Dead with the Wind

by Miranda James

  “I’m not going to wear dead women’s clothes on my wedding day, no matter what you say. I don’t care what I said before. I’ve changed my mind.” Sondra stamped her foot hard on the ancient Aubusson carpet. “Makes my skin crawl just to think about it. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.” She kept repeating those two words over and over.

  An’gel had had enough. Mireille might put up with this ridiculous behavior, but she wasn’t going to.

  She spotted a vase filled with cut flowers on a table near her. She moved over, pulled out the flowers, and placed them on the table. A check inside the vase assured her there was enough water for her purpose. She took a couple of steps closer to the still-ranting Sondra and dumped the water over the girl’s head.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Don’t even open your mouth.” An’gel stood in front of Sondra and stared hard into her eyes. “You march right upstairs and clean yourself up, and you come back downstairs with a good attitude. Your grandmother has had enough of this, and I’m not going to let you treat her this way.”

  Sondra glared right back at her. She opened her mouth, but An’gel didn’t give her a chance to speak.

  “What did I tell you? Get yourself upstairs this minute, Sondra, or I might turn you over my knee and wallop your behind.” An’gel held up her right hand in a menacing gesture.

  Sondra darted an outraged glance at her grandmother, but Mireille looked away. Evidently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Sondra ducked around An’gel and ran out of the room. Moments later An’gel heard footsteps pounding up the wooden stairs.

  “Surely that was a bit excessive, An’gel.” Mireille’s tone was mild, but An’gel could tell her cousin was not pleased.

  “Your granddaughter’s behavior wasn’t, I suppose?” An’gel tried to keep the edge of sarcasm from her tone but didn’t completely succeed. She walked over to the sofa and sat by Mireille. She picked up her cousin’s left hand and patted it. “Even a stranger could see that you’re exhausted, and there’s no excuse for putting up with that kind of behavior.”

  Mireille leaned back and closed her eyes. Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “I know, and you’re right, my nerves are at the breaking point. We’ve indulged that child all her life, and you see what she’s become.” She rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “And now we have to find her another dress.”

  Dickce made herself comfortable in a chair across from the other women. “Mireille, honey, An’gel and I are here to help, and we’ll take as much of the strain off you as we can. We’ll even take Sondra shopping for another dress, though it will probably be a complete waste of time.”

  Mireille’s eyelids fluttered open, and a dab of color reappeared in her cheeks. She pulled her hand from An’gel’s grasp and sat up. “Bless you both for that.” She smiled. “Perhaps Sondra will behave better, now that she’s found someone who will stand up to her. Jacqueline and I can’t. Never could.”

  “Jacqueline couldn’t what?” A new voice entered the conversation.

  An’gel glanced toward the doorway to see her goddaughter approaching. Jacqueline Mims was a blurred, shopworn copy of her only child. An’gel winced inwardly at the change in the woman since they had last met. Jacqueline had let her hair go gray, though there were still a few streaks of faded blond. She looked a couple of decades older than her forty-five years. An’gel wondered if Sondra was the reason for her mother’s haggard appearance, or was there trouble in her second marriage? Jacqueline had not confided any problems in their most recent exchange of e-mails.

  An’gel rose as Jacqueline stopped in front of her, and clasped her goddaughter’s outstretched hands. “Hello, my dear, I’m so happy to see you.” An’gel saw no point in ducking the issue. “I was saying you could never stand up to your daughter.”

  Jacqueline gave a faint smile. “Tante An’gel, diplomatic as ever.” She kissed the older woman’s cheek, then released her hands.

  Dickce smothered a laugh as Jacqueline turned to her. “There’s a reason no president ever asked An’gel to serve as ambassador.”

  “Tante Dickce, I’m so glad you could come.” She gave Dickce a kiss on the cheek as well, then took the chair next to her. “I’m glad you’re both here. Maman and I have our hands full with Sondra.” She sighed and closed her eyes.

  “You just tell us what needs doing, and we’ll pitch right in,” An’gel said.

  “For one thing, you can promise not to dump any more vases of water on Sondra’s head.” Mireille frowned. “I know you meant well, An’gel, but that was going too far.”

  “Did you really?” Jacqueline gazed at An’gel. At the older woman’s nod, she burst into laughter. An’gel thought it had a slightly hysterical tinge to it.

  “Jacqueline, tais-toi,” Mireille said crossly. “It wasn’t funny. Sondra will be even more difficult now.”

  Jacqueline quieted at her mother’s command. “Sorry, Maman, but it is funny. I wish I had the nerve to do that the next time the little wench has a tantrum.”

  “I regret that you were offended by what I did,” An’gel told her cousin, “but I’d do it again. You’ve let that child run your lives for far too long. It’s time someone got the upper hand with her.”

  “Exactly what I’ve been saying for years, but of course no one pays attention to the hired help.” A short, stocky woman with improbably red hair pushed a tea cart into the room and wheeled it in front of Mireille. “That girl needed her behind paddled at least once a day, but no one would make the effort. She’d’ve turned out a lot nicer if someone had had the backbone to do it.”

  “Hello, Estelle,” An’gel said into the uneasy silence that followed the woman’s pronouncements. She had often thought Mireille’s housekeeper was more than a little rude, but Mireille had done nothing to curb the woman’s tongue.

  “Miss An’gel, Miss Dickce, nice to see you. Maybe the two of you can stiffen up a few spines while you’re here. The good Lord knows we need it, but of course the hired help gets ignored when they suggest anything.” The housekeeper acknowledged them with curt nods. She pointed to the tea tray. “It won’t be my fault if the tea gets cold. I don’t have time to stand around pouring tea when you can pour it just as well yourselves. I have way too much on my plate as it is.” With that she turned and hurried from the room without a backward glance.

  Estelle had been claiming to be overburdened as long as An’gel had known her. She had often thought that if Estelle had put more effort into her work and less effort into complaining about it, she might actually get things done.

  Mireille shook her head as she leaned forward to pour out the tea. “Estelle means well, but nothing I can do will ever get her to rein in that tongue of hers.”

  An’gel exchanged a wry glance with her sister. She and Dickce knew that Mireille abhorred confrontation of any kind and would never make an effort to get the upper hand. She always let things go, no matter how much trouble she was making for herself in the long run.

  “She’s always been difficult.” Jacqueline leant forward to accept a cup from her mother. “But ever since Maman made her a partner in the bed-and-breakfast, she’s become nearly impossible to deal with. She has opinions on everything, and they’re all negative.” She sipped her tea.

  An’gel decided a change of subject was overdue. “Dickce and I don’t know anything about the groom, though his name sounded somewhat familiar. Has Sondra known him long?”

  Mireille stared into her tea as she answered. “Lance? She’s known him practically all her life, since they were in kindergarten.”

  “They’ve been sweethearts since their junior year in high school.” Jacqueline helped herself to a lemon square from the tea tray.

  “Have we ever met the boy?” An’gel glanced at her sister.

  Dickce nodded. “I believe I remember him. A pretty little boy with blond curls that Sondra used to
drag around all over the place.”

  “Yes, now I remember him,” An’gel said. The boy had been even prettier than Sondra, as she recalled, and excessively biddable.

  Jacqueline chuckled. “Yes, that was Lance. They have always adored each other. I’ve never heard them have a cross word between them. At least not since they were little children.”

  An’gel’s eyebrows arched over this statement. Perhaps not in your hearing, she thought. Once again she shared a glance with her sister. Dickce evidently didn’t believe this claim of angelic behavior on Sondra’s part any more than An’gel did.

  “So obviously you’ve known the family a long time,” Dickce said. “I can’t remember who his people are.”

  “The Perigords used to own a large plantation up the river from here. They have been in St. Ignatiusville almost as long as the Champlains.” Mireille had a sip of her tea. “They have not prospered in the past couple of generations, but they’re still important members of the community.”

  The Perigords must be thrilled at the coming wedding, An’gel thought, especially if they needed money. Sondra’s father had left the bulk of his considerable fortune in trust for his daughter until she married or turned twenty-five, whichever came first. Young Mr. Perigord could very well be a fortune hunter, even though he and Sondra had known each other since childhood.

  “Do you like the young man?” An’gel directed her question to the mother of the bride.

  Jacqueline shrugged. “He has nice manners, and he’s astonishingly gorgeous to look at.”

  “But?” Dickce said in a leading tone.

  Estelle Winfield appeared suddenly beside her, startling Dickce into almost dropping her cup.

  “But he has the brainpower the good Lord gave a fence post. Beautiful like no man on this earth has a right to be. He and Sondra’d better have lots of mirrors in their house; otherwise, they’ll knock each other out trying to stand in front of one.” Estelle glared at Mireille. “Is that enough tea, or do you want more?”

  Mireille waved a hand. “We have plenty, thank you, Estelle. I will ring when I’m ready for you to clear the tea things away.”

  The housekeeper snorted—in irritation, An’gel presumed—and scurried out of the room.

  “Is that a fair assessment of the young man?” An’gel couldn’t quite bring herself to say the groom’s name. Why on earth would parents name a child Lance? It sounded like a name out of a particularly torrid romance novel.

  “Estelle may not be tactful, but she is generally honest.” Jacqueline grimaced. “Lance is a dear, sweet boy, but I’ve often wondered how he gets dressed by himself every day. I suspect his mother has to inspect him before he leaves the house to make sure he’s not wearing his underpants on the outside.”

  Dickce giggled at that, and An’gel shot her a sharp glance, even though she was amused by her goddaughter’s tart comments.

  “Sondra is not the smartest child, I have to admit,” Mireille said, “but she is at least more intelligent than Lance.”

  An’gel did her best to keep her tone neutral as she inquired, “You’re happy with Sondra’s choice of husband?” She thought the marriage could be a terrible mistake if the groom were as lacking in intelligence as Jacqueline and Estelle claimed.

  “Sondra is set on marrying him.” Jacqueline shrugged. “And Tippy adores him. He is really good with her.”

  An’gel and Dickce looked at each other, puzzled. Who was Tippy?

  An’gel voiced the question and was rather taken aback to see Mireille’s face flush a deep red.

  “Tippy is Sondra’s daughter.” Mireille turned her head away. “Her illegitimate daughter.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Even seated beside her cousin, An’gel barely heard Mireille’s last three words. Evidently Mireille was deeply embarrassed to admit that her great-grandchild was born out of wedlock. An’gel was rather taken aback by the news herself, but Mireille’s shame over her great-grandchild’s illegitimacy probably explained why there had been no birth announcement.

  “How old is Tippy?” Dickce asked brightly.

  “Three,” Jacqueline said. “I’m sorry, Tante An’gel, Tante Dickce. I know we should have told you before now, but, well . . .” Her voice trailed off as she gestured toward her mother.

  An’gel nodded. She understood Mireille’s outraged sensibilities—if indeed she felt that strongly about it—but what was done was done. An’gel firmly believed that the sins of the father—or in this case, the mother—should not be visited upon the child. She was about to express these thoughts, but Dickce spoke first.

  “I know this is indelicate of me to ask,” she said with a brief smile. “But after all, we are family. I suppose Lance is the father, since he and Sondra have been sweethearts for several years?”

  Jacqueline shook her head. “No, Lance is not Tippy’s father.” She paused for a deep breath. “In fact, we don’t know who her father is. Sondra refuses to say.”

  “The groom isn’t bothered by this?” An’gel asked, trying to mask her astonishment with a bland tone. “Especially since it must have happened during the time he and Sondra were dating.”

  “Evidently not,” Mireille said a trifle snappishly. “At the time Sondra told us all she was going to have a child, he uttered not one word of complaint or recrimination. At least not in my hearing.” She glanced at her daughter.

  Jacqueline nodded. “It’s just as Maman says. Lance doesn’t seem at all bothered by the situation. Of course, he may not actually understand just how children are conceived.” She giggled.

  “It is not in the least amusing.” Mireille dropped her teacup on the silver tray with a loud clatter.

  An’gel thought for a moment the delicate porcelain might have broken, but the cup seemed intact. Not so her cousin, however. One glance told her Mireille’s face was flushed again—whether with anger or embarrassment, or a combination of both, she wasn’t sure.

  Mireille stood. “I’m sorry, but you must excuse me. I have to talk with Estelle. I will see you again at dinnertime.” She walked out of the room, her shoulders slumped.

  Jacqueline waited until her mother was clear of the doorway before she spoke. “I’m so sorry about all this. I would have told you before now, but Maman is so distressed over the whole situation. She adores Tippy, of course. She’s a sweet child, and no one could help but love her, but Maman has never forgiven Sondra for causing such a scandal.”

  Dickce spoke in a mild tone. “Surely, my dear, these days having a child out of wedlock isn’t so scandalous. It happens in many families.”

  Jacqueline’s response was tart. “Not in the Champlain family, it doesn’t.” She threw up her hands. “You both know what Maman is like. You’ve known her longer than I have, for goodness’ sake. All my life she’s been the epitome of rectitude—and a pillar of the community. But since Tippy was born, she hardly sets foot out of the house or off the grounds, except to go to mass on Sundays. She’s convinced that she’s the laughingstock of St. Ignatiusville.”

  “There are probably those in town who do find the situation amusing because of the family’s long history in the area,” An’gel said. “There are always people who love to see others embarrassed, and I’m sorry that Mireille has been hurt by it.”

  “She’s noblessing her oblige a little too much, if you ask me.” Jacqueline shook her head. “Just because the Champlains settled here first. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but you know how stubborn she can be. Just like Sondra.”

  “Just like Sondra what?” A petulant voice from the doorway drew An’gel’s attention.

  Jacqueline turned in her chair to face her daughter. “Don’t stand there, darling, come in.”

  “I don’t want any more water dumped on my head.” Sondra scowled at them as she took a couple of steps into the room.

  “If you behave properly, no one wil
l do that.” An’gel decided, after that gruff statement, she perhaps ought to offer an olive branch. “That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing. The color is perfect for your complexion.” She meant what she said. Sondra’s dress, a sheath of iridescent blue, set off her creamy skin and golden hair beautifully.

  “Thank you.” Sondra preened for them. “Lance picked it out for me. He has wonderful taste, doesn’t he?”

  “My goodness, yes,” Dickce said. “He obviously has an eye for color.”

  “I’m going to wear it for the wedding,” Sondra said. “White is so old-fashioned, and I won’t have to wear that old dress that Grandmother is so crazy about.” She shuddered. “Dead people’s clothes. Yuck.”

  An’gel caught Jacqueline’s horrified expression and wondered how her goddaughter would deal with Sondra’s odd notion.

  Jacqueline took a deep breath. “Well, darling, what you’re wearing is beautiful. We’ll talk about it later with your grandmother, okay?”

  Sondra shot her mother a mutinous glance as she advanced farther into the room until she stood by her mother’s chair. When she spoke, she ignored Jacqueline’s question.

  “Mama, what are you going to wear to dinner tonight? I hope it’s not going to be that awful black thing. It makes you look like an old crow.”

  An’gel noticed her goddaughter wince under Sondra’s critical gaze.

  “No, darling, I’m not. I thought I might wear the green.” Jacqueline appeared anxious, An’gel thought.

  “Well, it’s better anyway.” Sondra grimaced, then glared at An’gel and Dickce. “Are you two going to be there?”

  The sisters nodded.

  “I hope you brought some decent clothes.” Sondra eyed their casual Vera Wang dresses uncertainly. “Lance will be here, and I know he won’t be able to enjoy his food if he sees ugly clothes.”

  “We’ll do our best to avoid that.” Dickce’s prim tone didn’t fool her sister. An’gel marveled that Dickce kept a straight face. Sondra evidently knew little about designer clothing, or she would have recognized what the sisters wore. Just as well we brought along those Worth dresses of Mother’s, she thought. If Lance can’t eat in the presence of true haute couture, he deserved to go hungry.