Bayou Fever

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “Oui,” she said.

  “And this place, this is our home. We have deep roots here, Bebe. Your papa’s people and mine, they come to settle this place two hundred years ago, eh?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Her mother’s dark eyes flashed anger. “Then why would your papa allow his precious girl to leave her roots and her home? Why lose his bebe when there is a godly man who promises not to take her away?”

  “Mama, what are you talking about?”

  Mama lifted the baby to her shoulder and began rubbing circles on her little back. “I’m talking about love and marriage, Angie, same as you.”

  Angeline leaned against the porch post and tried to make sense of the conversation. Why would Papa think she might leave home if she wasn’t married off to the likes of Nicolas Arceneaux? She never even considered the idea.

  But she had considered what it would be like to marry Jefferson Villare, hadn’t she?

  “A penny for your thoughts, Angie.”

  “You and Papa have nothing to worry about, you know,” she said with a sigh. “There never was anything between Jefferson and me besides a friendship. I thought you believed me.”

  With her free hand, Mama lifted Angeline’s chin and offered a smile. “I never did doubt. I know my girl’s a good girl and I know Jefferson; he’s a good boy.” She paused. “But I know love when I see it, and I know Jefferson thinks he’s not meant to stay. Marry up with him, and he’ll take you where you’ll never see home again.”

  “Is that what this is about? Papa thinks I’m going to marry Jefferson if he doesn’t find someone else for me?” She pounded her fists on her knees. “Why can’t he just let me be? I promise I’m not going anywhere. You need me here to help, and I don’t care if I ever get married.”

  Again Mama shook her head. “That is the anger talking, Bebe. Even if you don’t know you love him, I do and so does your papa. God knows too. You mark my words, though. You stand too close to the fire that young doctor’s got burning inside him, and you gonna get burned.”

  A wail went up from inside the house. It was the twins, crying in unison. “Mama,” one said. “Make Amalie wake up,” the other finished.

  “Oh, I hope that precious child’s not sick again. I thought we had her well.”

  Angeline placed a hand on Mama’s shoulder. “See, you need me here. I’ll handle this. Likely as not, Amalie’s playing possum so she doesn’t have to help Mathilde take care of the babies.”

  But when she found her sister lying on the settee, she knew Amalie was not playing possum. The little girl was burning up with fever.

  “Mama, come here, please!” Angeline shouted. “Something’s wrong with Amalie.”

  Mama handed the baby to Angeline and knelt beside Amalie. “Oh, Bebe, I’m gonna pray this isn’t what I think it is.” She looked up at Angeline. “Put the baby in her bed, and go fetch the doctor. I don’t think we can get her to the office without Papa or the boys here. You tell him this is urgent, you hear, eh?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Angeline found her way to the old pirogue Papa kept around for the children and began to paddle furiously toward town. By the time she reached the docks, her fingers were raw and her back was soaked with sweat. Tying up the boat despite the pain in her hands, she set off toward Doc Broussard’s office only to find a note on the door stating that he was out seeing patients. The message referred all emergencies to Jefferson Villare.

  Angeline knew all too well how to find Jefferson’s home, and she returned to her pirogue to trace the winding path of the bayou until it reached the Villare place. In her mind, she’d always thought of the big house as a mansion. When Papa would read the verse in the Bible about God’s house having many mansions, she always pictured Jefferson’s house. Funny how her age had changed, but her perspective had remained the same.

  Even now as she trudged toward the big double front doors and the wide porch filled with white rocking chairs, she felt like the teenager she’d been the last time she walked across the threshold. She’d often wondered if their last day together, the day Doc Villare had come home to find his son and the poor Acadian girl alone in the big house, had really changed the course of two lives, or whether it just seemed that way looking back.

  The moment had been as innocent as they were, just two friends sharing Mrs. Mike’s peach pie across the kitchen table. As far as they knew, Mrs. Mike was somewhere in the house rather than out running errands for the afternoon. Angeline had never contemplated what Doc Villare accused them of doing—at least not seriously. The end result was the same. Two reputations tarnished and a pair of good friends separated.

  As long as she lived, she would always wonder whether what happened that afternoon was part of God’s plan or Satan’s.

  Eleven

  “I’m sorry, but he’s unavailable right now.”

  The sound of his housekeeper’s voice danced at the edge of Jeff’s favorite dream, the one where he and Angeline sat on the banks of the Nouvelle dipping their toes in the warm water and frightening away any fish they thought to catch. They couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve, and he, the city boy, had boasted an ability to catch fish well beyond his capacity to do so.

  True to her gentle and understanding nature, Angeline suggested it would be much more fun to see who could kick water the farthest.

  He won that contest; he always did.

  The dream abruptly changed course, and he and Angeline were seated at the kitchen table, a peach pie and two glasses of milk between them.

  Jeff shifted in Pop’s chair and allowed his body to relax once more. He’d worked two days and two nights straight, with only a few hours of stolen sleep on Doc’s office couch in the process. When the number of influenza cases slowed to a manageable level and the house calls began, Doc sent him home. He’d gone willingly, he was ashamed to say, but he’d promised to get some rest and return in the afternoon. In the meantime, Doc promised to send someone to fetch him if things got out of hand again.

  Jeff edged down into the chair and rested his chin on his chest. Just a few more minutes of sleep, a few more minutes reliving the past, and he would make the trek upstairs to his room and a real bed for sure.

  Just a few more minutes. . .

  “But you don’t understand,” a female voice said in his dream. “It’s my sister; she’s sick with a fever. Papa and Ernest are gone, so Mama sent me to town to fetch a doctor.”

  Fever. Doctor. Those words had no place in his dream.

  Shaking the cobwebs from his brain, Jeff rose and stretched his complaining muscles. Too many hours bending over an exam table and too little sleep had left him feeling twice his age. How did Pop and Doc manage to attend to an endless line of patients, day after day, week after week, with no attention to schedules or office hours?

  At least the life of a research physician offered regular hours and stools that didn’t cause back strain. Yes, but what of the looks of gratitude on the faces of parents or the reward in knowing a life had been saved?

  Jeff shook off the question. Many parents would be grateful and many lives would be saved by the eradication of influenza. He should be thankful God chose him to be a part of medical research, rather than spend his time wondering if he’d misunderstood the Lord’s leading.

  Bright shafts of sunlight pushed through the windows and formed a pattern on the old Persian rug. Dust motes danced in the light. The clock on the mantle read a few minutes before noon.

  The best he could tell, he’d been asleep in Pop’s chair for nearly five hours. No wonder he was so stiff.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Villare has had a long night, and he came home to get some rest only a few hours ago.”

  Dr. Villare. How strange to hear the housekeeper use the name Jeff associated with his father to refer to him. Others had called him that, and it seemed natural, but to hear Mrs. Mike say it sounded out of place.

  And to whom was she speaking? Did Doc Broussard need his services again? />
  As much as he’d like to hide, to ignore the call to work once more, he knew he could not. He’d promised he would remain available as long as he was needed.

  “Mrs. Mike?” Jeff stepped into the hall and froze when he saw Angeline Breaux standing at the open front door.

  He went forward and took his friend by the hand. “Angeline, come in.” To his surprise, she stood firm.

  “No, thank you.” She winced as she slipped her hand from his. “Actually, Mama sent me to fetch you to see to Amalie.”

  The mention of the young girl’s name brought back an image of her wan appearance two nights ago. “What’s happened?”

  “Could I tell you on the way?” She curled her fingers into fists and hid her hands behind her back. “Mama’s powerful worried, and I’d hate to keep her waiting.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I told you, Mama thinks Amalie’s fever is a bad sign. She wants you to come see.”

  He moved a bit closer. “No, I mean what’s wrong with you?”

  Before she could answer, he reached for her arms and turned her small hands up so he could examine them. Both palms were raw with abrasions, and a blister ran across the length of her right thumb.

  He turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Mike, fetch my bag, would you? It’s in Pop’s office, on the desk, I believe.” As she scurried past, he returned his attention to Angeline. “How did this happen?”

  “Really, Jefferson, sa fait pas rien.”

  “Yes, it matters.”

  He acknowledged the housekeeper’s return by motioning for her to follow him into the kitchen. With difficulty, he managed to get Angeline inside the house and settled in a chair at the kitchen table.

  While he bound her wounds, she told him the story of her arrival at his doorstep. “You rowed all this way, Ma Chere?” When she nodded, he replied, “Well if you have no objections, we’ll leave your old pirogue here and take Pop’s Model A. I’ll have someone bring it back before nightfall. I promise.”

  “A motorcar?” She looked away. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  Jeff smiled. For the bayou people, getting around by boat had been a tradition carried down through the centuries. Bad roads and wet conditions made driving treacherous in wet weather and merely bumpy and inconvenient in dry weather. Only in rare instances was it their first choice of transportation.

  “Angeline, have you ever ridden in a motorcar?”

  “Once,” she said softly. “When I was a little girl, Papa’s uncle came to visit, and he took us for a ride.”

  “Oh? Did you enjoy it?”

  She nodded. “Very much, at least until that motorcar hit a slick spot and nearly slid into the bayou.”

  “That must have been quite a ride.” He grasped her elbow and turned her toward the door. “I promise I will stay out of the bayou on this trip.” He paused to glance over his shoulder. “Mrs. Mike, would you bring my bag out to the car?”

  After helping Angeline into the Model A, he slid behind the steering wheel and placed the bag between them. To her credit, Angeline said nothing as he pulled out of the driveway and into the sparse traffic on Jackson Street. She merely held on to the edge of the seat and sat ramrod straight, her eyes barely blinking.

  “Are you all right?” he finally asked.

  She nodded, a stiff nod that did nothing to convince him of the earnestness of her answer. He searched his mind for something, anything, that might cause her to feel at ease, but nothing came to mind. Of course, a few stray memories of times they’d shared did occur to him, but he doubted the wisdom of mentioning them. With his train tickets bought, the last thing he needed was to schedule another trip—this one down memory lane. After the fiasco at the Breaux house two nights ago, he’d learned his lesson.

  No, this visit to check on her sister would be all business, no social call. As soon as he administered treatment to Amalie, he would be on his way, never to return to Bayou Nouvelle and Angeline Breaux.

  It was the only way, really.

  As they rolled along the streets of Latanier, he noticed Angeline relax a bit. She’d released her death grip on the edge of the seat and appeared to be sitting comfortably with her hands grasped in her lap. Only the white of her knuckles gave away the depth of her fear.

  “So, Angeline, tell me what’s ailing your sister.”

  She sighed. “At first we thought it might be a touch of the croup or maybe something she ate. She was a little feverish and just didn’t act like herself.”

  “What sort of treatment did she receive?”

  “Mama put a poultice on her and I kept a cool cloth on her head.” She paused. “I knew she didn’t feel good for sure when she just lay there and let us mess with her. That little Amalie, she’s not one to sit still.”

  Jeff slowed to allow a horse and buggy to cross First Avenue. “How long ago did she first exhibit these new symptoms?”

  “About three days ago, maybe four.”

  “I remember she slept through the evening I spent out at your place. Has she been sleeping excessively?”

  “She does seem to be tired a lot of the time.”

  “And Mathilde, has she had any more fainting episodes?”

  Angeline nodded. “Just this morning she nearly dropped one of Mama’s good teacups on the floor when she about passed out. If she had other fits like that, she hasn’t said.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about Amalie’s condition and Mathilde’s?”

  Only when she’d said her last words on the subject did he allow his mind to wander past the confines of the motorcar to what might lie ahead of them. Dare he consider little Amalie, and perhaps even Mathilde, might bear the signs of influenza? If so, the rest of the Breaux family would be in danger of contracting the deadly disease.

  “Do you think you can fix my Amalie?”

  “I think God can fix anything, Angeline. Whether He uses me to do it is another matter entirely.” He met her gaze and attempted a smile. “I will do my best though.”

  And I’ll pray my best is good enough.

  Jeff turned the car off the main road and onto the narrow lane leading toward the Breaux home. Whatever he found there, God would go before him.

  “Oh, and Jefferson, I’ve been meaning to thank you for what you did for me the night you shared gumbo with us.” She offered him a radiant smile. “Papa never knew his pants went to town and back.”

  They shared a laugh, and Jeff felt a perplexing stab of pain. How wonderful it would be to laugh with her more often.

  Moments into the drive down the ancient thoroughfare, the road fell into shadows as the trees hung low and thick. Birds dipped and flew, teasing the old car as it lumbered past. In a matter of minutes, time had rolled backward, and except for the modern motorcar, he could have been traveling a road that looked the same a century ago.

  “Jefferson, do you ever wonder why God put all of us on earth to be so different?”

  Surprised, he swung his gaze to meet Angeline’s stare. “Now that’s an interesting thought. What do you mean?”

  “Well, look at us.” She smiled a wry smile. “If ever two people were more different from the beginning, I can’t imagine it. I mean, you’re a big city doctor and I’m just a simple bayou girl.”

  Jeff shook his head. “Angeline Breaux, there is nothing simple about you.”

  “But don’t you see? There’s nothing wrong with being simple, Jefferson. In fact, I rather prefer it. It’s you I’m concerned for.”

  “How so?” he asked as the car lurched over ruts in the little road.

  Angeline grabbed for the door handle to keep from sliding forward. Her face told him she bore the bouncing about much better than she had the miles they’d driven in the city. Perhaps the nearness to home helped.

  “Well, I just can’t imagine being up North among strangers who talk funny and move so fast. I saw downtown New York on the news reels at the picture show once, and it looked like there were more people on that one sidewalk t
han we have in the whole state of Louisiana.”

  A pair of dogs lounged in the road, and Jeff honked the horn to scatter them into the thicket. “I hardly think New York’s that big.”

  “It’s bigger than Latanier, and that’s all I need to know.” She released her grip on the door as the Model A rolled over a smoother patch of road. “I don’t know why anyone would want to leave such a beautiful place.”

  Why indeed? And yet the beauty of the lush green landscape and the brilliant blue sky paled in comparison to the dark-haired Acadian beauty seated beside him.

  For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining a life spent in the bayou country. With the exception of times like now, when mysterious fevers swept the area, his would be a life of simplicity.

  He remembered the kiss he shared with Angeline and touched his finger to his lips. If only he could give up the life he felt called toward in order to have more of those kisses, perhaps a lifetime of them.

  Unfortunately, he had a one-way train ticket to New York dated for two days hence. Come Wednesday morning, he would leave the bayou and Angeline behind.

  Or would he?

  Lord, is that why You kept her in my mind all these years? Could I have misunderstood Your direction for my life? Do You want me to pursue a relationship with Angeline Breaux?

  Twelve

  What a strange expression Jefferson wore! Had she said something wrong? Of course, he was leaving in two days, so maybe he didn’t like what she said about staying here.

  For the next few minutes, they rode along in silence. Angeline couldn’t think of anything else to say, and Jefferson obviously didn’t want to make conversation either. She settled for worrying with the bandages on her hands until Jefferson finally told her to leave them alone.

  Mama met them in the yard as the motorcar pulled alongside the house. Several of the little ones tagged behind her, but when the vehicle roared to a stop, they scattered to the porch.