Coleman raised his glass and drank his fill, but he doubted he would be happy anywhere without Rose. Still, he couldn’t stay and watch another man marry the woman of his heart, watch her be courted by men who understood her language, practiced her faith and shared her culture. Men who could stand in the shoes that he wished for himself.
But he had to relieve her troubles before he left her memory behind. “Is there nothing I can do?”
Piernas poured them both another glass of rum. “Not unless you have five able bodies to take their place.”
The rum burned Coleman’s throat and soured his empty stomach, but his head remained perfectly clear. “I do have five able bodies,” he said, his hopes rising thinking of the slaves he had inherited that morning. His mother’s slaves who had been as miserable as he since her death three years before and who, like himself, despised the conditions they worked under due to his father’s tyrannical hand. Slaves he planned to set free before he sought his own freedom out west.
“If I give you five able bodies and money for transportation, will you let Rose and her family go to St. Gabriel?”
Piernas leaned his head back and drained his glass. He didn’t answer, but his eyes brightened as if he understood. The two men, miles apart in nationalities, extended their hands and shook.
“What do you mean another few days?” Lorenz took a deep breath to keep his anger in check. “The weather has cleared. We’ve been waiting several days already.”
The elderly Acadian refused to budge either his assessment of the weather or his boat. “And you may have to wait several months if the river keeps rising,” he added with a snarl.
“You don’t understand,” Emilie piped in. “We have to get to St. Gabriel as soon as possible. My father, whom I haven’t seen in thirteen years, is waiting for us there.”
Lorenz pulled Emilie aside when the man continued shaking his head. “He knows our situation. We’ve told him. He won’t be moved as long as the wind continues.”
Since their arrival in Cabannocé, the weather had deteriorated back to winter, a wet, cold wind blowing hard from the north. It wasn’t a brutal blast, like the ones in Canada where spring buds were swallowed by several feet of April snow. Instead, the dampness penetrated their bones, giving them both unabating shivers.
“You’re shaking again, mon amour,” Lorenz said, grabbing a hold of her sagging shawl and wrapping it tightly about her. “Let’s go back to the cabin.”
She obeyed, but reluctantly, casting a glance to the Mississippi, where whitecaps formed on its surface as it rounded a giant bend. “The rain has stopped. Does the wind pose that much of a problem?”
“I don’t know,” Lorenz said with a sigh. “The man knows more about the river’s currents than we do, Em. It doesn’t look as strong from the bank, but the current could be deadly in the middle.”
Emilie frowned as her eyes followed a log quickly drifting downstream. “He also said in another week the spring waters would make it impossible to cross. What do we do then, wait until August?”
Lorenz peered into her brown eyes and ran his hand up the length of her spine, then pulled Emilie tight into his chest. “We find someone else to take us across. We swim if we have to.”
Gazing out over the top of Emilie’s head, Lorenz couldn’t help but be awed by the beauty of the great river. Its dark waters stretched out in a dramatic bend as it rounded the Acadian settlement, the surface glistening as if tiny nymphs danced upon it, dropping beams of light with their feet.
“It’s called Brilliant Point,” Emilie said. “Madame Blanchard told me.”
Lorenz should have been surprised that she knew what he was thinking, but Emilie always seemed to be one step ahead of him. “How could you have possible thought we weren’t meant to be together?” he said softly.
Emilie placed a hand on his face. “I always thought we would be together. I was just hoping under better conditions.”
“Better conditions?” Lorenz asked with a laugh. “Our circumstances haven’t improved in years. If we waited for more prosperous times, we might be as old as that old curmudgeon who won’t get us across the river.”
She didn’t answer, just quietly walked back toward the settlement. There was something else Emilie wasn’t telling him, something else holding her back from wanting to marry him. “I don’t like it here,” she finally said, the emotions emerging in her voice.
“You didn’t like it in Maryland.”
“Who would like it in Maryland? We were treated like dirt and practically begged to stay alive.”
Lorenz took her hand as they walked down the path. “I can’t say Louisiana has been ideal, especially having our freedoms taken away from us as soon as we arrived, but it has been an improvement. When we find your father, we’ll be able to have our own land.” He slid an arm around her waist. “You and I can build a house like the one you’re staying in, only bigger, in case the Dugas family increases by one.”
“I don’t want one,” Emilie muttered.
Lorenz pulled her shoulders around so they faced each other. “You don’t want children?”
“Of course, I want children. I don’t want a house like the one we’re staying in.” Emilie tightened her shawl about her shoulders. “The walls, for instance, have mud inside them. Mud, Lorenz. Widow Melancon says flax won’t grow here so we won’t be able to make our linens. And have you noticed, there are no rocks in this place. Plenty of water, mind you, half stagnating on the ground and the other half continually falling from the sky. But no rocks.”
Lorenz watched her carefully, wondering where the conversation was leading. “Since when are you so fond of rocks, Emilie?”
Emilie folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t want a life here. I want to go home.”
Lorenz didn’t blame her for wanting to return to Canada, but the idea was ludicrous, especially since they were so close to recreating their beloved Acadie in Louisiana, their old friends and neighbors only leagues up and down the river from each other.
“We can make this work,” he assured her. “Somehow we can make this work.”
“How? With mud walls? And what shall we build a chimney with without any rocks about?”
“Those walls are ingenious. They mix the mud with that Spanish moss for extra insulation. You can hardly feel the wind blowing where the wall has been finished.” Lorenz leaned in closely as he added, “We used mud back home too.”
The red flecks of Emilie’s eyes lit up. “We did not.”
Lorenz couldn’t help but laugh at her indignation. He felt like he was standing in the grassy marshlands of Grand Pré, staring at the skinny girl who followed him endlessly and always, always offered an argument. He couldn’t help himself. “Girls didn’t build houses back home, remember? So how would you know?”
Emilie titled her chin up defiantly, just the right angle for Lorenz to meet those saucy lips with a kiss. “I’ll build you anything you want,” he said when he finally released her. “I’ll build you a chimney of gold if that makes you happy.”
They kissed again, this time Lorenz capturing her bottom lip in a playful bite.
“I love you, Lorenz,” Emilie said between kisses. “But I don’t want a gold chimney.”
Lorenz rubbed his lips against hers before exploring her mouth with his tongue. God, but she tasted delicious. He couldn’t wait for nightfall. “Then I’ll build you a silver one,” he muttered as his kisses drifted down to her neck.
Emilie pushed him away. “I don’t want a silver chimney. I want to go home.”
She stood before him defiantly, hands propped on her waist, as if nothing romantic had transpired between them. For the life of him, Lorenz would never understand women. He decided to meet fire with fire. “You’re not going back to Canada. Get used to the idea and stop being so unhappy.”
Emilie crossed her arms over her chest and looked away and Lorenz immediately felt guilty. They were so close to finding Joseph, just a short boat ride away. He
didn’t blame her for being testy. He knew she missed her family; the past two months had been the first time Emilie had been separated from her mother and sisters. Then to top it all off, they had made love. She could be with child, for all they knew.
The thought of being a father sent a surge of pride through Lorenz. Suddenly, nothing else mattered but keeping Emilie safe, making her happy. He wrapped an arm about her waist and let his free hand stray over her belly. Could it be possible, he thought? He almost felt drunk with giddiness.
“Emilie, you have to marry me,” Lorenz stated firmly.
She gazed up to him with an annoying look. “You promised Lorenz, you wouldn’t speak of it until after we arrived in St. Gabriel.”
“A lot of things have changed since I made that promise.”
“Not entirely. You haven’t proved you can spend a week without getting into trouble.”
Lorenz gritted his teeth. She really was the most exasperating female. If he didn’t love her as much as he did, his logical mind would tell him to get as far away from Emilie Marie Gallant as possible. “Forget all that for a moment. Think about what’s important here.”
Emilie shoved her arms against his chest to be relieved of his embrace. “What’s important? Obviously you don’t think making me a widow is important.”
“Of course I do.” Lorenz pulled his fingers through his hair, which desperately needed a haircut. “But we have to think of more significant matters here.”
“Like what? Being able to sleep with me without leaving at daybreak?”
Lorenz grabbed her arms and pulled her close to him. He wanted to shake some sense into her, to make her realize the ramifications of what they had done. “You could be with child. Have you not thought of that fact?”
Again, Emilie released his hands and moved away. “Of course, I have. But a week isn’t going to make a difference there. Besides, if we are to marry I want my family around.”
The last phrase gave him hope. “Fine. We’ll marry at St. Gabriel. We’ll marry in Natchez. We’ll marry in Canada if that’s what it takes. Just tell me you’ll marry me.”
The passion burned in Lorenz’s eyes and it took all of Emilie’s might not to rush into his arms, to say yes, she would marry him and share her life gladly, but fear held her tongue. Fear and another emotion she had trouble naming. Weariness perhaps?
She was so tired of being denied passage across the river, to having to wait yet another tortuous day. It seemed like all the Gallant women did was wait. Wait to hear word. Wait for the weather to clear. Wait until the boat arrives to take them somewhere else where they could wait in new surroundings.
If she must be forced to wait, why couldn’t Lorenz?
But it was more than that. The familiar foreboding, the dark cloud of uncertainty loomed over her heart. She could easily send it away at night when they lay in each other’s arms, but the morning’s light, coupled with a harsh north wind, blew a melancholy over Emilie’s soul. Despite her love for Lorenz, despite his repeated devotion, her anxiety over her future held her back. Her heart shouted, “Yes, oh yes,” but her mind won over in the end.
“Please Lorenz,” she began softly.
Lorenz stepped back as if hit by a blow. Clearly wounded by her words, he could only stare at her, shocked that she had rejected him yet again. She had pierced him to the core, but all Emilie could feel was anger. If only he would let her be for a few more days, until they found her father, until they were reunited with Marianne and her sisters. Why couldn’t he give her that much?
“My father may be on the other side of that massive river and I can’t get there, so can we please talk about something else?” she shouted at him.
Lorenz leaned in close, his black eyes intense. “I would put up with your crazy moods, give you all the time in the world to decide, but we have crossed a line here that needs addressing.” Crossing her arms about her chest, Emilie turned to avoid his gaze, but Lorenz took her chin and forced her to face him. “What we did is not something I take lightly, nor is it something we can dismiss. You can’t possibly think to refuse me now.”
Maybe it was Lorenz’s authoritative tone or the pain ripping through her abdomen that made her doubt she was with child, but Emilie didn’t want to discuss marriage one more moment. Her skin felt like the Spanish moss after it had been dried for mattress stuffing and her head pounded from a headache. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry hysterically or scream. “I can’t possibly think of anything but my father right now. Please can we talk about something else?”
Lorenz’s eyes narrowed. He loved her, of that she would never doubt. But if they had crossed a line the night they made love, they were definitely crossing another one now.
“I’m tired of these games,” he finally said. “I’m tired of waiting for you to make up your mind.”
The anger returned, sending a flush through her head that made her almost dizzy. Before she had time to think, she blurted out, “And I’m tired of you asking.”
This time, Lorenz didn’t appear hurt. His eyes turned bitter and he sent her a scathing look. “Then I’ll ask you no longer,” he stated firmly and marched away.
Watching his retreating form, Emilie wondered what had come over her. She was so irritable. Why did Lorenz have to push the issue this particular morning?
She sat down on the cold ground and buried her head in her hands. The pain in her womb increased so she pulled her legs into her chest and hugged them. The tenderness in her breasts confirmed that she wasn’t with child; every ache and emotion was as familiar as the phases of the moon.
She was such a stupid girl. When would she realize that Lorenz’s love was like a comforting blanket on a frigid night and not a threat? He could be holding her now, planting kisses on her head, telling her stories from their childhood to make her feel at home in this dreadful place. Instead, she wounds him and sends him away. Hurts the one person who owns her heart.
Emilie began to cry. If Lorenz was here, he would help ease the emptiness the imaginary child left behind. For those brief seconds when they spoke of children, Emilie’s hope for the future had soared. She had actually thought a happy life together possible. But like the promise of finding her father in a new territory and starting anew, the hope was extinguished as quickly as it began.
“Another drink Lorenz?” Simon Mire said, passing the pitcher his way. Since early afternoon Lorenz had sought refuge with the town’s men, enjoying wine they had purchased from traveling merchants with the meager profits earned from winter crops. It was also a chance to be among the logical gender, men who spoke their minds and made sense.
Lorenz poured himself another, enjoying the warm path the wine led down his throat along with the numb sensation it provided his mind. He didn’t want to think of Emilie, of her stubborn refusals, of their endless frustrations to get to St. Gabriel and reunite the family. Of the family he lost and the family he may never have. He wanted something to make the pain go away.
“So you don’t remember a Joseph Gallant?” he asked Dominique Doucet, a resident of St. Gabriel who was visiting sick in-laws at Cabannocé.
“I remember a man of your description,” Dominique said. “But it’s difficult to say he was the same man. We were all sick with the fever, and he wasn’t a member of our group. I believe this man came into Louisiana on an earlier voyage.”
Lorenz straightened and attempted to clear his mind. “We got word in Maryland that a man of Joseph’s description was at St. Gabriel looking for his wife and three daughters. There are people here who said a similar man came through saying the same thing, only that he was headed for New Orleans. We were hoping he had returned to St. Gabriel.”
“Well that’s certainly possible,” Dominique said. “As soon as we arrived in the territory and realized there was land to be had and freedom to practice our religion, we wrote back to Maryland encouraging others to come. But I personally cannot confirm that the man I saw was Joseph Gallant. And I don’t recall a Ga
llant living among us presently.”
“It’s possible he was there or that he settled nearby in a remote area,” said Jacques Doucet, Dominique’s brother. “Again, we were all very sick in the beginning. It was a harrowing journey from Maryland, then we arrived in deadly heat and were expected to clear land and build houses with little tools and hardly any provisions. It was a matter of time before we all became ill. Even the English near us were down with the fever. They claimed to have little supplies as well, and wouldn’t offer us any.”
Phillip snorted. “So they said, anyway.”
“The Spanish did little to help either,” Jacques continued. “We asked for more supplies, extra tools to help with our homes, but they maintained that the provisions were low and were forthcoming from New Orleans and the tools were only to be used on the construction of the fort. They called us lazy. We were starving, separated from our each other and living in horrid conditions and they had the nerve to consider us impertinent.”
“Damn Spanish,” Lorenz said to the inside of his cup before draining the liquid.
“I understand they forced you to settle at the fort at Natchez,” Dominique asked.
Lorenz nodded. “They want to use us as a buffer to the English. Develop their frontier to keep back English encroachment in the Louisiana territory.”
“Same reason they gave us,” Dominique said. “The English have a fort on the other side of St. Gabriel. We demanded the Spanish let us settle here at Cabannocé with the other Acadians, but Ulloa refused.”
“This Spanish governor is no better than Charles Lawrence,” Lorenz said.
The sound of the Nova Scotia governor’s name, the man responsible for the massive expulsion of the Acadians from their homes, brought up a round of grumbles. The deceased man’s name was a cursed one, a name few repeated as if the words might burn their tongues upon being spoken. Lorenz almost regretted speaking it aloud for fear the curse would descend upon them. But he wasn’t a superstitious man; he’d rather say the name and wish Charles Lawrence to rot in hell, which was more than likely where he was.
Emilie (The Cajun Series Book 1) Page 17