probably other physicians, black and white, given that appellation, too. All day long, former black slaves had been lined up outside the large cabin Cain used as a clinic.

Cain had been absent from Bayou Noir and his practice way too long. Cain, too, had demons to exorcise.

They’d both fought in the war for what they’d considered noble ends. But neither of them saw much fruit for those efforts. More than six hundred thousand men from both sides had died, and what had been gained? Slavery had been abolished, but the Negroes were still in bondage. In fact, for many of them, conditions were worse than before.

And Cain, a doctor, had to live with the fact that only one out of three wartime deaths resulted from actual battle. Most soldiers had died from disease.

Now a new sound drifted on the wind…sweet and poignant, pulling Etienne from his dismal musings. It was the mouth organ again, but this time an intricate trill of notes wailed of profound heartache and yearning. Of the three of them, Abel was the only one able to express his inner pain and rage…through his music.

Saralee’s reedy, childlike voice sang the same lyrics to Abel’s accompaniment, adding innocence and hope to an age-old message of despair. Oh, the words were light, but Abel’s rendering was dramatic and full of anguish.

Etienne looped an arm over Harriet’s shoulder and put a fingertip to her lips, cautioning silence. She tried to swat him away, having proclaimed there would be no more touching, but he held tight. Too bad he didn’t have a set of those frog spurs.

“Listen to this,” he whispered. “There isn’t an instrument in the world Abel can’t pick up and play.” A complicated melody of improvised, syncopated rhythms and drawn-out notes followed with an underlying layer of the low-down blues music that Abel favored. Devil music, as Blossom would say.

Harriet tilted her head in appreciation. He could tell she was still mad at him for his trickery, but her insatiable curiosity won out.

“Was he always gifted?”

“Even as a child. I can remember him making music by
blowing on a blade of grass or banging on a gourd with a stick when nothing else was available.”

“It’s too bad he never got to study music.”

“Oh, he did. Abel studied classical music in Paris under the best of teachers…piano, violin, all the highbrow instruments. And composition. But once he discovered the trumpet, he never looked back.”

“Can he make a living with his music? I mean, it’s hard even in modern times unless the artist is really famous.”

Shrugging, he took her hand, lacing their fingers, and drew her toward the house. Closing his eyes for a moment, he relished the contact of his skin against hers, restraining himself from raising her hand and brushing her knuckles against his lips.

The effect this strange woman had on him was alarming. Oh, the knee-buckling ecstasy of their numerous couplings back at Simone’s, that he could understand. But she affected him in so many ways. A passing glance, an accidental brushing, her kisses—oh, Lord, her kisses! He had to pace himself with her, allow himself only small doses of physical contact, or he’d be overwhelmed. As helpless as a bird without wings. Or a frog without spurs, he thought with a grin.

He didn’t love her.
Hell, no! And thank God!
He didn’t doubt the existence of love. He just wasn’t capable of it himself anymore…there were too many empty holes in his soul. He certainly didn’t think she loved him, either—with or without the “stupid” tag. She was feeling the same lustful impulses that he was.

“Did you hear me, Etienne? Can Abel subsist on his music?”

“Huh?” He shook his head to clear it of all the unwanted questions. “Oh, I suppose. There’s a demand for musicians in all the sporting houses and music halls, especially in New Orleans. Abel could play with any band he wanted, or start his own. And composers, like that Stephen Foster, seem to be able to make a good living from the sale of
their sheet music. Besides, his stepfather and mother hit a bonanza during the Gold Rush in California. Abel has a generous income without ever working.” He hesitated, then added, “But what Abel should really do is return to Europe, and take Simone with him.”

“Because there’s more tolerance there for mixed couples?”

He nodded.

“But he won’t go, will he?”

“Probably not. There’s bayou mud in his blood, same as mine.”

“I must have bayou mud in my veins, too. I feel such a harmony here. I can’t explain it…it just seems like home.”

Etienne felt a warm flush of pleasure at her words.

“When I get back to the future, I’m thinking of moving from L.A. to Louisiana. Wouldn’t it be funny if your house was still here? And I bought it and lived here? Ha, ha, ha! Now that would be true synchronicity.”

“Yes, that would be very funny. Ha, ha, ha,” he responded sarcastically. His warm flush turned to a cold pall. “Maybe I could haunt you.”

Etienne knew she would be going away, and he eagerly awaited that day. But, perversely, he didn’t like hearing her talk about it. Or being so enthusiastic. And the fact that he cared one way or the other really annoyed him.

Abel’s voice belted out the song once again in a solo rendition different from the previous ones, complete with rumbling insinuation and sultry double entendres. That was how all his music was—changing, improvising, embellishing. Each version different from the last. Then, too, he’d
probably had a cup or two of Blossom’s home brew.

Etienne laughed. “That should be our song, Harriet.”

She gave him one of her disapproving glares, but surprisingly she didn’t pull her hand from his clasp. He squeezed his palm tighter against hers and watched with satisfaction as her color went high.

“Really, you harp on everything that’s wrong with me, but you won’t stay out of my orchard. And you damn well keep shakin’ my tree.”

“Well, just keep your tree in your orchard and everyone will be fine.” She did try to pull her hand away now, but too late. “Know this, honey: I’m not plucking any more peaches. Harvest time is over.”

He couldn’t resist then. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed each of the separate knuckles. With his thumb pressed against her wrist, he felt her pulse jump, then race with excitement.
Aaah! So, the merest caress from me affects her
. “Why such vehement protests,
chérie?
You professed to love me just a short time ago. I thought—”

“You thought a woman in love would be an easy lay?” she finished for him and managed to pull her hand away. With both hands on her hips, she glowered at him.

He bit his bottom lip to stifle a grin. “I wouldn’t have said it in quite that way. But, yes, I’d like to lie with you—easy, hard, all ways. Is that what you meant by ‘easy lay’?” Meantime, he’d backed her up against the wall of the veranda.

She shook her head and made a small whimpering sound.

It was almost his undoing.

“That had better not be a limb from a peach tree poking my belly,” she said with a nervous twitter.

He ran the pad of his thumb over her parted lips, and she hissed in pleasure.

“Why do you fight the inevitable? You asked me on the train to make love to you over and over till you wiped out your pesky dreams,” he reminded her. Then a sudden thought occurred to him. “I’m not still satisfying you in
those dream fantasies, am I? Because if I am, stop them. For me, it’s most…unsatisfying.”

She laughed softly and traced his jaw with her fingertips in a loving fashion. It was his turn to hiss with an indrawn breath of pure ecstasy. How could such a slight touch affect him so?

“No, the forceful seduction fantasies have stopped. But I wonder if they’ll return when I go home. Somehow I doubt it.”

“I refuse to make love to you in dreams,” he asserted.

She shrugged. “Sometimes we can’t control our minds.”

How true!
“But that doesn’t answer my question. If you were willing before, why not now? Don’t tell me that you don’t desire me. I know that you do.”

“It’s Saralee.”

“Saralee?” he sputtered. “What has she to do with this…this thing between us?”

“Etienne, this ‘thing between us’ is more than a momentary lust, no matter what you say—”

“Who said momentary? I’m thinking much longer. Days. Till I leave.” He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.

“I’m not going to let you rile me now. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve never been into casual sex, despite that impulsive…uh…encounter back in New Orleans.”

“Encounter?” He hooted. “It was more like an assault, the way I remember it. And, honey, I remember it a lot.”

Her lashes lowered with unaccustomed modesty. Then she opened her eyes, leveling an honest gaze at him. “Okay, it was an assault…a mutual assault. But my point, which you keep interrupting, is that any relationship between you and me is going to be powerful. And then it’s going to end. Oh, not when you leave, mister. When
I
leave to go back to the future.”

“So?” There she went again, recalling a reality he didn’t like facing. “All the more reason to enjoy the moment.”

“You and I aren’t the only ones involved. Now that
you’ve acknowledged Saralee as your daughter, I can’t present myself as your potential spouse.”

“Spouse?” he roared. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Now, settle down. I’m not ringing the wedding bells. But Saralee is a child, and she will naturally think that the woman who sleeps with her father is going to become his wife, and her mother. I can’t mislead her that way. It would be too cruel.”

“We could be subtle,” he argued.

“Hah! You’re about as subtle with those man-looks of yours as…as a peach tree in full bloom.”

He grinned. “There must be a way.”

“No,” she said, putting two halting hands on his chest. “There’s another really important reason why you and I can’t make love. Professional ethics.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A psychologist can’t have intimate relations with a client.”

Huh? A client? Does she mean me?
“I never hired you. No, no, no. If that’s all that’s keeping you from my bed, then I’m dismissing you. Right now.”

“I volunteered my services. Remember?”

“Unvolunteer.”

She laughed. “Etienne, it’s not going to work with us. We come from two different worlds.”

“So did my father and Selene.” He immediately regretted that comparison.

“Yes, but they loved each other. And one of them had to make a sacrifice and give up a former life.” She stared at him pensively. “I don’t suppose you’d consider coming to the future with me…if it were possible? With Saralee, of course.”

His eyes went wide with horror at the prospect. Riding through time to a foreign existence? Starting over? Leaving behind Cain and Abel, Blossom and…well, others?

She watched him expectantly.

“I don’t want you that badly, Harriet.”

“I know,” she replied, her shoulders slumping. “I know.”

And Etienne suspected he’d lost something precious in that moment of truth.

Later that evening, Harriet sat with Saralee on a bed in the former overseer’s cottage located at the rear of the mansion. It was a spacious, one-story house with a sloping mansard roof that overhung a porch circling it on four sides. All of the rooms had tall windows that took advantage of the ventilating breezes that came up from the bayou. It was in better condition than the mansion because it was smaller and easier to keep up.

Saralee hummed softly as she played with her dolls. The peaches song melody, Harriet recognized with a grimace.
Like I need that reminder
.

Harriet was transcribing data from her tape recorder into her notebook, having realized that her two cassettes were about to overflow with MCP ideas. The three jerks of the Old South were providing her with an abundance of material for her new book. Especially the super jerk.

“‘Men Who Scare Women with Snakes.’ A three.

“‘Men Who Smoke Cigars.’ A four.” Harriet had seen Etienne and Abel smoking thin cheroots this evening as they’d strolled down the street to find Cain.
Ugh!

“‘Men Who Make a Woman Fall in Love with Them…and Don’t Fall in Love Themselves.’” Harriet winced at that one. “A ten.”

Saralee had exhibited an initial fascination with the solar-powered machine when Harriet first brought it out, but soon lost interest and resumed playing with her three rag dolls—Marilee, Jewel and Francois. In a charming Southern twang, Saralee spoke to the dolls as if they were human beings.

In fact, Harriet noted that the only time the girl was truly exuberant or stutter-free was when she addressed her pre
tend playmates. This was an important factor that Harriet would consider in her counseling sessions, along with Saralee’s constant role-playing, which, of course, masked a deep-seated need for affection. One of the dolls, Marilee, had long, black hair made of hemp, and Harriet was sure the doll represented Saralee.

Blossom, who was already asleep in the other room, had given up her bedchamber behind the kitchen to Etienne, and would be staying here with Harriet and Saralee, along with the schoolteacher, Ellen, when she returned. Cain and Abel lodged in the large cabin that housed the clinic. The sleeping arrangement was a temporary one…until Etienne left Bayou Noir again.