The Cajun Doctor

by Sandra Hill

  She stepped off the porch onto the hard-packed dirt yard, and relished the sun which was already up but pleasant this early in the day. That’s when she noticed two unusual things:

  — The rare, white tupelo tree standing back about twenty yards from the house. It had to be at least fifty feet tall with a gray, furrowed bark on its old trunk-like alligator hide, and green fruit hanging from its branches, sometimes known as swamp limes. In fact, the tupelo was also called river lime, Ogeechee lime, sour gum, or swamp gum. But it wasn’t its size or distinctive features that made this tree rare. It was because tupelos usually grew only in swampy areas, or along riverbanks. This specimen, which had to be hundreds of years old, was a testament to the fact that this property had once been under water.

  — The other thing she noticed was what sat under the tree. Daniel. And all her animals. Like a harem, they were. Daniel could be the pasha, sitting in the shade, on a large, circular, wrought iron bench with chipped white paint that surrounded the base of the tupelo, leaning back, his long legs extended and crossed at the ankles. Sitting next to Daniel on one side was an empty mug. On the other was Emily, whose snout was propped on Daniel’s thigh. One of Daniel’s hands rested lightly on Emily’s head, as if he’d been patting her.

  Axel was snoozing on the ground, or just plain exhausted from traveling from the parlor through the house, down the stairs to the kitchen, and then outdoors. His old German Shepherd bones tired easily these days. Then there was Madeline, who was frozen mid-crouch, about to attack some bees. The other two cats, Garfield and Felix, were nowhere to be seen, probably off munching on field mice. The puppies were gamboling in a patch of grass.

  Samantha’s chest tightened with sudden emotion. A man who was this comfortable with animals had to be amazing with children, or at least he would have been during his pediatric oncology career. A true doctor, unlike Nick and his pals.

  Further adding to Daniel’s allure were his heavily lashed lids that were half mast as he dozed, a testament to his having stayed up all night. He sported morning whiskers, and wore black running shorts, a pristine white T-shirt, and a pair of old, once-white athletic shoes without socks that highlighted the light brown furring of hair on his arms and long legs. In other words, sexy, sexy, sexy.

  Her traitorous thoughts (traitorous to the shield she usually had up around Daniel) were broken by the too-sexy-to-live man who hadn’t been asleep after all. “I liked your other sleep outfit better.”

  “What?” she said, looking down. “What’s wrong with this?” She wore mid-calf, green-and-white polka dot cotton pants, and the long white sleep shirt with its I-Heart-Dogs logo, an animal rescue fundraising purchase from last year.

  “Nothing. It’s just not the same as your screw-me-silly, red silk harem pants and the touch-me-you-idiot, see-through top.”

  She gasped, feeling both outraged and pleased at the same time. Despite her best efforts, she blushed and claimed, “They were not harem pants.” And recalled her likening him to a pasha out here with his harem.

  He shrugged, as if it were mere semantics.

  “And how would you know harem pants anyhow?”

  “I dated a belly dancer at one time.”

  Now, that surprised her. “And you could not see through the top.”

  “You could if you had a good imagination, and mine is really good.” His eyes danced with mischief as he spoke. In the meantime, their voices had awakened the animals. He picked Emily up and placed her on the ground.

  Samantha sat down on the bench next to him, but not too close.

  He eyed her mug and said, “You could have brought me another cup of coffee.”

  “I didn’t know you were out here.” She handed him her mug and let him take a long drink of coffee, an oddly intimate gesture that came out of nowhere. To cut the alarming connection between them, she added, “I thought maybe you were out at the St. Jude birdbath, praying for deliverance from me and my brood.”

  “Wish I’d thought of that.” He was looking at her in a way that made her really uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with prayer.

  “You know this tree we’re sitting under is a real treasure,” she said.

  “A treasure, huh?” he gazed upward, clearly skeptical. “Aaron mentioned something about having the tree removed and putting a swimming pool here, instead. Not right away, but later.”

  She stared at him, aghast. “This is a white tupelo, for heaven’s sake, a rarity. This species almost never grows this far inland. In fact, they flourish in swamps. You ought to contact the state horticulture society to have them come take a look at it. You’d probably get this plantation written up in some journals.”

  “That’s what we need. Publicity.”

  “You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”

  “Sorry. The only benefit I can see for publicity would be if we were going to flip this house after the renovations.”

  That idea dismayed her, for some reason. It wasn’t her property. She shouldn’t care. But she did.

  “Tell me more about my too-puh-loh tree.” He grinned at her.

  She ignored his teasing. “Have you ever heard of tupelo honey?”

  “Sure. Van Morrison.”

  She was taken aback that he’d be familiar with that old song. Somehow, his personality and demeanor were more in line with classical music, or maybe highbrow jazz.

  “As sweet as tupelo honey,” he crooned.

  “You are full of surprises today, Daniel.”

  “Why? Because I’ve heard of tupelo honey, or Van Morrison?”

  “Both,” she said. “Of course, you’ll get no honey from the blossoms of this tree unless you plan on starting some beehives nearby.” She tilted her head. “Now that I think about it—”

  “Don’t you dare suggest beekeeping. I’ve got enough to do dissuading Tante Lulu and Aaron and you from dog kennels and animal rescue.”

  She blushed because she had, in fact, discussed the possibility with Tante Lulu. And she had, in fact, deliberately not discussed it with Daniel because she’d known how he would react.

  “Is this fruit edible?” Daniel asked.

  She looked at the dark green, oval object in his palm, about an inch or two long.

  “Not really. It will eventually turn red, and can be used as a substitute for limes, in a pinch, but they’re too sour and bitter by themselves. Some people use them for preserves, though. The Native Americans were the first to make use of the tree. In fact, the name tupelo comes from the Creek word for swamp tree.”

  “You are just a font of information.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or mocking. She shrugged. “You can’t live in the South and not glean all this information.”

  “I’m just teasing, Samantha. I like learning about Louisiana and the bayous. Have you ever read Odd Leaves from the Life of a Louisiana Swamp Doctor?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s about this pre-Civil War dude, a young doctor, and his misadventures practicing medicine in the bayou. Very funny in parts, especially the dialect.” He shrugged, rather embarrassed to have revealed so much. “Anyhow, even though I didn’t grow up here, I feel a connection.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I wouldn’t have stayed out in that damp, mosquito-infested fishing camp for so long if I didn’t like the bayou. Must be in the genes, God help me! I understand one of my grandfathers was a swamp guide, and another one trapped muskrats, whatever they are. A great-grandmother gathered swaths of moss from live oak trees to sell for mattress stuffing. Lots of outrageous characters in my family tree, according to Tante Lulu, not the least of which is that father of mine, Valcour LeDeux. The less said about him the better.”

  “My great-grandfather many times removed was arrested twelve times for cattle reaving in Scotland, and his wife was a noted witch. Rumors are, my great-aunt Jez, as in Jezebel, was a French Quarter stripper. My mother is a career seducer of young men, and my father can’t help
but marry any woman who wiggles her butt his way. If you think Tante Lulu is crazy, you ought to meet my Aunt Maire who has an obsession with the color pink. Pink house, pink furniture, pink clothing, pink car. She only eats things that are pink. Salmon, lemonade, beet pasta, cotton candy, strawberry smoothies, grapefruit, Pink Lady cocktails, medium rare steak. I’d say you come out the winner in this pool of gene outrageousness.”

  He smiled at her. A real, genuine smile that included his dark brown, expressive eyes. How had she not noticed them before? They were beautiful. Her heart did another somersault. First, he shows an empathy for animals, now he appreciates the humor of my family. I must be in some kind of hormone meltdown. Or he’s another devil doctor out to get something.

  “Did your aunt have cancer?” he asked.

  “No. She was doing this long before pink became the color for breast cancer awareness. Of course, the local cancer society has adopted her now. She’s great for raising funds. They’re always asking for the use of her house for events, or her pink Cadillac convertible for parades.”

  He nodded in understanding. “You can’t blame them. There’s never enough money, especially in the competition for charity dollars. I’ve been asked to donate plenty of times myself.”

  She imagined that he knew this firsthand, having been a cancer doctor himself and seeing the constant need for research funds until a cure was discovered.

  But then, she thought, oh, no! A sympathetic doctor? She could practically hear another brick in the wall of her defenses crumbling.

  “Are you playing me?” she asked suddenly.

  “Huh?”

  “Your remark about cancer charities, all caring and noble. That is the kind of thing Nick would do. I can’t count the number of charity events I’ve attended at his urging when his motives were to ingratiate himself with the movers and shakers of the Crescent City.” She tossed the hair back off her face in a haughty gesture of disdain. Then mimicked Nick, “Darlin’, we gotta go to the charity ball at the country club. Everyone will be there. How would it look if we didn’t attend and make a big donation? Wear the green gown that covers more of your ugly freckles and makes your butt look smaller. And your grandmother’s emeralds. They make you look so rich . . . I mean, elegant.”

  Daniel just stared at her for a long moment. “You have one helluva suspicious mind, Samantha. That dickhead you married did a real job on you, didn’t he?” he said, with his own shake of the head.

  Any further conversation was forestalled by the noise they heard coming from the kitchen. They looked at each other and gathered the animals to come inside . . . those that were so inclined. Cats had a tendency to be contrary, and Madeline looked at the two of them as if to say, “Later. Maybe.” She was munching on something that looked like a mouse, but was probably . . . hopefully . . . a stick.

  He made one further comment, though, as they crossed the verandah. “I don’t think your freckles are ugly. At all. And your butt? Nick must be blind, as well as stupid.” He patted one buttock as he passed in front of her into the kitchen.

  She clicked her gaping mouth shut and followed after him.

  Lily Beth was sitting at the table that could easily seat twelve people . . . a massive single block of wood on thick, heavy legs that was probably a primitive antique worth a fortune. Samantha would enjoy working on it with a hot mix of turpentine and linseed oil, applied with fine steel wool, to see what character emerged from the wood grains. There were long benches on both sides and straight-back chairs on either end.

  Angus had put paper plates and cutlery on the table and was now pulling foil-wrapped packages and plastic containers from the green fridge. Mostly these were Tante Lulu leftovers, which Lily Beth began to devour hungrily the second they were placed in front of her. Angus sniffed a carton of milk, then set it aside in the old, chipped enamel, cast iron farm sink. He also discarded some takeout containers that she could smell even from the doorway.

  “Good morning,” Samantha greeted them.

  “Morning,” they both said, without looking up from their breakfast feast.

  “How are you feeling today, Lily Beth?” Daniel asked.

  “Okay,” she said around a mouthful of Cajun potato salad. Chewing rapidly, she swallowed, then told him, “Mah ankles and fingers aren’t as swollen, and it didn’t hurt when I peed this mornin’.”

  Samantha and Daniel exchanged glances. That was the first they’d heard of urinary discomfort.

  “You’re going to need an examination. I can do a basic exam. Not an internal,” he was quick to emphasize. “But, if I detect any problems, I’ll insist you see an obstetrician right away.”

  “I doan know,” Lily Beth said. “Dr. Coltrane checked me over every week, and I didn’t have this swellin’ issue ’til this past week. I’m prob’ly okay.”

  Nick must have really frightened her about the dangers of seeing another doctor, who would in turn report back to Nick. Lily Beth thought that all doctors were in cahoots. As Samantha had herself, on occasion, she had to admit.

  “I do know. Either you agree, or you’re out of here, on your own,” Daniel insisted, taking a much-needed hard line.

  Clearly reluctant, Lily Beth nodded.

  Angus seemed about to argue, but then said, “Whatever!”

  Daniel put his hand on Lily Beth’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m going over to my apartment to get my medical bag. Stay off your feet as much as possible today. There’s some folding lawn furniture in that storage room down the hall that Tante Lulu brought yesterday, including a chaise, I think. Angus can set it up for you outside, if you want, or on one of the galleries.”

  Lily Beth and Angus both nodded, then resumed eating. Food was their top priority at the moment. They were also guzzling back bottles of Grapico, that Southern carbonated grape beverage that rotted the teeth of more than one overindulged Dixie child.

  “Samantha, can you give Lucien LeDeux a call?” Daniel asked. “Maybe at home since it’s still pretty early for him to be in his office.”

  She got the message in the serious tone of voice he’d used with Lily Beth and Angus, and now her. No more procrastinating. No more excuses. They needed outside help.

  “Now wait a minute, dude,” Angus said. “A doctor is one thing, but we can’t risk involving anyone else.”

  “You want our help, you’re going to do it our way.” Samantha spoke up before Daniel—clearly annoyed, as indicated by the clenching of his jaw—kicked them all out the door.

  “But—” Angus started to say.

  “I would suggest you sit down with a paper and pen, or that blasted computer of yours, and tabulate just how much money you owe whom,” Samantha said sternly. “Did you ever sign any documents listing an interest rate or repayment terms? No? I guess the mafia doesn’t work that way.”

  “It’s thirty-three percent,” Angus revealed with a reddened face.

  “WHAT?” Samantha and Daniel exclaimed at the same time.

  “No offense, but are you two idiots?” Daniel asked.

  To soften the blow of his insult, Samantha intervened. “You may find this hard to believe, Daniel, but Lily Beth is a physicist, almost has her doctoral degree. And Angus probably has enough college credits to equal a dozen degrees.”

  Daniel just arched his brows, probably questioning what they teach in college these days. Not common sense, for sure. And Lily Beth’s strong Southern accent sometimes came across as rather illiterate, bless her heart.

  “I was desperate,” Angus said defensively. “I am desperate.”

  “I was desperate, too,” Lily Beth added. “I needed the cash for tuition.”

  I’m becoming desperate myself.

  Samantha tamped down her panic and added, “Both of you should take some notes on the money Nick has given you and any threats he’s made. Also, anything you know about other pregnant girls he’s worked with.”

  Daniel left, and Samantha poured herself another mug of coffee and grabbed a beignet. “I’m g
oing upstairs to get dressed and make my phone call. In the meantime, clean up this kitchen when you’re done,” she told them both.

  “Is this some tough love crap?” Angus snarked.

  “If you don’t like it,” she replied, considering a raised middle finger in his direction, something she’d never done, “tough!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Her eyes were opened . . .

  Samantha made the bed and put on a pair of Chanel, faded blue, cotton shorts with a matching halter top centered with a big bow of the same color and fabric. For comfort, she put plain white, flat-heeled slides on her feet. She usually didn’t like to leave so much of her freckled skin exposed, but it was going to be especially hot today, even for Southern Louisiana, and there was no AC here. Her attire had nothing to do with Daniel’s remarks about her freckles not being ugly. Nothing at all. Really.

  Okay, a little.

  How pathetic was that?

  She pulled her hair off her face into a ponytail. By the time she applied a little makeup and spritzed herself with some Jessica McClintock, it was eight-fifteen. So, she went out of the bedroom French doors onto the gallery and punched in Luc’s home number on her cell phone.

  “Hello,” a woman answered on the third ring.

  “Sylvie?” Samantha asked.

  “Yes. Is that you, Samantha? How’ve you been?”

  She’d been better, she thought, but didn’t want to get into all the details with Sylvie, then have to repeat the story to Luc. “I’m okay. How about you?”

  “I’m thinking about going back to work since the girls no longer need me to chauffeur them around.” Sylvie was a chemist who’d gained some notoriety a while back when she discovered a love potion that could be embedded in jelly beans. It had been the impetus for her and Luc getting together. Their girls . . . three of them . . . must be teenagers by now. “By the way, we’re having a pool party on Saturday to celebrate Tante Lulu’s birthday, although she won’t tell us exactly how old she is. Can you come?”