Read Online Courir De Mardi Gras by Lynn Shurr - Free Book Online
Authors: Lynn Shurr
Tags: Contemporary
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it.”
“He put Eli Jefferson out of business?”
“Oh, yes! And out of his house, too.” Miss Esme clapped her frail hands with joy. “And then, he gave Magnolia Hill to his own son, the second Josephe, for a wedding gift. Wasn’t that marvelous?”
“But didn’t he ruin the town as well?” Suzanne questioned. Feeling on shaky ground, she looked across to George for support, but he seemed absorbed in chewing a bite of the leathery pot roast into a digestible mass and stirring his peas and yams together with a fork. An old story heard many times held no interest for him.
“Oh, no! The railroads and the boll weevil ruined Port Jefferson,” Miss Esme asserted.
“Now that we’ve got yams, times are better,” Miss Letty added, forking more of the orange potatoes between her jowls.
“We were both born at the Hill. Granddaddy Josephe would not have it any other way,” Miss Esme chimed in, shooing the subject away from yams and back to happier times. “I do believe we spent more time there growing up than we did in this house. Granddaddy gave elegant weekend parties, all those politicians and their ladies, fancy dress in the evenings, rowing on the bayou in the afternoons, picnics, riding, all so fine.”
“If Daddy had lived, we would have gone to stay on the Hill permanently, but he passed on of pneumonia when he was still only the mayor. Brother, that’s Georgie’s grandfather, got to the senate. He got the big house, too.” Miss Letty savagely sawed at a piece of the pot roast.
“He was a personal friend of Huey Long, you know,” offered Miss Esme.
“He dragged the family down to Huey’s level, Esme. The St. Juliens ‘just plain folks’, indeed! Those dreadful dresses Beatrice bought at Sonnier’s and having themselves photographed eating in the kitchen, horrible, just horrible! All the money in the world, and they let the Hill go to pieces.”
“Now Letty, you’re still sore because Fred cut you off when you insisted on marrying Henry Dugas.” Appealing to Suzanne, Esme said, “He called it a traitorous act to marry into one of those families who sold out to Eli Jefferson.”
“At least I had the spine to do it! I didn’t let Fred or Granddaddy turn me into a nun or a spinster school teacher.” Miss Letty’s round face turned a dangerous shade of purple.
“That’s just not true! My beau died in the World War.” Miss Esme paled. She tugged on the zipper at the throat of her pink tunic, but it seemed to be caught in the fabric.
Again, Suzanne looked to George for help. He’d cleaned his plate. He rose and bent over Aunt Esme, brushing her sunken cheek with his lips. He did the same to Aunt Letty, pressing his lips to her fleshy jowls.
“I have to get back to the office. Ya’ll have a nice visit with Suzanne.” Nodding to his hired historian, he said without expression, “Stop by the office if you want a ride home.”
Then, he deserted her in the midst of the battle. “Coward!” she wanted to shout after him. An unexpected ally appeared in the form of Sally. “Ya’ll want coffee now?”
“In the parlor, Sally,” Miss Letty indicated.
“Yes, in the parlor,” Miss Esme echoed, entirely recovered from her brief fit.
Evidently, the two old women adhered to the old code of not arguing in front of the servants. With a silent truce called, they retired to the parlor. Sally appeared with her tray and stood holding it while Suzanne took a demitasse and added sugar. Still, the servant continued standing right in front of her.
“Take a cookie,” she said in disgust, as if a Yankee didn’t know a thing about fine manners. Suzanne selected a gingersnap with a burnt bottom. Sally moved on to serve Miss Esme.
Miss Esme took her cup and cookie. “Sally has been with our family since she was fourteen. She still does all the cooking. Isn’t she a marvel?”
“Definitely,” Suzanne quickly agreed.
“Why, when Letty and I attended St. Joseph’s, she would bring our lunch
“He put Eli Jefferson out of business?”
“Oh, yes! And out of his house, too.” Miss Esme clapped her frail hands with joy. “And then, he gave Magnolia Hill to his own son, the second Josephe, for a wedding gift. Wasn’t that marvelous?”
“But didn’t he ruin the town as well?” Suzanne questioned. Feeling on shaky ground, she looked across to George for support, but he seemed absorbed in chewing a bite of the leathery pot roast into a digestible mass and stirring his peas and yams together with a fork. An old story heard many times held no interest for him.
“Oh, no! The railroads and the boll weevil ruined Port Jefferson,” Miss Esme asserted.
“Now that we’ve got yams, times are better,” Miss Letty added, forking more of the orange potatoes between her jowls.
“We were both born at the Hill. Granddaddy Josephe would not have it any other way,” Miss Esme chimed in, shooing the subject away from yams and back to happier times. “I do believe we spent more time there growing up than we did in this house. Granddaddy gave elegant weekend parties, all those politicians and their ladies, fancy dress in the evenings, rowing on the bayou in the afternoons, picnics, riding, all so fine.”
“If Daddy had lived, we would have gone to stay on the Hill permanently, but he passed on of pneumonia when he was still only the mayor. Brother, that’s Georgie’s grandfather, got to the senate. He got the big house, too.” Miss Letty savagely sawed at a piece of the pot roast.
“He was a personal friend of Huey Long, you know,” offered Miss Esme.
“He dragged the family down to Huey’s level, Esme. The St. Juliens ‘just plain folks’, indeed! Those dreadful dresses Beatrice bought at Sonnier’s and having themselves photographed eating in the kitchen, horrible, just horrible! All the money in the world, and they let the Hill go to pieces.”
“Now Letty, you’re still sore because Fred cut you off when you insisted on marrying Henry Dugas.” Appealing to Suzanne, Esme said, “He called it a traitorous act to marry into one of those families who sold out to Eli Jefferson.”
“At least I had the spine to do it! I didn’t let Fred or Granddaddy turn me into a nun or a spinster school teacher.” Miss Letty’s round face turned a dangerous shade of purple.
“That’s just not true! My beau died in the World War.” Miss Esme paled. She tugged on the zipper at the throat of her pink tunic, but it seemed to be caught in the fabric.
Again, Suzanne looked to George for help. He’d cleaned his plate. He rose and bent over Aunt Esme, brushing her sunken cheek with his lips. He did the same to Aunt Letty, pressing his lips to her fleshy jowls.
“I have to get back to the office. Ya’ll have a nice visit with Suzanne.” Nodding to his hired historian, he said without expression, “Stop by the office if you want a ride home.”
Then, he deserted her in the midst of the battle. “Coward!” she wanted to shout after him. An unexpected ally appeared in the form of Sally. “Ya’ll want coffee now?”
“In the parlor, Sally,” Miss Letty indicated.
“Yes, in the parlor,” Miss Esme echoed, entirely recovered from her brief fit.
Evidently, the two old women adhered to the old code of not arguing in front of the servants. With a silent truce called, they retired to the parlor. Sally appeared with her tray and stood holding it while Suzanne took a demitasse and added sugar. Still, the servant continued standing right in front of her.
“Take a cookie,” she said in disgust, as if a Yankee didn’t know a thing about fine manners. Suzanne selected a gingersnap with a burnt bottom. Sally moved on to serve Miss Esme.
Miss Esme took her cup and cookie. “Sally has been with our family since she was fourteen. She still does all the cooking. Isn’t she a marvel?”
“Definitely,” Suzanne quickly agreed.
“Why, when Letty and I attended St. Joseph’s, she would bring our lunch
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