Without Refuge

by Diane Scott Lewis

  Bettina slopped the rag into the bowl of vinegar.

  Outside, Frederick played with the little ones near the bayou. She adjusted the jalousie, a blind over the windows. The horizontal slats allowed in light and air but could be positioned to keep out direct sun and rain.

  She turned to Oleba who knelt on the floor, scrubbing the boards. Her maid wore a bright red scarf tied around her woolly hair. Bettina had splurged and bought her the prettiest ones she could find. “I suppose we should—”

  A strident scream rent the air.

  “That is Genevre!” Bettina rushed out on the porch to see her scarlet-faced daughter wailing at the bayou’s edge. Frederick was crouched down, frantically trying to calm her.

  Bettina hurried over the grass and clutched her child. A lobster-like creature had its pinscher clamped to her daughter’s finger.

  “She only got a crawfish.” A man sauntered out from the cottage next door. He pried the crawfish loose and inspected the finger. “She be all right now, just a bitty bruise.”

  The crawfish crawled back toward the water as Christian followed it, laughing and pointing.

  The man stooped and scooped the crawfish up. “This will make good eatin’. You want it, Madame?” He dangled the wriggling creature toward Bettina who shook her head. “Merci, for my dinner then. I am Monsieur Duval.” He bowed his bald head and traipsed his wiry body back to his cottage.

  Bettina lifted her upset daughter into her arms.

  “I was watching her close enough,” Frederick said through clenched lips. “So you could finish. This little girl is faster than anything, she won’t mind.”

  “I know you did your best.” Bettina patted his arm, but Frederick moved away. He turned and stared toward the bayou, his body rigid. So like his uncle when perturbed.

  Bettina sighed and stroked her daughter’s hair. Genevre buried a tear-streaked face on her mother’s bosom.

  “This country is full of strange dangers.” Oleba walked up, her grin indulgent, and rubbed the child’s shoulder. “She’ll know better before playing with those creatures again.”

  When evening came, the fading light bringing the buzzing insects, Bettina kissed her children good night in their new beds. She draped the baires around them and joined Oleba in the parlor. “I feel we still live like gypsies. I hate to have you sleep on the rear porch.” Bettina stretched her back with a groan.

  “I’ll survive. The bed is comfortable. Don’t worry about me.” Oleba sat in a chair and dragged a pile of mending from a basket. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to adapt to any situation.”

  Bettina stepped to one of her trunks, listening to the insects smack at the windows. “I do not know how I would have done any of this without you, Miss Refused. Have you…never thought of finding a beau, marrying, starting your own life?” She finally asked the questions.

  Oleba sorted through the mending, her black eyes thoughtful. “I suppose I never really have. I seem to have been so busy my entire life, working.”

  “We are hard working women. I so hope we find success here.” Bettina hid her selfish relief and opened the trunk. She pulled out a pair of silver candlesticks she’d brought from England and placed them on the marred sideboard. A fine linen cloth covered the scratched table. She set out a cut crystal vase sure to glitter in the window when the sun shone in.

  “Now the cottage looks bright and pretty, your own little home.” Oleba threaded her needle.

  “Our home, if you please. A person does need something to call their own.” Bettina glanced again at Oleba. Maddie’s face drifted into her thoughts. Another woman who threw herself into work to push away personal desires.

  Bettina stroked her hand over the smooth tablecloth, then stared at the candlesticks, her eyes blurring for an instant. Inside she felt neither bright nor pretty. All their efforts couldn’t eradicate the smell of mildew from the cottage.

  “I should write Maddie, to give her our new address. I am homesick for England, as I was once for France.” She forced an airy tone but recognized her need to keep a viable connection between herself, England and her memories. What if Everett had survived, and found his way home? She brushed her fingers over the trembling pulse in her throat.

  * * * *

  Dishes wiped dry and put into the rickety cupboard the next evening, Bettina started at a knock on the door. She opened it, surprised to see her mother.

  “May I come in?” Volet asked in a meek voice.

  “Of course, yes...we have just eaten.” Her heart fluttered, warmed to see her parent. “Would you care for coffee or tea?”

  “No, thank you. I received your message about your new address.” Volet stepped in and glanced around, her reticule clutched to her chest. “This is a cozy little place.”

  “The cottage is small, but I can afford it.” Bettina studied her mother’s sad expression. She thought of the opulent chateau they once lived in. All the space, servants, everything you needed and so much you didn’t. Who owned Château Jonquiere now, the rebels?

  “Please, Maman, let us sit in the parlor. The children are with Oleba, she is reading them a story. Frederick went outside to catch fireflies. He is so restless and needs to continue his education.” His demeanor worried Bettina, and now so did her mother’s.

  She fluffed the cushions on the worn sofa. “Are you well?”

  Volet sat on the sofa, her gaze brooding. She had dark smudges under her eyes. “Bettina, I am sorry for what I said the other night. Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes. I also said so much I regret.” Bettina sat at the sofa’s other end. “I am glad you came.”

  Volet twisted the tassel on her reticule. “I decided not to marry Alfredo.”

  “Vraiment? Why not?” Bettina breathed deep, to mask her relief.

  Volet hung her head. “You were right, in many ways he is arrogant. I don’t love him. I was marrying for all the wrong reasons. He did often treat me like a child. I felt I had no one else at the time.”

  “You have me now.” Bettina scooted closer and clasped her mother’s hand.

  “You helped me come to my senses.” Volet squeezed her hand back. “Now I wonder what I will do.”

  “First, you might find a cheaper guest house.” Bettina half-laughed, trying to ease the tension.

  Volet managed a tremulous smile. “You said you were going to run a shop...maybe I can help you?”

  “I do not have any prospects yet. Though I like that idea.” Bettina had always wished for such a partnership, when she’d lamented her mother’s whereabouts during their long separation. She had money from the sale of the antique necklace her father had given her. The necklace he must have invested in with the money taken from the rebels. Unfortunately, money didn’t last forever. She slid her arm around her mother’s small shoulders. How frail she felt, and how frail their situation.

  * * * *

  Bettina sent Frederick to help Volet move from the Bonne Maison the following morning. Her mother rented a room at the Le Mahieu Auberge on the square for less than half the price. She then accompanied Bettina to the mayordomo de propios’s office to seek advice on starting a business.

  “The only business we need is a restaurant that serves breakfast and lunch. Of course, there’s the pastry shop for a quick bite. The two cafes in town only open in the evenings. Though I’m afraid it would take more money than you say you have to get established,” the mayor’s assistant said. “Perhaps you could find a gentleman to invest in a business with you.” He winked and Bettina cringed.

  She thanked him and they returned outside to the rising humidity. “I had never thought of food as a business. I also will not involve a gentleman I do not know.” She and her mother strolled back down the street. “I cannot see myself managing a restaurant.”

  “I’d enjoy running
a hat shop, I think.” Volet tugged at the silk flower on her straw hat. “Remember those towering hats we wore in Paris? So silly, but…oh, zut, they already have a milliner’s here.”

  They stopped in at Charlotte’s for a pastry.

  “Too bad she does not have room to sit in this shop.” Volet scrutinized the tiny waiting area. “That would make the place a lot nicer.”

  Four customers already there stood elbow to elbow. The trapped sultry air felt thick and uncomfortable.

  “The area is cramped.” When the others left, Bettina stared around. “She has room to extend. I wonder why she does not.”

  “She might offer lunch too.” Volet fanned her face with a handkerchief. “Didn’t that man at the mayor’s office—”

  “A restaurant, the perfect place.” Bettina grinned at her mother, about to laugh. “Maman, you might be brilliant.”

  “I am, what did I do?” Volet frowned and dabbed beads of sweat from her upper lip.

  “Good morning. Bonjour. What’s your pleasure, neighbor?” Charlotte pulled a tray of croissants from the case, the smell of buttery bread. “These are fresh from the oven.”

  “Two please.” Bettina’s pulse picked up. “Charlotte, have you ever thought of expanding this place? Enlarging it, putting in tables, chairs, serving sandwiches...maybe soups too?” She twirled her finger as ideas circled in her mind. “You would increase your profits and have no competition.”

  “What’s prompted all this?” Charlotte plucked two croissants from the tray, her eyes wary. “I’ve never had the money, or the time. With three children at home, a husband. Ah, butter on your breakfast, ladies?”

  “Please, yes. Now hear me out. If you had a partner, someone to invest in the shop and work here. You already have ovens, plenty of room on this side to expand.” Bettina thrust out her hands as if pushing back the wall. “We would share the profits and hours. You would have more time for your family. My mother could work here too.”

  Volet’s eyes glittered. “I like this idea.”

  “Wait. Are you serious?” Charlotte split the croissants and slaved on the butter. “I don’t know. It really is a lot to consider.” She wrapped the pastries in paper and handed them out.

  “Promise to think about it.” Bettina’s stomach growled. She opened her paper and pulled off a piece of flaky crust. The butter melted on her tongue. “Discuss the idea with your husband and let me know, soon.” She simmered with an energy she’d no longer thought possible.

  “The renovation sounds like too much.” Charlotte wiped her hands on her apron then pushed back a damp auburn tendril from her forehead. “What would happen to my pastries if we did this?”

  “Those would stay, of course. We could expand there too, different breakfast items and breads for lunch. Can you not picture it?” Bettina paced around the limited floor space and visualized the changes. “Pretty little tables over here…”

  “And more tables and chairs outside,” Volet said.

  “This is happening too fast.” Charlotte puffed out her wide cheeks. “Yet, with the flour shortage we’re having… The time might be right to sell other food products.” She tapped her chin, sounding interested now. “We’re required to substitute half rice for flour in our dough, but the taste, ugh! They changed that to a lower measure soon enough.” She laughed, yet still seemed uncertain.

  “Then it will be the perfect time for more variety.” Bettina licked the butter from one finger, her smile hopeful. “Yes?”

  “This is delicious.” Volet tasted her croissant. “You are a wonderful cook, Charlotte. A restaurant, with you cooking, would be a great success.”

  “Merci. I’ll talk to Aubert, and see what he thinks of the prospect.” Charlotte glanced around, brows knitted. “I have wanted to sell different items...and hire someone to help me. This place needs a larger rear door to pull the breeze off the river.”

  Minutes later, Bettina and her mother crossed the bridge to the cottage. “We could buy used tables and chairs and paint them, to save money.” Bettina stopped at her front steps and stared back. “A little awning out front.”

  A blue heron skimmed along the water. What a view any diners would have.

  “I will confess a secret.” Volet touched her elbow, her grin shy. “I have been known to create tasty soups in my time. C’est vrai, I always had a cook, but sometimes I enjoyed preparing a meal myself.”

  “I hope she and her husband agree. I have not been this excited in a very long time.” Bettina stepped up onto her porch. She peeled her damp bodice from under her arms. “Does this weather ever cool off?”

  Volet laughed and joined her on the porch. “A swamp winter is not what you are used to. It might grow a little cold, but not often. You should start wearing less clothing. Get rid of most of your petticoats. I heard in Paris they are dressing in a classical Greek style, with no corsets. Some women have stopped wearing any undergarments at all.”

  “I saw one of those dresses in Cornwall. They sound perfect for this weather.” Bettina tugged at her sticky collar to tug aside the memory. “When I know if this is the business I will buy into, then I will shop for clothes for me and the children.”

  * * * *

  Bell tinkling, Bettina entered the shop the next morning, anxious for any news. Her mind had whirred all night with ideas she couldn’t quiet down. She needed this project. “Charlotte, what is your answer?” she asked, her heart in her throat.

  Charlotte smiled. “Aubert thinks…it’s an inspired idea.” She plopped her elbows on the front counter, her voice enthusiastic. “He’s promised to talk to the carpenters today about removing this outside wall.”

  “That is tres magnifique.” Bettina hugged her own shoulders, almost bouncing on her toes. “We should plan a decorating theme, and a fancier sign. Oh, do you not think we ought to change the name?” Glad that Charlotte had shed her reluctance, Bettina didn’t wish to insult her new partner. “Beaumont Pastries will not fit the scope of our enterprise, will it?”

  “Name change?” Charlotte frowned. “I hadn’t thought of...but I suppose you’re right. I guess Beaumont’s Restaurant wouldn’t work either.”

  “We need a name…” Bettina acted like she gave this thought, though she’d tumbled out names to herself the previous night. “You call that creek near my cottage a bayou. What about the Bayou Cafe?”

  “I rather like that, yes. Now we’ll need a lawyer to draw up the paperwork. There’s one in town. I’ll make an appointment for us.” Charlotte fluttered a handkerchief before her face. “This is happening so fast, if I was a swooner I’d swoon.”

  Over the next several weeks Bettina watched her dream take shape. Carpenters pushed out the right wall several feet and enlarged the window. They increased the size of the kitchen and storage area. Petite round tables and chairs were purchased to be placed out front and underneath the window. This afforded the diners a view of the bayou with her scattered cypress and tupelo trees.

  The partners advertised their upcoming opening in the New Orleans paper. Charlotte commissioned a local artist to paint a bright, attractive sign with their new name.

  In October, the mists thick over the bayou, the air cooler, the Bayou Café held its grand opening.

  “Tres bien, tres bien.” Bettina straightened the valances on the windows and almost clapped her hands like a child at the people who streamed in to check out the new establishment.

  “Aubert threatened everyone in town to come.” Charlotte laughed as she moved through the crowd with a tray of various breads, Chausson aux Pommes and Croissant Amande, along with bowls of butter. “I have to admit, I was worried and almost talked myself out of it. I’m relieved that things look promising.”

  “I am so thrilled you did not back out.” Bettina glanced around at the chattering people, and filled with satisfaction.

 
Volet, looking very pretty in a pink dress, cheeks flushed, hurried from the kitchen with a huge bowl of potato leek soup.

  “I hear your mother needs a cheap place to stay, her funds running low.” Charlotte’s husband swaggered up to Bettina, nodding toward Volet. Aubert pushed back his lank, rusty-colored hair that almost matched his florid skin. He stood not much taller than Bettina. “I might have just the answer. There’s a house on the square which will be vacant for...oh, could be several months. The owners have to travel to Boston. The husband’s father is ill and they want to be close by, but hate to leave their house unoccupied for a long duration. I recommended your mother for a guest and caretaker.”

  “That is perfect, you are a life saver. Did they agree?” Bettina liked the kindness of Aubert, Charlotte’s assistant sheriff husband.

  “They’re leaving in two days. I’ll take Madame Jonquiere to meet them tomorrow. She can live there as caretaker rent-free, while they experience the dreary cold of Boston.” He grinned through his blustery tone.

  The conversation stilled and Bettina looked toward the door.

  A man in uniform stood there, a Spanish officer. “I have grim news,” he announced, glaring at everyone. He nodded toward Aubert. “We are at war again with Great Britain. His Majesty, King Carlos IV, imposes a war donation on this colony. Senor Beaumont, you will pass this news to the sheriff. To show your loyalty to Spain,” his steely gaze raked over the patrons again, “you are all encouraged to generously contribute.”

  The officer shoved a paper at Aubert, turned and marched away with a group of soldiers.

  “Mon Dieu,” Aubert read the paper, “Spain has aligned themselves with the republican French instead of the monarchist European allies. First secretary Godoy wants to restore Louisiana to France—”

  Several people cheered.

  “Mais oui!” Charlotte raised her hands in the air and did a quick dance, her stocky form swaying. “If we can only hope.”