Heart of Glass (15 page)

“Uncle Colin?”

It was a moment before Colin said, “What, Damian?”

“Mama’s not asleep, is she?”

Colin turned to Kate with a universe full of questions in his eyes. What Kate wanted was to break down and sob for her own loss, to be alone, to face her own grief head on. But Marie was crying uncontrollably, Damian’s hand was pressed to his mother’s cheek, and Colin was silently pleading for help.

Somehow she walked to his chair to stand behind him. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, he cleared his throat. The silence in the room stretched taut.

Kate looked at her best friend, at the sister of her heart. For the first time since Amelie arrived she looked at peace. As if she might just be asleep, dreaming a wonderful dream.

Damian was still waiting for an answer.

Colin reached up and grabbed Kate’s hand.

She struggled to smile for Damian, struggled and failed.

“No, honey,” she said. “She’s not asleep. Your mama’s gone.”

T
hey laid Amelie out in the front sitting room for visitation. Kate changed into a black mourning gown and avoided going downstairs again for as long as she could. Once there she recognized the cloying scent of Eugenie’s myrtle berry candles, the sickly sweet perfume of jasmine filling the first floor rooms. The windows in the sitting room were covered. Myra, also wearing a severe black gown, the same one she had worn after Gil Keene’s death, was waiting for her on the gallery.

Myra walked over, took Kate’s arm, and tried to lead her farther into the room. But as the heavy candle scent wafted over Kate, her feet failed her. She looked around the room.

Eugenie and Simon stood against the back wall. Eugenie held a dishtowel against her mouth to muffle her sobs. The children, stiff and silent, were seated side by side not far from Amelie. She looked like a life-sized doll laid out in the center of the room on long planks covered with various pieces of sheets and tablecloths. Her hands were folded around a bouquet of her mother’s precious yellow roses.

Colin was seated near his sister. As soon as he saw Kate in the doorway, he pushed himself slowly to his feet. She knew what the move cost him, but didn’t protest. Her knees trembled so hard she hadn’t the strength of will to take another step.

Colin’s dark eyes were shadowed with pain and grief as he slowly stood and made his way over to her, one measured step at a time. She had thought him broken before, but today they were both shattered. Once Colin was beside her on the gallery, Myra returned to the children.

When Colin touched her arm, Kate felt nothing.

“Come, let me help you,” he offered.

“No.” She shook her head, refused to go a step farther. Refused to make this nightmare real.

Colin wrapped his arm around her. He leaned so close his warm breath brushed her ear.

“She loved you, Katie Keene,” he whispered.

She longed to pull away, to run outside and down the drive, across the damp lawn, along the
allee
of oaks, to the levee, to the river. She wanted to wail and scream. Most of all she wanted to turn back time.

“We promised not to mourn her, remember?”

“Impossible,” she whispered.

She heard a soft hiccup followed by a sob. Marie was doubled over on her chair.

“Go in there, Kate. Help them.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to. It’s what she wanted.”

His words struck a familiar chord in her heart. Who knew better what it meant to be orphaned? To have no one.

Colin kept an arm around her as together they joined the children in the sitting room. Kate knelt down and hugged Marie. The girl pressed her face against Kate’s neck and wrapped her arms around her. Kate held her close and let her cry. Damian slipped off his chair and hooked an arm around Kate’s shoulders. In their knot of sorrow, they cried together.

When Kate finally looked up, Colin was seated again. He nodded. Together they would find a way to do right by these children.

Kate gently raised Marie’s head and wiped away her tears before she turned to Damian, smoothed his dark curls, and wiped the tears off his cheeks as well.

Fighting for composure, holding their hands, she spoke softly.

“Your mama did not want us to be sad. Why don’t you go into the kitchen with Myra and have some chocolate to drink? While you are there, I want you to think of some lovely stories about your
mama. Things you remember that will make us all smile. Things we don’t know about her. You can each tell one of the stories tomorrow at the burial. It’s a very grown-up thing, but I’m sure you can do it. Will you try?”

Damian nodded first. Marie appeared uncertain.

“Can you do it, Marie? For your mama?”

She finally whispered, “I will try.”

“Good.” Kate hugged them both. Damian tugged on her sleeve.

“Aunt Kate?” His eyes were watery and huge in his pale face.

“Yes, dear?”

“What will we do without Mama?”

Kate was out of words. Colin rose and, leaning heavily on his cane, walked over to join them.

Damian’s face was pinched with worry.

“Will we have to go back to Kansas?” he asked Colin.

Without hesitation, Colin said, “No, you will not.” He softened his tone. “Right now you should have some chocolate to drink and some of those cookies Eugenie made earlier. Try not to worry. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Myra collected her charges and took them to the kitchen. Eugenie slipped out after them.

“Thank you, Colin.” Kate tried to smile, but again failed.

“Why don’t you go upstairs? You must be exhausted.”

His compassion surprised her. He was acting so unlike the man who had railed and demanded that she leave
Belle Fleuve
.

“No more than you.”

“Simon and I will stay,” Colin clarified.

The household, except for the children, would take turns sitting with Amelie all night.

“I should stay.”

“Go,” Colin urged. “Try to rest awhile. We’ll be fine.”

As she left the sitting room and stepped out onto the gallery Kate carefully avoided looking at Amelie. The setting sun turned
raindrops on the trees into crystal teardrops as
Belle Fleuve
mourned the loss of its daughter. Despondent, still shaken, Kate escaped to her room, but she could not escape the memory of Damian’s sorrowful eyes.

What will we do without Mama?

She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth he would soon discover on his own.

You will feel abandoned and alone. You will call out for her in the middle of the night. You will cry yourself to sleep
.

You will pray. You will survive. You will go on
.

She washed her face with tepid water, stretched out on the bed, closed her eyes, and wished things had turned out differently, wished Amelie were alive.

I promise to raise Marie and Damian if anything happens to you
.

She recalled the sound of Colin’s deep voice and how he had spoken without hesitation. She still felt the remembered warmth of his hand when he forced hers onto the photograph.

I promise on our parents’ memories to marry Kate Keene and raise your children as my own
.

Surely Colin would not hold her to it.

He had assured Damian that he wasn’t going anywhere, but perhaps Colin would consider letting her raise the children on her own in New Orleans. He could concentrate on
Belle Fleuve
, on rebuilding the plantation. Once that was accomplished and the children were older, they could move back.

Sleep eluded her as Kate wrestled with her thoughts. Finally she left the bed, crossed the room and glanced at the mirror above the washstand. For want of something black, Myra had covered it with a worn piece of calico — no doubt a remnant from Eugenie’s ragbag. There was no way for Kate to tell if she looked presentable. No way to see if her deep sorrow and uncertainty showed.

C
olin heard Simon shuffling behind him in the shadows of the large, sparsely furnished sitting room where every sound echoed against the bare walls and floors. He turned to the man and indicated the door with a nod.

“Why don’t you go too, Simon?”

“Are you sure, Mr. Colin?”

“Yes. I’d like to be alone.”

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes as Simon slipped out.

Once the man was gone Colin whispered. “What now, little sister?”

His mind went over all the possibilities, all the challenges. He’d made Amelie promises he couldn’t keep. Marrying Kate Keene was one of those promises.

The moment he had seen Kate standing in the doorway to Amelie’s room, relief had swept through him with the force of a summer storm.

He knew immediately that Kate belonged at
Belle Fleuve
even more than he did.

T
he sun appeared for Amelie’s burial, bright and golden in a cloudless blue sky. The breeze off the river carried the scent of the gulf to the small knot of mourners gathered beneath the oaks beside the Baudier family crypt, a short walk from the house and formal gardens.

The breeze challenged young Marie’s voice as she struggled to speak of her mother.

“Mama told me about her first day at Daddy’s folks’ place in Kansas. It was called a soddie, and it was made of dirt. Dirt walls, dirt floor, and nothing to see for miles around but more dirt and the sky. That was before they moved closer to Dodge. Anyway, Mama was fresh up from Louisiana and when she found out that she’d have chores, she told Granny Hart that she’d never done chores and never washed a dish in her life and she wasn’t about to start.” Marie paused and looked to Kate, who nodded encouragement.

“That’s the only funny thing I know about Mama. I can’t imagine anybody not ever having to do chores. In Kansas we all did chores from mornin’ to night.” She looked at the crypt and shrugged. “I guess that’s one good thing about her dying. Maybe Mama won’t have to do any more chores in heaven.”

As Marie walked back to Kate’s side and took her hand several
people shuffled and cleared their throats. Despite the heat of the day, Marie’s hand felt clammy.

Kate stared at the crypt, heartbroken that Amelie was the only Delany to rest there. Marie Delany had been buried somewhere upriver at her Creole cousins’ home. Patrick’s body was in a field cemetery near the site of his last battle. Amelie was alone with her Creole ancestors, but at least she was at
Belle Fleuve
.

Kate had been surprised when a trio of buggies had arrived that morning. Two families that had recently bought homes along the river had come to show their respect. Even now they stared at Colin as if expecting him to do something outrageous and prove the rumors true. Kate suspected they had come more out of curiosity than sympathy. At least their children created a diversion for Damian until the brief graveside service had begun. The third couple turned out to be
Belle Fleuve
’s former manager’s son, Jason Bolton, and his wife, Cora, who was expecting their first child.

Eugenie and Myra laid out a cold buffet on the gallery where those in attendance gathered after the burial. Kate’s appetite had been nonexistent since her return, so she stood alone, off to the side of the group of neighbors who chatted among themselves discussing crops and weather. Now and again Colin would find her with a glance and understanding nod. Was he as eager as she was for the guests to leave them in peace?

Assured that Myra had the children well in hand, Kate was about to slip inside for some much-needed time alone when Cora Bolton joined her.

“My sympathies.” The young woman appeared to be in her mid- to late-twenties and had blond hair and wide-set green eyes.

“Thank you,” Kate nodded.

Kate had recognized Jason Bolton that morning when he handed his wife down from their carriage. He was near Colin’s age, a handsome, fair-haired man with a strong, even jaw and broad shoulders. Like his wife, his clothes were clean but showed wear.

“Jason told me that you and Amelie were very close.” Cora took
a sip of water and glanced over at her husband, who was speaking to Colin.

“That’s right.” Kate struggled to be polite, but she didn’t feel like making conversation.

“I’m from Tennessee,” Cora said. “We married a year ago, and Jason’s been talking about moving back ever since. We’re living in a small cabin up the road near Plaquemine. Jason’s hoping to get reestablished before the baby comes, so he was happy to hear Colin was back too. He’s got some fine business propositions.” Cora’s face flushed. “But I suppose this isn’t the time to discuss them. Sometimes I do go on. You’ll have to forgive me.” Then she added, “We were so sorry to hear about Amelie. Jason said she was always the prettiest girl around.”

What did Jason Bolton hope to get out of Colin? Surely the couple could see there was nothing to be had at
Belle Fleuve
.

“I remember Jason,” Kate said, “but I don’t recall ever really talking to him at length.” She did remember sneaking out to the
garçonnière
with Amelie to spy on Colin and his friends. Despite the fact that the others were wealthy, Jason, who was only the manager’s son, was often with them.

“Jason’s father worked for Patrick Delany for years. He said Mr. Delany gave his father credit for running the place so smoothly that Patrick had time to concentrate on his architecture.”

“Where is the elder Mr. Bolton now?” Perhaps the man might inspire Colin to get
Belle Fleuve
back on its feet. Kate’s hope dwindled when Cora said that, like Patrick, Jason’s father had died for the Confederacy.

The woman chatted on, discussing everything from a new rice pudding recipe to each item of clothing she’d made for the coming baby. Kate pasted a smile on her lips and let her mind go blank until Marie found her.

“Aunt Kate, I’m tired.”

“Please excuse us, Cora,” Kate said. “I’m going to take Marie up to her room.”

“Of course,” the young woman smiled.

Marie trudged along as they mounted the gallery stairs together. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, Aunt Kate.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m exhausted myself. Why don’t we both lie down for a while in your room?”