Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(39)

“A sign from what?”

“You’ll have to ask Noeline to explain,” Lysette said, and put her hands over Evelina’s ears, mouthing the word voodoo.

Being from a Catholic family, Lysette had no belief in the African and Haitian gods that some slaves—immigrants from Santo Domingo—and some whites from New Orleans worshipped. She did not want to encourage superstition in her children. The voodoo cult had taken root in the city. Each year hundreds of believers gathered on Lake Ponchartrain or the Bayou St. John for a festival to worship their deities.

Celia hadn’t suspected that Noeline placed credence in voodoo. Driven by curiosity, she ventured outside where the dignified housekeeper was picking up another tray of sun-warmed flour. “Noeline?”

The elderly black woman lifted her graying head. “Oui, madame?”

“Could you tell me what a loa is, s’il te plaît?”

“A loa,” Noeline repeated, setting the tray back on a wide tree stump and straightening her lean form. Her lustrous black eyes twinkled with a smile. “Dere is many diff’rent kind, madame. A loa is a voodoo spirit. Dere is two parts in every loa, good an’ bad. Now Legba keep watch at every crossroad…Legba is god of sin, make de blood run hot…comprenez?”

Celia nodded, flushing slightly.

“But Legba also good to take pity on man. Wid Legba’s help, man can maybe ’scape from destiny. Now Erzulie and Damballa—”

“I understand,” Celia interrupted, before Noeline went on to describe each and every loa she knew of. “Tell me…why did you tell Lysette that her dream about Justin may be a sign from a loa?”

“De loas work in dreams, madame.” Noeline’s eyes sharpened. “You been havin’ de dream too?”

“Not about Justin,” Celia replied softly. “About my husband. I keep dreaming he is alive.”

“Ah.” Noeline tilted her head, regarding her with friendly sympathy. “Dat not from de loa, madame. When a man is gone, dere is emptiness…in de heart, in de bed, c’est vrai? But someday you find a new man to take away de emptiness, and dere will be no more dreams.”

“I don’t know,” Celia said doubtfully. “I don’t think I’ll ever marry again.”

Noeline smiled. “Ah’m an ole woman, madame, an’ ah know what you say ain’ gonna happen always happen.”

That evening the Vallerands hosted a small “at home” for some of their family. A few elderly cousins came to visit, as well as Maximilien’s brother Alexandre and his wife Henriette. They congregated in the parlor and talked uninhibitedly. While the conversation went on, they partook of strong black coffee and baba—a porous cake dipped in rum.

Celia was quiet, preferring to sit near the corner and listen to the lively exchanges of the family. Often her gaze would linger on Lysette and Maximilien, who sat on the settee. Usually their son would have been put to bed by now, but tonight Rafe was snuggled high against his father’s chest, sleeping peacefully. Occasionally Maximilien would smooth a large hand over the baby’s fuzzy red hair. Celia was touched by his tenderness with the child.

The guests remained until just past midnight, when the last crumb of cake had been eaten and the last drop of coffee consumed. After handing the baby to Lysette, Maximilien saw Alexandre and Henriette to the door. He turned to see if there were any more guests.

“All gone,” Lysette said.

“Thank God.” Max untied his black cravat and let it hang around his neck. He grinned at his wife, who was murmuring softly to the baby. Lysette looked up to meet Max’s golden eyes, and his expression changed. The pair shared an intimate glance that warmed the room several degrees.

In a flash of discomfort Celia realized she was intruding on a private moment. She cleared her throat. “Er…bonne nuit, I will be leaving now,” she said, conjuring a yawn and heading toward the back of the house. “It was a lovely evening.”

“Wait,” Max said, dragging his attention away from his wife. “I’ll have Elias or Arnaud escort you to the garçonnière. It’s too late for you to go alone.”

“Merci, but it is not necessary,” Celia said. “It is only a short distance from the house. I have walked there by myself many evenings.”

“If you are certain—”

“Oh yes, yes,” Celia interrupted hastily. “I have no need of company.”

“Good night,” Lysette said a touch dreamily, turning to carry the baby upstairs.

Celia left the house with the same restless feeling that had plagued her all day. There was no doubt of what was going to happen between Maximilien and Lysette when they retired to bed. How wonderful it would be to have the security of a husband, a family. Guiltily she tried to banish the envious thoughts from her mind, but she couldn’t.

Celia stepped on the path that led to the garçonnière. She wondered what it would be like to have Philippe waiting there for her. Her eyes stung. She had never felt so lonely. Even in the years when she and Philippe had been apart, she had known he would come for her someday. Now there was no such comfort. She stared down at the ground while she walked, imagining he was still alive, waiting for her at the cottage door. “I wanted you all evening,” he might have said, wrapping his strong arms around her, brushing his lips over her hair. “I want to take you beneath me…hold you…love you…”