Thirteen

Jefferson lay atop the sheets and stared at the ceiling in his childhood room. A painting of the constellations fanned out from the four corners of the light fixture, a fanciful feature courtesy of his mother.

She’d been the artist in the family, a woman with a creative flair and a bent for the whimsical. Losing her had meant losing nearly everything.

Everything except Pop and his best friend, Angeline.

Now Pop was gone to spend eternity with Mom. That left only Angeline.

He rolled to his side and stared at the train ticket on the nightstand. Torn in half, part of it lay atop a stack of his favorite books, while the rest sat teetering on the edge. Blowing a hard breath sent the ticket flying, and he watched it sail across the beams of light filtering through the shutters on the western-facing side of the house. It landed at the feet of his old rocking horse, a relic of a childhood he barely remembered.

“Tomorrow I’ll have to let the landlady know I won’t be arriving as planned,” he said to the old horse. “Wonder what she’ll make of that.”

He shifted back into his original position, cradling his hands behind his head. “I wonder what I should make of that, Lord.”

Why do you have to make anything of it? Stop trying to figure everything out and rest in Me.

“Rest?” Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Who could ever get any rest here?”

You could, if you would stop trying so hard.

Outside, the strains of the evening were coming alive, a familiar combination of crickets, night birds, and the occasional barking dog. Soon the sun would set, and the night would settle around the old house.

Mrs. Mike had left enough food for four grown men wrapped up in the kitchen, and he’d promised her he would try and eat something before bed. In a few minutes, after a bit more rest, he would get up, go downstairs, and make an attempt.

But for now, moving seemed out of the question. His old bed, with the feather mattress that seemed to mold to his form, refused to let him go.

He gave in to its embrace and thought once more of how it felt to spend time with Angeline Breaux. Yes, those moments were every bit as comfortable as this feather bed, this familiar room, this old house. Perhaps that’s why he’d chosen to delay his departure.

Jeff allowed himself to believe that, all the time knowing if he dared, he would realize a deeper, more permanent reason for spending time with Angeline. Unfortunately, the Lord hadn’t yet told him how he could have the one he’d always loved and the career he was called to. Until He did, Jeff was stuck waiting.

“Excuse me,” he said to the ceiling. “I’m not waiting, I’m resting.”

No, you’re not, but you could be. Stop trying to control things and turn it over to Me. You can have all that you want and more, but you’ve got to stop trying to make things happen by planning your whole life at once.

“But, Lord, You say in Your Word that we fail for lack of planning. What about that?”

I also say that a man plans his steps, but the Lord knows the direction he will go.

“All right, Lord. You win.”

I always do, My Son. Now rest.

With a sigh, Jeff closed his eyes and, for the first time in days, slept soundly, even though it was hours before bedtime.

❧

Mama put a hand on Angeline’s shoulder. “Angeline, go on in the house and see to your sisters. Let me handle the menfolk, eh?” She rose and waved toward the trio now crossing the lawn. “And tell your papa I’d like to have a word with him, would you?”

“Of course, Mama,” she said as she walked inside. She met Papa and conveyed the message, scooting out of his way before he could ask any more questions.

She stepped into the bedroom and closed the door partway behind her. If anyone went looking for her, they would have to come into the room to find her, but if anything interesting was said—or if anyone called her name—she would hear.

Both her sisters slept soundly, leaving Angeline with nothing to do but tidy up the small space. Exhausting all the possibilities for cleaning within minutes, Angeline sat on the edge of Amalie’s bed and began to pray as she stroked the little girl’s dark curls.

Father, You are in control, and I know that. Heal these sisters of mine, and keep whatever is ailing them from spreading to the others, especially to Mama, who needs to take care of herself and the baby coming in a few months.

As to the situation going on outside right now, I ask that You step in and do something to show what You want done. Keep Papa mindful of the fact that You have the last say on everything, and please, let Your will—not Papa’s will—be done in the matter of choosing a husband for me.

She almost added something about Jefferson but thought better of it. If the Creator of the universe didn’t know what was best for her, no one did.

Still, she hoped He wouldn’t make the same choice Papa had made for her.

“I’ve made my choice and that’s that.” Papa’s voice echoed in the small room, causing Amalie to stir.

“Angie, what’s wrong?” she murmured.

“Hush now, Little Sister,” Angeline said as she smoothed Amalie’s damp brow. “That’s just Papa, and he’s all fired up about something.”

About me, I’m sure.

“Angie?” This time Mathilde spoke. “Is that handsome fisherman here again?”

Angeline looked up, startled. “Yes, actually he is, along with the preacher.”

Mathilde smiled. “He’s quite handsome.”

“You mentioned that, Matty,” she said as she rose and reached to straighten the bedcovers Mathilde had tangled. “Now get some sleep.”

“I will,” she whispered. “Maybe I’ll dream about fishing. Or maybe I’ll just dream about stealing your Nicolas for myself.”

“Now, that’s one dream I would share with you.”

Angeline chuckled. Even in the middle of her illness, Mathilde was thinking of men. Poor foolish girl with her silly imaginings. She wouldn’t be so fast to fall in love if she knew what a mess of trouble it could bring.

Actually, Papa’s threat of sending her to the nunnery was starting to look better than the alternative. Even if Jefferson was interested in something more than a fleeting romance, and there was no evidence he was, she would have to defy Papa and leave Mama, the babies, and the bayou to follow him. Could she do that?

“I just don’t know,” she said softly.

The alternative was to be the dutiful daughter and follow her papa’s wishes to marry Nicolas Arceneaux. She would stay among family, for sure, and Mama would never want for her help.

“But I don’t love him.”

“I know you don’t, Bebe. That’s why you’re going to do just what I say.”

Angeline jumped and whirled around to stare at the doorway. Mama stood just outside the room.

“How are my girls?” she asked as she peered around the doorframe for a better look at Mathilde and Amalie.

“Resting comfortably,” Angeline said. “Matty feels a little warm, but Amalie seems to be doing well. I don’t think either of them is hungry, but Jefferson says they need to keep up their strength. At least both are drinking their water.” She picked up the two empty water glasses from the nightstand and walked toward the door. “Maybe I ought to fix them bowls of chicken broth. We still have some of that chicken stock left over, don’t we? I could go do that right now.”

“Angie, you’re a natural born nurse if I ever did see one,” Mama said.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Angeline replied as she left the room and closed the door behind her. “Now what did you mean when you first came to the door? You said something about my doing exactly what you said.”

Mama placed her finger to her lips to silence Angeline. Motioning to the back door, she turned and headed that way. Angeline followed, still holding the water glasses.

“Go put those in the summer kitchen and wash your hands. I’ll wait right here,” Mama said as she stood on the back steps.

When Angeline returned, the faint sound of male voices told her that the men were still there.

“Mama, what is Papa doing with Nicolas and the pastor?”

Rather than answer, Mama headed down the narrow path that led through the thicket and ended at the banks of the Bayou Nouvelle. With every step, Angeline’s worries increased. The combination of Nicolas, Papa, and Reverend Dautrive could only mean one thing.

A wedding was afoot.

Her wedding.

Keeping silent was nearly impossible, so she shouted her thoughts to the Lord in prayer. Please hear me, Father! Please don’t let them do this to me. I don’t love this man.

A quietness settled in her heart as she heard the gentle response. I know, My child. But now you must wait on Me.

Angeline halted her pace to stare up into the canopy of trees and the blue sky beyond. A single cloud, wispy like pulled cotton, teased the edges of the trees and floated slowly on the breeze.

“Then do something,” she whispered.

Mama cast a glance over her shoulder. “What’s that, Bebe? Something wrong, and you can’t walk no more?”

“No, Mama,” she answered as she fell back into step behind her mother. “I can walk just fine.”

It’s the waiting I’m having trouble with.

Finally Mama stopped at the edge of the bayou and settled down on a grassy spot in the shade. “Sit here, Bebe,” she said as she patted the place next to her. “You and me, we got some talking to do.”

Dread formed in her chest, and she knew the thing she feared most would soon happen. Strange, but she knew. “It’s about Papa and Nicolas, isn’t it?”

Mama nodded. “The wedding, they’ve started planning it.”

Everything inside her crumpled. Where was God? How could He allow this to happen? Couldn’t He see she did not love Nicolas Arceneaux?

“Oh, Mama, how can I stop this?” she cried. “I just can’t marry Nicolas. I can’t. I don’t love him. I’ll never love him.”

“Hush, now, Angeline. This crying and worrying won’t change a thing. You know you can’t stop this and neither can I.” She lifted Angeline’s chin and looked into her eyes. “But God can.”

“Yes, Mama, He can.” She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes to push away the tears. “But will He?”

Mama leaned back and looked up into the sky. “I pray He will, Bebe. But until He does, you and me, we’ve got to do some things.”

Angeline sniffed. “What kind of things?”

“Now I want you to listen to everything I’ve got to say before you talk, you hear?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“All right, the first thing you and me have to do is start planning this wedding of yours.” She held up a hand to stop Angeline’s protest. “Now I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t want no wedding, eh?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, just because you don’t want a wedding, that doesn’t mean there won’t be one. Do you understand?” When Angeline nodded, Mama continued. “We can go about this thing in two ways. The first way is to do what you’re doing right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can go kicking and screaming all the way to the altar with your papa following right behind you holding his big old shotgun and the whole town watching. Is that what you want, eh?”

An image rose in her mind. She could see the interior of the little church where the Breaux family had worshiped for three generations. In every row of seats were friends, family members, and townspeople, all dressed in their Sunday best to attend a wedding.

White bunting had been tied to the ends of the old cypress pews, and big white ribbons decorated the edges of the pastor’s lectern. Her groom, dressed in a suit of dark color, awaited her arrival with his head bowed, as did Reverend Dautrive.

Such a beautiful picture it was, and then she and Papa emerged from the back of the church, and a gasp went up from the crowd. At her side, Papa stood. At his side stood the big shotgun.

The crowd began to laugh. Worse, so did the pastor and her groom.

Angeline dissolved the image with a shake of her head. “Oh, Mama, that would be awful.”

“It would indeed.” She offered a wry smile and batted at a mosquito buzzing around her bare arm. “Now, if you’ll listen to your mama, there just might be a better way of going about this.”

Hope dawned inside Angeline, and she sent it skyward with another prayer. Her mother was wise, especially in the way of love and marriage. Surely she could give her some way out of this mess.

“What do you have in mind, Mama?”

“Well, what I have in mind is this.” She grinned and clapped her hands together in excitement. “You and me, we’re gonna plan a wedding, eh?”