Under the Cajun Moon

by Mindy Starns Clark

  It had been a very long time since I had met someone I genuinely liked as much as I liked Travis Naquin. Though he could come across as a goo goo ga ga or whatever he had called it, in truth he seemed very intelligent, quite talented, and most of all kindhearted. It struck me that he didn’t talk very much about himself, and in a way that was refreshing. Having grown up with an egomaniac for a father, I think I just expected all men to act as if the earth revolved around them. Though Julian Ledet was an extreme case, it seemed to me that most of the men in my life were self-absorbed. Now, after spending so much time in the company of the unpretentious, unassuming Travis, I found myself wondering what it would be like to date him.

  With a sad smile, I thought of the lost opportunity from the summer we were both eighteen. Had I not been such a prim and proper snob on our date, Travis’ dream for that summer might very well have come true. We could have fallen in love and had one last fling before both heading off to college. Then again, I had a feeling that Travis Naquin was not the “fling” type. He was more the love-you-forever kind of guy, the type of man you bring home to Mama. The one you marry. I couldn’t imagine how different my life would have been if things had gone differently so long ago.

  We were still speeding along the darkening waterway when I noticed that this engine was beginning to make funny noises too. I turned around to look at Travis, wondering if someone had tampered with our engine while we were inside at Josie’s.

  “This seems to be my day for engine trouble!” he called to me over the faltering roar of the motor.

  At least we had put some distance between ourselves and Josie’s by that point. As I flicked on the powerful lamp and shone it ahead of us, Travis turned into a side channel, one that seemed to have no houseboats or camps on it, and then he turned again into an equally deserted one and finally cut the engine.

  The bayou was wide here, but I kept my eye on the direction we were drifting, as I had no desire to float into the overgrown tangle of flora and fauna that hung from the shore on both sides. One snake encounter per day was more than enough for me.

  “Did somebody sabotage us?” I asked fearfully, my voice sounding loud in the sudden quiet.

  Travis was silent for a moment as he carefully tinkered with the hot motor. Then he replied that he didn’t think so. This looked to be a timing problem. He asked me to turn around and shine the light where he was working, so I did just that.

  “Should we call someone for help?”

  “Not yet. I should be able to fix it.”

  “How far are we from all of those friends and relatives you were talking about, the ones who have places up in the swamps?”

  “About another five miles or so, too far to paddle in this kind of boat. Speaking of paddles, cher, you might want to grab one and use it right about now.”

  I turned around to see that we had practically drifted directly under the very place I hadn’t wanted to go. Putting down the flashlight and frantically grabbing a paddle from the floor of the boat, I used it to push off from a fat tree trunk and float us out toward the middle again.

  Once there, I again picked up the light and shone it toward the engine. Travis certainly seemed to know what he was doing, and as he worked I allowed myself to watch the certain, strong movements of his hands.

  All around us, though it was nearly dark now, the swamp sounds were coming to life. Between the crickets and the frogs and a dozen other noises I couldn’t identify, it almost felt as though we were listening to a mood tape, one from the rain forest or something. Creepiest of all were the near-constant plopping sounds that came at us from all sides. I wasn’t sure what sorts of things were causing the water to plop, but I hoped it was flying fish or frogs or something benign like that—and not snakes or alligators or other, more ominous creatures.

  “Chloe! Allons done.”

  “What is it? We’re still out in the middle.”

  He gestured toward the light, and with a start, I realized that I had let the beam wander to the wrong angle. As I corrected myself, I noticed something sparkling on the water about ten feet away

  “Hold on a second,” I said lifting the flashlight to train the beam out toward the shoreline. I could see two pairs of lights reflecting back at me, though I wasn’t sure what they were so I asked Travis.

  “Cocodrie. Now can you shine the light this way, please?”

  “Cocodrie…” I said, thinking, and then I gasped. “Alligators?”

  “Of course, cher. We’re in Louisiana. What did you expect?”

  With a shudder, I wondered if they were just sitting there watching us and waiting for our boat to sink so they could swoop in for a yummy dinner. I had seen enough National Geographic specials to know that alligators could move pretty fast and jump quite high—when they wanted to. Fortunately, they rarely wanted to.

  “Hey, at least it’s just April,” Travis added softly. “Wait till it gets warmer and they all start coming out. When that happens, you can shine your light across the bayou and literally see hundreds of glowing eyes looking back at you. It’s really something.”

  He was just chatting, unaware of the terrifying effect his words had on me.

  “And you really did catch your first gator when you were only seven?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

  “Oui, thanks to Grandmere Minette. She wanted to make stew but we were all out of chickens, so we went for a walk in the woods instead, saying we would cook up the first thing we found. I guess we were both a little surprised when the first thing we found was an alligator, caught up in one of our traps. By the time my grandpere got home that night, there was alligator stew on the table and a new pair of boots waiting for him by the door.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Aren’t you exaggerating just a little?”

  “Well, now, there’s always that chance. Exaggerating is one of those things comes pretty natural to Cajuns, so sometimes it’s kind of hard to know.”

  As Travis worked, he told me about more of the creatures of the swamps, the nutria and frogs and snakes and fish—not to mention things like wild boars and bobcats and even bears. Of course, that only served to scare me more, especially when a bat swooped down at the water right beside the boat, causing me to yelp.

  “You know,” Travis said suddenly, turning his attention from the motor to me, “if you’re scared you can move a little closer.”

  I did as he suggested, carefully sliding from the front slat to the middle one. Turning around, my knees just fit against the side of Travis’ leg. He was right. Being there next to him made me feel a lot safer. He went back to work on the engine, and as he did, I realized that sitting so close to him made my heart pound in a different way altogether. Judging by the way he kept looking back at me, I had a feeling Travis was feeling the heat between us too. Finally, he closed something on the top of the motor, turned to me again, put a hand on my arm, and asked if I was okay.

  “I think so.”

  “Well, good. Because it just struck me that I might have to keep you very close, purely in the name of safety.”

  The tone of his voice and the way he was suddenly looking at me let me know that safety wasn’t really what he was talking about at all.

  “Oh?” I asked softly. “So if some big, nasty creature showed up right about now, we’d have to get even closer?”

  He didn’t answer my question at first but instead just looked deeply into my eyes. From the tilt of his chin, I could tell he wanted to kiss me. I leaned slightly forward and tilted my head the other way, suddenly wishing he would do just that.

  “Hey, cher? I don’t want to move in to anything you’re not prepared for,” Travis said softly, the heat of his lips very near mine.

  “I think I’ve been preparing for this my whole life,” I whispered.

  “No, I mean we’re drifting again,” Travis said, suddenly pulling back. “Grab the paddle, cher, or we’re going to end up under the trees.”

  I spun around, mortifie
d to see that the heavy, ominous branches were now only inches away. This time, Travis and I both grabbed a paddle, and worked our way furiously back out in the middle. As we did, I felt like biting my tongue, taking back that last, idiotic comment I had made in the heat of the moment. I’ve been preparing for this my whole life? Had I really just said that?

  “What are we going to do, Travis? We obviously can’t stay out here all night, paddling like a pair of propellers every time we near the bank.”

  “No need to,” he replied, sliding his paddle back onto the floor of our little boat. “I fixed the motor. Did I forget to tell you?”

  With a wink and a grin, he reached back and pulled the cord, causing the engine to spring to life.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  FRANCE, 1719

  JACQUES

  Something was going on, something that stirred and frenzied the patients like animals in the forest before a fire. Jacques could sense it as soon as he awoke. Up and down the halls, everyone seemed to be working themselves into a fevered pitch. The patient noises had frightened him at first, but over the last month he had grown to identify most of them, the screamers and the criers and the moaners and the babblers. Though Jacques was clearly sane, he had been placed in the building reserved for lunatics. According to a conversation he’d overheard between the two Brothers who performed the bloodletting each week, Jacques was better off in here anyway, as the other buildings housed criminals and the severely ill. Eventually, Jacques had learned to sleep through the noise. Not this morning, though. This morning it sounded as though every single one of the men on this floor was at his most vocal.

  Jacques, on the other hand, was one of the silent ones. It wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say, it was that there simply wasn’t anyone worth talking to. The people here didn’t listen, and the Brothers and maids and servants didn’t believe him. The only choice he had was to keep his mouth shut and bide his time and wait for his case to be handled in its turn. He could only hope that he hadn’t been forgotten. Jacques knew that it wasn’t uncommon for a man to be locked away in Charenton for many years without even so much as a trial. Jacques didn’t get much communication from the outside, but he knew two things: Papa was surely dead by now, and Angelique had been lost to him forever.

  Given that, Jacques had come to the point where he didn’t really care how things turned out. He wanted to be free, yes, and he wanted to clear his name. But as neither event seemed likely to happen soon, if ever, he spent most of his time simply trying to survive, one sane man in the midst of madness.

  “Key man! Key man!” one of the screamers yelled from the doorway. That guy seemed to get worked up every time anyone opened or closed the massive iron doors at each end of the long hall. This time, however, it sounded as though he wasn’t the only one yelling about it. Soon the phrase “key man” was being called out, up and down, in both directions.

  Again, Jacques had an odd sense that something big was going on. He got up from his narrow cot and went to the doorway, which was packed with people. Pushing his way through, he finally got a glimpse of what the fuss was all about: The iron door at one end of the hall was propped open, something Jacques hadn’t seen happen since he had arrived.

  “What’s going on?” he asked those around him, but of course he received no intelligible replies.

  Pushing his way through the crowded hall, he tried to find someone sporting the telltale white garb of the servants, but he couldn’t find any.

  When Jacques reached the open doorway, he realized that though all of the patients were clustering there, none of them were venturing past, even though there was nothing to stop them. They simply hovered at the edge of freedom and peered beyond, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever might be on the other side.

  Jacques didn’t want to cause trouble or make waves, but the whole thing was ridiculous. Had the door come loose on its own? Had someone simply unlocked it and left it open? Jacques didn’t know what was going on, but he kept thinking of Peter in the Bible, Peter who had been locked in a prison and then miraculously set free. Miracle or not, Jacques decided to explore.

  Emerging from the crowd, he stepped through the open doorway and ventured several feet into the large area at the top of the stairs. As he did, the patients went nuts, their already frenzied sounds and motions exploding with renewed vigor. The rooms on his floor had windows but they were all set high, far too high to see out of. Here, however, Jacques saw that there was a normal window, one that looked down on the grassy knoll outside.

  Moving to that window now, Jacques would have been happy simply to drink up the sight of the trees, the autumn colors, the sunshine. But there was more to see out there, much more. Something indeed was going on. The lawn was covered with people.

  Pressing his face to the glass, Jacques tried to understand what was happening. There was order in the chaos, though he couldn’t quite figure out the purpose of it all. From the looks of things, men and women were being paired together, tied at the wrists, and moved into some sort of line. Already, about twenty couples had been hooked together that way, with more in the making.

  “Here’s one,” a Brother suddenly called from the stairs.

  He was just coming up and had caught Jacques looking out of the window.

  “I didn’t do anything. The door was already open,” Jacques said, backing up, afraid that he might be penalized for his infraction.

  “I know, son. I’m the one who opened it.”

  The man stood there at the doorway, cupped his hands around his mouth, and began calling out instructions at the top of his voice to the frenzied crowd inside. Jacques hovered nearby, trying to understand how this could be happening.

  “Attention, everyone! Today you have the opportunity to change your life. Another ship is leaving for the Isle d’Orleans, and it needs passengers willing to go there and help settle the new colony. Anyone who is of sound mind and willing to go to the New World will be released to do so. You must be unmarried and healthy. If you choose to accept this offer, please proceed in an orderly fashion down the stairs. You will be directed where to go once you get there. If you choose not to accept this offer, please remain…”

  Jacques didn’t even wait for the man to finish.

  As fast as he could, he ran down the stairs and then eagerly continued on outside, to the place he was directed. There were plenty of servants out here, keeping everyone in line, making sure no one could run off. Blinking in the sun, Jacques got behind a short fellow in the same muslin pajamas they all wore, a man who kept giggling and rubbing his fingers together. What a joke, that the offer required one to be of sound mind. Who were they kidding?

  Still, Jacques couldn’t believe this was happening. Could it really be possible? Had he just been given his ticket out?

  As much as he loved Paris, life there had been ruined for him the day everything went wrong. He had heard terrible things about the Isle d’Orleans, but surely living in a colony in the midst of a swamp could be no worse than trying to survive in an insane asylum. Better yet, if Jacques had his freedom, he would be in a position to right the wrongs that had been done to him. Even from half a world away, he had a better chance of clearing his name from over there than he did from inside here.

  The ship carrying the statuettes had set sail for the New World more than a month ago. Jacques had no idea whether or not John Law and his minions had been able to switch them out for the gilded ones before sailing, but either way he planned to follow the statuettes wherever the pursuit led him.

  The line was moving forward, and soon it was Jacques’ turn at the front. He didn’t know why, but a woman was grabbed from a different line and tied to him at the wrist.

  She wasn’t wearing the muslin pajamas of the asylum but instead the gray smock of the adjoining prison. They didn’t speak at first, but after an hour of being bound together in line, Jacques finally asked her name.

  “Lily,” she said in a low, flat voice.

  “I’m Jacq
ues.”

  Lily didn’t seem very healthy, and several times Jacques thought she might pass out in the heat of the warm autumn sun.

  With his help, though, she managed to stay erect, and eventually they were herded onto a flat-bottomed rowboat with about fifteen other bound couples. From the talk on board, this boat would take them down the Seine all the way to La Havre, where they would then board the ship that was to bring them to the New World.

  Jacques drank in the views like a man rescued from the desert. As they sailed past the vivid oranges and yellows and browns of autumn, he couldn’t help but think that in the New World he wouldn’t mind it even if he had to sleep out in the open air. Anything was better than the feral, fetid existence he’d been living in the asylum.

  As they neared Paris, he spotted two other, similar passenger boats waiting there and tied up to the dock. They tied his boat up as well, though Jacques wasn’t sure why as there were soldiers there with guns pointed at them, making sure no one got up to leave. They all sat there mostly in quiet until a fourth ship joined them from behind. Once it had been secured, a priest came out to the landing, opened his Bible and began speaking in Latin.

  At first Jacques figured that the priest was blessing their journey. After a while, though, something about the words gave him pause. He had heard them before.

  They were the words of matrimony.

  This was a mass wedding! Stunned, Jacques tried to decide what to do, but there didn’t seem to be any way to stop it. Several others tried and were nearly shot for their efforts. It seemed that this one small fact had been left out of the announcement earlier. When the Brother had said you must be single, it was because in order to go to the New World you had to marry first.

  At least the woman tied to Jacques wasn’t like some of the others, insane or toothless or ridden with lice. But then when the ceremony was over and he turned to look at her, he saw it: the brand of the fleur-de-lis on her shoulder.

  The mark of a prostitute.