Page 62 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

The trip was only two days. She spent day one making the rounds to her family, first visiting with Irish Colleen, then Magnolia Grace, and finally, Ophélie. She’d tried to reach Maureen, but the staff said she was under the weather and requested no guests. Not even her sister? she’d asked, to which the reply came, she’ll see you at Christmas.

All the babies in the family weren’t babies anymore. Most were walking, all were talking, and they’d started to develop distinct personalities. Nicolas would be the mischief maker of the generation, while Anasofiya possessed a quiet, if inquisitive, strength. Olivia, whom she got to play with at Irish Colleen’s, was excellent at manipulation but loved nothing more than to receive more subtle affection, like cuddles. Her Amelia was more like Ana, but already Colleen had noticed that Amelia seemed affected by the emotions of others. She sensed when someone was hiding angst, like a dog could sense a coming storm, as Irish Colleen liked to say.

What type of human would Charles’ little one be, coming in a few short months?

And Colleen’s new son?

Colleen called the meeting to order, starting with the vows, and jumping right into announcements.

“First, congratulations are in order for Pansy and her husband, Placide,” she said with a pleasant smile. “Blessings to you on the arrival of your daughter, Clothilde. I bet Rex is beside himself to have a sister!”

A tired Pansy smiled at her peers. “That little fool’s like his daddy. Can’t decide what he wants from day to day.”

“Gets that from his mama, too,” Pierce mumbled, hiding a grin.

“Congratulations to you as well, Papa,” Colleen said, turning to him. “Your second grandchild, Pierce. You hardly seem old enough for one.”

Pierce flushed. “That’s sweet of you, Colleen, but Winnifred reminds me every day that I’m not as young as I think I am.”

“Fifty is hardly old, Daddy,” Kitty said. “It’s not like you’ve got one foot out the door.”

“No, but you’ll understand, one day, what it is to begin to slow down.” He patted his daughter’s hand, eyes glistening. “But Kitty has good news, too, don’t you, sweetness?”

It was Kitty’s turn to redden. She paused and then held up her hand with a beaming grin, wiggling her fingers to reveal a glittering diamond.

“Kitty!” Eugenia exclaimed.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Colleen asked.

“Landry Marsolet, that upstart from Gentilly,” Pansy muttered, but smiled, too, when Kitty threw her an elbow.

“That’s wonderful, cousin,” Luther said.

“So? When is it?” Cassius probed.

“We’re not in any hurry.” Kitty moved her eyes to her father. “Daddy says the family should stay in mourning for two years.”

Colleen nodded, thinking to herself that these traditions were no better than superstitions. But sometimes tradition was all they had. When Blanche’s third and final husband, Claudius Broussard died, only a month before Ophelia, his loss dealt an awful blow to that side of the family, especially Eugenia, Cassius, and the five children between them. Although Pierce was not Claudius’ son, his decision to honor the mourning was out of respect for his mother, Blanche.

“Aunt Blanche will appreciate the honor you give her,” Colleen said. “And congratulations, Kitty. It’s always a blessing to see this family grow.”

“And you, Colleen?” Eugenia nodded toward her belly. “Do you not have an announcement as well?”

Maureen fell into a depression following the dramatic rescue at Soren’s.

It wasn’t like that initially. She was buoyed by the knowledge Edouard did care. He did love her, in his own, twisted, unorthodox way. At the thought of losing her, he’d risked his own life, and those were not the actions of a man indifferent.

This was all she’d ever wanted, all along. She’d sacrificed, putting aside her own hatred and resentment at what he’d done to her, and it wasn’t so much to ask that he could meet her halfway.

But then, days went by, and nothing changed. They still ate together in their respective silences, returning to their own rooms, living their own lives, separate. The only thing he said to her was that he’d rescinded his permission about Soren, and that he’d like Maureen to stop seeing him. I can’t force you to abide by this, but I’m asking you to put that behind you now.

Maureen waited for the quid pro quo; what was in it for her, to give up something that made her happy and whole? But it never came, and it was as if that day in Bayou St. John never happened at all.

She didn’t ask why. Edouard had never liked to be questioned, and she’d receive no satisfying answer. Every answer to every question for him was some version of because I said so, and she could hardly breathe, she missed Soren so much. To hear her husband declare he’d taken that from her, simply because he felt like it, would break her spirit.

He rescued you. You can’t forget that.

Maureen hadn’t forgotten, though she wished, now, that it had never happened. What good was her husband’s moment of exposed weakness if he never showed it again? If nothing changed? If she went back to being the sad mistress of Blanchard House, wasting away her best years while he did as he pleased?

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