“Wrong? No. Pas du tout. It’s. . .it’s perfect.”
She glanced around the room once more. True to his word, Theo Breaux had turned the little ramshackle building into something resembling a proper schoolhouse.
Sturdy wooden benches sat in three straight rows on the patched cypress floor, providing room enough for nearly a dozen children to sit. Three windows on either side of the room allowed a breeze to float across the little room. Cleo closed her eyes, imagining the bright faces of children eager to learn, then opened them once more to see Theo staring.
To her surprise, his eyes seemed to be watering. Or was that a tear?
“Theo, are you all right?”
Nodding, he grasped her hand and brought her fingers to touch his lips. “It’s just that I’m going to miss you.”
She kissed his fingers, then fell into his arms. “Are you asking me to stay?”
Pressing her ear to his chest, she could hear his heart racing. “I can’t ask that of you,” he said.
The words rumbled through her heart and lodged in her throat. “Can’t or won’t?”
He released his grip to hold her at arm’s length. “I won’t be the reason your dreams don’t come true, Cleo.”
She stared into the eyes of the orneriest man in Latagnier and gave passing thought to what life might be like without him. “Just as I refuse to be the reason yours don’t come true. Tell me I’m worth giving up your traveling ways.”
She knew from his expression that she’d hit a nerve. “I’m not, am I?”
His silence spoke volumes. Shrugging out of Theo’s jacket, she threw it in his direction and fled for the safety of home.
“Leave me be,” she shouted when he tried to follow her. “And don’t come around me until you’re ready to say I’m more important to you than some trip north. I don’t want to love you only to end up with a broken heart, so if you’re going, go now.”
When he froze in his tracks, her heart broke for real.
❧
The first week of school flew by, as did the second and third. Sometime during the fourth week, Cleo got wind through one of the church ladies that Theo Breaux had left Latagnier on the evening train two weeks back. He was heading north, she’d been told. Canada was what his brother claimed.
Cleo listened to the reports, then went back to her quilting. Her tears would wait for bedtime. They always did.
Berta Broussard met her gaze and changed the subject. Before long, the ladies had moved on to jawing about the rising cost of thread in town and the prospect of a fall festival to raise money for new candlesticks in the sanctuary.
When Uncle Joe interrupted the party, Cleo was almost relieved. “I’m sorry, ladies, but Cleo is needed at the schoolhouse.”
“Really?” She gathered her scissors and thimble and dropped them into her bag. “Is there something wrong?”
After all, today was Saturday. No one should be at the school.
“I think you’d better see for yourself,” he said. “But don’t tarry.”
Cleo rushed toward the school, her gaze scanning the treetops for some sign of smoke or other calamity. When she reached the clearing, relief flooded her. Whatever was wrong, at least the place hadn’t gone up in flames.
In fact, the building looked the same today as she had left it after school yesterday. Easing her way up the steps, she tiptoed across the porch to push open the door.
She stepped inside and glanced around. Everything looked to be in order.
Venturing further, she noted the books still lined up on the desks and the pencils and paper neatly stacked on the shelf beneath a chart showing the consonants and vowels. A sound behind her made her jump.
She turned in time to see a tall shadow cross the floor.
“Theo?” A dozen different emotions assailed her, each giving way to the next until she’d lost any idea of how she felt about seeing the carpenter again.
He nodded. “Am I still welcome here?”
For a moment she had no answer. Slowly, she nodded. “Of course,” she said. “This schoolhouse belongs to everyone who lives in Latagnier.”
As soon as she said the words, she longed to reel them back in. Theo Breaux no longer lived in Latagnier. Or did he?
He crossed the distance between them in long strides and came close enough to take her in his arms. Close enough, yet he just stood there, arms at his sides, staring.
“Why did you come back?”
More words she wished she hadn’t said.
“Something you said. I had to see if you meant it.”
“Something I said?” She’d said plenty that day, most of it not so nice.
He nodded. “You said you didn’t want to be responsible for my dreams not coming true. Did you mean that?”
It was her turn to nod. Their gazes collided. The impact rocked her to her toes.
“Yes, I meant it,” she whispered.
Theo took her hand in his. “Well, I had to get halfway to Canada before I figured out you were the reason my dreams weren’t coming true.”
“I don’t understand.”
Theo went down on one knee and kissed her hand. “Without you, I don’t have any dreams. I can’t imagine life without you in it, and I can’t see spending our days anywhere but right here in Latagnier. What I’m saying is I had to learn the hard way that here is where I belong, and you belong right by my side. Je t’aime—Oh, how I love you, Cleo Trahan. Will you marry me?”
Words gathered in her mind but stuck in her throat. Somehow she managed to say just one: “Yes.”
His expression turned serious. “You’d better think before you answer, Cleo. Setting your sites on being the future Mrs. Breaux will mean you have to give up going to that fancy teachers’ college.”
She smiled. “I don’t give a fig about that school.” Sobering a moment, she regarded Theo. “But I wonder what Uncle Joe will think.”
“Uncle Joe’s fine with the idea.” She looked up to see her uncle standing in the door. Tante Flo was beside him. “Has she said yes yet?”
“He knew?” Cleo looked down at the carpenter in astonishment. “How did you get my uncle involved in this?”
“Remember the day I came to the house with flowers?”
She nodded.
“And the conversation in the kitchen? The one you tried to eavesdrop on?”
Again she nodded.
“I told him then that I aimed to marry up with you as soon as I came to my senses.”
“Took you long enough, boy,” Uncle Joe said.
“Well, Cleo, are you willing to take on an old fool like me?”
She pretended to consider the question. “How many babies do you want, Theo?”
He seemed surprised. “As many as you and the Lord will allow.”
“I like this man,” Tante Flo said.
“I do, too,” Cleo said.
And with that, Theo rose to kiss his future bride.
Epilogue
Cleo stood in front of the parlor’s rosewood-framed mirror and endured her aunt’s scrutiny yet again. The wedding dress was already perfect, and still Tante Flo insisted on one more fitting, one more pin here, one more tuck there.
“Please, Tante Flo, can’t we be done with it?” A knock at the door halted Cleo’s protest. “I’ll get that.”
Her aunt stood between her and the door. “Oh no, you don’t. What if it’s Theo? You know he’s not supposed to see you in your wedding dress before the wedding.”
“That’s a silly superstition designed to keep the groom from running away out of sheer terror. The wedding’s tomorrow,” she said, yet she allowed her aunt to trot to the front door.
Fretting with a pin, she nearly poked herself when she heard her aunt screech. “Stop right there, Theo Breaux. You cannot go in there. Your bride is in her wedding dress.”
Theo’s deep voice rumbled a protest. A moment later, Tante Flo returned to the parlor, flustered.
“That man is quite the charmer. I
do believe he could sell ice to an Eskimo.” She bustled about the room, pulling her best lace tablecloth out of the sideboard. “Here, cover yourself with this. If I let that man in here, I don’t want him to be able to see your dress.”
Cleo complied, then leaned toward her aunt. “Did he kiss you, too? That’s how he manages to charm me.”
Her aunt blushed beet red. “Of course not. Now don’t be silly. And none of those kisses until tomorrow after the wedding.”
Theo peered around the door. “Can I come in now?”
When Tante Flo gave her permission, the carpenter sauntered into the room. Cleo immediately claimed a contraband kiss. Then, before she would let him explain the brown paper package under his arm, she had to steal just one more.
“Someday you’re going to get tired of my kisses,” Theo said.
“Never,” she responded as she patted the place next to her on the settee.
“What are you wearing?”
“Great-grandmother Trahan’s Irish lace tablecloth. Do you like it? It’s the height of fashion. Everyone wears them over their wedding dresses nowadays.”
Theo looked her up and down, then smiled. “On you it looks good,” he responded.
For saying just the right thing, she stole yet another kiss. This one lingered a bit longer than the others.
“If I weren’t marrying you tomorrow, I’d probably need to be rushing you to the preacher tonight,” he said softly. When she leaned in for yet another kiss, he shook his head. “I need to give you this present, Cleo, and if you don’t stop that, I’m going to forget what I planned to say.”
Smiling, she leaned away. “Go ahead and make your speech then.”
He nodded. “I’d like you to have this, Cleo. Go ahead and open it.”
She accepted the package, then pulled the string to let the paper fall away. Inside she found a beautiful, leather-bound Bible. Someone had written their names and the next day’s date on the page reserved for family weddings.
“Theo, this is. . .” Words failed her. “Thank you.”
Her groom-to-be smiled and pointed to the handwriting. “Did I do it right?”
“Do what right?” She traced the names with her index finger. “Oh, Theo, did you write this?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “Alphonse showed me how. Is it right?”
“It’s perfect.” The image before her swirled and disappeared as tears collected in her eyes. “Simply perfect.”
“I need to ask you something, Cleo. Something real important.”
“What?”
He laid his hand over the Bible. “I want to be able to read this book, Cleo. It’s important to me. I want to read it for myself and. . .” He paused and seemed to have difficulty continuing. “And I want to read it to our children. I want to be the head of our house and the godly papa our children deserve, and I’m going to have to call on the words in here to be able to do that. Will you teach me to read, cher?”
She cradled his chin in her hand, feeling the rough skin graze her palm. And the bride said, “I will.”
Cleo Trahan’s Shrimp Étouffée
4 cups butter
2 cups each chopped onions, bell peppers, celery, and parsley
¼ cup green onions
1 clove garlic, chopped
2 teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons flour
2–3 pounds peeled shrimp (medium to small)
2 cups water
Melt butter over medium heat, then sauté vegetables until tender, adding the garlic for the last 2–3 minutes of cooking time (10–15 total minutes). Add salt, black and red peppers, and shrimp and stir until shrimp turn pink (around 5 minutes depending on size of shrimp). In a separate bowl, stir together flour and water until the mixture thickens and resembles a thin gravy. Add flour mixture to shrimp and vegetables and stir until the gravy thickens to the desired consistency (5–10 minutes), then turn heat to low and simmer uncovered for 10 minutes. Stir in parsley and green onions, reserving a small amount to use as garnish, and cook another 2–3 minutes. Serve over white rice with parsley and green onion garnish. Feeds 4–6 hungry Cajuns.
Tante Flo’s Latagnier Gateau de Sirop with Cinnamon Pecan Topping
Cake:
1 cup solid vegetable shortening
1 cup sugar
1 cup pure cane syrup
1 cup boiling water
1 egg
½ teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon each cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
1½ cups flour
Topping:
½ cup light brown sugar
2½ teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
3 tablespoons flour
3 tablespoons butter (not margarine)
½ cup chopped pecans (optional)
Cake:
Grease and flour a 9” cake pan and set aside. In a large mixing bowl, cream together shortening, sugar, and syrup, then add water and stir thoroughly. Beat egg and add to mixture, blending well. In a separate bowl, mix spices, baking soda, and flour then add to cake mixture. Beat until smooth and creamy. Pour into cake pan and bake 30–35 minutes in a preheated 350-degree oven. Cake is done when it shrinks away from the edges of the pan. Remove from oven and set aside for 5–10 minutes while topping is prepared.
Topping:
While cake is cooling, mix together all the ingredients for topping. Spread onto slightly cooled cake and return to oven to bake until topping melts (10–12 minutes). Makes one 9-inch cake.
About the Author
Kathleen Miller Y’Barbo is an award-winning novelist and sixth-generation Texan. After completing a degree in marketing at Texas A&M University, she spent the next decade and a half raising children (four) and living in such diverse places as Lafayette, Louisiana; Port Neches, Texas; and Jakarta, Indonesia. She now lives with her nearly grown brood near Houston, Texas, where she is active in Fellowship of the Woodlands Church as well as being a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Romance Writers of America, Writers Information Network, and the Authors Guild. She also speaks on the craft of writing at the elementary and secondary levels.
Dedication
To Mimi. I know you would have loved a houseful of little ones just like Mama. Well, maybe not exactly like Mama. . .
To Dana. Research diva and real live Trahan. You are such a special gift from God. Merci bien et Dieu te beni. Celebrate the beginnings. . . .
And to Janice Thompson, aka Janice the Magnificent, who critiqued this manuscript faster than I wrote it. Long may you rule!
Finally, to my children, Josh and Andrew, who are Cajuns by birth, and Jacob and Hannah, who are Texans for the same reason. Like Cleo and Tante Flo, I do love my babies! You are my heroes!
A note from the Author:
I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:
Kathleen Miller Y’Barbo
Author Relations
PO Box 719
Uhrichsville, OH 44683
Bayou Beginnings Page 15