Amanda watched René’s eyes grow dimmer as he paused at the thought of his ancestors experiencing such pain. She wondered how the Comeaux and Dugas families fared during le Grand Dérangement, or expulsion from their homeland.
“The poor lobster was so sad,” René continued. “He missed his friends and he didn’t know where they were. He began a long search along the ocean bottom to find his friends, the Acadians.”
Amanda glanced down at Pierre’s flickering eyelashes and knew the entrancing story was doing its job.
“Slowly, over many years, the Acadians heard about the French-speaking territory of Louisiana,” René continued. “From all over, the Acadians traveled to Louisiana to make a new home for themselves.
“While the Acadians reunited along the bayous and prairies of their New Acadia, the lobster was right behind. But he had traveled long and hard and had lost a lot of weight. By the time he made it to the Bayou Teche, he was only a shadow of his former self.
“The lobster, now a crawfish, rejoiced when he finally saw the Acadians. Throwing his claws into the air, the crawfish sang and danced so hard he burrowed himself into the mud where he lives to this day.”
René peered down at the boy, whose small body had suddenly turned lifeless. “He’s asleep,” he whispered to Amanda.
“That’s quite a tale,” Amanda answered, still enjoying the boy’s fine hair through her fingers. “Considering that the Acadians are a crawfish’s worst enemy.”
Even in the darkness of the room, lighted only by a distant moon, Amanda could make out her husband’s glistening eyes. She sat up to try to make out his face. “Or that New Orleanians were eating the crustacean before the Acadians arrived.”
“Go ahead and break his heart,” René said with a smile. “Why don’t you tell him Pere Nöel isn’t real as well?”
“Pere Nöel isn’t real?” Amanda asked, straight-faced.
Placing his hand over hers and wrapping his fingers around her soft skin, René gently raised her hand to his lips. Amanda’s heart jumped as he brushed his lips across her knuckles.
Amanda had enlisted the aid of her best friend simply to ask a man to escort her to a ball; she never would have so much as approached Henry Tanner to ask him for anything. And yet naive Amanda Rose Richardson Comeaux assertively moved her hand from René’s grasp and placed it lovingly on her husband’s cheek.
It was so dark. She had only wanted to locate him.
Fool, she thought, that wasn’t it at all. She wanted to touch him, to feel the taut texture of his face, those broad high cheekbones, that round stubborn chin, the thick eyebrows that rose in defiance whenever René felt insulted. He was her husband and she wanted to feel close to him.
René quickly placed his hand over hers, passionately kissing the inside of her palm. Feeling herself melt in places she never considered before, Amanda actually leaned forward wishing to be kissed.
Their kiss was more than Amanda had expected, excitedly more. René had met her lips with a force she had not witnessed before, as if a passion had been building inside him since their awkward wedding in Father Breaux’s living room. He placed his hands on her waist and drew her closer, sliding one hand along the thin cotton of her nightgown.
Their closeness was invigorating and Amanda desired more. She slid her hand along René’s cheek, feeling the soft fine hair lingering on his nape. The movement made René groan with pleasure and his hand inched its way up her back.
What happens next? Amanda wondered. Gin had adequately explained to her the facts of life, but was saving the actual instructions for her wedding day. Since she had denied Gin that maternal lecture, Amanda literally stood in the dark as to what was expected of a wife and, to be more exact, what went where.
Unconsciously, Amanda’s hand fell to René’s chest and she began to eagerly stroke the soft brown hair of his chest. Within seconds, the reality of her actions came crashing through her momentarily dormant logic. He was shirtless, she thought with horror. For all she knew, he was stark naked. And there she was, lying in his bed with nothing on but a light gown, with a six-year-old child between them.
Amanda audibly gasped, hastily retreated from the bed mumbling something about needing her sleep and rushed to the refuge of her room, being sure to close the door tightly between them. Because of the darkness, she had been saved from what must have been quite a startled look on her husband’s face.
When morning arrived, René never mentioned the incident, nor appeared bothered by his wife’s reluctance to act on her matrimonial duties. Amanda wished she could just as easily forget her foolish actions the previous evening in his bedroom, but the thoughts refused to leave. When the couple headed for town to purchase a wedding ring, Amanda tried desperately to concentrate on anything but what had transpired the night before. She focused her eyes on the horse’s steady cadence, loosening the top two buttons on her blouse as if to release the steam pent up inside her. The morning had only just begun and already the air was thick with a humid heat pulsating from the moist ground.
“What is that expression by that famous American of yours, ‘A penny for your thoughts?’ ” René finally said.
Amanda wanted to say she was thinking it was time they considered sharing a bed, but the fear held her silent. Instead, she focused on his question. “What do mean that American of mine?”
“Ben Franklin, am I right? They named the town after him.”
“He’s not my famous American, he’s ours.”
René turned and gave her a disconcerted stare. “You’re saying I’m an American.”
“Of course I am.”
There it was again, that naive, innocent look Amanda exhibited at the most unusual times. René watched her features carefully as his wife stared up at him, honestly amazed he didn’t share her views on American citizenry.
“When were you born?”
René grinned. He knew where this conversation was headed. “Eighteen twenty, and yes, it was after Louisiana was granted statehood.”
“Then you see, you are just as much an American as I am.”
The position of her delicate chin, the way her incredibly blue eyes sparkled when she became excited, all further endeared her to René. Still, Amanda had a lot to learn about life. That was evident the night before. Thinking back to when she had discovered his bare chest and rushed from the room like a frightened rabbit made René smile. God, he loved his wife.
“I am an Acadian,” he finally said, trying to think of something else besides the endless longing to be intimate with Amanda.
“You are also an American.”
René shook his head. How could he explain to a woman whose father made the ground move whenever he felt the desire that his people were always the ones who were shaken? Like his parents and their parents before them, he didn’t trust government, colonial or otherwise. They seized what was valuable, and discounted the consequences to the people they injured. The Louisiana Indians were testament to that manifest destiny. If, in time, the Americans found the Louisiana swamplands and southwestern prairies beneficial to their commerce, the Acadians would be exiled once again.
“You don’t vote, do you?” Amanda asked.
When René didn’t answer, she became indignant. “René, don’t you understand that the United States was founded on a representative government, so that the people of America would never have to experience the tyrannical rule of Britain again? This country is ruled by the people, not by a crown that forces people out of their homeland without due cause.”
“And what constitutes due cause, Amanda?” René reiterated. “All it takes in this country is a piece of paper to force people from their land. Look at the Indians. How are they represented?”
“There are treaties.”
René laughed. “We had a treaty when France ceded Acadia to the British in 1713. The English agreed to allow us to remain in Acadia and remain neutral in the wars. We kept our end of the bargain. They did not.”
“
That was England, René. We’re talking about America.”
“Americans are English,” René retorted. “It’s all the same.”
Amanda shot him such a hardened stare René imagined her gaze burning his skin. “Je suis francais, aussi,” she said with a fever he had not seen before. “And my father helped create a government representative of both French and Americans in New Orleans.”
René leaned back to gently brush the damp curls away from Amanda’s face. “Little good it did. They split New Orleans into three municipalities to keep the warring nationalities apart from one another.”
“My father was against that move. It all started because a Creole was acquitted of killing an American during a duel. The Americans went crazy because the Creole got away with murder.”
“That’s exactly my point, mon chérie,” René said. “People have killed each other in duels for centuries. But now that an American has been killed, it’s different. If an Acadian had been killed, or a Negro, no one would have objected. The English belief that everyone is less important than they are permeates America. It’s in their blood.”
Amanda shook her head vehemently. “All the more reason to vote, mon ami. The more Acadians elected to office, the more people in power who represent your interests. If only Americans — or those of English descent as you erroneously believe we all are — vote and are elected, then only Anglo-Americans will dictate what happens in this country.”
René moved his hand back to the reins. He had to admit his seemingly naive wife had a point.
René parked the buggy outside the jeweler’s store and helped Amanda down. While he tied the reins to the outside post, Amanda entered the small building facing Main Street.
“Good morning, Mr. Levy,” she said to the jeweler.
“Good morning, Miss Richardson,” the elderly man answered.
Before Amanda could correct him, René entered offering his salutations.
“Good morning, Mister Comeaux,” the jeweler said. “What can I do for either of you this bright day?”
“We’d like a wedding ring,” René announced.
The thick black and white eyebrows of the jeweler, which to Amanda resembled bristly Spanish moss when it had been hung out to dry in the sun for mattress stuffings, seemed to grow in size as he gazed first at René than Amanda. René continued, ignoring the startled man’s expression. “Something with diamonds, big ones.”
Amanda approached the counter to stand by René’s side. “Something simple, a gold band please, Mr. Levy.”
“Nonsense,” René continued. “You can have anything you like.”
“And I’d like a gold band.”
René leaned close to her left ear so only Amanda could hear him. “I’m perfectly capable of buying my wife a proper wedding ring.”
Amanda hadn’t thought she might be insulting René, but she really preferred simple jewelry. Large jewels on her petite hands always appeared pretentious.
“It’s not about money,” she answered in French to avoid any further embarrassment. “I honestly want a gold ring.”
At first, René appeared taken aback when she spoke French. But when he started grinding his back teeth, Amanda realized he was not pleased.
“You’re trying to be nice, to save me money,” René answered in French. “But it’s not necessary. I am a man of means, I can buy you anything you desire.”
“But you don’t understand, René. I desire a simple ring.”
“It’s about your father, isn’t it? You don’t think I can compete with him so you’re trying to save me the humiliation. Or is it because you don’t believe Acadians can afford diamonds?”
“It is about my father,” Amanda spit out, losing patience with him. “But it’s not about my taste in jewelry. You want to place a large diamond on my finger to impress my father and every other American in this town.”
The two glared at each other, until the jeweler caught their attention. “I think I have a solution to this problem,” he said. From a back case, he withdrew a jeweler’s box and placed it on the front counter. “Jewelry should complement a woman’s personality or her features. I don’t think diamonds are quite right for Miss Richard...uh, Mrs. Comeaux?”
Amanda smiled to reassure him that Comeaux was the correct name and to thank him for coming to her aid.
“However,” the jeweler continued, “I don’t think a gold band will do those lovely fingers justice either.”
René huffed at the jeweler’s last statement, grinning down at his wife in victory.
Mr. Levy opened the box filled with rings of different shapes and sizes and picked a sapphire ring graced with small diamonds on either side. “Blue seems to be your color, Mrs. Comeaux,” he said, and placed the elegant yet simple ring on her finger.
It was perfect. Amanda turned to René beaming.
“Bon,” he acquiesced. “But you must let me make it up to you.”
As the couple made their way down Main Street, Amanda couldn’t stop staring at the sparkling blue stone on her left hand. “It’s really beautiful, René.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he mumbled and Amanda knew he still bristled from their earlier conversation.
“If you want to spend money on me,” she said with a grin, “I would love a cool glass of soda water.”
“All in good time.”
“The Variety Store is in the other direction.”
“I wanted to show you some rose bushes Mrs. Deshotels has for sale. I wanted it to be a surprise, but she began asking questions and I don’t know the first thing about roses.”
“Neither do I. What are the rose bushes for?”
Amanda nearly tripped when René stopped short. “What do you mean you don’t know anything about roses?”
He had to be the most exasperating man sometimes, Amanda thought, as she watched her usually calm husband raise his hands to his hips in defiance. What had she said now? “I know nothing about roses, René. What’s there to explain about that? I’m terrible with plants. Everything I touch seems to die.”
René didn’t move. He stood staring down at her with a stern, quizzical expression. “I know you must think Acadians are simple people, that we only make enough money to sustain ourselves. But not all Acadians are poor farmers, Amanda. I can afford a few rose bushes so my wife can start her own garden. You don’t have to lie to save me money.”
Why was she always insulting this man? She must be miscommunicating somehow. “Why would you think I like roses?” she asked, hoping to find the cause of his consternation.
“Are you going to deny that you worked every morning in your rose garden in front of your home?”
Suddenly, it all made sense. They had met every morning over the front fence, her garden utensils in her hand.
Now, how do I explain this one, Amanda asked herself? How do I tell the man I love, who may not love me in return, that I pretended to prune rose bushes for weeks just for the opportunity to speak to him on the street?
He might be flattered, she thought. He might realize I care for him and exclaim his love in return.
He also might think I’m a forward woman. After all, I did thrust my hand to him in front of God and the world without a proper introduction.
Amanda vividly remembered how René had walked down the street that first morning, tipping the white hat framing his smiling face. For some unpredicted reason, Amanda had leaned over the fence and offered her hand in greeting.
“What was I thinking?” she whispered audibly.
“What?”
“Of course, I like roses.” She offered a bright smile. “But I’m honestly not good at gardening. My garden at home was tended by a man we hired. I only went out in the mornings to cut some for the tables.”
Amanda abruptly turned and moved down the street in the opposite direction hoping it would signal the end of the conversation. René instantly joined her, but remained silent until they entered the crowded Variety Store.
“There’s
a table in the back,” he said, leading Amanda toward it, placing an order for two sodas at the counter along the way.
As the two took their seats, Amanda could hear the gossip spreading among the American merchants. Word must have gotten out around town that the Judge’s daughter had eloped with the Cajun racetrack owner. She instantly felt remorse for putting her father in such a position. Because of Amanda, the Judge was enduring the second scandal of his life.
“Like you said, all the tails are wagging.”
Looking up at the face of her sincere husband, who still seemed aggravated from her lie about roses, Amanda tried in vain to hide her mirth. “It’s ‘tongues wagging,’ ” she corrected him, while a smile fought to be released.
René shook his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. Tongues don’t wag, tails do.”
Amanda placed a cloth napkin in her lap. “Since when did the English language ever make sense?
Taking her hand in his, René added, “Let’s really give them something to talk about.” He gently raised her hand to his lips, grinning mischievously as he kissed her fingertips.
Hearing the women to her left gasp, Amanda felt the blood rush to her face. She quickly withdrew her hand from his and covered it with her other hand as if to protect herself from further advances.
“I have embarrassed you,” René said. “I am sorry.”
“No, that is not it.” Amanda could feel the blood pumping through her veins. “You said I should not give my love to you unless I do so honestly. I expect the same from you.”
For several moments René said nothing. Amanda could hear the women whispering something about the brazenness of the French, but all she could focus on was her husband’s intense, handsome face.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “You’re absolutely right.”
A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5) Page 15