by Pamela Morsi
"Yes you are!"
She stood nearly toe to toe with him, nearly shouting the words in his face. Her behavior surprised both of them. Embarrassed, she stepped back. An apology was on her lips, but he spoke first.
"I am sorry," Armand said. His tone was sincere, as was his expression. "I am grumpy as a bear this morning, I think. It is no cause to take it out on you."
"Thank you," Aida said, her voice not sounding nearly as meek as she felt.
"I have been thinking about all this," he admitted. "I do believe that you can be traiteur and I cannot wholly discount your vision."
"Then you will talk to Laron?" she asked.
"If I can decipher what to say. Clearly the vision seems to me to be concerned with the fruitlessness of his relationship with Madame Shotz."
"I liked her," Aida said.
Armand nodded almost sadly. "I did, too."
The quiet moment between the two of them lengthened.
"Ummm, look at this!"
Armand walked to the table, noticing the blueberry tart for the first time.
Aida smiled, grateful for the distraction. "I saw it already. In fact, your arrival probably saved it from mysteriously disappearing."
"Mysteriously disappearing?" Armand looked at her, his eyes almost twinkling.
"No one would have ever seen or heard of it again," Aida whispered dramatically. "And all that would be left would be a blueberry stain on my lips."
Armand picked up the game easily. "Show the judge your mouth, mamselle," he ordered in a haughty demanding voice. "Let us see if you are guilty or innocent."
Aida stuck her tongue out at him playfully.
"The woman is a saint," he declared in an impressive tone. ."She is innocent of sweet thievery, although I believe she did lust after it in her heart already."
Aida gave a tiny giggle of delight at both his risqué comment and his comedic tone.
"You are so funny," she said, delighted.
"I have amused you?" he said, his words feigning surprise. "I thought only handsome fellows spouting odes to your eyelashes entertained you, mamselle."
"And I thought you had become so stuffy and sensible that you wouldn't know a laugh if it hit you full face," she replied.
Armand raised his brow in surprise. "Mademoiselle Gaudet, I am known as a man who can tell a good joke."
"And I am known as a woman who appreciates one," she countered.
"Well, it seems that this lovely tart has brought us to a new understanding of each other," he said.
"It seems so."
"Then I believe that, in celebration of that happy conclusion, we should eat it."
"We can't." Aida's eyes were wide with scandalized amusement.
"Are you fearing Madame Landry's wrath?"
"She would not be happy to lose such a delicious looking pie," Aida said with certainty.
Armand nodded. "I've stolen sweets from her before," he admitted. "As a young boy I was scolded for such a sin more than once."
"And did you learn your lesson?" she asked.
He sighed with feigned despair. "Apparently not," he replied. "For looking at this beautiful bit of blueberry all I can recall with certainty is my half-burned, overchewy coushe-coushe that I left half- eaten. My brother and I allowed my sister-in-law to lie abed this morning while we cooked breakfast for ourselves and the children."
"I forgot about the morning meal completely," Aida admitted. "Poor Poppa slathered some mayhaw preserves on yesterday's cold biscuit."
"Then surely," Armand suggested, "this tart was meant to be devoured by you and me."
Aida tutted in warning. "Are you trying to tempt me, monsieur?"
"Oh no, mamselle, I would not do such a thing," he said with great hauteur.
"But you are going to taste it," she said.
"Just the edges," he assured her as he broke off a fairly generous portion of a corner. "I'll just try it, in order to convince us that it is not something that we really want to eat."
The hot blueberry filling was oozing out of the crust and would have dripped on the table if Aida had not reached over and allowed the heavy dollop to slide upon her finger.
"Thank you for saving that," he said. "We could not allow it to fall upon the table and make it sticky."
She giggled before burying the blueberry-covered digit in her mouth.
"Mmm," was her only comment.
Armand tasted his portion and offered a similar opinion.
"It's wonderful," she said.
"Maybe it is my hunger," he said. "But I don't believe that I have ever tasted better."
"I have never been overfond of Madame Landry's cooking," Aida said. "But this is wonderful."
"We have to have another bite, don't we?" he asked.
Aida looked longingly at the tart.
"Just a little one," she said. "I haven't even tried the crust."
Armand broke off another corner and shared it with her.
Once more they made sounds of pleasurable satisfaction as they consumed the sweet blueberry filling and light crust of Madame Landry's tart.
"How is Felicite?" Aida asked him conversationally. "Her time is getting very close."
Armand nodded as he licked his fingers. "She is doing well, I think. She is more tired these days than I recall with the other babies, but maybe I was not paying as much attention."
Aida broke off the third corner and shared it with him.
"I don't know much about birthing," she told him. "Madame Landry has said that I shall be with her to assist at the next lying-in. That undoubtedly will be Madame Sonnier."
Armand's brow furrowed as he scooped out a bit more of the hot, oozing center of the tart with his fingers.
"It is very unusual for an unwed lady to attend a birthing," he said.
Aida nodded agreement. "I said that very thing to her."
"What did she say?"
"It was really very strange," Aida told him. "She just gave this unexpected, almost shrieking laugh and said that she didn't think that my being a maiden would be a problem."
Armand shrugged. "Maybe she thinks that since you have been chosen as traiteur the normal sensibilities simply do not apply."
"Perhaps so."
The two of them dug fingers into the last corner of the tart and giggled guiltily as they split it between them.
"Do you think she will forgive us?" Aida asked.
"Certainly. She is a reasonable woman and she will understand how seductive a blueberry tart can be to two hungry young people."
"Then you are going to confess."
Armand grinned. "No need to rush into anything. Let her notice it is missing and scold me first."
Aida laughed.
"Children! Children! Come here!"
The call came from the direction of the garden.
"Children? I suppose that's us," Aida said.
"I think so," Armand agreed. "Do I have blueberry on my face?"
Aida looked him over, laughing. "No, monsieur, but don't let her see your tongue. What about me?"
"You appear as angelic and innocent as if no blueberry tart could ever tempt you," he said.
He offered his arm formally and the two headed out the back doorway to the garden. "We are coming, Nanan," Armand called out.
Aida felt warm and happy and content at his side. They were friends. He did at least seem to like and respect her. It was a lot for a woman who so admired him.
Madame Landry was seated as usual among the remains of her garden. The curled and discolored leaves and vines of autumn were all around her, deteriorating so very slowly to dust. She had a peculiar expression on her face, but she appeared quite happy.
"Well good morning to you, mon fils," she said, greeting Armand for the first time.
"I have my paper and ink," he said. "And Mademoiselle Gaudet and I await your lessons."
"No lessons today," she said, surprising both of them. "I have things to think on and consider and I have no time for teac
hing."
If Armand was annoyed at losing a day's lesson and having made a futile trip to her home, he didn't say so.
"It has been a long time since you sent me away to play," he said.
"But you always loved those days of play," she said. The old woman's smile was secretive, as if there was some joke to which the others were not privy.
"You two run along now, you can make your way home, of course," she said.
"Certainly," Armand told her. "My brother dropped me off on his way to visit the Heberts; we can walk up there and get the pirogue to take Mademoiselle Gaudet."
"Good, good," the old woman said. "You do that. And let me get you that tart."
"Tart?" Armand asked, casting Aida a quick guilty grin.
"I made a blueberry tart for your brother," she said. "As I recall he was always partial to blueberry."
"The tart is for Jean Baptiste?" Armand's question was curious.
Old Madame Landry nodded. "Perhaps you have not noticed," she said. "But your brother seems to be going through a difficult time now. He is not altogether happy about the new baby and is not as devoted to dear Felicite as he once was."
Armand visibly paled, but he did not dispute her words.
"And you think baking him a blueberry tart will make him more devoted to his wife?" His tone was doubtful.
"Oh, the one I made him will," Orva assured him. "I laced it heavily with a very effective love charm."
Armand and Aida knelt beside the riverbank, choking, gagging, coughing as both thrust fingers down their own throats time and time again to no effect.
"I cannot vomit!" Aida wailed. "She must have put an antiemetic in it also."
Armand had discovered the same incontrovertible fact but had not yet voiced it.
"What can we do?" Armand asked her. "Is there no remedy?"
"You have been there when she has taught me,"
Aida answered. "Not once has she even mentioned love charms. How am I to know if there is an antidote?"
"How do you feel?" he asked. "Do you think it is going to start working right away or later today or . . . ?"
Aida was still and self-absorbed for a moment and then shook her head.
"I don't feel anything except frightened and anxious," she said. "That must be more the effects of knowing that I've swallowed the charm than the charm itself."
Armand nodded agreement. He felt exactly the same.
"Perhaps it takes time before it starts to take effect," she said. "Maybe we should just go home and be alone so there is no one to fall in love with."
"The charm might be specifically for husbands," Armand suggested. "It may very well do nothing to us."
"We should go home and tend to our usual business and simply pretend that this did not happen."
"Yes, I think that really might work," Armand agreed. "We will just go home and stay by ourselves."
"Until . . . ah . . . until tomorrow?"
"How long can a charm like this last?" he asked.
"Surely no longer than a day or so," she told him hopefully. "It couldn't stay in the body very long."
"Then we will go home and stay alone and nothing will happen. Nothing can happen," he assured her.
"Good," she agreed. "Very good. Everything will be fine."
"Yes, everything will be fine."
Aida sighed as if in great relief, and Armand momentarily felt sorry for her. It was his fault, after all. She hadn't eaten the tart until he started.
"Well then, let us get going," she said. "We'll head for the Heberts."
"The Heberts!" Panic momentarily seized him.
"Yes, isn't that where your pirogue is? The sooner we get it the sooner we get home," she said. "We can't know when this charm might begin."
"We can't go to the Heberts! Jean Baptiste is there."
"Jean Baptiste?" Aida looked at him puzzled. "He doesn't know that we ate his tart."
"No! Jean Baptiste will . . . Oh never mind, it's just that we can't go there."
"But we must."
"We cannot."
"Then how will we get home?"
It was a question for which Armand didn't have a ready answer. His time was surely running out, but he could not risk taking Aida Gaudet to the Hebert place, where his brother was. He loved his brother and Felicite. He couldn't take the risk that Aida Gaudet might fall for Jean Baptiste and lure him from his wife.
But he had to do something. Something. He had to get her home so that she would fall in love with no one. Or he had to find someone appropriate for her to fall in love with. Laron was down on the German coast. Who else was there?
Perhaps it was the effect of the charm or maybe Armand just saw things clearly for the first time. But within a fraction of a heartbeat he knew whom he wanted the beautiful Aida to love.
He reached out and took her arm and pulled her into his own.
"Armand?"
Hearing her speak his given name was like a spark to kindling.
"Kiss me!" he demanded.
With almost no hesitation she brought her mouth to his. He met her lips with his own. Warm. Plump. Sweet. It was everything that he had ever imagined. Everything that he had ever longed for.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes. They were wide with surprise, perhaps fear, but also there was desire. He saw it and recognized it and it urged him forward.
He half-led, half-dragged her into the shade and safety of a stand of cottonwoods. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close again, angling his kiss to fit more closely and opening his mouth upon hers, seeking, tasting.
He had never held a woman before, never kissed one. But he suffered no reluctance or hesitation. Aida Gaudet felt right in his arms. Her body fit with perfection against his own. Her lips seemed familiar rather than foreign. After all, he had loved her for so very long a time.
"My Aida," he declared in a whisper as he nipped her lower lip lightly and explored her mouth once more.
She felt so right against him, all her soft curves of her body corresponding accurately with the sharp angles of his own. Her high round bosom, long admired at a distance, was now pressed so firmly against his chest. And unexpectedly she wrapped an
eager limb around the leg of his trouser, stroking the back of his calf with her heel.
"Mmm yes," he encouraged against her lips. "Mmm."
They broke apart only momentarily to draw in breath and gaze at each other in heightening lustful longing. Then they recklessly kissed again, this time deeper, their tongues dancing in exquisite tenderness.
Keeping her tightly against him, Armand allowed his kiss to wander from the generous warmth of her lips to the vulnerability of her pale throat. She gave a gasp of pleasure and shock as he, like a rutting stallion, nipped her there. Her reaction only served to encourage him. She threw back her head like a spirited mare, offering him easier access to her smooth slim neck.
Armand's hands did not remain idle. He much enjoyed the tight embrace that pressed her breasts so firmly against him. But he could not resist the long, straight length of her back. He soothed and eased her as he kissed and caressed. When the direction of his exploration led him to the curve of her waist and then to the flair of her derriere, his heart pounded like a hammer.
He traced the shape of her buttocks, round and high as if daring a man to touch them, pulling her up against him intimately.
Aida cried out, partly in surprise, partly in pleasure. Then she squirmed against him, desperate to get closer.
Armand's body flashed like fire. He, too, felt an almost frenzied need to meld with her flesh.
"I don't think I can stand up," she whispered against his hair. In truth her body leaned against his heavily. "My legs are no sturdier than the filling of the blueberry tart."
Armand also felt like jelly. That is, except for the hard throbbing ache in the front of his trousers.
"Let's lie down," he said, astonished at the surprisingly normal tone of his voice. His breathing was quick and
labored, his heart pounding like a drum, and the heat of desire surging through his veins like lightning in a stormy sky. "We'll just rest here on the ground."
Rest was the furthest thing from either's mind. Without relinquishing their embrace the two lowered to their knees. Armand eased her back onto the yellow Indian grass, still slightly moist from the morning dew. He lay atop her, which was even better than pulling her close. No longer did he have to use his arms to embrace her, but could allow his hands to wander where they would.
Aida's hands also were free and she measured the width of his shoulders and the length of his spine. She coaxed and kissed him and called out his name.
He could feel the curve of her breast through the covering of her clothing and caressed her.
She purred like a cat and thrust her bosom forward, pleading for more. Armand squeezed and kneaded and stroked through the rigid restraint of her boned bodice, but it was not enough.
"Take it off," she whined. "Help me take it off."
Enthusiastically Armand began pulling at the front laces of her corset vest, loosening her from the stiff confines.
He sought the softness of her skin and managed to get a hand beneath her blouse. The warm, smooth feel of her naked flesh was far too enticing to resist. A moment later he held her firm, plump breast, the nipple at its peak, thick and hard.
"Oh my God!" he exclaimed in whisper. "Aida, my sweet, sweet Aida, I never thought it would be like this."
"Kiss me," she pleaded.
He did. He kissed her lips, her neck, her throat. He kissed her again and again and again. The pressure of his erection became more insistent. He just couldn't get close enough. He just wasn't quite close enough.
Aida must have felt similarly as she squirmed and wiggled beneath him, fanning the flames of Armand's desire and making tiny curious sounds of passion that spurred his lust.
With a growl that was almost beastlike he rolled over on his back, pulling her with him. Aida's skirt hiked up considerably and the feel of her bare legs straddling him made Armand moan aloud.
It was a little better this way. The hot, damp haven at the crux of her legs was poised immediately over his throbbing ache. It was closer, nearer, but it was still not enough.
He ran his hands up the backs of her bare thighs and under her skirts. The round nakedness of her buttocks was perfection beneath his touch. He caressed her, kneading and squeezing her generous backside. Then he bucked and clutched her close, grinding his body against hers.