A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5)

by Claire, Cherie

  When the second, lean man offered his hand, René added, “And this is Cyprien Thibodeaux.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Amanda answered, hoping they wouldn’t mistake her meager French for fluency and start a lengthy conversation.

  Before they could answer, René grabbed her elbow and led her down the track toward the stables. Looking over his shoulder, he barked out commands to the two men, who still stood staring.

  “They’re friends,” he said, as they continued in the opposite direction. “We let them use the track when it’s empty.”

  “I see.” Amanda was glad to be back in a more familiar language. “That’s very kind of you.”

  René stopped suddenly and appeared as if he didn’t fancy small talk at the moment. “You speak French?”

  “I....”

  Suddenly, Collete called her name and she saw Pierre covered in Spanish moss, walking hunched over and bearing all his teeth as if he would eat anyone in his path. Amanda laughed. “He’s the loup garou,” she told René. “Yesterday was my day to be werewolf. Today, it’s his turn.”

  “Werewolf?” René asked. “In Louisiana, the loop garou is more of a swamp monster. He comes out of the swamps at night during the full moon and eats little children.”

  René laughed at his cousin falling backwards when the moss became tangled on a cypress knee. “Only bad little children, of course, which means my cousins have a lot to be worried about.”

  “We shouldn’t scare them with such nonsense,” Amanda admonished him. “They won’t be able to sleep at night.”

  “Nothing will keep those scoundrels from a good night’s rest, I assure you,” René said with a smile.

  “They’re really quite sweet. Yesterday, they taught me some wonderful French expressions and how to catch crawfish out of a mud hole.”

  René seemed to accept her explanation. As long as René spoke French before her, Amanda figured she might learn of his true feelings for her, words he may not utter in her presence if he knew she understood.

  Colette had spread a large quilt next to the chairs and assembled several cups of coffee, fresh baked bread and apples. She also added a large jar of preserves and a small container of water for the boys, who had no problem satisfying their hunger.

  T-Emile busily ate several helpings of bread and two apples before Alcée arrived and shooed him away. Some Americans were expected, hoping for a late morning race before the sun became too unbearably hot, and the track needed to be freshened. René rose to leave as well, heading for the stables.

  “There’s no need for you to go, too,” Alcée said to René with irritation, as if he had said those words many times before.

  “I have to attend to the Baldwin horse,” René answered, equally strained. A tension fell between the two that Amanda had not noticed before. She wondered if it was because of her intrusion into their house and lives.

  “I will only be a minute,” René said to Amanda, before leaving.

  Alcée and Colette began their own argument, too quick for Amanda to follow. She decided to pursue René and tour the stables. When she entered the barn-like building, an enclosed set of horse stalls, Amanda almost collided with Wayne Baldwin.

  “Miss Richardson?” he exclaimed.

  Wayne Baldwin could have been the identical twin brother of his sister, Sally, Amanda’s best friend and confidant. The reddish blond hair curled up just behind his ears as it did on Sally and both were blessed with small waists and broad shoulders. Neither one was exceptionally tall, but their beauty and gregarious nature made one feel small in their presence.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” Wayne stood before Amanda clutching the reins of a chestnut horse and blushing a deep shade of red. “Did Sally set you up to this? Did she have me followed? I swear I don’t do this on a regular basis. Ask anyone. This is my first time. You won’t tell your father, will you?”

  Amanda feared the poor boy would have continued forever if she hadn’t stopped him. “Mr. Baldwin, I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone. What you do is your business.”

  Wayne appeared somewhat relieved. “I only come out here every once and a while, and it’s usually because someone forces me into a bet. Please don’t tell my sister. Nothing escapes those lips and my father will have me hog-whipped for sure.”

  “I won’t tell a soul, I promise. Not even Sally.”

  “It’s a well-respected track,” Wayne continued. “It’s not like it’s really gambling or anything.”

  Amanda felt a surge of pride run through her. She had always heard that most of Franklin’s prominent men and women patronized the racetrack, even if her father refused to do so. She knew René worked hard building the business.

  “The two men that own and run this track are reputable men,” Wayne added, then leaned in close to Amanda and whispered, “even if they are Cajuns.”

  For a brief moment, Amanda heard and sensed nothing else, his prejudicial words echoing inside her head. As the world seemed to stop moving around her, Amanda realized the force behind those words. An American’s words. She felt both ashamed and angry — ashamed that she belonged to a group of people who could judge a culture and people so easily, and angry because she felt inescapably a part of it. Wayne had become a mirror, and Amanda didn’t like what she saw. The reality lurked under her seemingly unbiased surface. As much as she always enjoyed René’s presence at the front gate, it never occurred to her to think of him in any way but friendly. Alcée was right. Acadians were never allowed within the Richardson house, and Amanda never thought to fight that unspoken rule. She never would have married René otherwise.

  “There you are. For a moment I thought you weren’t coming.” Amanda heard René approach them, but she couldn’t bear meeting his eyes.

  “I was just telling Miss Richardson that I don’t usually come to the racetrack,” Wayne said beseechingly.

  “Of course you don’t.” René smiled as he patted Wayne on the back. “If I’m not mistaken, this is your first time, no?”

  The two men gazed over at Amanda to see if she was buying their story, but she stood quietly staring at her feet. When the silence lingered, Amanda raised her eyes, first to René, then to Wayne. “Mr. Baldwin,” she began softly. “I’d like you to meet my husband, René Comeaux.”

  A Cajun Dream

  Chapter Six

  “René Comeaux?” Sally Baldwin shouted. “The Cajun racetrack owner?”

  Wayne only nodded, as if afraid to divulge too much.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I saw them this morning,” he said carefully. “I went to help a friend who has a horse at the stables and she was there. Amanda clearly told me she had married him, and Comeaux didn’t refute it.”

  “A friend?” the older sister asked. “I know you’ve been racing for years.”

  Wayne’s eyes grew enormous as if they would burst.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell father.”

  Leaning against the front parlor window and moving a drape aside with her forefinger, Sally thoughtfully gazed out on to the busy street of Franklin. Well-tailored men and women were slowly strolling along the thoroughfare, careful not to exert themselves in the hot sun. Noon was only an hour away and already the heat had become unbearable. Sally wiped away a drop of perspiration that had dribbled down her cheek and unconsciously combed the wet curls behind her ear.

  “I don’t understand. She tells me everything. How could she have eloped with René Comeaux? I knew something was amiss when she didn’t arrive at the ball Saturday night, but I assumed she had changed her mind. She never was fully convinced.”

  “Sally, what are you talking about?” Wayne asked.

  A thought planted itself in Sally’s mind and began to take root. Amanda could have used Sally to set up a rendezvous with Tanner while she planned an elopement with the Comeaux man. Sally tossed her head to shake off such traitorous ideas. “Comeaux’s practically a stranger.”

  “It doesn�
��t make much sense to me either,” Wayne answered. “Maybe it’s on account of her being Catholic.”

  Sally turned and shot him a scrutinizing glance. Most of the Americans Amanda associated with knew the differences in their religions, but never spoke of it for fear of being rude.

  “What did I say?” Wayne asked.

  “Did you win?”

  A childish grin stole across his face. “Of course I did. Mary’s Blessing’s the fastest horse in the parish.”

  Sally headed for the door, grabbing her parasol. “Next time you go,” she said to her brother over her shoulder, “let me know what you see.”

  Judge Richardson was probably one of the top ten richest men in Franklin, Sally figured, but his house clearly kept that fact a secret. While other Americans were building grand mansions as a testament to their lucrative sugar cane earnings, Judge Richardson preferred his older, more subtle dwelling.

  The house mirrored the other Greek Revival styles of Franklin, but only utilized four medium-sized rooms on each floor, a central hallway containing an average staircase and a narrow porch in front. The early clay and cypress house would have been dwarfed by the newly emerging estates in town had it not been for the Richardson’s extensive English garden and delicate white picket fence that met the street. In almost every month of the year flowers bloomed in the shrubberies and trellises providing Franklin with a vibrant block-long stretch of beauty.

  The exquisite garden almost made up for the lack of ballroom space inside the house. Almost. Sally knew the Judge preferred a more sedate, reclusive lifestyle, keeping the drapes tightly shut at all hours of the day and every season of the year. The flowers had been a concession to Amanda, who despised the darkness of her home. At every chance, Amanda cut flowers, mostly roses, to fill the somber interior with splashes of color. But never, ever, did the Richardsons offer balls or dances to other American families in town.

  Sally knocked cautiously at the front door. She wasn’t sure how to approach the Judge on this matter, but she had to know. She had to be sure.

  Virginia appeared at the door, her face clearly troubled. She seemed to brighten at Sally’s presence. “Sally, what a pleasure. Do come in.”

  Sally entered the narrow hallway cautiously, gazing around for signs of her best friend.

  “Are you looking for Amanda?” Virginia asked.

  Sally spun around, relieved. “Is she here?”

  Virginia began to explain when the doors of the study swung open. The Judge stared at Sally expectantly, then gasped a deep breath of disappointment.

  “No, sir,” Virginia said. “It’s Sally Baldwin looking for Amanda.”

  The look of despair that followed confirmed Sally’s fear. It was true after all. “How could she?” she asked him, her heart breaking.

  “Didn’t you know?” the Judge asked.

  Sally could only shake her head, amazed at Amanda’s elopement as much as he. “It can’t be true. It wasn’t supposed to be René Comeaux.”

  Suddenly, Judge Richardson opened the parlor door wider. “Miss Baldwin, I think we need to talk. If you don’t mind.”

  Sally followed the elder man into the parlor that was twice as dismal as the rest of the house. Amanda had said he spent most of his time at the house reviewing court cases and writing correspondence in the parlor. How could he see properly in this light, Sally wondered?

  “Please,” the Judge said, motioning to a chair, “sit down.”

  Descending gingerly in the stiff chair, Sally felt a sudden urge to cry. What if something terrible had happened on account of her secretive arrangements with Henry Tanner? Had Amanda met Tanner and experienced some cruel fate or was she plotting to elope with Comeaux and been lying all this time? If the latter was true, Sally was made the biggest fool of the parish.

  “What do you mean it wasn’t supposed to be René Comeaux?” the Judge asked sternly.

  Suddenly, Sally wanted to bolt. What could she tell Amanda’s father, that she had set a secretive meeting between Amanda and his overseer so that Amanda could receive a kiss in the moonlight before she turned into an old maid? Or because of this elicit rendezvous, Amanda had done something crazy like marry the Cajun racetrack owner? If Amanda had purposefully eloped with Comeaux, what good would be admitting her secret meeting with Tanner or that she had failed to show up at a ball her father had forbidden her to attend?

  “I know nothing of this,” Sally finally said. “Amanda told me nothing. I’m as surprised as you.”

  “Were they ever together?” the Judge prodded, the anxiety obvious in his voice. “Did you ever see them meeting besides at the front gate?”

  She did remember something, right before the ball.

  “Yes,” Sally said, recounting that afternoon in the steamy, crowded market. “She had met Comeaux at the market the afternoon before the ball. He had gotten her a glass of water, I believe.”

  And she had touched his arm and was looking lovingly into his eyes.

  “What were they talking about?” the Judge urged.

  At first Sally hadn’t heard him. She was too busy thinking of how close they had stood, how friendly their actions had seemed. So, she eloped after all, Sally surmised. Right behind my stupid, naive back.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Sally said, this time the tears breaking free. “I have no idea what has happened.”

  Virginia stood at the front threshold and watched Sally disappear around the corner, the young girl still wiping the tears from her cheeks. Like Judge Richardson, Virginia had sensed Sally held a clue to this elopement puzzle, but was just as disappointed when Sally revealed nothing.

  “She’s hiding something,” Virginia heard the Judge say behind her. He was standing so close Virginia could feel his warm breath on her neck. She swallowed hard, forcing away the thoughts that persisted whenever she was in his presence.

  Virginia had fallen hopelessly in love with James Richardson the first week of her employment. Knowing how dangerous such feelings could be toward an employer, she had vowed to leave as soon as the Judge recovered from his broken heart and Amanda adjusted to the devastating news of losing her mother.

  Ten years passed and both still suffered from Genevieve Richardson’s scandalous affair. Virginia hadn’t the heart — or the strength — to leave now. She adored Amanda, who became the daughter she never could conceive with her late husband, and her love for James Richardson only grew stronger with the years.

  Since Genevieve’s death two years before, James relied on Virginia to not only run his household and guide his daughter — Amanda had grown too old for a nanny — but to lean on in business matters. Virginia even worked in the administration of his latest campaign.

  Virginia doubted James loved her in return, but she knew she was one of the few good friends the Judge had made over the years. He made that clear when he named her a beneficiary in his will, an action that both stunned her and offered her hope.

  If only he could love me a little, she thought as the Judge’s arm brushed her shoulder while he moved to close the front door. Like so many times before, the Judge casually made physical contact, treating her more like a relative than an employee. Virginia had been grateful for the gestures, but the desire that lingered in her bosom ached to be set free. She wanted more, of that she could never deny. She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath, one she hoped would send the unwelcome thoughts away.

  Instead, she opened her eyes to find the Judge’s arm draped paternally over her shoulders, the door left open so they could view the street. For a moment, she imagined being his wife, standing in the front foyer wondering what to do over their rebellious daughter who had scandalously disappeared with a strange man.

  Which was exactly what happened. Amanda had become a daughter of sorts, and Virginia like a wife to this man. Perhaps the Judge needed what most men do when their daughters leave the nest — comfort and understanding. Without much forethought, she slipped her arm around his waist, her left hand resting
lightly on his hip.

  Neither one said a word, and Virginia feared she had finally overstepped her boundaries. To accept an employer’s friendly hand on your arm was one thing, but to return such advancements was unthinkable. “Never give in to temptation,” her mother carefully instructed her when she had reached adolescence, “and choose the safer path.” Virginia heeded those words only once. She married Jess O’Neil, God rest his soul, a good provider and a steady worker. Jess never lifted a hand against her, of that she was eternally grateful. But she never loved him a day in her life. Before the dirt had settled on his grave, Virginia was halfway to America.

  The Judge refused to move or speak, yet Virginia could not remove her hand. It had taken her ten years to put it there, and if she had just written her walking papers, then she would at least enjoy the ride.

  “Will she ever come back?” James asked, hoping to dispel the disconcerting silence that lingered between them. He couldn’t fathom what logic made him wrap his arm about Virginia; it had just felt normal to do so. He quickly assessed his inappropriate behavior and was going to remove his arm when she had placed her own about his waist, sending shock waves of emotions through him.

  James couldn’t decide on his next move. He knew what he wanted to do, to lift this red-headed woman with a complexion the color of buttermilk and make continuous, passionate love to her. Those wanton thoughts, so unbridled and exposed, had frozen him to the spot.

  “Of course, she will,” he heard Virginia say, noting the slight nervousness in her voice.

  Move your damn arm, he instructed himself, but still it remained firmly planted.

  At least close the door before someone sees you. Logic returned and James released his embrace to shut the front foyer door. Virginia relaxed her arm, then folded both arms protectively across her chest. When he turned back towards the parlor, she avoided his eyes.

  What was I thinking of touching this woman in that manner, he berated himself. She is in my employ.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Virginia gazed up to meet his stare. If James wasn’t mistaken, desire lurked behind those dazzling, beautiful green eyes he always had trouble avoiding. She was daring him, inviting him.