Postmark Bayou Chene (28 page)

After the dismal end of the New Year's dance, winter bore down harder than usual on the far-flung community. The unaccustomed dissension among the residents gave the wind an extra bite. Raindrops were as sharp as frozen cypress needles. The gray days of January trailed one after the other, with nothing to break the gloom.

Even in a good year, late winter in the swamp is not for the faint of heart. Cheners knew that the rain would last until March, so they settled in for the siege, going outdoors only to bail rainwater from their boats, fetch firewood, or run fur traps. Laundry hung on lines throughout the houses and houseboats, disrupting the stove drafts and trapping smoke. Outside the dogs, cats, and barnyard animals huddled together under shelters.

Over on Graveyard Bayou, C.B. stayed close to home. She felt she couldn't go anywhere without spies keeping tabs on her and Sam Junior. Even on the deserted bayou, where she spent her days carrying firewood from the pile on the bank and stoking the little woodstove in the houseboat, she imagined that eyes followed her. Sometimes the feeling was so strong she would stand as still as a deer and gaze back into the woods from the bank, determined to spot the intruder.

Sam was spending longer hours and more days transporting fish now that Fate's business was growing. Not only had they worked out a regular schedule of pickups along the twenty-mile stretch of river between Bayou Chene and Atchafalaya Station, but they had also added paddlefish to their trade. The quality of paddlefish roe rivaled expensive caviar from Russia. As wealthy people along the East Coast discovered the homegrown delicacy, the prehistoric-looking, spoon-billed fish brought even higher prices than buffalo.

Barring mishaps, Sam was usually gone three days on the upriver run, stopping along the way to pick up fish. He would spend the night on Fate's boat at Atchafalaya Station before he could set off downriver toward home. The venture was bringing in more money than they ever dreamed of earning. However, there was no one for C.B. to share the good news with or even unburden her fears about being spied upon. All she had for company was the little one that more and more of her neighbors felt she had tried to drown.

When she did have to go in to the post office, eye contact with friends or strangers became increasingly uncomfortable. Roseanne had a ready audience all day and could use her position of authority to turn more people against the isolated young woman. Mutterings about “calling in the law” to investigate what happened that day in November seemed to follow C.B. like a bad smell.

As a result of the isolation and anxiety, for the first time in her life C.B. lost interest in her looks. Face powder in the flowered canister absorbed the damp air and turned rock hard. Winter sunshine glinted off her bare face. It also revealed the auburn roots of her hair. She didn't bother with the bleach nor the foul-smelling potions that produced the kink and frizz she so admired. An inch at a time grew out until there was more auburn than yellow. The locks were thicker than she remembered, hiding the pink of her scalp for the first time in years.

Some of the weight she had gained during pregnancy stayed with her, so she continued wearing the two jumpers Adam had passed along from Josie's trunk. Without the white face powder, her complexion lost its pale cast, and the red bumps that had plagued her faded away. The healthy complexion combined with the new roundness of her body and glossy hair transformed her from the crooked little canary that had arrived in Bayou Chene almost a year ago into a strong-limbed young woman who wouldn't be recognized by her friends in Natchez. Or even the people at the post office, if she dared show her face there. She found excuses to let Sam do more of their shopping on his way home from fish-buying trips, even if it meant she and Sam Junior did without some things.

As for Sam, he missed her merry chatter and flitting movements. These days she slogged as if walking in knee-deep mud. Instead of prattling about people she knew and opinions she had held dear for the past day or so, she kept her thoughts to herself. Even though she had usually talked about things that didn't matter to him, he longed for the sound of her voice.

What Sam did hear were the rumors. While he didn't believe them, his slow speech sabotaged any defense he would like to make in public. By the time Sam could put together a sentence, other people in the room or on the dock had moved the conversation along. He knew his halting speech made him seem slowwitted, and there was no ready way to correct the impression. So, under the circumstances it seemed best for him to plod along raising nets and picking up fish from those who wanted to profit from Fate's growing business.

Sam had always been most content alone out on the water. Even before he left St. Louis, he found comfort at the river's edge. He loved winter's soft gray water and leaden sky as much as summer's racing brown current and blue dome. He relished the smell of fish and driftwood. He could tell whether water lapping against his boat was caused by the wake of passing boats or the wind sweeping upstream.

The docks were a different world from the river itself. They were noisy—crowded with tools, cargo, and people. The other men would banter and trade insults, but Sam couldn't knit together thoughts and words fast enough to join in, especially now. He could only shut them out and put his back into the work of collecting fish, weighing them, and placing them into the bed of ice. Getting back out to the open water was always uppermost in his mind.

Back at the post office Loyce moved indoors to work on nets that she wouldn't sell until spring. This time of year she felt especially fortunate to live at the post office because of the customers coming and going. Some households along the outlying bayous wouldn't see anyone other than immediate family for weeks.

Val's company was the bright spot in the darkest winter days, but even he wasn't as merry as usual. She suspected he was suffering from the effects of being housebound. Perhaps now he understood her complaint of being a prisoner in the home she loved.

Fate stayed away, doing who knows what or where. No one in their small circle had heard from him since New Year's morning. She remembered feigning sleep until the rattle of his engine had faded into the chill, damp air. Why had she done that?

Had he come to her room only to wish her a happy New Year? Remind his little cousin to send word in time for him to play the music for her wedding? Fate had always insisted Val was sweet on her; surely he must know they were a couple, even though no one had said it out loud yet.

A closed door had never stopped Fate. In the old days he would have just barged in and sat on the side of the bed, probably stuffing a pillow over her face before she could defend herself. So, had something more been on his mind? Something to do with how she felt in his embrace? She would never know.

“Ooowwweee! Adam, you need to clean that stovepipe—it's smoky enough in here that I need Loyce to show me how to find anything!” Mary Ann bustled in the back door and broke into Loyce's reverie. The sound of the pony cart had been muffled by the rain drumming on the roof.

“Got my ladder ready, Mary Ann, but it won't stop raining long enough for me to get up there,” Adam replied from where he was sorting mail by holding the letters up to the window light.

Val looked up from the spread of dominoes on top of a wooden barrel between him and Loyce. “If you bring one of your roosters over here and tie a line to him, his flapping wings could go up and down the chimney, clean it out in no time,
enh
?”

“Now that sounds like a gimmick Fate would've come up with, 'specially if we put a likely young pullet on the top side,” Mary Ann chortled in agreement. “Speaking of that sort of thing, either Drifter has been getting more than her share of biscuits, or she's expecting pups.”

All eyes turned to the little dog lying next to Loyce's chair.

“Dang if you ain't right,” Adam said. “Hadn't noticed how well kept she was looking. Well, I do remember seeing that bird dog belonging to the Larsons hanging 'round for a while. How far along do you reckon she is?”

Mary Ann's experienced eye ran over the sleek little belly. “Oh, by the looks of her, you got a few weeks to get her a basket fixed behind the woodstove. She's made herself such a name watching over Loyce, you'll have people standing in line for those pups.”

“That'll be something to look forward to until spring comes.” Adam added, “And it can't get here too soon for me.”

“Looking forward to spring for robbing my bees,” said Val. “Missing those regular paydays, me. Beside, feel good to get out, move around a bit,
enh
?”

“Well, that ain't no way to look at the situation, not atall!” Alcide Verret stumped in the front door, slapping water off his hat before jamming it back onto his white curls. “There's money to be made out there right now, gentlemen. All a fella's got to do is go out there and get it. Look at it as working for yourself, Val, not waiting for some captain to tell you what you're worth.”

“What you talking about, Cide?” Val was curious. “What can a man do to make a dollar in this weather?”

“Why, I probably picked enough moss today to stuff four mattresses, six horse collars, and build a mud chimney with the leftovers,” Alcide thundered on. “Wasn't nothing to it, just a pastime, nothing atall. Penny a pound once it's cured—that's good money.”

“How about you take me with you next time?” Val asked. Money or not, the excursion would give him a chance to be outdoors using his muscles. Muscles that were beginning to squirm and twitch from the unaccustomed inactivity. He couldn't sleep. He was getting fat.

“Sure enough, we'll do that! How about starting tomorrow? Dot's been wanting to stay home and get some quilting done, so I could use another partner for a while. I'll leave home at daylight and stop by here to pick you up.”

By the time Loyce came downstairs the next morning, Val was gone. He was so anxious to escape confinement, he had taken his breakfast to eat on the way. Adam told her he could hear their conversation drifting back through the mist. Val sounded like he was off on a big riverboat adventure instead of just going to pick moss with an old man.

It was three days before she heard Val's step on the plank walk again. She noticed that he wasn't whistling or humming, which usually let her know he was coming. She also noticed that his feet were dragging.

“You been gone so long, we was wondering if we needed to come looking for you,” Adam spoke up from inside the kitchen, where he had just put a dried apple cobbler into the oven of the woodstove.

“Wish y'all had,
cher
!” Val stopped in front of Loyce and put his head down in greeting before he dropped into the nearest chair inside the door and heaved a sigh. She smelled wood smoke, green moss, and a slight whiff of cooking grease in his hair as she touched it in friendly acknowledgment.

“I'm tired to the bone, me, and ain't had no sleep in three nights,” he said. “I thought I worked when I was on the river, but I never done nothing like that!”

“What's so different?” Adam asked as he poured a cup of steaming coffee and handed it over.

“
Merci bien
.” Val took a grateful swallow and settled deeper in the chair, stretching his legs toward the stove.

“First we had to pole Cide's moss barge, the one with the high scaffold, way, way out in some bayou I don't even know the name of. If that old man had died on me, I'd never find my way back out. But it look like it was gonna be the other way around—that I was gonna die flat out and leave him to bring in my carcass. The moss was so thick back in there, it looked like curtains, just hanging everywheres. We took turns poling the skiff and picking the moss. Reaching way up with that pole, hooking it into a wad of moss and then twisting and pulling it down. Stomping it into as small a pile as we could and then reaching up for another one. Over and over all day. In no time at all my wrist, she was hurting from the twisting, my back, she was aching from the reaching and bending over. The only way I could keep moving was to think about freezing to death if I stopped.”