Bayou Born(4)

“Your son’s a grown man with a doctorate degree. If he says he can afford it, then you should believe him.” Papa’s low tone carried a sharp threat. Emmeline squared her shoulders, lowered her eyes, and picked at the food on her plate.

Staying out of the fray, intent on enjoying the feast of his favorites, he kept his attention on his food, took a fork full of zipper peas, and savored the flavor. No matter what, his mother could cook.

He shrugged off the family debate. In truth, he could afford it. No one knew that but his grandfather, who had taught him the value of money at an early age. However, if it hadn’t been for his father’s heart attack five years ago, he would’ve bought a house in town when he first accepted the teaching job at the community college. A thirty mile, one-way commute every day, mostly traveling a two-lane blacktop, got old.

“Great biscuits, Granny.” He smeared butter between two halves.

Granny beamed. “Emmeline, if the boy buys the house, maybe that’s a signal that he’s ready to find the right woman and settle down. Maybe this time, he’ll do it—house, marriage, then baby.”

His mother brightened. “Grandchildren?”

The ringing telephone interrupted the banter. Silence smothered all conversation. The house rule—no one answered the phone during a family meal. His father always enforced it. Especially after Caroline had started calling whenever his truck was parked in the driveway at his parents’ house. At first, her calls had been pleading, she wanted him back, but when he ignored her, she turned to issuing threats never meant for his mother or grandmother’s ears. It wasn’t that he wanted to purposefully hurt her, he’d just been too hurt by her to care how she felt now. She was none of his business.

After five long rings, the phone turned silent. Papa launched into a joke, a corny one that only an old man could pull off, and everyone laughed.

Caroline. James pushed the pain of the past from his mind. After dinner, Granny and Papa would stay “at the big house” with his parents for a while and listen to his mother play the piano. They’d sing hymns to practice for Sunday services at the Baptist Church. Meanwhile, he’d take Beau for a run down the sandy limestone road to Papa’s and back. Beau needed a workout, and James needed the exercise to clear his head. It was bothersome that a woman he’d met only once had captured his fascination. And that irritated him. After all, a woman in pearls and jeans with high heels shouted pampered and spoiled. Branna had to be the “high-maintenance” type. She’d kept her eyes trained on his boots the whole time, as though he wasn’t good enough somehow. He couldn’t name the color of her eyes, but he expected they would be as hypnotic as she was seductive. Still, the pulsing sensation between them mystified him. He had to shake it off.

A run with Beau would do him good. Afterward, he’d join the family, listen to his mother play...and begin to plan his future.

One without Caroline or baby Katie.





Chapter 3

The phone rang in the kitchen.

Branna jiggled the key in the door lock, praying it would turn the first time. She shifted the grocery bags in her arms when the lock wouldn’t open.

“I’m coming!” Lowering the bags on her right arm to the ground, she jiggled the key harder. The ringing continued.

“I said, I’m coming!”

When the lock finally turned, the door opened, and she tripped across the threshold, barely staying upright. Her sunglasses slid down her nose. She grabbed for the phone.

“Yes?” she said, then set the three bags hanging from her wrist on the counter and shook out the pain in her hand.

“You must come. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Why did Momma always think that being chipper when issuing a command would make everyone snap-to and do her bidding?

“Momma, I’m sorry. We talked about this already. I can’t make it for Memorial weekend.” She picked up the bag she’d left at the threshold and nudged the door closed with her foot. She hoped that WD-40 in the lock would fix the ingress problem. She pulled the can from the bag and set it on the counter.

“The Mayor has agreed to speak. I hired that blues band you used for that wedding on New Year’s Eve. The Mayor and I decided that the cover charge for the event is a minimum of five-cans-of-food per-person to replenish the food bank. However, I need your help.”

“I know this is your first run at handling a charity Memorial Day picnic, and I’m here for moral support. You can bounce any new ideas off me. But this isn’t your first outing, and I’m sure you’ve got it under control.”

Every day, she’d been on the phone with Momma about one or another function scheduled at Fleur de Lis. Often more than once a day. Her mother had suddenly bumped the charity-hosting schedule from one big event a year—the Valentine Auction and Valentine’s Day Dance—to three, with under a month before the date of the first new one. Which meant flyers and invitations needed to be designed, printed, and then mailed, along with contacting local vendors to secure their financial support.

Was Momma purposely trying to drive her crazy?

“You know the family’s gathering schedule. It’s tradition we count on.” Momma sounded disappointed, and but did she have to played the tradition card?

“I am the face of family tradition. I’m the one deeded the duty to keep all Fleur de Lis traditions alive—in the future. I can recite the schedule in my sleep, but I can’t put aside my work responsibilities here.” She wouldn’t allow Momma’s tone to sway her from her focus. She couldn’t be running back and forth to Mississippi if she ever intended to have a life of her own, to learn that she was strong enough and truly worthy of the Keeper’s role. Birth order didn’t guarantee she had the talent to protect the legacy.

“Branna Noël Lind, I can’t believe my ears. Are you suggesting that blood isn’t thicker than water? Being Keeper is an honor, not prison time. Do I need to remind you of the benefits you have reaped because you are the first great grandchild?”

“I moved. I didn’t lose my memory,” she muttered. “I have a job, Momma.” With the phone scrunched between her shoulder and ear, she put a milk carton in the fridge.

“Attitude? From you? I expect that from Camilla or one of your cousins, but you?”

The demure, compliant teenager Momma sent off to college years before had grown up. Unlike her siblings and cousins, she had never rebelled. Ever. She always did all that was expected of her. Including caving about going out-of-state for college. That scholarship she gave up had been a huge source of pride. It was awarded because of her work, not because of her family name or due to family influence. But Momma insisted that she had to keep with tradition and attend college in state.

In truth, the disappointment that shrouded her life came when she ended her engagement to Steven. She was still learning to live with embarrassment and humiliation. If she wanted to feel different, only she had the ability to change her life. And that’s what she was trying to do.

Yet, as far as her parents were concerned, her recent departure meant she’d said to hell with rules, and order, and decades of tradition. But that wasn’t true. She took the role of Keeper seriously. She’d worked hard to fulfill everyone’s expectations of an estate manager. But she wasn’t her mother, and she didn’t just love planning weddings. They were a necessary evil that brought in extra revenue to support the estate, which belonged to all of them, though the future care of it rested with her. Beneath her façade of self-confidence, she feared the weight of the entire family’s future on her shoulders.

She feared failure.

After all, she’d chosen poorly when accepting a proposal of marriage. Ending the engagement brought embarrassment to her entire family. Though folks in Bayou Petite had touted her wedding as the event of the decade, that wasn’t reason enough to marry misery. Wanting to spare her loved ones the pain of her humiliation, she had told no one, not Momma or even Biloxi, the reason she’d called it quits with Mr. Steven Sterling.

His betrayal had dumped chaos into her life and rocked the very core of her self-confidence. Would she ever trust herself to lead at Fleur de Lis? Would she ever trust a man again?

“Forgive me, Momma. My schedule is backwards from what the family’s accustomed to. Is Camilla coming home?” She didn’t wait for an answer. It didn’t matter. She’d forgiven her sister, but wasn’t ready for a face-to-face encounter. Camilla’s lack of sisterly loyalty hurt more than she’d ever imagined. It went beyond words. Like a bell, Camilla’s actions couldn’t be unrung. “I’ll be home for the Fourth July and Christmas, but I can’t make it for Memorial weekend, and unless a miracle happens, you can’t count on me for Thanksgiving. Hopefully, next year will be different. Be that as it may, how may I help now?” She pulled food from the grocery bags, setting the items on the counter.