Bayou Fever

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “I’m a plain-spoken man,” he announced, “and I don’t believe in a lot of fancy talk or beating around the bush. Why don’t I just get to the heart of the matter for which we’ve all gathered?”

  Angeline’s gaze darted first to the left and then to the right, hoping for a distraction or possibly a place to run. She willed the baby to start crying, one of her sisters to call out for her, or even for the Lord to strike down a bolt of lightning that would call a halt to the whole proceedings.

  Instead, a warm wind blew past, bringing the earthy scent of the bayou onto the porch. Somewhere to the east, a dog’s bark chased the breeze.

  “You go right on ahead, Young Man,” Papa said.

  Nicolas cleared his throat and stared into Angeline’s eyes. “You and I have already talked about this. You know what I’m about to ask, don’t you, Angeline?”

  Tears welled up in Angeline’s eyes. Somehow she managed to nod.

  “And this time I’m going to stand right here and wait until I get an answer.”

  Dread closed around her throat. She couldn’t have said a single word aloud at that moment if her life depended on it.

  Please, Lord, please don’t let him ask me to marry him.

  “Angeline Breaux, it would be an honor for you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

  No, Father, don’t make me answer him. Make this all go away.

  Papa touched her shoulder and leaned toward her. The look in his eyes told her she could not stand mute forever. “Answer him, Angeline,” he urged.

  Reverend Dautrive slapped his straw hat back on his head and smiled as he stuffed his handkerchief into his pants pocket. “Oh, I do declare the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. I’m probably speaking too soon, but the church calendar fills up fast in the summer. You’d need to get this wedding planned and done three weeks from Saturday, or you’ll have to wait until September.”

  Angeline gulped. “Three weeks?”

  “Now, Angie,” Papa said. “You don’t have nothing to wait for, so why put off until the fall what we can get done in three weeks?” He turned to the reverend. “I say we take that spot on the calendar, eh?”

  “Theo, hold up on yourself there,” Mama called. “I think you’d better wait until the bride says yes before you book the wedding, eh?”

  Nicolas lightly squeezed her hand and smiled. “Angeline?”

  Do something, please, Lord.

  An image of Jefferson crossed her mind and stuck there. He had stood on this very same porch only two nights ago and kissed her—twice. How could she agree to marry another when those kisses still lingered in her mind and heart? How could she say yes when her love belonged to another? How could she say no when Papa had all but sealed her fate well before now?

  Your father wants the best for you, as do I.

  “Bebe, does the cat got your tongue?” Mama asked. “It’s not respectful to stand there like a statue. Better you say something before Mr. Arceneaux, he gets too old to take a bride.”

  God, if You’re going to stop this, You need to act right now.

  Angeline held her breath and waited for the answer she knew would come, the words that would end this. Instead, God was silent.

  Her gaze landed on Nicolas Arceneaux and held there. “Yes, Nicolas,” she whispered, “I will marry you.”

  Papa let out a whoop loud enough to be heard a mile down the road, while the Reverend Dautrive slapped Nicolas on the back and shook his hand. Mama, on the other hand, merely winked and disappeared into the house.

  Angeline stood apart from the celebration and tried not to cry. Where was the Lord? Why hadn’t He saved her?

  Reverend Dautrive pulled a small notepad from his pocket and turned the pages. “As long as it’s official, I might as well write the wedding down on the calendar.” He made eye contact with Angeline. “We wouldn’t want someone else to get that date, would we?”

  “No,” she whispered. “We wouldn’t want that.”

  Only Nicolas seemed to detect the note of sadness that went along with her words. The look on his face told her as much.

  “Now where did I put the calendar?” The reverend continued to flip the pages. “Well, here it is.” Papa leaned toward him, as did Nicolas. “There, we have an opening in three weeks. I saw it just before I left the parsonage, and I believe it’s on. . .uh oh.”

  “What?” Papa asked.

  “Well. . .” The reverend removed his handkerchief to mop his brow, then took another look at the calendar.

  “What is it, Reverend?” Nicolas chimed in.

  Reverend Dautrive offered a weak smile and directed his gaze to Angeline. “Did I say three weeks? Well, that can’t be right. It’s not three weeks at all.”

  “Yes, you did,” she said with a nod. Oh, Lord, thank You for this delay, she added silently.

  “Just say it, Reverend,” Papa said. “If it’s not three weeks, then when’s the big day?”

  “Are we planning a wedding day?” Mama called from inside. “Wait just a minute and I’ll be right there, eh?” She emerged onto the porch with the baby on her hip. “So what day are we gonna have this wedding, Reverend?”

  The preacher smiled and held his notebook in the air. “According to this calendar here, there’s just one day open this month. How’s a week from Saturday?”

  Angeline’s jaw dropped as shock coursed through her. “But today’s Monday.” She fought to count the days. “That’s less than two weeks away.”

  “Twelve days.” Papa’s grin widened. into a full-fledged smile.

  Nicolas wrapped his arm around her waist and gathered her to him. “Isn’t that great, Angeline? Just twelve days and we’ll be husband and wife.”

  She looked up into his eyes, and what she saw there surprised her. Nicolas didn’t seem any more excited about the prospect of a wedding than she did.

  Fifteen

  “So we’ve got twelve days to get to know one another,” Nicolas said as they strolled down the banks of the Nouvelle. “That’s not a long time, is it?”

  Angeline batted at a strand of Spanish moss, then ducked to walk beneath it. “No, I suppose not.”

  You’ll need to work fast, Lord.

  “I don’t suppose there’s really much we have to know, is there, Angeline?” He paused. “The wedding will go on one way or another.”

  The truth in those words hit home, and Angeline had to blink back tears. “I suppose,” she said as she turned away from his gaze to collect her thoughts.

  They walked on, the sounds of the bayou filling the silence that fell between them. Occasionally, something would splash on the other bank, but nothing else disturbed the easy flow of the water.

  “What’s it like where you live, Nicolas?” she asked as she stepped around a hole in the path.

  “Oh, I suppose it’s much like this place, what with the bayou and all. Why?” He slowed his pace to reach for a stick and heave it toward the water.

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I suppose I was wondering what I would be facing when I left this place.”

  “You’ll miss it, won’t you?”

  Angeline nodded. “Yes, but I can’t stay. The house is overflowing now, and with another on the way, there’s just not enough to go around. That’s why Papa. . .”

  “Bartered you off to a fisherman who lives just a little way down the bayou?”

  Stunned, she opened her mouth to speak and found the words were missing. She stared at him in horror.

  “It’s all right, Ma Petite,” he whispered. “I don’t mean to sound so harsh. After all, you and I, we were both bartered off, eh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nicolas stared past her with a faraway look in his eyes. “You might not believe this, but you’re not the only one who doesn’t particularly look forward to the wedding.”

  Something between surprise and relief seized her. “What do you mean?”

  He returned his gaze to her and offered a weak smile. “I am ash
amed to say that, although you are the prettiest flower that ever bloomed in this stretch of the bayou, you weren’t my first choice as a bride.”

  “What?” His admission shocked her. At the same time, it made her feel a bit better about her feelings regarding Jefferson Villare. How could she hold this against Nicolas when she bore the same feelings in her heart? If God should choose to allow them to wed, He would enable them to handle this.

  “You do not believe a man can reach my age and not lose his heart at least once, eh?”

  So his was a love from the past. So much for feeling better about her current love for the young doctor.

  “Whatever became of her?” Angeline asked.

  “Ah, that is something I cannot think upon for it makes me sad.”

  The pain in his words made Angeline wince. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Me too,” was his answer.

  “Was she beautiful?” Why in the world did she ask that? Angeline looked at Nicolas and found him smiling. “Yes, every bit as beautiful as you. In fact, she is very much like you, only perhaps a bit more bossy.” He shook his head. “But when I met her, I was not free to marry, so it wasn’t to be, eh?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Again, silence fell between them. This time Angeline used the opportunity to study her groom-to-be. Tall and strong, he wore the mantle of a son of the bayou with an easy grace.

  He looked to be the type of man who would work hard, then come home to heft a baby or two atop his shoulders. Angeline prayed he was this kind of man, for she couldn’t bear it if he were not.

  “I have a big family, Angeline. I feel like I should warn you about that. Mama and Papa can’t wait to meet you, and neither can my seven brothers and sisters. They’ll all love you, I know, but when we get together, it can be loud. I’m the youngest of the bunch, so there are plenty of folks around the dinner table.”

  “Seven?” She laughed. “My goodness, that sounds like my family.”

  Nicolas stopped and turned to face her. “Actually, they are very much like your family, Angeline. Your people and our people, they settled the bayou and never forgot where they came from. Their blood, it lies beneath this land.”

  His fierceness startled her. “Yes,” she whispered. “This is true.”

  “You don’t speak the language of the Acadians much, do you, Angeline?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said as she averted her gaze. “I don’t suppose we speak it as much as the older folks do, but we do mix the Acadian with the English. Why?”

  “I just wondered. . .” He paused and seemed to be searching for the right words. “I wondered how you felt about your past, your history.”

  Angeline squared her shoulders. Where was this line of questioning going? Worse, what did he know about her past? Surely someone hadn’t told him about the gossip.

  “I’m proud of my history. The Breaux family has lived on this bayou for two hundred years. There are more Breaux headstones in the church cemetery than anyone has time to count, and my mama’s family has been here even longer.” She paused to study his reaction. “I also have nothing to be ashamed of in my past.”

  A hawk swooped low and landed on the branch of a bald cypress nearby. Angeline watched the bird and wished she could fly away so easily.

  Ah, but when you returned, your troubles would still be here, wouldn’t they?

  He barely blinked. “I didn’t mean to say that you might be.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “Angeline, I’m sorry. I’m not good at this thing of talking in circles, and that’s what I’ve been doing.” He took her hand in his. “I’m just going to get right to the point. I’m taking you as my wife, and I want to know if you’re going to live up to that responsibility.”

  Confusion mixed with surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  His features looked pained, and he took a deep breath before he spoke. “If I’m going to stand before the Lord and make you my wife, I want to be sure you’re not going to forget your upbringing and run off up North with that city fellow.”

  The words stung. She would never make a promise she didn’t intend to keep.

  She looked up into his dark eyes veiled with pain and confusion. How much did he know about her love for Jefferson?

  “Nicolas,” she said slowly, “when I take my marriage vows, I intend to keep them for life.”

  “As do I,” he said as he abruptly released her hand and turned back toward the house.

  ❧

  Wednesday morning when Jefferson arrived at the Breaux home, he found Angeline sitting on the porch, her Bible spread on her lap, and the baby playing on a blanket in the shade at her feet. When he left Latanier, he’d told himself—and Mrs. Mike—that he would merely check in on the recuperating Breaux girls. By the time he turned onto the dirt road that wound alongside the Nouvelle, he had added another purpose to his trip.

  Today he would begin the process of courting Angeline Breaux.

  All the way from town, he’d planned his course. With less than two weeks before he had to be in New York, he had to act swiftly. Still, he must be wise and gentle and—the enormity of his task was overwhelming.

  But, as Pop would say, he was a Villare, and a Villare never gives up.

  “Good morning!” he called as he climbed out of the Model A and snatched up his medical bag.

  “Jefferson!” Angeline closed her Bible and set it on the porch step. Rising, she scooped the baby onto her hip and strolled toward him. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “So am I a nice surprise?” He tickled the baby under her fat chin and laughed when she giggled.

  Angeline’s troubled expression caught him off guard. “Of course,” she said a bit too quickly. “It’s always nice to see you here.”

  “And it’s even nicer to be here.” He shook off the feeling that something had changed between them since Monday and proceeded with the first order of business on his agenda. “So, how are our patients?”

  “Mathilde is much better. She’s been up and around most of the morning.”

  “No more fainting spells or fever?”

  Angeline shook her head. “The fever broke yesterday morning, and it hasn’t come back. She’s not as strong as she normally is, but she seems steady enough on her feet, and she’s had enough energy to help with some of the household work.”

  “Good. And Amalie?”

  “There’s been no change, Jefferson. She sleeps much of the time, and she’s not lost that fever yet.”

  “But it hasn’t gone any higher, has it?”

  “No, but something’s just not right with Amalie. I can feel it, but I can’t put my finger on it.” Angeline shifted the baby to the other hip. “To tell you the truth, if you hadn’t come out here today, I probably would have gone to get you tomorrow.”

  “Not in that pirogue?”

  She smiled and glanced down at her hands, now free of bandages but still bearing the bright pink color of her wounds. “If I had to.”

  “Why, Angeline, I never figured you for a nurse.”

  Startled, she looked up abruptly. “I’m not.”

  “Of course you are.” Jefferson gave her a smile. “A good nurse not only reports on what she can see, she also reports on what she thinks she might soon see.” He swung the bag over his shoulder and turned toward the house. “It’s a rare gift. Maybe you should consider nursing as a career, Ma Chere.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” she said as she fell in step beside him.

  He stopped short. “Why not?”

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure she would answer. When she did, her words surprised him.

  “Because I’ve got something else planned.” She turned her attention to the baby, smoothing her dark hair as she walked beside him. “Something besides a career in nursing or anything else.”

  What could Angeline Breaux possibly have planned for the rest of her life? The whole of her existence was wrapped up in home, family,
and the Bayou Nouvelle. How could any of these things add up to a future for someone like her?

  The answer hit him all at once, like a bolt from the blue. “You are marrying the Arceneaux fellow, aren’t you?”

  “Angie, Bebe, is that Jefferson Villare with you?”

  Jeff tore his attention away from Angeline to see Clothilde Breaux rounding the corner of the house. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said. “It’s me.”

  “Good morning, Jefferson,” she said as she greeted him with a wave of her hand. “Did you come to see to my girls?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He cast a quick glance at Angeline. All three of them, actually.

  Clothilde reached for the baby and settled her on her hip. “Just you go on inside then, Jefferson. Angie, go with him and help, eh?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “You know my girl, she ought to have been a nurse, eh?” She patted Angeline’s shoulder. “She keeps good care of her two sisters and still finds time to watch the baby so her mama can get her yard chores done. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

  “All right, Mama,” Angeline said, a flush of pink spreading across her cheeks. “Now you’re starting to sound like Papa.”

  “Oh, hush now. I’m just telling the truth.” She motioned toward the house. “Get on in there and see to the girls, eh?”

  Mathilde met them on the porch with a weak smile. “I thought I heard a commotion out here.”

  Jeff studied Angeline’s younger sister as he walked toward her. Her coloring appeared normal, with no telltale dark smudges beneath her eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked as he pressed his palm to her forehead and found it cool to the touch.

  “Much better, thanks to you,” she said. “You’re a wonderful doctor, Jefferson Villare.”

  “You can thank the Great Physician, Mathilde. I just work for Him.”

  “Well, however you did it, you managed to cure me in record time.” She paused. “With Angie’s help, of course.”

  “Mathilde, come!” Clothilde called. “I need someone to watch the baby while I put these Easter lilies in pots. Jefferson’ll be needing to take one back home to Mrs. Mike when he leaves, and we don’t want to keep a busy doctor waiting.”