Bayou Fever

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “All right, Lord. You win.”

  I always do, My Son. Now rest.

  With a sigh, Jeff closed his eyes and, for the first time in days, slept soundly, even though it was hours before bedtime.

  ❧

  Mama put a hand on Angeline’s shoulder. “Angeline, go on in the house and see to your sisters. Let me handle the menfolk, eh?” She rose and waved toward the trio now crossing the lawn. “And tell your papa I’d like to have a word with him, would you?”

  “Of course, Mama,” she said as she walked inside. She met Papa and conveyed the message, scooting out of his way before he could ask any more questions.

  She stepped into the bedroom and closed the door partway behind her. If anyone went looking for her, they would have to come into the room to find her, but if anything interesting was said—or if anyone called her name—she would hear.

  Both her sisters slept soundly, leaving Angeline with nothing to do but tidy up the small space. Exhausting all the possibilities for cleaning within minutes, Angeline sat on the edge of Amalie’s bed and began to pray as she stroked the little girl’s dark curls.

  Father, You are in control, and I know that. Heal these sisters of mine, and keep whatever is ailing them from spreading to the others, especially to Mama, who needs to take care of herself and the baby coming in a few months.

  As to the situation going on outside right now, I ask that You step in and do something to show what You want done. Keep Papa mindful of the fact that You have the last say on everything, and please, let Your will—not Papa’s will—be done in the matter of choosing a husband for me.

  She almost added something about Jefferson but thought better of it. If the Creator of the universe didn’t know what was best for her, no one did.

  Still, she hoped He wouldn’t make the same choice Papa had made for her.

  “I’ve made my choice and that’s that.” Papa’s voice echoed in the small room, causing Amalie to stir.

  “Angie, what’s wrong?” she murmured.

  “Hush now, Little Sister,” Angeline said as she smoothed Amalie’s damp brow. “That’s just Papa, and he’s all fired up about something.”

  About me, I’m sure.

  “Angie?” This time Mathilde spoke. “Is that handsome fisherman here again?”

  Angeline looked up, startled. “Yes, actually he is, along with the preacher.”

  Mathilde smiled. “He’s quite handsome.”

  “You mentioned that, Matty,” she said as she rose and reached to straighten the bedcovers Mathilde had tangled. “Now get some sleep.”

  “I will,” she whispered. “Maybe I’ll dream about fishing. Or maybe I’ll just dream about stealing your Nicolas for myself.”

  “Now, that’s one dream I would share with you.”

  Angeline chuckled. Even in the middle of her illness, Mathilde was thinking of men. Poor foolish girl with her silly imaginings. She wouldn’t be so fast to fall in love if she knew what a mess of trouble it could bring.

  Actually, Papa’s threat of sending her to the nunnery was starting to look better than the alternative. Even if Jefferson was interested in something more than a fleeting romance, and there was no evidence he was, she would have to defy Papa and leave Mama, the babies, and the bayou to follow him. Could she do that?

  “I just don’t know,” she said softly.

  The alternative was to be the dutiful daughter and follow her papa’s wishes to marry Nicolas Arceneaux. She would stay among family, for sure, and Mama would never want for her help.

  “But I don’t love him.”

  “I know you don’t, Bebe. That’s why you’re going to do just what I say.”

  Angeline jumped and whirled around to stare at the doorway. Mama stood just outside the room.

  “How are my girls?” she asked as she peered around the doorframe for a better look at Mathilde and Amalie.

  “Resting comfortably,” Angeline said. “Matty feels a little warm, but Amalie seems to be doing well. I don’t think either of them is hungry, but Jefferson says they need to keep up their strength. At least both are drinking their water.” She picked up the two empty water glasses from the nightstand and walked toward the door. “Maybe I ought to fix them bowls of chicken broth. We still have some of that chicken stock left over, don’t we? I could go do that right now.”

  “Angie, you’re a natural born nurse if I ever did see one,” Mama said.

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Angeline replied as she left the room and closed the door behind her. “Now what did you mean when you first came to the door? You said something about my doing exactly what you said.”

  Mama placed her finger to her lips to silence Angeline. Motioning to the back door, she turned and headed that way. Angeline followed, still holding the water glasses.

  “Go put those in the summer kitchen and wash your hands. I’ll wait right here,” Mama said as she stood on the back steps.

  When Angeline returned, the faint sound of male voices told her that the men were still there.

  “Mama, what is Papa doing with Nicolas and the pastor?”

  Rather than answer, Mama headed down the narrow path that led through the thicket and ended at the banks of the Bayou Nouvelle. With every step, Angeline’s worries increased. The combination of Nicolas, Papa, and Reverend Dautrive could only mean one thing.

  A wedding was afoot.

  Her wedding.

  Keeping silent was nearly impossible, so she shouted her thoughts to the Lord in prayer. Please hear me, Father! Please don’t let them do this to me. I don’t love this man.

  A quietness settled in her heart as she heard the gentle response. I know, My child. But now you must wait on Me.

  Angeline halted her pace to stare up into the canopy of trees and the blue sky beyond. A single cloud, wispy like pulled cotton, teased the edges of the trees and floated slowly on the breeze.

  “Then do something,” she whispered.

  Mama cast a glance over her shoulder. “What’s that, Bebe? Something wrong, and you can’t walk no more?”

  “No, Mama,” she answered as she fell back into step behind her mother. “I can walk just fine.”

  It’s the waiting I’m having trouble with.

  Finally Mama stopped at the edge of the bayou and settled down on a grassy spot in the shade. “Sit here, Bebe,” she said as she patted the place next to her. “You and me, we got some talking to do.”

  Dread formed in her chest, and she knew the thing she feared most would soon happen. Strange, but she knew. “It’s about Papa and Nicolas, isn’t it?”

  Mama nodded. “The wedding, they’ve started planning it.”

  Everything inside her crumpled. Where was God? How could He allow this to happen? Couldn’t He see she did not love Nicolas Arceneaux?

  “Oh, Mama, how can I stop this?” she cried. “I just can’t marry Nicolas. I can’t. I don’t love him. I’ll never love him.”

  “Hush, now, Angeline. This crying and worrying won’t change a thing. You know you can’t stop this and neither can I.” She lifted Angeline’s chin and looked into her eyes. “But God can.”

  “Yes, Mama, He can.” She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes to push away the tears. “But will He?”

  Mama leaned back and looked up into the sky. “I pray He will, Bebe. But until He does, you and me, we’ve got to do some things.”

  Angeline sniffed. “What kind of things?”

  “Now I want you to listen to everything I’ve got to say before you talk, you hear?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “All right, the first thing you and me have to do is start planning this wedding of yours.” She held up a hand to stop Angeline’s protest. “Now I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t want no wedding, eh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, just because you don’t want a wedding, that doesn’t mean there won’t be one. Do you understand?” When Angeline nodded, Mama continued. “We
can go about this thing in two ways. The first way is to do what you’re doing right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you can go kicking and screaming all the way to the altar with your papa following right behind you holding his big old shotgun and the whole town watching. Is that what you want, eh?”

  An image rose in her mind. She could see the interior of the little church where the Breaux family had worshiped for three generations. In every row of seats were friends, family members, and townspeople, all dressed in their Sunday best to attend a wedding.

  White bunting had been tied to the ends of the old cypress pews, and big white ribbons decorated the edges of the pastor’s lectern. Her groom, dressed in a suit of dark color, awaited her arrival with his head bowed, as did Reverend Dautrive.

  Such a beautiful picture it was, and then she and Papa emerged from the back of the church, and a gasp went up from the crowd. At her side, Papa stood. At his side stood the big shotgun.

  The crowd began to laugh. Worse, so did the pastor and her groom.

  Angeline dissolved the image with a shake of her head. “Oh, Mama, that would be awful.”

  “It would indeed.” She offered a wry smile and batted at a mosquito buzzing around her bare arm. “Now, if you’ll listen to your mama, there just might be a better way of going about this.”

  Hope dawned inside Angeline, and she sent it skyward with another prayer. Her mother was wise, especially in the way of love and marriage. Surely she could give her some way out of this mess.

  “What do you have in mind, Mama?”

  “Well, what I have in mind is this.” She grinned and clapped her hands together in excitement. “You and me, we’re gonna plan a wedding, eh?”

  Fourteen

  Again Mama stopped Angeline’s protest with a wave of her hand. “Now just let me finish. You were always an impatient child, Angeline. Why don’t you sit on your questions and give me a minute to explain?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “God and me, we’ve been talking a whole bunch about this problem of yours, and I think He wants us to just go on about our business and plan you a pretty wedding.”

  Angeline’s heart sank. “Forgive me, Mama, but I don’t see how giving in to Papa’s demands and planning a wedding for Nicolas and me is going to get me out of this mess.”

  “First off, let’s get this straight, Young Lady. Your papa is the head of this household, and as such, what he says goes, you hear?” When Angeline nodded, Mama continued. “So now that we got that straight, we know we can’t just tell him you’re not gonna marry the Arceneaux boy. That would be disobedient to Papa and to God, since He sent Papa to be in authority over you long as you live in our house, eh? Tell me you understand that much.”

  Why did Mama have to make so much sense? It would be so easy to protest the unfairness of the situation by refusing to cooperate. And with Jefferson Villare’s kisses still warm on her lips, even after all this time, she desperately wanted to protest a marriage to someone else.

  “I understand.”

  “Well, all right then. You asked me how this is going to help. Angie, Bebe, I don’t know, but I trust that Le Bon Dieu, He does. My prayers, they tell me I need to help plan a wedding for my Angeline, and that’s what I’m gonna do. I don’t know how God’s gonna fix this, but I do know He will. Do you trust Him?”

  Did she? How easy it was to claim trust in the Lord when things were going well! How much more difficult to profess that same trust when God seemed to be doing the exact opposite of what made sense.

  “Yes, Mama, I trust Him,” she said finally.

  “Good,” Mama said. “Then let’s go visit with the menfolk. I’m sure they’re wondering where we got off to.”

  Angeline stood and helped her mother to her feet. “You’re not going to be able to do that much longer,” she said.

  “I know that, Bebe.” Mama rubbed her back, then dusted off her skirt. All at once, her face turned serious. “Before we go back and talk to the menfolk, I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the honest truth. Will you do that?”

  Dread returned, and Angeline swiped at the grass on her legs rather than look directly at her mother. “Of course I will. I’m always honest with you, Mama.”

  “Good.” She paused. “I want to know why you don’t want to marry Nicolas Arceneaux.”

  Angeline swung her gaze to meet her mother’s. “Well, to start off, I don’t even know the man. He seems nice enough and all, but I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with a stranger.”

  “Fair enough.” Mama seemed to consider the statement for a moment. “Any other reasons? I mean, he’s handsome enough, and he does come from a good family.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “But I don’t care about those things.”

  “All right then, let me see. He’s a hard-working man, that’s for sure, eh? While he was here, he helped your papa and Ernest every day and worked as hard as two men. You can’t fault him for being lazy, no, not at all.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you could fault him for that.” Again Angeline looked away.

  “And he loves the Lord; you know that.”

  “Yes, I believe he does.”

  Mama placed a hand on Angeline’s shoulder and sighed. “Then why don’t you just come out and tell your mama why you don’t want to marry a handsome, hard-working young man from a good family, eh?”

  The truth lay just beyond her ability to speak it. Even to try would be silly. No two people were more unevenly matched than she and Jefferson Villare. How could a simple bayou girl ever have designs on a rich, city-bound doctor?

  “I can’t, Mama.”

  “I believe you can,” she said softly. “You might as well tell me. The Lord already knows.”

  Angeline took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mama was right. The Lord did already know. The truth be told, Mama probably knew as well.

  “I can’t marry Nicolas Arceneaux because I’ve been in love with Jefferson Villare as long as I can remember. I’d rather spend my life as an old maid helping you than to spend it married to someone other than Jefferson.”

  There, she’d said it. Angeline closed her eyes and waited for the lecture she knew her mother would deliver. Instead, she got only silence. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Mama had already begun to walk toward the house.

  Mustering up as much dignity as she could manage, she followed Mama back down the path and out into the clearing. As they neared the house, Angeline could hear the raised voices of the men along with their laughter.

  When Mama stopped abruptly, Angeline almost ran into her. “Angie,” she said softly, “guard your heart. As a woman, I understand how you feel, eh? But as your mother, I have to remind you that you’ve got to be obedient to the Lord, even if He says you must give up this man you love.”

  Angeline nodded. “I will.”

  “It’s gonna hurt if it happens this way, but you’ll just have to trust that Le Bon Dieu, He don’t make no mistakes.” She smiled. “His is the better way, even if we don’t always agree.”

  “I know,” Angeline said.

  “Good.” Her mother seemed to study her a moment. “Now put on your prettiest smile, and let’s go talk about a wedding that might or might not happen, eh?”

  They crossed the distance to the house arm in arm, each matching the pace of the other. With every step, Angeline begged the Lord to give her the strength to put her own wishes aside and follow His. By the time she reached the back steps, she almost felt like she could accomplish this.

  Inside the house, Angeline said one last prayer. Lord, You know my faults. Please let me do this through Your strength and not try it through mine.

  “Clothilde, where you at, Sweetie?” Papa called. “Come bring yourself out here and fetch Angeline with you.”

  “Right here, Theo.” Mama emerged from the bedroom to run her fingers through her hair a
nd check her smile in the pier glass. “Now remember what I said, Angie. You be obedient even if you don’t feel like it, you hear?”

  “Yes, Mama.” Angeline followed her through the house and out onto the front porch.

  When she appeared, all conversation ceased. Nicolas, who stood apart from the two older men, gazed at her with interest while Papa and the reverend looked as if they’d been caught conspiring.

  “Come on over here, Angie girl,” Papa said.

  She stepped around Mama to stand at Papa’s side. He gave her a hug, then held her at arm’s length. “You look mighty pretty this afternoon.”

  “Miss Angeline, you do look like a breath of fresh air.” Reverend Dautrive removed his straw hat and mopped at his bald head with a white handkerchief. “I wonder if we will have the pleasure of hearing you sing again this Sunday.”

  “I don’t know yet, Reverend,” she said. “I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow at choir practice.”

  “My girl, she can sing, that’s for sure,” Papa said. “Oh, you should hear her. I’ll tell you, it’s like the angels done come to Bayou Nouvelle.”

  Mama merely nodded and settled on the little bench as if to watch the show. If only Angeline could join her and be a spectator, instead of the center of attention.

  “Beauty and a voice to match.”

  The words came from behind her, where Nicolas Arceneaux stood leaning against the porch rail. When she turned, she saw him smile.

  “That’s right,” Papa said. “And don’t forget she can cook too.” He turned his attention to Nicolas. “Did I tell you she’s right handy with the cleaning and the little ones? Why, I’d have to say there’s not a thing my Angeline can’t do.”

  “Papa, please,” Angeline whispered. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Now, Theo,” Mama said, “you make it sound like Angie’s a prize horse. Why you want to go andtalk like that and make our girl feel all uncomfortable like, eh?”

  An awkward silence enveloped the porch. Reverend Dautrive cleared his throat and pretended interest in a bee buzzing around Mama’s Easter lilies while Papa simply glared at Mama. Nicolas Arceneaux, on the other hand, stared at Angeline openly. Finally, he squared his shoulders and crossed the porch to take her hand.