Iron Lace Part 12

"I hope you won't make it a point to know him better."

"What? And begin our acquaintance by telling him that I helped his daughter run away?"

"I'm not running away. At least, not for long."

"I'm relieved. And I'll be more relieved if you tell me it's not a man you're running to."

She wondered if all men were so vain by nature that they a.s.sumed a woman would only run from the arms of one into those of another. "I'm going to a friend's wedding."

"This part of the bayou is remote, to say the least."

"Blessedly so."

"Then you're prepared for it to be primitive?"

"It's a shame you don't know my father. You would find him most agreeable." She listened to the sounds of the captain's retreat. The vista was changing, and she watched with interest.

She had boarded the peddler boat yesterday at dawn, not far from the foot of Saint Louis Street, near the sugar landing. The route along the Mississippi had been familiar, but after the ca.n.a.l had come the bayou. She had pa.s.sed the day studying plantation houses. Some were collapsing, victims of changing economies and the lasting effects of the War between the States. Others reigned proudly over the surrounding fields, as if the days of white-suited planters and their hoopskirted daughters had never vanished.

Between the plantations were settlements of modest houses, and these interested Aurore most of all, because they were like the ones Ti' Boo had often described in her letters. She had been given plenty of time to examine them, since the boat stopped to trade at every one, which was why she had been forced to spend the night on a cot in one of its tiny cabins, under the shrewd watch of the captain's wife.

The houses were close together, strung like pearls along the bayou banks. Cows and mules were tethered here and there on the levee, and children romped under the occasional tree at the water's edge. These were the Acadian settlements, the homes of les pet.i.ts habitants, les pet.i.ts habitants, the true heart of Bayou Lafourche. the true heart of Bayou Lafourche.

Ti' Boo lived in one such settlement, Cote Boudreaux, a cl.u.s.ter of homes at the south end of the bayou, on land divided and subdivided until little productive farmland along the levee was left for any one family.

But what did that matter? Ti' Boo had asked in one of her letters. How much did one man need? Only enough to feed his loved ones, to grow a little cane to trade for things he couldn't produce, to save a little extra to benefit the church.

A little extra. Aurore thought of all she possessed, and all she did not. Ti' Boo's life seemed as exotic as a Parsi's or a Hottentot's.

The churning paddle wheels slowed as one of the floating bridges, pulled from bank to bank by a wire cable, pa.s.sed in front of them. She looked ahead as a new group of houses, their long galleries whitewashed or painted in weathered pastels, came into view. There were people waving from the landing.

"Cote Boudreaux," the captain said from behind her. "It looks as if you have friends here."

Aurore waved back. Her reception committee was too far away for her to make out faces, but she guessed the woman in the very front, dressed in blue, must be Ti' Boo.

Ti' Boo. She swallowed an odd lump in her throat. She would never see her friend, or even receive a letter from her, without memories of the night in October, twelve years before, when Ti' Boo's uncle had swept her from the cabin at the Krantz Place to the safety of his home in a grove of ancient water oaks.

The slos.h.i.+ng of the paddle wheels slowly died, and the steamer drifted to the landing. Now Aurore could see Ti' Boo's face, framed by the old-fas.h.i.+oned cloth sunbonnet, or garde-soleil, she wore.

"Ro-Ro!"

Aurore went to the side and waited until she could disembark. Then she was in Ti' Boo's arms.

"You can't be bigger than me!" Ti' Boo thrust Aurore away to stare. "You can't be!"

"Now I'll have to nursemaid you." Aurore stared at her friend, hungry for every small detail. Ti' Boo was shorter than she was by several inches. She was no longer plump, but her figure was pleasingly feminine, and her skin was as smooth and rosy as it had been in her childhood.

"But you are so fas.h.i.+onable. Tres chic," Ti' Boo said, shaking her head in awe.

Aurore had chosen to travel in her simplest linen suit, decorated with only the most modest braid trim. On her head she wore a plain straw sailor's hat with trailing ribbons. But nothing she owned was as simple as Ti' Boo's jacket dress of Atakapas cottonade. "Too fas.h.i.+onable," she said, fanning herself with her hand. "And forever uncomfortable."

"I think you're beautiful."

For a moment, Aurore felt as shy as she had as a child.

Ti' Boo grabbed Aurore's hand and pulled her toward the people gathered at the edge of the dock. "Come meet my family. With the wedding so close, not all of them could come. I was working in the garden when I heard that the boat had been sighted."

Aurore was quickly surrounded. She was introduced to Ti' Boo's father, Valcour, four of her younger brothers, and a sister, Minette, who was a taller, slimmer version of her older sibling.

Valcour ordered the boys to go on board and bring Aurore's trunk and a.s.sorted luggage back to the house. With Ti' Boo's arm tucked lovingly around hers and Minette close at her heels, Aurore waved goodbye to the captain and his solemn-faced wife, who had joined him on deck.

A dirt road ran beside the levee. On the opposite side of the road sat houses s.p.a.ced so closely together that a good shout from one of the wide front galleries would receive an answer from neighbors on either side. Hounds slept in the shadows, barely lifting their heads to acknowledge the parade of young ladies, but the galleries and yards teemed with humans who were not so oblivious.

Ti' Boo stopped at every house, proudly introducing Aurore to cousins, aunts and uncles, G.o.dparents and ordinary neighbors whose place in the Boudreaux family hierarchy seemed as a.s.sured as any blood relatives. Over and over again Aurore was examined and p.r.o.nounced acceptable in bayou French that wasn't always clear to her.

What was clear was the excitement her visit had created. She was a city woman, a New Orleans Creole, who had come this distance to witness a friend's wedding. Surely she was different somehow from the others of her cla.s.s. Who among these bayou residents had heard of a woman like Aurore traveling this long, difficult distance without even a friend or relative to watch over her? Ti' Boo must have been a good friend to have a good friend like this.

"My father doesn't know I've come," Aurore told Ti' Boo, when they were between houses and nearing Ti' Boo's own. The parade had lengthened. A trail of giggling, barefooted girls in loose cotton smocks and bonnets followed several yards behind.

"Will he be angry when he discovers you've gone?"

"I hope he never discovers it." Aurore threaded her fingers through Ti' Boo's. Her friend's hands were rough, testifying to hours of scrubbing clothes and hoeing in the kitchen garden. "But if he does?" She shrugged. "He has no other children, and no hope of ever having more. Whatever else he sees when he looks at me, he also sees his only hope of immortality."

"That's no way to speak of your papa." There was no force behind Ti' Boo's words; rather, she sounded sad that Aurore was compelled to say these things, things that were all too true.

"While I'm here, let's just pretend I don't have a father. Pretend I'm your..." Aurore cast around for the right concept. "Your sister."

"Sister? Me, I already have sisters. Too many sisters. A cousin? From New Orleans?"

"A cousin." Aurore smiled. "Your dearest cousin. So, cousin, when do I meet Jules Guilbeau?"

Ti' Boo pulled her to the side to escape a pa.s.sing wagon drawn by a team of st.u.r.dy horses. "He's visiting tonight. You'll meet him then."

"Is he handsome? Truly handsome?"

"Handsome? Oh, so handsome! In truth, he has only a few faults. One leg is higher than the other, so he walks with a cane. He has no teeth of his own, but he's promised to send to Donaldsonville for some before the wedding. His hair is too long, so he ties it on top of his head in a Chinaman's knot to cover the bare patches."

"Ti' Boo!"

Ti' Boo laughed and squeezed Aurore's hand. "You will see for yourself, chere. chere."

"He is the handsomest old man in the village," Minette said.

Ti' Boo slapped at her. "He is not old, merely well seasoned. The young men who court you are like gumbo without pepper or salt."

"The young men who court me are too many to count."

Aurore listened to the two sisters teasing each other as they approached the Boudreaux home. Although it was fall, and late afternoon, the sun devoured her shoulders and neck through the stiff cloth of her dress. Dust stirred by the wagon mingled with the steam of swampland and bayou so that the air felt gritty in her lungs. Even the short walk was beginning to tire her.

Minette lowered her voice. "Who's that driving the wagon, Ti' Boo?"

Aurore looked ahead. The wagon had stopped up the road at the house just beyond Ti' Boo's. As they watched, a young man leaped to the ground and secured the horses to a fence rail. An older man followed at a more measured pace.

The wagon was filled with lumber, rough-sawed boards that looked as if they had come straight from the mill. The young man shouldered several and slid them from the wagon; the older man grabbed the ends, and the two started through the gate.

"etienne Terrebonne," Ti' Boo said. "And his father, Faustin. Faustin has a mill in the swamps. etienne is his only child."

"That's etienne?" Minette's eyes widened. "T'es sur de la?" "T'es sur de la?"

"I'm certain," Ti' Boo said. "When you saw him last, you were still playing faire la statue faire la statue on the levee with your friends. You weren't interested in young men." on the levee with your friends. You weren't interested in young men."

Minette rolled her eyes. "Was there ever such a time?"

Aurore laughed along with Ti' Boo. If she'd worried that coming here might not be worth the price of her father's anger, that worry had nearly disappeared.

The laughter caught in her throat as Faustin Terrebonne stumbled and the boards that had been balanced on his shoulder swung toward the limb of a tree in the center of the yard. For a moment, there was only the slap of wood against the tree; then the air was filled with a fierce buzzing.

"A hornet's nest." Ti' Boo pointed. "Look, he's shaken up a hornet's nest."

Aurore gauged the distance. Already the hornets had targeted their closest victims. Faustin leaped from foot to foot, slapping and cursing. etienne, under attack himself, grabbed for his father's hand, as if to pull him away.

The rest unfolded slowly, like a clock badly in need of winding. One of the horses reared, a new and captive target for the angry insects. His mate heaved from side to side. In their distress, they tore the fencepost from the ground, and it followed behind them, along with a portion of the fence, clanging against the wheels as the wagon plunged down the road toward the place where Aurore and the others stood.

"Quick! Out of the way!"

Instinctively Aurore leaped to one side, bringing Ti' Boo with her. Behind them, Minette and two of the little girls who had been trailing them remained in the road, mesmerized by the sight of the approaching horses.

"Minette!" Ti' Boo started back for her sister, but Minette, suddenly aware of the danger, made a dash for the side of the road. She collided with Aurore, who was shouting and running toward the little girls. For a moment they were a tangle of arms and legs; then Aurore freed herself and leaped toward the shrieking children.

Behind her she could hear more screams, the clanging of the fencepost against the wagon wheels, the harsh breathing of the horses and the wild sound of their hooves against the hard-packed earth. She despaired of reaching the little girls in time. They were incapable of movement, so frightened by the sight of the horses bearing down on them that they were rooted to their places.

Any moment she expected to be trampled to the ground. She couldn't spare a second to see how close the horses were; she could only run faster, despite the impediment of her long skirt.

She heard a shout. The air behind her seemed to thicken with the strong smell and heat of horseflesh. She dived for the two children, her arms spread wide, and knocked them sprawling into the ditch along the roadside. Only then did she have time to scream.

She was gasping for another breath, another scream, when arms encircled her.

"Ro-Ro, are you all right?"

She was. She realized it in that moment. She didn't know why, and she didn't know how, but she was all right. And the two little girls sobbing in the ditch beside her were all right, too.

She sat up and scanned the road. etienne Terrebonne was hanging like an anchor from the harnesses of the horses. Their eyes were wild, but as Aurore stood, the horses calmed as etienne muttered to them in deep, unintelligible French.

"etienne grabbed them," Ti' Boo confirmed. "I've never seen anyone move faster, except maybe you."

A woman sprinted up the road, her long white ap.r.o.n billowing to the side. She grabbed one of the little girls and kissed her on the cheeks and forehead before she hauled the child to her feet to shake her. Another woman appeared to repeat much the same drama with the other child. Then, after several excited renditions of the story, profuse thank-yous to Aurore and to etienne, who was still anchoring the horses, the mothers dragged their bawling daughters away.

Aurore dusted off her dress and retrieved her hat, which had flown from her head. Her hands weren't quite steady. Only minutes into her stay in the village, and she was already a heroine. In the retelling, her simple act had already a.s.sumed mythic proportions. She had risked her life for the two little girls. a.s.sured of death and yet unafraid, she had thrown herself on top of the children.

etienne turned. The horses were now completely under the spell of his voice. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, and an angry welt on his cheek confirmed his encounter with the hornets.

"You're all right, then?" he asked.

"Fine. What about you?"

He smiled, as if he found the question amusing. His teeth were white against his tanned skin, and his dark eyes flashed with humor. "A runaway horse is a small thing here. Two? Two small things."

His voice was resonant, a musical baritone. Aurore was accustomed to listening to the voices of young men; she wasn't accustomed to finding them so pleasing.

She smiled, too. "Well, it's no small thing anywhere to dive at them and risk your life. I don't know if I would have gotten out of the way in time if you hadn't stopped them."

"It would have been a shame to see such a lovely young woman trampled."

Ti' Boo stepped forward. "etienne, you haven't even been introduced. T'as du gout. T'as du gout."

The phrase was a bayou one, unfamiliar to Aurore. But she knew enough to understand that etienne had been chastised for being too forward. "I think our introduction is only missing a name or two," Aurore said. She extended her hand. "I'm Aurore Le Danois, from New Orleans." She waited for his response.

There was the briefest hesitation. She guessed that his hands were dirty and he didn't want to dirty hers. "etienne Terrebonne," he said, clasping her hand, then dropping it quickly. "From New Orleans?"

"I've come for Ti' Boo's wedding."

"She's known Ti' Boo since she was a child," Minette said, insinuating herself into the conversation. "And have we been introduced?"

etienne turned politely. "Maybe not. I don't often come this way." He made a quick, old-world bow.

A rapid-fire explosion of French cut off more conversation. Faustin, limping and muttering, joined them. He looked nothing like his son, who was tall and lithe. Faustin was a small man, stocky and bent from years of hard labor. "Them bees have settled down. Let's get rid of this wood so I can go, etienne."

etienne frowned and touched a series of welts on his father's neck, but Faustin slapped his hand away. "Come on, let's get this done."

etienne gave another quick bow, then began to turn the horses. The women stepped out of the way of the wagon and watched from the side of the road until etienne and his father were busy setting the fencepost and rails back in place.

"You can get the stars out of your eyes right now," Ti' Boo told her sister. "Maman would never let you go to a man from the back of Lafourche, especially not etienne. He and his father live alone, and they have little."

"It would almost be worth living in the swamps."

Aurore knew only vaguely of swamps or of the kind of poverty that Ti' Boo was hinting about. But after even a brief introduction to etienne, she thought that Minette might be right. At seventeen, Aurore was already much sought after by the young men of New Orleans society. She was a rare combination of pure Creole bloodlines and substantial wealth that appealed to both the impoverished Creole gentry and the canny American opportunists.

But never in her forays into society had she come across a man quite like etienne Terrebonne, a man who balanced charm and strength as easily as he balanced cypress boards from his father's mill.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Jules Guilbeau had a full set of G.o.d-given teeth and a thick head of silvering hair. He was broad-shouldered and svelte, and when Ti' Boo was in the room, his affectionate dark-eyed gaze never left her for a moment. In the days since Aurore's arrival, more than one woman had confided that Jules's first wife had been sickly, a complainer who had depended on the goodwill of her maman and sisters to see that her ch.o.r.es were finished and her children tended. Ti' Boo would better suit such a man as Jules, a man worthy of devotion and sacrifice.