Seven

The Breaux fellow had landed intact, it seemed, and unharmed and currently sat upright atop her grandmother’s ancient feather bed. Pieces of shingles and lumber littered the bare mattress and spilled onto the old wood floor.

Covered in dust, the carpenter’s dark curly hair resembled the powdered wigs she’d seen in history books. His dark clothing appeared as white as an angel’s robes.

This man, she reminded herself, was no angel. She gave him a long look.

While he appeared unharmed, he held his eyes shut tight, his head slightly bowed. He seemed as if he were caught in prayer rather than as the lone survivor of a recent fall through the roof.

Cleo inched nearer, sidestepping the debris to stand at the end of the iron bed. The ornate metal felt cold beneath her fingers.

“Monsieur Breaux?”

He neither spoke nor moved. If she could move closer, she might be able to see if he still breathed.

“Sir? Are you harmed?”

Silence. Gripping the cold metal of the bed, she leaned a notch forward to nudge his oversized booted foot. Nothing.

Cleo’s heart sunk, and tears stung her eyes. She’d really done it this time.

As a young girl, she watched a baby bird fall from its nest and land, seemingly unharmed, outside the parlor window. When she rushed to its aid, she found the tiny creature sitting as if it hadn’t a care in the world. Only when she picked it up to return it to its nest did she realize the precious baby sparrow was dead.

Theophile Breaux could have suffered the same fate. She suppressed a groan. Why hadn’t she gone straight home?

If the carpenter did not survive the fall, it would be her fault. After all, if she hadn’t allowed her curiosity to get the better of her, she would have gone straight home and not stopped at the cabin. Had she not stopped, she and the carpenter wouldn’t have exchanged words, and he wouldn’t have fallen through the roof.

It all seemed so. . .preventable. If only she could tame her persistent curiosity.

What a can of worms she’d opened by asking the Lord to help take care of the problem. First the giant snake and now this. While she fully expected to bear the cost of her improvement, she never expected someone else might be hurt along the way.

Cleo moved to the side of the bed, kicking a rather large piece of the roof out of her way. Slowly, she knelt, then peered up at the Breaux fellow’s face. Traces of blood glistened from a tiny cut just beneath the fringe of dark lashes on his right eye, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

“If you can hear me, sir, please say something.” Still no sign of life.

Taking a deep breath, she bowed her head and began to pray. “Father, I really did it this time. I killed a man, or at least I hurt him badly. Lord, he didn’t deserve this. He was helping us to build a school and doing a good work so the children could learn and, well, You know my part in things. I probably don’t have the right to ask but—”

The mattress shuddered slightly. She paused to open her eyes and stare up at the carpenter once more. Still no sign that either Theophile Breaux or the Lord had heard her prayers.

Dropping her chin again, she continued her plea. “If You are listening, please forgive me and heal Monsieur Breaux. He might be a bit cranky, but he is one of Your children and should have a long and happy life instead of having it end just because I fooled around and got in the way. I’m the one who should pay the price for my curious nature, not he.”

“Amen!”

The carpenter’s chuckle seemed to shake the very floor Cleo knelt on. She jumped and nearly fell backward. As she caught herself with her elbows, she looked up to see the smiling face of Theophile Breaux.

“Well, of all the nerve.” Cleo scrambled to her feet, her heart racing, and shook off as much of the dust as her trembling hands would allow.

“I’m sorry, but I am still very much alive.” He dabbed gingerly at the cut beneath his eye. “Although I must say, if ever I need someone to write my eulogy, it will be you.”

Realization dawned, and her eyes narrowed. “You were fine all along.”

He shrugged and, for a moment, had the decency to look almost contrite. “I’m afraid so. Other than a little dust in my mouth and a few bruises in places I can’t show you, I think I’ll live. You look disappointed.”

She opened her mouth to speak but coughed on some of that very same dust herself. When she recovered, she found the words had gone. All she could do was stand and stare at the spectacle before her.

The most irritating man on the planet had just made a total and complete fool of her. Worse, she had helped him to do it by being so. . .what? Naive? Maybe. Nosey. She groaned. Yes.

Still, he should have been a gentleman and spoken up before she bared her heart before the Lord. Even a heathen would have done that, and she knew Theophile Breaux to be a churchgoing man. Why, his granddaddy had been a preacher and his mama a preacher’s daughter.

Oh, how he seemed to be enjoying her discomfort. He’d twisted that mouth of his into a grin that would have made him awfully handsome had he not been behaving just plain awful.

“I’m just sorry I had to go and laugh so soon.” He shifted positions, and the old mattress creaked in protest. “I could have listened to your prayers all day.”

“Heathen.” There, she said it.

“Makes a man feel appreciated when a woman praises him to the Lord like that.” He punctuated the statement with a wink. “I had no idea you held me in such high regard. You keep your secrets well, little girl.”

How dare the man actually pull such a prank at her expense? She climbed to her feet and kicked a shingle out of her way. “You, sir, are the most despicable, dastardly man I have ever met. I do not care to linger in your presence.”

He swung his long legs over the side and shook his head. Fine particles of debris rained down around him, dancing in the sunlight as they swirled and landed. “My, how your tone has changed. Am I a better man in death than in life, Mademoiselle Trahan? If so, I’d gladly die to hear you sing my praises again.”

Hands on her hips, she fought her rising temper. “If I weren’t a lady, Monsieur Breaux, why, I just might answer that question.”

Leaning his elbows on his knees, the carpenter rested his head in his hands. “Seeing as how I’ve got a roof to repair, why don’t we just skip the part about you being a lady and get right to it? Speak your mind. Answer the question. How do you feel about me? Tell me.”

Oh, how she wanted to. She opened her mouth and tried. Unfortunately, all of Tante Flo’s words about proper behavior came flooding back at once. The only thing she could do was turn and walk away.

“It’s been a real joy, Mademoiselle Trahan.” The mattress creaked once more. “Do come and see me again soon, eh?”

She paused in the doorway to turn and face him. To her surprise, he stood mere inches away, looming over her with a broad grin.

“Change your mind about running off?”

She tilted her head to stare into his eyes. “It was the schoolhouse I came to see, sir, not you, so don’t flatter yourself by thinking otherwise.”

This time when she made the decision to turn and flee, she did not look back or pause. Pressing past the shadows, she emerged into the bright sunshine of the porch without slowing down to allow her eyes to adjust. In the process, she ran into the porch post. A sharp jab of pain radiated up from her elbow, but thankfully, the Breaux fellow hadn’t emerged from the cabin to see her near humiliation.

“You’ll be back,” he called from near the door. “You’ve already proven that you can’t stay away from me.”

“Humph,” was the most proper answer she dared give as she stormed across the porch, heedless of the delicate condition of the boards. “Just see how I can stay away. I won’t miss you a bit, that’s for sure.”

“Oh yes, you will,” he called. “You’ll miss me so bad you won’t be able to stand it.”

“If I do, I’ll go visit the neighbor’s donkey.”

Oh, she’d have to apologize to the Lord for that comment. And maybe to the carpenter, as well.

Never.

Head held high, she forced herself not to pick up her skirts and run. His laughter chased her across the clearing.

As she stepped into the thicket, she took one last quick look over her shoulder. There stood Theophile Breaux on the porch, covered in dust and leaning against the rail with something brown hanging from the crook of his arm.

He raised a hand to wave, shaking the object as he stepped toward the edge of the porch. She ignored him and picked up her pace.

Cleo had almost reached home when she realized what the carpenter held. Her egg basket.

❧

Theo watched the Trahan woman storm off and tried to muster up some measure of irritation. After all, she’d practically caused him to kill himself and ruined three days of backbreaking work in the process.

Somehow as the swirl of yellow skirts disappeared into the thicket, he knew that trying to work up anger at Clothilde Trahan was a wasted effort. She still vexed him greatly, but the thought of making her so mad that he never saw her again didn’t set well.

He placed the egg basket on the porch rail and stared at it. The new copy of Godey’s Ladies Book it held was probably meant for Flo. He’d seen her reading a dog-eared copy just the day before yesterday and thought to buy her a new one the next time he went to town. The penny candy had to belong to Joe. As long as he’d known the man, Joe Trahan had always had a sweet of some sort in his pocket.

Returning these items along with the basket would be the neighborly thing to do. Making Clothilde Trahan eat her words and come back for the thing, however, would be the more satisfying choice.

Knowing better than to make the decision in his current state of mind, Theo left the basket on the rail and stepped off the porch, limping slowly toward the ladder. He might be a few years shy of thirty, but his bones were going to think he’d hit the century mark by bedtime.

As he hefted the ladder back into place and reached for his hammer, he felt his muscles complain. Surely he’d go home with bruises he hadn’t come to work with. Those things happened in his line of work but rarely due to female intervention.

Again, he chuckled. The Trahan girl had left her mark and not just in the toll on his body. His mind protested, as well.

He picked up his hammer and hefted the bag of nails onto his shoulder, then reached for the nearest rung on the ladder. The bruises would heal. Thoughts of Clothilde Trahan, however, promised to stay with him much longer.