Chapter Ten #2
She wasn’t. Was her show of bravado during the confrontation with that cur, Guidry and those two intruders an indication of heart, passion.
Perhaps it had been just that, bravado. A cover for a woman full of repressed fear and anger, suffering heaven knew what grief and sorrow.
Something painful enough to send her running from Boston rather than confront what had hurt her.
If heart is courage, then Grace may be lacking, but heart can mean so many things, empathy, sensitivity, generosity.
She had more than enough of those, from what he’d seen.
Regardless, he doubted she was heartless enough to break his curse.
Luc approached as closely as her caution would permit and took the lantern from her.
“Let’s leave this here. Close enough for when we need it, but far enough away we’ll be able to see the stars. ”
Grace nodded. Inadvertently his hand moved to take hers. He shoved it into his pocket. They weren’t well enough acquainted for holding hands.
“I heard in the village that you had trespassers,” he said, as cautiously as his approach had been. “I handled it. I also spoke with DeLille, who told me that my trespassers would probably be released before a day passed. He said the men often worked for Guidry.”
“Really?”
As she explained the details she’d learned, they ambled side by side to the end of the dock.
The way she spoke confirmed she had no idea he’d been present and lifted a few of his worries.
Grace sat, dangled her already bare feet in the water and patted the empty spot beside her.
Luc removed his footwear then followed her example.
“Aren’t you afraid of snakes and gators, Mr. Flynn?”
Their eyes met.
There was that smile again.
“Mr. Flynn?”
He blinked and aimed his sight at the heavens. “Please, call me Luc, and no, I’ve enough backwoods bayou in me to recognize the signs of dangerous creatures. I expect you do, too.”
She nodded. “Very well, Luc it is, and you may call me Grace. Now, how much backwoods bayou can an Irishman possess?”
“I’ve lived in Louisiana longer than I ever lived in Ireland. Most of my time there was during my childhood.” He believed he would never see his homeland again. If he did, would it still feel like home? Luc sighed.
“I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad.”
He straightened and smiled. “Not a bit of it. Just a momentary journey into my past.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Not worth the telling.” He shook his head.
“Please.”
She was truly gorgeous when her eyes implored, and he couldn’t refuse her.
“Really, it was just a wisp of memory.”
“Memories are important… sometimes.” Sadness darted across her countenance.
Luc felt the ache of her emotional pain strengthen. Perhaps the distraction of his story would ease her distress.
“Very well, I thought for a moment of my mother at home in county Wexford. Night had fallen. I was to leave for school the next day and couldn’t sleep for the excitement.
I went outside. Mother sat, staring at the moon, much like you and I are now.
That moon was as full as this. She told me she feared I might never return to Wexford, that I would have gone le gealai.
Literally it means ‘gone with the moon’.
’ The folk understanding is that I would be moonstruck and wander the world witless. ”
Which is what happened to me, in a manner of speaking.
“Did you ever return?” Grace whispered.
“No.” He kept his face turned to the moon. If she looked at him with pity, Luc wouldn’t survive it.
“I’m sorry.”
He felt her hand on his arm.
“Look at me, Luc, please.”
He complied. Pity did not swim in the pools that filled her mist green gaze. Rather, he saw a strange sort of resignation-tinged empathy.
“That you didn’t go back is sad. Especially if you never saw your mother again.”
“Aye,” he said slowly. What was her point?
“The thing is,” Grace said. “You have time to go back. You can visit, and maybe, by visiting, put that sadness you carry to rest.”
Was that possible? Maybe, if ever the curse is lifted. How did Grace know he carried sadness?
“Like goes unto like,” his mother had once told him when he'd asked why his parents did not marry.
Regardless of any empathy from Grace, Luc refused to hope. Nearly one hundred years as a specter had beaten most of the hope out of him. “I haven’t the heart for it,” he confessed.
She gazed at him steadily for long moments.
He could feel the regret and sorrow flooding her. Luc understood—she knew the same kind of loss he felt. Beneath the empathy lay something else, something earthier.
He’d seen lambent desire in other women’s eyes. Would Grace kiss him?
She leaned toward him, but turned her head to whisper in his ear.
“Maybe you will. Someday.”
He buried his face in her rich auburn hair, hugging her, for her empathy, for her understanding, for the hope she wished to give him. Luc couldn’t accept it. Hope paved the road to sorrow and tears, but she didn’t know that. She hadn’t lived a cursed life.
Not too much later, they said good night, wishing each other pleasant dreams.
He couldn’t really sleep. Daily rest wasn’t necessary for ephemeral beings, which included him.
Even on nights—like this one—when the moon was full and he was completely corporeal, sleep—true solid sleep—was impossible.
The conversation with Grace had filled his mind with memories best forgotten.
It’d take most of the night and a good amount of whiskey to exorcise them.
Grace was safe enough with the dogs and his cat—the disloyal little fiend.