Flowers of the Bayou

by Lam, Arlene

  Flowers of the Bayou

  A Novelette

  By Arlene Lam

  Flowers of the Bayou

  Copyright 2012 Arlene Lam

  Published By Arlene Lam

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Table Of Contents

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Coming Soon

  Part One

  Margaret

  The Louisiana Iris

  Louisiana Iris

  February 23, 1859, New Orleans

  Jasper was home! Margaret felt as if her heart might stop beating. He'd been gone for three years in Europe. How could she not know he was coming home? Nearly knocking over her chair, Margaret hurried over to Jordan’s side. “What type of a cruel trick is this?” She fumed.

  Jordan Bradford looked down at his cousin. Giving his wife a kiss to the cheek, he took Margaret by the arm and led her to the beverage table. “I did not know if he was coming for certain.” Smiling his devastating smile, the handsome man placed a glass of lemonade in the flustered woman’s hand. “Calm yourself woman. You're turning several shades of red. He is just a man after all. I assure you he did not create the heavens and the earth.”

  Margaret sighed and took a deep breath. He was right of course. Still, though Jasper McMahon was not more than a man, to her, he was the only man. “I look awful. I swear, the next time Mama tells me to dress more the part of a lady, I’ll listen.” Smoothing the crinkles out of her cotton lilac frock, Margaret frowned and began pulling on the single pigtail flowing over her shoulder.

  Always somewhat of a tomboy, she’d only just come in from wading in the river a short time earlier. There was still silt under her nails and her mother would kill her if she saw it. Especially since she had bothered to put on only a plain, lilac calico dress and today they were hosting Jordan’s birthday party.

  But all of that didn’t matter right now. What did matter was that she looked a mess, and this wasn’t the way she wanted to present herself to Jasper after several years of absence.

  She’d been in love with Jasper since she was a child. The problem, however, was he simply didn’t take her seriously. However, she was not the thirteen-year-old girl he left years ago. Having just turned eighteen last month, gone was the freckle-faced, girl and, as her mother would say, here now stood a green-eyed woman. “Come on dance with me while I try to get my thoughts together.”

  “Is that even possible?” Jordan teased, all while maneuvering them both toward the ballroom. “You look downright perplexed.” He commented at her furrowed browed face.

  “Wilbur won’t stop being my shadow and he’s vexing me,” Margaret said, smiling up at Jordan. It was a half-truth, one she knew he wouldn’t fall for. She would have done better passing off her rattled nerves on Samantha, Jordan’s wife. The two did not see eye-to-eye on anything and Margaret could not figure out why her cousin married the woman.

  “Everyone vexes you. What is the real issue?”

  “How can I ever compare to her?” Margaret quipped, inclining her head toward a pristine, red-haired beauty. Margaret nearly trampled Jordan’s toe whilst they waltzed.

  She’d observed Bernadette Walker entering the room only moments ago—gorgeous, perfect, flame-haired Bernadette. Margaret felt her heart sink. How could she forget? Hadn’t she always been there by Jasper’s side?

  Jordan frowned now himself. Margaret had become one of his closest friends as they grew older and he didn’t like to see her upset. “Don’t doubt yourself.” “How can I not? Have you seen her?” Of course he’d seen Bernadette, and yes, she was beautiful but not as lovely as his own wife or Margaret. “I wouldn’t let her intimidate you. It pains me to admit it, but you are just as lovely.”

  Margaret ignored him. “What would you know about it anyway? You still have every woman swooning at the sight of you.”

  “This from the woman who has a state full of suitors. Did you ever think that maybe you should stop turning them all down?”

  It was true. She did have more than a few men vying for her hand. She’d liked more than a few of them, too. It was just none of them were Jasper. She was lucky that her father was letting her make her own decision or she would have been married long ago.

  As Jordan swirled them across the ballroom floor, Margaret felt the familiar feeling of defeat as she made eye contact with Bernadette, a feeling the latter made sure was a staple in Margaret’s life…

  New Orleans, 1854

  Margaret hung high in the top of the birch tree, leaning down dangerously to spy on her cousin and his closest friend. She would be able to hear perfectly if only she could get a bit closer. She would be able to see perfectly, too. But the stubborn branch she perched upon refused to budge.

  For the moment, however, she was content with watching her cousin Jordan try to fondle the hoity Sue Ellen Ferguson. Her tight flaxen curls could be seen from above bouncing fiercely as she giggled at something or other her cousin had said, but soon, all was quieted as she could be seen leaning in for a kiss.

  Turning up her nose, Margaret faked a silent gag, letting her eyes finally fall on the reason she risked scraping her knees and a whipping from her mama that would sting for a week for ruining her new dress—the blonde head of Jasper McMahan.

  Jasper leaned casually against the old tree, fully engrossed in the task of ogling the chest of auburn-haired Bernadette Walker while pretending to listen to her. How Margaret hated the red-headed witch. The way she fluttered her fan whenever he spoke and leaned into him with every giggle was beyond inane. She was the very definition or irritating.

  Jasper listened half-heartedly to Bernadette's chatter finding joy in the way her chest heaved with every breath. His friend Jordan was fairing far better than himself at the moment and he was waiting for the right time to make his move so he could have a little fun himself.

  "Are you even paying me any mind, Jasper?"

  "Of course I am," he quickly responded.

  "Then what did I just say?" Bernadette was no fool.

  "Come on Dette," Jasper whined, using his pet name for her.

  "Don't Dette me! You haven't heard one thing I've said all day."

  "You haven't heard one thing I've said all day," Jasper mocked playfully, winning a smile from her.

  “I don't know why I like you so," Bernadette said, smacking him on the chest with the fan she held in her hand but also leaning in just enough to create an improper closeness that was just begging to be taken advantage of.

  There was his chance and Jas
per was not going to let it pass. Leaning in, he let his lips graze hers in the first beginnings of a kiss.

  Above in the tree Margaret observed this and nearly choked. Why did Jasper even pay attention to Bernadette? She was mean and she was ugly. Well, at least to Margaret she was. Unfortunately, everyone else thought Bernadette was the epitome of Southern belle beauty.

  Margaret felt her footing slip at the shocking display below her, but held fast. However, she couldn't help the disgusted howl of disbelief and disapproval that escaped her throat.

  Jordan peered up into the branches, squinting against the bright summer sun but nonetheless spotting his thirteen-year-old cousin dangling from the branch above his head, her tiny foot dangling just within reach. With a quick tug, he sent her tumbling to the carpeted floor of grass. "I ought to strangle you!' Jordan yelled.

  "Look what you've done to my dress. Mama's going to kill me."

  "Aunt Susanna will do more than that when she hears you've been spying again."

  "You tell my mother and I'll tell what you've been doing out here when you’re supposed to be helping Miss Ferguson pick flowers for tonight's supper," Margaret quickly countered, smiling brightly as she stopped him in his tracks. "That's what I thought."

  "Why are you out here anyway?" It was Sue Ellen, who now stood in a huff, trying to fix her dress.

  "Why, you didn't know? Jordan's cousin has a fluttering heart for my beau!" Bernadette shot arrows at the little brunette who always seemed to be intruding on her and Jasper.

  "Not so!" Margaret felt as if the ground was about to open up and swallow her. No one but her mother knew how she felt about Jasper, and she swore her to the strictest of confidence. That was a secret nogirl wanted to get out.

  "It is so," Bernadette hurled back.

  "Oh leave her alone," Jasper said, speaking up for the girl who in recent weeks had become his shadow.

  “Come on, Margaret. I'll walk you back to the house."

  Taking his hand, Margaret began to walk down the hill to the big house, turning back to glare defiantly at her cousin and most of all to Bernadette.

  "You have to stop spying, Margaret." Jasper began.

  “I don’t spy,” She lied.

  “Then what do you call it?"

  "Why do you even like her?" Margaret had to know.

  “Why do you like Edward?”

  Margaret was shocked. She did not like Edward, Edward fancied her, and mother made her indulge him. “I do not like him.”

  “I can’t tell. You’re both always together. Edward is real nice, Margaret. He likes you and talks about you all the time. Why don’t you spend some time with him?” Jasper teased.

  “I don’t like Edward,” Margaret retorted. “He is awful nice and a real good friend but I have someone else in mind.”

  Jasper sighed; he knew just who else she had in mind. It wasn’t hard to figure out, even if you were daft. The girl sure was forward and perhaps if Margaret wasn’t Margaret, he’d allow himself to try and see more in the girl.

  She was pretty and sweet and he did care about her, but she was Margaret, Jordan’s irritating cousin! He couldn’t like her. “You might change your mind about Edward when you get a little older like me." Jasper informed her.

  "Older!” Now that was rich. “You are only three years older than me, Jasper.”

  “The difference in maturity is astounding, isn’t it?” He teased. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Sighing, Margaret stopped in her tracks and asked sincerely, "Why do you like her?"

  "What a silly question. Everyone likes Bernadette but you. Besides, she’s the prettiest girl I ever saw?" Jasper could have kicked himself for the last part, but the words just flew out. Bernadette was the prettiest girl he knew. Well, maybe one of the prettiest. “Why do you want to know anyway?”

  "I just do." Margaret pulled her hand from his to walk ahead of him. His last statement stung.

  "Why?" He knew why but was hoping to silence her.

  "You know why." Turning around she faced him dead on. “I may not be the prettiest girl, but I’m smart you know.”

  “Yes I know.” Jasper had been bested by her in numbers on more than one occasion. “And I did not say you weren’t pretty even with that face full of freckles.”

  Margaret thought about this and gave a giggle. “I swear, you and Jordan like all the wrong type of ladies. I’m going to remedy that, you know.”

  “Really, how do you plan to do this?” Jasper laughed nearly doubling over at her new-found confidence.

  Margaret stopped to peer up into glistening hazel eyes then. He'd have to find out sooner or later. “Because one day I'm going to marry you. As for Jordan, I guess we’ll have to protect him from the wrong sort together." She awaited his response on abated breath, and Jasper took a moment to let what she’d said sink in before he doubled over in laughter.

  After that day, Margaret had avoided Jasper for a month and would turn beet red if he ever glanced her way. It took another month for her to start talking to him again, after he pestered her about her silence a good week. Finally, he told her he missed her pestering and apologized.

  That day, as she walked back home from her lessons, he’d accompanied her. It was nice and they talked about any and everything.

  They found that they had a lot in common and Jasper made it a habit to walk her home from then on, every day. She hoped it was not because he felt sorry for her. Deep within herself, she somehow felt that was not the case.

  When her mother found out about the walks, Jordan was forced to join them but Margaret didn’t care. She found that she could not wait to get to her lessons every morning.

  Most of the time, Jordan would run off to go do Lord only knew what with Sue Ellen and meet up with them just in time for her mama to see them coming around the bend to the grand house.

  The days that Jordan disappeared were the days Margaret liked the most, but soon even that ended.

  Bernadette found out, of course, and the walks were now with four instead of the regular three. When Jordan snuck off, Bernadette remained and she commanded all attention. Jasper gave it willingly and Margaret all but faded into the scenery.

  New Orleans, 1859

  “You’ve stepped on my foot again, Margaret.” Jordan was now holding his cousin at an awkward distance.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be; it’s my birthday and you're stealing me away from my wife so you can step all over my toes and daydream about Jasper.” Jordan stopped mid-waltz. “May I cut in?” Winking at Margaret, he waltzed away with none other than Bernadette in his arm’s leaving his cousin in front of Jasper.

  Jasper had to blink twice at the woman before him. The familiar sparkling green eyes were the only remnants of the gangly, freckle-faced girl he’d last seen three years ago, those and the signature pigtail. “Margaret?”

  “Jasper,” she greeted him. “What happened to all of the freckles?”

  At this she laughed. “I still have a few.”

  “The years have certainly been kind.” He was having a hard time adjusting to this new Margaret. Jordan's cousin had always been lovely, but this woman before him was stunning. When did this happen? Vaguely he could hear the music of the waltz come to an end and he smiled. “May I have a place on your dance card?”

  “I’d be most pleased if you did,” Margaret croaked while searching for the damned thing. Hadn’t she just had it?

  “Lost something again?” Margaret’s head snapped up to stare at Bernadette. “No, I haven’t,” she lied. “How are you Bernadette?”

  “I’m especially well now that my beau’s back. Who did you come with, Margaret? Where is your beau hiding?”

  “I have no beau as you are well aware.” Margaret seethed inwardly.

  "I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, why with your having more scratched knees and scars than the boys do."

  "I doubt that, Bernadette," Jasper cut in for the first time. “You never mentioned in your letters how beautifu
l Margaret has become." He watched as Margaret's face lit up. "You've grown, Margaret."

  Margaret could scarcely hear him, lost in his eyes and his compliment. He thought she was beautiful.

  “Come on, darling. My father’s looking for you?” Bernadette gave Margaret a look that let her know she had better stay clear of Jasper. “If you’ll please excuse us.”

  "Of course." Stepping back Margaret maneuvered herself away from the ballroom floor to the punch table where Lester Manning, along with his best friend Morgan Pierce, tried unsuccessfully to get a dance from her.

  She stayed perched at that spot, glass of punch in hand, for what seemed like an eternity, and turned a dozen boys away as she watched her mother play the pleasant hostess. Finally, Patty Jensen tapped her shoulder. "Why are you so glum, sugar plum?”

  "I'm tired I suppose."

  "No you are not. No one can be tired at a party." Patty turned up her pert, sculptured nose and raised her picturesque, rose-colored lips in a smile.

  "You know you make me sick sometimes," Margaret joked.

  "Ugh! What did I do now?" Patty giggled as she swayed to the orchestra and placed another name on the long list of her dance card.

  Patty was gorgeous, no, flawless, and she knew it. But the difference between Patty and women like Jordan’s wife, Regina, and Bernadette was that she was definitely not vain.

  The strawberry blonde looked as if she might belong in a book of fairytales. Everything about her was perfect and presented in such a way that she had the appearance of a beautiful wood spirit.

  "You weren't here when I needed you.”

  "Well I'm here now, honey." Patty turned her pretty head with grace toward Margaret.

  "Jasper is home; did you know?”

  “I just saw him walk away, which is why I’m wondering why you're standing here with a frown plastered all over your sweet face.”

  “I can never be Bernadette.”