Bayou Bride Read online

  "The trouble with you, Chérie," he said, as he stripped the grapes from their stems and crushed them between his teeth, “is that you are spoiled."

  "I'm spoiled?” she exclaimed. “It was you who took the law into your own hands and brought me here. It is you who are keeping me here in the most arrogant determination to have your own way that I have ever seen!"

  "Oh—well, perhaps I'm spoiled too,” he conceded handsomely. “We were speaking of you, however."

  Mollified against her will, Sherry was forced to ask, “And how am I spoiled?"

  "You are attractive, but you are so used to the idea, to the sensation of being beautiful, that you forget it. Still, you can't escape the consequences. You are used to the attention you have received all your life from men and boys, so used to it that you take it for granted. It probably never crosses your mind that they are paying homage, and yet unconsciously you expect it."

  "That isn't so!"

  He threw the grape stem onto his plate and dried his fingers on his napkin.

  "It's true, Chérie, of all beautiful women. You needn't think I am attacking you personally. I am only pointing it out in the hope that you will change. But isn't it so? You have never once, since I brought you here, expressed surprise that I would want to take you in my arms. Have you never been grateful that a man wanted you?"

  "I've never met a man I've been that desperate about.” The statement was bold but she hoped its plainness would put a stop to this conversation. For a moment she thought it had.

  He got to his feet and pushed his chair back under the table, then stood with his hands on the back. “Not even Paul?” he queried softly.

  Once more she had allowed anger and irritation to make her forget the role she was playing. It was no wonder he was suspicious. For the moment, however, there seemed no possible answer except the one she had given before. Rising abruptly, she turned away from the table and the mocking gaze of the man who watched her. “My love life is none of your business,” she told him.

  "But what of Paul?” he insisted as they moved along the gallery together. “You haven't asked me about him; if I saw him today, or how he was doing."

  "Would you tell me if I did?"

  "Certainly. When I left him, he was fine. He got your telegram this afternoon, just before I was ready to leave the office."

  "And?” Her voice sounded strange, unconcerned, as if the telegram had no connection with her.

  He did not answer immediately. Some quality in his silence made Sherry glance at him. In the glow of moonlight beyond the overhanging roof she could just see the faint smile that curved his mouth. “He was—quiet, at first. He didn't want to talk about it. I suppose he was embarrassed after his announcement of your engagement last week over the phone. Eventually, he told me."

  "What—what did he say?” Considering Lucien's calm demeanor and his offer to send her home, it seemed unlikely that Paul had confessed their subterfuge; still it was better to be sure.

  "That you weren't coming to New Orleans because of a friend in the hospital, that he had given you the betrothal ring in a mood of defiance. What else is there to tell?"

  "He could have said he loved me and was certain I would come as soon as I could."

  "He could have, but he didn't. By the time I finished explaining the telegram to him as coming, probably, from a girl who felt she was getting in too deep, he seemed resigned."

  Sherry swung to look at him, her honey-blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. “Getting into what too deep?"

  "Matrimonial waters, of course,” he answered, lifting a brow. “Be honest, Chérie. Don't you find the prospect of being a member of the Villeré family a bit overwhelming?"

  "Not at all,” Sherry answered with a lift of her chin. “So long as the—the man I love is at my side."

  A frown appeared between his eyes. He was the first to look away.

  The gallery echoed to their footsteps. After a moment Sherry said, “I can't believe you actually sent that telegram."

  "Oh yes, I sent it. We are quite safe now from interruption—for a little while."

  "We? You needn't include me in your conspiracy!"

  "I'm afraid you are included, Chérie, whether you want to be or not. We are in this together for the next few days."

  She ignored his comment. “Do you mean you plan to stay here tomorrow, not go into New Orleans?"

  "Precisely. Aren't you honored?"

  She sent him a speaking look. “What did you tell them at home to account for your absence?"

  "Why should I tell them anything?"

  "I had the idea, I suppose from Paul, that you were the nose-to-the-grindstone type. Your family must find it surprising that you are taking off from work before the week has started."

  "They will have a certain curiosity, I imagine, but I doubt they will ask. Paul had too much reticence to pry into my affairs—a characteristic I have been at great pains to nurture in him since he was a child nearly ten years my junior. As for my mother, she will not risk the embarrassment. They were neither of them born yesterday. I'm sure they will be able to figure out for themselves that I'm not going away just because I want to be alone."

  "What you're saying is that you do as you please without caring what they think."

  "You could put it that way. However, if you think they will lie awake tonight worrying you are mistaken."

  They were nearing the steps, and with a touch on her arm he guided her down them and out into the warm, soft darkness. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ease the tension that drummed along her nerves, to ease also the sense of compulsion that permeated their relationship. She was compelled to stay here, but nothing else. Surely nothing else.

  The semitropical night closed around them like the folds of a cloak. They moved from one dark tree shadow to the next, walking in pools of blackness. The night orchestration of the insects and frogs was around them also, a muted accompaniment to their steps, falling gradually into the background until it was barely heard. It left a sense of silence, and yet there was an intimation of primitive life. The stars hung low above the tops of the distant trees, peering now and then between the leaves of the green canopy above them. A breeze had sprung from nowhere, whispering among the trees, stirring the soft curls around her face. That it had discouraged the mosquitoes was evident. For the moment they were left unmolested.

  They stopped near the water's edge, the lap of the gentle waves at their feet. The moonlight glistened on the water, turning it to polished silver.

  She breathed deeply again but this time it was a sigh for the beauty of the night. Lucien, as if sensing her mood, said, “We miss half the wonder, half the pleasure of living, by sleeping the night away."

  Though he had spoken her own sentiments, Sherry did not wish to admit it. She shrugged. “What else is there for us to do? We are made that way. We need to rest in the dark hours."

  "We seldom sleep from necessity, most of us, only from habit. Our habits are learned in childhood. We could retrain ourselves to get the most from the short time we have."

  "That's all very well, if we have something interesting or important to do. How would you suggest I occupy myself here to get the most from my precious time?” She spread her hands in a futile gesture indicating the emptiness of the day that she had spent and those that stretched before her. “Sleeping is as good a way as any of passing the time."

  "I can see that I will have to plan some amusement for you. Tomorrow, for instance, we can go fishing.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “What?” he mocked. “No chorus of joy? Doesn't the prospect thrill you?"

  "That will be fun,” she said. “I haven't been fishing in ages, not since I was a little girl."

  "Anything to get out of the house? What a wife you will make!"

  It was not a compliment.

  "I don't know why you should think that I would despise fishing,” she told him stiffly. “I enjoyed it when I was a child. I would like to g
et out of the house, but so would you too if you were being forced to stay. That's human nature, I would think."

  "And you are very human, aren't you, Chérie?"

  "I'm not sure what that is supposed to mean."

  "Neither am I,” he admitted after a long moment. “It had something to do with honesty—and that is strange, is it not?” He stared at her in the dimness. She could hear still the echo of mockery in his voice but she could not tell whether he mocked her or himself.

  "One thing more, Chérie," he went on. “I can't bear a complaining fishing companion. Take it as a warning."

  "You prefer one who suffers in silence then, one who bows submissively to your every whim? I'm sorry, but you should be more careful whom you kidnap!"

  "Ah, well,” he said, and she could hear laughter threading his voice. “It could be that a little temper is more exciting."

  He drew her into his arms, ignoring her resistance, controlling it with easy strength. He brushed his lips burningly across hers, then took them. Panic beat like the wings of a bird in her mind as she found herself drowning in a soft languor, yielding to the planes of his body until she was molded against him, her lips softening, parting beneath his. She clung to him, confused by the fearful longing that grew inside her.

  He drew back, the laughter gone out of his face. “Yes,” he said, “temper has its points. And yet, I advise you never to cease fighting me."

  In silence they retraced their footsteps. They paused on the gallery outside her bedroom door.

  "We leave early,” he told her. “Don't oversleep.” With a last light kiss from her warm lips, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone. She stared after him, a frown of perplexity between her eyes at this change of attitude. Then with a soft sound of relief she turned and went inside.

  The morning dawned soft and clear. Their footsteps left a trail through the dew-wet grass as they walked down to the boat. The purr of the cruiser was loud as it moved slowly from the dock, pushing aside wisps of the mist that hung just above the water. Sherry shivered a little. It was cool with the dawn and the breeze of their passing. The sun had not yet risen to bring warmth to the air and burn away the low-lying fog. She stood beside Lucien and an excitement moved within her as though she were beginning a new adventure with the man beside her.

  "This isn't the way to the bayou,” she said. They had made a wide circle and were moving up the lake.

  "There's something I wanted to show you first."

  "Oh?"

  He slanted her a glance, a smile cutting into the firm planes of his cheeks. “Wait and see."

  The lake made a wide, lazy curve. They moved out of sight of the house, following a channel cut between the towering cypress trees growing in the water. A few minutes more and Lucien cut the motor, letting the boat glide to a drifting stop. Ahead of her at the edge of the lake Sherry saw a crude platform of rough lumber built out over the water. From the platform came muffled squawking and the flutter of wings. And then, as they cleared the low branches obstructing their vision, she saw a cloud of white.

  "Oh—cranes,” she said.

  Lucien shook his head. “Close. Actually they are snowy egrets, a species of heron. Until just a few years ago they were nearly extinct, down to less than two dozen birds. Then a number of the residents along the bayous near the coast began to colonize them, arranging places like this, breeding grounds to protect them and encourage them to multiply. You may have heard of Avery Island? It is owned by the Mcllhenny family. It has become a famous tourist attraction with extensive gardens where hundreds of rare plants from the four corners of the world are grown. Edward A. Mcllhenny originated the first egret-nesting site on Avery Island. He was also the first to introduce the nutria, a fur-bearing South American-rodent much like our native muskrat, only larger and more prolific, to Louisiana. He was quite a conservationist."

  "Snowy egrets. It's a lovely name. It seems so appropriate somehow. But there are so many birds. Not all of them are egrets, are they?"

  "No, some are white cranes. There are blue cranes too, as well as ducks and geese. Louisiana has always been a natural nesting ground, and a way stop on the great migration route that begins in South and Central America and goes northward to Canada. But we are losing much of the natural habitat to industry, the advance of the cities. We all should help when we can. These homes on stilts are artificial breeding places but when the trees become too crowded they will accept them. It's a small thing but it helps."

  "I think it's a wonderful idea. Oh, look! There's a baby. Isn't he darling?"

  They were beautiful birds, a pure white with black bills and legs and yellow feet. There was a great tumult on the platform; shifting for position, wing flapping, grooming, and parent birds coming and going feeding their young.

  "Of course the egrets came so dangerously near extinction because of the demand for the plumes that appear on their backs during the mating season."

  "Yes,” she said, thinking of the silky white aigrette plumes adorning the heads of dowagers or the ceremonial headgear of far Eastern potentates. The plumes seemed much more appropriate gleaming in the warm summer sun in their natural setting. Sherry could have watched for hours. In a few more minutes, however, Lucien started the motor, sending the colony into flapping panic for a moment, before he reversed slowly.

  As they began to move there was a sudden disturbance in the water beneath the platform.

  "What is that?” Sherry cried above the sound of their motor, pointing to where something long and thick roiled the water.

  "An alligator,” Lucien told her.

  "Alligator?"

  He nodded. “He's looking for food—fallen eggs, injured or crippled birds, overconfident nestlings fallen from the nest."

  "If the egrets are so rare and the alligator preys upon them, why don't you kill it?"

  He shook his head. “The alligator can't be blamed. He eats nothing, takes nothing, that would not be gone anyway. Nature has its checks and balances; the alligator is one of them. It keeps the colony healthy. Only the strong, the intelligent, and those in good health survive. It's cruel, perhaps, but effective."

  It could not be denied and yet Sherry watched that log-like form in the water with hatred. She realized it was unfounded, still she could not help it. She shivered before she looked away and it was some minutes before she could shake off the depression that the sight of the alligator had brought.

  They fished, they lay in the sun, talking little but feeling little real constraint here in the open air. Lucien cast for bass for a time, squinting into the rising sun, and Sherry sat watching him in a kind of lazy contentment. They cruised slowly along the bayou while Lucien pointed out a nutria swimming in the water. He showed her waterways clogged with floating mats of lavender-blue water hyacinths, a beautiful flower becomes a hazard to navigation. They saw clumps of ferns trailing their green swords among the black-green moss on the banks, and hanging curtains of orange trumpet vines running like fire among the trees. On the dryer stretches of ground, palmetto clashed its tough leaves in the soft breeze.

  A gull, inland from the gulf, shrilled its sharp cry above them. Families of ducks swam protesting out of their way. Along some of the meandering streams that ran together, trees meshed overhead providing a leafy tunnel down which they floated gently, their heads nearly touching the dripping moss.

  It was, in its own way, a kind of paradise. A place filled with game and fish, where crops might be raised the year round, where a man if he put his mind to it need do little beyond seeing that food was on the table. Indolence seemed to be in the air, Sherry told herself, stretching lazily. Even she was affected.

  Lunch was cold boiled shrimp, brought with them on ice, and French bread carefully wrapped in a pristine white napkin. To drink there was beer or tea, both icy cold, and for dessert there were fresh, tree ripened peaches to eat with a chilled white wine.

  They lay propped on the boat seats, peeling shrimp, dipping them into a hot, tart sauce an
d popping them into their mouths. It seemed enough to enjoy the food and the sense of lazy companionship without questioning what would follow. Deep inside, Sherry did not trust the man beside her in this mood, could not believe that it would last. When he turned to her suddenly she jumped and had to control an urge to move away, out of his reach.

  "How do you feel now?” he asked her. “Less like a prisoner?"

  "It's been lovely morning,” she told him with real gratitude. “I've enjoyed it so much."

  ’”There will be others,” he said, “now that all is safe and no one is going to send out a search party on your behalf. There will be many days ahead to savor. There is no need to rush like a glutton to the feast. We could go out into the gulf. You would be able to swim there in the cleaner salt water and lie on the sandy beaches."

  "That would be nice,” she replied, conscious that her answer sounded like a child's who has been promised a treat it knew it should be thankful for.

  "I don't suppose it sounds all that exciting, but there is a limit to the entertainment to be found at Bayou's End. Of course if you prefer lying reading at the big house—"

  "No,” she said hastily. “I'll be glad to go.” At least the outings in the boat would remove her from the house and Marie's silent uncommunicative presence.

  "What is it?” he asked, annoyance in his voice. “Is my company so repugnant or is it that you would rather find your own amusement?"

  It was useless to try to deceive him, Sherry thought, and she refused to pretend any longer or to hide her feelings in an attempt to influence him. She didn't care what he thought of her.

  "I didn't ask for your company,” she told him. “However, since there's no help for it I can bear it. But I would like to be asked. No woman likes to be ordered about."

  "And if I had asked you—what would you have said?"

  "I'd have said thank you very nicely and left the outing arrangements to you, since I didn't know what Bayou's End has by the way of entertainment."

  "You see? You would have carefully placed the burden of decision back in my lap. Which only proves women enjoy being dictated to, otherwise they would not invite it often."