Pamela Morsi (32 page)

Jean Baptiste nodded a little uncertainly.
Tante Celeste lived very far up the river, they'd be lucky to make
it there by nightfall. If it seemed a very long trip for one or two
days, however, the young man was not brave enough to question the
traiteur about it.

"Pierre, too?" he asked curiously. "You want
to take the baby also?"

Orva nodded. "All three of your children will
go with me."

"I'm not sure Felicite will like that," he
said honestly. "He's yet very small and still taking tit from time
to time."

Madame Landry laughed. It sounded almost like
a cackle. "Don't worry, Tante Celeste and I will manage fine. And
Felicite will do as I tell her. It's time that you two spent an
evening alone together. Sometimes it's necessary for a couple to
learn the truth about how important they are to each other."

Jean Baptiste looked at her, speculation now
evident in his eyes.

"You are up to something, are you not?" he
said.

She smiled up at him. "That I am."

He hesitated, his brow furrowing in worry.
"Are you to tell me, or must I be kept in suspense?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Actually, I intended for
Armand to speak of it, but as I suppose he cannot I must do it
myself."

"What was Armand to tell me?" Jean Baptiste
asked.

Orva gazed at the young man for a moment and
then chose her words carefully.

"Armand was to say that there is a love charm
in this tart."

Jean Baptiste looked at her astounded and
then laughed out loud.

"A love charm?" He shook his head,
disbelieving. "You've made me up a love charm? Old woman, I've been
married five years and have nearly four children. Do you think I
am in need of such a nostrum?"

She smiled slyly. "I think you need what's in
this tart."

Jean Baptiste still shook his head.

"I love my wife, Madame," he said.

"I never doubted it," she answered.

"Then why make a love charm?"

"Are you not interested in making love?"

Her question brought him to blush. They
passed the rest of the trip up to his house in near silence. Orva
was smiling to herself. She knew enough about life, and about men
and women, to closely guess at the young man's thoughts. He had
married young, much in love, and now saw himself burdened with duty
and responsibility. He would willingly take the opportunity to have
an evening alone with his wife. An evening when they might pretend,
for a few hours, that they were the carefree lovers of their
past.

True to expectations, Felicite was not keen
on allowing the children to go off overnight with her. But Orva
insisted and Jean Baptiste was even more adamant. In just a few
moments the Sonnier children, baby Pierre included, were sitting in
the pirogue, heading upriver for an unexpected visit to Tante
Celeste. Felicite stood at the end of the dock watching and waving
to them as they left.

"Don't give these little ones so much as a
moment's worry," Orva told her. "There will be plenty to think
about this night, I promise."

Madame Landry cuddled the little ones close
to her and kept them quiet and calm as she told them stories. It
was a curious fact that the youngest of the community loved Orva
and were drawn to her. Once they came to understand the ways of the
traiteur and the voices and the notion of spirits and charms, a
fearful distance was created that could never quite be bridged. For
that reason, Madame Landry, always took the early opportunities to
love and be close to the little ones of the parish.

Orva had never had children of her own. She'd
actually been married twice, but there had been no issue from
either union. She did not regret that, nor was she saddened by it.
Her life was filled with important tasks to be accomplished. It was
uncertain if she could have been as effective as a treater if she
had also been a mother. The nearest she had come to motherhood
herself was being godmother to Armand.

Vividly she remembered the small, sickly
little baby that they had brought her. No one had believed that
baby would live. Truthfully she hadn't believed it herself. But she
had been determined. Why had God given her the treater's skills if
He had not meant her to be able to save this special little life
that had been placed in her arms?

She had saved him and she had made him
strong. And she had watched him grow into a wise and just man. She
was proud of him. As proud as any true parent might be. And she
loved him. She had every hope that his new life, his married life,
would bring him much happiness. And what she did this night was as
much for him as it was for Jean Baptiste and Felicite.

It was full dark when they arrived at the
little shack up high in the dark bayou. They almost missed the
place. Tante Celeste had long since gone to bed and there was no
light to spot the location.

Jean Baptiste had seen it, fortunately, and
with a little maneuvering and a lot of noise, they had managed to
tie up the boat at the broken-down old dock.

Tante Celeste came out of her house, shucked
down to her smallclothes to see what was going on.

"I couldn't be more surprised if tree frost
turned into real silver," the old woman declared.

"We've come to pass-a-time with you," Orva
told her. "I brought these little children and the two of us will
have to try to take care of them for a day or two."

Tante Celeste ushered the sleepy children
into the house as Jean Baptiste hastened off.

"You go on home now," Orva said. "And soon as
you get to the house you eat up that tart I made for you."

He chuckled. "I hope you know what you're
doing."

"I mostly always do," she replied.

"Maybe I should share a bite of it with my
wife," he suggested.

"No, don't do that," Orva cautioned.

"Felicite's not been interested in laying
close with me for some time," he confided quietly.

Orva shook her head firmly. "Every bite of
that tart is for you. Don't let that woman have even so much as a
taste of the crust."

Jean Baptiste nodded agreement.

"Heaven will be taking charge of your wife's
body this night, telling it exactly what to do. You'll not have to
worry on that account," Orva said. "This charm is meant strictly
for you."

In the moonlight Orva couldn't plainly make
out his face, but she sensed his embarrassment.

"Madam," he whispered his reply. "I don't
know what you've been thinking but my ... my body has never failed
me in that way. I can always . . ."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you can," Orva conceded.
"This treatment is not for curing impotence. I know full well that
is not the problem. It's something entirely different. You just go
on home to your wife, Jean Baptiste. Eat up every bite of that
tart. And believe me, within a few minutes the way your body will
be acting is going to be like nothing you've ever felt in your
life."

With a lighthearted chuckle and a shake of
his head, Jean Baptiste stepped into his pirogue.

"So it is your aim to make a memorable night
for us," he said as he pushed off from the dock.

Orva nodded and waved as she called out to
him.

"Young man, your whole life long I don't
believe that you will ever forget it."

As Jean Baptiste and the little pirogue
headed downstream in the full dark of moonlight, Orva could hear
the young man whistling.

She almost felt like whistling herself.

Chapter 17

"Laron!" Helga stood in the pirogue calling
out his name while they were still buffeted by the surf. She waved
eagerly to him and she jumped from the skiff to the beach, heedless
of the water.

He stared for a long moment and then ran into
her arms.

"Helga! My love, my own sweet love."

He gripped her against his chest almost
desperately close to him and whispered her name over and over.

She was crying with pent-up anxiety and
relief.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "Are the
children all right? Has anything . . . anything happened?"

"Only that I missed you," she answered. "Only
that I missed you so much."

Armand helped Aida onto the beach and
together they pulled the skiff safely out of the tow. By unspoken
agreement, the two successfully managed to keep their eyes on each
other, affording Laron and Helga a brief moment of privacy.

"How did you get here? Where are the
children?"

"We came after you," she told him. "The
children are with your sister. Madame Landry said for her to care
for them."

"Madame Landry?"

"I didn't know where else to go," Helga
admitted. "I thought her the person most likely to know what to
do."

Laron nodded tacit agreement.

"We left her place just this morning."

"You came all this way today?"

"We were headed for the German coast," Helga
said.

"In that worn-out old skiff?" Laron directed
that question to Armand. "You would have never made it."

"It was all we had," he answered.

"Perhaps Madame Landry knew that we need only
make it here," Aida suggested.

"Mademoiselle Gaudet?" Laron noticed her for
the first time. "What are you doing here?"

"I . . ." She hesitated and then glanced over
at Armand. The sight of him seemed to give her courage. "I am
Mademoiselle Gaudet no longer," she said. "I am Madame
Sonnier."

Laron's jaw dropped open in disbelief and
then he leaned over and heartily slapped Armand on the back.

"Bon Dieu!" Laron exclaimed. "My friend, you
never said a word."

"There was no word to say," Armand admitted.
"I asked her to wed me and she has."

Laron took Aida's hand and leaned over to
kiss her on the cheek. "Best wishes, Madame," he said.

"Thank you," she replied, almost shy. "We ...
we just decided recently."

"It must have been very recently," he agreed.
"So it was Armand who was the other man you loved."

Aida blushed a vivid scarlet and did not
reply.

Laron turned to regard Armand once more. "And
when were you wed?" he asked.

Armand gave Aida a little guilty glance.
"Today, this morning."

"What?" Laron was genuinely shocked. "And
this is how you choose to spend your wedding night?"

"You are my friend." He gave a nod toward
Aida. "Our friend. Madame Shotz needed to go in search of you. So
of course we wanted to help."

"Your people and your friends have been very
kind to me," Helga said. "I would have come to you, come to find
you, if I'd had to swim. Thankfully there was that little boat.
Monsieur Sonnier made it fly over the water. For that I will always
be grateful."

Armand shrugged.

Laron reached out and shook Armand's hand.
"Thank you," he said simply. "I will always be grateful, too. If
something happened to Helga, I . . ."

His voice wavered and he could say no
more.

Silence settled upon them. In the western sky
the sun was sinking into the water like a bright red ball. There
was much to say, but much to do also.

"We'd best make camp while we can still see,"
Armand said, breaking through the spell of quiet
thoughtfulness.

"And I'm starving," Aida said.

Her tone was so much the spoiled Aida that
Armand thought he once knew that he couldn't help smiling at
her.

"When Madame Sonnier gets hungry," he
declared with feigned gravity, "then food must be prepared."

He was rewarded for his humor with a swift
elbow

in his ribs, but he only laughed and the
others joined in.

"I've got some crabs I was about to cook,"
Laron told them, his tone considerably lightened by their humor.
"They aren't enough for four people, but I'm willing to share."

"Madame Landry packed us dinner," Helga said.
"With that and the crabs, we will surely eat well enough."

"That's assuming the old woman provides a
better meal than she does a boat," Armand said.

For the next half-hour the four of them set
to work, making camp, preparing food, joking and talking as if they
were on a carefree picnic. Just below the surface of this happy
laughter was the concern and anxiety that was as yet still
unspoken.

The wind off the water was blustery and cool.
Laron and Armand built a wind break, half-burying the two poling
sticks from their boats at an angle and crisscrossing the space
between them with piles of driftwood and brush. It was not much of
a shelter, but it kept the worst of the wind from them. And the
area between it and the fire was most comfortably warm and
toasty.

Laron took the chance to privately thank him
for helping Helga.

"She is everything," he told Armand. "More
precious to me than you can understand." He looked over at Armand
and his gaze was questioning. "Or perhaps you do understand. Are
you in love with Aida?"

Armand shrugged. "Who would not love
Aida?"

Laron gave him an even look. "I did not," he
answered simply.

The two men stood together for a long moment.
Armand finally gave him the response he sought.

"I love her," he said. "I love her and I am
very pleased to be married to her."

Slowly Laron's stern expression warmed to a
grin and he slapped his friend on the back.

"Felicitations, mon ami," he said.
"Congratulations on your marriage, my friend."

Although Helga took charge of boiling the
crabs, Aida used some oil and flour to mix up a hot roux. Once the
crustaceans were cooked and cracked, Aida dribbled the tasty sauce
over the meat.

Armand had never thought of Aida as being
much of a cook. But it made sense that a woman who knew and
understood herbs might have talents that lay in that direction. He
glanced at her from time to time, surprised by how at home she
seemed in front of the primitive campfire.