Ten

Angeline stood beside the shed and watched Mama work at tending her precious bed of flowers. With the little ones taking a Monday morning nap and the others playing quietly, it was the perfect time to have a heart-to-heart talk with the one person in the world besides the Lord who knew her best.

Thankfully Nicolas had left after church yesterday to return to his fishing, and Papa and Ernest were out this morning in the pirogue. For a short while, she and Mama would be left alone to talk.

Grabbing a trowel from the peg on the wall, she strolled toward Mama and dropped down beside her. Mama gave her a smile, then went back to her weeding.

“Something on your mind, Bebe?” she asked without looking up from her task. “Maybe something to do with your intended, Mr. Arceneaux?”

“So Papa told you?”

“Of course he did. You don’t think my Theophile can keep something like this from me, do you?” She paused. “Besides, the mama of the bride’s got to make the plans, eh?”

“Bride,” she said with a groan.

“Maybe you think you the only woman in love who is gonna get married, eh?”

Angeline stuck the trowel in the ground and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not in love, Mama. That’s not the problem.”

Mama stopped her work. “Then maybe you tell me what’s the problem, eh?”

“Men, that’s the problem.” Angeline shook her head. “Why do they all have to think they are the only ones with an opinion? And why is it that when we have an opinion, no one asks us for it?”

“And yet this don’t have nothing to do with love?”

“No, Mama,” she said, “it has to do with Papa.”

Her mother smiled. “Now that’s a subject I know a little about. Why don’t you and me go get a cool drink of water and sit over there in the shade and talk about your papa, eh?”

Angeline stood and helped her mother to her feet. Together they walked in step toward the well. While Angeline poured two dipperfuls of water into tin cups, Mama settled on the bench beneath the magnolia.

“I am forever grateful to your papa and brother for making me this little resting bench,” she said as she accepted the cup from Angeline. “It does a body good to sit a spell when you’re tired, eh?” She shook her head. “But we were talking about your papa. What is it he’s done this time, Bebe?”

“You know what he’s done, Mama.” She took a furious gulp of water. “He’s gone and sold me off to the highest bidder against my will. That’s what he’s done.”

Mama seemed to contemplate the statement a moment. “And you said this had nothing to do with love.”

Angeline fairly jumped off the bench. “It doesn’t! Papa never asked me if I loved Nicolas Arceneaux, and he certainly didn’t ask me if I wanted to marry him.”

“And if he had, what would you have said?” Angeline’s silence must have spoken for her, for Mama began to smile. “You’re just like me, you know? You love a man, and you love him forever. That’s how it is with me and your papa.”

Angeline settled back beside Mama and took her hand. “How did you know, Mama? What told you Papa was the one?”

Mama patted Angeline’s hand. “Not what, Bebe, but Who. God—He told me your papa was the one.”

“Well so far, God’s not the one making decisions around here, is He?” Since Mama looked like she was about to launch into one of her lectures about God always being in control, Angeline pressed forward with her point. “See, Mama, Papa’s making all the decisions. He’s not even bothering to ask me.”

“But do you know whether he’s bothering to ask God? That’s the real question, eh?” Mama sighed. “Do you know why your papa picked Nicolas Arceneaux for you?”

She nodded. “Nicolas told me Papa made a deal with his father, something about furs and other things.”

“That’s only a part of it, Angie.”

“So you admit that Papa traded me like a pile of furs?”

“No, I admit nothing of the sort.” Inside the house, the baby began to fret. Mama stood and stretched her back. “What I’m trying to tell you is that Papa picked Nicolas Arceneaux for a reason, and it has nothing to do with the fact that his papa needed some furs for the winter.”

Mama tossed the remains of her water into the flowerbed and returned the cup to its place at the well. Angeline followed suit, then tagged behind her mother as she trudged toward the steps. “I’ll get her, Mama. You just rest here.”

After the baby had been changed and returned to Mama to nurse, Angeline broached the subject of marriage once more. “Mama, will you tell me why you think Papa sold me off to the Arceneaux family?”

Mama toyed with the baby’s dark hair and looked off into the distance. “The bayou, she is a beautiful thing, eh? For a man or woman of proud Acadian birth, she is our life.” She looked to Angeline for confirmation.

“Oui,” she said.

“And this place, this is our home. We have deep roots here, Bebe. Your papa’s people and mine, they come to settle this place two hundred years ago, eh?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Her mother’s dark eyes flashed anger. “Then why would your papa allow his precious girl to leave her roots and her home? Why lose his bebe when there is a godly man who promises not to take her away?”

“Mama, what are you talking about?”

Mama lifted the baby to her shoulder and began rubbing circles on her little back. “I’m talking about love and marriage, Angie, same as you.”

Angeline leaned against the porch post and tried to make sense of the conversation. Why would Papa think she might leave home if she wasn’t married off to the likes of Nicolas Arceneaux? She never even considered the idea.

But she had considered what it would be like to marry Jefferson Villare, hadn’t she?

“A penny for your thoughts, Angie.”

“You and Papa have nothing to worry about, you know,” she said with a sigh. “There never was anything between Jefferson and me besides a friendship. I thought you believed me.”

With her free hand, Mama lifted Angeline’s chin and offered a smile. “I never did doubt. I know my girl’s a good girl and I know Jefferson; he’s a good boy.” She paused. “But I know love when I see it, and I know Jefferson thinks he’s not meant to stay. Marry up with him, and he’ll take you where you’ll never see home again.”

“Is that what this is about? Papa thinks I’m going to marry Jefferson if he doesn’t find someone else for me?” She pounded her fists on her knees. “Why can’t he just let me be? I promise I’m not going anywhere. You need me here to help, and I don’t care if I ever get married.”

Again Mama shook her head. “That is the anger talking, Bebe. Even if you don’t know you love him, I do and so does your papa. God knows too. You mark my words, though. You stand too close to the fire that young doctor’s got burning inside him, and you gonna get burned.”

A wail went up from inside the house. It was the twins, crying in unison. “Mama,” one said. “Make Amalie wake up,” the other finished.

“Oh, I hope that precious child’s not sick again. I thought we had her well.”

Angeline placed a hand on Mama’s shoulder. “See, you need me here. I’ll handle this. Likely as not, Amalie’s playing possum so she doesn’t have to help Mathilde take care of the babies.”

But when she found her sister lying on the settee, she knew Amalie was not playing possum. The little girl was burning up with fever.

“Mama, come here, please!” Angeline shouted. “Something’s wrong with Amalie.”

Mama handed the baby to Angeline and knelt beside Amalie. “Oh, Bebe, I’m gonna pray this isn’t what I think it is.” She looked up at Angeline. “Put the baby in her bed, and go fetch the doctor. I don’t think we can get her to the office without Papa or the boys here. You tell him this is urgent, you hear, eh?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Angeline found her way to the old pirogue Papa kept around for the children and began to paddle furiously toward town. By the time she reached the docks, her fingers were raw and her back was soaked with sweat. Tying up the boat despite the pain in her hands, she set off toward Doc Broussard’s office only to find a note on the door stating that he was out seeing patients. The message referred all emergencies to Jefferson Villare.

Angeline knew all too well how to find Jefferson’s home, and she returned to her pirogue to trace the winding path of the bayou until it reached the Villare place. In her mind, she’d always thought of the big house as a mansion. When Papa would read the verse in the Bible about God’s house having many mansions, she always pictured Jefferson’s house. Funny how her age had changed, but her perspective had remained the same.

Even now as she trudged toward the big double front doors and the wide porch filled with white rocking chairs, she felt like the teenager she’d been the last time she walked across the threshold. She’d often wondered if their last day together, the day Doc Villare had come home to find his son and the poor Acadian girl alone in the big house, had really changed the course of two lives, or whether it just seemed that way looking back.

The moment had been as innocent as they were, just two friends sharing Mrs. Mike’s peach pie across the kitchen table. As far as they knew, Mrs. Mike was somewhere in the house rather than out running errands for the afternoon. Angeline had never contemplated what Doc Villare accused them of doing—at least not seriously. The end result was the same. Two reputations tarnished and a pair of good friends separated.

As long as she lived, she would always wonder whether what happened that afternoon was part of God’s plan or Satan’s.