Cajun Persuasion

by Sandra Hill

  Fleur found out from Lily Beth, as she was passing, that Sister Mary Michael and Ed were returning the bus and the rental vehicle this morning. They should be back soon with a friend of Ed’s.

  In the last cottage, there was a young girl sitting on a glider on the front porch. She was older than the others. Probably closer to seventeen. Her pale blonde hair framed a delicate face that would have been pretty if it weren’t for the hardness of her blue eyes and a scar which caused one side of her mouth to lift slightly.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you?” Fleur asked.

  The girl shrugged.

  Fleur just sat and they rocked forward and backward for several minutes. It was pleasant this time of day, sunny but not too warm yet. And the surroundings were beautiful. Not that this wounded bird would care about any of that. Not yet.

  “My name is Fleur Gaudet,” she said.

  At first the girl said nothing. But then, she reluctantly told her. “Annette Tyler. From Louisville, Kentucky.”

  They rocked some more in silence.

  But then, Fleur sighed and began to disclose her story. “I was fourteen years old when I was kidnapped by Miguel Vascone from a bus station in New Orleans. My best friend Frannie was taken with me. She died a month later. But me . . . me, I died slowly over the next six years in one brothel after another in Mexico and other places.”

  The girl turned slowly to look at her. “Six years?”

  Fleur nodded.

  “Three years for me,” the girl whispered. Then, “My friends used to call me Annie.”

  “Well, Annie, I can only say that things will get better. I know, hard to believe now, but they will. I’m proof of that.”

  There were tears in the girl’s eyes now, and hope.

  This is what I am meant to do, Fleur recognized, and began to relate the story of her rescue and the long years of healing. When she was done, both of them were weeping. Fleur took her hand and led her down to the cottage where Mel was still working. She told the older lady, “Annie would like to talk to you about her grandmother who might be willing to take her in.”

  To Fleur’s surprise, Annie turned abruptly and hugged her tightly. “Thank you. You are an angel.”

  Hardly, Fleur thought, but she was pleased as she turned to walk away. That was when she saw Aaron walking toward her.

  He was fully dressed in jeans, a Swamp Rats band T-shirt, and his usual cowboy boots. His face, white and bloodless, caused her to freeze and gasp.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “They’ve taken Samantha into surgery. I’m leaving now for the hospital.”

  “Oh, Aaron!” she said, stepping into his arms and hugging him. “What can I do?”

  “Pray.”

  Oh, baby! . . .

  Aaron arrived at the hospital in record time. An attendant was waiting for him by the emergency room door and escorted him up a private elevator to the surgical wing. That was ominous.

  “Have the babies been born yet?” Aaron asked urgently.

  “Nah. I think they’re waiting for you.”

  They who? “What? No way!”

  But they were, the whole surgical team, and some were not too happy about the delay. They would only do this as a favor to a fellow doctor. “Can we get this show on the road now, Doctor LeDeux?” a man in full surgical scrubs asked sarcastically of Dan, who was also suited up in blue doctor attire, complete with cap and mouth mask and paper boot thingees over his shoes.

  “Hurry!” Dan urged Aaron, after tugging down the mask to speak. “Nurse, can you help him scrub up and get him in here pronto?”

  “Are you crazy? I can’t go in there,” he told Dan. “I mean, I’m here for you, bro, but you don’t really want me seeing your wife’s coochie parts.”

  Dan laughed. “You won’t be seeing her coochie parts. This is a C-section. All you’ll be seeing is her belly when they slit it open.”

  “Oh, that’s better.”

  “I need you,” Dan said. And that was all he needed to say.

  The nurse scrubbed his hands and arms practically raw before suiting him up like a blue space man, then led him into the icy cold surgery room where Samantha was laid out, surrounded by a group of doctors and nurses, including Dan, who was leaning over talking to her at the head of the table. Machines hummed and tubes connected her to various monitors.

  “She’s awake?” he asked the closest nurse.

  Dan nodded. “She’s had a Duramorph spinal, but we need her awake during the birth.”

  “Oh, boy!” he said and moved up to stand beside his brother.

  “Hello, Aaron,” Samantha said through a voice which was surprisingly calm. Her head was covered by what looked like a shower cap, leaving only her face exposed. And, man, were the freckles standing out on her white skin today! Had she already lost a lot of blood or was this how she always looked without make-up? As if any of that mattered! Dan was looking at her like she was the most beautiful woman alive.

  But then, they bared Samantha’s huge belly, which seemed to be rippling with activity. And Holy Crawfish! Talk about freckles! And big ones, too! Some of them were the size of dimes. Probably because of her expanded skin, he decided with hysterical irrelevance.

  After swiping her belly with some kind of disinfectant, the surgeon immediately made a slit across the bulge (Whoa! How about a little warning, doc?), raising a strip of red which got wider and gushier as the cut was spread. Aaron heard an oomphy sound beside him and watched with horror as Dan slid to the floor in a dead faint. Almost immediately, Samantha grabbed Aaron’s hand in a death grip and ordered, “Don’t you dare fall on me, too.”

  Thus it was that Aaron got to watch the whole bloody, gory, wonderful process up close and personal while his brother was being revived somewhere in the background. When the two slimy masses, covered with some white crap resembling lard, were removed from Samantha’s belly, a nurse announced, “Here you go, Mommy,” and placed them briefly on her belly where she touched them with reverent fingers. Then, the babies were handed over to a nurse for immediate suctioning and cleansing and medical tests.

  When the infants made little squeaking sounds that passed for crying, Aaron couldn’t help but exclaim, “Would you look at the peckers on those big boys?” Unfortunately, there had been a momentary lull and his words echoed in the silent room before laughter burst out.

  “They’re both boys,” Dan said with awe, gazing at the newborns. Apparently, he’d risen just in time and he now took Samantha’s hand in his to kiss the knuckles through his mask. The look they exchanged, then cast toward their newborns, which were being raised above her belly again for their inspection, now that they were clean, was pure love.

  Although certainly of a viable size at three pounds five ounces each, as announced by one of the nurses, they were still premature and had to be taken away in small preemie carts to the neonatal care unit. This was all as expected, as Dan had warned him earlier when he first mentioned a C-section days ago.

  The surgeons shooed them out then as they stitched Samantha up. She was already dozing off. Aaron went into a private waiting room with Dan where the two brothers stared at each other with amazement over what they’d just witnessed, then hugged each other tightly.

  “Thank you for having me here,” Aaron choked out.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe I can do the same for you someday.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears.”

  Whose ears? the voice in his head said.

  It was a miracle, all right . . .

  Everyone was excited back at the plantation over the birth of the twins, not least of whom was the babies’ honorary grandmother, Aunt Mel. In fact, she burst out bawling at the news when Aaron called her a little after noon.

  When Mel was told that the newborns, both boys, would be named David and Andrew, following on the D and A names of Daniel and Aaron, she burst out crying again. And then she laughed when Aaron told her that forever after the twins would p
robably be referred to as the DNA boys, which he had to explain, “You know, D and A.” For some reason, that word association had never been made with Daniel and Aaron.

  But then, he sent photos of the babies, and Mel wasn’t the only one crying. They were adorable, even as preemies with their eyes closed and little caps on their heads, wrapped tightly in swaddling blankets. He also sent a selfie of himself and Daniel in hospital scrubs with their arms looped over each other’s shoulders with loopy grins on their identical faces (more identical now in the same attire). The tagline read: “Proud Father and Proud Godfather-to-be.”

  Almost immediately after that, Aaron left Fleur a private voice mail message:

  “Meet me in one hour in the garçonniére. Man!

  Try saying that real fast. I’ll bring champagne.

  Wait till I tell you how I practically delivered these babies by myself. Just kidding.

  Did I mention, Dan fainted? WTF! He will never live that down.

  Anyhow, I’m on my way.

  Be there.

  Please.

  Love you.”

  Aaron sounded higher than a kite, and Fleur had to smile at that. But she also felt a tugging of her heartstrings at how excited he was over the babies, knowing he could never duplicate that with her.

  Fleur first checked with Mel to see if she needed her help with the girls.

  “No, we’re managing here. We’ve already arranged for five of the girls to be picked up by family. No, not here at the plantation. We don’t want there to be any connection between us here and the rescues. A restaurant parking lot outside Houma will do for the drop-offs.”

  “And the others?”

  “There are some group homes for troubled teens that have openings. The social worker and her assistants will take them when they leave.”

  “It’s amazing how fast it goes.”

  “Isn’t it? But then, the longer it takes, the greater the chance of the authorities or the news media showing up. Not that we’re doing anything wrong, but there would be so many questions. I keep forgetting, you’ve been through all this before, on previous missions.”

  “Yes, but they’re never the same. Often there is no family willing to take any of them.”

  “That happened with two of the girls today. So sad! To be rejected by one’s own family!”

  Fleur nodded, knowing how that felt. “Then, there are some girls who want to go back to the life.”

  “In any case, chances are that there will only be two or three girls here by tonight,” Aunt Mel told her. “By tomorrow, those left will probably go back to the convent with the two sisters.”

  After that, Fleur went into the kitchen where Tante Lulu was cooking, again.

  “Do you mind if I put together a tray for Aaron?” Fleur asked. “He’ll be back soon, and I don’t think he’s eaten since yesterday afternoon.”

  “Sure, honey. There’s ham and cheese and bread jist warm from the oven fer sandwiches. Sweet and sour pickles. Some of them leftover Alaskan Fried Green Tomatoes you like so much. A slice of my Peachy Praline Cobbler Cake. One of them fruit tarts from Starr Bakery. Canned pears.”

  “Enough!” Fleur said with a laugh. While she was preparing the tray, she mentioned, “Now that Miguel is out of the picture, you’ll be wanting to go back to your cottage, I suppose.”

  “Yep. Can’t wait ta get started on the cleanup.”

  Fleur was filled with sudden dismay. Would she be leaving Bayou Rose and Aaron so soon? Surely, Tante Lulu would expect her to go with her. After all, she had a job to fulfill, compiling her herbal remedies and writing her biography. “Did you want to go back today?”

  The old lady shook her head. “Not yet. Still work ta be done here. Mebbe t’morrow. Tee-John took my car ta be gassed up, but he’s bringin’ it back any minute now, jist soz it’s on hand.”

  “Speaking of John, is he okay? With his superiors, I mean?”

  “Oh, that boy could wiggle outta anything. Allus could.”

  “And the news media?”

  “Thass another story. The New Orleans TV station reported this mornin’ on a bunch of kidnapped girls bein’ suddenly rescued by some off duty cops in Lafayette. And they said the FBI was investigatin’ that empty tractor trailer left in the parking lot. Thass all. Still, it’s a worry, ’specially with the newspaper folks. Those journalists gotta dig and dig till they get some dirt. I figger it’s best fer everyone ta lie low fer awhile. And say nothin’.”

  Hah! Tante Lulu had nerve warning others to keep quiet. But Fleur said nothing in that regard.

  “Of course, now that the babies are born, and all those other babies are about ta be born, we gotta hurry and arrange a baby shower.”

  Fleur didn’t like the sound of that “we.”

  “It’ll be the biggest baby shower the South has ever seen. Has ta be when we’re celebratin’ at least seven little ones comin’ inta this world, mebbe more. Not jist Samantha and Daniel’s twins, but comin’ up real soon are Luc and Sylvie, René and Val, Remy and Rachel, Tee-John and Celine, Rusty and Charmaine. You should start lookin’ inta a place ta hold the shindig. Mebbe the veterans hall, or the convention center, or mebbe ya could talk Aaron inta hostin’ it here. Yeah, that would be good. And games . . . do ya know any good games? They don’t have strippers at baby showers, do they? No, I think that’s jist bridal showers. But what the hey! Mebbe we kin start a new tradition. Then, there’s the food. Oh, Lordy! So much work ta do! Ya better get started soon.”

  Fleur felt like putting her face in her hands. First she was to be a recorder of folk medicine history, then a biographer, a chauffeur, a companion, now a party planner. But she knew enough to keep her lips zipped. Arguing with the old lady was comparable to hitting a brick wall.

  After she’d put the tray together and carried it over to the garçonniére, up to the second floor living area, she looked around at the disarray. Aaron had left in a hurry this morning, and there were bits of clothing about, a dirty coffee cup, an opened jar of instant coffee. She straightened up a bit and put a CD into an old-fashioned player when she heard Aaron come bounding up the steps.

  “It’s a miracle,” Barry belted out, just as Aaron came swooping in, lifted her in his arms, spun them both around, and said, “It was. A miracle. I can’t wait to tell you about it.” But then he kissed her and added, “Later.”

  Happy birthday (or something) to me! . . .

  Aaron was so happy he couldn’t contain himself. On the way back to Bayou Rose, he found himself alternately laughing and crying, and even singing along with some country song on the radio, something about all of a guy’s ex’s living in Texas, and that’s why he lived in Tennessee. He’d never imagined in a million years that he’d feel this way. About babies! And somehow it was all mixed up with how he felt about Fleur, too.

  Crazy!

  Crazy good!

  And then, the icing on his personal cake of happiness was waiting for him in his apartment. Thank God she’d heeded his voice mail. She might not have. She might have been too busy. Or she just might not have wanted to. He hadn’t been sure. But here she was!

  Happy, happy, happy, crazy, crazy, crazy.

  He felt higher than a kite, and drunker than a skunk. And he hadn’t had a drop to drink for days. Maybe weeks. No, he’d had those beers a few days ago. Whatever.

  With a joyous rebel yell, he picked her up, swung her around, and kissed her soundly. Which wasn’t nearly enough.

  Picking her up, he carried her up the stairs to his bedroom and set her in the middle of the room. “I’m going to take a quick shower to wash off the hospital cooties. When I get back, I expect you to be in my bed, bare-assed naked, ready to screw my brains out. Or if you’re not so inclined, I might be willing to screw your brains out. Oh, man, was that too crude?”

  “Go!” she said with a laugh.

  When he returned, he found it was a day for miracles. Not only was she in his bed, bare-assed naked, but she was beckoning him with the finger
s of both hands. “You know what I told you the other night, that I think I love you?”

  “Uh-huh,” he replied, hesitantly, as he crawled onto the bed and over her.

  “Now I know. I do. Love you.”

  He was pretty sure the candles on his cake just burst into flames, like sparklers. Joy was a wonderful thing.

  Then he found his joy in other ways.

  Instead of tiptoeing around like he usually did with Fleur, worried that this or that might offend her or remind her of other times or other men, he let himself go. He just loved her. Loved her and loved her and loved her until she softened and began to respond in a like manner. With hands, and fingers, and lips, and tongues, and softly spoken words, he showed how he felt.

  He couldn’t be gentle this time. His emotions were too high and too raw. He was rough in his need for her. But she didn’t seem to mind.

  And he was done with coaxing, too. His kisses and caresses were insistent. “Show me,” he demanded.

  To his surprise, and elation, she gave back as good as she got.

  When he entered her, he could have cried with the sheer pleasure of her body’s reception. When he began his long, slow strokes, she was the one who cried . . . for more. When his thrusts became harder and shorter, and he made his final thrust into her spasming folds, they both shouted out their mutual elation.

  “Tell me again,” he whispered afterward.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Oh, Fleur, what a day this has been!” He tucked her into his side, kissed the top of her mussed hair, and related what had happened at the hospital. He couldn’t stop marveling over every little detail.

  She didn’t ask many questions, but then, he didn’t give her much chance to speak.

  “Wait until you see the little buggers. They already have a personality. Dave is more serious. He looks at you like he’s trying to figure out how he got here. Oh, I know newborns can’t really see. Then, Andy, oh, he is a wild one. Flailing his arms and legs, ready to skip this joint and go out into the world. Do you think they make cowboy boots for infants? Of course, these little guys will be in the hospital for a few weeks until they’re bigger, but they’re okay. Dan swears they are. Honestly, they are so teeny, their hands are no bigger than a half dollar.” He noticed the little smile on her face. “I’m going overboard, aren’t I?”