 
### Rings of Trust

By Kittie Howard

Cover Design by Morgan Media

Smashwords Edition: Dec 2012

Copyright © 2012 Kittie Howard

This is a work of fiction. Except for autobiographical inclusions, characters are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except for quotations imbedded in reviews, no portion of this book may be reproduced in any format without permission from the author.

Kindle Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9857971-1-9

Smashwords Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9857971-2-6

Also by Kittie Howard:

Remy Broussard's Christmas

Kindle Ebook ISBN: 978-0-578-09623-0

Smashwords Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9857971-0-2

Table of Contents

Dedication

Historical References

Da Lingua Franca

Glossary of Cajun French Words

Chapter One: Dandelion

Chapter Two: Gardenia Bush

Chapter Three: Petunias

Chapter Four: Magnolia Tree

Chapter Five: St. Augustine Grass

Chapter Six: Oak Tree

Chapter Seven: Lilies

Chapter Eight: Rose Bud

Chapter Nine: Pine Trees

Chapter Ten: Marigolds

Author's Comments

Acknowledgments

About the Author

I dedicate _Rings of Trust_ to my grandfather, a soft-spoken, spiritual man who helped build the Panama Canal to earn the money to purchase the Louisiana land he turned into a farm. He didn't believe in the sharecropper system, abhorred racial slurs, and stood up to the Ku Klux Klan when challenged. Thank you, Pa, for so much, but especially for the twinkle in your eyes.

Historical References

Historians estimate 620,000 combatants died between 1861 and 1865 in the Civil War between the North and the South in the United States: 360,222 Union soldiers and 250,000 Confederate soldiers. The South's economy also became a casualty of its failed effort to secede from the United States, primarily over the issue of slavery.

When the Civil War ended, economic turmoil trapped many slaves into remaining on southern plantations as sharecroppers. The sharecropper system provided landowners with an inexpensive labor source. Since the Confederate States of America had raised taxes to 50% to generate war revenue, landowners who hadn't lost properties to the CSA's taxation struggled to survive. Congruently, the South's shattered economy and the North's post-war Reconstruction prevented many Confederate soldiers from re-building their lives. With nowhere else to go, some disenfranchised whites entered the sharecropper system.

For both races, the sharecropper system became generational.

The sharecropper system provided dilapidated houses commonly called 'shacks' at a reduced rent; a small stipend for work landowners applied to increasingly high rents and/or purchases at inflated prices in the landowner's store; a plot of land to grow vegetables or raise animals, usually chickens; and a percentage of the landowner's profits the sharecropper rarely received as the landowner controlled the books.

There were principled landowners who followed the guidelines. However, most did not. Few sharecroppers escaped the system's economic slavery.

As indebtedness grew, it became common practice for sharecroppers' kids to quit school to sharecrop. Large families needed the money child labor provided. However, the additional income did little to improve hard-scrapple lives but usually kept the family on the farm. Families feared eviction for they usually lacked an alternative place to go. Police routinely cleared areas near dirt roads where evicted sharecroppers camped.

Black sharecroppers lived separately from white sharecroppers, with the former at the bottom of the economic ladder. Tensions often existed between the two races. Larger farms employed an overseer, usually white, to ensure sharecroppers worked full days, often with a more lenient tilt toward white sharecroppers.

The Ku Klux Klan, commonly called 'the Klan,' was a white supremacy organization formed in 1867. It preyed upon sharp racial and economic divides in the segregated South. The Klan's membership pulled from those within the Southern Aristocracy who harbored resentment at the South's loss of the Civil War and exalted positions that disappeared when they lost their land; white sharecroppers who resented working alongside blacks in the fields; and those Southerners who fervently believed the races weren't equal. However, the Klan's signature white pointed hoods and sheet-like garments intimidated both races. The Tuskegee Institute reports the Klan lynched 3,446 blacks and 1,297 whites between 1882 and 1968.

In the 1930s, emerging leadership from both races attempted to organize sharecroppers into somewhat of a pan-southern collectivity. The attempt failed.

In the 1960s, national outrage at the Klan's lynching of white Civil Rights workers in the South empowered Federal intervention to override a consolidated South and end the Klan's power. The 1964 Civil Rights Act eventually dissolved the sharecropper system.

In the 1920s, the Klan claimed five million members nationwide. The Klan's doctrinaire found eager followers in states far removed from the South. According to available FBI statistics, today's Ku Klux Klan varies between 3,000 and 5,000 members nationwide. Even though the Klan's power and influence have largely disappeared, the FBI continues to monitor the organization. Though not Klan affiliated, between 1,200 and 2,000 'hate groups' exist within the United States and espouse some of the Klan's rhetoric. The FBI also monitors these extremist groups.

* * * * * * *

Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island occupies 8,095 acres of land south of Beaufort, South Carolina. Enlisted Marines receive their training at either MCRD Parris Island or at MCRD San Diego, California.

MCRD Parris Island developed from a Marine Corps security detachment sent to the island in 1891. On November 1, 1915, the Marine Corps officially designated Parris Island a Recruit Depot for enlisted Marines. The construction of a bridge over Archer's Creek in 1929 alleviated the need for a ferry from the mainland to the island. Between 1941 and 1945, the Marine Corps trained 204,509 recruits at Parris Island. Today, approximately 17,000 recruits train at Parris Island each year.

Stanley Kubrick's movie, "Full Metal Jacket," depicts aspects of the training at Parris Island. However, the movie was filmed on a Royal Air Force base in England.

Marine Corps officers receive their training at Marine Corps Base Quantico, south of Washington, D.C., in Virginia. Approximately 12,000 personnel are either in the USMC or work in a civilian capacity on the 100-square mile base. The FBI Academy is among the various U.S. Government agencies also located on the base. The National Museum of the Marine Corps is near the front entrance to MCB Quantico (free admission). Private donations built and maintain the museum.

* * * * * * *

The Battle of Belleau Wood, June 1-26, 1918: American and German forces engaged in fierce combat near the Marne River in France during World War I. The legendary battle resulted in 2,289 American dead and 1,060 missing in action and presumed dead. German forces lost 8,625 soldiers. After the German defeat, the French re-named the forest _Bors de la Brigade de Marine_ (Wood of the Marine Brigade) to honor America's Fifth- and Sixth Marine Corps Regiments. The regiments had lost 1,811 Marines in the battle. The French government also awarded these regiments the _Fourragere_. Today's Marines serving in these regiments continue to wear the green _Fourragere_ braid on the left shoulder with designated uniforms. Reputedly, German forces called the Marines _Teufelshunde_ (hell hounds). This evolved into 'Devil Dog(s)' and is a respected moniker for today's U.S. Marine.

Approximately 16 million military personnel and civilians died as a result of World War I's predominately trench warfare. Approximately 20 million were wounded.

* * * * * * *

Battle of Tarawa, November 20-23, 1943: The successful 76-hour battle became one of the bloodiest battles in U.S. Marine Corps history. Naval ships and aircraft softened the Japanese fortified island in the Gilbert and Ellice Islands in the Pacific Ocean, then a British colony, now the capital of the Republic of Kiribati, for the U.S. Marine Corps to land troops, primarily from its Second Marine Division. However, the landing at low tide and a series of operational difficulties shadowed the hard-fought victory.OHo The Marine Corps suffered approximately 3,000 casualties: 1,000 dead and 2,000 wounded. The American public's stunned reaction led to changes in subsequent amphibious operations.

The Battle of Tarawa also foreshadowed Japan's resolve to fight to the very end. Of the 4,700 Japanese soldiers on Tarawa, only 17 survived.

* * * * * * *

The Battle of the Bulge, December 16, 1944 to January 25, 1945: British forces combined with significantly larger U.S. Army forces in what was the largest and bloodiest battle fought in World War II. When a German offensive threatened the Ardennes Forest in Belgium, France, and Luxembourg, then manned with 83,000 troops, General Dwight David Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander, increased the American troop level to 610,000, primarily from First Army. He also proportionally increased military hardware.

This decisive Allied victory toward the end of World War II resulted in approximately 19,000 Americans killed, 47,000 wounded, and 23,000 captured or presumed dead. British losses were 200 killed, 969 wounded, and 239 missing and presumed dead. Combined German casualties were between 67,200 and 100,000. Various German movements in the area led to the inconclusive count. The German army never recovered from this massive loss of manpower and equipment.

* * * * * * *

The Battle of Iwo Jima, February 19 - March 26, 1945: A turning point in World War II's Pacific Campaign occurred on Iwo Jima, a volcanic island south of the Ogasawara Islands and north of the Marianas in the Pacific Ocean. History records that neither the Americans nor the Japanese considered surrender when the battle began. The capture of three Japanese-held airfields by U.S. forces resulted in 6,891 American dead and 18,070 wounded. Approximately 19,000 Japanese died. Joe Rosenthal's photograph of five Marines and one Navy Corpsman raising the American flag on Mount Suribachi immortalized the United States Marine Corps and became the iconic symbol of the Marine Corps. A bronze replica of Rosenthal's photograph centers the Iwo Jima Memorial near Washington, D. C. The Battle of Iwo Jima also resulted in 27 Medals of Honor, the most awarded from any World War II operation.

Approximately 60 million people or 2.5% of the world's population died in World War II (1939-1945).

* * * * * * *

The Tuskegee Airmen were the first African-Americans in the U.S. armed forces. Popularly called 'Tuskegee Airmen' because they trained in Tuskegee, Alabama, they comprised the 477th Bombardment Group and the 332nd Fighter Group in the United States Army Air Corps or the U.S. Army Air Forces after June 20, 1941. They served with distinction in the European Theatre.

The Tuskegee Airmen became known as 'Red Tails.' The sobriquet evolved from the color red painted on the tails of their P-47 and P-51 airplanes. In later years, the Airmen wore red jackets at speaking engagements, a symbol of their historic achievement. Various books, a PBS documentary, a Hollywood movie ("Red Tails"), and a play ("Fly") chronicle the Tuskegee Airmen's journey.

* * * * * * *

The Serviceman's Readjustment Act of 1944 or G. I. Bill created benefits for World War II veterans. The Bill enabled low-cost mortgages; business loans; cash payments for tuition, college expenses, and training programs; unemployment compensation; and other entitlements. The G.I. Bill led to the expansion of the middle class in the United States. By 1956, 2.2 million veterans possessed a college education; 6.6 million had completed a job-training program.

The Readjustment Act's more popular name, G. I. Bill, resulted from the World War II acronym _G. I._ stamped on materials. This was short for _Government Issue_.

* * * * * * *

Historians consider the G. I. Bill and the 1964 Civil Right Act two of the most significant pieces of legislation the U.S. Congress passed in the Twentieth Century.

* * * * * * *

Canada and the United States have a neighborly dispute as to which country first celebrated Labor Day in 1882. Regardless, both countries now celebrate the economic and social contributions of workers with a national holiday on the first Monday in September each year. In the United States, Labor Day has evolved to symbolize the end of summer and a new school year. Parades and speeches have largely given way to family activities, weekend travel or shopping for school clothes and supplies.

* * * * * * *

Marie Laveau (1791-1881) was born a free person in the French Quarter in New Orleans, the daughter of a white planter and a free Creole woman of color. In 1819, she married Jacques Paris, a free person of color from Haiti. After his mysterious death in 1820, Marie Laveau worked as a hairdresser to wealthy white women in New Orleans. She also had an affair that produced 15 children, including Marie Laveau II, who practiced _Voudoun_ (Voodoo) with her mother, then known as the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. The women had a multiracial following. As many as 12,000 people would gather on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain for their St. John's Eve (June 23-24) voodoo rites.

The first Marie Laveau's house, now a tourist attraction for most, is on St. Ann Street in the French Quarter. Her marriage certificate is in St. Louis Cathedral, also in the French Quarter.

Da Lingua Franca

Canada's Maritime Provinces expelled French-speaking Catholics in 1763 for religious and political reasons. Approximately 4,000 found their way to South Louisiana, a Catholic- and French-speaking territory France had owned from 1682 to 1762. The transfer of the territory to Catholic Spain in 1763 didn't negatively affect the Cajuns, as they became known. What is commonly called 'Cajun Country' now encompasses the three B's: from Beaumont, Texas, to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Bay St. Louis, Mississippi.

The Cajuns' resettlement forced them to adapt their French to that spoken in the Louisiana territory, thus creating a _patois_. When the Louisiana Purchase in 1803 increased the English-speaking population, Cajun English evolved out of economic necessity. Translation difficulties and rampant illiteracy led to a fractured grammar. Since Cajun French lacked the plosive /th/ sound, words like t _hey_ and _think_ turned into _dey_ and _tink_. Modifiers repeated, with the first modifier meaning _very_ : _Da day is hot, hot_. Expressive speakers ended sentences with _no_ or _yeah_ for emphasis. But Cajun English did not contain a southern drawl and was spoken at a fast clip.

Cajun English and Cajun French flavor _Rings of Trust_. But in the spirit of moving the story along and with a nod to the reader, concessions had to be made. For example, _bag daer_ for _back there_ challenged too much. Following the format in George Washington Cable's books about Creole and Cajun Louisiana (1844-1925), _what_ is written as _w'at_ to indicate accent change, but words with similar sounds remain as they are. This also applies to _dôn_ for _don't_. Although _too_ would be more accurate for the pronunciation of the preposition _to_ , the visual conflict with the adverb _too_ meant keeping _to_ as it is. Since too much accent change becomes problematic for the reader, the flavoring in _Rings of Trust_ lies with selected words, phrases, and idioms.

Cajun French is colorful and expressive. Even thought most of today's 500,000 Cajuns do not speak Cajun French, representative words provided in the glossary still sprinkle conversations. In many cases, variations and spellings exist for the same word or expression. Every attempt was made to list the most common, including the spelling that helped the reader. The colorful aspect of Cajun French also includes profanity, a practice not exclusive to either male or female. Again, variations exist, as do meanings and spellings. Every attempt was made to incorporate the most benign into a character's personality to avoid translation problems. Some expressions are a bit too colorful.

African-Americans in South Louisiana often have a French accent. This legacy evolved from the horrific slave trade from French-speaking Haiti and countries in West Africa into Louisiana and from the slaves' proximity to Cajun French. African-Americans also learned English out of necessity, but with a more complicated linguistic challenge as slaves had been born into various languages, learned French for colonial reasons, adapted to Cajun French, then transitioned to English. Thus, African-American characters in _Rings of Trust_ have somewhat of a French accent. It is recognized this accent differs from Cajun French. But attempts to reflect subtle differences led proofreaders to think typographical errors had been made and necessitated an abbreviated standardization.

New Orleans, the city that's sometimes called the 'Brooklyn of the South,' has a distinctive accent that has crept into aspects of South Louisianans' speech. Founded in 1718, the diverse groups that populated the predominately Creole, not Cajun, city left linguistic prints. New Orleanians often drop the /r/ in their rather hard-edged speech. Thus, New Orleans is actually _New Awlins_. The city of New Orleenz exists only in song.

Since the setting for _Rings of Trust_ lies approximately 50 miles from Baton Rouge, the capital of Louisiana, the more expected Southern drawl north of the city also crept into that area's Cajun English somewhat. The characters' dialogue reflects but does not duplicate the drawl in the South and Southwest. This includes dropping or eating the /ing/ ending.

Most linguists consider Cajun French an endangered language. Draconian efforts by the state of Louisiana to suppress the language in the 1950s led to this unfortunate situation the state now works to correct. The state's Department of Education recruits teachers from France to re-introduce the language. The program has met with limited success. And, as cable television, affordable travel, and technology have expanded so has the Cajun accent diminished in many parts of South Louisiana. Improved education standards have erased much of the fractured Cajun English commonly spoken in the 1950s, a dialect of its own, actually, without rules.

South Louisianans understand the often heavily accent Cajun English that remains and can slip in and out of the dialect, depending upon circumstances. Much depends upon participants in the conversation, stress and intimacy levels, and so on. If a person speaks a more grammatical English but knows the listener struggles with Cajun English, the speaker usually adapts.

Linguistic upheavals didn't diminish the spirit of the Cajun people. As their culture spread, other ethnicities in diverse Louisiana embraced the Cajun's joy of life, a certain melancholy due to the long-ago diaspora, and their forgiving nature. Like their culture, Cajun festivals, foods, and music have become world-famous: _Laissez les bon temps rouler_. Let the good times roll.

Glossary of Cajun French Words and Expressions

Ain: What? Did I hear you right?

Allons: Let's go.

beb: baby, sweetheart; (slang)

bébé: baby

bon: good

Bon Dieu: Good God!

bon rien: shiftless, good-for-nothing

boo; boo boo: terms of endearment, friendship

boo-ray, bourre : an extremely popular card game in South Louisiana

boscoyo: Cypress tree stump

capon: coward

catin: doll in Cajun French Louisiana; in France, a prostitute

C'est sa cooyôn: You're a fool/stupid.

cher: term of endearment; pronounced _shâ_ ; not to be confused with Cher the singer

Cher Bon Dieu: Dear Good Lord

cher t'bêbê: darling little baby

coo wee: wow!

cooyôn: stupid, foolish

debile: idiot

doe doe: sleep, nap

eau: water

entêté: stubborn

fou: crazy

gaienne: girlfriend

gosh da dônc: dammit to hell

gree gree (gris gris): curse

Je t'ame: I love you.

jolie: pretty, beautiful; term of endearment: _jolie catin_ (beautiful girl, doll, baby)

magazin: commercial store; large storage place

mais: well, but; (commonly used)

Mais jamais: But never!

Merci: Thank you.

Merci beaucoup: Thank you very much.

Merci Bon Dieu: Thank God!

merde: shit

lagniappe: something extra; a bit more

Mo chagren: I'm sorry.

mon: my

mon amour: my love

noblesse oblige: nobility obliges; whoever claims to be noble must act nobly

non: no

ouais: yeah, yep

oui: yes

pa-rân: godfather, mentor

pod-nah: partner; friend; (slang gained from Wild West usage)

poo-yi: stinky, smelly

ro-day: go/move from place to place

Sacre´ bleu: Holy crap!

shâ: pronunciation of _cher_ and used to remind reader Cher is the name of a singer

Ta queule: Shut the hell up!

Chapter One

### Dandelion

Jacob stopped on the side of the dirt road and turned. His chocolate eyes widened as a middle-aged man got out of a 1952 black sedan. The stoop-shouldered man, dressed in a white, short-sleeved shirt and khakis, slammed the Ford's door shut. With a .45-caliber Colt pistol at his side, he walked toward Jacob. "Boy, w'at's yo black ass doin' here on a Monday mornin'? How comes you ain't workin' in da fields?"

The child, about nine years old, glanced at the sleepy bayou opposite the road and then inched sideways, as if to jump the drainage ditch on his side of the road and run. When his booted foot slipped on dirt baked smooth by South Louisiana's heat, Jacob twisted forward, his arms askew and panic on his coal-black face.

A smile curled on the man's lips. "Dôn you play dumb wid me. Dis country's goin' to da dogs 'cause you people dôn wanna work." He stopped four feet from Jacob and switched the Colt's safety off. "Where you comin' from, boy?"

Jacob's mouth gaped open. Sweat poured from his brow. A fly buzzed his face.

The stranger raised his pistol. "I's not standin' in dis gotdamn heat all day, waitin' fo' a useless piece a shit to ansa' me."

"I lives up dere." Jacob pointed toward pastures bleached white by the merciless August sun. His hand shook.

"Where da fuck is dat?" Without waiting for an answer, the man narrowed his eyes and extended his arm.

Jacob screamed and crumbled to the ground, his hands over his head.

A yellow dandelion beyond the drainage ditch exploded into nothing. Strings of wire between fence posts popped and curled. Birds squawked and flapped into the cloudless blue sky.

"I axed you a question," the man said.

Jacob clawed at the dirt to get up. Urine stained his tan trousers. "Mah daddy's Henri Doucet. He sharecrops fo' Mr. Blanchard. I's goin' to Remy Broussard's house. I's axin' him to mah bir'day party."

The man snorted. "If dat dôn beat all. A black boy's visitin' fuckin' white trash livin' 'cross da road from me. Dôn you come mah way agin, boy. You dôn want yo daddy hangin' from a tree, like w'at happened to Moses Dubois." The stranger spun on his heels and returned to the black sedan. The Ford roared to life and sped past Jacob.

The child's hand flew to his forehead. "Mudder a God, hep me." Jacob stumbled in dazed circles on the road until his legs collapsed. A moan rumbled in his throat. He lurched forward and threw up. Mustard-colored bile dangled from his mouth and nose. Flies landed on his face. When a hand touched his shoulder, Jacob screamed.

"Easy, boy. I ain't gonna hurt ya."

Jacob lifted his head. Faint recognition flickered in his round eyes. "You's—"

"Samuel." The black man was about forty, with a weathered face, grey-streaked black hair cropped short, and built like a tree stump. He wore faded denim overalls and was bare-chested, save for strapped bibs on the front and the back. A muscled arm pulled Jacob up. "You's Jacob, Henri's son, ain't ya?"

Jacob nodded yes.

Samuel pulled a square of calico cloth from the back pocket of his overalls and examined Jacob's forehead. "A rock done nicked ya. You ain't gonna git no infection. Da blood's clean."

Tears rolled down Jacob's cheeks. "Mr. Samuel, I dôn wanna die like Momma did." His voice came in gasps spewed with vomit-laced spittle.

"Dôn you worry none. Samuel knows a ting or two 'bout cuts. You's gonna be all right." He swatted at green-bellied flies hovering above Jacob's head, wiped the child's nose and mouth, then eyed Jacob. "Goodness, but you's lookin' like a giant. How ole is you now?"

"I's nine in two weeks." Jacob pinched his lips to accommodate another swipe of the cloth.

"Lordy, you wasn't no bigger dan a tadpole last year when Henri brung ya to Willow Weeps Plantation," Samuel said with a shake of his head.

Jacob gagged and rushed to the drainage ditch. Scant water stagnated in a leafy bog littered with pine needles.

Samuel reached long and handed him the calico cloth. "I hears mah wagon comin'. When you gits wid yo own people, you's gonna feel betta."

"Mr. Samuel?"

The sharecropper's generous lips spread into a smile. His eyes twinkled. "You's wonderin' how I come here widout da wagon?" He threw his head back and laughed. The rolling baritone floated like a bee catching a ride on a cloud. "Samuel knows to run 'head an' take a look when trouble passes by."

Jacob started to speak, but tensed as the wagon neared. When the white driver cracked a whip above the team of mules, his shoulders swayed.

Samuel grabbed his arm. "Ain't no reason to be 'fraid. Charley's a little man showin' off. He was born lookin' mean. Some people neva looks pretty." He patted Jacob's shoulder. "Like me," Samuel said and chuckled.

The mules snorted to a stop. Black sharecroppers sat on long benches in the wooden wagon, hoes propped between them. Samuel swung himself through the wagon's open back and then pulled Jacob up. "Dis here's Roosevelt." Samuel gestured toward the sharecropper at the end of the right bench. "Folks call him Squeaky," he said.

Jacob half-smiled at the bullnecked, twenty-something sharecropper and sat at the end of the left bench, next to Samuel. After Samuel brushed dust off Jacob's blue shirt, they rode in silence. Each stared at the slow pass of barbed wire fences with wooden posts in front of flat pastures dotted with mature pecan trees or stately oaks.

"I's tinkin'," Samuel said and faced Jacob, "you ain't got no rope holdin' up yo trousers. Boy, where you goin' all dressed up?"

Jacob beamed and sat taller. "Daddy says I needs to look good when I axe mah friends to mah bir'day party. I's goin' to Remy's house first."

Samuel scratched his head. "Now, I's juz come from Willow Weeps last night an' dôn know dese parts like mah own. Dôn git me wrong." He winked at Jacob. "I's worked here befo' an' knows how to su'vive. But you kan't 'cpect Samuel to know where ev'ry boy yo age lives. Lordy, I kan't 'member when I was yo age."

Jacob giggled. "Mah friends lives on da right, 'bout a mile up da road. Dey lives in big white houses 'hind a mess a pine trees lookin' like a snake."

After Samuel called directions to Charley, Squeaky shot Samuel a warning look. "White people lives in t'ree houses 'hind dem trees," Squeaky said, air whistling through his gapped front teeth. "Da men was sharecroppas fo' Mr. Laurent. He's da rich farmer ownin' da cattle farm on da far side a dem houses. Dat farmer done took a shinin' to dose white people an' give 'em da land."

Samuel's eyes popped. "You dôn say?"

"Yes, sir, I do say." Squeaky leaned forward. His deep-set eyes were intense. "One a dem sharecroppas—a Mr. Broussard—done saved somebody important durin' da world war. Dis man come up from New Awlins last Christmas. By spring, he done had dose houses built. Almost ova' night, da boy's friends moved up, from nuttin' to sumptin'."

"Dose sharecroppas got right lucky," Samuel said and shook his head in disbelief.

"Yes an' no. Mr. Franneaux lives 'cross dis road from dem houses. He's a big shot in da Ku Klux Klan. I's hearin' Mr. Franneaux dôn want no rich white trash fo' neighbors." Squeaky glanced at Jacob. He shielded his mouth and dropped his voice. "Black folks is sayin' da Klan's goin' afta dose white people, like dey done did wid Moses Dubois." Squeaky ran the edge of his hand across his neck. "You's heard, ain't ya?"

Samuel winced and turned to Jacob. "Boy, you's lookin' fo' trouble if you messes wid white people da Klan dôn like."

Jacob stiffened. "Daddy tinks President Roosevelt was right. 'Cept Daddy says, 'Da only ting _black_ people have to fear is fear itself.'" He squinted his eyes at Samuel. "Dis is da United States. Daddy says I kin axe mah friends to mah bir'day party."

"Black people dôn axe white people to parties," Samuel said, a stern note in his voice.

Jacob crossed his arms. "Daddy's cousin was a Tuskegee Airman durin' da War. Daddy says cousin Royce was fightin' fo' all Americans."

"If yo daddy meks da Klan mad, dose mangy dogs is comin' afta all da black people livin' 'long dis bayou road," Squeaky said.

Samuel flicked a fly off his arm. "A white man drivin' a Ford passed da wagon juz now. You knows him?"

"No, sir."

"A gun went off. Was dat man shootin' to scare ya?" Samuel's jaw twitched. "Some white people likes to do dat."

"Guns ain't scarin' me."

Samuel cocked an eyebrow. "Is dat right?"

Jacob dropped his eyes and nibbled on a fingernail.

"White people dôn talk to black people 'less dey's wantin' sumptin'. W'at was dat man wantin'?" Samuel asked.

"H-he tole me to stay 'way from here."

"Was he fat and lookin' like a ghost?" Squeaky asked.

"Yes, sir." Jacob blinked back tears and slumped down on the bench.

"Dat's Mr. Franneaux," Squeaky said to Samuel. "He's gonna buy hisself a new car in September. He do dat ev'ry year when da new models come out. He likes to impress da folks in Narrow Bridge."

Caution rippled across Samuel's face. "I's hearin' 'bout a connection 'tween da hardware store in Narrow Bridge an' da Klan." Narrow Bridge was the rural hub, a town twenty-five miles away with one traffic light and about nine hundred people. Railroad tracks ran through the center of the town. White people lived on one side of the tracks; blacks lived on the other side. When blacks entered the white section, they stepped off sidewalks to allow whites to pass.

" _Merde_. You's talkin' 'bout Junior's Hardware." Squeaky smirked. "One a Franneaux's cousins runs da place."

Samuel turned to Jacob. "Did yo daddy tell ya da Klan done hanged Moses Dubois near where da ferry crosses da Atchafalaya River?"

"Mr. Samuel, I's not bein' 'fraid now." Jacob sat up and squared his shoulders. "I wants to go to Southern University in Baton Rouge an' betta mah'self."

"Southern ain't dat far from here. But you's gotta stay alive to git dere, even if id's a black school," Samuel said.

"How come you's got white friends?" Squeaky asked, a hard glint in his eyes.

Jacob dipped his chin. "Sometimes dere parents was loaned out to Mr. Blanchard—he's ownin' da farm next to da snake's head." Jacob crossed and uncrossed his ankles. "I played wid mah friends in da fields. I's neva been to Remy's new house, not since dey tore down da ole shack an' moved up, to da real white people's world," Jacob said and lifted his gaze.

The wagon slowed as the barbed wire fence running alongside the drainage ditch ended in a perpendicular turn and changed to a wooden fence. "Dere's da pine trees," Jacob said and pointed to the unfenced frontage. "See da snake's head? Da snake's tail is up a bit. You kin see Remy's house t'rew da tail."

Samuel stared at the scrub pines, their scrawny branches at odds with the tree's prized timber. He shook his head and gestured toward three mailboxes staked high near a graveled entrance. "Which one's Remy's?"

Jacob smiled and stood, confidence in his posture. "Remy's a Broussard an' lives in da first house," he said, reading the surname painted in red. "Madeleine's a Oubre an' lives in da middle house. Bobby Lee's a Gerard an' lives in da t'ird house. Dey's gonna be in da fourd grade in September." His smile widened. "I's gonna be in da t'ird grade."

Samuel's jaw dropped. "One a yo friends is a _white_ girl?"

"Yes, sir. Madeleine's nice." He sat down. "She looks like a doll. Ev'ryting she wears is pink."

"Listen to me, Jacob. Id's dangerous fo' a black man to git near a white woman," Samuel said.

Jacob's face fell. "I's not a man, Mr. Samuel. I's not nine years ole yet."

"Id dôn matta," Squeaky said. "You's tall, an' you's done filled out fo' yo years. If da Klan says you's a man, you's a man."

Jacob squeezed his hands in his lap "I ain't played wid mah friends since last summer. Sometimes id gits lonely, wid juz Daddy an' me in da shack. We ain't got no 'lectricity. Dere's nuttin' to do when id gits dark 'cept go to bed."

"When you gits lonely, you prays to Jesus to fill yo heart," Samuel said.

"I do. I prays to Jesus a lot." Jacob wiped tears from his eyes and faced Samuel. "Nobody cares 'bout me 'cept Daddy an' mah friends."

Squeaky jutted his head toward the plantation-style house across the road. White columns reflected off brackish bayou water cleared of Cypress trees, save for a _boscoyo,_ a stump here and there. "Mr. Franneaux cares 'bout you," Squeaky said. "He dôn want no black people near his house 'less dey's waitin' on him."

Jacob's eyes narrowed. "I's sorry, but I's havin' mah party. I done promised Momma. Befo' she went to Jesus, Momma tole me to have a party. She wants to smile from heaven." Jacob stood when the wagon stopped. "Dôn worry. Mr. Broussard's gonna protect me. He's a war hero."

"Lots a white people hates black people mo' dan dey loves war heroes," Samuel said.

Jacob stooped low and swung himself down to the road. He waved at Samuel and Squeaky as the wagon pulled forward. With a bright smile on his face, he ran past the mailboxes and up the graveled driveway. When the slight curve around the snake's tail straightened, Jacob's pace slowed. The driveway continued, then arched to the right and fronted three identical white houses, each two stories with curtains at open windows that fluttered at deep, manicured lawns. Hand-painted name signs peeked from flowerbeds leading to front porches with white rockers. After giving the black Ford sedan in front of Remy's house an admiring look, Jacob walked to the back of the house. He stopped mid-step.

A shed with a busted door centered an overgrown lawn strewn with auto parts, kitchen stoves, and wagon wheels. A lopsided picnic table stood under a young magnolia tree. Morning Glory vines twisted and fell from the metal fence behind the wooden table. "No, no. Remy's family kan't be lookin' like proper white people in da front an' white trash in da back." He jerked to his left. " _Cher Bon Dieu_." Jacob turned and bolted for the gardenia bush beneath the back window.

Chapter Two

### Gardenia Bush

David Broussard whipped around and left the living room's morning shade in a huff. "I's sick a dis gotdamn gossip shit," he said over his shoulder. He was tall and muscled slim, with thick black hair, brooding eyes, and a chiseled jaw. He stopped midway down the hall and leaned against the wall, near an Olan Mills portrait of a man and woman, each with a hand on the shoulder of a bright-eyed adolescent boy. The twenty-something couple had matching gold wedding rings.

A petite woman with long black hair and delicate features rounded the corner after him. The shirt on her floral-print sundress flared as she reached for the back of his arm. "You's _cooyôn_. Da Klan's mad 'cause blacks brung dere stoves here to git fixed. You needs to open a mechanic's shop in Narrow Bridge or da Klan's gonna burn our house down."

David turned. His brown eyes simmered. "I's not scared a fuckin' losers in white sheets an' pointed hats, not afta w'at me an' mah Marines went t'rew on Iwo Jima."

"Please, _boo boo_." Arlette's up-turned face searched his. "World War II's ended, yeah. We's not sharecroppers no mo'. You's gotta tink 'bout how life be now."

"Dat's w'at I's tryin' to do. _Mais_ , you's not understandin'. Da War's done changed ev'ryting. If we's gonna su'vive, we's gotta tink 'bout da future."

"I's not fuckin' _fou_. We is tinkin' good, good. You's got me talkin' English durin' da day. _Mais_ , I's hatin' dis shit language. Id dôn mek sense, no."

David placed his hands on Arlette's slim shoulders. His eyes bored into hers. "I's not havin' Remy soundin' stupid."

"I dôn give a shit how mah baby's soundin', me. I wants Remy livin' in a house. I's not lettin' da gotdamn Klan burn us out. We's not livin' _ro-day_."

"Stop da bullshit, Arlette." David's hand sliced the air. "We's not movin' all ova da gotdamn place. We's not po'." He took a deep breath. "Look, you kan't 'cpect me to come back from war an' act like nuttin's changed. Meybe I's done—meybe I left here not carin' 'bout how I talked or knowin' where places be. _Mais_ , da Marine Corps sent me all ova da United States an' halfway 'round da world. I'm mah own person now, yeah. I'm not livin' in fear a da Klan stickin' da Dixie flag up mah ass. Dat's not w'at we fought fo' on Iwo Jima."

" _C'est sa cooyôn_ ," Arlette said, thumping his chest. "Iwo Jima ain't da bayou, no. Mah friends at church ain't lyin' 'bout da Klan comin' afta us. Dey's good, good Christian people tryin' to hep."

David made a dismissive face. "Dose _fou_ biddies in da Altar Society didn't know we were alive when we were sharecroppas."

"Mah friends care 'bout us, _debile_." Arlette pointed a manicured finger at him. "Dôn you care 'bout yo family?"

"Dôn be so _cooyôn_. 'Course I care," David said and waved her question away.

"Den git yo shit togedder. You needs to buy a truck an' haul yo mechanic's bidness to Narrow Bridge." Arlette stopped, a cat-like smile on her full lips. "If yo Marines tole ya da Klan was comin', you'd be listenin'."

"Dat's fuckin' bullshit," David said, his words like bullets. "You kan't git id t'rew yo head I dôn know no Marines here. You keep fo'gittin', I was sick when I got back from Iwo Jima." David turned and headed up the hall. He put one hand on the screen door's frame and stared into the sun-speckled morning. Dew shimmered on the emerald-green lawn that stretched long to the pine trees. Rocks covering the driveway in front of the house glistened a bright white. Yellow marigolds in flowerbeds alongside the walkway to the front porch reached above clusters of purple petunias.

Arlette's red flats tapped on the hardwood floor as she walked toward him. She stopped and tucked a white bra strap beneath the sundress's red strap, then took a deep breath. " _Beb_ , you's done had da operation fo' da shrapnel in yo head from da War. You's fine now, 'cept fo' you tinkin' you needs to change da world. You kan't do dat. We's gotta live in da world we knows, not in a pretty world in da head wid birds singin' an' none a dem dyin'."

David's eyes followed a butterfly flitting among potted petunias on the front porch. "I'm to blame fo' dat kid bullyin' Remy in school last year."

"Dat's not troo, _bêbê_. Id weren't yo fault. You was sick," Arlette said with a sigh.

David's fingers rippled across the screen. "I ain't hidin' 'hind 'cuses, me," he said, his voice heavy. "I worried too much 'bout mah problems an' not nuff 'bout mah son. Dat bully come afta Remy like a buzzard goin' fo' a newborn calf." He turned as gnats swarmed outside the screen door. "If I move mah bidness to town, people's gonna say da Klan took to bullyin' me juz like dat kid did wid Remy. Dey'll tink Remy's growin' up weak 'cause his daddy dôn know how to be a daddy. Mah son needs a daddy who dôn run scared, yeah."

"You ain't runnin' scared if you gits a mechanic's shop. You's bein' smart. Da Klan ain't gonna leave us 'lone 'till black customers stop comin' here."

"Dat's not troo." David crossed to the entrance to the living room and leaned against the doorway, his hand on his head. A dog's bark in the near distance broke the silence. "'Member how you cried when I got drafted early?" he asked and faced Arlette.

Arlette nodded. "Dat weren't right, no."

"Id was a pay-back, _boo_. When I refused to join da Klan, Franneaux pulled strings. Da bastard tole me I was bein' sent to da Pacific Campaign. He said I had a betta chance a dyin' dere."

Arlette gasped.

"Da Klan's neva gonna leave us 'lone. Dere shit's like a present dey gives dere kids. Da best way to deal wid da Klan is to live a hard workin' life fo' ev'rybody to see. Dat's how Mr. Laurent lives. Nobody messes wid him, no."

"You's _fou_ , crazy, _boo boo_. Mr. Laurent went to a fancy college up nord somewheres. His daddy was gov'na a Louisiana a whiles back. Dat family's got mo' connections dan you's got brains fo' brains."

The screen door jiggled. "Where you at, _cher_?"

David turned to his right. "Come in, Lucille," he said, embarrassment on his face.

An athletic-looking woman in her mid-twenties opened the screen door. She had a halo of chestnut curls, a fresh-scrubbed complexion, and laughing eyes. "I's desperate fo' a cuppa sugar to mek a cake fo' Joseph. He's comin' back from Baton Rouge dis afta'noon." She held up a glass Pyrex measuring cup.

"You's in luck, _cher_. I's got sugar, yeah," Arlette said.

Lucille nodded at David and then hugged Arlette. Lucille held her neighbor at arm's length. " _Cher Bon Dieu_. Dere's circles unda yo eyes, no. W'at's wrong?"

"Id was hot, hot last night," David said. "We had trouble sleepin'."

"Louisiana ain't fit fo' much in August," Lucille said as the three walked down the hall. They filed into the sun-drenched kitchen with celery-green walls and yellow curtains on windows. A copy of Warner Sallman's _Head of Christ_ hung to the left of the screen door. Ribbons of sunshine streaked the painting's incandescent glow.

The group gathered near the L-shaped Formica counter to the right of the screen door. "You wants coffee, _cher_?" Arlette gestured toward the French drip coffee pot on the gas stove.

" _Non, merci_. I done had a cup, me," Lucille said.

Arlette turned the radio on. Hank Williams sang _Jambalaya_. "I love dat song, yeah." Arlette sang along and sashayed her hips as she scooped sugar from the canister. David moved to the end of the counter and spread a short stack of _Look_ magazines. Lucille twirled a lemon in the glass-filled bowl in front of her.

"I's tinkin' Miz Jarreau's gossip 'bout da Klan done got to ya," Lucille said to Arlette when the song ended.

"I tole her da same damn ting." David shrugged and opened an August issue of _Look_ magazine.

Lucille ignored David. "I's hearin' Miz Jarreau talked too much at da Altar Society meetin' last week." Lucille rolled her hazel eyes. "I's sick a da shit gossip at church. If I wants to know w'at's happenin', I's goin' by Mr. LeBeau's _magazin_. I hears all da gossip I needs buyin' milk." Arlette wiped the counter near the sink and placed the cup of sugar next to the lemon-filled bowl in front of Lucille. " _Merci_ , _cher_. Wid all da kids 'cept Madeleine at dere uncle's place 'till afta Labor Day, da cake's gonna last a bit," Lucille said.

"Madeleine shoulda gone to Mississippi." Arlette arched a thick eyebrow at Lucille. "Da chile's lonely, no?"

" _Ouais_ ," Lucille said, nodding agreement. " _Mais_ , Madeleine dôn like me bein' by mah'self. An' she's not likin' da Gerards bein' in New Awlins 'til afta Labor Day. Mah _bébé_ tinks da wooden fence next to da Gerard's house ain't safe." Lucille hesitated. "She dôn like dose pine trees out front eidder."

" _Cher_ , Mr. Blanchard weren't havin' none a Mr. Landry's idea to replace dat fence when he was buildin' dese houses," Arlette said and leaned into the counter.

"Dat's troo." Lucille shrugged. " _Mais_ , meybe we done mek a mistake, havin' one driveway fo' t'ree houses."

David closed his copy of _Look_ with Cyd Charisse on the cover. The actress and dancer from Amarillo, Texas, smiled at him. "A driveway on da Gerard's side ain't gonna cut up da lawn," he said. "Meybe dis spring we kin put a driveway dere, den do sumptin' 'bout da rest a da trees by da road."

Heads turned when the porch's screen door slammed shut. Remy ran into the kitchen. His blue shirt was half-out of grass-stained khaki slacks. Sweat matted his mop of dark brown hair and glistened on apple-red cheeks in an oval face. Big brown eyes beneath thick eyelashes bubbled with enthusiasm.

Madeleine followed with dainty steps. The petite girl with doe-like eyes, heart-shaped lips, and a porcelain-like complexion wore a lavender-pink dress with an applique of white flowers around the neck. A pink ribbon wrapped around her concave straw hat and ended in a bow at the back. Pink streamers dangled over cascading black curls.

Lucille frowned at her daughter. "Madeleine, you's red as a beet, yeah."

"We keeps chasin' Peppa," Remy said. "Da dumb dog won't leave da birds 'lone."

Madeleine scrunched her pert nose at Remy. "Peppa's not dumb."

"Madeleine." Lucille tapped her red-polished fingernails on the counter.

"An' dat's nuff from you, Remy." Arlette handed each a glass of water. " _Poo yi_ , Remy, you's too stinky to sit at da kitchen table. Go sit on da porch."

"Yes, ma'am." Remy turned to Madeleine. " _Allons_."

The doyenne dipped her chin and glared at Remy from beneath the sunhat's brim. "Dôn you boss me 'round, no."

"Peppa's on da porch," Remy said, a tease in his voice.

"All right, juz dis once." Madeleine lifted her chin high and followed him into the hall.

Lucille flashed a bright smile. "I needs to git busy. _Merci_ , _cher_ , fo' da sugar."

After Lucille left, Arlette and David stood in the expanse between the counter and the kitchen table. A tall vase with summer flowers centered the table. Arlette smiled at the flowers, then slipped her arm around David's waist. "Remy's growin' up fast, _boo_. Ev'ry mon't I prays I's pregnant. Ev'ry mon't I's cryin'."

"We're young. Dere's time, _beb_ ," David said and kissed her lightly.

"Meybe." Arlette hesitated. " _Mais_ , I tink da Klan wants us outta our house. I's 'fraid a bein' pregnant an' livin' _ro-day_ , like you sees when sharecroppas git kicked off—"

"Shhh." David held his hand up. "I heard a noise outside da back window." He crossed to the screen door. As he stepped outside, Jacob emerged from behind the gardenia bush. Twigs and leaves clung to his cropped hair and stained clothes. Terror filled his face. "Jacob," David said, rushing to him, "w'at's wrong?"

"A man on a horse in da pasture was ridin' like da devil comin' to git me," he said, his voice pitched and rushed.

David steadied the child's flailing arms. "You're upset fo' nuttin'. Dat's Mr. Laurent's fo'man. Louie's from Texas. He used to ride in da rodeos dere. Dese days, he rides fo' fun."

"You's sure, Mr. Broussard? Dat man's eyes was burnin' like coal in da stove."

"Dôn you worry none. Only good, good people work fo' Mr. Laurent." David turned as Remy and Madeleine emerged from the space between his house and Lucille's, each yelling and laughing at the other, with Pepper barking at both of them.

" _Coo wee_! Jacob's here," Remy said and ran to his friend. "W'at happened to you? You's a mess."

Madeleine frowned at Remy and then smiled at Jacob.

Jacob's eyes traveled from Madeleine to Remy. He straightened his posture. "Kin you come to mah bir'day party? Id's two weeks from today."

" _Merci beaucoup_ , Jacob." Madeleine pushed her shoulders back and clasped her hands in front of her. "I would be honored to 'tend yo lovely party."

"Huh?" Remy bopped himself on the head.

" _Honestly_ , Remy. You're _axpear_ atin'." Madeleine tilted her head and batted her thick black eyelashes at him.

" _Ain_? I's w'at?"

David laughed outright. "Son, juz 'gree wid da little lady."

Remy shrugged and tugged on Jacob's shirt. "Happy bir'day to you."

"You dôn sing too good," Jacob said with a laugh.

"I sings betta dan you do. You sings like a cow mooin'." Remy tossed dried grass at Jacob and took off.

"You sings like a crow, _wock, wock, wock_ ," Jacob said and chased after him.

Madeleine patted the black curls on her shoulder. "Boys are silly, Peppa." The black mutt barked and ran in circles around a stove. "Stop it, Peppa, befo' _you_ look silly."

"He looks dumb," Remy said as he ran up to Madeleine. "Right, Jacob?"

Before Jacob could answer, Madeleine dipped her chin and faced Remy. "If you say one mo' bad word 'bout Peppa, I won't hep you wid yo English homework when school starts."

Remy gulped. His eyes darted from side to side. "Peppa's da best dog in Louisiana," he said.

"Go on." Madeleine crossed her arms.

"His hair shines like velvet."

Madeleine beamed. "I tink so, too. Go on."

"His teet is like stars." Remy giggled. "Dey comes out at night."

Madeleine whipped off her sunhat and whacked him on the head. "You take dat back, Remy Broussard."

The screen door opened. "I needs hep," Arlette said. Remy and Jacob exchanged looks and raced each other to the steps. They avoided Madeleine as they carried cookies and a pitcher of lemonade to the picnic table. After joshing each other over who sat where, Jacob claimed the lower end of the lopsided table. Remy sat to his left. Madeleine eased into the space opposite Remy. She gave him a drop-dead look and turned to Arlette and David as they carried glasses to the table. After lemonade had been poured, Arlette sat next to Madeleine. David brushed Morning Glory leaves from a chair near the metal fence and pulled it to the end of the table.

When thirsts had been quenched and cookies had disappeared, the group relaxed into easy conversation. "Jacob, I saw yo daddy at Mr. LeBeau's _magazin_ last week," David said. "Id's great yo cousin Royce is comin' from St. Louis fo' Labor Day. He's a famous Tuskegee Airman now, yeah."

"We's real proud a him," Jacob said, a huge grin on his face. His eyes traveled around the table. "Cousin Royce's letter said he's gonna pay mah tuition to Southern University."

"W'at you wanna be when you graduates?" Arlette asked.

"A doctor," Jacob said. His face grew serious. "Momma done died from a bad, bad infection."

"Mah twin sister died givin' birth," Arlette said, her voice sad. " _Mais_ , we's gotta trust Jesus to hep us t'rew hard, hard times."

"I'll pray Jesus heps Remy wid his English homework," Madeleine said. "He's gonna have a hard, hard time." She smiled and adjusted her sunhat.

"How's dat? Remy's done good, good in English since Christmas," Arlette said, breaking the silence.

"Dat's when Madeleine got to be yo _gaienne_ ," Jacob whispered to Remy. "You's in trouble, _pod-nah_. Mah daddy says yo girlfriend talks perfect English."

David gave Arlette a knowing look and stood. "We need mo' lemonade."

"W'at's da matta wid Madeleine an' Remy," Arlette asked as they walked to the back steps.

"Nuttin'. Kids bein' kids."

" _Beb_?"

"Umm?"

"Did you see dat man on a horse in da back a Mr. Laurent's pasture?" Arlette asked.

"Uh huh."

"Dat man weren't Louie, no. He was ridin' too low in da saddle."

Chapter Three

### Petunias

Arlette tightened the rubber band around her ponytail, tugged her sleeveless white blouse lower over blue pedal pushers, and shifted her weight on the edge of the porch. After tapping her white Keds on the porch step, she frowned. "Not agin," she said and jerked her feet up.

" _Boo boo_ , I dôn know w'at's wrong wid you," Lucille said. "Why kan't you keep still?"

"Id's da damn humidity, yeah. Mah clothes is stickin' to me." After Arlette re-tied the tennis shoes' laces, she shielded her wide-set eyes from the mid-afternoon sun.

"Stop starin' at Mr. Franneaux's house. You's lettin' da _capon_ git to ya," Lucille said.

" _Mais jamais_! I ain't neva runnin' from no coward." Arlette dropped her hand. "I was juz lookin'," she said and faced Lucille. " _Boo_ , is you mad 'cause Joseph's gone by LSU agin dis mornin'?"

" _Mais non_. Now dat da G. I. Bill's done got Joseph to college, he ain't gonna git a break fo' fou' years. Dis field trip to da marshes is juz da beginnin'. But when mah man's a geologist, he kin git a good, good job." Lucille brushed a bug from her red pedal pushers and hugged her knees. "We's got mo' kids dan you's got. Jack Landry's a saint fo' da way he done treat us, but we's gonna need mo' money. Befo' Madeleine goes to college, she's gotta go to dat finishin' school I's hearin' 'bout up in Missouri. Comin' from sharecroppas like she do, Madeleine needs some polishin'. Good families dôn want dere boys marryin' down."

"Lord, juz yestaday I tole David our Remy's gonna be fine. I plumb fo'git 'bout Madeleine gittin' married one day." Arlette slumped forward. "Bein' sharecroppas is like a _gree gree_ a voodoo queen done put on us."

"I dôn believe dat shit, no." Lucille swatted at a gnat. "'Sides, Marie Laveau is long dead."

"Meybe." Arlette glanced at the bayou road stretching to her right. The afternoon sun danced on the hardened dirt. "Sometime I feels like I's livin' in a wringer like w'at I wash da clothes in."

" _Ain_?" Lucille asked, a puzzled look on her face.

" _Mais_ , id dôn matta which way you goes on dat road out dere, you's gonna end up in Narrow Bridge. Id juz takes a bit longer if you goes left," Arlette said and made a wide swoop with her hand. "We's da same people goin' 'round an' 'round wid nuttin' changin'."

"You's tinkin' too much, _cher_ ," Lucille said. "You's gonna git yo'self in a hole."

"I know dat, me." Arlette tapped her Keds on the porch step as if a song played in her head. "Id's time fo' David's to git his ass back from Narrow Bridge. Now dat he done dropped Remy by Mr. Laurent's to spend da night wid Maurice, da house is feelin' like a barn."

" _Mais jamais_. You's mekin' little shadows into big ones, _boo_." Lucille yawned. " _Mais_ , I needs a nap. Joseph an' me was up late, late last night talkin'."

"You's lucky you kin nap, _boo_."

Lucille gestured toward the gap in the pine trees. "If you's not starin' at Franneaux's house, you's worryin' 'bout w'at dose _fou_ women in da Altar Society done said. You needs to git 'hold a yo'self. You's lookin' pale, pale. Dem circles unda yo eyes is worse today, no."

"Id's da damn heat." Arlette wiped her forehead. "Id needs to rain."

"Lord, but you's _entêté_ , _cher_. I's be seein' ya tomorrow." Lucille stood and walked down the steps.

Arlette tilted her head and smiled at a small bird flying toward the pine trees. It changed course and circled wide, then hovered above the gap between the trees. As a truck sputtered into view, the bird dove into the opening and disappeared. Arlette shook her head and stood. After a long look at the road, she dragged a rocker by the door to the flower-draped clay pot near the steps and sat on the rocker's edge. Her red-polished fingernails snipped off faded purple- and gold petunias like a scissors.

"Hello, Miz Arlette."

Arlette's head jerked up. Fear raced across her eyes.

Madeleine smiled from the bottom of the porch steps. She wore a petal-pink dress with a scooped neck. One of the sunhat's pink streamers curled on a capped sleeve.

"Madeleine, I's so glad to see you, me." Arlette's face visibly relaxed. " _Mais_ , how comes you's not gittin' some _doe doe_?"

"I couldn't sleep." Madeleine's hand fanned toward the driveway. "Yo car's not here. Where's Mr. David?"

" _Mais_ , he went to Narrow Bridge," Arlette said and fluffed the petunias.

"Hmm. Is Remy home?"

Arlette sat back in the rocker, a gentle smile on her lips. " _Mo chagren_. _Mais_ , Mr. David done took him by Maurice's to spend da night."

Madeleine pursed her heart-shaped lips, then smiled. "Dat's nice." She walked up the steps, careful not to disturb dark pink socks or scuff her Mary Jane shoes. "I'm sorry if I scared you. Momma says I'm like a cat in a pink dress an' a sunhat."

A wistful look crossed Arlette's face. "I wants a little pink in mah house."

"Do you tink I wear too much pink?" Madeleine tilted her head and tipped her chin with two fingers, then batted her lashes at Arlette.

"Yo shoes is white," Arlette said, a smile in her voice.

"Momma couldn't find pink shoes, no." Madeleine twirled a curl on her shoulder. Her black eyes were thoughtful. "I neva want to wear boots agin wid a dress, like I did last year. People looked at me funny. I felt like I wasn't good nuff. I wanted to hide. Lookin' po' hurt mo' dan bein' hungry."

"Don't you worry, _bébé_. Mr. Laurent an' Mr. Landry's done mek sure we's neva gonna be po' agin."

Madeleine's face brightened. "Do I wear mah sunhat too much?" she asked, then patted her dimpled cheeks. "I dôn want to git wrinkles an' look like a prune."

" _Boo, boo,_ you's always gonna be beautiful, inside an' out."

Madeleine's shoulders slumped. "Mah brodders say mah sunhat looks like a soup bowl on mah head."

"Dôn you pay no 'ttention to dere foolishness, no," Arlette scoffed. "Boys git to talkin' an' don't know w'at dey's sayin'."

Madeleine tucked her chin into her shoulder. "Sometimes dere teasin' meks mah tummy act funny, like id wants to run 'way," she said, blinking back tears.

" _Mais_ , dôn you go upsettin' yo'self, no. You's juz got a sensitive tummy."

"When dere teasin' meks mah tummy act funny, I git mad at mah brodders. Den I feel guilty. Jesus wants us to be kind to people, not fuss at dem." A tear splashed onto her pink dress. Madeleine wiped her cheek. "I have to go to Confession and tell Father Lorio I sinned."

Arlette's gripped the rocker's arms. " _Cher Bon Dieu_. Why's you talkin like dat?"

" _Mais_ , I was happy when mah uncle took mah brodders an' sisters to Mississippi. I wanted to read mah books widout dem makin' noise." Madeleine sniffled as she tugged on the gold cross at the end of the chain around her neck. "Peppa ran 'way 'cause I was se'fish. Dat's why he wasn't on da porch dis mornin'. Peppa neva tells me I have a soup bowl on mah head," Madeleine said through her tears.

"Dôn you cry, _bébé_ ," Arlette said and got out of the rocker. As she hugged Madeleine, the child's sunhat tumbled to the porch. "Da last time Peppa run 'way, one a Mr. Laurent's men found him chasin' a rabbit in a hay pasture. Somebody's gonna find Peppa in da mornin', yeah."

"I dôn tink so. Peppa's water bowl was turned ova dis mornin'. Dat's neva happened befo'."

" _Mais_ , Peppa got to chasin' a critter off da porch an' knocked id over, _boo_."

"Dat's w'at Momma says." Madeleine stooped and picked up her sunhat. "I'm sorry fo' bodderin' you. _Mais_ , I didn't sleep good, good last night."

"Meybe da heat done keep you up?"

"No, ma'am. A funny noise on da porch woke me up. I got a little scared, me."

"Dôn be scared, no. You's heard a raccoon. I's seen dem on da porch befo'. Dat's how da water bowl git turned ova. We ain't had no rain. A raccoon git t'irsty, t'irsty an' done mek a mess." Arlette's face creased into an exaggerated frown. "Stop worryin' or you's gonna git wrinkles, _boo_."

Madeleine sighed as she positioned her sunhat on her head. "Meybe I'm spooked 'cause id's so quiet behind dose pine trees. Sometimes I feel like a pink ant 'bout to be stepped on," she said with a shudder.

" _Mais_ , id's quiet. You's right 'bout dat."

Madeleine wrung her hands. "W'at's Mr. David doin' in Narrow Bridge?"

"Nuttin' much, juz goin' by Junior's Hardware to git a latch fo' da shed." Arlette returned to the rocker and sat down.

Madeleine giggled.

"W'at's so funny?"

"Dat man at Junior's looks like Santa Claus. _Mais_ , he's not nice like Santa Claus."

"Hush, _boo_. You kan't 'cpect ev'ry man wid a white beard to act like Santa Claus."

"Yes, ma'am." Madeleine pulled her shoulders up. "Miz Arlette, da last time I went to dat _magazin_ wid Daddy, dat man stared at us funny. He fussed at me when I looked in da penny candy barrel." Her black eyes flared. "Den he unwrapped a candy an' ate it in front a me. He even smacked his lips loud, loud. Dat's not bein' nice, no. He was actin' like people did when I wore boots wid mah dress. Mah tummy wanted to run 'way." Madeleine drew back and pointed toward the road. "Look. Dere's a dust cloud. Meybe Mr. David's comin' home."

Arlette's eyes followed Madeleine's finger. Her optimism faded. "Sumptin's not right. He's drivin' too fast. You needs to go home, Madeleine."

"Yes, ma'am." She turned and ran down the steps.

Rocks flew when David hit the brakes in front of the house. Arlette rushed to the car. " _Beb_ , w'at's wrong? I's neva seen you drive like dis befo'."

Relief flooded David's face as he got out of the Ford. " _Merci Bon Dieu_ , you's here."

"'Course I's here. W'at's da matta wid you? _C'est sa cooyôn._ "

David stared at her.

"Dôn you look at me like dat, no," Arlette said, rising panic in her voice.

David took a deep breath. "Da bank clerk says we ain't got no money in our account."

" _Mais non_. Dat's not troo, no," Arlette said as color drained from her face.

David pulled a green booklet from his shirt's pocket. "Da money ain't dere."

"Dat's _fou_. Dere's $25,000 in dat account, yeah." Arlette yanked the green booklet from his hand and thumbed the pages. "Da money's here, right where da clerk put da interest last quarter, yeah," she said and pointed to the handwritten entry.

"Not accordin' to da fuckin' bank." David slipped the booklet from her hand and returned it to his shirt's pocket.

"W'at happened to da money?" Arlette reached for David's arm. "Money dôn got legs, no."

" _Beb_ , I tink da Klan stole our money. Franneaux's brodder-in-law is da bank's manager."

Arlette sucked in her breath. " _Bon Dieu_ , we ain't got no power ginst da Klan."

"Meybe dere's a chance," David said, his hand on her shoulder. "I telephoned Mr. Laurent from da courthouse in Narrow Bridge. He said he knows a man wid da Bankin' Commission in Baton Rouge. Mr. Laurent tinks da man kin hep us."

" _Mon Dieu_ , we's got problems if Mr. Laurent's needin' hep." Perspiration formed on Arlette's brow. She licked her lips and brushed strands of hair from her eyes. "W'at else happened?"

"Da man at Junior's wouldn't sell me a latch fo' da shed. He said he dôn want no black-lovin' white trash in his _magazin_."

"Dôn you tell me he's one a Franneaux's shit relations, no."

" _Mais, oui_. He's Franneaux's first cousin," David said, his voiced filled with sarcasm.

" _Gosh da dônc_. Dammit to hell. Ev'rywhere we turns, dere's Franneaux. Our own Cajun people is destroyin' us. W'at's we gonna do?" Arlette asked as screams reverberated through the late afternoon's stillness. Her fingernails dug into David's arm. " _Cher Bon Dieu_. Dat's Madeleine screamin'."

"Stay here, _beb_ ," he said and ran to Madeleine's house. Lucille was on her hands and knees at the side of the porch steps. "Is Madeleine unda da porch?" David asked.

Lucille looked up at him. Her eyes were wild.

"Lucille, you's gotta move. I's goin' unda da porch." David reached to pull her up as Arlette's hand brushed his shoulder.

"I's hepin'," Arlette said. "Madeleine done bumped her head, _cher_ ," Arlette said to Lucille as she and David helped her up. "Madeleine's gonna be juz fine."

After they nudged Lucille away from the steps, David flattened his body on the St. Augustine grass and crawled under the wooden steps. "Damn, dis is like da caves on Iwo Jima." He shook clotted dirt from his hand, wiped cobwebs from his face and then inched forward. " _Merde_ ," he said and froze. A black snake slithered from beneath a clump of pine needles and disappeared into the deeper shadows.

David tossed a rock at a nearby stick. It didn't move. With the stick in his right hand, he cleared a path and crawled into the porch's nether world. After blinking his eyes into focus, he dropped the stick and reached for Madeleine's hat. "If dat snake was poisonous—"

As if possessed, David pushed deeper, not stopping until he reached Madeleine limp body. Her hands were out-stretched, one hand on Pepper's face. Her eyes were closed. Mud caked her pink dress and white shoes and clung to her cheeks like chocolate rouge. "Madeleine, kin you hear me?" he asked, patting the rouge. "Talk to me, Madeleine. Talk to me."

Madeleine's eyelashes fluttered. A moan escaped her lips as she stirred. "Peppa's gone," she said, her voice like an old lady's raspy whisper. "Peppa's gone."

"I'm sorry, _bébé_ ," he said and held her hand. " _Mais_ , Peppa doesn't want you stayin' here. We've got to go, Madeleine."

" _Non_ , Peppa's here," she said and moaned. The sound pierced the shadows as if a train had run through her very being.

David closed his eyes. " _Bon Dieu_ , not anodder soul dyin' in da night." He tugged her hand. "Madeleine, please, kin you git on yo knees an' crawl?"

"I-I don't feel good, good."

"Try, please try. Please."

David held her elbow as Madeleine struggled. Her knee slipped. "Mr. David, I have to pray," she said, her voice in spurts.

"I understand." David exhaled.

"Jesus, people say dey love you. _Mais_ , people git busy an' fo'git 'bout love. Dey hurt people not hurtin' dem. Please, Jesus, fo'give dem. I love you, Jesus. Amen."

When Madeleine emerged from under the steps, Lucille fell to her knees and pulled her daughter into her arms. " _Mon_ _cher t'bébé_ , _je t'aime_. I love you." Lucille nestled her chin on Madeleine's forehead and rocked her. Lucille's tears tumbled into her daughter's.

Madeleine reached for her mother's face. "Momma, Momma, hep me," she sobbed. "Peppa's gone."

Lucille gasped and kissed Madeleine's mud-stained forehead. " _Allons, mon_ _jolie catin_. Let's go inside, my beautiful doll." After she got Madeleine to her feet, Lucille wrapped her arm around Madeleine's shoulder. "You's gonna be fine, b _ébé_. You juz needs time to heal. We all do."

David's lips brushed Arlette's. "I've got to git Peppa's body from unda da porch befo' da night animals find him." He cupped her chin. Tears spilled from his eyes. "I was wrong fo' not listenin' to you. _Mo chagren_ , _mon amour_."

"I knows you's sorry." Arlette said and reached to stroke his cheek. Her eyes drifted to the white paper sticking out of his shirt's pocket. "W'at's on da paper?"

" _Mais_ , I dôn know."

Arlette pulled the paper out and unfolded it. She sucked in her breath. "'You's next'," she said.

Chapter Four

### Magnolia Tree

The morning sun streamed through the open window and slatted David's angular profile. After he cradled the black telephone, David leaned into the antique desk. His eyes rested on a mature magnolia tree in the left corner of a New Orleans-style patio garden with wrought iron seating arrangements. Birds swooped low, landed on the magnolia tree's pyramid-shaped branches, and then took flight for a gnarled oak tree outside the garden's ivy-laced brick wall.

Bertrand Laurent crossed an expansive den with a wood-beamed ceiling and approached the entrance to his well-appointed study with an aristocratic bearing reminiscent of established families with a history of _noblesse oblige_. He paused in the study's doorway. Apricot walls complimented heavy furniture arranged on an Oriental carpet. A wood-framed map of Louisiana hung on the wall opposite his mahogany desk, between a rosewood bookcase and a brown leather wingback chair. "Was the telephone call satisfactory?" Mr. Laurent asked. The middle-aged man was tall and slim, with broad shoulders and sharp features. Like David, he wore a short-sleeve white shirt and khakis.

David shrugged as he turned. Worry lines creased his forehead. " _Mais_ , I dôn know, me. Jack Landry's in Mexico City. He's at a breakfast meetin' wid big shots in da oil bidness. His secretary in New Awlins said he will telephone her when da meetin' ends." David blew out his cheeks. "'Less dere's a miracle, I'm fucked. Da Klan's killed Madeleine's dog. Dere's a note sayin' somebody's gonna die. An' mah family's $25,000 is missin'."

Mr. Laurent checked his round-faced watch. "It's 7:45, the same as it is in Mexico City. If we're lucky, the meetin' will end at 9:00."

"Who am I kiddin'? Jack kan't stop da Klan from a foreign country."

"Jack can shut down his sawmill outside Narrow Bridge with one telephone call. Without paychecks to feed families, the Klan's forced to retreat." He pulled rimless glasses from his shirt's pocket and walked around his desk.

David toyed with the telephone cord as he followed Mr. Laurent's movements. "Da Gerards are in New Awlins. Joseph's somewhere in da marshes. Juz like Arlette, Lucille an' Madeleine won't go to relatives in Baton Rouge. Me, I kan't stop bein' scared fo' dem." He dropped the cord with a _thud_ against the desk. "Da Klan's ridin' dis weekend, ain't id?"

By way of agreement, Mr. Laurent gestured over his shoulder. "On January 21st, the Klan hanged my dog Tippy from that magnolia tree."

David paled. " _Mais non_ , da Klan struck at _you_?"

"No one's immune from the Klan." Mr. Laurent slid a straight back chair from the desk. "I wouldn't contribute to one of their causes. The thugs retaliated. It was as simple as that."

"Where did da Klan git da nerve? You's—"

"Rich?" Mr. Laurent scoffed. "Money and connections don't matter. A local boy's supposed to tow the line. That's why Jack Landry's important. Only an outside force—like the president of an oil company—can bring the Klan to its knees." He removed a slip of paper and a No. 2 yellow pencil from the desk's center drawer. After writing on the paper, he returned the pencil to the drawer, closed it, and shifted his focus to David. "You should have come here and telephoned Jack after you buried Pepper."

" _Mais_ , I worried 'bout leavin' da ladies 'lone, w'at wid Franneaux's house 'cross da road."

Mr. Laurent cocked an eyebrow. "Did Madeleine see the note attached to the rope around Pepper's neck?"

"I dôn tink so, no. Id was muddy unda da porch. Da note was clean inside."

"If the Klan leaves a note, it's out for blood," Mr. Laurent said. "There wasn't a note on Tippy's neck, but the Klan left a note for Moses Dubois. Problem was, Moses couldn't read. Or, for that matter, see worth a damn." Mr. Laurent glanced at the Webster clock on the rosewood chest to the right of his desk. "The Klan lynches white people, too, David."

" _Ouais_ , I know dat." David paced on the Oriental carpet. "When I left Iwo Jima, I neva tought I'd be in a combat situation in da United States. Dis ain't right, Americans killin' each udder." He stopped near the rosewood bookcase, a hard glint in his eyes. "Franneaux's _bon rien_ , good fo' nuttin', a low-life son uh a bitch. Dere's times when one part a me wants to cross da road an' rip his t'roat out," David said and clenched his fists. The veins in his neck pulsated.

"You can't do that." Mr. Laurent gripped the straight back chair.

" _Merde_." David threw his hands up. "I've gotta play a game wid fucked up rules, me. Da Klan does w'at id wants an' hides 'hind da law. If I break da law, I go to jail. I'm havin' a problem wid dis shit. Da only ting da Klan unda'stands is a kick in da balls."

Mr. Laurent scowled. "Talk like that belongs in another era. You're no longer a faceless sharecropper who doesn't vote or pay taxes. You own property. You've got a house. Your son's future rides on the respect you earn usin' your assets to rein in the Klan."

"W'at assets? 'Cept fo' a bit a cash stashed in da house, I'm broke."

The gentleman farmer walked from behind his desk and crossed to the wing chair. As he placed the slip of paper on the lamp table, he glanced at framed diplomas from Louisiana State University and Harvard University on the wall to the left of the chair. "I shouldn't be tellin' you this," he said and sat down, "but Jack's telephoned occasionally to inquire about your mechanic's business." At David's surprised look, Mr. Laurent held his hand up. "Now, Jack hasn't come out and said so, but I've got the impression he thinks you should open a first-class mechanic's shop in Narrow Bridge and be done with it."

"I ain't got da money, me, or da reputation to do dat, no," David said with a wide gesture.

"You don't have to be the boss and the mechanic. You can hire the best mechanic around. When it comes to you, money isn't important to Jack."

" _Mais jamais_! I's not lettin' Jack's money take 'way mah pride."

"Pride, stupid pride. Think about your family, not yourself." Mr. Laurent tipped his fingers together. His eyes scanned David's tousled hair, unshaven face, and wrinkled shirt. Dirt stained the cuffs on his khakis and splattered his brown Thom McAn shoes. "It's time you got your temper and yourself under control."

David stared through the window, his eyes narrowed into a knife's edge. Muscles in his cheek twitched. Oblivious to the Webster clock's hour chime in a room heavy with age and decisions made in painful solitude, David sighed and faced his _pa-rân_ , his mentor. "Meybe you an' Arlette's right," he said with weary resignation. "God knows mah fancy ideas kan't fuck dis up much mo'. What do I do, me?"

Life's crows' feet at the corners of Mr. Laurent's eyes relaxed. "You must take charge of this situation with the Klan in a straight-forward manner. You're no longer followin' a general's order on Iwo Jima."

"Den I made da right decision fo' a change," David said with a hollow laugh.

"How's that?"

"When da secretary's line was busy da first time I dialed, I telephoned Gerald LeBeau. Afta I 'splained mah problem, I axed him to find t'ree combat veterans to hep me. If da Klan rides dis weekend, I'm gonna need a fire team, yeah."

"You're takin' a chance. Gerald gossips more than the women in the church's Altar Society." Mr. Laurent crossed his legs. As if his thoughts were elsewhere, his hand brushed the flattened crease in his khakis.

" _Ouais_ , you're right," David said. " _Mais_ , his daddy was a Marine at Belleau Woods durin' da Great War. I tink Gerald cares mo' 'bout da Marine Corps dan gossipin'."

"Could be," Mr. Laurent said with half a shrug. "Where's Gerald gettin' these men? You're the only Marine veteran I know of livin' along the bayou road."

"Gerald's got contacts in Alexandria t'rew his daddy." David paused. "Da men dôn have to be Marines. Army veterans know how to handle bullies, too."

"I'm relieved to hear that." Mr. Laurent nodded toward the bookcase. "My wife's youngest brother died at the Battle of the Bulge durin' World War II."

David turned. A framed photograph of a Second Lieutenant smiled at him. The photograph's sepia tones had softened untested bravado into cocky confidence.

"Mrs. Laurent and I named our son Maurice after him." He bit his lip and adjusted his glasses. "If the Klan rides this weekend, your men can't shoot to kill. One misstep and the sheriff will lock you up on bogus charges. An attorney sympathetic to the Klan will file motions until you're _fou_ in the cell in Narrow Bridge's courthouse. The judge will order a transfer to the psychiatric hospital in Mandeville. You'll never leave that place."

" _Merde_. W'at happens if da Klan kills me?"

"Nothin'."

"My wife? Lucille or Madeleine?

"An unfortunate huntin' accident. No charges will be filed." Mr. Laurent and David stared at each other until the older man coughed lightly. "After you telephoned yesterday mornin' from the courthouse in Narrow Bridge, I contacted my colleague with the State Banking Commission in Baton Rouge. He said he'd freeze your bank account within the hour. He wants you to telephone the bank's manager and ask why you can't access your money."

"W'at's dat prove?"

"The manager will know you have an inside connection. This is important in Louisiana." He stood and handed David the slip of paper. "After you telephone this number, join me on the verandah out front for a cup of coffee. If Jack telephones, Ruby will come and get us." He turned and left the room.

Within minutes, David walked down the column-lined veranda with white wicker chairs and rockers against the white brick wall. Ivy trailed from large clay pots of summer flowers positioned between columns. When David sat opposite Mr. Laurent, the forest green cushion squished. "Da manager said he had no idea w'at I was talkin' 'bout an' hung up."

"Excellent. Anger mirrors disappointment. Be patient. We'll find your money."

"When? Dis time next Wednesday, mah money's gone fo' good."

"Trust in the system. Banks keep detailed records. Even stolen money can't be moved without a record of a transaction somewhere." Mr. Laurent's face relaxed into a wide smile. "Ah, Ruby's comin' with the coffee."

Ruby Belanger frowned as she approached the men. She was about thirty-five years old, had coarse black hair pulled back into a wiry knot, and walked with the confidence of one who didn't care what others thought. "I ain't makin' no mo' coffee. Dat mud's gonna kill ya dead. Afta you's dead, da Missus is gonna pop mah head like I's a chicken." She positioned a silver tray on the wicker table between the two men. "Da Missus know w'at she be sayin'. An' she's gonna be some mad when she git back from her sista's house. You knows I's gonna tell her you done drank t'ree cups a coffee befo' 9:00. I ain't gittin' her mad at me fo' w'at you done did."

Mr. Laurent averted his housekeeper's eyes. "Now, now. You're upset over nothin'."

"Dat's w'at you tinks," Ruby said, her hand on her hip.

"Men like dere coffee," David said by way of defense.

"Men ain't got no sense," Ruby shook her finger at David. "Look at you. You's skin an' bones, like you dôn eat right when I knows yo wife cooks like da angels. Coffee's da problem. Dat mud do sumptin' funny to da body. I knows it does." Ruby's white uniform rustled in a whoosh of starched cotton as she turned and walked away.

Mr. Laurent downed his coffee. "We've got more serious problems than coffee." He returned his cup to the tray, one eye on David. "I don't think you know that the man who runs Junior's Hardware is the real leader of the Klan. Franneaux is the second in command, what the military calls an executive officer."

" _Sacre´bleu_ , I shoulda listened to Arlette," David said and gulped his coffee. He returned the cup to its saucer on the tray. The saucer rattled. " _Mais_ , id meks sense now w'at Madeleine tole Arlette," David said and wiped sweat from his brow.

"How so?"

"Dat bastard at Junior's was teasin' Madeleine wid a penny candy."

"He eats those damn candies all day long." Mr. Laurent leaned forward. "Do you know the secondary entrance to Franneaux's property, about a mile from his driveway, up from Blanchard's farm?"

David nodded.

"Klansmen use the entrance to circle to the back of Franneaux's house. That's where Franneaux implements Klan decisions made at the hardware store in Narrow Bridge. From Franneaux's secondary entrance, riders access a lane diagonally across the road on Blanchard's place. From there, riders can cross his farm and enter mine, through the gate that separates his farm from my pasture in the back of your house."

" _Merde_." David's eyes traveled to the alley of stately oaks overhanging the white-pebbled approach to Mr. Laurent's plantation home. Two birds squabbled in the shade beneath a thick branch. David shifted his weight in the wicker chair and faced his _pa-rân_. "How good do you git 'long wid Mr. Blanchard?"

"Very well, as much as one can, I suppose. He moved here from Kansas about twenty years ago and never got involved in the community. I have no idea why." Mr. Laurent sat back. "Anyway, Mr. Blanchard sometimes complains my foreman forgets to close the gate to his property. When I talk to Louie, he insists otherwise. Louie says he's found gates open on my property." Mr. Laurent removed a white handkerchief from his khakis' pocket and wiped his glasses. "I think the Klan deliberately leaves gates open. Klansmen want to get in and out.

"Last month four heifers disappeared. I telephoned Sheriff Guidry. He came by, asked a few questions, but decided there was nothin' he could do." Mr. Laurent put his glasses back on. "When I later told Blanchard I thought the Klan had rustled the heifers, he scoffed. We now have a gentleman's agreement to notify each other if there's a need to enter our respective properties."

David gave him a sideways look. "Id's soundin' like Blanchard's in bed wid da Klan."

"No, I don't think so. After Mr. Blanchard suffered a mild stroke two years ago, his demeanor changed, as if he'd given up. I've heard rumors he wants to sell, not just his farm, but the manor house as well, and move. His two sons and a daughter are married and live out-of-state." Mr. Laurent hesitated. "The daughter was on the wild side. Gossips said she caused the stroke when she got involved with a drifter. But you know how people talk. Most of what one hears isn't true."

"I dôn know, me. Arlette heard da troot." He waved aside a bee flirting with him. "W'at 'bout Louie? Dat man come outta nowhere. You sure 'bout him?"

As if uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation, Mr. Laurent dropped his eyes and folded the white handkerchief. "After you left the sharecropper system, I decided to hire a foreman and contract workers. Louie heard about the position. Since he'd worked as a foreman on a Texas ranch, he had the experience. Two months later, I realized Louie couldn't communicate with the field hands." His eyes met David's. "Louie's probationary period expires the end of August. I'm not offerin' him a long-term contract."

"Does Louie know 'bout yo decision?"

"He does. Louie's never married. He's moved on before. He'll survive." Mr. Laurent placed his folded handkerchief in the corner of the silver tray on the table.

"I dôn know w'at to tink, me," David said, his eyes on the magnolia tree.

"Nor do I." Mr. Laurent's index finger traced the wicker's pattern on the chair's arm. "When you arrived this mornin', you said you weren't upset Remy was in Narrow Bridge. I hope you were tellin' me the truth."

" _Mai oui_. Da Klan's _fou_. You made da right decision gittin' Maurice an' Remy outta here, yeah." David chuckled. "I dôn know 'bout Arlette. When mah Cajun stick a dynamite gits ova bein' mad, she's gonna worry 'bout Remy's clothes."

"The suitcase he had when he came contained enough clothes to last a month," Mr. Laurent said with a laugh. "Now, I admit the boys fussed about wakin' up at dawn. But Mrs. Laurent has a way of turnin' frowns into smiles, especially when she gets to visit her sister in Narrow Bridge. By the way," he added, "there's a model train exhibition at the National Guard Armory I think the boys will enjoy."

"Dat's good. Dey'll fo'git 'bout bein' tired when dey see da trains, yeah." David glanced at the magnolia tree. "I wish Jack would telephone."

"Ruby does, too."

"Ruby?"

Mr. Laurent nodded. "Moses Dubois was Ruby's brother. He was married to Jacob's mother's sister. When Jacob's aunt died in childbirth, Ruby raised the child as if Daniel were her natural born son." Mr. Laurent's expression darkened. "Ruby was terrified the Klan would lynch Daniel next. She was so scared she worked the sharecropper wagons to get Daniel to her sister's shack in Fleur de Lis Parish."

David's jaw dropped. "W'at da hell's goin' on? Daniel's a sixteen-year ole boy who tinks like a two-year old. Ev'rybody knows Daniel was born dat way an' won't git any betta."

"The Klan doesn't care about Daniel's mental condition. The Klan wants revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Even though Moses Dubois was practically blind, he found a way to ride a sharecropper wagon into Narrow Bridge with Daniel. The wagon stopped near the courthouse. Daniel jumped down before Moses could stop him. Moses caught up with Daniel just as a white woman rounded the corner. Mrs. Franneaux told the police Daniel drooled when Moses grabbed her breast."

Chapter Five

### St. Augustine Grass

After thanking Ruby for the morning coffee, David went outside with Mr. Laurent. " _Merci_ _beaucoup_ , sir. I dôn know w'at me an' mah family would do widout you," David said as they walked beneath the side portico.

"Oh, I think you'd manage," Mr. Laurent said. "Your instincts are good. Your heart's in the right place. Perhaps your temper's a problem, but you'll learn to keep it under control."

"Meybe," David said and got into his Ford. As he drove down the alley of oak trees, the sedan's wheels crunched on the white pebbles as if they were ice. Birds squawked and scattered into the overhanging branches. At the end of the driveway, David turned left onto the bayou road and rushed the gears into third, not slowing until he turned into his driveway. When the sedan rounded the curve to his house, his hands squeezed the steering wheel. " _Merde_. Da windows is shut." He gunned the Ford up the driveway and slammed on the brakes in front of his house. After taking the porch steps two at a time, he yanked free the interior latch on the screen door and unlocked the wooden door.

As if appraising a combat zone, David's eyes surveyed the living room to his left. With a satisfied nod, he crossed the hall and entered the sitting room, a sparse room with a curio cabinet and two upholstered chairs. He closed the door and stepped around the staircase. After a glance into the hall bathroom, he scanned the dining room and then headed for the China hutch. He reached behind a low, but wide, arrangement of plastic flowers above the hutch and retrieved a .45 caliber Colt pistol. After switching the safety off, he went to the kitchen. He nodded at the drawn curtains to the side and back of the kitchen table with six chairs around it, the closed interior wooden door, and returned to the front of the hall.

In the left bedroom upstairs, Madeleine slept with an arm around Bitsy, the pink- haired ragdoll Lucille had crocheted. Across the hall, in the master bedroom, Arlette lay curled on the double bed's white bedspread, her hands beneath her cheek as if in prayer. With a sigh, he walked down the hall, checked the bathroom, and then cracked the closed door to the guest bedroom. "Good. Lucille's here," he said to himself in Cajun French and crossed to a fourth bedroom converted into an office. He switched his Colt's safety on, stuck the weapon into the small of his back, and removed keys on a hook at the back of the knotty-pine gun cabinet. The front panels opened with ease.

After positioning three Remington deer rifles with sights and boxes of ammunition in the living room and sitting room, David switched his Colt's safety off and opened the front door. Forty-five minutes later, he had reconnoitered the oversized lawns, the thicket of pine trees, open areas between the houses, and approached the busted shed in his back yard. " _Gosh da dônc_ , dere's nuttin'." He kicked the St. Augustine grass. "Son uh a bitch," he said and stooped low. After dislodging a penny candy wrapper trapped in the St. Augustine grass, he walked toward the back steps with the wrapper in his pocket and the Colt in his right hand.

As he unlocked the back door and eased the kitchen door open, a moan drifted in the room's quiet. With his Colt extended, David slipped around the chair at the end of the kitchen table near the window. Jacob slept on a pallet between the table and the side window. He wore Remy's pajamas.

David flipped the pistol's safety on and returned the weapon to the small of his back.

"Shhh. Jacob need some _doe doe_ ," Arlette said and moved out of the hall's shadows. She was barefoot.

David wiped sweat from his brow and crossed to her. "Da Klan's got Henri Doucet, no?"

She nodded and motioned for him to follow her. They huddled behind a wing chair near the sofa in front of the window in the living room. "'Bout a half-hour afta you left dis mornin', 'round 7:30, Jacob banged on da back door. Da chile was screamin' da Klan done lynched his daddy last night."

David's hand flew to Arlette's shoulder. " _Ain_? Jacob saw his daddy bein' lynched?"

Arlette shook her head no. "Id took a bit to git him calmed down befo' he was talkin' straight." She rubbed scratch marks on her arms the color of the poppies in her sundress. "When Henri ain't come in from da fields yestaday evenin', Jacob went lookin' fo' him. Fo' some reason, he tought his daddy done took sick, and da udder sharecroppas brung Henri here. So Jacob took off fo' our place. Dat's when he seen Klansmen ridin' on da bayou road."

David's jaw twitched. "Did da Klansmen have Henri wid dem?"

" _Non_ , he ain't seen his daddy nowheres. _Mais_ , seein' da Klansmen scared him, an' he run back to his shack. Da chile sat up all night, 'fraid da Klan was comin' fo' him. Den he come here dis mornin'."

"Dose fuckin' bastards," David said and slammed his fist into his hand. "If I eva git mah hands on dem." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His shoulders loosened. "Da first ting we need to do is git 'hold a Jacob's cousin. Royce needs to know 'bout Henri."

"Jacob tole me his cousin ain't got no telephone. I done asked him dat."

" _Merde_.

"Royce's gonna be here fo' Labor Day. Jacob kin stay here 'till den, yeah."

"Meybe," David said. He went to the living room's side widow, peeped through a crack in the beige curtains and turned. Eyes like molten lava stared at a Woolworth copy of a Monet painting above the credenza to his left. Two women in hats and long dresses stood on a grassy cliff that overlooked white-tipped ocean waves. " _Mais_ , I dôn know, me, if Jacob's safe here," he said and returned to Arlette's side. He then related the morning's conversation with Mr. Laurent.

" _Cher Bon Dieu_ ," Arlette said, her hands on her face. She blinked back tears. "Mah heart's achin' fo' Ruby. Daniel dôn know he's got a chile's mind in a man's body. He trust ev'rybody to do right by him." Arlette stepped around the wingback chair and sat on the gold velvet sofa. "Meybe da Klan dôn know Jacob's here."

"I dôn tink so."

"You's seen da curtains move in Franneaux's house, no?"

" _Ouais_ ," David agreed. "Even I know dat bitch he's got fo' a wife watches our house from her upstairs window." He tossed a green needlepoint pillow aside and sat next to Arlette on the sofa.

"Mah friends at church is sayin' she's no betta dan her husband," Arlette said and took David's hand in hers. " _Boo_ , you knows da Klan ain't gonna do nuttin' when da sun's shinin'. Jacob's gonna be safe here fo' now. You's gotta tell Mr. Laurent 'bout Henri disappearin'." She flopped back on the sofa. " _Bon Dieu_ , we needs a telephone. Da parish can't put dose lines in soon nuff."

"Dere's a lot a tings da damn parish needs to do." David shook his head and faced Arlette. "Afta I talk wid Mr. Laurent, I want to take a look at his back pastures. Da only way is fo' Louie to drive me. I dôn know da layout, no."

"Why's you goin' dere?" Arlette sat forward on the sofa. "Da Klan grabbed Henri in Blanchard's pasture."

"Henri's stubborn, _entêté_. Dere's a chance he made a ruckus an' forced da Klan to split up. Jacob didn't see his daddy wid the Klansmen on da road. Dere's gotta be anodder group wid Henri. Meybe da group wid Henri hid out on Mr. Laurent's place 'till dey figured out w'at to do."

"Is you sayin' Henri's alive?" Arlette asked, her voice incredulous.

"Dere's a chance, _ouais_." David drummed his fingers on the cover of _The Saturday Evening Post_ lying on the coffee table. "Da Klan musta kidnapped Henri when I was lookin' fo' Madeleine unda da porch. Dusk was settin' in. Dey had to move fast." His shoulders tensed. "Fuck. Meybe da Klan's got a bigger plan."

"How's dat?"

"W'at if you're right 'bout da Klan wantin' us outta our house?" He faced Arlette. "W'at if da Klan's forcin' a power play? If we leave our house, Henri Doucet lives. If we dôn, da Klan lynches him."

Arlette paled. "Dat kan't be, no. You's wrong. Da Klan kan't trap us."

"Da Klan's already done dat, _beb_. You's fo'gittin' da connection 'tween Moses Dubois an' Jacob."

Arlette lunged at him. "You son uh a bitch. Remy's at Mr. Laurent's house." Her fists pounded his chest. "Mah baby's gonna die 'cause you was pigheaded." David grabbed her hands. She yanked free. "Nuttin' woulda happened if yo shit junk was in Narrow Bridge."

" _Beb_ , please. I done tole you. Remy and Maurice is in Narrow Bridge."

The silence between them sucked the air out of the room. "I's not feelin' good, good." With her hand at her mouth, Arlette rushed from the living room.

David waited outside the hall bathroom. When the door opened, Arlette's face was ashen. " _Mo chagren_ , _mon amour_ ," he said and wrapped his arm around her. "I'm sorry I was pigheaded. I shoulda moved mah bidness to Narrow Bridge like you been sayin'." She resisted his nudge toward the kitchen. "You need a glass a water."

"I's drank some _eau_ in da bathroom." Arlette leaned into him. "I's wrong fo' bein' mean to ya, _beb_. _Mo chagren_. I knows Remy's safe."

David nestled his chin into her hair. "Dis Klan mess is too much. I couldn't take id if sumptin' happened to you, _mon bébé_. I'd die inside. I want you to go to da Catholic Church. Father Lorio will take you in. Lucille an' Madeleine, too."

" _Mais jamais_. If I's not here an' you's by Mr. Laurent's, da Klan might take da house. If dey gits in, dere's no gittin' dem out."

"Shhh. Dôn talk like dat. Louisiana's got laws. Da Klan kan't take a house widout people knowin'."

"I ain't takin' no chances." Arlette stepped out of his embrace. A smile played on her lips. "I knows how to shoot, yeah. Lucille do, too. We ain't gonna live on da side a da road in no tent." She caressed his cheek. "You's gotta git to Mr. Laurent's. I wants to lay down upstairs. Mah tummy's actin' funny. Lucille's here if I needs hep. You's gotta find Henri whiles you kin."

They walked to the staircase at the front of the hall. "If Henri dies, I'm goin' to mah grave blamin' mah'self. I never shoulda let Remy play wid Jacob. I set ev'rybody up to git hurt," David said.

"Dôn you go blamin' yo'self. Life ain't life widout a mess a tings hurtin'." Arlette stopped at the balustrade. Color had returned to her cheeks. Her full lips glistened in the mid-morning light. "Me, I wasn't knowin' 'till today I was in one a dem messes. When we was sharecroppas, nobody cared if we was talkin' to da devil. Now dat we got us a house, da Klan's tryin' to scare us, like we ain't gonna be real white people no mo' if we's not doin' w'at dey wants. We—w'at's da matta?"

"Somebody's comin'." David rushed into the living room and returned with a grin on his face. "Gerald LeBeau's here."

" _Mais non_. I ain't gittin' mixed up wid no men talkin'. I's goin' upstairs to lay down. You go on out." Arlette blew him a kiss and went upstairs.

The balding grocer in his mid-thirties slammed his truck's door shut and walked toward David. He was of average height, had deep set brown eyes and a slack jaw. David greeted him with a slap on the back and a firm handshake. "I was gonna telephone ya from Mr. Laurent's house. You got any news fo' me 'bout dose veterans? I need hep fast, yeah. Da Klan's got Henri Doucet."

Gerald blinked wide. "W'at da fuck?"

"His boy's sleepin' in mah house."

"You shittin' me?"

"I wish I was, _shá_ ," David said, his hand on Gerald's shoulder. "You heard anyting 'bout da Klan gittin' mad 'cause Jacob axed Remy to his bir'day party?"

"I ain't heard a damn ting." He gave David a sideways look. "Dat ain't good. When I dôn hear 'bout blacks an' whites goin' at id, trouble's comin." Gerald dropped his voice. " _Mais_ , I got a bit a _lagniappe_ fo' ya dat might hep." His eyes darted to the right and left. "Fou', not t'ree, Marine Corps veterans are gonna be here at dusk on Friday, day afta tomorrow. Kin you hold out 'till den, _pod-nah_?"

"I kin. Henri kan't."

"Dôn be _cooyôn_. Henri's swingin' from a tree somewheres."

David shook his head. "I dôn tink so, no. Da Klan grabbed Henri on Blanchard's place, den run scared. I tink dey hid out in one a Mr. Laurent's back pastures. I'm goin' by his place now to take a look. Meybe da Klan's horses dropped some pies, an' I kin follow a trail."

"Want me to go wid you?"

"Dere's no need, no. I'll git Louie to come wid me."

" _Mais_ you ain't leavin' da ladies 'lone. I'm sittin' on yo porch wid mah shotgun." Gerald nodded toward his Ford truck. "Got mah baby wid me, yeah."

"You's a good, good man, Gerald." Their eyes locked in shared understanding. " _Merde_ ," David said and swatted at a gnat. "I'm sick a dese damn me-me's."

"Dat's anodder reason I come by. Da damndest ting done happened." Gerald scratched his chin. "I tink you might be on one a dem islands in da Caribbean next year. No gnats dere."

"W'at da hell you talkin' 'bout?"

"Oil."

"Come on, Gerald, da Klan's breathin' up mah ass, and you's talkin' _cooyôn_. I ain't got no time fo' dis shit, no."

"Make time." Gerald inched closer. "A man from Gulf Oil was by mah _magazin_ yestaday. _Mais_ , he come by 'bout six weeks ago. Didn't tink much 'bout id at da time. Dat was a mistake 'cause dis mess wid Franneaux's been brewin' eva since."

"Spit id out, Gerald. W'at you talkin' 'bout?"

"Dere might be oil on Mr. Laurent's place. But Franneaux can't git at da land. Dat's why Franneaux wants da land Mr. Laurent deeded to you. He's usin' yo bidness fo' da 'cuse to git ya outta here," Gerald said.

"Dat's bullshit. Jack Landry's in da oil bidness. He'd know 'bout oil here," David said.

"Meybe not. Yo patron saint works da marsh parishes," Gerald said.

"Mr. Laurent's neva said nuttin' 'bout Gulf Oil," David said.

"Meybe he wants ya to git a cut." Gerald shrugged. "Compared to w'at Mr. Laurent owns, yo t'ree acres ain't squat. _Mais_ , id don't matta, no. Id's all 'bout how da oil runs unda da ground. If dat liquid gold pees one drop on yo property, you gits eight royalty acres fo' each a da acres you owns. Dat's nuff to mek you stinkin' rich, _pod-nah_."

"Who's to say dere ain't oil on Franneaux's property?" David asked, caution on his face.

"Franneaux ain't takin' no chances. Da state a Louisiana owns da drainage ditch an' da road out front. If dat oil's on yo side a da road, Franneaux's fucked."

Chapter Six

### Oak Tree

Louie, David, and Mr. Laurent stood in a loose circle on the lawn between a 1951 Chevy truck parked on the driveway and the storehouse. The rectangular, white-sided building with long and white-curtained front windows was about a hundred yards behind Mr. Laurent's plantation home. A herringbone-patterned brick walkway lined with flowerbeds connected the two buildings. Unlike the two-story manor house with multiple fireplace chimneys, the storehouse's peaked roof slanted downwards, Cajun style, and spread to white posts supported by a herringbone brick foundation. White rockers and wicker chairs faced the back of the manor house.

After a glance at wisps of white clouds in the summer sky, Louie stepped back. The thirty-something foreman, dressed in faded jeans and a torn, yellow-plaid shirt, had a ruddy complexion, eyes the color of nails, and high cheekbones. He propped a foot on the green Chevy's running board and flicked dust from his boot's triple welt, round toe, then rubbed spittle on a section of the red-topped leather. When finished, he smiled as he ran his fingers across at the boot's dotted and raised swirls.

"It's 11:30," Mr. Laurent said. "Louie, you and Mr. Broussard must return from Mr. Blanchard's pasture by 3:00. If not, I'll assume you've encountered difficulties and telephone the sheriff in Narrow Bridge. We can't take chances, not with the Klan operatin' at will. Henri Doucet's life is at stake."

"Don't worry, boss. I'll git it ova with in time," Louie said, lifting his gaze.

Mr. Laurent gave Louie a blank look.

"Does Mr. Blanchard know w'at we're doin'?" David asked. He was a head taller than Louie and, unlike Louie, clean-shaven. Both were hatless.

"I'll telephone Mr. Blanchard shortly and inform him." Mr. Laurent rubbed the sides of his mouth. "Louie?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want another misunderstandin' with Mr. Blanchard. Make sure you close his gate."

"No problem, boss."

"I hope not." Mr. Laurent turned and walked away.

As Louie opened the door on the driver's side of the truck, David stood motionless, his thumbs hooked on his jeans' pockets. "Dose are some good-lookin' boots you're wearin'. Ain't neva seen skins like dat befo'. Dem boots from Texas?"

"Nope." Louie got into the truck and started the engine.

With his head down, David walked around the back of the truck and opened the passenger's door. As he stepped onto the running board, Louie lurched the Chevy forward. As if to make a statement, David swung hard in his seat and slammed the door shut. Louie gripped the steering wheel and drove as if David weren't there. The graveled driveway, an extension of the entrance to the plantation's compound, wrapped behind the storehouse, curved right after seventy-five yards and led to the gate to the first pasture and a narrow farm road grated smooth.

"Mr. Laurent's sure got hisself a nice barn." David pointed to an applejack barn with sheds and horse stalls attached. Its red paint was the color of pig's blood.

"Yeah, the boss ain't shy 'bout spendin' money on equipment. He's got a couple mo' barns behin' the hay pastures." Louie idled the truck's engine and opened the door. "Gonna git that gate," Louie said.

While he waited for Louie, David's eyes surveyed the flat pasture. "Id's damn quiet 'round here," he said when Louie returned. "Where's yo men?"

"I gave 'em the day off." Louie half-shrugged and slapped a fly out of the open window.

"You gave yo men da day off on a T'ursday? Dat dôn mek sense," David said.

"I'm jist a nice guy." The gears grated when Louie shifted from neutral to first. "This truck ain't worth a damn," he said and rammed the gear into second.

After Louie had opened and closed three gates, David stretched and rubbed his back. "Want me to hep wid da gates?"

"Don't need nobody mindin' mah business," Louie said.

"You're makin' good, good time," David said, ignoring the slight.

Louie smiled and glanced at David's wrist. "That's a nice time piece you got."

"Mr. Laurent loaned me his ole watch dis mornin'. He's serious 'bout callin' da sheriff if we're late."

"Yeah. The boss don't like fuck-ups. He chews yo ass real good when things don't go his way." Louie stomped the accelerator. As the truck sped forward, Louie's face contorted. "Why was you pointin' at the barn befo' I walked up this mornin'?"

"I axed Mr. Laurent why you were ridin' a horse in da pasture behin' mah house," David said, his voice neutral.

"Since when I gotta check with you befo' I do mah job?"

"Nobody's sayin' you do. I was juz axin'," David said.

Louie hunched over the steering wheel and drove the Chevy with singular determination. David took a deep breath, then settled into the ride. White-faced Herefords grazed in pastures intersected with cow paths that crisscrossed the farm road. Flies hovered above fresh cow dung. Metal fences with four rows of barbed wire between wooden posts separated the pastures. The barbed wire glinted hot. Pasture grasses drooped beneath the high sun, a salad of yellows and greens peppered with black dung. Salt licks glistened bright white next to longitudinally split water barrels.

"We're in the fourth pasture back and the fifth one 'cross." Louie said, breaking the silence.

"You sure know dis place," David said and leaned forward.

"That's mah job." He spit out the window. "Afta this pasture, I'm gonna follow the road down and cut across five mo' pastures to Blanchard's place." He shot a look at David. "You'll git to see yo house." Louie shook his head. "Three white houses in a row. You boys got lucky. Meybe a bit too lucky."

"W'at you mean by dat?" David asked.

"Don't mean nuttin' by it, 'cept meybe luck don't make hard work seem fair."

"Me and mah wife sharecropped fo' a long time. She was deservin' betta," David said.

"Women are born to work and have babies. Anything else is fo' men to have fun," Louie said and laughed.

After David reached for the water canteen on the seat next to him and quenched his thirst, he shifted to his right. His jaw tightened. "Dis road forks to da left up dere, no?"

"That's how I git to the hay pastures."

"Let's take a look," David said. He screwed the cap on the canteen and dropped it next to him on the beige leather seat.

"Ain't nuttin' there 'cept grass 'bout ready to be cut fo' hay," Louie said.

David pressed his face closer to the windshield. "Dat looks like a big stand a trees ova dere to da left."

"Yeah. There's 'bout five acres the boss wants to cut fo' timber in a couple a years." Louie wiped the back of his neck with his hand. "The boss sure knows how to make money."

David sat back in his seat and eyed Louie. "Is he gonna cut dose oak trees in front a dem pines?"

"Don't know. Don't care."

"Dere's buzzards circlin' ova dem trees."

"Probably a deer got in trouble. That happens."

"Take a left up dere at da fork. I want to see fo' mah'self."

"We can't chase deer, git to Blanchard's place, and be back in time," Louie said. "If the fuckin' sheriff comes out fo' nuttin', he's gonna throw a hissy fit."

"You let me worry 'bout dat. Take a left."

"Whatever you say, boss man."

The truck's speed increased. The speedometer's needle pushed its 80-mile per hour limit. Hot air blasted through the windows as if the sun fueled a furnace. Clutter on the dashboard rustled. David glanced out the back window. A billowing cloud of dust followed the truck. When he faced forward, a scrap of paper flew off the dashboard and hit him on the forehead. It fell into the crevice between his seat and the door. David angled his left shoulder away from Louie. His right hand gripped the vent window's frame.

"Hold on," Louie said. As he swung the truck wide for a hard left, his elbow hit the horn. Dust filled the cab. Louie gagged and slammed on the brakes. "I need a drink a water," he said and cut the truck's engine. With one hand over his mouth, he opened the truck's door with his other hand.

David got out of the truck and stood near the front of the bed. His eyes followed the foreman's movements as he lowered the tailgate and pulled himself up. After stepping around a mountainous fold of black tarpaulin and snippets of rope, twine, and wire, Louie stooped near the metal toolbox beneath the cab's window. He stared at an assortment of boxes and cans and frowned. "Mah canteen ain't here. Guess I left it back at the storehouse."

"You kin have a swig a mah water. Dere's a bit left," David said. After they got back into the truck, David handed him the canteen.

"The day's a hot one." Louie unscrewed the cap and gulped the water. "Makes me wish I was back in Texas, 'way from this fuckin' humidity." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the canteen to David.

"Louisiana's not fo' ev'rybody," David said.

"Neva said I couldn't handle the heat, jist said I wished I was back in Texas." When Louie reached past the steering wheel and pulled a soiled handkerchief from the cluttered dashboard, his shirt's sleeve pulled up. "Like what you see?" Louie asked.

"W'at? Dat tattoo on da top a yo arm?"

"Yeah." Louie wiped his forehead and tossed the handkerchief back onto the dashboard.

"You shouldn't hide a cross in a circle. People are religious here," David said.

"People got religion in Texas, too."

"Is dat where you got da tattoo, in Texas?"

"Yeah. Friend a mine runs a tattoo parlor near Amarillo. He done it fo' free," Louie said.

"Nice friend," David said.

"Me and mah friends stick together. It's the only way to survive," Louie said, a bite in his voice. With his left foot on the clutch, he turned the key in the ignition and resumed driving, but kept the truck in second gear. "The engine ain't soundin' right," he said. "I'm gonna check it out."

"You do dat," David said. After Louie raised the truck's hood, David eased his door open, pulled his Colt from the small of his back, and maneuvered into position behind the truck's bed.

When Louie slammed the truck's hood down, he held a snub-nosed .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver in his right hand. The 1952 Centennial model had a five-round chamber and a barrel less than two inches long. Louie stared at the truck's window and then waved the pistol as he pivoted in a half circle. "Where you at, white trash?"

"Why's you talkin' to yo'self, Louie?" David asked.

"Don't bullshit me. Black people don't sleep in white people's houses." Louie fired above the Chevy and crouched low.

"Knock dat shit off. Jacob's a chile."

"I don't give a fuck how ole his black ass is. Boy's no betta than an animal. Animals don't sleep in houses."

"Dôn tell me w'at da fuck to do in mah house."

Louie laughed.

"W'at's so funny?"

"The surprises we've got fo' you, boy."

David stood and fired a round to the far left of the truck's hood, followed by another round closer in, then another as Louie jerked to his right. With his arm extended, David ran alongside the right side of the truck's bed and fired above Louie's head. When Louie turned, his boot stubbed cow dung. David kicked the Smith & Wesson out of Louie's hand, tackled him to the ground, and pinned his wrists to the sides of his face. "Who's hangin' from dat oak tree?" David asked.

"Ain't nobody hangin' nowhere," Louie said as he squirmed to break free.

"Try agin, you son uh a bitch." David slammed his knee into Louie's groin.

Louie screamed. The primeval sound hovered and then fell into the buzz of flies returning to nearby cow dung.

"Who's hangin' from dat tree?" David asked.

"Ain't neva seen the kid befo'," Louie said. His voice came between dry gasps and desperate squirms.

"You mean Daniel?" David raised his knee.

Terror rippled across Louie's face. He retched. "I didn't do it, Mr. Broussard. I swear I didn't. Charley— "

David grabbed Louie's hair and pulled his head up. "Where's Henri Doucet?"

"Don't know."

"You's a lyin' sack a shit. Where's Henri Doucet?" David punched him in the stomach.

A scream ripped through Louie's body and died in a guttural moan buried beneath vomit. "Franneaux's got him," he said, his words struggling through vomit seeping from his mouth.

"Where?" David raised his fist.

"Don't know." Louie writhed in his excrement and vomit.

David jerked Louie to his feet and shoved him into the open pasture. "Dôn try no funny stuff," he said and walked backwards to the truck. After his boot's heel gained traction on the running board, David pulled a rifle from the rolled tarp with his left hand. He smiled at the 870, 12 gauge Remington Wingmaster. "You's right, Louie. You's a nice guy. I's been wantin' to pump an' shoot dis beauty eva since id came out." He stepped down, flipped his Colt's safety on, and stuck the weapon into his jeans' waist. He then slid the Remington's safety off. "To show you how grateful I is, you's gittin' a chance," David said.

"What kinda chance?" Louie asked, his hands on his groin.

"Take yo clothes off."

"No. You ain't leavin' me jackass naked in this heat."

"Git outta yo fuckin' clothes or I's shootin' yo right boot off."

"No. I've got a wife and a daughter to support."

"Dat's nice." David smiled. "I's happy when people git religion an' care fo' one anodder."

Louie stared at the Remington. "I'm plenty religious, Mr. Broussard. I neva miss church on Sunday. You's seen the cross on mah arm."

"Nice try, Louie. Too bad yo tattoo is da Klan's circle a brodderhood." David jerked right and fired the Remington shotgun from his waist. The chestnut horse that had ridden out of nowhere reared and threw its rider. The body lay crumpled on the ground, unmoving as the horse bolted across the pasture.

Louie screamed and charged David. "You killed mah cousin. You killed Charley."

David butted Louie on the head with the Remington. He slumped to the ground.

After ejecting the spent round from the shotgun's side portal, David removed rope from the back of the truck and tied Louie's ankles and legs together. "You's gonna live, Louie. Too bad," he said and turned.

David drove to the fallen rider, got out of the truck, and pulled the white hood from his head. "Charley, you's one sorry 'cuse fo' a human bein'." He flung Charley over his shoulder and carried him to the truck's bed. David then drove to within three feet of a thick utility rope dangling from a gnarled oak tree in front of the pine trees. After pulling rounds from his jeans' pocket, he re-loaded his Colt and got out of the truck. A horse neighed when Daniel's body hit the ground.

Chapter Seven

### Lilies

Mr. Laurent stood on the lawn opposite his house's portico. His hair was disheveled, his face haggard. With his feet shoulder-width apart, he raised his Marlin 336 Winchester hunting rifle and snuggled the buttstock into his shoulder blade. As the green Chevy approached the first gate, he pressed the trigger to its firewall. When David got out of the truck, he released the trigger pressure and lowered the 20-inch rifle barrel. He crossed to the storehouse, hooked the Winchester in the gun rack on the wall in the front room, and proceeded to the driveway.

When the truck disappeared behind the storehouse, he stared into the unknown as if dazed. When David pulled up alongside, he glanced at the empty passenger's seat and bit his lip. "Your hunch about Louie was right," he said.

David nodded. "Da bastard went crazy befo' he turned on dat hay pasture road."

"I telephoned the sheriff when I heard the gunshots." Mr. Laurent said, his hand on his forehead. "I worried about you. You took a big chance."

David's eyes met Mr. Laurent's. " _Merci beaucoup_ , _pod-nah_." David got out of the truck and wrapped his arm around Mr. Laurent's shoulder. He nudged him backwards, away from the truck. "When Louie's elbow hit da horn, I knew somebody was gonna follow da sound from Blanchard's place." David paused. "Charley's unda da tarp in da back a da truck."

"The Charley who drives the sharecropper wagon?"

"Yeah, dat Charley. He came at me on horseback. Widout a horse snortin' in da pine trees, he'd a gotten me."

" _Bon Dieu._ You could have been killed." Sweat rolled down Mr. Laurent's forehead. "Did you kill Charley?" he asked, fear in his voice.

" _Non_. I didn't kill him. I got off a round befo' Charley did. Da shot surprised da horse. When his horse t'rew him, Charley's neck broke."

Mr. Laurent closed his eyes, as if to gather his thoughts. Flies buzzed his sweat-drenched shirt. "Where's Louie?"

David returned to the truck and shut the door. "I left him in da pasture. Louie's buddies in da pine trees kin deal wid his smashed balls." David faced his _pa-ran_. "Charley and Louie's been workin' togedder. Dere was a small can a poison in da back a da truck. Dat's how dey killed Tippy an' Peppa." He hesitated. "Louie's got pretty good English. Charley musta written da note."

As if in slow motion, Mr. Laurent took his glasses off. He wiped his forehead and the corners of his eyes. "Losing Tippy was like losing another child. We lost so many babies before Maurice was born." His voice faded into a heavy sigh.

David swirled a rock with his booted foot. "Life dôn seem fair when da heart's hurtin'."

"No, it don't." Mr. Laurent put his glasses back on. "It kicks like hell."

"Louie's got a wife an' a kid. Charley was his first cousin," David said, meeting Mr. Laurent's eyes.

" _Bon Dieu_. Antoinette was right."

" _Ain_?"

Mr. Laurent paced in a circle. "Antoinette Jarreau is one of the women in the church's Altar Society," he said, his hands restless. "She gossiped Blanchard's daughter had gotten pregnant by a drifter and married him. It never occurred to me Louie was that drifter."

" _Mais_ , dat makes sense. Dat's how Louie found out you needed a fo'man. Blanchard tole him," David said and gripped the Chevy's vent window.

"But why would Blanchard help Louie?"

David dropped his head. He tapped his foot on the pebbles. "You tole me Blanchard's kids didn't live in Louisiana?" he said, looking at Mr. Laurent sideways. "An' Blanchard wanted to sell his farm an' move?"

Mr. Laurent stopped pacing.

"Meybe Louie was blackmailin' Blanchard into sellin' him da farm, meybe givin' him da place. Dat way, his wife's brodders ain't got a farm to inherit," David said.

Mr. Laurent turned toward the truck's bed. His eyes lingered on a swarm of flies above the bed as thick as a black cloud. He adjusted his glasses and coughed lightly. "What do you mean, blackmailin' Blanchard?"

" _Mais_ , if Blanchard wanted to see his grandbaby, Louie had da power to mek Blanchard do w'at he wanted."

"When it comes to money, there's no limit to greed," Mr. Laurent said, his eyes narrowed at the truck's bed. "Charley hasn't been dead long. There are too many flies around that truck. Who else is lying there?"

David blew out his cheeks. "I couldn't put Charley in da truck straight 'cause a his broken neck. He's unda da tarp in front a da truck's wheel." He dropped his eyes. "Daniel's under da tarp in da middle a da truck. Da buzzards got to him befo' I did."

" _Cher Bon Dieu_." Mr. Laurent's hand trembled as he made the Sigh of the Cross. "I-I don't know how to tell Ruby. She thinks Daniel's safe in Fleur de Lis Parish."

Pain filled David's eyes. "Id ain't right, a momma havin' to put lilies on her baby's grave. If dis happened to Remy, I tink—" His jaw dropped.

With its blue light flashing and its growler siren blasting from the fender, a black and white police car sped toward the farm. Birds scattered and rocks flew when the Chevy roared up the driveway. After the special effects faded, the front passenger's door opened. A stocky but fit man in his early thirties walked around the front of the sedan. He had heavy-lidded eyes and thin lips in a round face. His right hand rested on the side arm attached to his beige uniform's black belt.

"I's Sheriff Guidry," he said to David and then nodded at Mr. Laurent. "W'at's da problem, sir? Is you missin' mo' cattle?"

Mr. Laurent's features hardened. "Cattle rustlin' isn't the immediate problem."

"Id kan't git much worse dan dat fo' a cattleman," Sheriff Guidry said.

"Yes, it can," Mr. Laurent said, authority in his voice. "The Klan lynched my housekeeper's son. Daniel Belanger's body is lying in the back of that truck."

Sheriff Guidry glanced at the Chevy. "Did you find da body?" he asked, nonplused.

"No. I-I would've had a heart attack," Mr. Laurent said and dropped his eyes. "Mr. Broussard found Daniel hangin' from a tree in one of my back pastures."

Sheriff Guidry fought to suppress a downturned smile as he faced David. "I's heard 'bout you. You's dat rich sharecroppa who come back from da War wid lots a medals. You knows how to shoot an' kill real good."

Mr. Laurent coughed lightly. "Mr. Broussard defended himself when a Klansman on horseback attempted to kill him. Mr. Broussard fired a round that scared the rider's horse. Charley got thrown and died from a broken neck. His body is also in the truck."

Sheriff Guidry reeled back in surprise. "You's shittin' me. Dat little guy drivin' da sharecroppa wagon? Charley's dead?"

Mr. Laurent nodded yes.

" _Mais_ , dat dôn mek sense, no," he said, his hand in the air. "Charley was a good, good man. Neva missed goin' to church on Sunday."

"Did Charley wear a sheet to church?" David asked.

Sheriff Guidry laughed. "You hear dat," he said to the approaching deputy. He was younger, in his twenties, and pencil thin. "Dis sharecroppa's sayin' Charley was lynchin' people."

"I dôn believe dat, no. Sounds like dis white trash is holdin' a grudge ginst Charley," the deputy said. "You knows how dose sharecroppas go at id."

"I'm not a sharecroppa," David said.

"You's a rich sharecroppa," Sheriff Guidry said with a throaty laugh. His expression darkened. "Meybe you done had a problem wid Charley from when you was ridin' da wagon?"

The deputy pushed his uniform hat back and scratched his head. "Meybe he owed Charley some money an' didn't wanna pay up."

"I knew we did da right ting, hirin' you," Sheriff Guidry said to the deputy and gave David a smug look. "Charley tole me he was savin' up to buy a car. He wanted to drive a taxi in New Awlins. How's I to know you ain't cheated Charley outta his hard-earned money?"

"That's ridiculous," Mr. Laurent said. "I can vouch for Mr. Broussard. He doesn't owe anyone a dime."

"Meybe you's not knowin' da full story," Sheriff Guidry said.

"Sheriff, you're lookin' in the wrong place," Mr. Laurent said. "There's a dead child lyin' in that truck. I'd like to know how a rope got around Daniel's neck. If you're not interested in findin' out, I'll telephone the head of the state police in Baton Rouge."

Sheriff Guidry blanched. " _Mais_ , dôn git mad at me. I's juz got here an' dôn know who done w'at."

"If you was doin' yo job an' cared 'bout Moses Dubois', you'd be knowin'," David said and stepped closer. "Meybe you's waitin' fo' one a dem Civil Rights workers to find out fo' you."

"I's not givin' a shit 'bout no Yankees an' dere damn fool lawyas. Dôn you go tellin' me how to do mah job," he said and spit near David's feet.

"Somebody's gotta tell ya," David said, his eyes on fire. He turned to the deputy. "Where's da paper to fill out fo' a missin' person?"

Sheriff Guidry jabbed his finger at David. "You's _cooyôn_. I ain't heard nuttin' 'bout nobody missin'."

"Henri Doucet's been missin' since Monday. You know he sharecrops fo' Mr. Blanchard," David said.

"I ain't neva heard a no Henri Doucet. He must be a black sharecroppa," the deputy said.

"W'at difference does id make? Henri's missin'," David said.

Sheriff Guidry snickered. "You knows we dôn mess wid no black sharecroppas. Dat's Mr. Blanchard's bidness."

"Blanchard knows Henri's missin'. He juz ain't done nuttin' 'bout it," David said.

Sheriff Guidry's face reddened, then turned a furious purple. "You dumb fuck. When's you gonna learn to mind yo own bidness?"

"Id's mah bidness when Henri's son is sleepin' in mah house 'cause da Klan done scared him," David said.

Sheriff Guidry's eyebrows shot up." You's got a black boy stayin' in yo house?"

"Yeah, I do," David said. "So w'at?"

"I's never heard a sumptin' like dat happenin' befo'." Sheriff Guidry said, shaking his head.

"Meybe dere's a problem wid yo hearin'," David said.

Sheriff Guidry laughed. "Dôn gimme dat shit. I knows when a man done got hisself a woman on da side."

"Henri Doucet ain't messin' wid no woman. Da Klan's messin' wid Henri Doucet." David glared at the sheriff. "Id's yo job to look fo' missin' people."

Sheriff Guidry inched closer. "Listen to me, asshole," he said, his breath in David's face. "I's gonna do mah job like I sees fit. I ain't gonna put up wid no white trash tellin' me w'at to do. You's understandin' me, boy?"

David's right hand curled into a fist.

"Git da cuffs," Sheriff Guidry said to the deputy.

"You's _fou_. I ain't done nuttin' to you." David curled his fist tighter.

" _Ta queule_." Sheriff Guidry said, spittle showering David's face.

"Fuck no, I ain't shuttin' up."

Mr. Laurent placed his hand on David's shoulder. "Don't argue. They'll pile on the charges. My attorney will take care of you."

"Mr. Laurent, you's feelin' sorry fo' da wrong reasons. Dis is one a dem crazy veterans da doctor shoulda locked up in Mandeville," Sheriff Guidry said.

"You's da one all fucked up," David said.

"I done tole you to shut da hell up," Sheriff Guidry said.

"An' I's tole you I ain't. You knows w'at's goin' on 'round here. You's protectin' da Klan."

"I ain't protectin' nobody. I's tryin' to do mah job."

"Dat's bullshit. You ain't even looked at dem bodies in da truck."

Sheriff Guidry nodded at the deputy. "Put da cuffs on him. I dôn want no coon ass jumpin' me." Sheriff Guidry walked to the back of the truck and yanked the tarp back, then staggered to the side. He gagged and threw up.

"Mr. Laurent, you's got a telephone call from Mexico City," Ruby said from the bottom of the house's back steps. When no one responded, she rushed toward the group. "I's done tole you mo' cows was gonna go missin'. Lordy, Lordy, w'at's dis world comin' to?" Ruby stopped when Mr. Laurent blocked her path. She stretched sideways and looked around him. "Mr. Broussard, w'at you doin' wid yo hands 'hind yo back?"

"Ruby, let's go into the house," Mr. Laurent said.

"W'at's wrong wid you? Dat coffee's done got to you, dat's w'at." Ruby put her hands on her ample hips. "You looks like you's done seen a ghost."

"Please. Let's go inside."

Ruby stiffened. "I's not likin' how you's actin'," Ruby said and stared at Mr. Laurent. As the whir of aggressive flies filled the afternoon's quiet, an intuitive sense slipped from Ruby's soul. She dropped her hands. "Who's in dat truck?"

"We must go inside," Mr. Laurent said.

A mask fell over Ruby's face. As if a statue with a blank stare, she stood amid the men's silence until the pain of being Ruby shattered the façade. She screamed and pushed around Mr. Laurent. She screamed and cried and begged for God's mercy until her voice grew hoarse, and she collapsed on top of the sheriff's vomit.
Chapter Eight

### Rose Bud

A painting of the bell tower on the Louisiana State University campus hung above the fireplace mantle in Mr. Laurent's den. Like the antique furniture and the wood-plank floor, the brick fireplace was old. Traces of soot from the South's by-gone plantation era softened the brick's rough-hewn red with _noblesse oblige_ 's patina. Mr. Laurent stood in front of the raised hearth. His shoulders sagged. His eyes were bloodshot. "You're lucky you don't have a concussion," he said. "Put that ice pack back on your forehead."

As he slid over on the brown leather sofa facing the fireplace, David's knee brushed the long coffee table with matching wingback chairs at right angles to it. "I wanted to kiss yo feet when you showed up wid yo lawyer dis mornin'. Afta spendin' da night in da sheriff's hotel, I'd had nuff a his hospitality," David said and reached for the ice pack in the bowl on the lamp table to his right.

Mr. Laurent frowned. "You didn't have to be so unpleasant about going by the doctor's office."

" _Mais_ , I wanted to see Arlette at your sister-in-law's place." David said.

"I should have waited to tell you the ladies were there," he scoffed. "With the Klan actin' up, they've got to remain in Narrow Bridge. I couldn't take a chance Arlette would talk you into bringin' her home."

David lowered his gaze. "Sometimes I'm an asshole, me. _Mo chagren, pa-rân_."

"It's a difficult time for everybody," Mr. Laurent said, his voice compassionate.

David returned the ice pack to the red Pyrex kitchen bowl and twirled the vinyl plastic pack around. When a chime echoed from the Webster clock in the study, his hand stopped. "Id's 11:00," David said as the last note faded. "Id's Friday. Da Klan's ridin' dis evenin'. I's got a heavy feelin' inside a me, juz like dere was when I shipped out fo' Iwo Jima." He dropped his hand and faced Mr. Laurent. "Tank you fo' takin' care a da ladies. W'at wid Daniel's body to git to da black undertaker, I dôn know how you did all dat, no."

"I don't know what to say, except that events pushed me." Mr. Laurent shifted his weight, then stood still, a middle-aged man with worry lines on his face beyond his years. "The black undertaker stayed with Ruby while I went to your house. Since your car was the closest and the keys were in the ignition, I drove your Ford. Gerald then drove the ladies to Narrow Bridge in his truck. Lucille and Arlette rode in the truck's bed, Madeleine in the front seat." He spread his hands before him. "I doubt the Klan will strike in town. But it can't hurt Gerald's watchin' my sister-in-law's house."

David winced as he stretched his legs beneath the coffee table. "Are you sure Jacob's safe at da black preacher's house back a town?"

"As sure as anyone can be."

"You know id's fo' da best Jacob stays dere 'till Royce gits here?"

Mr. Laurent nodded and pulled a white handkerchief from his khakis' back pocket. He eyed the open double windows to David's far right as he wiped the back of his neck. While he returned the handkerchief to its pocket, he walked in front of the screen door. "No white man can get across those railroad tracks runnin' through town without bein' seen." When he reached the window, he re-hooked one of the gold-paneled curtain's tiebacks and repositioned the fan on the floor. After he turned the fan's knob, the increased speed fluttered magazines on the coffee table. David pushed the bud vase aside and reversed the magazines. Mr. Laurent returned to the seating arrangement and sat in the burgundy- and green-plaid wingback chair near David. "But, like Gerald's doing at your house, members of Reverend Martin's congregation are guardin' the preacher's house," Mr. Laurent said.

"Ruby's got to be hidin' dere," David said. "She kan't be no place else, no."

"You're probably right. Except for the connection to Jacob, she hasn't mentioned other relatives. I know Ruby and the undertaker had time to make plans while I was at your house." He tipped his fingers together. "I have no idea when Daniel's goin' to be buried. The undertaker sidestepped my questions. I thought this was because of the condition of Daniel's body."

" _Mais_ , I tink you're disappointed Ruby disappeared widout tellin' you," David said.

"I am." He paused. "I'd rather not be so blunt, but you're not the only one who can be an asshole at times. I should have talked to Ruby more before she went to her room in the servants' quarters. But I wanted to telephone the governor."

"Dat hepless feelin' a bein' a fuck-up ain't good," David said.

Mr. Laurent raised his hand. "That could be Jack on the telephone." He stood and rushed to his study.

Using the sofa's armrest for support, David pulled himself up, reached for the ice pack, and more walked than limped to the opposite side of the den. He went into the kitchen and dropped the pack into the sink. With his hand at the small of his back, he returned to the den. His eyes traveled to an arrangement of gold-framed awards positioned between Hudson Valley sconces on the knotty pine wall to the right of the study. Paintings on the wall near the double window then caught his attention. He smiled at scenes of a bayou at sunset and a plantation home facing the Mississippi River. Minutes later, he crossed to the fireplace. After staring at a painting of a harbor dotted with islands to the right of the fireplace, he shrugged and turned.

"That was the governor," Mr. Laurent said as he entered the den with a frustrated look on his face. "He's directed the state's attorney general to send an investigative team to Narrow Bridge."

"When?"

"Tuesday morning."

" _Mais_ , dat's too late. Dose men need to arrive today. Juz dat team bein' here kin scare da Klan into lettin' Henri go. You know da Klan's plannin' on lynchin' Henri dis weekend. By Tuesday mornin', w'at's left a Henri da fish in da Atchafalaya River won't care 'bout eatin'."

"What can I say?" Mr. Laurent rubbed the corners of his eyes as he walked toward the back of the sofa. "The governor's a politician. With so many Civil Rights workers in the South, he wants to look decisive without antagonizin' certain supporters. He has to keep up appearances. He's up for re-election next year."

David drew back. " _Ain_? Sumptin' eider is or id ain't."

"Maybe in the North, in places like Boston." Mr. Laurent nodded toward the harbor scene, "The South's too layered for reality. Southern aristocracy needs to impress others to maintain its power. If a family is land rich but money poor, it'll find money somewhere to keep up appearances, even if it's only a new pair of shoes to wear to church on Sunday."

David stared at Mr. Laurent, his mouth slightly open. "Where did Louie git da money fo' da cowboy boots he was wearin'?"

"I don't know," Mr. Laurent said, spreading his hands. "Louie had such a sour attitude, I didn't notice his boots."

"I did, me. Dat son uh a bitch had new boots," he said, walking toward the sofa. He bumped into the coffee table but grabbed the bud vase before it toppled over. "Yo fo'man dressed like a field hand, but he wore boots like I've neva seen befo'. Dey had red tops wid dots in little circles. Dat's not normal fo' cowboy boots, no."

"Ostrich," Mr. Laurent said, more to himself than David.

" _Ain_?"

"I think I know where this is goin'," Mr. Laurent said. "The ostrich is a bird with a long neck and legs. It runs faster than 40 miles per hour even though the bird can weigh as much as 300 pounds. Although the ostrich lives in the wild in parts of Africa, there are farmers in South Africa who raise the bird for its skin and feathers. It's a lucrative export business."

" _Mais_ , how do ya know dis shit?" David asked, a perplexed look on his face.

Mr. Laurent's face reddened. "Mrs. Laurent and I attended a cattleman's convention in Dallas last year. My wife is always fashion conscious, but more so at these conventions. There is, er, a little competition between Louisiana and Texas," he said with a faint smile. "My wife noticed many of the ladies carried ostrich purses. So I bought a black ostrich purse at a French Quarter shop in New Awlins. It's in the chest in my study. I'll surprise her with the gift before we go to Dallas this fall."

"New Awlins? You's gotta be shittin' me," David said. "Da sheriff said Charley wanted to drive a taxi in New Awlins. I bet Charley knew 'bout dat _magazin_ an' tole Louie. Dat asshole wormed his way in wid da bank manager an' got his hands on mah money. I paid fo' da son uh a bitch's boots."

Mr. Laurent glanced at his watch. "It's 12:15. The bank in Narrow Bridge closes at 2:00 on Friday. I'm goin' to telephone my colleague in Baton Rouge. He doesn't have much time to freeze Louie's account."

"W'at if yo colleague took a long weekend?" David asked, panic in his eyes.

"You can kiss your money good-bye. Louie will drain his account before the bank closes and disappear into God-knows-where," Mr. Laurent said and headed for his study.

"If I see dat fucker agin," David said as he paced, "I'm gonna stick dose boots where da sun dôn shine. I've had all I kin take a dis Klan shit. "Dey's sick an'—" David froze.

Arlette gasped when the screen door opened. " _Cher Bon Dieu_ , da top a yo face is lookin' like chopped liver," Arlette said as she stepped into the den. Remy, Madeleine, and Lucille followed with their heads down.

"Id's not as bad as id looks, no." David put his hand around Arlette's waist and led her to the fireplace. Remy inched close to his father and slipped his hand into David's. Tears rolled down Madeleine's cheeks. Lucille's stood rigid, her hands balled into fists at her sides. " _Mais_ , you musta done some talkin' to git here," David said, his eyes on Arlette, a reproach in his voice.

"Gerald didn't wanna brung us, no," Arlette said, defiance on her face. " _Mais_ I got him to tinkin' it dôn matta where we be, no."

"You dôn say?" David said.

" _Mais oui_. I was even hearin' our Ford's in Mr. Laurent's driveway, yeah," Arlette said, her eyes cold.

"Where was Gerald goin' when he left here juz now?" David asked.

"To our house," Arlette said. "He's gonna be sittin' on da porch wid his rifle."

"Two a Mr. Gerald's friends stayed wid Mrs. Laurent an' her sister," Remy said. "Maurice is sittin' wid dem on her front porch."

The door to the study banged open. "There's good news," Mr. Laurent said. "My colleague froze Louie's bank account. Louie withdrew $5,000 when the bank manager transferred your money to Louie's account, but Louie hasn't touched the balance." He nodded at the excitement in the room. "I telephoned the governor with the latest development. Three state troopers are on their way to Narrow Bridge. When Louie goes to the teller's window to withdraw the money, he will be arrested." Mr. Laurent raised his hand. "You have every reason to celebrate. However, we still need to hear from Jack Landry. I have hope he'll shut down his sawmill. The Klan can't operate without paychecks. We can slow them down today. The Klan won't leave us alone until their families feel the pinch of bein' broke." Mr. Laurent checked his watch. "Now, I don't know about you, but I need a cuppa coffee while we wait for Jack to telephone. I haven't had a cup since this mornin'" he said and stepped toward the kitchen.

"I's helpin' you," Lucille said. She followed him into the kitchen, with David and Arlette behind her.

After walking over to the coffee table, Madeleine knelt down and stared at the bud vase.

With a puzzled look on his face, Remy crossed to her. "W'at you doin'?" he asked and knelt beside her.

"Watchin' da white rose bud open up. Look how pretty da petals are, all curled up like puppies next to dere momma." As she turned the slender glass vase, the rose bud swiveled around. "Look how da leaves smile at me," Madeleine said, her voice whispery soft.

"I dôn see no smiles, no. Dey looks like—"

Madeleine touched his arm, cutting him off. "Dey _look_ like," she said. "You fo'got _dey_ is plural."

Remy scrunched his nose. "Dose leaves look like leaves, not people smilin'."

"Dat's 'cause you dôn see w'at you're lookin' at."

"Dat's not troo. I see you on yo knees lookin' at two leaves." Remy scratched his head. "You dôn mek sense, no."

"Father Lorio says if we dôn git on our knees, we miss half da beauty in life."

"Da half I see in church is somebody's behind. Dat ain't pretty."

Madeleine pinched her floral pink dress at the sides and swiveled around. Her doe-like eyes shimmered with an incandescent innocence. "When Father Lorio tells us to lift up our eyes to da Lord, he wants us to see God's light. God's light is all 'round us, even when we look down. Remy, da lady in front a you at church is very nice. She brings da sugar cookies you like. When you see God's light, you will see da lady's face, not her behind." Madeleine batted her thick lashes at Remy and re-focused on the white rose bud. Minutes later, she looked up. "Dey's comin'. I tink dey drank dere coffee in da kitchen. Let's sit on da sofa."

After helping Madeleine stand, Remy sat next to her, his fingers near hers in the space between them. " _Mo_ _chagren_ ," he said, a hound dog look on his face. "Sometimes mah words dôn come out right."

"Sometimes yo words dôn come out right in Cajun French eider," Madeleine said.

"I know." Remy's shoulders slumped. "I'm 'fraid somebody's gonna bully me agin. I dôn want anybody to tink I'm weak."

Madeleine's eyes traveled to the fireplace hearth, where David and Arlette sat, then to Mr. Laurent and her mother standing to the right of the fireplace, in front of the painting of the harbor. She leaned closer to Remy. "No one will tink you're weak if you believe in yo'self," she whispered in his ear, then patted his arm and stood. David and Arlette stopped talking and stared at her. Mr. Laurent and Lucille turned into the silence. Madeleine's eyes met Mr. Laurent's. "Tank you, sir, fo' takin' care a us when Mr. David was in jail."

"Why, it was the least I could do," Mr. Laurent said, a question mark in his eyes.

"Momma," she said, facing Lucille, "I want to go home."

"Chile, w'at's you talkin' 'bout? You's seen da rifles in Miz Arlette's house. You knows trouble's comin'."

Madeleine took a deep breath. "We kan't leave our house, Momma."

" _Bébé_ , we's not leavin' fo' good."

"Momma, I know da Klan's mad 'cause Remy and I tole Jacob we'd go to his bir'day party. I know bad people killed Peppa." She clutched the gold cross at her neck. "Momma, we have to go home. If we stay here, meybe our hearts will change."

"You's not mekin' sense, chile." Lucille said.

"Mah heart is in mah room, Momma. I kin see Peppa's grave from da window. When I go ta sleep, I know Jesus watches me."

"Jesus is ev'rywhere, _bébé,_ not juz on da crucifix 'bove yo bed."

"Momma, I trust Jesus to hep me do da right ting. I trust you an' Daddy to protect me. I trust Mr. Laurent 'cause he's like mah _pa-rân_. I trust Remy 'cause he's mah friend. I trust Miz Arlette and Mr. Joseph 'cause dey's like mah aunt an' uncle." Madeleine gripped her hands. "Momma, I trust mah'self to be mah'self. If we stay here, I'm runnin' 'way from mah'self. When I git back to mah room, I won't be who I was befo' I ran 'way. I'll be afraid. Momma, please, let's go home."

Chapter Nine

### Pine Trees

As David, Arlette, and Lucille got out of the Ford, Gerald rushed from the porch. "I didn't tink da kids was comin'," he said, his eyes on David's forehead. " _Mais_ , I figured da ladies would find a way to git here."

"We knows how to shoot," Arlette said to his back.

" _Merci_ , _pod-nah_ , fo' yo hep," David said to Gerald. He gave Arlette a cold look and headed for the house with Gerald. "Mr. Laurent tole me he's hearin' da Klan's ridin' wid 'bout twenty men tonight," David said, voice low.

Gerald glanced at Arlette and Lucille behind them. "W'at da hell's da women's doin' here? You's _cooyôn_ , no."

" _Merde_ , dey was carryin' on, yellin' me down like you's not believin'. Afta dey run to da car, dere was no gittin' dem out. I's neva got to tell 'em nuttin'."

"How come dey's doin' stupid shit like dat?" Gerald asked.

"Dey's 'fraid dose veterans ain't comin'."

"Dey's gonna be here, _pod-nah_. Nobody's lettin' ya down." Gerald inched closer. "Where's da kids?"

"Mr. Laurent was seein' da argument comin'. He done took 'em to check on sumptin' in da pasture." After they climbed the porch steps, David propped the screen door open with his foot and unlocked the front door. Gerald returned to his rocker and sat with his rifle as Arlette and Lucille followed David inside.

"Where's you puttin' us?" Arlette asked.

"You's safest in da dinin' room," David said and walked down the hall.

"We's not carin' 'bout bein' safe," Arlette said.

"I's carin'." David entered the dining room and selected two rifles from those beneath the window. "Keep da safety on. I dôn want no shootin' 'less I says so."

"W'at 'bout da kitchen?" Arlette asked. "Why kan't we stay dere?"

"Two a da veterans will take care a da backyard," David said.

"Why? Da Klan's ridin' in da front," Lucille said, a bite in her voice.

"If you two'd listen once in a while, you'd be knowin'," David said and glared at Arlette. "Dere might be a problem on da side of da Gerard's house."

Arlette's hand flew to her mouth. " _Mais non_ ," she said and ran out of the dining room. The door to the bathroom slammed shut before David reached her.

Lucille stood near the wall in the hall, a knowing look on her face, while David paced. " _Beb_ , you's goin' back to Mr. Laurent's," he said when the door opened. "Dis is upsettin' you too much."

"I's fine." Arlette averted his eyes. "I ain't goin' nowheres."

" _Mais_ , I's not fine," Lucille said. "We's had nuttin' to eat since breakfast. I's gonna mek some sandwiches fo' us an' dem veterans—if dey's comin'."

David turned when the screen door opened. "I need to talk wid ya'," Gerald said. He moved to the side of the porch when David stepped outside. "Good news. Afta you left, Jack Landry got t'rew to Mr. Laurent. Jack's shut down his sawmill," Gerald said, a wide smile on his face. "Mah wife juz come by an' tole me, like Mr. Laurent axed."

" _Sacre bleu_ ," David said. "Da Klan's gotta be some mad."

"Yeah. Afta we kick 'em in da balls, dey ain't gonna be able to fuck demselves."

David's shoulders tensed. "A truck's comin'. Git yo rifle," he said and raced inside. With Louie's Remington at his waist, he stood opposite Gerald on the porch steps.

After the black truck stopped near David's Ford, two men emerged, their hands in the air. "Don't shoot. We're here to hep," the stocky one said.

Gerald lowered his rifle. "Son uh a bitch. Look w'at da cat done dragged in." He laid his rifle on the porch and walked down the steps. "Good seein' ya, Chuck," he said, shaking the proffered hand. "Id's been a while. How's yo daddy doin'?"

"Oh, he's ornery as eva," Chuck said. "Glad yo daddy got in touch. We're havin' problems with the Klan in Denham Springs. They're gettin' too close to Baton Rouge. It's time those boys got a taste of their own medicine." Chuck gestured toward the tall, angular man approaching from the passenger's side of the truck. "This is George. Invited him to join my practice when he graduated from LSU's dental school last spring."

"Good meetin' ya, George." Gerald shook his hand "Appreciate you comin'."

"Folks call him Popsicle," Chuck said with a good-natured laugh. "George melts when he's in the sun. You shoulda seen him when we were at Parris Island. He drank water and peed like a fountain. Talk about a one-man cluster-fuck."

Gerald slapped Popsicle on the back and motioned for David to join them. "Dis is David Broussard, da Marine wid da Klan on his ass."

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," Popsicle said, shaking his hand.

"Dôn gimme dat officer crap, Marine," David said with a man's-man handshake. "I was a lance corporal."

"Devil Dog, it's not the rank," Chuck said. "We know how you earned your Silver Star on Iwo. There's no secrets in the Marine Corps, even if we're not wearin' the uniform now."

" _Merde_. Dere ain't nuttin' special 'bout me. I was juz doin' mah job," David said.

Popsicle's eyes rested on David's banged-up forehead. "The Klan's not getting' away with beatin' the crap outta you," Popsicle said.

"Da sheriff did dis. Meybe id's da same as da Klan. Dôn know yet." David's eyes darted to the road. "Trucks comin'," he said.

"That's your second fire team," Chuck said. "We've got your back."

After Gerald introduced Mike, Joey, René, and Allen, the men hauled a variety of rifles, side arms, and boxes of ammunition into David's house. They then backed the trucks into position. Two flanked David's house. The third anchored the opening between Mr. Blanchard's wooden fence and the Gerard's house. David's Ford remained longitudinally parked in front of the flowerbeds lining the walkway to his porch.

With David at point, the men reconnoitered the nine-acre compound. "I'm hearin' da Klan's ridin' wid 'bout twenty men," David said as they evaluated the serpentine stretch of pine trees. "Two fire teams kan't stop an overwhelmin' force. _Mais_ , we can scare da Klan 'way by creatin' a ruckus wid our firepower. Da sheriff's deputy in Cypress Point kan't be stupid fo'ever, no."

René frowned. "Where's Cypress Point?"

"Id's 'bout twenty miles down da road, a hole in da wall speed trap wid thirty or so people livin' dere," David said and pointed to his left. "Afta da last election, Sheriff Guidry put a deputy dere. Da kid didn't mek id outta high school, but I found out he's one a da sheriff's cousins."

"If Alexandria's sheriff did that, it would be all over the news." Allen rubbed his stubbled chin. "I'm a reporter for our television station. Maybe I need to take a deeper look at what's goin' on here. We need to clean up our problems before the Federal government does it for us. This Civil Rights movement's got real traction."

"Most a da people here are good, good people," Gerald said, his voice defensive. "Id's juz dat da families are mo' like clans. We git da assholes dey dôn want, den dey vote fo' dem 'cause dey's family."

"That's too fucked up fo' me." Chuck nodded at the pine trees. "Nothin' can block those pines. Horses can get 'round anything in the driveway or on the lawn. Good call, sir, puttin' the trucks where you did." The men murmured their agreement.

" _Merci_ ," David said and coughed lightly. "I tink da Klan's goal is to torch at least one house, probably mine, but dey'll go fo' da Gerard's house if dey can't git to mine. To do dat, da Klan's gotta split ids men, wid one group comin' up da driveway an' da second group comin' t'rew da pines near Blanchard's fence." He paused. "Da Klan knows we're waitin'. Dey's gonna come at us straight an' swerve late to protect dere horses."

"Meybe the Klan's got flamethrowers, like what we used durin' the War," Popsicle said.

David shook his head. "Dey's illegal. Dôn see how anybody coulda got one back."

"I've got an M1903 Springfield rifle with a Weaver telescopic sight," Popsicle said. "It's in a case in your living room. I won't have a problem takin' a horse out 'tween the eyes."

Mike faced the skinny veteran with an earnest face. "You're a sniper?"

"Yeah, bein' a sniper got me off a Tarawa Terrace alive. All I gotta do now is survive law school."

"Holy shit," David said. "Dat place was hell on earth."

"I got lucky." Popsicle's expression deepened. "If I make it as a lawyer, I'm settin' up a scholarship foundation fo' kids to go to LSU."

"Marine, you've got a chair in mah law firm waitin' fo' you," Mike said.

"Thanks, Devil Dog," Popsicle said, dropping his eyes. "Appreciate it."

David's light cough broke the silence that followed. "Let's walk da rest a da place, grab a sandwich in da kitchen, an' organize da weapons," he said. An hour and a half later, the group moved from David's shed to his house's back steps. David checked his watch. "Id's 6:00. We've got 'bout two hours befo' dusk takes ova. Let's git dat bite to eat."

"Arlette's upstairs," Lucille said in Cajun French when David entered the kitchen. "She finally fell asleep. Don't wake her up. Her stomach's upset. She can't keep any food down." With her eyes straight ahead, Lucille waited for the men to file in behind David. "I's Lucille, da neighbor," she said in English. "David's wife is upstairs 'cause she's feelin' po'ly. Hep yo'self to dem ham sandwiches an' da milk on da table. I's gonna git da Coca-Cola from da ice box juz in case you's t'irsty, t'irsty."

While the men stood around the table, devouring sandwiches and joshing each other, David opened the bottles Lucille passed to him. "Arlette must have some kind a bug layin' her low," he said in Cajun French.

"Yeah, she's got a bug. It's getting bigger and bigger," Lucille said in Cajun French.

David crossed to the kitchen table and reached for a sandwich. "You know da rules. Nobody kin shoot to kill," he said between bites. "Go fo' trippin' up da horses. A fallen rider ain't gonna mess wid ya. Da bastard's gonna run fo' da pine trees like a scalded dog." He took a second sandwich from the plate. "Da Klan's probably gonna burn one a dem crosses on da lawn," he said, his hand in the air with the sandwich. "Dôn do nuttin'. Dey's tryin' to sucker you in. 'Member, we're playin' a game a chicken wid da Klan's rules. We ain't go no choice," he said and bit into his sandwich.

"I know how that goes," Mike said. "I see it in the courtroom all the time. If the authorities you've got here retaliate with trumped-up charges, I'll run 'em in circles with legal maneuvers. You're in the same judicial district. I know what to do."

Popsicle finished his third glass of milk and reached for a bottle of Coca-Cola. "Did you say Franneaux's the name of the asshole livin' 'cross the road?"

"Yeah, dat's his name," David said.

"After I drill holes in his two front teeth, everything Franneaux says will sound like 'ssheet,'" Popsicle said.

When the laughter faded, David faced the men. "Any questions 'bout w'at ev'rybody's supposed to do?" he asked.

"I'm not sure 'bout a couple a tings," Gerald said. " _Mais_ , I didn't understand some of da military talk when we were outside." He shrugged apologetically. "I was neva in da military. Da recruiter didn't like mah flat feet."

"I'll walk wid you an' Chuck to da Gerard's house," David said. "Anybody else?" After a respectful silence, David stood near the entrance to the hallway. "Grab yo gear in da dinin' room, check w'at you prepositioned in da front rooms, an' git to yo hide sites." David slapped each man on the back and thanked him as he entered the hall.

"Where's Arlette sleeping?" David asked Lucille in Cajun French when the kitchen emptied.

"In the guest bedroom," Lucille replied in the same language. "I'll wake her up in a few minutes."

"I want both of you to stay on the floor in the kitchen, where Jacob slept."

"I understand."

"If I see a rider heading for the house with a torch, I'll get off two rounds to warn you." He paused. "My Remington makes a different sound. You'll know.

"Don't worry. If I smell smoke, we'll run out the back door to the shed." Lucille hesitated. "I'm sorry we wouldn't get out of the car. We shouldn't be here."

"I'll kill anyone who comes near you and Arlette," David said and rushed from the kitchen. After he retrieved his Colt in the dining room and stuck the pistol in his jeans' waist, he grabbed his ammo bag. He eyed his cache in the living room and followed the last veteran onto the porch. As the screen door slammed shut, he reached for his Remington on the porch floor behind the white rocker.

René and Allen went to the truck to the left of David's house while Joey and Mike positioned themselves on the right, in the space next to Lucille's house. Popsicle leaned against the side of David's longitudinally parked Ford sedan. "Take care a mah babies, will ya?" David handed him the Remington and the Colt. "I'll be right back."

"No problem, sir." Popsicle smiled at the Colt but whistled at the 12-gauge Remington Wingmaster shotgun.

"Sorry, _pod-nah_ ," David said, his hand on Gerald's shoulder. "You were noddin' like you understood da lingo."

"I did—when we were in da group," Gerald said with a hollow laugh.

"Everybody's scared shitless the first time," Chuck said.

"Gerald's daddy was a point shooter durin' da Great War an' showed him how to shoot," David said to Chuck as they walked toward Lucille's house. "Gerald's gonna know w'at to do. He's got da eye an' da instinct." David stopped and pointed toward the pine trees. "One group a riders must git 'cross da drainage runnin' alongside da road. Id makes sense fo' dem to do dat in front a Blanchard's place, den maneuver t'rew da trees out front. Da Klan's not comin' out in a straight line, but dey's gonna git in one. Dat's when da group comin' up da driveway will cut 'cross da lawn an' give 'em da torches."

A wide grin spread across Gerald's face. "Da first group kan't come t'rew da pine trees wid torches an' rifles. Da group comin' up da driveway kan't swerve in front a da houses 'cause most a dem is right-handed."

"Dat's right, _pod-nah_ ," David said with a smile. "And dat's where yo point shootin' comes in handy. Da mo' horses dat stumble da betta, yeah. No sense killin' a good horse fo' nuttin'. _Mais_ , we've gotta hold our fire as long as we kin. I dôn want da Klan haulin' us into court for killin' a horse, like dey did with da Gremillion brodders. You know how dose boys 'most lost dere farm payin' for a lawya?"

Gerald nodded yes. "How come da ladies is in yo house? Da Gerard's house looks safer, no?"

" _Mais non_. Id's da worst house. If da riders dôn come t'rew da pine trees, meybe dey'll come from da farm road on Blanchard's place. Dey kin torch da Gerard's house an' git da hell out too fast fo' us to stop 'em." David pointed toward Lucille's house. "Da middle house is da second most dangerous. If da Klan torches dat house, dere's no shed fo' da ladies to hide in."

"Why do you think the Klan will torch your house?" Chuck asked.

"Jacob slept in mah house. He's nine years old. He's black." David said. "Da Klan wants to teach me a lesson."

Chapter Ten

### Marigolds

As David approached his Ford, Popsicle tossed him the Remington Wingmaster. David caught his shotgun by its stock and nodded to the former sniper. After removing his Springfield 1903A4 rifle with the Weaver telescopic sight from the Ford's back seat, Popsicle stepped to the back of the sedan. "I think the distance from here to the curve in the driveway is about 50 yards," Popsicle said.

"Good eyes," David said. "The distance is exactly 52 yards, with another 10 yards to the pine trees."

"If I put the point of impact at 45 yards," Popsicle said, "a round would scatter enough rocks to make a horse rear up, maybe toss its rider. If the rider isn't thrown and controls the horse, a second round at 35 yards would create problems I don't think a rider could handle."

"Dat's w'at we need." David turned toward the pine trees near Blanchard's property. "W'at 'bout ova dere? Riders dôn have much room to git t'rew dose pines, but dey kin. Is dere 'nuff time to work da scope? Wid Gerald an' Chuck shootin' from da side a da Gerard's house an' you shootin' from here, dose horses are gonna buck."

After Popsicle stepped around the Ford's trunk, he positioned the Springfield on his shoulder and sighted points of impact on both sides of the lawn. "As long as the goal is to scare the horses, I'm good. This Weaver scope didn't fail me on Tarawa," he said, the rifle at his side.

David stood with his thumbs hooked on his jeans' pockets and scanned the three lawns. After long seconds, he nodded. " _Merci_ , _pod-nah_. When da Klan sees dese trucks, da riders won't know how much firepower we've got. Dat might be all we need to keep 'em from chargin' da houses," he said and raised his rifle. While Popsicle passed time inspecting his weapon, David made a series of sprints from the side of the Ford's hood with the pump action Remington at his waist. With a satisfied nod, he re-joined Popsicle. "Where's mah Colt?" he asked.

"Next to the Ford's front wheel," Popsicle said.

After stooping to get the weapon, David checked the pistol's chamber and stood next to Popsicle. "Now's da hard part, waitin'. A minute kin seem like two hours." He glanced at the front porch. " _Merde_. Da women are at da window."

"When I find a good woman like them, I'm gittin' married," Popsicle said.

" _Mais_ , you've got yo hands full if you marry a Cajun," David said, pride in his voice.

"I know," Popsicle said in Cajun French. "My father's English, but my mother's Cajun."

Surprise filled David's face. "Good God, I knew you were a good man. Now I know you are," he said in Cajun French.

"When you think your wife is too hard to handle," Popsicle said with a laugh, "give me a call. After a few days with my mother, you'll think your wife is boring." He paused. "Before I forget, congratulations."

"For what? Marrying a powder keg."

"No. For the baby on the way."

David's mouth fell open.

"I heard your neighbor say your wife's got a bug that's growing." Popsicle patted David's back. "I'm going to take another look at that road with my Weaver's sight."

David turned to the porch window. The darkening sky silhouetted two women behind the window. His eyes misted as he blew a kiss from his fingertips. The curtain closed with a flourish.

"Shit, there's a dust cloud to the far right," Popsicle said. "The Klan's ridin'."

After David tossed a rock in the direction of René and Allen, he whistled. One veteran behind each truck returned the whistle. "You ready?" he asked Popsicle in English.

"I'm ready, even if I'm not believin' this shit. We're gonna be shootin' at Americans."

"Dat's a double whistle. Git down." David returned the two whistles, as did the other men. "Riders must be on da side a da drainage ditch an' headin' fo' da pine trees."

"The ground's tremblin'," Popsicle said.

"Look at w'at's comin' on da right," David said as riders kicked horses to go faster on the dirt road. White robes billowed behind the Klansmen like clouds escaping a dust storm. A hooded rider raised his arm and fired into the sky. Thundering horses ate the echo. A second rider fired.

Two riders broke through the pine trees on the left. Six more followed. Klansmen pranced their horses in a circle on the far side of the lawn. The waning sun bounced off dark eyes and lips behind white masks. Catcalls taunted the veterans. Klansmen reared spirited horses and fired shots into the air, but remained in their circle.

Klansmen with unlit torches whipped horses up the driveway. Hooves scattered rocks like marbles. Fifteen riders pranced and reared their horses on the right side of the lawn and along the driveway's edge. Klansmen in the two circles of hate broke ranks and charged the three houses, then swerved mid-lawn and returned to their groups. The catcalls stopped. Nothing moved in a night grown too quiet.

As if from one of history's darkest corners, the voices of two Klansmen fell into the present. "The South will rise agin'!" they yelled and kicked their horses into a gallop with the practiced movements of a choreographed dance. As the performance ended, the Klansmen held metal cans high and retreated. A third Klansman swooped forward and tossed a cigarette. A flame flickered on the grass and then roared up the cross and exploded with a whoosh that licked the heavens. Strains of "Dixie"— _in Dixieland I'll take my stand, to live and die in Dixie_ —filled the air with a melancholy born of determination as the burning cross bathed white-hooded Klansmen with hell's fiery orange.

When the flames dimmed into a hearth's glow, a stoop-shouldered Klansman trotted his horse to the cross's out-stretched arms and stopped. "Broussard, you's got one chance to git outta here wid yo people. If you dôn, we's lightin' dese torches an' burnin' ya out."

David passed his Remington to Popsicle and walked to the front of his car. "Where's Henri Doucet?" he asked, his voice loud and firm.

"Dat's none a yo fuckin' bidness."

"I's mekin' id mah bidness."

Popsicle stood, his Springfield on his shoulder. "I'm making it my business, too."

Chambers clicked, metal on metal, as the other veterans stood. "Where's Henri Doucet?" Gerald asked and stepped forward in tandem with the other men.

The Klan's leader ignored the men. "Broussard, eidder you git yo ass outta dis house tonight or Doucet's a dead man." He leaned forward in his saddle. "You an' yo men kin kill all a us, _mais_ , id dôn matta. Dere's mo' a us waitin' to take care a Doucet."

"Dôn play _boo-ray_ wid me, Franneaux. You kan't take no tricks in dis hand a cards. You's _boorayin'_ , an' you knows it. Mr. Laurent's got da govna' comin' at ya. Dat's yo penalty."

"I dôn give a fuck w'at yo _pa-rân_ do," Franneaux said.

"Yeah, you do. When dose special police git here, dey's goin' straight to yo house. Den you's goin' to prison at Angola. Even da devil kan't hep you in dat hellhole." David's eyes traveled to the Klansmen behind Franneaux. "Meybe some a yo men might wanna go wid you. Meybe dey's gonna git bored, not workin' at da sawmill." David smiled as the murmur of voices grew. "Yo men's not likin' w'at dey's hearin', Franneaux."

"Dat's bullshit. Mah men do w'at I tells 'em to do," Franneaux said and jerked his head left. "W'at da fuck you up to, Broussard?"

"Collectin' da money I's won from dis _Boo-Ray_ hand," David said, his eyes on the driveway.

"Get behind the Ford," Popsicle said. "There's no tellin' who's in that car."

David remained where he was as the four-door black sedan inched up the driveway and parked behind his Ford. When the driver's door opened, a white man with greying hair got out. A black man built like a tree stump got out of the back.

"Blanchard, w'at da fuck you doin' here?" Franneaux asked.

"Doing what I should have done a long time ago." Blanchard walked toward Franneaux. "You can't blackmail me any longer, Franneaux. You can't tell me my family won't get hurt unless I do what you want. I got my daughter and my grandson out of Mississippi. They're someplace safe. Louie won't be able to slap my daughter around when he gets out of Angola." He gave Franneaux a hard look. "The police arrested Louie when he showed up at the bank. The manager will escape the law. Louie won't."

"Where's Henri Doucet?" David asked. "Dere's not much a yo hide left to save, Franneaux."

Blanchard nodded toward the black man standing near him. "This is Henri Doucet's friend. Samuel wants to take his friend home alive."

Franneaux spit on the grass. "None a you's seen da last a us. We's gonna be back. An' nuttin's savin' yo asses." He pointed at David. "Say yo prayers, Broussard. You ain't long fo' dis world." Franneaux kicked his horse forward and spit in David's face as he yanked the reins. "Doucet's gonna be out front on da road in fifteen minutes," he said over his shoulder. The Klansmen followed him down the driveway as cheers erupted in front of the three houses.

As the riders disappeared, Arlette and Lucille stepped onto the porch. " _Merde_ ," Arlette said. "Dat was close."

"Yeah, but nobody got hurt," Lucille said.

"You's talkin' funny," Arlette said.

Lucille shook her head. "No, I'm not. Madeleine's been teachin' me how to talk right. It's time I did."

" _Ain_?"

"I decided tonight I dôn want to be like dose men in da Klan. Dey's scared times are changin'. I dôn want to be an ole lady an' tink like dem."

" _Mais_ , we's Cajun," Arlette said. "We talks like we do."

"I'm proud a bein' Cajun. I love mah language. But I kan't go to LSU and learn how to be a teacher if I kan't speak English properly."

"You wants to be a teacher?"

Lucille smiled. "Since I love to cook, I want to teach home economics." She gestured toward the flowerbeds along the walkway. " _Cher_ , we've got to be like dose marigolds. No matta w'at happens to dem, dey keep bloomin'. Da marigold's not da prettiest flower in da world, but id neva gives up," Lucille said and walked down the steps.

"Wait fo' me." Arlette giggled. "Meybe dere's a place fo' me wid da 4-H kids. I's gonna axe David to hep me wid English." Lucille smiled as Arlette bolted ahead, then raced to grab her arm. "Wait, _cher_. Let's stand in the shadows."

"Your family's not safe as long as you live in this house," Blanchard said as the women approached. "Franneaux's hatred for you is too deep. He's going to come back at you another day."

"Mr. Blanchard's talkin' da troot. I's been hearin' bad tings da Klan's sayin' 'bout you," Samuel said. "I dôn want no harm comin' to ya 'cause how you done saved mah friend." Samuel paused. "I come up from Willow Weeps when I's heard 'bout Moses Dubois. He was like mah brodder when we was growin' up."

"I'm sorry 'bout what happened. Dat wasn't right, no. I know da Good Lord will keep Moses safe in his arms." David hesitated. "Was Ruby hidin' out wid you?"

Samuel nodded yes. "Ruby done disappeared 'cause she got scared da Klan was comin' afta Mr. Laurent. Him and da Missus been some good to her."

"So she ran 'way?" David asked.

"No, sir," Samuel said. "She done went to git hep. Dere's gotta be ten sharecroppa wagons 'round Mr. Laurent's house. All a dem's filled with black an' white sharecroppas an' farmers not likin' da Klan eidder." Samuel pointed to the bayou across the road. "An we's got people hidin' dere juz in case you was needin' hep."

" _Cher Bon Dieu_ ," David said. "Dere's good, good people livin' 'long dis bayou road."

"I'm not one of the good ones," Blanchard said. "It's time for me to leave. I've got a family to take care of. Maybe I'll do a better job this time." He stopped to catch his breath. "Mr. Broussard, you and your family suffered because I was a coward. It's my fault Louie stole your money and spent some."

"Mr. Blanchard, mah family's goin' to be fine. We kin mek it widout da money Louie took. You need to git wid yo family an' take care a dem."

"Not until I take care of a few legal matters."

" _Ain_?"

"Mr. Broussard, my sons aren't interested in my farm. I don't need the money I would receive from selling the property. However, it would give me some peace of mind if I could pay off Louie's debt. I want to sign my farm and the manor house over to you."

" _Cher Bon Dieu,"_ Arlette said, her hands at the sides of her face.

As David turned, the men stepped back. They exchanged smiles and drifted toward the porch. Mr. Blanchard and Samuel joined them.

"Dôn worry, _bébé_ ," David said to Arlette. "We're not leavin' our house."

Arlette patted her stomach. "Mah sister was a twin," she said and reached for him. David laughed and swung Arlette around and around.

"Stop," Arlette said, her eyes filled with laughter. "I'm gittin' dizzy."

When her feet touched the ground, he pulled Arlette into a tight embrace. " _Je t'ame_ ," David said.

"I love you, too," Arlette said.

When they kissed, Venus winked in the evening sky.

THE END

Author's Comments

_Remy Broussard's Christmas_ was the first novella in the _Remy's Bayou Road_ series. That story dealt with poverty and bullying and how mankind's more forgiving and redemptive beliefs can overcome much.

_Rings of Trust_ contains a hard edge. This story reflects a period in the Deep South when Southern aristocracy, not always those in the landed gentry but also those with money's power, manipulated the anger and disillusionment of the less fortunate for elitist self-preservation, the polar opposite of _noblesse oblige_. In some respects, pockets of this mentality remain throughout the South.

As far as I know, the surname _Franneaux_ does not exist. I did not want to saddle any legitimate family name with this character's Klan affiliation and created a name that sounded authentic but wasn't. An author is supposed to give the antagonist at least one redeeming quality. Me being me, I didn't think Franneaux deserved the redemption. But, he will re-appear in a later story. Perhaps he will have changed. I don't know. Some things he has to do for himself and not rely upon my keyboard.

I spent my formative years on my grandparents' farm in South Central Louisiana. The dirt road, bayou, and drainage ditch in the story fronted their farm. The dirt road was later paved. Over the years, most of the bayou either filled with silt or farmers eager for more land filled the bayou. However, when rain showers began to diminish, concerned farmers worked to reverse the damage. I'm happy to say the significant success continues. I doubt the bayou will return to the days when steamboats plied the bayou, as they did when my grandfather was a young man. But it is nice to see the bayou regain some of the majesty it once had. Sunsets are especially gorgeous.

Mr. Laurent's farm and Narrow Bridge are creations of my imagination. Although Mr. Laurent's farm is larger than most, the beef industry is one of Louisiana's mainstays. Throughout Louisiana, small towns like Narrow Bridge center rural communities. It is not unusual for country roads in South Louisiana to end up in a small town. Since I have absolutely no sense of direction, I felt confident I'd eventually get where I wanted to go, even if someone cut down the tree that marked where I should turn.

What I did do, though, was open the story with the drainage ditch as part of the landscape and end the story with the drainage ditch as part of the landscape. I wanted Nature's flow to be one of the rings in _Rings of Trust_ , always constant, always there, whether one liked it or not—as were the gnats and flies and pine trees and heat and humidity. I sometimes think one has to be born into Louisiana's weather. Whenever the plane lands in New Orleans, I can't wait to get outside and feel that blast of heat on my face, that special smell the Mississippi River has. I long for evenings when the sun fades and the temperature drops enough to thwart perspiration's beads and the night fills with the cicadas' mating calls.

The scene where the Klan thunders ahead of a dust cloud is what I witnessed as a child. The Klan rode against my grandfather because some in the organization wanted my grandfather to sell parts of his farm for pennies on the dollar. The land grab failed. Years later, my father told me the real leader of the Klan at that time had been a businessman in our rural hub. The cross-burning scene is what happened to a family friend who challenged the Klan. Community leaders often used economic sanctions to force the Klan to back off. However, only the intervention of the Federal government stopped the Klan's violence. Unfortunately, a certain Klan mentality exists throughout the South and elsewhere. I doubt that this will ever disappear. For some, the Civil War has not ended, so to speak.

When David Broussard crawls under Madeleine's porch, his comment about the caves on Iwo Jima is how my father described the caves when he was fought there during World War II. And, like my father and so many of "The Greatest Generation," David Broussard crisscrossed the United States on troop trains prior to shipping out. This was done to confuse spies who might be monitoring troop movements.

So many have asked what will become of Remy and Madeleine. Well, the next novella in the series will be "Madeleine's First Blush." It's going to be a sweet story. _Mais_ , dat's all I's sayin' 'bout dat fo' now, _cher_.

Thank you for reading _Rings of Trust_. Families, close friends, neighbors, those in a place of worship, the work environment or wherever we divide our time comprise different rings in our lives that sometimes overlap. This should be a good thing and not the result of fear.

Acknowledgments

Rachel Morgan (Morgan Media) designed the cover for _Rings of Trust_. She also formatted the novella. And, as a Beta reader and cheerleader, she kept me motivated. Rachel, I can't thank you enough for all that you've done.

I'd also like to thank Colonel Mike Boyce, USMC (Retired); Colonel Bill Peoples, USMC (Retired); Brigadier Matthew Broderick, USMC (Retired), and Brigadier General Dick Vercauteren, USMC (Retired) for their suggestions, attention to detail, and/or information about weapons. Semper Fi.

A big Thank You and Aloha to Philip van Stein in Hawaii for his input about antique weapons.

Thank you to Dr. Siamak Heydarian for keeping the germs away from Jacob and Louie's hand attached to his arm. I'm grateful to Carmen White, a dear, dear friend for many years, and Rick Conrad for their assistance with oil exploration. Maybe David Broussard will hit liquid gold after all.

Wikipedia was the main source of dates and specifics in the "Historical References" section (cross-checked in various books in my personal library) and was spot-on. Thank you to the many volunteers who contribute to this wonderful resource. The Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Tuskegee Institute provided KKK statistics. The Web site for the U. S. Shooting Academy in Tulsa, Oklahoma, enabled a verification of shooting positions. "Natural and Artificial Aristocracy" (in a letter to John Adams) provided insight about what began in Greece and has continued in various forms.

From the heart, I'm indebted to so many people for their support and encouragement along the way, including: Mariann Alexander; Elizabeth Aulsebrook; Grethe Bachmann; Greg Cannata; Tenley Carp; Brian and Carol Dunn (and Carol's beautiful mother, Alice); Phil and Patsy Ehret; Susan Fitzgerald; Andrew and Jo Franklin; Beth Johnson; Dana King; Pam Kennedy; Patricia Kustron, Susan Pell; Pauline Platter; Deb Ryan; David Samuels; Wende Sassé; Kyle Thomas; Brian, Chris, and Kevin Vercauteren, and Denise White.

And to my husband, the most important thank you of all: I couldn't have done this without your patience, support, and understanding. _Je t'ame._

About the Author

Kittie Howard was born in New Orleans, Louisiana, and graduated from Louisiana State University with a Bachelor of Science degree. She has worked for the U. S. Department of Defense within the United States and overseas. The United States Marine Corps presented her with a citation for her contributions to its Family Readiness Program. She has served as an advisor to local Red Cross and Navy Relief Boards, the national Armed Services YMCA Board and has coordinated various projects for local chapters of the USO.

Kittie Howard's novellas reflect her deep roots in Louisiana. Her grandmother's family came to what is now Louisiana in 1679. _Southern Writers Magazine_ showcased her Louisiana heritage on its blog in July 2012. In association with a Louisiana historical society, her grandmother's family will be one of three families featured in a book about South Central Louisiana's pioneers.

Kittie and her husband presently divide their time between Northern Virginia and Louisiana.

