Heart of Glass

by Jill Marie Landis

  When Colin touched her arm, Kate felt nothing.

  “Come, let me help you,” he offered.

  “No.” She shook her head, refused to go a step farther. Refused to make this nightmare real.

  Colin wrapped his arm around her. He leaned so close his warm breath brushed her ear.

  “She loved you, Katie Keene,” he whispered.

  She longed to pull away, to run outside and down the drive, across the damp lawn, along the allee of oaks, to the levee, to the river. She wanted to wail and scream. Most of all she wanted to turn back time.

  “We promised not to mourn her, remember?”

  “Impossible,” she whispered.

  She heard a soft hiccup followed by a sob. Marie was doubled over on her chair.

  “Go in there, Kate. Help them.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to. It’s what she wanted.”

  His words struck a familiar chord in her heart. Who knew better what it meant to be orphaned? To have no one.

  Colin kept an arm around her as together they joined the children in the sitting room. Kate knelt down and hugged Marie. The girl pressed her face against Kate’s neck and wrapped her arms around her. Kate held her close and let her cry. Damian slipped off his chair and hooked an arm around Kate’s shoulders. In their knot of sorrow, they cried together.

  When Kate finally looked up, Colin was seated again. He nodded. Together they would find a way to do right by these children.

  Kate gently raised Marie’s head and wiped away her tears before she turned to Damian, smoothed his dark curls, and wiped the tears off his cheeks as well.

  Fighting for composure, holding their hands, she spoke softly.

  “Your mama did not want us to be sad. Why don’t you go into the kitchen with Myra and have some chocolate to drink? While you are there, I want you to think of some lovely stories about your mama. Things you remember that will make us all smile. Things we don’t know about her. You can each tell one of the stories tomorrow at the burial. It’s a very grown-up thing, but I’m sure you can do it. Will you try?”

  Damian nodded first. Marie appeared uncertain.

  “Can you do it, Marie? For your mama?”

  She finally whispered, “I will try.”

  “Good.” Kate hugged them both. Damian tugged on her sleeve.

  “Aunt Kate?” His eyes were watery and huge in his pale face.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “What will we do without Mama?”

  Kate was out of words. Colin rose and, leaning heavily on his cane, walked over to join them.

  Damian’s face was pinched with worry.

  “Will we have to go back to Kansas?” he asked Colin.

  Without hesitation, Colin said, “No, you will not.” He softened his tone. “Right now you should have some chocolate to drink and some of those cookies Eugenie made earlier. Try not to worry. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  Myra collected her charges and took them to the kitchen. Eugenie slipped out after them.

  “Thank you, Colin.” Kate tried to smile, but again failed.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs? You must be exhausted.”

  His compassion surprised her. He was acting so unlike the man who had railed and demanded that she leave Belle Fleuve.

  “No more than you.”

  “Simon and I will stay,” Colin clarified.

  The household, except for the children, would take turns sitting with Amelie all night.

  “I should stay.”

  “Go,” Colin urged. “Try to rest awhile. We’ll be fine.”

  As she left the sitting room and stepped out onto the gallery Kate carefully avoided looking at Amelie. The setting sun turned raindrops on the trees into crystal teardrops as Belle Fleuve mourned the loss of its daughter. Despondent, still shaken, Kate escaped to her room, but she could not escape the memory of Damian’s sorrowful eyes.

  What will we do without Mama?

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth he would soon discover on his own.

  You will feel abandoned and alone. You will call out for her in the middle of the night. You will cry yourself to sleep.

  You will pray. You will survive. You will go on.

  She washed her face with tepid water, stretched out on the bed, closed her eyes, and wished things had turned out differently, wished Amelie were alive.

  I promise to raise Marie and Damian if anything happens to you.

  She recalled the sound of Colin’s deep voice and how he had spoken without hesitation. She still felt the remembered warmth of his hand when he forced hers onto the photograph.

  I promise on our parents’ memories to marry Kate Keene and raise your children as my own.

  Surely Colin would not hold her to it.

  He had assured Damian that he wasn’t going anywhere, but perhaps Colin would consider letting her raise the children on her own in New Orleans. He could concentrate on Belle Fleuve, on rebuilding the plantation. Once that was accomplished and the children were older, they could move back.

  Sleep eluded her as Kate wrestled with her thoughts. Finally she left the bed, crossed the room and glanced at the mirror above the washstand. For want of something black, Myra had covered it with a worn piece of calico — no doubt a remnant from Eugenie’s ragbag. There was no way for Kate to tell if she looked presentable. No way to see if her deep sorrow and uncertainty showed.

  Colin heard Simon shuffling behind him in the shadows of the large, sparsely furnished sitting room where every sound echoed against the bare walls and floors. He turned to the man and indicated the door with a nod.

  “Why don’t you go too, Simon?”

  “Are you sure, Mr. Colin?”

  “Yes. I’d like to be alone.”

  He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes as Simon slipped out.

  Once the man was gone Colin whispered. “What now, little sister?”

  His mind went over all the possibilities, all the challenges. He’d made Amelie promises he couldn’t keep. Marrying Kate Keene was one of those promises.

  The moment he had seen Kate standing in the doorway to Amelie’s room, relief had swept through him with the force of a summer storm.

  He knew immediately that Kate belonged at Belle Fleuve even more than he did.

  ELEVEN

  The sun appeared for Amelie’s burial, bright and golden in a cloudless blue sky. The breeze off the river carried the scent of the gulf to the small knot of mourners gathered beneath the oaks beside the Baudier family crypt, a short walk from the house and formal gardens.

  The breeze challenged young Marie’s voice as she struggled to speak of her mother.

  “Mama told me about her first day at Daddy’s folks’ place in Kansas. It was called a soddie, and it was made of dirt. Dirt walls, dirt floor, and nothing to see for miles around but more dirt and the sky. That was before they moved closer to Dodge. Anyway, Mama was fresh up from Louisiana and when she found out that she’d have chores, she told Granny Hart that she’d never done chores and never washed a dish in her life and she wasn’t about to start.” Marie paused and looked to Kate, who nodded encouragement.

  “That’s the only funny thing I know about Mama. I can’t imagine anybody not ever having to do chores. In Kansas we all did chores from mornin’ to night.” She looked at the crypt and shrugged. “I guess that’s one good thing about her dying. Maybe Mama won’t have to do any more chores in heaven.”

  As Marie walked back to Kate’s side and took her hand several people shuffled and cleared their throats. Despite the heat of the day, Marie’s hand felt clammy.

  Kate stared at the crypt, heartbroken that Amelie was the only Delany to rest there. Marie Delany had been buried somewhere upriver at her Creole cousins’ home. Patrick’s body was in a field cemetery near the site of his last battle. Amelie was alone with her Creole ancestors, but at least she was at Belle Fleuve.

  Kate had been surprised when a trio of buggies
had arrived that morning. Two families that had recently bought homes along the river had come to show their respect. Even now they stared at Colin as if expecting him to do something outrageous and prove the rumors true. Kate suspected they had come more out of curiosity than sympathy. At least their children created a diversion for Damian until the brief graveside service had begun. The third couple turned out to be Belle Fleuve’s former manager’s son, Jason Bolton, and his wife, Cora, who was expecting their first child.

  Eugenie and Myra laid out a cold buffet on the gallery where those in attendance gathered after the burial. Kate’s appetite had been nonexistent since her return, so she stood alone, off to the side of the group of neighbors who chatted among themselves discussing crops and weather. Now and again Colin would find her with a glance and understanding nod. Was he as eager as she was for the guests to leave them in peace?

  Assured that Myra had the children well in hand, Kate was about to slip inside for some much-needed time alone when Cora Bolton joined her.

  “My sympathies.” The young woman appeared to be in her mid- to late-twenties and had blond hair and wide-set green eyes.

  “Thank you,” Kate nodded.

  Kate had recognized Jason Bolton that morning when he handed his wife down from their carriage. He was near Colin’s age, a handsome, fair-haired man with a strong, even jaw and broad shoulders. Like his wife, his clothes were clean but showed wear.

  “Jason told me that you and Amelie were very close.” Cora took a sip of water and glanced over at her husband, who was speaking to Colin.

  “That’s right.” Kate struggled to be polite, but she didn’t feel like making conversation.

  “I’m from Tennessee,” Cora said. “We married a year ago, and Jason’s been talking about moving back ever since. We’re living in a small cabin up the road near Plaquemine. Jason’s hoping to get reestablished before the baby comes, so he was happy to hear Colin was back too. He’s got some fine business propositions.” Cora’s face flushed. “But I suppose this isn’t the time to discuss them. Sometimes I do go on. You’ll have to forgive me.” Then she added, “We were so sorry to hear about Amelie. Jason said she was always the prettiest girl around.”

  What did Jason Bolton hope to get out of Colin? Surely the couple could see there was nothing to be had at Belle Fleuve.

  “I remember Jason,” Kate said, “but I don’t recall ever really talking to him at length.” She did remember sneaking out to the garçonnière with Amelie to spy on Colin and his friends. Despite the fact that the others were wealthy, Jason, who was only the manager’s son, was often with them.

  “Jason’s father worked for Patrick Delany for years. He said Mr. Delany gave his father credit for running the place so smoothly that Patrick had time to concentrate on his architecture.”

  “Where is the elder Mr. Bolton now?” Perhaps the man might inspire Colin to get Belle Fleuve back on its feet. Kate’s hope dwindled when Cora said that, like Patrick, Jason’s father had died for the Confederacy.

  The woman chatted on, discussing everything from a new rice pudding recipe to each item of clothing she’d made for the coming baby. Kate pasted a smile on her lips and let her mind go blank until Marie found her.

  “Aunt Kate, I’m tired.”

  “Please excuse us, Cora,” Kate said. “I’m going to take Marie up to her room.”

  “Of course,” the young woman smiled.

  Marie trudged along as they mounted the gallery stairs together. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, Aunt Kate.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m exhausted myself. Why don’t we both lie down for a while in your room?”

  Marie nodded. When she slipped her hand into Kate’s, unexpected tears filled Kate’s eyes. She felt Marie’s hand tighten around hers as they passed Amelie’s room. A breeze wafted through Marie’s room as the two of them made themselves comfortable on the small bed. Side by side they stared at the ceiling.

  “Do you think Mama can see us from heaven?” Marie asked.

  “I think she can see us perfectly. She’d be very proud of how brave you were today. You and Damian both.”

  “Damian is out there having fun with those other children.” There was disapproval in Marie’s tone. “He’s forgotten Mama already.”

  Kate slipped her arm around the girl and smoothed back her hair. “Damian is younger than you are, that’s all. He hasn’t forgotten.”

  “I’ll never be happy again,” Marie sighed. “I certainly don’t see how I could.”

  “Someday you will laugh and play again. Your life will never be the same, but you’ll be happy and laugh and play. You’ll see.”

  As Kate stared at the cracks in the plaster ceiling she wished she could believe it.

  Neither slept. They were silent until Marie rolled to her side and slipped her arm around Kate’s waist.

  “I miss my mama,” she cried.

  Kate’s heart contracted. She curled her arm around the girl and held her close.

  “I miss her too, honey,” Kate sighed. “I miss her too.”

  The Boltons were the last to leave. Buoyed by a brief conversation with Jason, Colin watched the couple’s carriage roll down the drive toward River Road before he sought out Kate. He hadn’t seen her for a good hour and a half, not since she’d disappeared with Marie. He was about to look for her when Damian ran to him in tears. Colin braced himself to keep the boy from knocking him down.

  “I don’t want to wash up and nap, Uncle Colin. Tell her I don’t have to.” The boy crossed his arms and glared at Myra, who was bearing down on them.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but he’s sweaty and exhausted and full of sweets. I think he needs to rest a while,” she said.

  “No. I won’t. I don’t have to do what you say. You’re nobody!” Damian planted his hands on his hips. “Only Uncle Colin can tell me what to do now, right Uncle Colin?”

  Colin studied the boy. Damian needed to know who was in charge now.

  “Myra did a fine job raising Kate, and while she’s here she will look after you and your sister too. You’re to do as she asks and you must also obey Kate and Eugenie.”

  “But—”

  “Go with Myra and let her wash that cake off your face. Then take a nap. There’s no shame in resting when you are tired.”

  Irritated, Damian tapped his foot.

  “Go.” Colin waited, relieved when the boy finally turned his back and plodded off with Myra in his wake.

  Eugenie had nearly cleared the makeshift serving table on the gallery. How long would it be, if ever, before they could afford more furniture? Colin scoffed at the thought. A handful of days ago he’d been willing to vacate Belle Fleuve. It was premature to think about furnishing the place.

  “Where’s Kate, Eugenie?”

  “She took little Marie upstairs. Would you like me to fetch her?”

  “I’ll go.” He needed to see Kate, to make certain she was all right.

  Eugenie glanced at his cane. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  He climbed the stairs slowly, stopping at the open door to Amelie’s room. The curtains lifted on the soft breeze. The bed was freshly made and a vase of fresh flowers had been placed on the dresser, but the room held an aching emptiness.

  He took a step. A floorboard creaked beneath his weight.

  Two doors down, Kate opened the door to the children’s room and held her finger to her lips. She stepped out and closed the door behind her without making a sound.

  “Marie is asleep.” She came toward him.

  He missed her smile. Once she’d realized Amelie was gone, Kate’s sparkle, her hope, the light that kept her fighting to make things better for everyone, had been extinguished.

  She wore a heavy black gown that dwarfed her trim frame and gave her the appearance of a child playing grown-up. It washed out her complexion. Her spectacles magnified her red-rimmed, swollen eyes.

  He watched her glance into Amelie’s room
and thought for a moment that she was going to wilt, but then she drew herself up. The light in her eyes was gone, but there was a new hardness to her lips.

  “I failed her,” she said.

  “Do you really think you could have kept her alive?”

  “At least I was willing to try.”

  “And I wasn’t? Is that what you are saying?”

  “You resigned yourself to her death.”

  Standing taxed his strength but there was nowhere to sit on the gallery. Pain gave an edge to his voice.

  “My sister knew she was dying and accepted it. I hope I helped her go in peace. Let go, Kate. Regret won’t do any good. I spent years wishing I hadn’t gone to war, wishing I had protected my mother and sister.” He shrugged. “If I hadn’t reenlisted, I’d still be able to walk.”

  “You are walking.”

  He shook his head. “Barely.”

  He waited, expecting a word of encouragement. Expecting the old Kate.

  Instead she looked at him a moment and shrugged. “I understand you better than ever now, Colin. I know why you locked yourself up the way you did. Why you gave up. This feeling of loss, of helplessness, is unbearable.” She clasped her hands and walked to the railing overlooking the front lawn.

  “People die, Kate.”

  He was going about this badly. This was not the way to put the light back into her eyes.

  “Walk with me,” he urged. “Let’s go down and sit in the garden.”

  “I’m too tired.”

  On impulse he took her hand. Shock flashed across her face but she didn’t pull away. He was glad. She matched her steps to his slow shuffle as he made his way down the stairs again. Her hand was small, dwarfed by his.

  “I thought you were crazy for insisting Amelie might return and that I should be ready,” he said. “What happened to all of that determination?”

  “What good did it do me? Amelie’s gone. The house … this place …” She sounded hopeless as they stepped out onto the lower gallery and headed for the garden.

  “It wasn’t until I buried my sister in the Baudier mausoleum today that I understood what you’ve been trying to tell me. This place, this land, is our birthright. It’s been in my family since 1720. Somehow, some way, I have to restore Belle Fleuve and build a life for those children. Talking with Bolton has given me a glimmer of hope. We—”