A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5)

by Claire, Cherie

  Amanda stared off absently. “I’m very tired,” was all she managed to say.

  “There’s someone here to see you.” Colette straightened her clothes like Amanda had seen her do to Pierre. “I know you’re not up for company right now, but I think Marie Comeaux can help.”

  Amanda glanced at Colette. “Marie Comeaux?”

  A sweet, but somewhat guilty smile broke free on Colette’s face. “Come downstairs,” she said, gently moving the escaped blond strands of hair from Amanda’s face. “I brought some fresh water with lemon and herbs. A few splashes and you’ll feel and look like new.”

  Amanda sat up and brushed the wrinkles from her bodice. “Marie Comeaux?” she asked again.

  “Oui,” Colette answered. “I sent for her.”

  Amanda wasn’t quite prepared for René’s mother. Her portrait upstairs made her appear petite and acquiescent. In reality, Madame Comeaux was small, her height and waist about the same size as Amanda’s, but her presence was anything but passive. She sported coal-black hair, woven high around her head in a series of magnificent braids. Her incredibly dark brown eyes reflected her son’s, boring intensely into Amanda as she entered the room. Her hands were placed defiantly on her hips as if meeting Amanda might require defending the Comeaux family name. Even though the two women stood eye-to-eye, Amanda instantly felt three inches tall.

  Madame Comeaux wore homespun cotton clothes: a brown and blue striped vest atop a sea-blue skirt and a light brown cotton shirt that tied at the neck. Hanging unused at her back was a garde soleil, or sun bonnet, that was popular among the Acadian women. Amanda couldn’t help but think that sometime in the future, if there was a future, she might learn how they made such beautiful clothes.

  “I suppose you know who I am,” Madame Comeaux began.

  Amanda bowed politely. “Yes, Madame. I am Amanda Rose...”

  “Comeaux,” the older woman added tartly.

  Madame Comeaux continued her assessment, walking around Amanda to view all aspects of her. “Colette tells me you understand French.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  Finishing her circle, Madame Comeaux smiled cautiously when she again met Amanda’s eyes. “My name is Marie. Madames and Monsieurs are for Creoles.”

  “I’m sorry, Madame...uh...”

  Marie seemed to comprehend Amanda’s awkwardness and signaled toward a chair. “Why don’t we sit down and have a talk?”

  Amanda chose the far chair and Marie sat next to her, never faltering in her discerning stares.

  “My full name is Marie Rose Dugas Comeaux,” she offered. “It appears we have the same middle name.”

  Amanda smiled slightly, still at a loss for words.

  “Do you understand me? I’m afraid I don’t speak a word of English.”

  “Oui, Madame.” Try as she could, Amanda could not break herself from habit. “French was my first language.”

  For the first time since they met, Marie appeared hopeful. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “My mother was French.”

  Marie’s eyes brightened further. “Would it be too much to hope for that you’re a Catholic?”

  This time Amanda smiled. “Oui, Madame...uh...Marie.”

  Watching Marie formulate the next sentence, Amanda wondered if Marie was breathing. “Was it possible a priest performed the ceremony?”

  Amanda nodded, and Marie immediately performed the sign of the cross against her chest. The tense air that had permeated the room seemed to lift. Marie leaned over and grasped Amanda’s hand between hers. “Now, tell me, dear, exactly what happened.”

  Amanda recounted every detail from her father’s flight from New Orleans and her mother’s scandal to the moment she first met René at the fence. She explained why she had chosen Henry Tanner to escort her to the ball one week earlier and how René rescued her at Port Cocodrie. She ended with the previous day’s horrific meeting with Tanner and René’s painful accusations on the gallery.

  “You’ve had quite a week,” Marie said, after Amanda finished.

  Amanda remembered René’s grim, regretful face when she admitted she would not have asked an Acadian for a kiss. “The worst thing of it all, is that René believes me to be prejudiced against him. I’m afraid that may have been true.”

  Quietly, Marie brushed a blonde curl from Amanda’s face. “Do you love my son, Amanda Rose?”

  Amanda turned and looked deeply into the eyes of the woman who had brought forth and raised the man she so dearly loved. “Very much.”

  Marie smiled and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “That is all that matters.”

  If only things were that simple, Amanda thought, as she rose and began to pace the room. “René will never forgive me.”

  “Have you told him how you feel?”

  Stopping at the mantle where Amanda had watched with fascination Alcée performing his soulful ballads, Amanda sighed. For a moment she imagined never hearing those songs again and her heart tightened. “No. I don’t think he feels the same way.”

  This time, Marie laughed. “Do you mean to tell me that son of mine has not told you how he feels?”

  When Amanda didn’t answer, Marie stood and took her hands again in hers. “Do you not know that René approached your father with the prospect of proposing marriage?”

  Amanda stared back at Marie, dumbfounded.

  “What?”

  Marie guided her back into her chair. “I think I understand the problem here. Alcée wrote me a couple of days before Colette’s letter arrived, saying that René had asked the Judge for your hand and the Judge had refused.”

  Amanda audibly gasped and placed a hand over her mouth.

  “Your father told René that you would never consider marrying an Acadian.”

  Amanda’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

  “Is it true?”

  “No!” Amanda said emphatically. “I would have been honored.”

  Amanda closed her eyes and recalled the day she had first witnessed René walking down Main Street. She spotted the broad, white hat first, but when the smiling brown eyes met hers, she literally stopped breathing. A fiery blush permeated her face while an unknown force insisted she raise her hand in greeting. And René graciously accepted that hand, smiling down on her while planting a foot on the fence post and leaning forward to make her acquaintance. She remembered it clearly. It didn’t matter what nationality he was, René always took her breath away.

  No, Amanda thought with certainty, she held no prejudices. “I have been in love with him since the first day I met him,” she whispered with a broad smile, the admittance relieving the weight on her heart.

  Marie squeezed her hand tightly. “Then tell him so.”

  Amanda tried to imagine exclaiming her love to René, but was too inexperienced to know where to begin. As if reading her mind, Marie patted her hand knowingly.

  “I have an idea,” she said.

  Almost an hour passed since Alcée confronted René in the stables and still his temper steamed. He was furious his nephew caused poor Amanda such pain, but amazed his anger continued so long. René had pinched a nerve.

  “Alcée,” a young voice shouted from behind.

  Paul LeBlanc, the closest neighbor, had a house full of children. His oldest, Jean Baptiste, had ridden up on horseback carrying a red flag.

  “Le bal ce soir chez LeBlanc,” the boy said, announcing that the Saturday night dance would be at the LeBlanc house.

  Alcée nodded and thanked the young messenger. It was the host’s responsibility to spread the message of the dance, and the only way to communicate with the area’s Acadians was to ride horseback up one side of the bayou and down the other.

  “And Alcée,” Jean Baptiste shouted before turning to go, “Marguerite is visiting from Loreauville.”

  Alcée’s eyes followed the boy as he disappeared down the road. The realization that he would see his beloved that night knocked the breath from his chest. Her silky black hair, the wa
y her dark eyes sparkled when she laughed, the feel of her cheek against his — it all came back mercilessly. God, to smell her fragrance one more time, Alcée thought, feeling his chest ache.

  Now he knew why René had angered him so. Alcée recalled how flippantly he dismissed Marguerite’s fears of becoming an old maid, laughing at her concerns for two years. Finally, she had had enough. Even when he promised to raise the money building a racetrack with René, her patience had dissipated. Paul LeBlanc’s brother, Francois, took the opportunity while Alcée was in Franklin to court Marguerite, offering her a substantial farm. Had he been more aware of her needs and less of his own selfish feelings, Marguerite might have married Alcée instead.

  Now, his fool nephew might be making the same mistake. Only René’s tragic flaw was pride.

  Alcée sighed, then tried to resume a steady breath. He had to talk to Marguerite, make her realize how his life had ended when she wedded Francois. He prayed God would grant him another chance.

  The whole house was abuzz with activity when René arrived from the stables. The boys were dressed in their good clothes for that night’s bal de maison and were running up and down the garçonnière stairs as if to break them in for comfort. T-Emile, too, was worried over his dress, complaining that women preferred men in long pants instead of the traditional britches he wore that stopped at the knee. In the midst of it all, René’s father, Etienne, had lectured him endlessly on the responsibilities of marriage and insisted he return to Loreauville and a life of farming.

  It was a miracle René had been able to enter his room, wash and dress without being stampeded.

  Now that all the men had changed into clean clothes, they gathered in the downstairs living room waiting for the women to arrive. Alcée kept asking Etienne about Marguerite’s motives, whether she was considering him now that her mourning period was coming to an end, but René’s father only shook his head.

  “I told you,” Etienne said, “she said she wanted a change of scenery, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps the dance will get her into the right mood,” T-Emile offered quietly, with a twinkle in his eye. “I heard tonight’s bal de maison is in honor of René and Amanda’s marriage.”

  René rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. That was all he needed, every Acadian from miles around congratulating him on marrying well.

  “What about her father,” Etienne asked René, returning to their previous conversation. “Maybe you could work for him? What does he do?”

  René’s parents lived in the neighboring parish so Judge Richardson was not a familiar name. Still, his father’s question irritated him.

  “I don’t want hand-outs, Father.”

  “I’m not talking about him giving you a job,” Etienne argued. “I’m talking about you working with him.”

  For a moment, his father looked lost in thought. “It’s not anything illegal, is it?”

  René laughed. The Judge was the last person he imagined doing anything beneath the law.

  “You have to get out of the horse racing business, René,” Etienne continued. “You can’t have your wife living next to a racetrack.”

  You mean you can’t have an American wife, René thought bitterly. Would he feel the same way if she was an Acadian?

  “Yes, I would,” Etienne interjected, reminding René that as far as his parents were concerned, his mind was practically transparent.

  The lack of sleep, the earlier confrontation with Tanner and the knowledge that his wife probably did not love him weighed heavy on his heart. His father’s endless lecturing was equally exhausting. René felt very tired. He wished he could return to the quiet comfort of his work, where facts and figures didn’t break hearts and complicate one’s life.

  Suddenly, all talking ceased. Even the children stopped playing, silently staring at the back gallery. When René looked around T-Emile to view the source of everyone’s amazement, he was equally stunned. Amanda entered the room, dressed in a blue and brown Acadian cottonade skirt and vest, her silky blonde hair hanging loosely down her back, tied with a bright blue ribbon. Her shirt was store-bought, but the image she generated was not American. In her dress, anyone would have mistaken her for an Acadian.

  But regardless of what she was wearing, Amanda was breathtaking.

  Etienne finally broke the silence. “You must be the wife my son has been hiding all this time,” he said, taking her hand. “I was furious when I heard he was married, but now I know why. You’re beautiful. He’s trying to keep you all to himself.”

  Amanda smiled. “Now I know where your son gets all his charm.”

  Her compliment couldn’t have pleased Etienne more. He squeezed her hand and leaned in conspiratorially. “I taught him everything he knows.”

  Alcée stepped forward and silently planted a kiss on Amanda’s forehead. “Your mother was a pale comparison.”

  Etienne jokingly pushed Alcée aside. “Find your own girl.”

  “Etienne Joseph Comeaux,” Marie belted from behind the group, “I believe you are married to me.”

  Etienne reacted as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Everyone laughed at his expressions. Until they witnessed Marie.

  “My, my,” Etienne said, gazing at his wife from head to toe.

  “It’s from Europe,” Marie said proudly, swinging the silk skirt of the imported dress to and fro.

  “Paris,” Amanda added.

  Etienne stared at first Marie, than Amanda. “Now I’m thoroughly confused.”

  “As well you should be,” Marie answered, sending Amanda a wink. “Women should always keep men guessing.”

  Just then, Marie caught sight of René. “Maman,” René said solemnly, giving his mother a cautious kiss on her cheek.

  “I should be angry with you,” she whispered. “But I like her too much.”

  René glanced back at Amanda, who was watching the exchange carefully. Even dressed in homespun and home-woven fabric, she appeared so delicate, so fragile and so utterly captivating.

  “Use your head, René,” his mother warned, before she turned and took Etienne’s arm.

  The buzz returned. T-Emile announced that the buggy was waiting and the children bolted out the front door, nearly knocking down everyone in their path. As they headed outdoors, Alcée began to interrogate Marie about why Marguerite had come. Etienne followed behind, shaking his head. Colette, too, was busy gathering up food she had promised to bring, barking out orders to the children who refused to listen.

  René found Amanda in the same spot as before, as if she was waiting for a response from him. He didn’t know what to say. Hell, he didn’t know what to feel.

  He merely held out his arm and escorted her out the door to their waiting family and the weekly fais do-do.

  A Cajun Dream

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So why do you call it a fais do-do?” Amanda asked Widow Pitre as they enjoyed their midnight gumbo. “Fais do-do means to go to sleep.”

  “Exactly,” the widow replied. “Parents bring their children to the bals de maison and put the children under the watchful eyes of the grandparents in the parc aux petits, or the designated children’s room. The children go to sleep and we dance all night.”

  Amanda well understood her last sentence. All the furniture in the small house was either pushed up against the walls or placed outside to offer as much dance space as possible. And dance they did. Alcée performed endlessly from the moment he arrived and absolutely everyone took the opportunity to turn around the LeBlanc livingroom floor. They danced jigs, reels, waltzes, mazurkas and occasionally a contradanse resembling those Amanda had danced in Virginia. Alcée performed every type of song, from children’s ditties when the young ones were still awake, to humorous songs the men preferred, to soft ballads for waltzes for doe-eyed couples. Even T-Emile braved his shyness to join Alcée on second fiddle for a song or two.

  Now that midnight had arrived, everyone moved outside for the traditional gumbo.
Amanda was thankful for the meal, for it finally gave her a chance to sit down and cool off in the late-night breeze. And, as was everything else that night, the gumbo was made especially in her honor.

  “Do you like it?” Widow Pitre asked for the third time.

  “It’s delicious.” Amanda wanted to add that it was the best she had tasted, except for Colette’s, but she feared the Widow might think she was overdoing it.

  Amanda had worried that the Acadians would not approve of her dress, her accent or the fact that she married René, but everyone opened their arms and welcomed her into the fold. She soon realized that they were more curious over who had finally forced ambitious René Comeaux to settle down than what nationality she belonged to. Being able to speak their language was a plus. For hours Amanda moved from one introduction to another, greeting everyone with a smile. And she steadfastly followed Marie’s advice.

  “Ignore him,” Marie had told her earlier when they were dressing. “Flirt harmlessly with the other men, get to know the women. Enjoy everyone’s company and let them enjoy you. Be the center of attention. Let René know you are incapable of being prejudiced against anybody. By the end of the evening, René will be dying to get near you. Then, and only then, must you tell him how you feel.”

  It was working so far, Amanda thought, until she sat down to dinner. Immediately, Cyprien Thibodeaux and Eraste Boudreaux, the men she had met days earlier at the track, sat down on either side of her, forcing René to choose another chair. She knew René was getting angry; he had been trying to get close to her for hours and their action further irritated him. When he tried to sit across from her, Alcée grabbed the seat.

  “You don’t mind, do you René?” Alcée asked innocently.

  The three men exchanged discreet smiles and Amanda wondered if they were enjoying themselves at René’s expense. René was the successful one, the one always in charge, the richest Acadian among them. Tonight, they were going to flirt with his wife and watch him be annoyed. Tonight it was their turn to be in charge.

  “You get to sit next to her all the time,” Boudreaux quipped to René, who was forced to eat his gumbo standing up, leaning against the house’s outside wall. “Give us a chance.”