James grabbed the smaller, dapper man by the arm and led him toward the door. “It’s time for that drink, Philip,” was the last remark Amanda heard before her father left the room and shut the door behind them. When she looked back, René was staring at the package in her lap.
“It looks like a book.”
Uncovering the wrapper, Amanda read the name on the cover, “Evangeline by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.”
“The American poet?”
Amanda knew what René was thinking. She couldn’t fathom why René would find this American writer any more interesting than she did. Until she read the opening pages.
She hugged the book to her chest and smiled, then gazed into the loving brown eyes she had found so entrancing when they had first stared at her over her front picket fence. Longfellow’s story was of a peaceful people who were brutally exiled from their homeland. A story of a forgotten people and two lovers separated in their Diaspora. The story of the ancestors of the man she so dearly loved.
She began to read.
“This is the forest primeval.
The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
...a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.”
A Cajun Dream
Epilogue
January, 1853
“How do you stand on the governor’s threat to publish names of legislators who fail to attend sessions? By God, we have crops to tend to and businesses to keep.”
René cringed inwardly as he watched William McDuff, the senior lawmaker from Port Cocodrie, offer a quasi-friendly hand to the freshman legislator while attempting to sway him to his side. One thing René learned after four years as a state representative was that Louisiana legislators were no better than hungry alligators.
“You mean you have pub hours to meet, isn’t that right, Bill?” René asked the stocky, balding legislator who paled at the comment.
“Now, René,” McDuff retorted, “we all know the only reason you’re siding with the governor is because Paul Hébert is a Cajun.”
René smiled at the remark, remembering the early morning buggy ride when Amanda insisted that only when Acadians voted and ran for office would they be represented in government. He had to admit she was right and that Paul Octave Hébert, the second Acadian governor in ten years, was a welcome sight.
“You must be René Comeaux,” the freshman legislator said in a thick Southern accent, sounding his name as “Coe-mox” like so many other northern, Anglo-Saxon Louisiana legislators. McDuff laughed.
“Coe-mo,” he said, slapping the freshman lawmaker, who was several years his senior, hard on the back. When the freshman sent him a hardened look, McDuff called out to another legislator and hurriedly moved on.
“They’ll eat their young if they have a chance,” René said as he watched the man leave.
“My apologies, sir, for mispronouncing your name,” the freshman legislator said.
“No harm done.” René offered his hand.
“Benjamin Whitley,” he said, accepting it. “And it’s a pleasure to meet such a famous man. Your story has reached us in Monroe.”
René unconsciously adjusted his cravat. Even after four years René could not get used to being labeled a hero. “Any man would have done the same.”
“Perhaps,” Whitley replied.
“Is your family here for the swearing in?”
The man’s eyes grew dim and he looked away when he spoke. “My wife’s been dead some years now. My children have small children and couldn’t make the trip.”
René patted the man’s back, much like McDuff had done but this time in a friendly and sincere manner. “Then you must come home with me. I have more family than I know what to do with.”
René and Amanda rented a two-story townhouse in Baton Rouge for the legislative session, three blocks from the newly created capitol building. As was usual for a Louisiana winter, the cold weather had been interrupted by a brief warm spell and the camellias were fooled into blossoming. The air offered an occasional promise of the upcoming spring and the sounds of the busy Mississippi River traffic.
The two discussed current politics as they walked and found they had plenty in common, even though their worlds and cultures were miles apart. Honest and well-meaning men like Whitley, René concluded, were what made politics interesting. That and the unique opportunity democracy offered to duel verbally. The Judge had been right after all. René excelled in his new career.
Before the men reached the front walkway of the townhouse, two small children, one sporting a head of dark brown hair and the other as blond as a daffodil, bolted across the threshold. René immediately knelt and ushered his children into his arms, rising and bringing the giggling tykes with him, their little legs dangling.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked Cecilia, the oldest.
“Where else,” Alcée answered from the doorway. “She and Marguerite have been inseparable since we arrived.”
René turned toward the street and found Ben lingering uncomfortably behind. “Mr. Whitley,” he said, hoping to make his guest feel welcome, “this is my uncle Alcée.”
Alcée offered his hand in greeting. “My pleasure, sir.”
“Benjamin Whitley is a new legislator from Monroe,” René explained as the two men exchanged pleasantries. “I don’t think he’s met an Acadian before.”
The older man became visibly embarrassed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Whitley,” Alcée said with a smile, leading the gentleman into the parlor. “Some of my best friends are Americans.”
As the men made their way into the house three small children darted through their legs noisily. René released Cecilia and her brother, Jean, so they could join their cousins.
“And you have another on the way?” René incredulously asked Alcée, who shrugged and grinned.
James and Virginia were Ben’s first introduction and he seemed glad to meet people whose first language was his own.
“The Judge is on his way to New Orleans,” René told him. “He and Virginia hope to make peace between the French and Americans, and re-establish the single form of municipal government.”
René then introduced Ben to Philip, his partner of four years, and René’s parents, Marie and Etienne. T-Emile and his new wife and child were in town for the occasion, and Alexander was thrilled to make Ben’s acquaintance to practice his English. Pierre, René thought as he announced Ben, was now taller than anyone in the family, including René.
The two finally made it to the kitchen where Amanda, Marguerite and Colette were busy preparing a special meal for his second inauguration. René again made his introductions, sneaking a kiss to Amanda when Ben turned and politely bowed to Colette, pausing a little too long at their introduction.
“It’s a shame the governor was too ill to make the ceremony,” Amanda said, carefully watching the interaction between Ben and Colette. “I would have liked to have met him.”
“You will,” René said, snaking an arm about her waist and pulling her close, breathing in her sweet smell. Four years and two children and her image still excited him as if it were the first meeting over that picket fence.
“He likes her,” Amanda whispered. Before he could ask who, Marguerite ushered them all into the dining room for supper.
Later that evening, as Amanda and René looked in on the sleeping children and pulled their discarded covers up to their chins, René asked her what she had meant.
“Just that,” Amanda replied. “Your Mr. Whitley’s in love with Colette.”
“That’s ridiculous. He couldn’t fall in love that quickly.”
Closing the door to a crack, Amanda gazed up at him and smiled. “You did.”
“That was different.”
Amanda placed her hands on her hips defiantly. “How?”
“I spoke your language.”
Amanda laughed, the soft giggle René found so irresistible. “That’s debatable.”
René pinched her chin lightly whil
e his eyes twinkled.
“Did you see how Colette responded? She couldn’t keep her eyes off him.”
“You’re imaging this,” René said, shaking his head. “They will never be able to communicate.”
“Some things don’t need words,” Amanda answered, pulling on the lapels of René’s waistcoat so that their bodies met. After René leaned down and delivered a slow, lingering kiss, Amanda added, “Besides, he told me so himself.”
“Told you what?” René moved his lips down the soft reaches of her neck.
“He asked me if it was difficult being in love with someone of a different culture, an Acadian to be specific.”
René moved back to take in her full countenance. “What did you say?”
“I said it was no problem at all.”
René stared into the pools of blue that had been his undoing. He couldn’t imagine loving anyone more.
“You’re right,” he said before claiming her lips once again. “No problem at all.”
Author’s Note
Jolie Blonde
Jolie Blonde, translated from the French meaning “beautiful blonde,” was first recorded as Ma Blonde est Partie or Jole Blon by Amédée Breaux and his sister Cleoma Breaux. Today, the sad waltz about unrequited love is considered a favorite among Cajuns and Cajun music lovers. It holds the time-honored distinction of being the “Cajun National Anthem” and the most requested Cajun love ballad in Louisiana. As for this tale being the inspiration for the song, I’ll let you, dear reader, be the judge.
About the Author
Cherie Claire is the author of The Letter, a novella sequel to the award-winning A Cajun Dream, and The Cajun Series of historical romances, including Emilie, Rose, Gabrielle and Delphine. She lives in South Louisiana where she works as a travel and food writer when not indulging in Cajun culture. Visit her website at http://www.cherieclaire.net/ and write to her at [email protected].
Also By Cherie Claire
The Cajun Series
Emilie
Rose
Gabrielle
Delphine
A Cajun Dream
The Letter
A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5) Page 28