Bayou Fever

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  Jeff took in a deep breath of damp air and let it out slowly. This evening was not going as he had planned. Perhaps he should forget about Angeline and her gumbo and take his leave. A wise man knew when to cut his losses. Isn’t that what Pop always said?

  He watched Mathilde lift the lid on the iron pot and reach for the long metal spoon hanging on a hook beside the stove. The aroma of gumbo wafted toward him, and he inhaled deeply. “That smells good,” he said as he watched her stir the thick brown roux.

  “I’ve been wondering something, Monsieur Jefferson,” Mathilde said as she reached for a canister and added something to the mixture.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” She dipped a small spoon into the pot, then held it to her lips to blow away the steam. “Taste this to see if it’s ready.”

  It was heavenly. Every bit as good as he remembered. Jeff nodded. “Definitely ready.”

  “Good. I’ll tell Mama.” Mathilde dropped the spoon into the wash bucket, then swayed a second before grasping the corner of the stove.

  Jeff steadied her. “Are you all right?”

  She turned to face him and offered a weak smile. “Of course I’m fine.” She looked past him, and he followed her gaze to stare at the house. A sliver of yellow light danced across the yard, chased by the laughter and voices of the people inside. “Angie loves it here,” she whispered. “This is her home.”

  He nodded and pushed away the sadness that went along with this truth. “Yes, it is.”

  “She will never leave this place, you know?”

  Jeff leaned against the rough wooden wall and stared into the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Angeline. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve always known that.”

  “This question I wanted to ask, it is difficult and personal. May I still ask?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” He cast a glance at her and saw she was serious. “Of course.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Jeff chuckled and continued to watch for Angeline’s face at the window. “Is that all? Would it make you feel better to know you’re not the first person to ask me that today?”

  “It might,” Mathilde said in a weak voice. “What was your answer?”

  Before he could respond, Mathilde fainted.

  ❧

  The last thing Angeline expected Jefferson to carry through the door was her sister Mathilde. As the crowd parted and allowed the doctor to deposit her on the settee, Angeline drew near.

  Mama pushed her away to press her palm against Mathilde’s brow. “She looks a bit flushed,” she said. “You think it’s the heat or something else, Jefferson?”

  “I’m not sure. Let me have a look at her.”

  Jeff knelt at Mathilde’s side and cradled her hand in his as he listened to her pulse. Mathilde’s eyelids fluttered open. “What happened?” she whispered.

  “You had another dizzy spell, Bebe,” Mama directed her attention to Jefferson. “That’s the second time today my girl done fell off her feets. This morning I thought she was gone fall right into the baby’s bathwater.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me none of this, Clothilde?” Theophile demanded. “A man ought to know what goes on in his own house, eh?”

  “How long have you been feeling dizzy, Mathilde?” Jefferson asked.

  “Just today, I suppose.”

  “Then maybe it’s nothing, eh?” Mama asked as she gave Jefferson a hopeful look. “Our little Amalie, she down wit the fever, but she don’t got the dizzies. You think they might have caught the same thing, my girls?”

  “I say we call a real doctor,” Theophile shouted.

  “Hush now.” Mama gave Papa a look she generally reserved for the worst behaved of the little ones. “What’s wrong with my bebe, Jefferson? Can you tell?”

  Jeff shook his head. “Could be nothing that a good meal and a night’s rest won’t cure.” He paused. “I don’t detect a fever, but should one arise, that would definitely be a cause for concern. As for Amalie, I recommend you watch her for signs of change. I assume she’s resting tonight.”

  Mama nodded. “She was tired, so I put her to bed early. What are you thinking? You don’t think this is the bad fever, no?”

  Angeline could see the panic in Mama’s eyes. They both remembered the influenza epidemic of Angeline’s childhood, the one that started so innocently and ended with the deaths of far too many.

  “I’m thinking this is probably nothing, Mrs. Breaux, so don’t worry just yet.” He addressed Mathilde. “How are you feeling now?”

  She struggled to sit upright. “I’m a little shaky, but I’ll be fine.” She batted her eyes. “Maybe it was just the company.”

  Theophile shook his head. “I think all she needs is some good gumbo in her. Angie, go fetch the pot. Nicolas, would you mind helping my girl? I’m afraid the pot’s a might heavy for her.”

  Banished, Angeline strode toward the summer kitchen not caring whether the stranger followed or not. In her current frame of mind, she could have carried two gumbo pots to Latanier and back, much less one to the long table just inside the front door.

  She stomped past Mama’s Easter lilies and ducked under the low branch of the magnolia on the corner of the house. If Papa’s stranger was behind her, he’d definitely glimpsed a less than ladylike side of her.

  Convicted of her rudeness, she slowed her pace and cast a glance over her shoulder. To her surprise, Nicolas had kept up with her and now tagged only a step behind.

  “Do you always move this fast?” he asked when their gazes met.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “My mind was on other things.”

  “I see.” He ducked his head. “I feel as though we ought to visit a bit alone, Mademoiselle Breaux. Would you mind?”

  “Of course not.” Angeline took a step backward and leaned against the corner of the house. Under other circumstances, she might have found him quite pleasing to the eye. Tonight, she only had eyes for a certain doctor.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.” He paused. “Or maybe you’re not.”

  She cast about for something to change the direction of the conversation. “Papa speaks very highly of you. I understand you are a fisherman.”

  “I am.” He met her gaze with eyes that seemed to study her intently. “As my father before me and his before him. It’s not an easy life, but it is a good one.”

  “I see.”

  He grasped her hand with work-roughened fingers that felt like Papa’s. “I know this is sudden, but—”

  She broke from his touch and turned toward the kitchen. “Allons! The gumbo needs bringing inside.”

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I know it is not me you love.” Nicolas caught her elbow and whirled her around. “I saw how you looked at that city fellow.”

  All she could do was stare. What in the world did he intend by bringing up something such as that? “What business is that of yours?”

  He shook his head. “I may be just a bayou boy, but I’m not dumb. If you keep company with that man, you’re going to hurt more than just your mama and papa.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now can we just go back inside?”

  Nicolas tightened his grip. “Tonight you will seek the Lord, eh? Le Bon Dieu, He will tell you what to do about this problem you will be having.”

  “What problem are you talking about?” Angeline stared at the big Acadian. She looked past him to the stand of trees and thought of the bayou beyond, how it flowed at will and bowed to no man. “The only problem I have right now is you.”

  Eight

  As soon as she said the words, she wanted to reel them back in. What had gotten into her tonight? More to the point, what had gotten into her all day?

  Of course, the answer to that question stood just inside the cabin door. Seeing Jefferson Villare had turned her day—and her whole world—upside down.

  “Let’s just bring in the gumbo and forget we had this convers
ation, Monsieur Arceneaux.”

  “Call me Nicolas, please, and I will call you Angeline, eh?” He released her to touch her chin with his thumb and guided her attention back to his. “I’ll get straight to the point.”

  “The point?”

  “Oui. I will treat you like a queen, Mademoiselle. I will love you like the Lord requires a husband to love his wife.”

  Wife. Angeline stifled an indelicate gulp. Until this moment, the reality of her situation had only danced at the edge of her mind. With Jefferson Villare so near, how could she determine tonight to pledge her life to another?

  And yet, if Papa insisted on it, how could she not?

  “Please let us not talk of these things tonight.” She walked toward the gumbo pot and worked the spoon through the thick brown roux.

  Nicolas removed the spoon from her hand and placed it on the hook. Once again, he enveloped her hand with his. “Your man, he will be gone soon and you will forget him. Then where will you be?”

  The look he gave her stilled her tongue and kept her cry of denial from becoming words. She allowed her shoulders to slump. Forget Jefferson Villare? Never. Admit to that? Also never.

  “I say this not to hurt you, but to show you the logic of things as they are between my family and yours.”

  “The logic of things?” She shook her head. “What does logic have to do with anything?”

  A smile brightened his face. The change, and its resulting effect, was dazzling. Angeline averted her gaze, startled.

  “Ah, now you ask a question I can answer.” He once again placed his thumb beneath her chin and directed her to look into his eyes. “You are a smart woman, eh? A woman who understands how things are.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come, let’s sit.” He indicated the rough bench Papa and Ernest had made last winter, now nestled beneath the branches of the flowering magnolia. When she settled beside him, he rested his elbows on his knees and let out a sigh. “Your papa and my papa, they strike a deal, Angeline.”

  “A deal?” She batted at an errant mosquito. “What do you mean?”

  “You and me, we’re the deal.”

  Angeline stood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do know that Mama will come looking for both of us if we don’t fetch the gumbo to the table.”

  Her companion gently pulled her back down beside him. “My papa, he was in a bad way, and he needed a pirogue and some skins, a little wood for the winter fire, and a little money for the summer fishing. Your papa, well, he needed. . .” His voice faded and disappeared against the chirp of the crickets.

  Humiliation drove her to finish his sentence. “He needed a husband for his vielle fille, his old maid daughter.”

  Nicolas wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “No, hush now, that’s not what he said.” He paused. “I probably shouldn’t tell you what he did say though.”

  “Why?” She looked at him. He did have the nicest smile.

  “Because I’m afraid it might go to your head.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “It wouldn’t do for you to think you’re the most beautiful belle on the bayou.”

  The sentiment took her breath away. “Papa said that?”

  “No,” Nicolas said slowly, “I did.” He straightened his shoulders and stood, then offered her a hand to pull her up beside him. He held her hand for a moment. “Your papa, he merely said you were very pretty. Now perhaps we should keep your family waiting no longer.”

  “My family?”

  Again, he offered that smile. “Oui, Angeline, they are waiting for the gumbo, eh?”

  “The gumbo. Oui.”

  How foolish she felt as she followed Nicolas inside, carrying the smaller pot of rice while he easily bore the burden of the iron gumbo pot. After setting the rice on the table, she turned to her mother while Nicolas allowed Papa to lead him away.

  Her mother leaned close. “How you like Papa’s friend, Bebe?”

  “He’s nice enough,” she said.

  A raised eyebrow served as her mother’s response before she bustled off to supervise the setting of the table. Angeline joined her.

  When Papa tugged on her arm and pulled her aside, Angeline’s heart sank. Standing with him was Nicolas Arceneaux.

  “Nicolas, he told me he talked to you,” Papa said. When she nodded, he said, “Good, then tonight we make the announcement, eh?”

  Angeline froze. “Please, Papa, no.”

  Papa gave Nicolas a confused look. “She don’t look like you talked to her.”

  “I did, Sir,” Nicolas said. “Maybe I didn’t talk plain enough.”

  “Then make it plain, eh?”

  Please, Lord, don’t let this happen. You know I don’t love this man.

  Nicolas reached for Angeline’s hand. “Angeline Breaux, will you be my wedded wife?”

  “Angie, Sweetheart,” her mother called, “where’s the gumbo ladle?”

  “The ladle?” She reached behind her to pick up a dish towel and look beneath it, anything to distract Papa and Nicolas from this conversation. “I thought we had it. Check the gumbo pot. Maybe it fell inside.”

  “It’s not there. Did you leave it in the summer kitchen?”

  “I’ll go look.”

  Angeline slipped out the door and headed for the summer kitchen, moving across the lawn at a fast pace. The sounds of the night rang in her ears, along with the memory of her conversation with Nicolas.

  Did he tell the truth? Had Papa really promised her hand in marriage to a fisherman just to keep her close to home? Even if his intentions had been good, how could Papa sell her like a prize pig to the highest bidder?

  No answers came, so she turned to the Lord as she stalked toward the little kitchen. Even He seemed to be silent.

  Once inside the summer kitchen, Angeline found the ladle hanging on the hook beside the stove and grabbed it. “How could we have forgotten this?” she muttered.

  Because you were too busy discussing marriage.

  Clutching the ladle, she stepped outside and took a deep breath. The sooner the food was served, the sooner the night would end. Better to hurry than tarry.

  Of course, if she tarried, Nicolas might not have time to ask her to marry him. She shook her head. It didn’t matter. If Papa intended her to wed Nicolas, all the time in the world wouldn’t change his mind.

  If only Jefferson weren’t here to witness the announcement.

  As she rushed back toward the house, she turned the corner to race up the porch and ran headlong into Jefferson Villare. The ladle fell and she nearly tumbled after it.

  “Slow down there,” he whispered as he helped her upright.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She took a step backward to pick up the ladle and wipe it off on the front of her skirt. “Mama will have my hide for getting this dirty.”

  Even in the shadows, she could see the twinkle in his eyes. Oh, but he did look handsome all dressed up in his Sunday clothes!

  Don’t look at him. You can’t. You’re about to become engaged, and he’s leaving.

  “I doubt that,” he said in a husky voice. “You could talk your mama out of being mad every time.”

  Angeline chuckled despite herself and shook her head. “I think you must have me confused with someone else.”

  His gaze turned from amused to tender, and he reached out to touch her cheek with his hand. “I assure you that would never happen.”

  Without thinking, she placed her hand over his and leaned into his embrace. A moment later, he kissed her.

  Unlike the kiss they shared earlier in the day, this one was sweet and soft and could have gone on forever if Mama hadn’t appeared at the door.

  To her credit, Mama said nothing but rather removed the ladle from Angeline’s fingers and stepped back inside. She did make eye contact with Angeline as she passed by the window. There would be some serious talking between the two of them tomorrow—that much was certain.

  There would
also be some serious talking with the Lord tonight.

  Angeline held the back of her hand against her lips and averted her gaze. Heat flamed her face, and her fingers trembled slightly.

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered.

  “And yet we just can’t seem to stop.”

  “But we can’t just keep—” Jefferson leaned closer and gave her another quick kiss, silencing her words as he enveloped her in an embrace.

  “All right, everybody,” Mama called, “the gumbo’s ready. Set yourselves at the table and get ready for some good eatin’, eh?”

  “We can’t ever do that again, Jefferson,” she said as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “Why?” he whispered against her ear.

  “Because Papa has other plans for me.”

  Jefferson held her at arm’s length and gave her a confused look. “What are you talking about, Angeline? What plans?”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t find the words to tell him her father had promised her to another man. Instead, she broke free and darted inside, unsure if her legs could carry her as far as the table.

  What Jefferson did not know now, he would most likely find out by the end of the night. Papa and Nicolas had been thick as thieves most of the evening. To her mind, that meant one or both of them would be delivering the news that a wedding was afoot, even if she hadn’t given Nicolas a proper answer to his proposal.

  Busying herself with serving duties, she did not see Jefferson slip inside, but he must have, for she looked up to see him standing next to Mathilde. Her sister laughed at something Jefferson said, then touched his hand, and the green monster of envy hit Angeline.

  As soon as she recognized the feeling for what it was, she pushed it away. Maybe the Lord meant for Jefferson to find happiness with the younger of the two Breaux women. Perhaps that was why He led him back to their doorstep.

  If only she could muster some enthusiasm for the idea. But with the young doctor’s kisses still warm on her lips, Angeline could find nothing good about encouraging such a relationship.