After This Our Exile: Book Ii of the Duval/Leveque Trilogy

By Carol Morgan

After the years of turmoil and tragedy, life at La Bonne Vie Plantation settled into placid contentment (or a semblance of such) … until Nicolas (Nicky) Fontenot, prodigal son of Angelique and her brother François, returns after years in a Texas prison, and Antoine Babineaux II returns to claim his father’s name. At the heart of the story, and the hearts of Antoine and Nicolas, is beautiful, incorrigible Desirée Fontenot, the image of her mother Angelique. Ghosts of the past rise up and the lurid whispers and innuendos come to life once again. Then Uncle Virgil Leveque, the catalyst of the earlier tragedy, returns home after thirty years in an insane asylum, and unwittingly becomes the agent provocateur that sends the story hurtling toward its conclusion and closure at last. But is there truly closure?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669864394

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

A T THE END of the oak-lined drive the white house with lighted windows glowed like a beacon in the purple twilight, with tall columns and a wide verandah across the front. Some of the windows were open and the curtains fluttered in the warm breeze. Beside the carriage block a car was parked at a rakish angle as if the driver had been in a hurry and simply abandoned it there.

The gravel crunched beneath Nicolas Fontenot’s feet as he walked slowly up the drive, savoring the sight of the house. Along the front verandah giant fern grew in verdant profusion, lightning bugs twinkled and darted helter skelter, and the song of a myriad of insects pulsated through the summer dusk.

He paused at the bottom of the steps. He heard laughter from beyond the closed door and remembered, as if from a distant dream, the way the house had always seemed brimming with life, and a barrage of memories assaulted him.

It crossed his mind to leave again, to walk back down the driveway and disappear just as he has thirteen years ago, for the memories begat a deep and painful yearning that he perceived as weakness. He had moved beyond the world of La Bonne Vie and was not a part of the house or its life anymore.

He turned away, then hesitated, remembering the cemetery, the tombstones encrusted with lichen, the names as familiar as his own, the faces that had looked out at him from old photographs forever engraved in his mind. There was always a brooding sense of timelessness, an aura of peace there, as if the dead ancestors knew they belonged and were content to be there. A burning envy rose in him.

He looked back once at the lighted windows, then skirted around the side of the house under the shadows of the Bois d’Arc trees to the path through the woods to the cemetery. Moonlight dappled the path with milky light. He longed to take off his shoes and socks and feel the pine needles beneath his bare feet as he had in childhood.

The cemetery’s low iron fence gleamed with fresh black paint. As he was about to hoist himself over it, he saw his mother kneeling beside two small graves, her figure still as slender as a young girl’s, and the moonlight lit her honey gold hair like a halo. He drew in his breath and held it lest he make a sound, and took a cautious step backward. She seemed to sense his presence and turned her head.

François?

At the sound of her voice a wave of longing washed over him even though it was not his name she spoke.

It’s me, Maman. It’s Nicky.

He had said the words. The deed was done. He could not walk away now as if he had never come back home at all.

Nicky? Her whisper carried in the stillness. Is it really you?

Her dark eyes widened in disbelief, then lighted in wonder and joy, and she was running toward him, her arms outstretched. Nicky hoisted himself over the fence and caught her in his arms.

I thought you were dead, she sobbed, clinging fiercely to him. Oh Nicky, Nicky I thought I would never see you again!

It’s alright. He stroked her hair tenderly. I’m home now. How good those words sounded, yet how they frightened him. I’m home, he said again.

Angelique stepped back, still holding on to him as if she was afraid to let go, and her eyes moved over him, taking in every detail – the long dark hair that curled below his collar, saturnine dark eyes, the stubble of beard, the black T-shirt and low-slung faded jeans with one knee patched in a darker shade of denim, and the crudely drawn tattoo of a snake coiled around a dagger on his left forearm.

Where were you?

Texas Department of Criminal Justice, he said lightly. Ellis Unit One.

And you never let us know? All these years of worry and heartache, and you never let us know?

I wasn’t ever going to come back.

Don’t say that! Her voice was harsh, then gentle again. Of course you had to come home.

He grinned sardonically and put a cigarette between his lips to light it. Well, I did, didn’t I?

Have you seen your father?

No. I wasn’t gonna stay after all. But I wanted to see the old cemetery again. Then I was gonna leave just as quietly as I came. He touched her cheek tenderly. I didn’t expect to find anyone down here in the dark.

He saw the pain in her eyes and it hurt him to know that he was the cause of it, just as he had always been the cause of it – the wayward child, the rebellious one, his mother’s greatest heartache and the child she loved best.

Why?

I didn’t want to hurt you anymore. He uttered a snort of self-contempt. I’ve been here all of five minutes and I already have. Some things never change, do they?

I’m afraid to ask if you’ll stay? She looked up at him imploringly.

I don’t know. He saw her lips tremble. Do you want me to lie to you?

No. She caught his hands and held them. "Nicky, promise me that if ... if you must go away again, you’ll let me hear from you, let me know you’re alright. I can’t bear to lose you that way again. Promets-moi?"

"Je te promets." He sounded weary, as if it was an effort to say those words.

Let’s go to the house. She started toward the gate, then turned to look up at him. Nicky, what happened? Why were you in prison?

I killed a man.

Let’s go to the house, she said again.

How like her it was to disregard the fact that her beloved son was a murderer. No questions asked, no reproach, only joy that he was home again in spite of it all. He had not told her the worst. Before the night was over, he would tell them all that he had killed a police officer and spent five years on death row before the death sentence was overturned and sent back to the trial court where he pled guilty to a lesser charge and spent six more years in prison – eleven years in all. This newly found freedom still seemed unreal, as if he might awake to find himself back in his cell again.

Let’s go, Nicky. We have to let your father know you’re home. He’ll be so glad.

Which one?

What do you man?

He lifted her up and set her down on the other side of the fence. He jumped over, landing with a soft thud beside her.

Which one will be glad?

You’ve only got one father, Nicky.

Yeah, I know. Which one?

She looked up at him in contemplation for a moment. Does it really matter? You love them both.

So do you. He saw her cheeks flame with color in the dappled moonlight. I’d just like to know who my father is. Is that asking too much?

Of course not. But ... why now, Nicky? Why are you asking me this now, after all these years?

When you first saw me I was standing in the shadows and you thought I was someone else.

Go on. She sounded faintly indignant.

You thought I was Uncle François.

For a moment I did. You look remarkably like him.

Like father, like son?

Yes! Defiance flared in her eyes like twin torches in the soft night. Like father, like son!

He laughed then, a gentle sound, and she raised her eyes to his questioningly. Don’t you think I’ve always known that, Maman? And it doesn’t matter a damn to me. Like you said, I love them both. I just wanted you to tell me, finally. I wanted to hear you say the words so I could tell you it doesn’t matter, and I love you that much more because of it.

Oh, Nicky ....

He put his arm around her shoulder and they started up the path to the house.

* * * * *

It was like the dream that had tormented him in prison, sitting down to supper with the family gathered around the table, an oleander-scented breeze drifting through the open window, and his mother smiling at one end of the table.

He knew she had warned them not to question him during supper and there was a measure of comfort in blending into the family as if he had never been gone. Still, perversely, he was disappointed not to see everyone gathered, as if they should have known he was coming home. His brother Zachaël, who was blond with dark eyes like Maman, was there, but his older sister Yvonne was an attorney with a law firm in Jackson, and his younger brother Jesse had gone to Soleil County for the evening.

Where is Desirée? Nicky asked.

She went dancing with Rex Delaney.

Nicky looked as bewildered as he felt. Isn’t Rex a little old for her?

Zachaël laughed. She’s not a baby anymore. She’s seventeen.

"She is only seventeen, Etienne said emphatically, and Rex is too old for her."

According to your father, Angelique said with an indulgent smile, they’re all too old for her and none of them are good enough for her.

Rex is in love with her, his cousin Jeannine who was fourteen, told him. Cousin, he thought, and his sister. She had been just a year old when he left. Convoluted kinship. Regina frowned at her and she subsided with a giggle.

Yvonne is coming home next weekend, Angelique said, for Courtney’s wedding.

Courtney’s getting married? His other cousin/sister. She had been seven years old when he left.

She’s going to marry Paul Prejean. Paul’s in the navy, and they’re going to live in San Diego after the wedding. Jeannine looked at Nicky over the rim of her glass with curious dark eyes. You got home just in time. Did you know? About Courtney’s wedding, I man?

No, I didn’t know. He realized she wanted very badly to ask him where he had been, and only Uncle François’s warning frown prevented her.

Where is Courtney?

She’s having dinner with Paul and his family, Regina said.

And we’re having peace and quiet for a change. All she and Mama have done for months is argue about silver and china patterns and ....

‘Hush, Jeannine!"

Well, it’s true, François chuckled. You two bicker and quibble from morning till night.

I’ve only tried to ....

Run her life.

A girl needs her mother’s guidance ....

Silver and china patterns are a matter of personal taste and don’t require guidance from anyone.

Regina’s lower lip quivered as if she might cry. Then she lifted her fork and began to eat listlessly as if she neither knew nor cared what she ate.

Nicky was amazed to find that his appetite had fled, and he listened to their voices, familiar as if he had never been away, glancing around at their faces.

You’re not eating, Angelique chided him.

I guess I’m a little overwhelmed right now. He lifted his fork again and took another bite to please her.

They had to know eventually, and he dreaded their knowing. Most of all he dreaded telling Etienne, seeing his disappointment. He supposed that telling him would be the worst ordeal because Etienne was not really his father at all and yet loved him with the same all-encompassing devotion that his mother did.

He glanced at François and saw compassion in his eyes, as if he knew already without being told. There had always been that instant comprehension between them. François was his father, a fact bandied about in whispers and innuendoes all his life, a fact that he had known was true but had been compelled to make his mother admit in an effort to exorcise the demons that tormented him. It was Uncle François’s blatant love for him that had been the cause of dissension between him and his half-brother Dante all their lives.

"Courtney wanted to wear Mémère Solange’s wedding dress, Jeannine said, but Mama wouldn’t let her. I don’t see why not."

Nor do I, François said.

T’ante Angelique wore it twice – once when she married Charles Carrington and again when she married Uncle Etienne.

If you’re going to talk with your mouth full, Regina said tartly, you can leave the table!

Jeannine swallowed hastily and bounced exuberantly in her chair. "When I get married, I’m going to wear Mémère Solange’s dress. I’m going to be une belle mariée. She looked beseechingly at her aunt. Unless Desirée wants to wear it. Do you think she will?"

Even if she does, Angelique said, you can wear it too. It’s a family heirloom.

I’m going to marry Rex, Jeannine told Nicky confidently, when he gets over his infatuation with Desirée. Everybody’s infatuated with Desirée, but she won’t have any of them except Rory, and sometimes Billy.

Billy?

You know, Billy Duval.

That’s one thing I’d rather not know, Nicky said dryly.

Mama said all Billy ... or any of them ... want is ....

Regina’s face blanched. Damn it, Jeannine, go to your room right now!"

Nicky looked at Zachaël leaning back in his chair sipping wine, his food untouched on his plate, and saw amusement in his dark eyes.

Mama fancies herself the guardian of our morals, Dante told Nicky. Given her way, the family linen would be bleached so white the Duval mystique would be destroyed for all time.

If it had been left up to me all these years, there wouldn’t be any Duval mystique to torment us!

Danny, stop baiting her, for God’s sake, Zachaël said.

And you’re gonna make me?

Try me and see.

Solange will be a beautiful bride, T’ante Aurelia said, wiping her fingers daintily on a napkin. Madame Isabelle won’t be at the wedding, of course. She leaned toward Nicky and lowered her voice conspiratorially. She’s mad as a hatter, you know.

Suzanne sighed. Look, Mama, Nicky’s come home. Isn’t it wonderful? He’s come home just in time for Courtney’s wedding.

Such a handsome boy, T’ante Aurelia shook her head sorrowfully, but he broke his mother’s heart.

Mama, please! Nicky’s come home. Suzanne pointed to Nicky. Look.

T’ante Aurelia turned her beaming smile upon him. Yes, she murmured, seeming bewildered, so he has. Look, Angelique, Nicky’s home now. You mustn’t cry anymore.

She gets confused sometimes, Suzanne told him. Just the other day she wandered off while I was taking a nap, and Etienne caught her tottering along the highway toward Jezreel. She thought she was going to visit T’ante Marguerite.

Does she ever ...?

Sometimes she’s perfectly aware, other times not so much, Suzanne said. She’s ninety, you know.

One day when she was having supper in her room, Jeannine giggled, T’ante Aurelia tried to string her green peas into a necklace. She got a needle and thread out of her sewing basket and ....

It isn’t funny, Jeannine! Regina glared at François in exasperation. François, send her to her room!

But T’ante Aurelia is only senile, Jeannine said with a fond look at her great aunt. "It’s not as if she was insane like Mémère Solange or Uncle Virgil."

That is enough! François, damn it ...!

Well, she’s right, François laughed heartily. My God, Regina, after all’s been said and done, there’s nothing so terrible about a little normal, healthy senility.

Nicky, aren’t you going to finish your supper? Angelique turned worried eyes to him.

I’m not very hungry right now. He smiled at her concern. Don’t I look strong and healthy enough to suit you?

Of course you do, but ....

I smelled Hattie Mae’s blackberry cobbler when I came in. I’ve never forgotten that smell. I’ll eat some of that when it’s served.

Angelique immediately pulled the bell cord to summon Hattie Mae. Please bring Nicky some blackberry cobbler and a glass of milk.

Hattie Mae beamed. I knows dat boy never fergot ole Hattie Mae’s cookin.’ Lawd, the cakes and pies you done stole off’n de window sill! And lo and behold, heah you is, jes’ lak you nevah been gone!

I must have smelled your cooking in my dreams a million times, Hattie Mae, but you don’t have to bring it now. I’ll wait for everyone else.

No. Bring it now, Hattie Mae, Angelique told her.

Can I have my dessert now too? Jeannine teased with an impish grin.

You’re not the prodigal son, Jeannine, Dante told his sister sullenly. If you’ll just be patient, they’ll bring out the fatted calf next.

You’re weird! I’ll bet anything you end up in Maryville just like Uncle Virgil.

You little brat! I ought to beat your ass for that! Why don’t you go up to your room like Mother told you!

Aren’t you a little old to be bickering with a fourteen year old? François asked. It’s only a piece of pie.

Dante glared angrily at his father for a moment, then picked up his fork again.

Nicky looked at his mother and smiled. I really am alright, you know. You don’t have to worry about me.

I’ve done nothing but worry about you for the past thirteen years. I’m certainly not going to stop now.

Nicky was not hungry, but under his mother’s anxious gaze he ate the cobbler and drank the milk.

At last supper was over and everyone drifted out of the dining room. Zachaël left to go into town. So that me and my two fathers can talk privately, Nicky thought. He knew he was expected to follow François and Etienne out to the back verandah where they would smoke and sip bourbon and talk quietly in the soft warm darkness, where he would have to tell them the truth about his years in exile. For a moment he wished he had not come back, then he remembered his mother’s smile and was glad that he had, at least for a while.

CHAPTER TWO

T UBBY’S JOINT, A converted barn in the woods behind the Babineaux farm in Soleil County, was the only place in three counties that featured a live band on weekends and it was always crowded. The rough pine tables and benches and the kerosene lanterns that, in years past had been merely low overhead, were now considered rustic charm.

Rex Delaney slouched at the table watching Desirée dance with Jermaine Duval under the flickering lantern lights. Rex appraised Desirée with hot, possessive eyes. Her beauty never failed to stir his senses. Her honey gold hair spilled in glorious abandon over her shoulders, and when she smiled, the dimple at the right corner of her mouth deepened enchantingly. Her lips were sumptuous with a hint of a pout that made them seem always aching to be kissed. But it was her eyes that mesmerized. Shadowed with sweeping dark lashes, they were almond shaped, sultry ebony, radiating a promise of fulfillment.

Rory Duval stepped between Desirée and Jermaine and whisked her away. They disappeared among the crowd for a few moments then reappeared, and Rory’s dark head was bent, his mouth hovering close to hers as if he had just finished kissing her.

Of course he had, Rex thought sullenly. Kissing Rory seemed to be her favorite pastime! She was more elusive than an exotic butterfly, with an innate seductiveness, a volatile passion smoldering just beneath the surface of her innocence, that set a man’s blood to boiling.

Desirée saw the glittering anger in Rex’s blue eyes as she and Rory danced past. For a moment she regretted that she was the cause of so much obvious misery, but the thought was fleeting. She was on the finely honed edge of drunkenness, and bored, a dangerous combination, and Rex was so predictable. She could read his expressions accurately, knew always what he was thinking and what he would say or do in any given situation.

They moved out of Rex’s view again, into a shadowy corner of the room. Rory’s arms tightened around her. She was too warm from the flames of the kerosene lanterns and the heat of his body. She looked up into the molten hunger of his eyes. Dark Duval eyes, darker than the fires of hell, she thought as she lifted her mouth to his.

* * * * *

She does it deliberately! Priscilla Prejean gave a final sweep of her comb through her corn silk hair and turned away from the mirror. Her violet eyes were stormy. You know she does, Kathleen.

I know Rory does it deliberately.

You always defend her!

Priscilla, Kathleen’s voice was tinged with exasperation, my brother’s had one burning desire since Desirée reached puberty. Maybe even before. And I don’t think I have to explain to you what that is.

No, you don’t. The sulky set of Priscilla’s mouth marred the porcelain prettiness of her face. She leaned against the wall watching Kathleen apply fresh lipstick. You know she and Billy ... She let her voice die away insinuatingly as the door to the ladies’ room swung open.

She and Billy what? Nicole Delaney asked as she came in. The music and laughter were loud for a moment until the door swung shut.

You know perfectly well what! Everybody knows ....

Then everybody is wrong.

Kathleen tucked her lipstick into her bag and turned away from the mirror. Suddenly there were two pairs of dark Duval eyes regarding Priscilla with cool, united insolence.

How she hated the way the Duvals, in their consanguinity, would suddenly band together, shutting out anyone who was not of their blood. It was not a conscious thing but something innate that forbade one to cross the invisible boundary erected by their convoluted kinship.

Well, she certainly doesn’t act as if everybody’s wrong!

Let’s go back. Nicole cut Priscilla off with smooth disdain.

* * * * *

Come sit on my lap, darlin’, Claude Prejean pulled Desirée on to his lap as Rory brought her back to the table. I don’t think ole Rex knows how to handle you. Want me to show him how?

Rex knows better than to try, Rory said as Desirée laughingly extracted herself from Claude’s comic embrace.

Rex stiffened at the smooth contempt in Rory’s voice and leveled his gaze on him, but Rory was looking at Desirée even as he sat down and draped his arm across the back of Priscilla’s chair. The cutting words, the calm disdain that Rex struggled for were lost in the foggy recesses of his brain. He had not intended to drink so much tonight. He had promised Desirée that if she would be his date, he would not, and yet the evening was only beginning and everything was ruined. He lifted his glass and took a long drink, reassuring himself that the blame lay with the others. Exactly how, he did not quite know, only that it did.

The room quieted suddenly and two spotlights lit the stage. The thunder of drums reverberated and the primal wail of electric guitar filled the room. Everyone turned to watch the band.

"Qui va jouer ce soir?" Desirée’s eyes widened as the singer took an arrogant stance and shook his long mane of tawny blond hair back from his face.

Some band called Bar Sinister. Nicole turned to her brother. Who are they, Rex?

Down home talent, Rex replied dourly. Nobody.

He sure looks like somebody to me, Desirée said.

You know who he is, don’t you?

No. Should I?

Rex shrugged. I guess you wouldn’t remember him.

I can’t imagine ever forgetting him. Desirée turned her bored gaze on Rex for a moment then looked back at the band. Just look at him, Nicole, she murmured as the singer stroked the microphone and strutted provocatively across the stage. "Mère de Dieu, he’s sizzling hot!"

Nicole glanced at her brother. Who is he, Rex?

Tony Bonard. He’s Tubby’s nephew.

That’s Tony Bonard? Desirée whirled around to face Rex, her dark eyes alive now with interest. Are you sure that’s really him?

It’s really him, Floyd leaned around Kathleen to look at Desirée, in all his profane splendor.

"More like le veau d’or, Jacques said.

"More like un étalon magnifique," Desirée murmured.

Rory leaned across Priscilla, touched Desirée’s cheek and turned her face toward his. "No, no, ma Chaton, don’t even think about it."

About what? Priscilla’s face was a picture of vexation.

"Le veau d’or, Drake said morosely, the golden calf. You know, idolatry, sex, sin and perversion, like in the Old Testament. Sodom and Gomorrah. Ėtalon means ...."

Bad news is what it means, Rory said.

Rex caught Desirée’s arm and turned her to face him. You’re supposed to be with me tonight.

Damn it, Rex! She shook off his grip and took a long drink of her spiked Coke. I’m sorry, she relented, but you promised me you wouldn’t get all drunk and maudlin, and now ....

And now what? The more carefully he tried to speak, the more slurred his words became and the more his anger swelled. Would staying sober get me inside your panties?

You know it wouldn’t.

Well, why don’t you tell me what will?

Rex, hasn’t anybody ever shown you how to get inside a girl’s panties? Claude jeered. "Viens ici, Desirée, and I’ll show him how."

Hasn’t anybody ever told you to shut the fuck up? Rex slammed the glass down on the table. I don’t need you to show me shit!

Claude doesn’t mean any harm, Nicole told her brother. He’s drunk.

He’s nearly comatose, Rory said. Why don’t you lighten up, Rex?

There’s Edward Sprague. Desirée extricated herself from Rex’s grasp and turned to Nicole and Kathleen. He’s the nephew of Warner Butts that manages the mills.

Is he from up North too?

Well, they all are since that Yankee corporation bought the mills. The Buttses came down here last year after Markham Duff and his wife went back to New Jersey.

"Mémère Delaney refused to have Warner Butts and his dreadful wife to supper. Nicole leaned across the table to get Rex’s attention. Remember when Mrs. Butts came calling on her?"

Yeah. It was a kick. Rex smiled reluctantly.

She had that girl Lollie helping out because Violet was down with the flu. She told Lollie, Nicole giggled, "and you know how unbearably haughty Mémère can be, well, she told Lollie that she wasn’t at home to Yankee white trash, and that’s exactly what Lollie told Mrs. Butts."

She didn’t!

"She did, verbatim. Lollie’s not real bright for all she’s a sweet girl and a good worker, and Mémère didn’t even scold her for it."

Well, Warner Butts is a pig and his wife is worse. Can you imagine her going calling? Kathleen sniffed with disdain. Mama and Daddy wouldn’t have them at our supper table either.

Jill Bonard is the only one who has anything to do with them.

That’s because she’s their kind, Nicole said.

Desirée’s eyes wandered back to the band. The dance floor was so crowded that everyone bumped and jostled everyone else. Desirée watched Tony Bonard as he moved about the stage in tight leather pants, splendidly brazen, his voice hoarse and seductive as he swiftly brought the crowd to a fever pitch.

Uncle François killed Tony’s father because of Maman, Desirée thought pensively. I wonder if he’s very much like his father?

Rex drank silently, watching her with simmering fury as she watched Tony Bonard. Rex hated the loud metallic noise, the leather and tattoos and ithyphallic swaggering, but evidently Desirée liked it. All the girls seemed to. There was something so sexually blatant about the whole performance that he could almost feel her excitement.

You know, this is Saturday night and we’re supposed to be having fun, he said. Frankly, I’m not.

Oh, Rex, Desirée sighed, your idea of a good time is to park down by the river and grope and slobber and slap mosquitoes all night long.

I’d be doing a helluva lot more than slapping mosquitoes! But obviously your idea of a good time is to go out with me and kiss Rory and ogle some son-of-a-bitch in tight leather pants all night long.

Rory’s kisses could launch a missile, and that singer is certainly something to ogle.

You keep ogling him like that and you’ll go blind, Floyd said. You’d best stick to kissing Rory. I don’t know if it’s safer but at least it’s more acceptable.

I think you’ve got our old wives’ tales mixed up, Floyd.

"Optical masturbation, Chérie. The end result is the same. I can see your eyesight dimming as we speak."

They’re too damned loud, Jermaine said. I can feel my hearing dimming.

They’re supposed to be loud, Kathleen told him.

Tony Bonard! Rex snorted. Who’d have thought he’d have the balls to come back here?

That’s one thing he had plenty of, Jacques laughed. I remember he whipped your ass, Rex.

Rex turned up his glass and drained it. He listened to the good-natured bantering, feeling Desirée slip farther away from him. His eyes shifted to Rory. He and Rory and Billy Duval had been inseparable throughout childhood, until one day they realized that Desirée was no longer a child. They had taken one look at her sultry dark eyes and luscious mouth, at the ripe swell of her young breasts and taut derriere, and as swiftly as summer lightning, the three cousins had become antagonists. Rory’s eyes met his for a moment and Rex thought he discerned a brief flash of regret that quickly became a challenge.

Rex laid his hand on Desirée’s arm. Why do you do this to me? He heard the plaintiveness in his voice and knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing again.

Why do I do what? She sounded bored and it maddened him.

You’re driving me crazy! Do you want to get married? Is that it?

No way.

Why not?

You’re my cousin ... once removed? Or does that make you my second cousin? She drained the last drops from her glass. It gets so confusing.

There aren’t very many people in Maringouin County who aren’t related to you or me or both of us. And with the Duval penchant for ....

You take those old stories too seriously, Rex. And anyway, I don’t want to get married.

At all? Or just not to me?

"Les deux."

Both? Goddamn it, Desirée ...!

What the hell’s wrong with you, Rex? Desirée’s brother Jesse came in and sat down on the other side of her. He leaned back and lit a cigarette. You look like you just lost your best friend.

Not a damned thing’s wrong! As you can see, I’m having the time of my life!

Yeah? Jesse laughed. You could’ve fooled me. He tugged a lock of Desirée’s hair. "Come outside with me, Bébé."

Why?

"Don’t ask questions. Viens avec moi."

Excuse me, everybody. Desirée got up and went outside with Jesse.

CHAPTER THREE

O UTSIDE IT WAS cooler and bright with moonlight. Desirée paused for a moment, inhaling the country air, listening to the chorus of frogs and cicadas and the muted sound of music and laughter from inside.

Jesse started around the side of the barn, then reached back and caught her hand. Come on.

Where are we going?

I’m taking you to Billy. I lost you to him in a crap game.

You might have at least asked me first.

I didn’t have anything else he wanted.

She followed him along a path through a patch of woods so dense that the moonlight was blotted out. She tripped and Jesse caught her, setting her back on her feet. He stopped to light a cigarette and glanced at her in the flare of the cigarette lighter.

What would you have said if Tubby had won?

"Nom de dieu de merde, Jesse, did you really ...?"

I really did.

Inside Tubby Babineaux’s farmhouse it was hot and crowded and smelled of sweating bodies and stale food. Four men sat at the kitchen table playing poker. Three of them were strangers. The fourth was Warner Butts. A crowd of onlookers hovered about. The room was thick with smoke, tense with expectation. Billy Duval put his arm around Desirée as he squinted though the smoke, intent on the card game.

Someone passed around a joint and Billy took a hit, then held it to her lips. She inhaled the smoke and held it in for a long time, her eyes closed. She felt Billy’s mouth brush hers and opened her eyes. He was looking at her with a tender, distracted look in his dark eyes, and she wondered what he was thinking. A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. Billy and Jesse exchanged glances then shifted their gazes back to the table.

Beads of sweat glistened on Warner’s forehead. Desirée watched in fascination, sensing his fear. His porcine eyes moved over the room for a moment then fastened on the pile of money in the center of the table. He spread out his cards on the table, revealing three aces, a jack of spades, and a ten of hearts. An audible gasp whispered through the room. One by one, the other men laid their cards down. The first hand held a pair of jacks. The second held a pair of deuces. The third man laid down his hand and the thunk of his knuckles on the table was loud in the silence. Warner’s rubicund face faded to sickly white. The third man had four queens.

Warner hurtled out of the chair, sent it crashing to the floor. The low murmur of voices quickly reached a crescendo. He shoved through the tightly packed throng toward Jesse and Billy.

You set me up!

You wanted to play, Jesse said. We showed you where the action is.

Those men, Warner swallowed convulsively, they’re not .... He saw the hard light glinting in Billy’s eyes and shifted nervously. They’re professional gamblers, aren’t they?

"Je ne connais pas ...." Billy shrugged.

You’ve got to help me get that money back! They cheated me! Those cards must be marked!

The crowd was moving outside. Tubby scooped up the cards, put them back in the box and tossed the box to Jesse. Jesse handed them to Warner.

See for yourself.

Warner emptied the box with shaking hands, fumbled through the cards, scrutinizing them closely, then frantically. His gaze sifted from Jesse to Billy, then came to rest on Desirée.

There has to be something wrong with them, he said, as if he thought she could help him. Desirée smelled the sour stench of his sweat and the acrid odor of garlic on his breath.

I don’t run a crooked game, Tubby said. You play, you take your chances, just like everybody else.

I’ve got to get that money back! I’ll have Sheriff Clements out here before daylight if you don’t do something!

You’re in Soleil County now, Warner, Billy drawled in amusement.

Warner lunged toward Billy but his ponderous weight slowed him down. Billy was quicker. He sidestepped, pulling Desirée with him, and Warner hit the wall. He turned around, shaking his head, stunned. His gaze shifted from Billy and Jesse to Tubby, then back again.

I wouldn’t try it if I was you, Jesse said softly.

The sheriff of this county won’t take kindly to what’s gone on here tonight, Warner said between heaving breaths. I’ll get my money back or you’ll all go to jail.

You know who the sheriff of this county is, Warner? Billy asked.

I don’t know, but I’ll ....

You remember that big husky man in the khaki pants and cowboy boots that was standing over there by the sink? Billy laughed. That was Lamar Crowder, the sheriff of Soleil County.

Warner stared at Billy incredulously. His anger died and he looked sick and scared.

Jesse clapped him on the shoulder. Don’t take it to heart, Warner. It was only a game. What’d you do, lose the company payroll or something?

Warner spun away and staggered out on to the porch. They heard him retching. Desirée looked up at Billy, her dark eyes wide with trepidation.

I don’t like him. He scares me.

He can’t do anything. You know Lamar Crowder. He hates Yankees worse than nigras and fags. Billy brushed a light kiss across her lips. That probably was the company payroll he just lost.

Let’s get out of this stinking pig sty, Jesse said.

* * * * *

They sat in the library late into the night sipping bourbon and talking, the conversation flowing, halting, flowing, sometimes painful, sometimes funny. Nicky stopped drinking after the third drink. He was on the verge of drunkenness and some inner caution would not let him go on. Etienne and François sensed that he held back thoughts and feelings and experiences that he could not share with them. They knew that he had learned not to trust, not to leave himself vulnerable. So he talked lightly, over and around his feelings, was sparing with his memories, and remained aloof while he longed to be enfolded into the family again.

It was a little after one o’clock a.m. when Angelique came into the room. Her hair hung loose down her back and it amazed Nicky that she looked no older than when he had seen her last thirteen years ago.

Desirée isn’t home yet.

Etienne glanced at the clock and his jaw tightened angrily. That little son-of-a-bitch!

It’s not Rex’s fault, Etienne. Desirée knows ....

The hell it’s not! I don’t like her going out alone with him.

They weren’t alone. A whole group went.

"He’s right, Chérie, François said. Rex is a son-of-a-bitch."

But the point is, she never has ordinary dates the way a girl her age should.

She goes out all the time, François said. She seldom ever spends an evening at home.

But they’re her cousins! She should be dating boys her age, looking forward to getting married and raising a family, not running all over creation with them.

Exactly my point. Rory and Rex and Billy and Jermaine and Jacques aren’t boys, they’re grown men, Etienne said. And anyway, she’s only seventeen, much too young to be thinking about marriage.

Nicky got up and went out on to the verandah. He lit a cigarette and leaned against a column, listening to their voices through the open French doors. He wished he didn’t feel like an intruder. As if I’m not a part of the family at all, he thought bitterly, although he knew it was not them who excluded him but that he held himself apart, afraid to let down his guard.

He saw headlights flash out on the highway and a car turned into the driveway. Was it Jesse? Or Zachaël returning from Jezreel? Or was it Rex bringing Desirée home? He felt the muscles in his stomach tighten in apprehension. He didn’t want to face another reunion tonight and feel the distance stretching between himself and his own kin, the shutting down of emotions, the mask of indifference he wore while he ached inside beneath the smooth façade of prison guile.

The car went around back, and a few moments later he heard heavy footsteps on the back verandah. He lit another cigarette and his hands were shaking. A few moments later the footsteps entered the library.

Zachaël, did you see Desirée and Rex in town by any chance? His mother’s voice was quick and anxious.

Nicky’s relief that it was only Zachaël was tinged with disappointment. He tossed away his cigarette and went back inside.

They weren’t in town. They went to Soleil County.

Damn Rex, Etienne shouted, and damn Tubby Babineaux!

We used to go there all the time, François said. She’ll be alright.

At any rate, she isn’t with Rex now, Zachaël said. Rex came into Aunt Fanny’s Café a little while ago, drunker than a skunk.

Where is she? Angelique cried. Did Rory or ....

She’s with Jesse.

Then she’s alright, Angelique sighed with relief.

I don’t know about that, Zachaël laughed. Like I said, Rex came into Aunt Fanny’s foaming at the mouth, ranting and raving that Jesse had lost Desirée to Billy in a crap game, Zachaël poured a drink and sipped it, and it’s anybody’s guess where they are now or when they’ll be back.

Billy? Angelique asked faintly. "Bon Dieu! Jesse wouldn’t!"

According to Rex he did. With Desirée’s full cooperation.

If she’s with Jesse, she’s alright, François said. He’ll take care of her.

But François, Billy ...?

She’s safer with him than with Rex, Etienne said.

I wouldn’t count on that either, Zachaël told him. She can control Rex. She doesn’t act as if she especially wants to control Billy.

Nicky listened in silence, unable to prevent the slow spread of a smile on his lips. So Jesse had gambled away his little sister to Billy in a crap game, he mused. It was reminiscent of something he might have done in that faraway time when he had belonged here.

Don’t worry, Maman, Nicky gave Angelique a quick hug. Billy won’t do anything Jesse doesn’t want him to.

You’ve been gone a long time, Nicky. You don’t know Desirée. A worried frown creased her forehead. But I hope you’re right.

CHAPTER FOUR

W HEN THEY LEFT Soleil County, dark clouds blotted out the moon and it began to rain. Jesse drove in silence punctuated by the slapping of the windshield wipers. Billy held Desirée in the circle of his arms with a preoccupied air. He bent his head to kiss her with a distracted sweetness that was much more erotic than Rex’s frenzied attempts at passion.

We can’t take her over the state line, Jesse said at last. We’d better leave her in a motel on this side, in case we get stopped coming back.

We won’t get stopped.

How do you know that?

Billy shrugged, and his eyes swept over Desirée in bold appraisal. I could always marry her.

I don’t think so!

Where are we going? Desirée asked suspiciously. "And where did you get this morceau de merde car?"

Stole it. We’re going to Opelousas.

Why are we going to Opelousas?

To rob a whorehouse.

Of course. She slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. How stupid of me to not realize that.

Turn off at the next junction, Billy said. Go through Blountsville and we can catch the highway again on the other side of Chicasaw Bluff. There’s a pawn shop in Blountsville and the old couple that own it live upstairs over the shop.

We’ve got guns.

We need another one.

"Mère de Dieu," Desirée swore softly.

And we need a wedding ring.

You’re not gonna marry her, Billy!

I’m not gonna do much of anything with her, with you along, am I?

That’s the whole idea.

"Fout-toi, Jesse."

Well, damn it, she’s my little sister!

"You’re not so little anymore, are you, ma Chaton?"

No, I’m not.

Billy pulled her back into the circle of his arms. For a while the only sound was the drumming of the rain and the slapping of the windshield wipers. At last the lights of Blountsville’s main thoroughfare came into view.

Take a right at the light. Two blocks down on the left.

Desirée sat up and shook her hair away from her face. Billy reached beneath the seat and brought out a pistol. He tucked it into his jeans beneath his shirt.

Wait here, he told Jesse.

"Goddamn it, Billy, ça me fais chier!"

Billy ignored him. He took Desirée’s hand and they ran through the rain, around the side of the pawn shop where a flight of stairs led up to the porch of the apartment above. Billy pounded on the door. A light went on inside and through the open curtains they saw an old couple pulling on matching flannel robes.

Open the fucking door!

When the old man hesitated, Billy drew back his foot and kicked the door in. The wood splintered, the lock broke, and the door flew back on its hinges. Brandishing the gun in one hand, he pulled Desirée inside with him. The old couple cowered in terror, staring at Billy’s long black hair dripping wet with rain and the menacing gleam in his dark eyes.

We don’t have any money, the man’s voice quivered. We take it to the bank every evening.

I don’t want your money, Billy said easily. I want a gun and a wedding ring. Open up the shop, and nobody will get hurt.

Inside the shop the blinds were closed and a dim light burned behind the counter. With shaking hands the old man placed a tray of rings on the counter.

"Here, Bébé, hold this. Billy shoved the gun into Desirée’s hand and pawed through a tangle of jewelry until he found a gold wedding band. He slipped it on her finger, then pointed to a .38 snub-nosed revolver in the glass case. Give me that one."

Jesse waited for them with the motor running, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. When they got into the car he eased away from the curb.

Don’t go that way, Billy said, shaking his wet hair out of his face. The sheriff’s office is down that way, over on Templeton Street.

So what?

So, we don’t want anybody to see a strange car cruising around this time of night. It might be connected with the robbery.

What robbery?

The one we just pulled, Desirée said, examining the gold wedding band on her finger. Don’t worry, we didn’t have to hurt anyone. She smiled reassuringly at her brother. When Billy pulled the gun on them, they were very nice about it.

"Putain! Armed robbery?"

I couldn’t see any reason to pay for the stuff since we had to hold them at gunpoint anyway.

Yeah, right! And maybe on the way back, we can pull a bank heist too!

That’s a thought, Billy said. He placed the .38 snub-nosed revolver in Desirée’s hand. "Look here, Catin, do you know how to use one of these things?"

Oh no! Jesse shouted. Somebody’ll get hurt for sure!

Yeah, well, I just want to make sure it’s not her.

I’m soaking wet and cold! Desirée handed the gun back to Billy. You can show me how to use it later.

Billy reached over the back seat and handed Desirée a dry shirt. She unbuttoned the wet silk blouse and peeled it off.

"Zut alors, Desirée! Jesse swerved and jerked the steering wheel back on track. What in hell are you trying to do?"

I’m trying to get dry and warm.

Keep your eyes on the road or we’ll get killed before we make to the state line, Billy said with a grin.

If she’s going to take her clothes off, Jesse said evenly, then maybe you’d better drive. She’s my sister, but I can only take so much.

Desirée put on the dry shirt, rolled up the sleeves, and knotted the long ends at her waist. She shook her wet hair and droplets of rain sprinkled Jesse. She heard his muttered curse.

You’re in an awfully bad mood, Jesse, she said sweetly.

I’m doing all the worrying and Billy’s having all the fun!

And I’m hungry, Desirée said. We might as well stop to eat because it’ll be daylight when we get there, and we’ll have to wait until dark to get in.

You’re getting the hang of it awfully fast, Jesse snapped, and since Billy won you, he can pay for the breakfast too!

And the motel rooms?

One room. That way, I’ll be on hand to put out the fire if it gets too hot.

Billy shrugged. Three in a bed? It might get too hot for you.

* * * * *

They crossed the Mississippi River at Natchez while it was still dark. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. They stopped at a truck stop café just outside of Vidalia.

Keep that wedding ring on for now, Jesse said as some of the truck drivers eyed Desirée lasciviously. and maybe we won’t have to fight them off.

I intend to keep it on.

He slapped her buttocks playfully. It’s not gonna get you laid.

She smiled up at him. You have to go to sleep sometime.

Billy laughed and Jesse shot him a dark look.

The waitress brought them coffee and took their orders with sleepy indifference.

So why are we going to rob a whorehouse? Desirée asked.

For Tubby, Jesse said.

That makes sense. No girl in her right mind would be with Tubby willingly. I guess that’s why we have to go all the way to Opelousas to find one. All the girls at M’zelle’s in Junction City know Tubby.

It’s more than just getting a girl for Tubby. He wants one or two to work out of his place. But see, Perla’s is a lockup joint, Billy said. Once a girl gets sold into Perla’s, she can’t leave ... not alive, anyway.

In that case, Desirée lifted her cup of coffee and took a sip, maybe we ought to break out some of the others too.

Damn it, Billy, Jesse whispered furiously, we’re not gonna take her in with us!

She’ll be safer with us than if we leave her somewhere and try to go back for her.

Stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here, Desirée said. And you’re not leaving me anywhere, Jesse. Billy’s right.

She’s right.

You’re right! She’s right! Jesse lit a cigarette with an angry flourish of his lighter. When do I get to be right?

When you start agreeing with us, Desirée said sweetly.

You’re enjoying this!

I could be enjoying the back seat of Rory’s car right now if you hadn’t gambled me away!

"Merde!"

I doubt I’d be enjoying much of anything right now if you’d lost me to Tubby in that game!

I wouldn’t have really let him have you.

Give it up, Jesse, Billy chuckled. You can’t win this one.

The waitress brought their food and Desirée attacked her chicken-fried steak hungrily.

How much is Tubby paying us? She asked. If we can get a few more girls that ought to be a pretty good sum – maybe a thousand or so a head?

Something like that, Billy said.

I’m discovering that behind that angelic face of yours lurks a diabolical criminal mind, Jesse told her. How do you propose that we get a carload of renegade hookers across the state line, which I might remind you, is a federal offense? You’ve heard of the Mann Act?

June 1910, she said impudently. An act of Congress prohibiting the interstate transportation of women for immoral purposes.

Jesse glanced at Billy. "This is what they’re teaching young girls at École Reine du Ciel these days?"

We can fit five or six in the back seat if we pack them in tight like sardines, Desirée said. They won’t mind the discomfort if they really want to get out that place.

Right. Billy pushed back his plate and lit a cigarette. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll sell you to Dirty Jack. While I’m negotiating with him back in the kitchen, you’ll be in the front parlor rounding up girls, one in particular who’s expecting us.

Oh, hell no, Billy, we’re not selling my little sister to Dirty Jack Monahan!

If you can lose her to me in a crap game, I can sell her to a pimp.

Wait a fucking minute! Jesse hissed. She may look dangerous holding an unloaded gun on a couple of scared old people while you commit armed robbery, but she can’t ....

It wasn’t unloaded. And she won’t have to shoot ... not to kill, anyway.

Jesse took a deep breath then lowered his voice. What do you mean, it wasn’t unloaded?

I mean it was loaded.

How will I know which girl? Desirée asked.

Her name is Rhonda. She’s expecting us.

She’s expecting you and me, Jesse said, not her.

She can find Rhonda. Rhonda knows what to do.

So while you’re busy selling my sister to Dirty Jack and she’s prancing around in the front parlor like a first rate whore, what am I supposed to be doing?

Waiting outside in the getaway car.

And what if she can’t get back out?

She’ll get out.

Outside the sky was slowly turning to a murky yellow-gray in the east. Desirée stifled a yawn, suddenly realizing how tired she was.

Let’s go, Billy tossed a handful of change on the table. We’ve still got a few miles to go yet.

CHAPTER FIVE

N ICKY STOOD AT the window of his old room watching the sun ease over the horizon. Now at last, with the comfort of a clean, soft bed and the freedom to sleep undisturbed for as long as he wished, sleep eluded him. The very familiarity of the room was disconcerting.

There were no guards now to stop him, no gun towers and razor wire, but the knowledge of freedom and the feel of it were distinctly separate. The sudden unstructured quality of his life, the absence of rigid rules and boundaries, left him feeling adrift, as if his roots had been severed. He felt a peculiar homesickness for the familiarity of prison where he knew what to expect, where the daily routine offered some dubious measure of security. With a low muttered curse, he strode across the room, flung the door open, and went down the stairs at the end of the balcony. The garden was cool and shadowy. A robin perched on a chinaberry branch, silhouetted against the sunrise.

He looked around the hauntingly beautiful garden. The sense of not belonging was ruthless, almost a physical pain. It had been foolish to think he could go home again. He turned toward the gravel drive that ran own to the highway. He took a step in that direction, then another, and another.

Aren’t you even going to say goodbye to your mother? The quiet words startled him and he spun around. François walked toward him, watching him with eyes that saw his inner torment. What are you afraid of?

Nothing. I’m not afraid of a damned thing!

You talk tough. You look tough. You strutted your stuff in that Texas prison, didn’t you? You were a big man in there, weren’t you? What would all your prison buddies think if they could see you now, afraid to face your own mother?

"Fout-toi!" Nicky lit a cigarette, regarding François insolently through the haze of smoke.

"C’est vrai, isn’t it?"

You don’t know a damned thing about me. The last time you saw me I was a sixteen year old kid.

Yeah, and you’re still running, aren’t you?

Nicky’s lips curved in a sardonic smile. Like somebody said, you can’t go home again.

It takes guts.

What would you know about it?

Enough to wonder if you have any, François said. Nicky uttered a sound of contempt and turned away. Go on and leave if that’s what you really want, but you’re not going without saying goodbye to your mother.

And you’re going to stop me, I guess?

You guess right. You’re not going to hurt her that way again. She’s been through enough.

You’re telling me! And didn’t you do your share of the hurting?

Obviously I did when I gave her you.

Nicky stared at him in the long silence that was broken by the warbling of the mockingbird. So you finally admit that you’re my father?

I never denied it.

Didn’t you?

No. Never.

They stared at each other in the softly golden dawning, father and son, one the younger image of the other, anger blazing in the two pairs of dark eyes that locked in a contest of wills.

When I first saw Maman down at the cemetery last night, Nicky said at last, I was standing in the shadows and she called me by your name. She thought I was you.

I can’t believe that surprised you.

Nicky shrugged. Of course it didn’t surprise me. I’ve always known you’re my father. You say you never denied it. Why couldn’t you have admitted it to me? Why couldn’t you have just once said it to me?

François was silent for a long moment, searching for the right words. There had been too much hurt already. And Etienne suffered more than any of us. He loves you as much as I do, as much as your mother does. I told you it takes guts to come home again, and you asked me what I know about that. François reached into his pocket for a cigarette but found none. Nicky tossed him his own package. Etienne loved your mother as much as I did. But he always stepped back from her when I couldn’t. You were the child of our love, her favorite child. He loved you because you were a part of her, because he felt like you should have been his son but wasn’t.

You gave her up in the end ... and me.

Yes.

Nicky turned away from him for a moment, then turned back again. So he won in the end. And how was it for you all the years afterwards?

He’s my brother and dearer to me than anyone except your mother and you. In the end I did give you both up – her to a man she could have a semblance of happiness with, and you to the man who could be your father without the stigma of incest And it wasn’t all unselfishness. We had to live, the three of us, and it was the only way we could stay here together. We did what we felt was best for all of us under the circumstances. François ran his fingers through his hair. But if you think it was easy, if you think I didn’t ... that I don’t still suffer, you’re wrong.

Nicky looked at him somberly but without anger now. Something of the hardness in his soul seemed to be melting and it frightened him.

You think you’ve been through hell, and you have. I’m not trying to negate that, François said. "But try to imagine being in love with a woman, so in love that it’s like a fever in your blood, burning for her every day and night of your life – amour fou – and knowing you can never have her again – or the child you gave her."

"Amour fou. Uncontrollable passion for someone, literally, insane love."

Exactly. Imagine how it felt to give her up. François paused and Nicky could see a dark depthless pain in his eyes, as stark and anguished as if it had happened only yesterday. Imagine how it felt to make love to her one last time and then hand her over, watch her marry the brother you love most in the world next to her, to hear your own son call him Daddy.

And Maman?

It’s been that way for her too ... and then we lost you.

The sun was over the horizon now. From the kitchen they heard the rattle of pots and pans and smelled coffee brewing. Nicky stared at François for a long time in a silence that was somehow soothing.

When they let me out, Nicky said quietly, I got on a bus in Huntsville, Texas and headed for Mississippi. But I got off in New Orleans and ended up in a whorehouse.

And when you came out, François said, "you’d spent all