Second Chance Sister (12 page)

“Even though I gave you that nightgown, and you bought sexy underwear?” Louis’s brown eyes twinkled over the top of his coffee cup.

“Even though.”

“
On dit
, they say, that honeymoons started out when a man seized a woman and carried her away from her family, then only fed her drugged honey for a month. Until she submitted willingly, or was carrying a child.”

“Look.” Bishou glanced at the coffee setting. “Honey. Do you want some in your coffee?”

“Oh, get away,” Louis chuckled. “And I am already drugged, to feel this good.”

“Well — if this is our honeymoon — ” she began tentatively.

“Oui?”

“A ride on the coast road? That fisherman’s café again?”

“A blanket in the grass?” he bargained in return. “You in a sundress?”

“We’re guaranteed to run into the tour bus.”

“Or Bat,” Louis sighed. “I took him to that café. He said no wonder you liked it. You are twins, a year notwithstanding. Twins in thought and action.”

“Pretty obvious, isn’t it?” she agreed. “But that just makes him easy to please. We know what to expect.”

“He needs a woman,” said Louis.

“I know. He’ll find one. Heaven knows who, or how, but Bat is resourceful.”

“So are you.” Louis paused. “He told me about the letter you sent him. Last spring. I don’t think he expected to see tears in my eyes — because there were tears in his, too. Two grown men, sitting in a café, talking about a letter that wasn’t even a love letter. A list of all the reasons why you dare not love me.” He lifted her hand and kissed it.

“A real waste of ink, wasn’t it?” Bishou said softly. “Bat knew at once that I’d fallen in love.”

Gently, Louis kissed her hand again. “With a man growling at
larves de tabac
.”

“With a working, thinking man who also happened to be very attractive — and a bit of a mystery,” Bishou admitted.

“Am I still a mystery?”

“Parts of you.”

Louis smiled, and stroked her hand. “And, of course, you are not.”

“I’m pretty straightforward, I guess.” They released hands to return to the coffee. Bettina reappeared with food. “I think I’d be afraid to keep a secret from you, Louis.”

“How do you mean? Because of Carola?”

There was a
clack
as Bettina recovered a dish she almost dropped. How could she help but overhear such things discussed in this house?

“Oui, because of Carola. I know you said you don’t like surprises. Now I know why. It will be difficult even getting you a Christmas present. You would be in a sweat of fear that I was buying a secret ticket to Japan.”

Louis laughed. Without meaning to, Bettina giggled, too. Bishou turned and clasped her hand for just a moment. Bettina squeezed it, and went back to the kitchen.

Louis had seen the hand-clasp, and said, “I’m glad you get along well with my
domestiques
. Don’t try to keep secrets from them, either. And as for me — there may be things I forget to tell you, but I promise you, no secrets.”

She nodded. “At least, no unpleasant ones.”

• • •

Louis and Bishou went for a drive, along the coast road. As he drove, Louis asked her, “Are you all right?”

“Me? Yes, I’m fine.”

“You don’t hurt,
ma Bishou
?”

“Well,
un peu
. Mama Jo gave me cream she said I would need. It is soothing. She also gave me the massage oil I used on your back.”

“They say Mama Jo is a witch-woman.”

“Maybe she is. Maybe we need one.”

Louis grinned. “You sound so
réunionnais
.”

“My husband is
réunionnais
. I follow him.”

The expression on his face changed. Louis drove in silence for some time. Then he asked, “Are you ready for church tomorrow?”

“Why not?”

“Does it bother you that I am a convicted felon?”

Bishou glanced at him in surprise. “Louis! Did you think this was news to me? I seem to recall reading a newspaper article about you.” Now there was an understatement. That inflammatory
Paris Gazette
article had started all of this, in Virginia.

“Non, non. That is not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

Louis pulled the car over on a grassy inland margin, shut off the engine, and turned to her. “I meant — I have lost many privileges. I cannot vote or partake in local politics. I cannot travel without permission. I can’t even touch a gun. I must pay a lawyer to sign legal papers for the business, or ask Etien to do it alone. And — when articles like that
Gazette
one, about my fall, are reprinted — I pay for my crimes all over again.”

“Louis.” Bishou shook her head. “Neither of us can change that. It is part of being Louis Dessant. I am sorry that it bothers you. But I know that the Prefect also sees that it bothers you, and that you are contrite. Père Reynaud now knows, too. You learned from your mistakes, and now you value your friends and acquaintances more. Very few friends complain about being valued. And the
réunionnaises
I meet consider you part of them. Some of them have made some bad mistakes, too.”

Louis smiled at the turn of phrase, aware that she must have heard it from someone acquainted with prison. “And you are willing to take me as I am.”

“Why not? You were willing to take me as I am.”

“Oh, no,” he said. “I have done my best to make you into my wife and mistress.”

“Well, are you not my husband and master?”

Louis shook his head. “You are a modern
Americaine
. A female leader. A role model for female students. And yet you kneel to me? Can you blame me for wondering why?”

Bishou gazed at him for a long moment. Then, quietly, she asked, “Is that what you see first when you look at me?”

Suddenly, Louis smiled. “Non. That is what I see on the second look. The first is a beautiful woman who miraculously loves me.”

Bishou slid over and put her arms around his neck. “What I see is a man who miraculously allows me to love him.” She kissed him.

After the kiss, he observed, “Carola used to kiss me to divert me from whatever question or doubt I had. You, Bishou — you use a kiss to seal the deal, don’t you?”

Bishou chuckled. “I never really thought of it like that.”

“I must get used to this — a kiss that means ‘I promise,’ not ‘Don’t pay attention to that other thing.’ Because I still ask myself what is being sneaked by me.” Louis sighed. “I cannot trust everything you do, and I am trying so hard. I am sorry.”

“Louis, that’s like a burn victim saying ‘Please excuse my bandages,’” Bishou protested, stroking his neck and throat. “Of course you are cautious. If you were not cautious, I would wonder if you had any brains at all. Don’t stop asking because you’re afraid of hurting my feelings. Remember, I grew up with boys. My feelings don’t get bruised easily.”

“And I know you say less rather than more, when we are in company,” he admitted.

“That’s the academic world. It’s small and gossipy. I think La Réunion is the same — and also, you were born here. You’re family.” She kissed him again. “You know how I look at the people around someone, and judge from their reactions. The people of La Réunion were happy to take you back, and they are proud of your business. Riding the buses, I have never heard one harsh word about you or Etien, even before anyone knew I came here to see you. That’s a tremendous testimonial.”

Louis had been smiling and stroking her back as she spoke to him. His anxiety faded. “There will be rough times,” he warned.

“I don’t doubt it for a moment. But these are not those times,” she replied.

They came back to find the house invaded by Howard boys. Bettina and Madeleine, giggling like schoolgirls, had fixed supper in the dining room for them. Bat stood up to hug his sister, and patted Louis’s shoulder. “So! Lasted a day already. Can we move back?”

“Sure. How was the camping?” Louis asked the boys.

“A lot of fun. Mr. Campard came out and joined us, too. He taught us some songs in French,” Gerry said.

Louis laughed. “He did?”

Bat smiled wryly. “Mme. Campard wisely stayed within doors.”

“Did you all have a good time?”

“Yeah,” said Bat, “we did.”

“
Pardonnez-moi
, Madame Dessant,” said Bettina, as she re-entered the dining room, “there is a telephone call for you.”

Puzzled, Bishou asked, “Did they give a name, Bettina?”

“
Oui
.” Bettina almost giggled. “Madame Howard.”

Every Howard scrambled to the salon. Louis roared with laughter, and followed.

Bishou lifted the receiver from its resting place on the writing desk. “
Allo
?”

“Is that my little Bishou?”

“Yes, Maman, it’s me.”

“How is everything? Did the wedding go well?”

“It was great. Jean-Baptiste will have photographs to show you. And I will send back the lace — thank you.”

“You don’t need to send it back.”

“Yes, I do. It was my ‘something borrowed.’ And Jean-Baptiste might need it for his own wife someday.”

Bat, sitting nearby, snorted. Louis grinned.

“Well, perhaps. But I worry about him, you know? He should be married by now, or at least have a
petite amie
.”

“He will, Maman, don’t worry.” Neither “twin” had found the strength to tell their parents about the helicopter pilot who died before she could return to the States to marry Bat. Only Bishou, Bat, and Louis knew that tragedy, the event that pressed Bat to urge his sister to marry the man she loved.

“So you were married — almost a day ago now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s the afternoon of the day after our wedding.”

“So you have had your wedding night. Are you happy?”

“Yes, Mama, I am.”

“And is Louis happy?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Jean-Baptiste didn’t tell us much about Louis, you know. Only that he was the Louis Dessant of Dessant Cigarettes, and that you had met him at East Virginia University. And that he was a well-to-do widower. Was he very lonely?”

“Yes, Maman, I think so.”

“And you love him enough to forget about teaching, and your degree?”

“Not exactly, Maman. I’m going to be an adjunct professor at the Université Français de l’Océan Indien, UFOI, the French university system out here. They are just starting an expansion, and things look really promising for the future.”

“Ah, good! Unless — how does Louis feel about that?”

“Well — we’ve already attended one reception together. And we were both complimented on our good taste in choosing each other. So I presume things will go all right.”

“That is good to know. May I speak to Louis?”

Bishou took the receiver from her ear, and regarded her husband. “Maman wants to speak to you.”

Surprised, Louis took the phone, and sat at the desk. He was even neat and orderly in his telephone calls. “
Allo, Madame
.”

Then came the sort of conversation Bishou could imagine, only from hearing Louis’s replies. Maman had apparently switched completely to French, and Louis answered accordingly.

“About myself? Well, I am an older man, thirty-six, and I run my own business. — No, I have a partner, my best friend, Etien Campard. — Yes, the Campards were our witnesses. — Jean-Baptiste? Non, Madame, he took Bishou to the altar. — Yes, father of the bride. — I was a widower. — No, I am not surprised Jean-Baptiste did not tell you that. It was ten years ago. — Yes, I was very young then. There are things I do not like to talk about, but Bishou knows.” His voice gentled. “About you? I know that you are unable to walk very much. — Well, they have said nothing, but I am guessing you are very beautiful.”

He smiled. “I have seen your children, Madame. In fact, I married one of them.” This time, he laughed, obviously a laugh shared over the telephone. “
Non
, I don’t know when we will get there, Madame. With my business, and other concerns, I do not travel much. In the summer, perhaps. I don’t like snow. — Oh, yes, I went to school in France. — Non, in Lyons, not Paris. And I spent time in the Ardennes. That is where I learned to hate snow. — My mother died when I was seven. My father died fifteen years ago. — Yes, I do think of loneliness. I learned the tobacco business from him. I am proud of her, yes. And others compliment me on my beautiful, talented wife. — Children someday, I think. — Oh, yes, our house is big enough for them. Gerry and Andy have been great fun here. Jean-Baptiste took them, and the Campard boys, camping in the Campards’ back yard.” He laughed. “I imagine it was.” He listened for a few moments. “
Oui
, I shall remember.
Au revoir
.” He handed the receiver back to Bishou.

“He sounds sweet,” Maman said to Bishou.

“He is,” Bishou confirmed.

“And he doesn’t tell tales out of school, does he? ‘There are things I do not like to talk about, but Bishou knows.’ The question is — do you know?”

“Yes, Maman, I do.”

“And you keep his secrets? Always remember to do that, Bishou. If your man wants to hide something away, let him hide it. If he’s comfortable telling you his secrets, that’s especially good.”

“I know, Maman. You’re right.”

“Did you hear him tell me I must be beautiful?”

“Certainly I did, and he’s right, you know.”

“Oh, Bishou. You never change. Take care,
ma petite
, and put your brother on.”

“Here’s Jean-Baptiste.
Au revoir
, Maman.”

Bat took the receiver from her, and began a syncopated conversation of his own. His laconic answers, so different from Louis’s, highlighted his caution. “Yes, Maman, they did. — We spent a day together, had a good time. — Yeah, saw the Indian Ocean. — Pretty nice, what I can see. — No. — No. — Jet lag was worse for us than for her. She took the ferry partway, yeah. — Beautiful scenery. Volcanoes, ocean, blue sky. A lot like Hawaii. — Good seafood, too. — No, straight from the nets. — Couple more days. Then we’ll head back. — Sure. Good-bye, Maman.” He hung up the phone, and looked at his sister. “Think she’s been in suspense, or what?”

“I’d say so.” Bishou turned to Louis. “Sorry to dump that on you without warning.”