by Toombs, Jane
Guy, anger and frustration roiling inside him, strode to the front door and, banging it behind him, flung himself down the front steps and into the evening.
Louisiana wasn't what it had been, nor was the world. Everything he could see as he stomped along the road toward the city spoke of growth, of the cursed American drive for progress, no matter who or what got trampled in the process.
Like the Creoles were being trampled.
He'd fought to have the French language retained in the legislature and had won. Now he foresaw a day when there'd be no battle because everyone would speak English and the reason for allowing the French to be spoken would disappear.
How well he remembered the census of 1810 when he and his friends were amazed to realize that 76,556 people lived in Louisiana. What had the count been in 1830? Nearly 216,000, as he recalled. New Orleans had suffered the most from this influx. Not only Americans, but Irish, Italians, everyone came to the city, changing its ways.
No longer could he stroll along the old streets, Royal, Orleans, Esplanade and recognize everyone he met. Strangers sat in the coffee houses and thronged to the French Market.
The trouble with the Americans was they saw no need to take the time to enjoy life, to meet with friends over a brandy, to talk of nothing in particular. They hustled about their business, always in a hurry. Why couldn’t they see that business should be transacted leisurely, By friend, in a coffee house? Why didn’t they see that it should be a part of a man’s life, but not his reason for living?
Guy walked on through the city, coming at last to the levee, where he stood staring at the the double-stacked steamboats gleaming white against the dark water. Thousands of them came to port here in a year’s time. Thousands. He could remember when there was only one steamboat on the Mississippi—Fulton’s New Orleans.
Still, he couldn’t really complain about the boats. The side-wheelers had done well for him and he’d helped proliferate them. His profits had climbed, too, from the increased population, more shipping, the need for more sugar. If the war with the British had almost destroyed, the Americans must be given credit for making him many times as wealthy as his father had been.
But the quality of life suffered. He watched the bustle on the wharves. Once he’d have though the port crowded if three ships were at anchor at the same time. Now they were so busy they loaded day and night.
A light flashed across the dark sky and disappeared above the southern horizon. Like one of the rockets we waited for the night at Chalmette, he though. So many of us, all trusting Jackson to lead us to victory.
The great general Jackson—he was President Jackson now—yet he never forgot a man who fought with him.
Why do I complain? He asked himself. Hasn’t my life been good, all in all? I have a loving wife, even if she does try to manage me as well as Lac Belle. The plantation is greater than the old one at La Belle, certainly more profitable.
In France, Denis is a son to be proud of, and Anton will be, in his way. My niece, Cecile, is all I could have wanted in a daughter. I only regret that I didn’t listen to Madelaine and bring her to live with us sooner.
Madelaine. Did I destroy my sister’s life? Poor Philippe—I never intended to kill him. What did I intend with John Kellogg? To rid myself of all Americans by running a rapier through one of them?
I must put a good face on this marriage, whether I approve or not. I don’t want to lose my sister. Fabrienne is right, Madelaine needs to have a husband. If she loves Kellogg, why not let her be happy? Yes, I can and will agree to the marriage.
Cecile is another matter. I can’t agree she be told or her origins. My sister calls my respect for the past ridiculous. She can’t see a man must be true to his roots, to what has gone before. Cecile will remain a La Branche. She must never know she bears the hated name of Roulleaux.
His thoughts broke off as another meteor arced overhead, followed by two more, then a dozen others, so many of them that he stood watching the night sky in wonder. The entire sky blazed with shooting stars. The heavens became a coruscating brilliance.
“The stars do be falling from the sky!” a black man shouted from the wharf.
Other voices echoed his. Cries of fear. Of awe.
Guy stood transfixed. “Dieu,” he whispered reverently.
He’d learned about meteors at school in France, but as he stared at the flaming skies he felt as the Negro on the wharf did. The stars were falling.
Le bon Dieu had given him a sign that he, too, must change as his world was changing. The time had come to forget what was outmoded and hold only to the true.
He turned and started back to Lac Belle, the heavenly display still flashing above him. Every Creole must become my brother, he told himself. Together we can hold our place in New Orleans, only together can we enjoy the benefits the Americans have brought, while we try to keep from being swallowed up by them.
They're like the Mississippi, the Americans, sweeping everything along in a swift current. But we Creoles can be an island in that river, can remain ourselves if we join together as one. Be Americans and yet Creoles, too.
Guy stopped to borrow a horse to gallop home. It was late, but not too late, if he hurried. He rushed into the house.
"Cecile," he called. "Cecile! Come to me, immediately."
Madelaine ran into the foyer, Fabrienne behind her.
"Marry him," Guy said to his sister. "Marry your American with my blessings." He embraced her, then let her go to turn to his wife.
"Where's Cecile?" he asked.
"Here I am, Cousine Guy," Cecile said, appearing at the curve of the stairs. "I was about to retire."
"No," he said. "Fetch your cloak and bonnet and come with me."
All three women stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"My eyes have been opened," Guy said. "The stars have fallen from the skies to show the last of the La Branches his way. A new way, indeed, but the right one.”
“Tonight I'm bringing Cecile with me to learn of her origins. Hurry, now, and get ready, Cecile. I am taking you to meet your uncle.”
“Your Uncle Nicolas Roulleaux.”
The End
About The Author
Jane Toombs, the Viking from her past and their calico grandcat, Kinko, live on the south shore of Lake Superior in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula wilderness. Here they enjoy refreshing Springs, beautiful Summers, colorful Falls and tolerate miserable Winters. Jane is edging toward ninety with her published books and has over twenty-five novellas and short stories to her credit. She’s been published in every genre except men’s action and erotica, but paranormal is her favorite. She’s a member of a closed twelve author promo group called Jewels Of The Quill, where she’s “Dame Turquoise”
Also from Books We Love, Golden Chances Books 1 to 7, Hallow House, Books I and II, and Ten Past Midnight. Six stories and three poems on the dark side of paranormal. Everything from ghouls to the heart-eating Egyptian beast who decides one's fate. Even the touches of romance are definitely different. But what traveler can expect the norm when on the wrong side of midnight? Ten past midnight All's not well. Every road leads right To hell..
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