Charlotte leaned on her broom near the counter. “Monsieur Portier, you’ve not been to see me in too long of a time.” She tittered like a schoolgirl in front of a swarthy man in buckskins. “You are shameful in your neglect.” She wagged a finger, her tone an unusual simpering.
“Then I must apologize.” The owner of the commanding voice removed his leather hat, revealing thick, coal-black hair. “And how, may I ask, is the most beautiful woman in Mahieu?”
“You are a flatterer today.” Charlotte blushed. “I am well, merci.”
“What have you done to this place? Everything is changed. New name, tables, room to move about...inherited some money, eh?” The man swaggered around the dining room, hands on hips, bobbing his head in approval. The fringe on his buckskin jacket flapped in rhythm.
“No, not me. Bettina, come out here, I want you to meet someone.” Charlotte stepped into the kitchen and dragged her out. “This is my new partner. It was her investment that made all these changes possible. Geralde Portier, this is Madame Bettina Camborne.” Charlotte walked around the counter, tugging on Bettina’s arm.
She reluctantly followed, smoothing back her hair, hardly prepared for any introductions.
Portier, built like a compact barrel, tipped his hat again and bowed. “I see you do have an addition. Not one beautiful woman, but two.” His eyes were dark like pools of tar. He swept his gaze over her in a manner Bettina found uncomfortable.
“How do you do, monsieur,” she said, polite but stiff under his scrutiny.
“A delight to meet you, I assure you.” His handsome, tanned face broke into a wide grin. He walked closer and didn’t stand much taller than she. “You are new to Mahieu?”
“I am fairly new, yes.” Bettina resisted a backward step. “Now if you will excuse me, I have inventory…to finish.” She turned to wipe away his unnerving stare and hurried back into the pantry. She occupied her mind counting the vegetables they used in soups, then buried herself in ledgers. She sighed in relief when after low conversation she heard the front door open and close.
“Time to lock up.” Charlotte jangled the keys as she appeared in the office alcove. “So, what did you think of Geralde?”
Bettina closed the ledger where she sat at the desk. “I…thought nothing of him.” She believed him too forward and loud, but didn’t wish to insult her partner.
Charlotte pulled over a chair and sat near the desk. “He’s a government surveyor. The Spanish governor has asked him to survey all the land around here. Geralde says they’re planning to build up the area for increased shipping or something.”
“I thought Spain was losing interest in this colony after they could not sell it back to France.” Bettina rubbed the back of her neck, sore from leaning over books.
“France rejected the treaty, zut, saying it was too favorable to the Spanish. Still, the governor doesn’t want Spain to ignore us. The sugar cane crop is flourishing.” Charlotte frowned and jingled the keys in her lap. “I do wish we could have gone back under French rule.”
“I think you will find the current situation in France so far from civilized, we may be safer where we are. Yes, let us lock up.” Bettina started to rise.
“Please, wait a minute.” Charlotte plopped her hand over Bettina’s. “I’m glad Geralde is in town again, he always livens things up. He used to visit Mahieu frequently, since he courted Lucrece Bardou for several months.”
“Lucrece? That haughty woman who comes in with a different beau each time?” Lucrece loved to flaunt her superior manner, perfect blonde curls and flawless skin. Bettina stifled a yawn. “I must be returning home, Charlotte, I am exhausted.”
Charlotte squeezed her hand, deterring any thoughts of escape. “Geralde and Lucrece were quite serious, if you can believe it. Though I always felt her all wrong for him.”
“I agree, it is very hard to believe,” Bettina said to please her friend. She rubbed one temple. “So what happened with their courting?”
“Our fair Lucrece complained she didn’t want a husband who roved all over with his silly surveying, rarely home, so ended their relationship.” Charlotte stared at Bettina, an odd gleam in her eyes. “Now wouldn’t he be a suitable match for you?”
“Me? Mais non, do not be foolish, I have no interest in him.” Bettina pulled back her hand. “I am far too busy with my work and my children to bother with men. Go home to your family with your delirious ideas.”
* * * *
The next night Bettina jerked straight up in bed gasping for breath. A fine layer of sweat clung to her skin. She threw off the clammy sheets and left her chamber, rushing to the front porch for air.
In the pitch dark insects murmured in the shrubbery, the frogs grunting at the bayou’s edge. She gripped the porch post, squeezing her eyes shut. Softly weeping, she pressed her forehead against the cool wood. A tiny breeze rustled the netting they’d hung around the porch to keep most of the insects out against her face.
“Bettina, what is it?” Volet walked up behind her. “I heard the front door open. What are you doing out here?”
“A horrible feeling came over me, a panic. I was terrified...falling into a dark pit where I could not climb out.” Bettina struggled to steady her breathing. “I had a dream…about Everett. He took my hand then vanished when I tried to follow him. That is when I fell.”
“Sit with me, ma chere.” Volet clasped her arm and they settled on the wooden bench flush against the cottage wall. “Perhaps it is time you stop trying to follow.”
Bettina sagged against the hard wall of the porch, both of them, draped in shadows. “So everyone keeps telling me in one way or another.” She sniffed back her tears. “Maman, this may sound crazy to you, but when I lost Everett...I lost part of my soul.”
Her mother hugged her. “I lost someone too, I do understand. When your father died I thought my life was over. Eventually, I kept...living, and after awhile I was able to manage.”
“That is different. You know Papa is gone forever. Deep down inside me I believe Everett is still alive, somewhere. He will come for me...someday.”
“Oh, I know you wish it to be true. Though as long as you dwell on that, you will never move on with your life. You would be happier, and wiser, if you let the past go.” Volet cuddled her daughter’s head to her chest and Bettina felt comforted, as she had when she was a child.
“I do not think I can ever let Everett go. He is always there, vital within me. Did you not once hope that I was alive somewhere, after hearing of my death?”
“Yes, I suppose it is only natural. Yet you are allowing this to consume you, preventing you from any complete happiness. Mignonne, we have been through so much, you and I. You cannot let misery cripple you.” She caressed Bettina’s arm. “Needless to say, I am proud of you, for all you have accomplished. Your father, he would have been too. You are a strong, fine woman.”
Bettina expelled a slow breath. She couldn’t allow this second mention of her father slip by unexplored. “About Papa…his death. I–”
“Well, we certainly do not need to discuss that at this late hour.” Volet sighed but stiffened.
Insects batted at the netting, demanding entrance.
“No, we do, Maman. It is part of my crippled misery.” Bettina lifted her head, anxious to ask the question invariably on her mind. Her hand crept over the loud pulse at the base of her throat. “Exactly what did the doctors tell you...about how Papa died?”
“He died of a heart attack.” Volet said it as if something she had to memorize. She removed her arms.
Losing that comfort, Bettina straightened. “I have heard...other causes since then.”
“What could you have possibly heard?” Words clipped, her mother fidgeted on the bench.
“I was told...and this is such an awful thing to say.” Bettina gripped the rough wood
beneath her. “I was told he was...murdered.” She uttered the last word in a whisper.
“Who—who told you this?” her mother asked after a moment.
“Bernard Little, the man Armand sent me to in Bath.” Bettina shivered, remembering their confrontation: Little’s square-jawed, handsome face that hid a murderous heart. His threat to kill her. “He said the rebels did it.”
Volet choked on a sob. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, how dreadful.”
“It is true, is it not?” Bettina squeezed her eyes shut for an instant.
“I am sorry you found out in that way. I thought it better to soften the truth...you were so young. Everything was in such turmoil, the country, my life...then you disappeared.” Her mother’s voice thickened and she sniffed. “What did this Little person have to do with it?”
Bettina slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. She then slowly and painfully explained what she knew of her father’s murder. “Monsieur Little said Papa wrote me a note that wasn’t finished. They found it in his office desk months later. It mentioned something he’d given to me. The only item Papa gave me was the antique necklace.”
“I vaguely remember you showing me the necklace. I was not aware of a note... Of course, at the time, the police had not a clue as to why he was poisoned.”
“Papa was poisoned?” Bettina trembled and stared at the fireflies twinkling along the banks of the bayou. Her mother quivered in her embrace.
“Afterwards, I was certain it had to do with the revolution. Just not in what capacity. My world collapsed around me.” Volet wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. “You believe Armand’s deceit toward you...us, was linked to your father’s death?”
“I do not know. Armand may have had nothing to do with Papa’s death. There are still questions left unanswered.” Bettina started when a lizard scampered by on the wall near her head, tail twitching.
“You sold the necklace they were after, the money is spent. There should be no more questions.” Volet reared back and scrutinized her. “Why did you not tell me you pushed Monsieur Little off a balcony?”
“It is not something you brag about.” Bettina pulled her thin cotton nightgown close around her as if chilled. The rebels didn’t know she’d spent their money. The cache they were after sounded larger than the worth of the necklace. Had her father hidden more money somewhere else?
“You were fortunate not to be harmed. I do not understand why your father would have involved you and told me nothing. He put you in danger.” Volet’s voice stronger, she rose from the bench. Her flimsy silk robe rippled in the night’s breeze. “This too is...something we probably need to put behind us once and for all. Let us return to bed, ma cherie.”
Bettina sighed as the door opened and closed. She wanted to forget the past. Though anytime her memories were pierced, her resolve unraveled like a kicked spool of thread.
* * * *
Bettina read the letter’s sloppy printing, treasuring each misspelled word. “Maddie says that Kerra had another baby, also a girl. She named her Bettina...that is so precious, I am honored.” She laughed, but it hid the regret she couldn’t be there to cuddle Kerra’s children.
Fred leaned across the sofa arm and stared over her shoulder. “Maddie writes like a child. When you write back, ask her how Cadan is doing, and Mrs. Pollard.” He spoke of Everett’s retired housekeeper and her grandson, a good friend. Fred straightened and held out his hands. “Do we have anything stronger than lye soap? I’ve scrubbed all morning and still can’t clean the ink out.”
“Try using a little sand, for friction. Let me see them. Mais oui, your hands are blighted. A printer’s woe.” She patted his black-stained fingers, relieved that the boy had taken well to his new occupation. To placate him she’d allowed him a week earlier to take a river ride up to Natchez to check on Oleba. Her former maid had married and was happy with her trapper.
“Before I go forage for sand, please finish the letter.”
“Maddie says...everything is the same in Sidwell. How I miss them. Why is England so far away? Also, the people who purchased Bronnmargh, the admiral and his wife, they keep to themselves.” Bettina’s hand trembled a second before she mastered it. She felt the flush in her cheeks as she glanced at Fred. “Hobart wrote us about the money that went into your trust fund.”
“What’s the matter?” Fred rested one knee on the sofa’s threadbare arm.
“Nothing...I, that is it for the news.” She folded the letter and stuffed it in her apron pocket. Strangers living where she had once lived and loved with Everett? Unknowns walking in their footsteps, taking charge of Everett’s domain. Eradicating everything that was the essence of “them” together. Though she’d hated the drafty manor house at the time, it now seemed a small nuisance…if only she could have him back.
Marbles clicked along the floor as Christian played with Genevre on the parlor rug.
“I thought we agreed to discuss our problems?” Fred narrowed his eyes, shaking a finger at Bettina in a good imitation of Aubert. “Don’t disappoint me by hiding it.”
“Fair enough, I seem to be guilty.” Bettina sagged against the sofa cushion. “I still have those similar angry, confused feelings you had. Losing your uncle, of course, the worst. This letter makes me sad. I want to hear the news, but it all opens up anew. I am so frustrated at times, I could scream my head off.” She smiled at the boy’s look of pity, to soften her own pain. “Then that is what I will do, rush into the swamps and screech like a madwoman. I will send all the alligators careening into the river to escape from me.”
“Alligators, Maman?” Christian looked up with a grin. Genevre licked a marble then dropped it and stuck her tongue out in disgust.
“No, Genevre, do not put those in your mouth,” Bettina scolded.
Fred laughed. “Screaming at reptiles is better than chopping open locked doors.”
Bettina laughed too. “Talking of this has made me feel better.” Yet what about her locked door? Had she mutated into Maddie, shutting herself down for a lover she might never have again? She hunched her shoulders. Wasn’t it time to let the past go?
Chapter Eight
Rain splattered on the café roof. Hurricane season was bearing down on them. Bettina set out the éclairs and the shell-shaped Madeleines. Then the little fried rice cakes called calas, a sweet the local people loved. Christian unwrapped his present of a light cotton shirt.
“Happy fifth birthday, mon petit.” Bettina kissed him on his forehead. Her mother, Charlotte and Aubert clapped. Fred bit into an éclair and Genevre sipped lemonade. Charlotte’s three children dug into the sweets as well.
Bettina glanced around the café at her friends on this August 4th, now a year in Louisiana. She was content, and successful, and her children were healthy and happy.
The door opened with a tinkle, and the surveyor, Geralde Portier, entered the cafe. “What is this?”
He looked a little too dressed in a sleek brown frock coat and a cocked felt hat for this to be a casual dropping by. He brushed water from his shoulders and removed his hat.
“He is very handsome,” Volet whispered. She rearranged the purple scarf around her throat and smiled.
“I suppose so.” A slight wariness crept over Bettina. She folded the shirt and placed it on a table.
“Come and join us, it’s Christian’s birthday.” Charlotte grinned, too broadly, as she took the surveyor’s arm. “There are pastries, lemonade. Aubert, pour him a glass.”
Aubert seemed to fight his own grin. He splashed the yellow liquid into a tall glass. “Drink to the innocence of youth, mon ami.”
“Ah, thank you.” Portier accepted the lemonade but didn’t sip. “How old is this little man?” He strode in front of the boy, his merry dark eyes alight.
“I’m five, monsieur,” Christian said, betw
een bites of éclair. Chocolate and cream smeared on his lips. “I’ll go to school soon.”
“And a fine boy you are.” Portier patted the child’s head then turned to Bettina. “How are you this afternoon, Madame Camborne?”
“I am quite well, Monsieur Portier.” She felt vulnerable, almost naked, under his intense gaze. She stroked her hand over Genevre’s silky head. “This is my daughter, Genevre Rose.”
He knelt down and grinned at the little girl. “A beautiful mademoiselle. She will break hearts in fifteen years.”
“I’m two.” Genevre glared at him as if challenging him to disagree.
Bettina told her children to give a polite hello, which they did, Genevre with reluctance.
Fred snatched up a calas after his greeting. “I’m off to the printers, enjoy yourselves.” He loped out into the rain.
Genevre hurried to the table, grabbed and bit into a Madeleine as if afraid the desserts might disappear. The pound cake crumbled over her lips.
Portier raised his glass toward Bettina. “You have very attractive children, Madame. Salut.”
“I agree. I have marvelous children, marvelous friends, and a superb mother.” Bettina raised her glass and took a tart sip. The man smelled of damp leather, yet heat at the same time. She stepped away from him. “I am thankful for you all.”
“We’re thankful for you as well.” Charlotte hugged her husband’s arm. They exchanged knowing looks.
Volet twisted the end of her scarf. “May I select a pastry for you, Monsieur Portier?”
Bettina cut her gaze to her mother. She had the odd sensation she might be covered in icing.
“Perhaps later, merci, Madame.” Portier nodded to Volet. “I will enjoy the fine company first.”
Genevre slid the gift shirt off the table. She draped it around her shoulders and promenaded the area like a miniature royal princess. The adults broke into laughter.
“She has vanity already, that one.” Aubert’s eyes glittered in amusement. He picked up his own young daughter and kissed her.
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