Pamela Morsi

Home > Other > Pamela Morsi > Page 19
Pamela Morsi Page 19

by The Love Charm


  "Yes, I suppose so," Helga agreed.

  "A boy, especially at his age," Madame Landry continued, "well, he needs a father. He needs a man to show him how to do and be."

  Helga's face paled visibly.

  Armand shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  "A mother must do her best," Orva stated. "But a boy learns to be a man by watching a man."

  Madame Shotz lowered her eyes guiltily.

  Aida's were wide.

  Armand wanted the floor to open and swallow them up. Why was Madame Landry deliberately bringing up this most painful of subjects?

  The old woman continued. "It is up to a mother to

  ensure that the man he watches is the man that she wishes her son to grow up to be."

  "Sometimes that is not possible," Helga said quietly.

  Madame Landry shrugged and nodded. "Yes, sometimes it is not," she agreed.

  "Madame Landry is teaching me to be the traiteur," Aida blurted out suddenly. They were virtually the first words she had spoken. "Of course I cannot remember the cures and charms so Monsieur Sonnier is writing it all down."

  "That is wonderful," Helga said.

  "I had never thought to be a person so responsible as a treater," she said. "And I know that I am not worthy, but it seems that it is what I shall be."

  "How nice."

  "Of course I have always loved to work with herbs, but I am not very smart and I have a very bad memory."

  Madame Landry chuckled. "Mademoiselle Gaudet often sees her shortcomings, but fails to understand how they benefit her."

  The cryptic words caused a momentary pause, but Aida had effectively rescued the conversation from the uncomfortable direction in which it had been headed.

  Within another quarter-hour the coffee was finished and Madame Landry made to leave. Helga walked them to the dock, calling to the formerly rowdy, now tired children.

  She touched Aida on the arm, drawing her aside. Her words were low but Armand could hear them.

  "Thank you for coming by, mademoiselle," she

  said. "Though perhaps we cannot be friends, I do not wish to be your enemy."

  "I would be happy to be your friend, Madame Shotz," Aida answered with obvious sincerity.

  Helga was flushed, obviously embarrassed by the situation.

  "Please give my regards to Monsieur Boudreau. I will not be seeing him in the future."

  "I may not see much of him, either," Aida said. "I broke off our betrothal last Saturday."

  Helga's eyes widened in shock at Aida's words. "You broke it off?"

  Aida nodded.

  The children rushed upon them like a plague, all laughing and pushing and talking at the same time. A plunge from the dock by little Marie was barely averted.

  Armand handed Aida into the boat and then the two children after her. He turned to aid Madame Landry into the pirogue, but the old woman ignored him, speaking to Helga Shotz once more.

  "Do you know what we call you? How we refer to you?" she asked.

  Helga blushed bright red and glanced nervously at her children as if expecting a vulgar derisive term.

  "We call you the veuve allemande," she said. "The German widow."

  Helga's brow furrowed. "I have told no lies about my marital status, Madame," she said defensively.

  Orva nodded. "I know that you have not. Actually, they got that from me. I was the first to call you that."

  She turned then to Armand. "Help me into the pirogue," she said.

  Once the old woman was settled, Elsa and Jakob managed the rope and cast it to Armand as he pushed off.

  "Monsieur," the little boy called out. "Please tell Oncle to come and see me."

  "He is gone away right now," Armand called back. "I will speak to him when I see him."

  "Where has he gone?" Jakob asked.

  Armand shrugged, unknowing.

  "To the German coast." The reply was called out by Aida.

  Armand was surprised at the answer. Madame Shotz appeared stunned.

  Chapter 13

  Aida showed up as requested at Madame Landry's home for another day of learning. She was rapidly becoming accustomed to the idea. Certainly she still was not smart enough, and she still had trouble remembering where she'd left her shoes, her shawl, or her sunbonnet, but since the vision she was beginning to believe that it was true that she should be the treater.

  Only three days earlier, on that surprisingly uneventful visit to Helga Shotz, she had stated with conviction for the first time that she was to be the new treater. Her words had been spoken only in an attempt to cover an awkward moment. Yet she had felt a strange sense of confidence. The burden of responsibility bolstered her in a way that her physical beauty never had.

  Of course, there was still Armand. He still seemed less than convinced of her abilities, but while she valued his opinion, it somehow did not matter as much as it once had. If he thought her unsuited for the task—well, he was in many ways correct. If he was not willing to believe that her vision was real, well, in that he was wrong.

  Aida stood alone with her thoughts inside the quiet solemnity of Madame Landry's house. Alternately she watched out the front door for Armand's arrival on the river, glanced at the old woman alone in her garden, and eyed a large luscious blueberry tart cooling on the table.

  Madame Landry was in a strange mood that morning, pale and almost listless; she requested to be left to herself awhile.

  Aida respected her wishes and therefore paced alone in the house. She wondered if the old woman was communicating with the voices. The idea was momentarily frightening to Aida. Then she recalled the warm sense of calm and peace that had settled upon her after the strange vision she'd experienced. Perhaps one could become accustomed to such. Especially knowing that it was meant to help people in the community, heal the sick, ward off disaster.

  If only Armand had taken her more seriously. Aida shook her head as the vivid memory of the field of shorn grain troubled her once again. There was something important that Armand must tell Laron. Somehow Armand was the key; he had the answer and he could not see it.

  Of course there was still time. Laron had not yet returned from the German coast. Aida ruminated momentarily on what business he might have there and then let the thought go by. Laron would be back within days, undoubtedly. Maybe by that time she could convince Armand to speak with him.

  A low murmur of voices caught her attention. Aida walked eagerly to the doorway to look out through the curtains toward the bayou. Jean Baptiste Sonnier was poling the pirogue near to shore. Armand adeptly jumped to the dock. He carried under his arm the tools of his trade, a polished wooden box containing his paper, ink, and plume. Safely on the bank, he turned to wave his brother off.

  Jean Baptiste waved back and then apparently caught sight of Aida in the doorway. He doffed his hat and gave a half-bow.

  "As beautiful as always, Mademoiselle Gaudet!" he called out.

  Armand turned to look at her, his expression black.

  Aida's heart sank. Another bad mood day, she thought. Could Armand Sonnier never just be happy?

  He stomped up the porch steps and in through the door.

  "Where is Madame Landry?" he asked grumpily.

  "She's in the garden," Aida told him. "She wanted to be alone for a while."

  Armand's brow furrowed in momentary concern. "Is she all right?"

  "Yes I think so. Perhaps she is . . . well, communing with the voices."

  Armand looked askance. "Surely not," he said firmly. "That certainly must only occur when she is alone or at night or—"

  "Why would you think that?"

  He shrugged without answering. "It just seems more likely."

  "Nothing about the voices is likely," Aida pointed out.

  Armand considered her words. "Well, I'm sure you know more about it than I do."

  "I do know more about it," Aida said argumentatively.

  "I just said you did."

  "But you did not mean it,"
she accused. "You are all angry and puffed up again for no reason."

  "Am I?"

  "Yes you are!"

  She stood nearly toe to toe with him, nearly shouting the words in his face. Her behavior surprised both of them. Embarrassed, she stepped back. An apology was on her lips, but he spoke first.

  "I am sorry," Armand said. His tone was sincere, as was his expression. "I am grumpy as a bear this morning, I think. It is no cause to take it out on you."

  "Thank you," Aida said, her voice not sounding nearly as meek as she felt.

  "I have been thinking about all this," he admitted. "I do believe that you can be traiteur and I cannot wholly discount your vision."

  "Then you will talk to Laron?" she asked.

  "If I can decipher what to say. Clearly the vision seems to me to be concerned with the fruitlessness of his relationship with Madame Shotz."

  "I liked her," Aida said.

  Armand nodded almost sadly. "I did, too."

  The quiet moment between the two of them lengthened.

  "Ummm, look at this!"

  Armand walked to the table, noticing the blueberry tart for the first time.

  Aida smiled, grateful for the distraction. "I saw it already. In fact, your arrival probably saved it from mysteriously disappearing."

  "Mysteriously disappearing?" Armand looked at her, his eyes almost twinkling.

  "No one would have ever seen or heard of it again," Aida whispered dramatically. "And all that would be left would be a blueberry stain on my lips."

  Armand picked up the game easily. "Show the judge your mouth, mamselle," he ordered in a haughty demanding voice. "Let us see if you are guilty or innocent."

  Aida stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

  "The woman is a saint," he declared in an impressive tone. ."She is innocent of sweet thievery, although I believe she did lust after it in her heart already."

  Aida gave a tiny giggle of delight at both his risqué comment and his comedic tone.

  "You are so funny," she said, delighted.

  "I have amused you?" he said, his words feigning surprise. "I thought only handsome fellows spouting odes to your eyelashes entertained you, mamselle."

  "And I thought you had become so stuffy and sensible that you wouldn't know a laugh if it hit you full face," she replied.

  Armand raised his brow in surprise. "Mademoiselle Gaudet, I am known as a man who can tell a good joke."

  "And I am known as a woman who appreciates one," she countered.

  "Well, it seems that this lovely tart has brought us to a new understanding of each other," he said.

  "It seems so."

  "Then I believe that, in celebration of that happy conclusion, we should eat it."

  "We can't." Aida's eyes were wide with scandalized amusement.

  "Are you fearing Madame Landry's wrath?"

  "She would not be happy to lose such a delicious looking pie," Aida said with certainty.

  Armand nodded. "I've stolen sweets from her before," he admitted. "As a young boy I was scolded for such a sin more than once."

  "And did you learn your lesson?" she asked.

  He sighed with feigned despair. "Apparently not," he replied. "For looking at this beautiful bit of blueberry all I can recall with certainty is my half-burned, overchewy coushe-coushe that I left half-eaten. My brother and I allowed my sister-in-law to lie abed this morning while we cooked breakfast for ourselves and the children."

  "I forgot about the morning meal completely," Aida admitted. "Poor Poppa slathered some mayhaw preserves on yesterday's cold biscuit."

  "Then surely," Armand suggested, "this tart was meant to be devoured by you and me."

  Aida tutted in warning. "Are you trying to tempt me, monsieur?"

  "Oh no, mamselle, I would not do such a thing," he said with great hauteur.

  "But you are going to taste it," she said.

  "Just the edges," he assured her as he broke off a fairly generous portion of a corner. "I'll just try it, in order to convince us that it is not something that we really want to eat."

  The hot blueberry filling was oozing out of the crust and would have dripped on the table if Aida had not reached over and allowed the heavy dollop to slide upon her finger.

  "Thank you for saving that," he said. "We could not allow it to fall upon the table and make it sticky."

  She giggled before burying the blueberry-covered digit in her mouth.

  "Mmm," was her only comment.

  Armand tasted his portion and offered a similar opinion.

  "It's wonderful," she said.

  "Maybe it is my hunger," he said. "But I don't believe that I have ever tasted better."

  "I have never been overfond of Madame Landry's cooking," Aida said. "But this is wonderful."

  "We have to have another bite, don't we?" he asked.

  Aida looked longingly at the tart.

  "Just a little one," she said. "I haven't even tried the crust."

  Armand broke off another corner and shared it with her.

  Once more they made sounds of pleasurable satisfaction as they consumed the sweet blueberry filling and light crust of Madame Landry's tart.

  "How is Felicite?" Aida asked him conversationally. "Her time is getting very close."

  Armand nodded as he licked his fingers. "She is doing well, I think. She is more tired these days than I recall with the other babies, but maybe I was not paying as much attention."

  Aida broke off the third corner and shared it with him.

  "I don't know much about birthing," she told him. "Madame Landry has said that I shall be with her to assist at the next lying-in. That undoubtedly will be Madame Sonnier."

  Armand's brow furrowed as he scooped out a bit more of the hot, oozing center of the tart with his fingers.

  "It is very unusual for an unwed lady to attend a birthing," he said.

  Aida nodded agreement. "I said that very thing to her."

  "What did she say?"

  "It was really very strange," Aida told him. "She just gave this unexpected, almost shrieking laugh and said that she didn't think that my being a maiden would be a problem."

  Armand shrugged. "Maybe she thinks that since you have been chosen as traiteur the normal sensibilities simply do not apply."

  "Perhaps so."

  The two of them dug fingers into the last corner of the tart and giggled guiltily as they split it between them.

  "Do you think she will forgive us?" Aida asked.

  "Certainly. She is a reasonable woman and she will understand how seductive a blueberry tart can be to two hungry young people."

  "Then you are going to confess."

  Armand grinned. "No need to rush into anything. Let her notice it is missing and scold me first."

  Aida laughed.

  "Children! Children! Come here!"

  The call came from the direction of the garden.

  "Children? I suppose that's us," Aida said.

  "I think so," Armand agreed. "Do I have blueberry on my face?"

  Aida looked him over, laughing. "No, monsieur, but don't let her see your tongue. What about me?"

  "You appear as angelic and innocent as if no blueberry tart could ever tempt you," he said.

  He offered his arm formally and the two headed out the back doorway to the garden. "We are coming, Nanan," Armand called out.

  Aida felt warm and happy and content at his side. They were friends. He did at least seem to like and respect her. It was a lot for a woman who so admired him.

  Madame Landry was seated as usual among the remains of her garden. The curled and discolored leaves and vines of autumn were all around her, deteriorating so very slowly to dust. She had a peculiar expression on her face, but she appeared quite happy.

  "Well good morning to you, moti fils," she said, greeting Armand for the first time.

  "I have my paper and ink," he said. "And Mademoiselle Gaudet and I await your lessons."

  "No lessons today," she sai
d, surprising both of them. "I have things to think on and consider and I have no time for teaching."

  If Armand was annoyed at losing a day's lesson and having made a futile trip to her home, he didn't say so.

  "It has been a long time since you sent me away to play," he said.

  "But you always loved those days of play," she said. The old woman's smile was secretive, as if there was some joke to which the others were not privy.

  "You two run along now, you can make your way home, of course," she said.

  "Certainly," Armand told her. "My brother dropped me off on his way to visit the Heberts; we can walk up there and get the pirogue to take Mademoiselle Gaudet."

  "Good, good," the old woman said. "You do that. And let me get you that tart."

  "Tart?" Armand asked, casting Aida a quick guilty grin.

  "I made a blueberry tart for your brother," she said. "As I recall he was always partial to blueberry."

  "The tart is for Jean Baptiste?" Armand's question was curious.

  Old Madame Landry nodded. "Perhaps you have not noticed," she said. "But your brother seems to be going through a difficult time now. He is not altogether happy about the new baby and is not as devoted to dear Felicite as he once was."

  Armand visibly paled, but he did not dispute her words.

  "And you think baking him a blueberry tart will make him more devoted to his wife?" His tone was doubtful.

  "Oh, the one I made him will," Orva assured him. "I laced it heavily with a very effective love charm."

  Armand and Aida knelt beside the riverbank, choking, gagging, coughing as both thrust fingers down their own throats time and time again to no effect.

  "I cannot vomit!" Aida wailed. "She must have put an antiemetic in it also."

  Armand had discovered the same incontrovertible fact but had not yet voiced it.

  "What can we do?" Armand asked her. "Is there no remedy?"

  "You have been there when she has taught me,"

  Aida answered. "Not once has she even mentioned love charms. How am I to know if there is an antidote?"

  "How do you feel?" he asked. "Do you think it is going to start working right away or later today or . . . ?"

  Aida was still and self-absorbed for a moment and then shook her head.

  "I don't feel anything except frightened and anxious," she said. "That must be more the effects of knowing that I've swallowed the charm than the charm itself."

 

‹ Prev