by Lynn Shurr
“Laura,” he said before she had spoken a word—as if he had waited all day for the call. The conversation ran on for such a length of time the librarian knew she would owe the parish a wad of money for making the call from her office. She told about having to phone the veterinarian, asking really for his assurance that she had done the right thing. She had.
“So now you know more about cows than just a roll in the hay with a cattleman,” he teased, his voice deep and rich with laughter.
Laura laughed, too. The ladies of the staff turned to stare at her through the glass-walled office and smiled knowingly among themselves. Laura swiveled her chair around so only the back of her head showed to the audience.
“Seeing new life come into the world is a wonderful experience. You sound more like yourself today.”
“I told them to shove the painkillers. A little pain is good for a person. Lets you know you’re alive. Speaking of pains, Vivien came to see me. She brought me a bunch of flowers arranged in one of those baskets they use for funerals. I tell you that woman still loves me.”
“What did she want?”
“Mostly gossip. She said she was disappointed I hadn’t sent her a wedding invitation until she heard the sordid details from an old friend in Chapelle. Since Vivien has no friends, old or new, in Chapelle, I suspect she called the exchange and pumped Myrtle Hill. She said getting married at Broussard’s Barn was exactly my style, and how many months pregnant are you? Charming woman, Vivien. But she did bring me a present, some of her special medication from her spa. She wanted me to take a capsule right away to help me feel better.”
“You didn’t!”
“Hell, no. I flushed them as soon as she left. It’s not like Vivien to be concerned about others, especially if the other is me. She might have sent me on a one-way trip.”
“You’re smarter than I thought.”
“I got you to marry me, didn’t I?”
“All right, if you’re so smart, you can wait to get home and see if I’m still there.” Laura hung up, laughing to herself. Robert LeBlanc was getting well. He knew she’d be waiting.
****
Greatly relieved after the long conversation, Laura wondered when Pearl’s strong coffee caused heartburn again the next morning. When Thursday’s breakfast of eggs fried in bacon grease rolled over in her stomach and returned to the outer world, she made an appointment with a gynecologist in the city. She selected a doctor from the phone book in the library because his office lay near the university.
Laura had the perfect excuse for going to Lafayette—hauling the last of the Ste. Jeanne Parish records for microfilming. Once they concluded filming this batch, both the university and Chapelle’s small library would have the complete records saved for posterity. The archives librarian mentioned the possibility of a joint venture into selling the records with their rich resources on early Louisiana settlers statewide. Those first Catholic settlers traveled for days to be married by a priest on the only piece of holy ground in a hundred miles. Laura suspected the brides insisted and wondered how many honeymoons had been celebrated on the road to Chapelle and how many babies conceived during the journey.
As for herself, she’d never missed a period since adolescence and only one had been delayed—the month David died. A little late, a trifle nauseous, she hadn’t taken birth control pills since last June. This time, she wanted to be completely sure and doctor-certified she carried a child before saying anything to Robert. She’d fooled herself before and wasn’t about to trust any home pregnancy test.
The thought of a baby lifted her spirits though she dreaded admitting to everyone she had conceived during the orgy of her wedding night. Of course, people like Vivien would discredit even that, watching her belly grow each month and nodding knowingly if the infant made an appearance even two weeks early.
In making the appointment with Dr. Gray, she outright lied about her condition to thwart the ever-vigilant ears of Myrtle Hill who put the call through to Lafayette. Laura announced loudly to a startled nurse-receptionist that Dr. Bourgeois in Chapelle had referred her to a specialist for undiagnosed female complaints. When the nurse inquired about her symptoms, Laura lowered her voice and whispered she felt she could confide only in the doctor.
“Oh,” said the nurse, “we aren’t accepting any more OB cases right now. Are you sure you aren’t simply pregnant, Mrs. LeBlanc? It is Mrs.?”
“Yes, I’m sure!” Laura snapped using the same sharp tone she’d developed to fend off pushy book salesmen. The nurse made the appointment for Tuesday.
The remainder of the day provided enough material to amuse Robert in his sick bed for a week, but Laura decided to wait until the next Wednesday to tell him anything. Restless all morning and unable to wait for her appointment, she drove to the next town to buy a pregnancy kit, peed on the stick in the restroom of the gas station out on the highway, read the positive indicator, then took the whole kit wrapped in an old lunch bag and buried it deep in the oil drum holding used paper towels and the remains of the fried chicken box lunches sold by the diner down the road. Back at the library, she laid her head on her desk for a short nap and barely noticed when Ruby closed the blinds in her office and tiptoed off to lunch with the rest of the staff.
Most of the library’s women drove home at noon and spent their hour watching a soap opera or checking up on elderly mothers, children, or daughters-in-law by phone. When Laura awoke in a puddle of her own drool and opened the blinds, she watched the current of gossip flowing from Bobbie to Berta to Ruby and on to the janitor—who told the bookmobile driver and clerk. Something was wrong with Miss Laura, sure enough.
The late afternoon coffee break started off quiet and gloomy until Bobbie Meaux told a story about this woman she knew, a cousin twice-removed, but she forgot her name now, who had this awful problem with her female parts. Her condition ruined her marriage because she couldn’t have normal relations, you know. But after she got fixed up, why she gave birth to twins.
That anecdote stirred the conversation from ashes to embers to flames as each woman tried to give Laura hope and comfort without admitting each and every one knew she had a special, possibly fatal, female problem—as Myrtle Hill informed them.
Berta Migues said she’d once heard of a woman who married a man with such a big organ she couldn’t accommodate him down there. This woman went to a specialist and had herself stretched and all went well, except the woman couldn’t cheat on her husband because after that no other man could satisfy her. Ruby rolled her eyes at Laura after that tall tale, but on her way back to the circulation desk, she patted the younger woman on the hand and assured her everything would be fine.
The humor of the situation, along with hot tea and dry biscuits got Laura through the weekend. She almost confessed when Pearl sent Angelle along to the cattle barns, counseling the child to “keep your new mother out of the pastures where all those jealous cows have their calves, and don’t let her lift nothing heavy, you hear?”
Even if she hadn’t heard the rumor, Pearl probably suspected the real truth as she watched one good spicy meal after another go uneaten. She served a positively bland Sunday dinner: roast chicken without rice dressing, creamed potatoes without garlic, green beans without bacon and onions, and custard for dessert. Laura ate heartily, choking once on a piece of white meat when Tante Lilliane shushed Angelle for complaining about the tasteless food.
****
Tuesday came, and Laura had to confess her lie to the nurse with the coal black hair who guarded Dr. Gray’s office. Totally disgusted, Nurse Marks grudgingly filled in the preliminary paperwork, name, age, height, weight, blood pressure, no previous pregnancies, miscarriages, diseases, or allergies. None. Good.
“When was your last period?” Nurse Marks queried, the deep lines around her eyes and mouth belying her black hair.
“First week in February.” Laura kept her answers humbly minimal.
“Are you usually irregular?”
“No, o
nly once after my husband died.” Laura flinched in her chair.
“Look, honey.” Nurse Marks’ hard lines softened. “We’re near the campus. We get unwed mothers all the time. You don’t have to lie. Take the test. The results will be back by four. If it’s positive, you can discuss your options with the doctor. We can recommend an abortion clinic, but a lot of nice couples want babies. We can refer you to a lawyer who arranges private adoptions.”
“I am married. I’ve been remarried for a month. More than a month.” Laura babbled in self-defense.
Nurse Marks’ features stiffened. Her facial lines seemed deeper and more forbidding than ten minutes ago. “After you have the baby, the doctor will discuss proper birth control measures. You Cajuns are always in such a hurry to get started.”
“My husband’s family isn’t really Cajun, more French, really—with some other interesting bloodlines thrown in.”
Looking as if she could care less now that the opportunity to place a baby in a proper home had vanished, Nurse Marks thrust a laboratory slip with the appropriate boxes checked at Laura. “Down the hall to the left. Call back at four.”
Leaving both blood and pee behind, Laura emerged furtively from Dr. Gray’s office. The early spring sun shone down on the small circular dot of the bandage stuck to the inside of her elbow. Besides the urine specimen, the technician took what seemed like an excessive amount of blood, three full ampules, so one ordeal out of the way. Daffodils and early tulips set out by the agriculture students brightened her way. In a week or two, the mountainous azaleas clumped around the neoclassical red brick buildings would burst into bloom. Fat, deep pink buds weighted the branches of the dark green bushes. If the test came back positive, she would be heavy with bud herself during the worst heat of summer.
With such whimsical thoughts occupying her mind, she nearly missed the greeting thrown at her from the library steps. Looking up, she saw Denise DeVille, her majesty, Queen Marie Antoinette, gracefully descending the stairs. Laura switched the sweater she’d been carrying to cover the patch inside her left elbow.
“Well, congratulations! I heard you and Bobby made your arrangement official on Mardi Gras eve. That certainly will be a night to remember for all of us. My mama said it was about time with you living out at the Chateau and all, but I said, ‘Mama, don’t be so old-fashioned’. An experienced woman that age knows exactly what she’s doing. I do hope y’all are very happy,” the co-ed gushed, shaking her blonde curls in the light breeze.
Laura concentrated on the black roots showing ever so slightly in her rival’s scalp and replied, “I am very happy, thank you.”
“That’s not what I heard, but then you didn’t have much of a chance. Imagine Bob going on a fishing trip right after the wedding and getting shot to boot. I just poo-pooed Mama when she said maybe Bobby couldn’t face two bad marriages and tried to do away with himself out in the woods. I mean, he seemed fine when we were dancing at the ball—though I did have to tell him that night he and I could never be together. He said he understood completely. You don’t think Bobby tried to kill himself over little ole me, now do you?”
“No, I don’t, especially since some kid shot him with a deer rifle.” Laura deliberately removed the sweater covering her bandage. “I’ve just come from the gynecologist’s office. Can you believe I’m pregnant already? While you were soaking your feet after the ball, we made our first child, truly a night to remember.”
Denise turned red all the way to her dark roots. Suddenly, she spied a beefy young man in a letter jacket climbing the steps. “Oh, I have to run. Cliff and I have a study date. Congratulations again!” She waved one royal hand and grabbed the passing athlete with the other. The boy appeared a little startled but pleased at his unexpected luck.
Laura watched the couple pass into the halls of learning with Denise firmly attached to Cliff’s bulging biceps. She felt queasy again, and the sun burned hotter on her face. Two big “what ifs” filled her mind. What if she was not pregnant and had to admit it to damned Denise one of these days, and what if Robert had tried to kill himself? The first, she decided she could endure, but the second was unthinkable. How Robert would react to this baby, she wasn’t sure, but she did know how well he took care of Angelle. Robert LeBlanc knew how to nurture cattle or children or women who couldn’t make up their minds and would never take the easy way out.
Laura took refuge in the cool of the library, taking the elevator to the Archives where certainly Denise and her beau for the day would never penetrate. Having a Pepsi in the staff lounge settled her stomach and passed the time, but at last, she had to find a book in the Louisiana Room to occupy the hours until four.
One scholar hidden behind a stack of volumes with cracked leather bindings served as her only companion. From a closed room nearby, she could hear the click and whir of the microfilming equipment as Dr. Andrus transposed the Ste. Jeanne Parish records from paper to film, leaving the desk unstaffed. Relying on the same professional privilege that allowed her a parking space and use of the staff lounge, Laura helped herself to an early history of Louisiana from the closed stacks and sat at the librarian’s desk. Familiar enough with the procedures after months of hauling and photographing records, she could help any patrons while Dr. Andrus stayed closeted in the microfilm room.
Only one person claimed her attention during the next three hours. A tall black woman approached the desk. At nearly three-thirty p.m., Laura hoped her sole customer would not need a lengthy search for material. Still, the only other work she’d done was to reshelf the leather bound volumes when the scholar left at two. She could delay her personal business until she’d helped this patron. Putting on her best smile, Laura greeted the woman who returned the grin with a set of strong white teeth.
With her hair shaved close to her scalp and large gold hoop earrings piercing her ears, the woman obviously favored an African look. A tawny sheath printed with black designs swathed her body from neck to ankle where two sandaled feet with long brown toes emerged.
Laura, playing a game she had contrived while working in another university library, guessed that this one wanted either early slavery accounts or black genealogy material. The woman stood waiting, and then held out a hand. Her grin tightened the lustrous brown skin over her high cheekbones, making her very attractive indeed.
“You don’t recognize me, Mrs. LeBlanc. I attended your wedding. I’m Beulah Segura, also known as Sugar LeDoux.”
To Laura’s credit, she shook the hooker’s hand without hesitation. She offered Pearl’s daughter the chair next to the desk as if this were simply another reference interview. “May I help you with something?” she asked, falling back on professionalism to keep her mouth from hanging open wide enough to let in flies.
“Not really. I saw you sitting in here alone when I came out of the law library across the way. I’m doing a paper on the insanity plea from the psychological aspect.”
“You’re a student here?”
“Yes, student by day, ho by night. She worked her way through college. Sounds like a porno flick, doesn’t it? I’m a psychology major. After I straighten out myself, I’m going to straighten out other people, maybe some of my old customers.”
Laura liked the dark woman immediately and completely, much preferring her to darling Denise DeVille.
“Look, I’ve wanted to talk to you, but Mama hates having me come to the Chateau, and you don’t exactly frequent Broussard’s Barn. I know you and Robert have gotten off to a rough start.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Chapelle is a terrible town for gossip—not much else to do. There’s a story you should know that might make things easier for you.”
“It’s a great town for stories, too. I’m not sure I can handle any more of them,” Laura replied. The room was as quiet as a chapel on Monday.
“I wanted to put in a word for Robert LeBlanc.”
“Doesn’t everyone want to do that?”
“I guess you know how he
got his divorce so quickly. We had it all set up, the judge, Robert, and I, and a photographer who had his own darkroom. Robert came to my room around six. We undressed, got into the sack and waited to be caught. We waited stark naked for two hours, just talking and passing the time. The photographer caught a flat tire, and then took a wrong turn on the back roads. Finally, the man walked in on us. We struck a few poses, and that was it, except Robert stayed awhile afterwards.”
“He’s an attractive man, Robert, bedroom eyes and all that. I guess I can’t be surprised he stayed with you afterwards,” Laura said neutrally. Inside, she felt the sinking sensation of disappointment. Years ago, this happened years ago, she rationalized.
“Oh, he is all that and he paid in advance, but what we did was talk some more. He told me I was pretty and smart and quite possibly a distant cousin of his, and he hated to see me wasting myself. He had to pay old Broussard three hundred dollars in cash for our little performance since we ran over into prime hours, but he gave me a bankbook with a twenty-thousand dollar deposit in it. My mother was a co-signer, so I couldn’t spend the cash myself. The money belonged to his father, he said, but the idea was his own. That nest egg paid my tuition the first few years.”
“Now, I work for Broussard weekends and holidays and I stay with old Tante Lu the rest of the time. My uncle, who knows how to handle trash, makes sure I get my cut. He’d give me my living expenses, but I’ve got to make my own way, you know. I screwed up my life early on, and it’s not like I haven’t been doing it for money all along. One of these days, I’ll leave Chapelle and Broussard’s Barn. Sugar LeDoux will vanish—or become one of those born again virgins. Before I go though, I’m going to stop by Chateau Camille and give your man one big kiss. I don’t want you to misunderstand when I do.”