to a very dramatic breakup. The loss of those two leaves a big hole in the schedule.”
“If there’s one thing that’s plentiful in Louisiana besides gators, it’s musicians,” Marjo said. “Don’t worry, Jenny, I’m sure Alain will find someone else.” The police chief, a fiddler in his spare time, had gladly taken on the task of coordinating all the musicians for the festival.
“Well, we were talking before you got here and we were thinking…” Jenny’s voice trailed off and she looked to the others for support. “Maybe you could sing.”
“Me?” Marjo squeaked. “But I—”
“Don’t give me a but, Marjo. You can sing better than half the people in Louisiana. You have an incredible voice.”
“Jenny, I don’t think people want to hear me sing.” How long had it been since she’d sung in public, other than church?
And then it hit her.
The last time she’d sung in public had been at an audition, the day of the accident that took both her parents’ lives. The accident that had changed the course of her life, taking her away from her dreams of someday becoming a professional singer and into her role as Gabriel’s guardian. She’d also stepped into her father’s shoes at the Savoy Funeral Home, because it was what was expected.
“You’re better than that Possum Trio,” Jacques said, then let out a belch. “Sorry. This pecan pie is damned good.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Marjo hedged. “I’m sure we’ll find another musician and you won’t need me at all.”
“Uh-huh.” Jenny clearly didn’t believe her.
“On to the repairs,” Marjo said, eager to change the subject. “We still have quite a lot of work left to do on the opera house.” She looked at the list in front of her, now numbering twenty-plus items. “We have almost enough money to make basic plumbing and wiring upgrades, but nowhere near what we need to do a true historical restoration. How has the fund-raising been going?”
Luc Carter held up the latest balance sheet. “Another two hundred dollars came in since our last meeting.” He shook his head, clearly as disappointed as Marjo.
Two hundred wasn’t enough to pay the contractors to repaint the siding a historically accurate color. It wasn’t enough to replaster the walls, replace the floor and fix the chairs.
Marjo looked at the resigned faces around her and wondered how she would ever generate enough momentum to keep this project going.
“We need to raise more money, if we have any hope of getting the opera house up to code so it can be used during the festival and for Loretta’s VIP dinner the night before,” Marjo said. “Anyone have any ideas?”
“Why don’t we just hold the CajunFest at the Blue Moon or something? I’m sure Willis would let us use the parking lot.” Renee Porter gave a shrug. “I don’t think we’re going to get the opera house done in time. We can hold the festival performances there next year, at our second CajunFest.”
“Yeah, if that Canadian doesn’t sell it out from under us,” Doc Landry muttered.
“I won’t let him,” Marjo said.
Elsie Montrose looked up from her knitting long enough to lay a hand on Marjo’s. “Maybe it’s time to just let it go, Marjo dear. What use does Indigo have for opera, anyway? We’re just a little bayou town.”
If her own group was starting to bail on her, then Marjo needed to find another way to save the opera house, and fast, or the entire project would be lost, along with a vital part of Indigo’s history.
There was one key to success, and it wasn’t avery cooperative one. Paul Clermont. Somehow she had to swing him over to her way of thinking. Maybe with a Valois heir behind the project, the rest of the group, the rest of the town, would be energized and the restoration would finally be completed.
As she left that night, concerns weighed heavily on her mind. Concern for Gabriel, who hadn’t come home for dinner again tonight. Sometimes the boy wandered off
“If there’s one thing that’s plentiful in Louisiana besides gators, it’s musicians,” Marjo said. “Don’t worry, Jenny, I’m sure Alain will find someone else.” The police chief, a fiddler in his spare time, had gladly taken on the task of coordinating all the musicians for the festival.
“Well, we were talking before you got here and we were thinking…” Jenny’s voice trailed off and she looked to the others for support. “Maybe you could sing.”
“Me?” Marjo squeaked. “But I—”
“Don’t give me a but, Marjo. You can sing better than half the people in Louisiana. You have an incredible voice.”
“Jenny, I don’t think people want to hear me sing.” How long had it been since she’d sung in public, other than church?
And then it hit her.
The last time she’d sung in public had been at an audition, the day of the accident that took both her parents’ lives. The accident that had changed the course of her life, taking her away from her dreams of someday becoming a professional singer and into her role as Gabriel’s guardian. She’d also stepped into her father’s shoes at the Savoy Funeral Home, because it was what was expected.
“You’re better than that Possum Trio,” Jacques said, then let out a belch. “Sorry. This pecan pie is damned good.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Marjo hedged. “I’m sure we’ll find another musician and you won’t need me at all.”
“Uh-huh.” Jenny clearly didn’t believe her.
“On to the repairs,” Marjo said, eager to change the subject. “We still have quite a lot of work left to do on the opera house.” She looked at the list in front of her, now numbering twenty-plus items. “We have almost enough money to make basic plumbing and wiring upgrades, but nowhere near what we need to do a true historical restoration. How has the fund-raising been going?”
Luc Carter held up the latest balance sheet. “Another two hundred dollars came in since our last meeting.” He shook his head, clearly as disappointed as Marjo.
Two hundred wasn’t enough to pay the contractors to repaint the siding a historically accurate color. It wasn’t enough to replaster the walls, replace the floor and fix the chairs.
Marjo looked at the resigned faces around her and wondered how she would ever generate enough momentum to keep this project going.
“We need to raise more money, if we have any hope of getting the opera house up to code so it can be used during the festival and for Loretta’s VIP dinner the night before,” Marjo said. “Anyone have any ideas?”
“Why don’t we just hold the CajunFest at the Blue Moon or something? I’m sure Willis would let us use the parking lot.” Renee Porter gave a shrug. “I don’t think we’re going to get the opera house done in time. We can hold the festival performances there next year, at our second CajunFest.”
“Yeah, if that Canadian doesn’t sell it out from under us,” Doc Landry muttered.
“I won’t let him,” Marjo said.
Elsie Montrose looked up from her knitting long enough to lay a hand on Marjo’s. “Maybe it’s time to just let it go, Marjo dear. What use does Indigo have for opera, anyway? We’re just a little bayou town.”
If her own group was starting to bail on her, then Marjo needed to find another way to save the opera house, and fast, or the entire project would be lost, along with a vital part of Indigo’s history.
There was one key to success, and it wasn’t avery cooperative one. Paul Clermont. Somehow she had to swing him over to her way of thinking. Maybe with a Valois heir behind the project, the rest of the group, the rest of the town, would be energized and the restoration would finally be completed.
As she left that night, concerns weighed heavily on her mind. Concern for Gabriel, who hadn’t come home for dinner again tonight. Sometimes the boy wandered off
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