out, closing
the door behind her.
Simon exhaled. Now all he had to do was check
his calendar to make sure he was free on Friday morning. Her floral
scent came back to him. If not, Nola would just have to reschedule
everything else.
Chapter 4
A breeze stirred the leaves of swamp oak.
Bright sparkles of sunshine bounced off the ripples of Bayou Latte.
Rae stood on the bank in a clearing where small boats were turned
upside down, waiting for their owners to come back. This was one of
the many places where fishermen launched, to head off deeper into
the swamps and bayous in search of speckled trout, choupic or
catfish.
Rae savored the feel of warm air brushing
across her skin. It brought relief from the hot sun. Yet she did
not mind the heat. She enjoyed the smell of the fish and wet earth,
and the sound of birds calling to one another. Nowhere else was she
so much at peace. Even when she was a child, she never felt
rejected on the bayou. Memories of crawfishing with Lucien came
flashing back as vividly as a technicolor movie. They would follow
the waterway into Bayou Choctaw and then on to Houmas Swamp. All
bitterness could be forgotten back in the bayous.
Rae gasped at the sight of a man standing
about sixty yards away on the bank. He was dressed in a red shirt
and blue jeans. His brown skin glistened. For a moment, he bore a
striking resemblance to Lucien. Rae blinked away tears. If only it
were him. There had been so much left unsaid between them. That’s
what made death so painful for survivors, the unfinished business
of life.
“Hey, tryin’ to catch some dinner?” Andrew
called in a voice full of cheer.
Rae turned away as he approached, hastily
wiping her face dry with a bandanna taken from her back pocket.
“You skipping another day of work? It’s a
wonder you have a job, Andy,” Rae said when he got about fifty
yards away. She used his old, childhood nickname.
“Contrary to popular rumor, I work hard. I
got off at two, sure, but I went to work for six this morning,”
Andrew yelled back. He closed the distance between them in no time
with his long-legged stride. “Say, you all right?”
“Sure, nothing wrong with me.” Rae wiped her
face with a hand.
Andrew peered at her. “You’ve been crying.
Come here, cher.” He wrapped her in a sweaty embrace.
“Go on now, I said I’m okay.” Despite her
words, Rae leaned against his chest. She pushed away from him after
a few seconds. “Whew! You smell like crawfish.”
“You ain’t exactly smelling like a rose
yourself,” Andrew teased. He pinched her chin with affection before
looking out over the water. “Yep, Daddy is all over this place. I
feel him myself when I’m out here.” He did not have to ask what
prompted her tears.
“Daddy was always a contradiction, Andy.
Somehow he held onto this land. But he’d stay drunk for days,
yelling and playing that accordion.” Rae sat down, Indian-style, on
a grassy mound. Andrew plopped beside her.
“One thing he wouldn’t do was lose Pawpaw’s
land; been in the family for almost a hundred years. Our
great-grandfather had to fight to hold onto it,” Andrew said.
Raimond Dalcour’s white grandfather had left
no legitimate direct heirs. Yet his nieces and nephews had filed a
lawsuit, which went on for seven years, trying to take it from him.
Amazingly, the courts upheld Raimond’s claim since both whites and
blacks wrote letters attesting to it.
“You know he paid the taxes on time. Even
paid back his Uncle Jules those times he had to borrow from him to
do it,” Rae said.
“He had his faults, our Papa, but he wouldn’t
let go of his heritage.” Andrew spoke with fierce pride in his
voice. “He always said we’d get rich one day because of it.”
Rae looked at him. “Andy, I met with Simon
St. Cyr yesterday. He wants to buy part of the land.”
Andrew grinned at her. “Wish I coulda been
there when you told him to go to hell and take his no-good
grandfather
the door behind her.
Simon exhaled. Now all he had to do was check
his calendar to make sure he was free on Friday morning. Her floral
scent came back to him. If not, Nola would just have to reschedule
everything else.
Chapter 4
A breeze stirred the leaves of swamp oak.
Bright sparkles of sunshine bounced off the ripples of Bayou Latte.
Rae stood on the bank in a clearing where small boats were turned
upside down, waiting for their owners to come back. This was one of
the many places where fishermen launched, to head off deeper into
the swamps and bayous in search of speckled trout, choupic or
catfish.
Rae savored the feel of warm air brushing
across her skin. It brought relief from the hot sun. Yet she did
not mind the heat. She enjoyed the smell of the fish and wet earth,
and the sound of birds calling to one another. Nowhere else was she
so much at peace. Even when she was a child, she never felt
rejected on the bayou. Memories of crawfishing with Lucien came
flashing back as vividly as a technicolor movie. They would follow
the waterway into Bayou Choctaw and then on to Houmas Swamp. All
bitterness could be forgotten back in the bayous.
Rae gasped at the sight of a man standing
about sixty yards away on the bank. He was dressed in a red shirt
and blue jeans. His brown skin glistened. For a moment, he bore a
striking resemblance to Lucien. Rae blinked away tears. If only it
were him. There had been so much left unsaid between them. That’s
what made death so painful for survivors, the unfinished business
of life.
“Hey, tryin’ to catch some dinner?” Andrew
called in a voice full of cheer.
Rae turned away as he approached, hastily
wiping her face dry with a bandanna taken from her back pocket.
“You skipping another day of work? It’s a
wonder you have a job, Andy,” Rae said when he got about fifty
yards away. She used his old, childhood nickname.
“Contrary to popular rumor, I work hard. I
got off at two, sure, but I went to work for six this morning,”
Andrew yelled back. He closed the distance between them in no time
with his long-legged stride. “Say, you all right?”
“Sure, nothing wrong with me.” Rae wiped her
face with a hand.
Andrew peered at her. “You’ve been crying.
Come here, cher.” He wrapped her in a sweaty embrace.
“Go on now, I said I’m okay.” Despite her
words, Rae leaned against his chest. She pushed away from him after
a few seconds. “Whew! You smell like crawfish.”
“You ain’t exactly smelling like a rose
yourself,” Andrew teased. He pinched her chin with affection before
looking out over the water. “Yep, Daddy is all over this place. I
feel him myself when I’m out here.” He did not have to ask what
prompted her tears.
“Daddy was always a contradiction, Andy.
Somehow he held onto this land. But he’d stay drunk for days,
yelling and playing that accordion.” Rae sat down, Indian-style, on
a grassy mound. Andrew plopped beside her.
“One thing he wouldn’t do was lose Pawpaw’s
land; been in the family for almost a hundred years. Our
great-grandfather had to fight to hold onto it,” Andrew said.
Raimond Dalcour’s white grandfather had left
no legitimate direct heirs. Yet his nieces and nephews had filed a
lawsuit, which went on for seven years, trying to take it from him.
Amazingly, the courts upheld Raimond’s claim since both whites and
blacks wrote letters attesting to it.
“You know he paid the taxes on time. Even
paid back his Uncle Jules those times he had to borrow from him to
do it,” Rae said.
“He had his faults, our Papa, but he wouldn’t
let go of his heritage.” Andrew spoke with fierce pride in his
voice. “He always said we’d get rich one day because of it.”
Rae looked at him. “Andy, I met with Simon
St. Cyr yesterday. He wants to buy part of the land.”
Andrew grinned at her. “Wish I coulda been
there when you told him to go to hell and take his no-good
grandfather
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