Which was precisely what Tanner had in mind. “I’ll reconsider if you bring Amanda Richardson to me. Alone.”
“But I don’t understand. What does Amanda have to do with...?”
Tanner ignored her, wrapping the lock tighter in his grip. “She lives with the Cajun racetrack owner now. She visits town frequently, but never alone. I need to speak to her, but it’s important that no one else be around. Do you understand?”
“You’re hurting me,” Katherine said, tugging at the strand of hair.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Katherine acquiesced, breathing relief when Tanner released her hair.
“When?”
“Friday is Anne’s baby christening,” Katherine offered. “I’ll ask her to come with me to the church.”
Tanner began to pace. “Too many people.”
“You could get her alone after the service. Or I could tell her there is someone to see her outside. I don’t know, maybe on the way there?”
For several moments, Tanner said nothing. It could work. He would make it work. “Then it’s settled. Friday you pick her up in your carriage and the two of you drive to church alone.”
Grabbing his hat, he flung open the front door. “You can leave now,” he instructed Katherine before disappearing around the corner of the house.
“I’m seventeen,” T-Emile quietly said.
After several minutes of a conversation of small talk, in which the young man contributed nothing, Amanda finally resorted to asking him his age. Knowing he would drive the carriage in silence after he told her this information, Amanda continued her line of questions.
“What does the T in your name mean?”
“My father’s name was Emile.”
The horses steady plodding persisted, but T-Emile’s explanation did not. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m ’Tit Emile.”
Amanda sounded the words over and over again in her head until they eventually made sense. “I see,” she said with a bright smile. “That’s short for petite Emile, which becomes ’Tit Emile or T-Emile.”
T-Emile seemed to follow her interpretation with a non-emotional stare. Amanda wondered if he understood the word’s evolution, or if he just didn’t care where the word originated. From what she had witnessed the past few days, the young man didn’t seem interested in much, although he dutifully performed his chores without complaint. Perhaps most teens acted this apathetically.
“Everyone has a soubriquet,” T-Emile added.
Amanda was so surprised that he had finally spoke without being spoken to, she almost glanced around the carriage to see if someone else had joined them. She decided to act upon his burst of congeniality. “Everyone has a nickname?”
“If they’re not named after a relative, it’s usually a description of the person.”
The idea was intriguing, Amanda thought. “What is René’s T-name?”
T-Emile smiled, which shocked Amanda more than his speaking on his own. “I shouldn’t tell.”
“Oh, please,” Amanda insisted with a sly grin. “After all, I am his wife.”
“Well, don’t tell him you heard it from me.”
“I promise.”
T-Emile searched the horizon as if the empty fields had grown ears. “It’s Tete Rouge.”
Even a child would have known that tete rouge meant red head in French, but René’s locks were golden brown. “I don’t understand. He doesn’t have red hair.”
“It’s not about his hair,” T-Emile explained with a dimpled smile, his brown Dugas eyes shining with mischief. “He went fishing with his father one day and forgot to wear a hat.”
The thought of René receiving a nickname that poked fun at a bad sunburn tickled Amanda. “Does anyone call him that?”
“Only his father.”
“Tete Rouge?”
“That’s right.”
Amanda made a mental note.
“What is Alcée’s?”
It took T-Emile several moments before speaking. “Gross Tete.”
During the few seconds it took Amanda to translate gross tete into “large head” no one spoke. As if on cue, both Amanda and T-Emile burst into laughter as soon as she realized its meaning.
“He had an enormous head as a child,” T-Emile added, and the two erupted into another round of laughter.
For the rest of the journey into town, the two talked amiably. But when the Richardson house came into view, both watched in silence as the horse made its way up the semi-circular drive.
“I won’t be long,” she told T-Emile as he helped her down from the carriage. “Same as yesterday.”
T-Emile smiled slightly and climbed back up into the carriage to escape the fierceness of the noonday sun. Amanda hated to see the boy suffer in such heat, but she couldn’t ask him inside. Her father would be furious.
“I’ll send Mabie out with some lemonade.”
The words sounded so patronizing, like an American aristocrat speaking to a field hand at her back door. She remembered Alcée’s accusing words about Acadians not being allowed inside the Richardson home.
Not knowing what else to do, Amanda entered the dismal house that appeared darker than usual. She stood in the hallway waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.
“So you’re home again today, are you?” Amanda followed the sound of Virginia’s voice to the dining room where her former nanny was setting the table. It was the first time Virginia had spoken to her since that fateful night.
“Have you forgiven me?”
“No.” Virginia’s tone was stern.
“Please, Gin. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Didn’t you?”
“It had nothing to do with you.”
Virginia dropped a plate on to the table. By its sound, Amanda feared it had broken.
“Defying your father, who has loved and cared for you in every possible way, was one thing, but to secretly leave this house under my nose is unforgivable. We had a trust, Amanda, and you betrayed me. ‘He’s only a friend,’ ” she mimicked Amanda. “ ‘We talk about the weather.’ How could you have been so deceitful? Why on earth wouldn’t you think of telling me about it?”
Amanda began to speak, but knew only the truth could explain such actions. She and Virginia never had secrets from each other.
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said, but Virginia had angrily left the room, exiting into the back parlor.
“Well?” James asked as he approached Amanda from behind. “Are you back for good?”
Amanda sighed. “No, Father, I am not.”
“Did you tell that fortune hunting husband of yours...?”
“Yes, Father.” Amanda suddenly felt like an ambushed animal.
“And?”
“He’s not interested.”
“What did he say?”
“Father...”
“What did he say?” his tone growing louder.
Amanda paused, wondering how much indiscreet language her father wished to hear from his delicate, well-bred daughter. “He said you can go to hell.”
James stared at his daughter as if she had sprouted red hair. Then he heatedly marched out of the room, slamming the door to his office in his wake.
“Lunches are getting shorter,” Amanda said to herself, hoping a bit of humor would keep her from crying. “This isn’t good.”
Sitting down to the table filled with cool drinks, a salad, some fruit and slices of ham, Amanda realized she didn’t feel in the least bit like crying. She began to help herself to the enormous buffet set before her. “No use letting this go to waste,” she said with a small nervous chuckle.
Through the front windows, the two Virginia had talked James into opening, Amanda caught sight of T-Emile sitting silently in the carriage. She grabbed a glass of lemonade and her plate full of food. Before she reached the front door, Alcée’s words came back to haunt her.
Amanda turned and placed everything back on the table. Then she opened
the door and called to T-Emile. At first the boy refused to budge. When Amanda continued to coerce him, he slowly made his way up the stairs to the house, cautiously studying every corner and crevice.
“Don’t worry,” Amanda reassured him. “My father won’t bite. Besides, you’re my family now and my family is welcome in my house.”
T-Emile ate just as cautiously, watching the doors. Amanda tried to enjoy the lunch, but a gnawing feeling inside made her anxious and jittery as well. She couldn’t quite place the emotion or get rid of it, so she did what she always did when her father caused her pain. She retreated to the piano.
At first, Amanda launched into a sonata by Chopin. Then she remembered the soft ballad Alcée had sung to her the night before. She began to pick out the melody with her right hand. To her surprise, T-Emile sat down next to her on the bench, gently hitting the correct keys.
“Do you play?”
T-Emile grinned and shook his head. “It’s all up here,” he said, pointing to his forehead. “Alcée is teaching me.”
“Will you sing me the song?”
“Jolie Blonde?”
The name confirmed Amanda’s suspicions that the song was intentionally sung for her, so she pressed T-Emile to teach her the words. T-Emile shook his head. “Alcée would kill me.”
“Oh? Why?”
A look of guilt washed over the boy’s face, and he said nothing.
“I suppose this is an original Alcée Dugas song written on my behalf.”
When T-Emile began to shift uncomfortably on the bench, Amanda changed the subject. “How about another song, then? Le Pont de Nantes? I vaguely remember that song from my youth.”
T-Emile nodded and starting singing the French folksong in an amazingly brilliant voice. Amanda had not been prepared for such exquisite singing from a boy who rarely spoke more than a handful of words at one time. She sat mesmerized beside him, absorbing the beauty of the song, forgetting her home and the conflict raging inside it.
James sat defeated at his massive oak desk, staring down at a court document, but comprehending nothing. If only he could reverse time, have his daughter back, he’d lock her in her room and never lose sight of her again. Her magnificent playing of Chopin brought back vivid memories of Amanda performing for him in the front parlor. Amanda had loved the attention, always glancing back to make sure he was listening intently to her every note. She was his precious baby, his petite chou, or “little cabbage” as the French affectionately call their loved ones.
The thought caused his stomach to tighten. How long had it been since he called her that? Had it been ten years? Plus, he couldn’t remember the last time Amanda had played the piano and cared if he was listening. Most of the time he had been busy studying the newspapers or court cases, hearing the songs only as background music. Had she been falling in love with a Cajun opportunist while he surrounded himself with work to escape the endless grief of Genevieve’s death?
James’ stomach growled. He was hungry, but food was unthinkable. He couldn’t fathom eating at a time like this. But Amanda was enjoying lunch in the next room, and he would attempt to talk to her again.
When James opened the door to the hallway, he recognized the lilting melody of Le Pont de Nantes. He stepped back in time, returning to New Orleans and the constant parties his wife threw in order to collect an audience. She performed at every gathering, singing everything from classic arias to simple French folksongs. James grew tired of the endless exhibitions, of her constant need for attention. He preferred quiet evenings at home with Amanda. But when he complained to Genevieve he always received the same answer.
“I gave up a great career for you,” she said time and again. “You have no right to tell me I should hide the greatest gift God has given a mortal. I have sung to kings, men much more important than you’ll ever be. You should be thankful I’m still here.”
No one, including all of their treasured friends, imagined she would desert her family to return to the stage. She adored Amanda, even if she appeared to love singing more. Her intimidations were spoken in anger, James justified. It had to have been that Frenchman she was seen leaving with that afternoon. Genevieve may have fallen out of love with James, but she never would have left him for another man. She was coerced, threatened perhaps. You can’t trust the French, James reminded himself. They are deceitful bastards.
As the realization hit James that a man was singing in French in his front parlor, the blood rushed to his temples. James slammed his office door and stormed into the front room. “What the hell is going on?”
T-Emile rose and stiffened as if he stood before an oncoming hurricane, not knowing which way to run. Amanda moved quickly to stand between the two men.
“This is T-Emile. He’s René’s...”
“I don’t care if he’s the Marquis de Lafayette,” James shouted. “I want that Frenchman out of my house.”
T-Emile didn’t need to understand English. He grasped the Judge’s meaning and headed instantly for the door, leaving it wide open in his path, the sunshine pouring into the semi-darkness like an angel appearing suddenly from heaven. Amanda watched him exit and turned back to her father, shocked at his actions.
“How dare you allow him into our home. There is never to be French spoken here.”
Amanda watched her father retreat back into his dismal office, heatedly slamming the front door in the process. She struggled to regain her composure, but the anger brewing inside her pushed her into action. She followed her father into his study, her face burning with rage.
“How dare I?” she shouted back. “How could you be so rude to a man I am related to?”
“You will not be related long,” James answered without looking up. He had picked up the neglected document, and pretended to examine it. “You will get an annulment today.”
Amanda was tired of being ignored. Angry tirades, short rebuffs, then her father always announcing that they had spoken enough of whatever subject she had brought up. Not today, she proclaimed. Moving toward the windows, Amanda tightly grabbed a handful of drapery and flung the curtains open. The intense afternoon sunlight bore into the room illuminating even the darkest corners.
“I have had enough of living in darkness,” she began, her voice shaking with intensity. “Do you think you are the only one who has suffered these past ten years?”
Reaching over to the other window, Amanda drew open the draperies. The once darkened room began to glow in the sunlight, the neglected dust glittering in the sun’s rays.
“You may have lost a wife, Father, but I have lost my mother. Did you ever consider that? Within the past two years, I have lost a father as well.”
When Amanda glanced back, her father stood staring at her, his eyes wide with shock. She had never talked to him this way before. Still, she was not going to back down now. “I’m sorry she left, Father, but she left. And she’s not coming back. But I’m here. And I’m half French, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Amanda took a deep breath. “I’m not going to hide the fact that I’m French anymore, or allow you to belittle my family. I am married to René and that’s that. I am Amanda Comeaux now. There will be no annulment.”
As Amanda stormed out of her father’s office, she caught a glimpse of Virginia’s astonished face in the hallway. Remorse instantly showed its ugly head, but for the first time in her life Amanda refused its presence.
“Let’s go,” she said to T-Emile, who was eagerly awaiting the chance to be rid of the Richardson home. As soon as Amanda’s feet touched the inside of the buggy, he whipped the horses into action.
Amanda could feel her heart throbbing in her chest. She tried to breathe, to regain her composure, but her skin tingled, her mind reeled.
“Please forgive me,” T-Emile said. “I didn’t mean to... I shouldn’t have...”
“It’s not your fault,” Amanda said, trying to reassure him. “It’s my father. He’s an irrational, uncaring man.”
Deep
in her heart, Amanda didn’t want to think of her father in such a negative way. But she was angry, and the fever wouldn’t subside. He was irrational, labeling René a fortune hunter and insulting his shy, sweet cousin. If only her father knew how René had saved her from the degradation of Henry Tanner. But he never would know, because he was too busy finding every Frenchman guilty without a proper trial.
“The stables, T-Emile,” whispered Amanda.
Her wild emotions were restricting her speech. She tried again to resume normal breathing patterns, but her forehead continued to pound from the rush of her blood through her veins. She needed René.
Before T-Emile could adequately stop the carriage, Amanda jumped to the ground. She entered the stables, quickly examining each stall. Instead, she spotted Alcée.
“Where is René?” she abruptly said to him in French.
“At the other end,” Alcée answered, surprised at her tone and her use of his language. “What is wrong?” he added, following her.
Amanda spotted René brushing the coat of a Creole pony. René glanced up from his job, and Amanda instantly rushed into his arms, tightly burying her head in his chest. He wound his arms about her, his concern evident. “What is it, mon amour?”
“Please, just hold me,” Amanda answered softly.
“Is it Tanner?” Alcée asked. “Was he at your house?”
Amanda couldn’t decide which was more shocking, Alcée’s brotherly concern for her welfare or Alcée’s admittance that Tanner was back at his job at her father’s plantation. She released her hold and turned toward Alcée. “Tanner’s back?” she asked, as if the news would unravel her on the spot.
When neither man spoke, Amanda realized the horrible truth. She sank into a nearby bench, burying her head in her hands. René joined her on one side, Alcée on the other.
“What has happened?” René asked.
Just then T-Emile appeared breathless at the stall. “It’s all my fault,” he announced to the group. “I didn’t mean to do it. We were just singing a song. It was so hot outside.”
A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5) Page 12
