Eighteen

Nine days later, Amalie went home in Jefferson’s motorcar with Angeline huddled next to her. She’d barely left the little girl’s side, leaving the hospital only to accompany Mrs. Mike back to the Villare house for a hot meal and a change of clothes.

Jeff continued his habit of stopping by to check on Amalie, but he never took Angeline to the park for another picnic. When Mrs. Mike started coming by in the evenings, she saw even less of Jefferson.

It was as if their evening in the park had been a good-bye dinner between friends. Everything else seemed to take place between strangers.

The third day of Amalie’s stay, Mama declared the wedding must be postponed. She could not plan a marriage ceremony for one of her girls while another of them was ill, and Reverend Dautrive agreed. Eventually Mama convinced Papa, and the date of the nuptials was erased from the church calendar. The date would be rescheduled soon, Mama promised. In the meantime, all her efforts had to go toward restoring Amalie to perfect health.

Angeline smiled as she recalled the conversation, remembering the twinkle in Mama’s eyes when she spoke to Papa. Poor Papa never knew what hit him when Mama went to work on changing his mind. He always thought it was his idea, and Mama always let him.

Yes, her mother was a wise woman.

Thankfully, Angeline was spared having to speak to Nicolas during this time, although Mathilde gleefully informed her that her groom-to-be had taken the news of the postponement in stride. He hadn’t said much, according to her sister, but rather listened to Mama’s explanation without expression.

The car pulled to a halt in front of the house, and Jefferson got out to fetch Amalie inside.

“I don’t want to take a nap,” Amalie said as Jefferson placed her on her bed and pulled the covers over her legs.

“What if I promise to tell you a new story about T-Boy once you take a short nap?” Angeline said. “How would that be?”

When Amalie began to argue, Angeline held up her hand. “I’m not going to change my mind. Do you want me to call Mama or Mathilde in here?”

“No,” she said as she stuck out her lip to pout.

“Then to sleep with you. Besides, I need some time to think of a new story. You wouldn’t want me to tell just any old tale, would you?”

“No,” Amalie whispered as she settled her head on the pillows. “Can we still go swimming?”

“No swimming, Little One,” Jefferson said, “but what if I come see you in a few days and take you fishing? How would that be?”

“Fishing? Oh, I suppose so.”

“Good, then mind your sister and get some rest.”

“But I’m not tired,” she said as she pulled the blanket up to her chin. Exhausted from the trip, however, Amalie easily slipped into slumber within minutes.

Jefferson took one last reading of the sleeping girl’s vitals, wrote them on his tablet, and then rose. Angeline followed him outside, listening while he fended off Mama’s questions.

“I’m sure she’s perfectly fine,” he said for the second time. “She’s a little weak from all she’s been through, but she’s definitely on the mend.”

“And I won’t catch nothing from her now?”

“You’ll be fine,” he called as Mama brushed past him to disappear into the room where Amalie slept.

“That’s probably the last we’ll see of her tonight,” Angeline said. “Papa says she’s driven herself to distraction worrying about Amalie and not being able to take care of her.”

“What’s that you say about your papa?”

Angeline looked up to see her father standing in the door. “I was just telling Jefferson how Mama’s missed being able to take care of Amalie.”

Rather than comment, Papa crossed the room to stand toe-to-toe with Jefferson. “I heard tell down at the post office that you’re leaving tomorrow on the morning train.”

The statement hit Angeline square in the heart. Jefferson had said nothing about leaving tomorrow. While she’d kept quiet about the postponement of her wedding, she’d secretly hoped that he knew and would soon step in to declare his feelings.

What she would do if he did, she hadn’t decided. After all, there was the not-so-small matter of Papa and Nicolas Arceneaux.

“What’s the matter, Boy? Cat got your tongue?”

“No, Sir.” Jefferson squared his shoulders and stared down at Papa. “Actually, that’s old news.”

“Is it now?” Papa crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Then why don’t you just give us the latest report?”

“Actually, I’ve been so busy helping Doc, what with the influenza outbreak, that I secured permission for another month’s vacation.” He locked gazes with Angeline. “I leave for my research position in New York on June tenth.”

June 10. The day will be here before we know it, Lord. Work fast, please.

Papa took a step back, a stricken expression on his face. “I reckon I ought to thank you for what you did for my little girl. You saved her life, and for that, her mama and me will always be in your debt.”

“Actually, it was Angeline who saved her life.”

Papa whirled around to face her. “What?”

“She’s quite the nurse, Mr. Breaux.” He smiled in her direction. “If she hadn’t kept the chest percussion up, your daughter would never have withstood the fever when it spiked. I just happened to show up at the right time with the car.”

Papa looked at her with admiration she did not feel she deserved. “But I fell asleep,” she said. “She almost died because of me.”

“That’s not true, Angeline,” Jefferson replied. “Because of the treatments you gave her during the night, her lungs were almost clear at the time the fever hit her the hardest. One condition had nothing to do with the other. There was nothing you could have done, even if you had been awake.”

Relief washed over her. “Really?”

“Really.”

That one word held more comfort than Angeline thought possible. All this time, she had worried that her lapse in nursing skills, and the weak moment when she closed her eyes, had nearly cost her sister her life.

“Theo, come see your baby girl,” Mama called. “She’s awake and asking for her daddy.”

Papa stuck his hand out and shook Jefferson’s. “I still want to thank you for what you did.”

“It was my privilege, Sir,” Jefferson said.

Angeline watched as the two men who mattered most in her life embraced. Only God could have brought together these most unlikely of allies.

“You’re welcome back here anytime, Villare,” Papa said in an unsteady voice as he hurried toward the back bedroom. “There’s my little girl,” Angeline heard him call as he disappeared inside and closed the door.

“I’ll walk you out,” Angeline said.

Together they strolled toward the motorcar. “How long before she’s completely well?” she asked when they reached the vehicle.

Jefferson tossed his medical bag on the seat and turned to face her. “Could be days, could be weeks. It’s in God’s hands now.”

“But she’s going to be fine, right?”

He nodded. “Of course she is. She’s got the best nurse around.” Pausing, he leaned against the car door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Still, I may have to come and supervise her care. Just to be sure.”

“I would welcome that, Dr. Villare.”

What was wrong with her? She was practically married off to Nicolas Arceneaux, and yet here she stood out in broad daylight, flirting like a schoolgirl with Jefferson Villare.

She should stop this nonsense right now; stop believing that God just might make a way for her to have a future with the young doctor instead of the fisherman. If God put the dream in her heart, surely He would make it come true.

“Maybe we can go fishing while I’m here. We haven’t done that in a long time. If Amalie’s up to it, she can come along.”

The statement took her aback. Fishing with Jefferson sounded fine, indeed.

Angeline met his gaze and smiled. “I would like that very much, and I know my sister would too.” When he left, the smile remained.

❧

“Who’s ready for some fishing?”

Jefferson burst through the door with a smile on his face and a collection of cane poles in his hand. “What’s the matter? Am I early?”

Amalie giggled and raced for the door. “Let’s go, Angie,” she called as she ran past Jefferson to head outside.

He’d worn his fishing clothes this time instead of his usual dapper suit. Funny, how the casual trousers and shirt put her in mind of the young man he had been rather than the grown man he was.

“I see she’s recovering nicely,” Jefferson said. “No more symptoms?”

“None. That’s four days with no fever or cough.” She smiled and picked up the basket holding the lunch Mama had packed for them. “And as you can see, her strength has returned.”

Jefferson turned to look over his shoulder at the little girl now skipping in circles on the front lawn. “I see that,” he said. “In fact, I’m wondering if they gave her too much good care over at the hospital. Maybe you should complain.”

Angeline laughed and followed him out the door. As they walked toward the bayou, Amalie lit out ahead of them. By the time they reached a good spot for fishing, she had doubled back and stood in their path.

“You’re slow,” she said. “Come on!”

Looping the handle of the basket over a low-hanging cypress limb, Angeline settled in a shady spot beside the bayou and watched as Amalie danced in circles. “See, Angie, I’m a princess. A beautiful dancing princess.”

“Yes indeed, you are,” Angeline said. “But if you’re not careful, you’ll tire yourself out, and we’ll have to go home.”

She stopped twirling to put her hands on her hips. “Before I swim?”

Jefferson shook his head. “No swimming today, Young Lady. That would definitely be against doctor’s orders.”

Amalie frowned and sank down next to Angeline. “But I wanted to go swimming.”

“Hush,” she said. “Today you’re going to fish instead.”

“But fishing’s no fun.”

Jefferson leaned close. “That’s what I thought too until I learned to like it. After that, I always caught the biggest fish.”

Angeline laughed. “You did not. In fact, if I remember right, you could barely sit still long enough to catch any fish at all. Generally our fishing competition ended up being a kick-the-water contest instead.”

“That sounds like fun,” Amalie said. “How do you play kick-the-water, Dr. Jefferson?”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Angeline said. “Don’t show her, Jefferson. She’s just looking for an excuse to get wet.”

She caught the twinkle in his eyes before he spoke. “Sounds like the voice of experience.” He reached for the smallest cane pole and settled down beside Amalie. “Now, watch this.” He reached into the fishing creel, pulled out a small tin, and retrieved a red wiggler. Spearing it like a pro, he handed the pole to Amalie. “Now keep your worm in the water and see if the fish are hungry.”

“All right,” Amalie said as she wrapped her little hands around the end of the pole.

Jefferson nudged Angeline. “Want me to bait one for you?”

“I’ll just watch for now,” she said.

A few minutes later, the little girl had tired of the activity, leaving Jefferson to take over her pole. While Amalie chased a butterfly, Angeline chased memories.

❧

How many times had the two of them made the trip down to the bayou, promising to bring home fish for dinner but returning with nothing but soggy clothing and an afternoon wasted on fun?

Oh, but those were the days.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Jefferson said.

For a moment, she considered not answering him, then she thought better of it. “I was just thinking about how much fun we used to have here.” She paused. “Before life made grown-ups of us.”

“I think about that a lot.” He stuck the end of the cane pole in the soft ground and leaned back on his elbows. “Thinking about you is what got me through the first year away from home.”

His statement took her by surprise. Rather than respond, she tried to hide her feelings by pretending to study the dark water of the bayou as it flowed past.

“Did you ever think about me, Angeline?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him roll over on his side to face her, cradling his head in his hand. “I mean, did you miss me at all?”

“Miss you?” Angeline shook her head. “That’s all I did,” she whispered. “I missed you until I thought I would never get over it.”

“Did you?” He paused. “Get over it, I mean?”

“No.” Angeline met his gaze. “Every day I expected I would look up from my chores and there you would be, standing on the other side of the bayou, looking like you’d never left.”

“And then one day, I was.”

She nodded.

“But I was too late.”

The truth of that statement stung. Had he arrived even a week before, maybe Papa wouldn’t have made plans to marry her off to Nicolas Arceneaux.

No, she couldn’t be sure of that. Jefferson’s return to Bayou Nouvelle could have given Papa enough reason to marry her off, no matter when it happened.

“I don’t think you were too late, Jefferson,” she said slowly. “I prefer to think that God just had other plans for us.”

“Is that what you think?”

His dark eyes bore into her soul and she longed to tell him how she really felt, how she would leave the bayou with him tomorrow if God would only release her to do that. Instead, she held her peace and said, “Yes, it is.”

“Are you set on marrying this Arceneaux fellow, then? Do you think that’s what God plans for you to do?”

“I think that’s what Papa plans for me to do,” she said, allowing him to gather what he would from her statement. There was no sense in revealing the details of the humiliating barter deal she’d been a part of. What good would come of him knowing she’d been traded like a pile of furs to the fisherman?

Jefferson leaned toward her. “Do you love him?”

Again, the truth served no purpose, so she decided to say nothing.

Abruptly Jefferson climbed to his feet and reached for her hand. Angeline allowed him to pull her up into a standing position.

“Answer me this, and I will never ask again,” he said as he held her hand against his chest. “Is it Arceneaux you love, or could it be me?”