Love Story on Canal

by Angela Lee

  Love Story on Canal

  A NOLA Girls Romance

  Angela Lee

  Copyright 2019 by Angela Lee

  Kindle Direct Publishing Edition

  Cover Design by Rock Kaleem

  Editing by Sykora Proofreading

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form by any means- except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews- without written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: December 2019

  For My Family with Love

  To my husband and soulmate - you gave me the courage to chase this dream, even though it terrified me.

  To my daughter and best friend – you cheered me on, calmed me down, and made me see this through, despite my tendency of not finishing what I start.

  I could not have completed this without the two of you. You are my everything.

  Prologue

  Washington D.C.

  Spring 1861

  Seven months of pregnancy had only added to the stubborn sauciness that defined Gigi Fontenot. “Promise me that you’ll be home to deliver this baby.”

  Her twin sister, Pan, huffed a breath of frustrated air, “Gigi, the semester ends in May. Your baby should come in May. There is a chance that I won’t be home. I want to be there, but I can’t promise.”

  The cobbled path was too narrow to accommodate the women’s full skirts, so Pan walked a step ahead of her sister. She cast a sideways look back at her twin noting the telltale signs of fatigue. Gigi cupped her curved belly with a swollen hand, the slight waddle she had recently acquired was even more pronounced, her cheeks were tinged pink and her nostrils flared as she struggled to breathe. Despite all, the pregnant woman’s face was set with dogged resolve.

  Pan fought the urge to stamp her foot and groaned, “Papa will be here! He can deliver your child. Don’t make me promise. I don’t want to let you down.”

  The walk from the house to the carriage drive was just short of a quarter mile. Though she was eager to return to school, Pan slackened her pace to allow her sister an easier trek. Standing side by side, the women were identical. Same dark, glossy locks tied back in tidy buns. Same gold flecked eyes. Even the way they dressed was similar as Pan had gratefully relinquished all fashion responsibilities to Gigi years ago. The result was that Pan always dressed in the most current fashions downplayed by her preference for modest colors and simple prints.

  “We will wait for you,” Gigi said affectionately patting her midsection, “Just don’t plan on any summer adventures with Libby.” Her tone turned sultry and she added with a wink, “Of course, if that James of yours asks for some adventure…”

  “The only adventures James would want are in the stacks,” Pan responded dryly. Gigi gave a mock gasp, opening her eyes and mouth wide in an exaggerated look of shock.

  Pan rolled her eyes before a smile fought its way to the surface, “Studying, little sister. That is all I meant. There was that one kiss,” Pan looked around while whispering, “But it never happened again. We are medical students. We don’t have time for flirtations. It was probably an accident.”

  “That he kissed you?” Gigi asked drily.

  Pan shrugged, “We had just gone to a lecture on anaerobic bacteria. Did you know that our bodies always have bacteria within? It isn’t harmful unless...”

  “Pancy! That man did not kiss you on accident!” Gigi laughed. “He certainly didn’t do it because the lecture topic was so stimulating, ninny.” Mid-chuckle the pregnant woman froze, holding out her arms in a stopping gesture. Pan paused as well watching Gigi’s face for any signs of discomfort. Pan relaxed when her twin’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. Pregnancy obviously removed one’s capacity to both walk and laugh simultaneously.

  Pan laughed as well. She was ready for another semester of lecture courses, late nights of studying with her best friend, Libby, and all the other preparations she needed to become a physician. Syracuse Medical College was one of the few schools that admitted men and women on an equal basis.

  Still, she had realized over the Easter holiday how much she missed being with her family; how much of their lives she was missing when she was away. Since she had moved from her family home last summer, her twin had been courted, wed, and was now expecting.

  She reached for Gigi’s hand, “I like Samuel. I’m glad that I was able to see him again before he joins the regiment.”

  Gigi squeezed her hand and beamed. “He is wonderful, isn’t he? I’m so happy, Pancy. I wish I could have you both here for the baby’s birth. But I know he’ll be home soon. This rebel business shouldn’t last.” Gigi acted flippant but Pan knew that her sister only pretended ignorance. “Pan, did I tell you that we have a new one to add to our list? Samuel says my eyes are like dandelions.”

  “Dandelions?” Pan looked towards the carriage, silently willing her sister to resume their walk.

  Gigi ignored the unspoken plea, “Samuel says there are fields of dandelions on his grandfather’s farm. Has James complimented our eyes? Do you have any new ones for the list?”

  “No,” Pan took a tentative half step forward.

  “Oh. Well, I’m sure he will,” Gigi sounded disappointed, but the side of her mouth twitched. The rest of her body hadn’t moved an inch.

  “Dandelions are weeds,” Pan muttered, shifting anxiously and throwing furtive glances toward the drive.

  “Wildflowers,” her sister added archly.

  Pan’s hand slid to the side of her skirt and tapped a quick rhythm before rubbing a sliver of the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, “James isn’t courting me. You know that’s not what I want from life,” Pan said in her typical manner of jumping topics. She squinted against the sun’s rays and spotted their parents at the carriage in the distance.

  Gigi argued, “My twin sister attends medical college. And what I want is for her to deliver my first-born child.” She smiled wickedly and stepped around Pan, finally allowing their progress to resume.

  Pan groaned and followed behind, “Bullheaded. Our father is a teaching surgeon! One of the best in the country. He can do it. I want to, Gi. And I will do my best to be here, but there is no way to predict the exact date of the babe’s arrival and I must finish the semester. I just don’t want to disappoint you or cause you any extra worry.”

  “I know Papa can do it. I want you to. It’s important. Your dreams and mine. Both of us getting what we’ve always wanted.” Gigi halted once again, spun around, and grabbed her sister by the arm, “Pan. Promise.”

  Pan sighed and then smiled at her favorite person in the world, “I promise.”

  Chapter One

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Autumn 1862

  Panacea Fontenot glared at the ancient cast iron beast of a coffee mill as she braced for another round of battle. Her family had returned home to New Orleans almost immediately following the siege that had left the city under Union control. In the three short months that she had lived in the port city, Pan had repeatedly found herself in complicated situations.

  “How do these things just happen to me?” the twenty-four-year-old muttered to herself, blowing a stray mahogany lock from her face. Tucking the flyaway hair into the bun at the nape of her neck, she rolled her golden eyes. The orphanage’s mammoth appliance was proving to be a formidable adversary.

  When she had knocked at the front door of the St. Vincent Children’s Asylum, no one had answered. Pan’s tenac
ity led her to the back alley in hopes of finding the orphanage’s kitchen entrance open. The door had been propped with a brick, inviting Pan to step inside.

  Pan tried to explain her reason for being there to the two nuns who were working frantically within. One of the women had been so flustered that she had burned her hand trying to boil water. Being a medic and a dutiful Catholic, Pan had offered her assistance. She tended the woman’s hand before volunteering to take over coffee duty. That was before she realized how badly this kitchen needed a new grinder.

  Getting angry was pointless; like all things French, Pan assumed the Peugeot coffee mill was sensitive. The best course of action, therefore, was to sweettalk the temperamental kitchen appliance.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Monsieur, you are so strong and handsome,” she cooed in practiced French.

  As if she were about to perform surgery, Pan had taken a moment to mentally note the monstrous proportions of the mill. The Peugeot sat at least eighteen inches tall from the countertop on a thick wood base. On top of the base sat a cast iron dispersion pod. Above the pod was a wide cast iron bowl with a small opening where the operator could drop in coffee beans and chicory. At the height of the contraption was a crank the length of her forearm that spun clockwise, churning the contents into a fine ground. Standing only a few inches taller than five feet, Pan had difficulty gaining the leverage needed to put force behind the crank’s turn.

  Though it was not uncommon for gently bred women to enjoy a daily cup, Pan Fontenot had elevated her appreciation for the morning beverage in a manner that most of her society peers would find appalling. As a med student, Pan’s sleep habits had become more and more erratic. Awake in the middle of the night, knee deep in some anatomy text, the brunette wished for the soothing warmth of her family cook’s chicory coffee. Desperate for her favorite warm beverage, she had learned to brew her own pot of daily comfort.

  With no other culinary abilities, there were many failures along her path to brewing mastery. She was quite proud of herself for having learned to grind dried chicory root with coffee beans. The mixture created the distinctly bold and woodsy flavor of New Orleans coffee. Pan poured hers over hot milk creating café au lait, heaven in a cup.

  Before anyone at the orphanage could benefit from her months of brewing practice, she had to get this iron giant to grind. She leaned over the crank breathing heavily, eyes closed, arms burning, muttering random thoughts to herself.

  “I don’t even know these people. Who lets a stranger make coffee?” she continued grumbling to herself. “Just came here to talk to Agnes,” a groan escaped as she shoved forward again, “Delivering this message is bound to be a mistake.”

  The nuns had left her alone in the kitchen, hopefully to locate the woman Pan had come looking for. She had failed thus far to prepare any coffee as Monsieur Peugeot was being exceptionally obstinate. The metal crank weighed at least ten pounds and barely moved no matter how much muscle Pan put to it. Thinking herself clever, she grabbed a chair and climbed on top. Her backside thrust out as she bent over the top of the grinder allowing the full range of her arms. She leaned in and heaved.

  The crank barely turned an inch.

  “Thunder,” she muttered in frustration before reverting to a French purr, “Handsome, powerful darling, I need you to work a bit more. Turn. Grind. Please monsieur, you know what I need.”

  A throat cleared behind her. Pan pushed against the crank and grunted a greeting in English without looking back, “I’m almost ready to get the pot on, Sister.” Determined to succeed, Pan continued speaking to the nun without looking up, “I’m happy to help prepare for your guests but I really need to speak with Agnes. Or maybe it’s Sister Agnes? First, I just…Grunt…need to get this Pue…Oof…to comply.” She halted the turn to catch her breath and wipe her sweaty palms against the sides of her skirt.

  Pan dropped her voice into a gentle, beseeching French, “Please my love. Work for me.” Laying her shoulder into the crank once more, she prepared to give a hearty push.

  A low timber rumbled from behind, “Perhaps I might assist in getting what you need.”

  Surprised by the amused, definitely unfeminine, voice that had spoken, Pan jerked upright. She slammed her head into the overhead cabinets. “Oof,” she grunted in pain and reached for her head. The force of the blow had propelled the chair backward rocking it onto its hind legs. Realizing too late that collapse was imminent, Pan’s hands shot out attempting to grasp anything that might help right herself.

  Falling gracelessly from the chair, she was caught by arms that could not possibly belong to one of the nuns who ran the orphanage. If one of the Sisters of Charity was now holding her, Pan was in serious need of a confessional. An electric current ran the path of her whole body in response to being encased by a pair of solid arms. Pan inhaled deeply; the complex and deliciously masculine aroma of clean linen, coffee, and rolled tobacco flooding her senses. She drowsily snuggled deeper into the warmth of the not nun’s broad, firm chest. A giggle escaped at the contradictory, probably concussion induced, thoughts.

  Stars clouded her vision and she lifted her head to see her rescuer. Her mouth went dry as she looked into a pair of eyes that reminded her of melting chocolate.

  “Definitely not a nun,” Pan murmured. The stranger who held her looked at her with both amusement and concern.

  “Not a nun. Hopefully, the same can be said of you.” The gentleman spoke softly, “I am sorry if I startled you. Should I find the physician?”

  “The physician?”

  “Yes, I heard that a doctor is visiting the home today,” he answered smoothly, his velvet voice cushioned with concern.

  “I came looking for Sister Agnes. I have a message for her.”

  Clarity finally dawning, Pan simultaneously laughed, winced, and blushed before she could stop any of the three. She was suddenly very aware of how handsome this man was and that he was still holding her close. “Thank you for catching me, sir. You can put me down,” she placed a hand on his chest as if to push herself off. The scoundrel tightened his grip and pulled her closer.

  “You took quite a blow, perhaps I should carry you to bed,” his sly half smile made her fully aware that the comment had been intentional.

  Thunder. “Not necessary. I am quite alright,” Pan arched her brow and began to twist, still the gentleman did not release her.

  He studied her face a moment longer before carefully setting her on her feet. Pan felt the room spin around her. She turned toward the counter and braced it for support.

  Eyes closed; she took a deep steadying breath. As she inhaled a complete awareness of this man enveloped her senses. Every other sound was muted except that of him breathing low and steady behind her. His hands brushed against the fabric of her skirt as he placed them on her waist in a steadying motion.

  Electricity licked her body where he touched. Her own intake of breath thundered in her ears; the sound more excited than outraged.

  “Mademoiselle? I really think I should seek assistance for you,” his tone was low and gentle, his breath along the back of her neck sent goosebumps running across her skin.

  Voices outside the room snapped the pair to attention. The stranger dropped his hands and stepped back. Pan turned to face the doorway as two nuns entered in full habit. Pan’s left hand reached for the side of her skirt as the sensation of being caught at something naughty took hold. She grabbed a piece of fabric and nervously rubbed it between her thumb and first two fingers.

  The taller of the two nuns looked from the gentleman to Pan quizzically, “Mr. Weathers, I did not realize there was another member of your party.” The gentleman followed the woman’s glance toward Pan, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

  The perplexed sister began to motion Weathers toward the open door still casting puzzled glances at Pan, “Your family is ready to continue on to see the children’s play area.”

  Pan followed the other nun who was headed toward the coffee mill. Moving the
fallen chair out of the way, the elderly woman, who weighed ninety pounds at most, began to turn the Peugeot’s crank with ease. Pan rolled her eyes and cursed the grinder under her breath. She was positive she heard a masculine chuckle behind her.

  Pan addressed the nun quietly, “I was looking for Agnes, maybe Sister Agnes.” The woman paused mid churn to look at Pan.

  “Agnes? You’re the one?” When Pan nodded, the nun motioned her to follow.

  Moving away from the counter, Pan looked longingly at the Peugeot. She sighed, obviously she would not be having coffee anytime soon. As she passed the open doorway, Weathers was in the hall talking to another well-dressed man while several other people waited nearby.

  The nun continued walking toward the rear stairwell. Pan slowed her pace to appreciate Weathers’ tall frame and robust build. His broad chest and shoulders filled his jacket perfectly. His skin had the healthy glow of someone who labored outdoors regularly, but that seemed unlikely as his refined speech and professional dress suggested that he was a gentleman. Maybe his complexion was the result of Spanish lineage? But he had vacillated between French and English, as fluidly as local French gentility would. Weathers was an Anglo name.

  She chewed her lip contemplating the possibilities of the man’s pedigree until she realized that he had caught her staring. Weathers’ heated chocolate gaze focused on her with curiosity for one intense second before Pan ducked her chin and moved on.

  When Pan caught up with the nun in the rear stairwell the older woman’s sharp eyes assessed her. “I am Sister Therese. Our other visitors have created quite a stir in the home today. Tell me, how can I help you?” In full habit Sister Therese was several inches shorter than Pan. Though she was a tiny woman, she appeared in no way frail.

  “Sister Therese, I am Panacea Fontenot. I need to speak with Sister Agnes,” Pan replied. Gritting her teeth, Pan tried to ignore the slow thrum that had begun at the base of her skull.