What a joyous Christmas this was going to be.
CHAPTER THREE
“Why is the yardman coming for dinner?” Cissie Melancon asked as she looked through the slice of air at the swinging doors from the kitchen to the dining room. “Doesn’t he usually just help serve dinner? Mamere, have you lost some of your faculties?”
“I’ve got more brain cells than you do natural blond hairs, I can assure you,” Betty Jean said, her voice steely, her smile pleasant as she buttered dinner rolls with a flourish.
“Very funny,” Cissie replied, bringing a protective hand to her honey-gold glitzed bob. “I was born a natural blonde, you know.”
“And I was born with good sense in my head,” Betty Jean countered, her smile still intact.
“Now, Mama,” her son, Quincy, said from his perch on a kitchen stool, “are you and Cissie going to exchange insults the whole time we’re here, or are you going to behave?”
His mother looked petulant for a second, then beamed a mother’s smile at her fifth son. “I plan on behaving. You’ll have to remind your lovely wife to do the same. And that means she will be kind and polite to anyone I happen to invite for dinner.”
Cissie rolled her heavily shadowed eyes. “Well, I declare, I just don’t see how the gardener can make for a good dinner companion. I mean, that man is about half-wild, from the looks of him.”
Elise listened to this exchange with a growing feeling of anxiety. What would her prim and proper mother think when Grand-mère announced her loopy plan for Elise to reform the half-wild yardman who’d just entered the dining room and was even now making jokes with Reginald, the butler?
“Shouldn’t one of us go and greet the poor man?” Quincy asked, still reading over the paper.
Since her father didn’t act as if he should be the one to do so, Elise threw up her hands. “Goodness, I’ll go and talk to our guest. If Grand-mère wants him here, then we’d better entertain him until dinner is ready.”
Her grandmother inclined her head. “How very thoughtful you are, dear. Thank you.” She gave her daughter-in-law and her son a disapproving look. “He doesn’t bite, you know.”
“Are you sure about that?” Cissie asked from her vantage point near the doors. “He’s so big and wiry, all muscle and lean like that. What does one feed such a man?”
Quincy laughed, then threw the paper down. “Anything he asks for, I imagine.”
In spite of her own concerns and doubts regarding the Cajun, Elise felt she had to come to his defense. Her snobbish parents could be so cruel at times. “Theo Galliano is a very interesting man, Mama. Grand-mère tells me he went away to school for a while, but he had to come home recently to help support the family. It seems they struggle, what with being shrimpers and fishermen.”
“That’s a tough life,” her father said, nodding in that way that told her he was extremely glad he didn’t have to live that way.
And neither did she, thanks to the Melancon oil and gas lines scattered throughout these swamps and bayous. Wondering why that should make her feel guilty instead of glad, Elise whirled past her snooping mother. “Excuse me.”
Cissie eyed her daughter with horror. “Surely you’re not really going in there?”
“Of course I am,” Elise said, giving her mother a smug look. “I do have manners, after all.”
“Precisely,” her grandmother said on a chortle of laughter. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Understand what?” Cissie said, her nose going up as if she smelled something fishy. “What have you two cooked up?”
“Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about,” Betty Jean replied, her gaze centered on the marinated green beans she was preparing for dinner. “Oh, and Elise, tell Reginald to hurry back in here. I think the rice for the Creole is just about ready.”
Elise nodded, then pushed at the door, thinking that message would serve as a perfect excuse for showing up in the dining room. Not that she needed an excuse, of course, to walk into her grandmother’s stately dining room.
At the swish of the door, both old Reginald with his laughing gray eyes and Tee or Theo, or whoever he was with his flashing black eyes, turned to stare.
“Now there’s a pretty picture, young man,” Reginald said, his deep southern drawl lifting up to the tall ceilings. “A true southern belle.”
“Oui,” Theo replied, his gaze sweeping over Elise’s navy blue flared dinner dress with apparent appreciation.
Enough appreciation to make her blush and finger her pearls.
“Hello, Theo,” she said, making an instant decision to call him by his given name, which she had no doubt was only part of his real name. “We didn’t realize you had arrived.”
“I’ve been having a bit of fun with Reggie here,” Theo said, his eyes twinkling.
Reggie. He was calling suave, stuffy Reginald Armand, a man who’d been trained in England, a man who came from a long line of dignified, distinguished butlers with stiff upper lips and pedigrees that dated back to kings and queens—he was calling him Reggie.
Elise looked from Theo’s mirthful face to Reginald’s serene one. No looking down his nose here. No swift, sharp reprimands, either. The butler, who was certainly lovable and endearing, if not somewhat disapproving at times, was chuckling. Chuckling!
“Well, what were you two talking about?”
Reginald stood up straight, then cleared his throat. “A bit of off-color humor, I’m afraid, Miss Elise. Beg your pardon.”
“Don’t apologize, please,” Elise replied, still amazed that Theo could cause the oh-so-proper butler to actually laugh. “But you could clue me in on the joke.”
“Oh, naw, naw,” Theo said, raising a hand, his laughter causing his broad chest to shake. “It’s not proper to share this particular redneck joke with a lady.”
“No, indeed,” Reginald said, looking chagrined. “I’d better get back into the kitchen.”
Elise nodded. “Yes, Grand-mère was asking for you. Something about the rice?”
“Oh, dear,” Reginald said, bringing his hands to his face. “I do hope I haven’t scorched it. I do so hate sticky rice.”
Elise felt as if she’d been scorched, and she knew things in here were much more sticky than the rice, by the way Theo Galliano was looking at her. “Would you like to join my family—in the kitchen?”
“The kitchen?” He shrugged. “Now I would have thought they’d be having high tea in the front parlor.”
“We’re not so formal as that,” Elise replied, feeling the sting of his implied words. “We’re very relaxed here at Belle Terre.” She did try to relax, just to prove her point.
“Is that why you haven’t been around in a blue moon?”
She whirled at the door, only to find him two steps behind her. Too close. And much too personal. “What are you implying?” she asked, noting the clean, soapy smell surrounding him. He’d cleaned up. White button-up shirt, pressed jeans.
“Me, nothing.” He shrugged. “It’s just that I respect Mrs. M. And it’s just that’s she’s been mighty lonely since Mr. M passed on, is all.”
“We’re well aware of that,” Elise said, her neck stiffening with guilt and awareness. “And that’s one of the reasons we all agreed to have Christmas here.”
“Ça c’est bon,” he said, his eyes telling her that it was her business, after all. “Good to hear. Me, I can’t imagine spending the blessed Noel anywhere but right here on the bayou.”
Still stinging, Elise said, “Well, perhaps that’s why Mamere wants me to help you. Perhaps you might impress your girlfriend if you tried leaving the bayou once and a while.”
He gave her a look that made her want to run away, the black of his eyes piercing her with scorn. “Perhaps,” he said. Then he opened the door for her. “Maybe we’d better get into the kitchen with the others.”
Elise wished she hadn’t made that remark. It was very pointed, but it was the truth. The man obviously hadn’t been up past Breaux Bridge, or
he’d know that there were many ways to communicate with family, even if one didn’t get to come home as often. Why, there was e-mail and telephones and even cards and letters. Elise had called her grandmother on a weekly basis and sent her nice cards and gifts on special occasions.
But you weren’t here, that small voice inside her head said, causing her to glare over at the man escorting her into the massive, too-warm kitchen.
And he was, that same voice replied. He was here with your grandmother, laughing with her and spending time with her, while all of her own children and grandchildren were too busy to do so. That made Elise very jealous and resentful, for some strange reason. Well, she was certainly here now. And she’d do whatever her grandmother asked, if it would make Betty Jean happy.
Even resort to “training” this man in the ways of the world. I’ll try, Lord. But I’ll need Your help.
But as she glanced over at Theo and saw the way his black eyes danced over her face with both anticipation and condemnation, Elise wondered what exactly she was supposed to teach Theo Galliano.
And she wondered just what the man could show her, in the ways of the bayou.
He’d show her a thing or two, Theo decided as they sat down to the casual dinner. Cissie Melancon glared at him while her husband, the dashing Quincy, talked to the open air about the stock market and the continuing oil crisis in the Middle East. Mrs. M smiled and remained as gracious as ever. And Elise, well, she just sat there staring down at her food as if it held something very distasteful in it.
“Dis is good,” Theo said, then covered his mouth.
“Did you just belch?” Cissie asked, that look of horror on her face pinning Theo to his chair.
“Non, I managed to keep that one down,” he replied with a grin. “But my maman says it’s sure a compliment to the cook if the food causes—”
“More bread?” Elise said, grabbing at the breadbasket so fast she almost knocked over her water glass.
“Non, I’m good,” Theo replied, making sure he gave her a long, thorough look just so he could watch her blush underneath the chandeliers.
Her mother let an obvious but very delicate shudder erupt from her scrawny shoulders. “Where are your people from, Mr. Galliano?”
“Right here. Bayou Branche has always been our home,” he replied. “We live in a little house not much bigger than this room and your kitchen there, I imagine. It’s up on stilts, since the wetlands keep creeping right into our door.”
Cissie Melancon obviously didn’t know how to respond to that. She took a long drink of her iced tea and busied herself with buttering another roll.
Quincy Melancon gave Theo a hard, calculating look, but remained silent.
“We’re so glad you joined us,” Betty Jean said for about the tenth time. “I just love having this house full of visitors.”
Theo nodded, took his bread and dipped it all around his nearly empty bowl of gumbo, sopping up the rich brown roux as he grinned over at Cissie. “For true, this is almost as good as my own maman’s.”
He’d planned on embarrassing all of them as he slurped up the gravy and bread. He’d planned wrong.
Elise Melancon and her grandmother, as if in unison, both proceeded to do the same thing with their bread and roux. As Elise bit into her gravy-sodden bread, she let out a soft moan. “Mmm, this is very good. And now I’ve learned a new way to get to the bottom of that rich roux.”
“Elise,” her mother said, dropping her hands on the table, “I know I raised you better than that.” Then mortified, she glanced over at Theo, then clamped her mouth shut.
Apple pie was next. Theo planned on eating his without the help of a spoon or fork. He’d just pick the whole piece up and shove it into his mouth the way he always did whenever his maman pulled a fresh pie from the oven. He’d love to see the lovely Elise do that. He’d show her that he really needed that manners course. And that way, she’d have to agree to spend more time with him. Just to train him.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Just how do you expect me to do this, Mamere?” Elise asked the next morning after breakfast. “Mother will suspect something right off if she sees me spending time with the Cajun.”
Thinking back over their awkward dinner last night, Elise wondered if her mother didn’t already suspect something. Cissie had kept a slanted eye on both her daughter and their mysterious guest.
“And besides,” Elise continued, “the Cajun seems to have adequate manners, even if he did practically drink his soup from his bowl last night. At least he managed to make polite conversation, just with a heavy dialect.”
In fact, Theo Galliano had seemed right at home eating the hearty meal served on the everyday casual china. He had slurped, of course, and he had almost belched just that once, but he hadn’t talked with his mouth full. Okay, except for that whole slice of pie he’d managed to eat without the benefit of a fork, in between thanking Grandmère and grinning at Elise’s shocked-speechless mother. But he had stared a lot—that was indeed rude. Mostly at Elise.
“His name is Theo, dear,” Betty Jean reminded her with a kind glance. “Theodore Emile Galliano, to be exact. He is one of seven children, four boys and three girls. And yes, their Christian parents have taught them manners, but with that many in a small house, one can only do so much.”
“Mercy,” Elise replied as she finished wrapping one of the many presents her grandmother had out on the kitchen table. “Why have I never met any of these people before?”
Betty Jean laughed and waved a hand. “When you were little and came to visit, it was all I could do to get your mama to let you go outside and play, let alone have you associate with the poor family across the bayou. The Galliano family has lived on this land as long as I can remember, but they always kept to themselves. I’d send them over food and gifts at Christmas, and they’d return the favor by sending one of the boys over with fresh seafood or some boudin—things like that. Other than that, we pretty much left each other alone until recent years.”
“What happened to make that change?” Elise asked, curious but cautious.
Her grandmother’s eyes seemed to sadden as Betty Jean stared down at the shiny wrapping spread on the table.
“Hard times, that’s what happened,” Betty Jean explained. “As I told you, Theo had gone off to college, up at Nicholls State in Thibodaux. He’d saved up for years after high school, and took out student loans to pay his way. Plus, he had an anonymous donor to help him some.”
She shrugged and smiled, clearly telling Elise she was probably that donor. “After your grandfather died, Theo’s mother Deidre sent him over with some food. We had a good long talk that night, Theo and I. I realized his faith is very solid and sure. He told me all about wanting to go to college, to better himself, told me that he and Maggie had big plans. After that, he’d come by about once a week to help me with the gardens, do little odd jobs around the house. He was so proud the day he left for college. He made it to his senior year, but then his father, Emile, Sr.—they call him Easy for some reason—well, he got hurt in a boating accident and took months to recover. Even after his recovery, he was still in a lot of pain. That left the family in a bad way, what with the time off work and the hospital bills to pay. The younger brothers and sisters tried to pitch in, but after a few months, it was up to Theo as the oldest to come home and help the family. So he did, without hesitation.”
Elise took this information in, thinking that was a big sacrifice for a son. But then, what else could he do? She hadn’t hesitated to take a position with the family company, but then that had more or less been handed to her on a silver platter. Theo hadn’t had a choice in the matter. “What was Theo studying at school?”
“Marine biology,” Betty Jean replied, pride shining in her eyes. “That boy loves the great outdoors. He wants to work to protect his little piece of the world.”
Elise was stunned. “I thought you said you weren’t sure he could even read.”
Betty Jean chuckled. “O
h, that. I was just trying to make you feel sorry for him.”
Elise gave her grandmother a reprimanding look, her brow slanting as she shook her finger. “You’re telling me that Theo came close to being a marine biologist and he gave it all up to work the shrimp boats?”
“That’s pretty much the whole story,” her grandmother said, nodding. “He’s twenty-eight and still searching for a way to better himself. He told me he aims to go back one day and get that degree. And I believe he will do it.”
“With your help,” Elise said, coming around the table to hug her grandmother. “You are a very kind neighbor, Mamere.”
Betty Jean shrugged again. “What else is an old woman to do? I’m here in this big place, with a lot of time on my hands and a lot of money in my bank account. I would gladly help the Galliano family with their bills, but Emile has too much pride to accept that kind of charity.”
Pushing away her own guilt, Elise asked, “So you’ve made it your mission to help Theo.”
“More or less.”
“I love you,” Elise said, tears springing to her eyes.
“Then do me this one favor,” Betty Jean said, patting Elise on the back. “Spend some time with Theo and help him gain his self-confidence back. He’s a good man, but he’s a bit shy and reserved. And that Maggie—she’s a handful, let me tell you. We have to show her a good impression.”
“But if she loves him—”
“She loved him when he was planning a future with a good job. Things have changed now. Theo thinks they’re drifting apart. He thinks Maggie is ashamed of him. And now she’s gone and broken his heart.”
Elise felt her hackles rising. “Well, if she’s that shallow, maybe Theo should just forget about her.”
“He loves her,” Betty Jean said, her eyes taking on a sparkling quality that made Elise suspicious. “But, who knows. As I said, things change.”
Elise slapped a hand on the table. “Things are going to change. I’ll take on this project, Mamere. Consider it my Christmas present to you, to help Theo win back his Maggie.”
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