September is the best month in Green Bay. The mosquitoes are gone, the snow hasn’t started yet, and the sun is still up at five. Our days were warm and happy. On the political scene, things seemed to have stabilized. The September elections came and the blue arm band people finished third in Louisiana. Part of that was technical – with their leader dead, there was some question of who would be on the ballot. But part of that may also have been growing disillusion with the party. And the opposition had gotten energized. The ruling party down there had run Louisiana for more than a generation. It may finally have occurred to those aging bureaucrats that they would lose their sinecures if the new guys took over. They campaigned hard and no doubt bought more than their share of votes. Their rhetoric was harshly anti-Green Bay, but with them it appeared to just be rhetoric. They were too old and fat to actually rock a boat that was supporting them so well.
On the Ohio front, I watched the papers to see if anything might be happening there, but I could only find one odd reference to a reenactment. One day in the back pages I found an article that came with the heading “Oddly enough.” It told about half a dozen Americans who had been arrested and deported for bringing the wrong caliber guns to a war re-enactment outside Duquesne. The story made them out to be clowns who couldn’t tell one gun from another – just a bunch of goofy Americans. Maybe that was really the case, and maybe something more serious had been headed off. In any case, it appeared Ohio would be quiet for a while.
And I watched the papers for news of my ancient friend Gui in Gulfport. They released him after two weeks, no doubt to the relief of the jailers and fellow inmates who had been forced to listen to him 24/7. I am sure he had great stories to tell back on his porch with his buddies.
Back in Green Bay, things could not have been better. I started teaching, and while a few students complained they were having trouble with my accent, most students seemed somewhat interested in my courses, and a few had even read my weblog about Louisiana. I knew that the first few weeks of any semester are a honeymoon period when students have yet to take a test or do a paper, but still it was pleasant to walk into class and talk about my country’s history.
Elise still worked a long day by French standards, but she was able to spend one or two evenings a week with me, and we had several weekends to ourselves. Once we went up to Door County for a weekend, and another weekend I drove her up to Mackinac Island. We stayed at the Iroquois Hotel, laughed about the irony of the name, and took long walks along the shore.
But my best time that fall came one Saturday night in early October. I told Elise we had been invited to a dinner party by one of the new professors. She dressed in a long, orange silk gown, and joked that she must look like a pumpkin. She didn’t of course, but what struck me most was not her dress, but her face. She had worn her hair up, as she often did for parties, and her face was beautiful. But the beauty came from happiness. She looked as happy and contented as I had ever seen her. It occurred to me that my primary job for the rest of my life was to help keep that look on her face. I hoped the rest of the evening would help with that.
As we drove to the dinner party she noted right away that we were in the neighborhood of her childhood, and in fact we drove past her parent’s house and then around to the next block. She started telling me stories about each of the houses and families, and then stopped when I pulled over in front of a large two-story house shaded by oaks and maples.
“This is the duChamps’ house. Their children were our ages, so we played here sometimes. Our house is right behind this one.”
“I understand he retired and moved south. The new professor moved in just a week or so ago.”
“Oh you should have told me. We should have brought a house-warming gift.”
“Well, at least I brought some wine.” At this point we got out of the car and walked up to the front door with Elise looking around at all the places that were familiar to her, looking for things that might have changed. She talked about playing hide and seek there as a child while I rang the door bell and then knocked. When no one answered, I put down the bottle of wine, opened the front door, and picked up Elise to carry her inside.
“Shawn, you can’t just walk in…” she was saying as I picked her up, and then she was silent as we walked into the empty house. I stayed for a moment in the entry way, and then slowly carried her around the rest of the rooms on the first floor. “Shawn? Shawn what have you done?” I kissed her and carried her from room to room.
“I hope you like it.”
“Shawn!” She screamed and hugged me so hard I thought she might break all my ribs again. At this point I had to put her down, and we just stood hugging for a very long time. At some point I noticed that she was crying. All she said was “Thank you.”
Eventually I led her into the kitchen where a card waited on one of the counters. “It’s from Mr. DuChamps. I met him last week at the closing.” I handed the card to Elise. It read:
Dearest El: I am so happy to know you will be in this house. I know you will love this house as much as we did. It is a big house. Fill it with love and the laughter of children.
That brought more hugs and more tears.
“Shawn, can we afford this house?”
“Yes.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her the Green Bay real estate market had cratered and that the sales commission checks I was getting were enough to buy the entire block.
“Oh Shawn.” More hugs, more kisses, you get the idea. “Shawn!” Suddenly she perked up. “Do you mind if I go tell my parents? They will be so excited.”
“Of course.” After one final kiss she was out the back door that she knew so well, down the stairs, and with fists full of orange silk she ran across the backyard shouting “Mama, mama.” I saw the light over the backdoor come on, and then her father was at the door. Elise rushed up to him, and then was inside the house looking for her mother. Her father stood by the backdoor for a moment and waved to me. I waved back, and then we each went into our houses.
I walked back through the empty house to retrieve the bottle on wine I had left outside. What I saw before me was Elise’s face and how happy she was that evening. There was much ahead for us, and much ahead for Canada. I knew not all of it would be pleasant. But for that one night, I had done my job. I had made Elise happy.
The Canadian Civil War Volume 2- The Huguenots Arrive Page 22
