Twelve

“I’m so sorry,” the girl called as Theo made tracks toward the bayou and the road home. “Please forgive me,” followed him on the breeze.

Forgive? Forgetting was more his concern, for he never wanted to think on the events of this day again.

Never had he been so humiliated. Leave it to the Trahan girl to hit him right where it hurt, and he wasn’t thinking of his sore foot. What was it about that woman? If she wasn’t inflicting bruises on his body, she was paining his heart.

In this case, she had no idea what she’d done. If only he’d managed to hide his lack of education. Always before he’d been able to bluff his way through any situation where reading was required. Why, he’d sat at Joe Trahan’s kitchen table any number of times and looked at the scribbles and lines Joe put on the page, never letting on he couldn’t decipher them.

He’d always tucked the pages into his pocket and taken them home for his brother Alphonse to read, and then he’d come back to the Trahan place the next morning armed with the information contained on the pages. If Joe’s snoopy little niece hadn’t barged into his life, his secret would still be safe.

Now the whole town of Latagnier would know that Theophile Breaux was illiterate. Oh, he knew plenty of pretty words, and his mama made sure he used them correctly. He just couldn’t make any sense of them on a page. Worse, when he opened Mama’s Bible, the words made as much sense as the scratching the chickens made in the dirt.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to read. He did. Unfortunately, there had been no time for book learning.

The eldest of the bunch, he’d always been called on to help Papa with the trapping or the trotlines, so schooling had been sparse through the years. Finally, when he grew two heads taller than the other students and stuck out like a sore thumb in the classroom, he gave it up altogether.

Sometimes in church he prayed that the Lord would help him make sense of the garbled letters and numbers that made up scripture and hymns. Other times he decided he was destined to go through life with other folks reading it to him.

Never, though, had he envisioned anyone besides Alphonse knowing his shortcoming. He’d always been a quick study, fast to learn and memorize and faster still to pretend he could decipher the words on paper. Papa never knew, or he’d be disappointed for sure, being as he’d nearly gone to college. The fact that the Trahan girl had been the one to figure it out stung.

“Please don’t go,” the object of his thoughts called. “Come back.”

He debated for a half second before picking up his pace, grimacing with every step. A moment later, he entered the thicket. If he was lucky, she’d run into difficulties with that skirt and apron of hers and be unable to pass through the narrow path.

A tap on his back answered the question of his luck—not that he truly believed such a thing existed. It just seemed easier to blame luck, or the lack of it, than the Lord for his current situation.

Theo cast a glance behind him and was greeted by Clothilde’s smiling face. She had a lot more stamina than he expected, especially for a girl of her small size wearing a pretty spring frock. Of course, he could outrun her if he wanted, even with the handicap of an injured foot, but somehow he knew he’d never get rid of her that way.

Better to face his nemesis here and now than to wonder when she would find him. From what he knew of Clothilde Trahan, she would find him.

Nova Scotia was beginning to sound awfully tempting right now. He imagined for a moment arriving in Canada only to find the Trahan woman had beat him there.

Just listen.

“Please, stop for a moment, Monsieur Breaux.”

Listen.

“All right,” he said as much to her as to the gentle but insistent voice in his mind.

Theo stopped and turned to face her. She lagged only a few steps behind, a vision in blue, with the hated paper still crumpled in her hand.

“Say it,” he demanded, pointing to the letter. “Go ahead. Laugh at me for not being able to read. I know you must find it highly amusing.”

He affected a menacing stance, hands on hips and the worst grimace he could conjure up. After a moment, he noticed it had no effect on the girl. She stood very near, looking up with eyes shimmering with tears. To make matters worse, her bottom lip trembled.

Something inside crumbled.

His grimace melted, and he jammed his fists into his pants pockets. Looking away, he pretended to study the spiked leaves of a nearby palmetto.

It took every bit of gumption he had not to take her into his arms and soothe her strife. Instead, he reminded himself that this woman was dangerous. Not only did she know his secret, but she also held the key to a heart he’d locked up for its own protection.

Did he want to end up like his papa? Did he truly believe that seeing those brown eyes look up at him every morning and feeling those lips kiss him every night were worth putting away his traveling shoes and taking up the plow?

For a horrible moment, Theo actually considered the answer to both questions might be yes. Then good sense prevailed, and he shook off the crazy thought with a wave of his hand.

“I said I would stop, and I did. Speak your piece so I can get on home.”

❧

What to say? Cleo bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She waited for something brilliant to come to mind, some word or phrase that would soothe the ruffled feelings of the carpenter. Instead, she could only think of how she might feel in the same circumstances.

“Well now, looks like I’ve done the impossible,” Theophile said. “I’ve silenced the most talkative woman in Latagnier.” He bowed from the waist in an imitation of courtly manners. “I’m so pleased to have been of service.” With that, he turned and stalked away.

“Arête! Do you always run away like a coward?”

Did I just say that out loud?

The carpenter froze. Time seemed suspended. Even the birds ceased their chirping.

Cleo felt the letter crumple as her fingers squeezed her hand into a fist. She hurriedly stuffed the ruined paper into her apron pocket. Telling Uncle Joe she’d snooped and read the contents of his letter was the least of her worries at this point.

Theophile Breaux still stood with his back to her. Cleo carefully picked her way through the narrow path until she reached him. There was no going around him—the width of the path would not allow it—and turning back would brand her as much of a coward as he.

Her heart sank when she saw his shoulders slump.

The carpenter was not a coward. How awful of her to think that, much less make the accusation aloud. Someone who tried so hard to cover up something embarrassing could only be thought of as courageous for making such an effort. That he would leave rather than continue a discussion on his inability to read seemed understandable.

What was wrong with her? She always said or did the wrong thing when she found herself in his presence.

Cleo reached out with a trembling hand to touch his sleeve. “I’m terribly, terribly sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Shouldn’t have what?” Jerking his arm away, he turned to face her. Despite the flash of fire in his eyes, his face appeared calm. “Shouldn’t have told the truth? I suppose to you I am a coward, running away instead of staying here at this cabin and listening to you laugh at me.”

She blinked back tears. “I never laughed at you.”

The carpenter seemed to consider her statement for a moment before looking away. “I’ll have the schoolhouse finished as quick as I can, and then I’ll be gone.” He swung his gaze back to meet hers. “Call it running or just getting away, but I intend to be on the first train out of town after this job is done.”

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away. He’d gone a few yards down the path when he stopped abruptly and faced her once more.

“I’d be obliged if you’d not mention this to anyone. I’ll be gone soon enough.”

Gone. No more visits with the carpenter and no more casual suppers or coffees with her uncle. No more fussing and debating and apologizing for causing him to fall through the roof or step through a rotten porch board. No more teasing. No more pine needles in her hair or close encounters with overlarge cottonmouths.

No more Theophile Breaux.

She looked up into his face and felt her heart skid to a stop. Before she could think better of it, she spoke the words that were on her heart.

“Monsieur Breaux, I don’t want you to leave Latagnier.”

Her statement seemed to take him by surprise as much as it did her. For a second he looked to be fumbling with his words. She, on the other hand, began wishing with all her might that she could reel hers back in.

“I don’t see as how you have a say in the matter,” he finally stated. “Sa te regard pas.”

“Maybe I am making it concern me. What do you think about that?”

Cleo couldn’t believe her own brazenness. Why, if this were any man other than Theophile Breaux, she might consider their exchange to be flirting.

“I try not to think about you at all, Mademoiselle Trahan.”

He said it, but something in his demeanor gave Cleo serious doubts about whether he actually meant it.

Whirling around to make the short walk home, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. No matter what Theophile Breaux thought, he was stuck with her—at least until the schoolhouse was complete.

After that, only le bon Dieu knew for sure.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to see how the renovations are progressing, Monsieur Breaux.”

“Is that a promise or a threat, cher?” came his quick reply.

She stopped and suppressed a smile. “What did you call me?” she asked without turning around.

When he failed to respond, she headed for home. This time she wore a smile.