Bayou Bride Page 13

  "Not necessarily. There is a great deal of difference between being a leader and being a dictator,” she told him with asperity. “Women have no more liking for domineering, overbearing men who gloat in their power than does another man.” She looked away gathering her thoughts. “Between any two people, one usually has greater strength or a more commanding personality than the other, regardless of whether they are the same sex or not. Insofar as it is possible, however, men and women should be equal in their relationship, two parts of a whole. Men and women have complementing roles. Neither one exploits the other. They each have a job that must be done to raise their family and make life livable. And if in their relationship the man is stronger, a woman can and will accept and enjoy it. But only if he uses his strength, and the authority that it gives him, with love."

  He stared at her, his eyes narrowed into unreadable slits. “You seem to have given a lot of thought to your philosophy."

  "What woman hasn't, these days?"

  "And yet I wonder if, like most of us, you haven't said more than you intended? Never mind. Come, Chérie, I would enjoy your company very much if you will let me take you out in this next few days."

  She smiled and agreed, lulled by the pleasantly worded plea. A moment later she frowned. Had she, by her agreement altered her status with Lucien? Didn't her acceptance of his company and his plans for her entertainment make her seem a willing party to her abduction, at least when they were away from the house? It could not be helped. Every prisoner had to make some accommodation to circumstances; the trick was in knowing where to draw the line.

  The heat of the day was upon them and they headed home as soon as the lunch hamper and ice chest had been packed away. Sherry, wrapped in her own misgivings, did not speak as they sped along, and Lucien concentrated to the exclusion of all else on the piloting of the boat along the twisting course.

  Once they passed another boat with a man fishing, half hidden in the shadows of the overhang of a large water oak. The man lifted his hand, but either Lucien did not see him or he did not want to acknowledge the greeting.

  Sherry glanced at Lucien, then she looked away. What difference did it make to her that he had snubbed a friend?

  And so the time passed, merging into one long summer day filled with the glitter of the black waters of the bayou and also the liquid aquamarine of the gulf, of sand and swimming and fishing, quick tropical storms and fierce sun, and Lucien in anger, but also in easy camaraderie. In that time—though he seemed to find satisfaction in forcing her to accept his kiss when they met and parted—at night she slept undisturbed.

  Once, as they rocked gently on the turquoise waves of the gulf in the cabin cruiser, Sherry had gone forward to lie on the deck, soaking up the sun. After a few minutes she heard Lucien approach. He lowered himself to the hot fiberglass sheeting nearby, though he did not speak.

  Through slitted eyes Sherry studied him; his brooding face with its heavy brows and thick lashes, the crisp waves of his hairs and his wide, muscled shoulders washed by the golden light of the semitropical sun. An ache grew in her chest, spreading upward to her throat. A vast depression seized her and she felt the rise of tears, senseless tears she was unable to explain.

  In that instant Lucien turned his head. Sherry let her eyes close, willing her lashes to lie still. She could sense his gaze upon her, yet she was unprepared for the touch of his hand on her shoulder.

  Her eyes flew open and she stared straight up into his. For one unguarded moment she thought she saw a dark reflection of her own pain there, then as he spoke it was gone.

  "Time to turn,” he said. “Don't fall asleep; the sun will burn you before you realize it this time of year."

  With a nod, she obeyed the suggestion. She turned her face away from the man beside her. Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, she forced herself to analyze the feeling that gripped her. She was not homesick. Paul's disappointment in her did not make her that unhappy. She no longer felt despair at her situation, or even real mistrust of Lucien's motives. It was some time before she could bring herself to acknowledge the reason for her distress, though the answer was simple. It was regret.

  10

  One evening as they sat on the gallery after dinner a small boat putt-putted up the bayou and drew into the shore beside the steps of the wooden dock. A family of seven piled out, from toddlers to teenagers, including what was apparently the mother and father.

  Lucien got to his feet to walk to the top of the steps just as the older man, in the lead, called out a greeting.

  "Hey Lucien! You blind, man? You pass me say three—four days ago on the bayou. You not even see me, man. Got eyes for no one but that girl standing up there with you, I know, me. She's some looker, n'est-ce pas? You done shocked ten years off Mama's life."

  "That's for true, cher!” his wife agreed. “When Papa told me you had a beautiful blonde with you here I couldn't believe my ears."

  "Come in, come in,” Lucien cut across the woman's voice somewhat hurriedly. “Let me introduce you, Sherry, to Mama and Papa Arceneaux, Lottie and Toto. They are true Cajuns, descendants of the French. Acadians who migrated to Louisiana from Nova-Scotia two hundred years ago, give or take a year."

  Sherry shook hands with the couple. Short in stature, they both had dark hair and flashing black eyes in weathered faces. Their easy manners and good-natured smiles made them easy to like. The children, a well-mannered group, were the image of their parents. Lottie introduced them one by one, before waving her brood to a sitting place on the steps. She and her husband drew up chairs, pulling them close to those of Sherry and Lucien for a cozy grouping.

  Lucien excused himself in order to tell Marie to bring refreshments. When he had gone Lottie turned to Sherry.

  "When did you two get married? I am some mad, me, that I didn't get an invitation to the wedding. I've known that Lucien since we were kids, and I'm going to give him a piece of my mind for keeping so quiet about you."

  "We—aren't married.” Sherry answered, embarrassment making her speak more shortly than she had intended. They were his friends; let him explain. Still, as silence met her words, she felt a flush mounting under her skin and she found herself wishing he would hurry back.

  Lottie was equal to the occasion, however. “Not married? You hear that, Papa? We're not too late for the wedding."

  "Oh, n—nothing is settled yet,” Sherry stammered. She could not allow Lottie to continue in that vein and have Lucien think she had told his friends they were to be married. On the other hand, she could not bring herself to tell the woman flatly that there was no possibility of it, not while she and Lucien were so obviously spending some time together here at his bayou retreat.

  "Ah? Not to worry. I am thinking it will not be long.” She gave Sherry a conspiratorial wink as the sound of Lucien's footsteps signaled his return.

  It was nice to feel that Lottie was on her side. The feeling of instant rapport was so great Sherry was able to relax and summon a smile, secure in the knowledge that Lottie Arceneaux would say nothing to embarrass her.

  Lucien glanced at Sherry as he took his seat once more. Seeing the high color just fading from her cheeks, he lifted a quizzical brow, his gaze going from Sherry to his guests. Lottie gave him a bland smile.

  "Women talk,” snorted Lottie's husband. “But I was wanting to see that new boat you got down there, me."

  Leaving Sherry and Lottie in comfort on the gallery, the two men strolled down the steps toward the dock. Most of the children followed, skipping and laughing behind them. One of them, a baby boy of about two, with fat legs, great brown eyes, and a melting smile, got halfway down the slope when he suddenly sat down. His dignity injured, he set up a howl. Lucien turned and swung the child up onto his shoulders with a few words in his deep voice. Miraculously, the crying ceased. The baby hushed, catching a handful of Lucien's hair as a handhold as they continued on their way.

  Involuntarily the corners of Sherry's mouth curved in a smile at the
picture.

  "You like the bébé?" Lottie said. “That is good. So many girls these days want only one, maybe two bébés. What kind of family is that, hah? I ask you? So selfish. Who the little ones going to play with? They have nobody, ‘cept maybe Mama and Daddy, and they off working. And don't tell me about no population explosion. That's thinking in cold blood, almost as bad as love in cold blood."

  Sherry laughed at the droll look on Lottie's face. Here in this fecund climate with its wealth of natural riches it did seem a shame to be so stingy with children, to follow any other than nature's laws. And yet, if she followed the prompting of nature—she thrust the thought from her, dragging her eyes from Lucien's tall form.

  "Do you live nearby?” she asked Lottie.

  "Oh, a few miles down the bayou."

  "You live here all year round?"

  "Sure. We have a little house and a patch of land. In the summer my Toto goes out with the shrimp trawlers and in the winter there's his trap line. It's a good life."

  "Don't you miss having neighbors?"

  "Neighbors? We got neighbors. There's a dozen, two dozen families on the bayous, not far. Most of them connected kin, you understand?"

  "Oh? I had the idea the bayou was almost deserted. We saw no sign of houses the other day."

  "Now that Lucien, maybe he not want any company, hah?” Lottie gave a rich laugh, her eyes sparkling with a teasing amusement. “There's always friends, neighbors. Course there's ways of avoiding friends too. Plenty of back bayous, little streams fit only for navigation by nut-shells—though most bayou men's boats will run on a heavy dew, or so they'll tell you, even that fancy rig of Lucien's out there. But maybe I'd better call my kids and my Toto? Maybe you not wanting company either?"

  "Oh, no—no,” Sherry exclaimed. “I'm glad you came."

  Lottie turned shrewd eyes on her, a still expression on her face. “Men can be a trouble, can't they? Just remember they are human, just like us.” She nodded emphatically. “Now you, how you like to go to a party?"

  "A party?"

  "Sure. Why not? A real old-fashioned fais-do-do. You have heard of it?"

  "No, I can't say I have."

  "It means stay-up-all-night. Everybody come, Grandmère, Grand'père, Tante, ‘Nonc, all the children. We eat, drink, dance to the fiddles. Everything is all planned. You just got to bring yourselves."

  "It sounds like fun.” Sherry answered. “But I'm not sure—"

  "You mean you think maybe Lucien won't come? Then you don't know Lucien. He's been to many a fais-do-do, not so much in the last years, but when he was younger."

  "I couldn't answer for him."

  "Then ask him. He won't tell me no, you'll see.” Glancing toward the dock, she saw the men returning. “Hey you, Lucien!” she called. “You want to fais-do-do?"

  The dark man with the child still on his shoulders did not answer, turning instead to Toto. The two women could see them talking as they advanced. They climbed the steps and sat down beside Lottie and Sherry, Lucien joggling the child on his knee. Sherry watched them, a strange feeling in her chest.

  Finally Lucien glanced up at Lottie. “I don't think—” he began.

  "Come, Lucien. Your Chérie wants to go. She has never been to one before. It will be an experience for her."

  "I don't doubt it,” he told her, the teeth flashing in his face. “But what kind? Are you certain she would appreciate it?"

  "Oh yes, Lucien I can tell, me. Don't be so without grace, man. You come, you leave early. You don't have to stay up all night, just until after the jumping of the broom. My oldest sister's girl, Sophia, she wants to keep the tradition. She—"

  They were interrupted by Marie bringing coffee and cake, and ice cream for the children. The housekeeper stayed a few moments to greet the Arceneaux family and exchange a few words. When she had gone, Lucien, who had been studying Sherry's face, her careful composure and the downsweep of her lashes slowly nodded. “Yes, we will come,” he said.

  "Ah, good.” Lottie sighed as if greatly relieved. “Tomorrow night. You come about dark, leave at daylight or whenever you take the notion."

  They went to the fais-do-do by water, of course. Sherry would have liked to sit with Lucien outside at the controls in the fresh night air. He discouraged her. Her hair would be windblown, he said, and her white dress in danger of coming in contact with oil and grease, or the sweep of overhanging branches. She rode in lonely state in the cabin.

  The dress of white eyelet had not been her idea. Lucien had suggested it when she asked his advice on what would be suitable. It was the same dress she had worn to dinner her first night at Bayou's End, not an occasion of pleasant memories for either of them, she was sure. Why he had chosen it, she could not imagine. She had considered refusing to wear it. She did not know why she had agreed, unless it was some element of taut control in his face. There had been something different about him since yesterday afternoon, something she could not quite define to her satisfaction.

  Though it was growing late, the afterglow still lingered in the sky and she could see the interior of the boat around her. She stared at her hands, playing with a crease of her dress.

  She could almost believe that Lucien had enjoyed her company the last few days. For herself, the world of Bayou's End had absorbed her. She had grown so used to it, to her strange place in it, that it seemed reality, and the life she had left the dream, with Paul but a shadowy figure in it. She did not understand herself. She no longer felt threatened. A sense of inevitability was upon her, lulling her, sapping her will to resist.

  Her thoughts were so deep that she scarcely noticed the time or the distance they had traveled. She was startled to hear the boat's motors change as they glided into the landing at the Arceneaux's house.

  Lucien gave her his hand up from the cabin. She stepped out onto the deck into a dusk darkness lit by bobbing owl-shaped lanterns, many of them dancing over their reflections in the bayou.

  The house, a rambling, gray, one-story structure with cypress shingles and a long front gallery, looked as though it had been added to at random over the years. It was set back from the bayou with strings of colored lights running from the trees near the landing to its four corners. Lights also decorated the open-air pavilion for dancing that had been constructed nearer the bayou. It was a platform built close to the ground with four stout comer posts to hold the lights, and a small raised dais to one side for the musicians. It was garlanded with crepe paper streamers and forest greenery that lent a fresh woodsy scent to the atmosphere.

  Boats of all descriptions were pulled up on the banks and tied to the shaky dock, for a large crowd had already gathered. Laughing groups of people stood about, most of them with something to eat or drink in their hands. Children ran here and there, ducking and dodging among their elders. The scene had the feel of a picnic or a family reunion.

  The Arceneaux boat dock was lower than the one at Bayou's End so that the deck of the cruiser was slightly above it. Lucien jumped to the planking, then reached up to swing her down beside him. As he encircled her with his arm, leading her toward the house and the people that moved to greet them, she thought there was something possessive in his clasp upon her waist. She glanced up at him, but his face was set in grim, unreadable lines. Even the appearance of Lottie, coming toward them with a gay hail, did not have the power to make him relax, though his mouth curved in a smile.

  "Ah, cher," Lottie cried. “I am so happy to see you both. Will you have something to eat, boiled shrimp, some gumbo, something?"

  "We have already had dinner,” Lucien told her.

  "Now why did you do that? You know there is always food for all at a fais-do-do. Come, anyway, and have something to drink. My Toto is barman tonight. He will fix you up."

  They were drawn into the laughing, chattering crowd. Dozens of people were introduced to her, Aunt this, Uncle that, cousins, nieces, and nephews; so many so quickly that it was impossible to remember all the names. A glass was pressed into
her hand, a concoction of fruit juices laced lightly with rum. In the fresh evening air, with the warm press of humanity, her throat felt dry and she drank thirstily only to have her glass refilled.

  As the evening advanced, and Lucien gave her yet another fresh glass, she slanted him a wary look. The mixture in her glass seemed innocuous enough but she was aware of her limitations. She was not used to anything much stronger than wine, and she certainly had no intention of allowing herself to become befuddled.

  "Don't be so suspicious,” he murmured, his lips against the softness of her hair. She found herself smiling, reassured.

  She was introduced to a number of women around the dessert table, several of them with young children. They began to ask her about her home. Seeing her in good hands, Lucien left her. Glancing about a few minutes later, she saw him talking to Lottie, their heads close together and their faces intent. Again a sense of disquiet assailed her, but at that moment Lucien looked up and, catching her gaze, sent her a grin. She felt her own lips curving and chided herself silently for being so nervous.

  As Lucien returned to her side, there was a general surge toward the pavilion platform. They joined the crowd gathering to watch the fiddlers and the accordionist tune up. Then the musicians, each man with a drink at his elbow, began to play. It was the lilting, foot-tapping music of the bayous.

  There was no reluctance, no hesitation at being the first one out on the floor. Suddenly the open space was filled with dancing couples, their eyes shining with the pleasure of the rhythm and the uninhibited enjoyment of moving in time to the music.

  Sherry could feel an eagerness to join them rising within her. Lucien stood back, however, seemingly content to watch. She saw one or two men cast speculative glances at her, then turn to find their partners. Was it because of the man at her side and her ambiguous position as the only guest at his house that they hesitated to approach her? Perhaps the gossip had already spread? It would not be surprising in a close-knit society such as this. No, Lottie would not gossip about them. What was it, then, that set Lucien and herself apart? The only other couple left so isolated was Lottie's niece Sophie and the young man who had been introduced as her fiancée.