Chapter Thirteen
Sweet Dreams Plantation House
Three weeks later, as she sat at her kitchen table and made a list of items to have delivered, Grace was still trying to push Luc from her mind. The man was as inconstant as the moon, changing with every encounter. Yes, he answered all her questions, but not with any real information.
He had confessed to being Irish.
I figured that out before he told me.
Luc had never really explained what he did for a living, and despite his confession of a troubled past—a lost love and an argument with his father—what did she really know?
Not much. In fact, Grace knew so little about him that she’d prefer he never come back. Life was more peaceful without Captain Lucien Flynn. Just look how placid the past weeks have been. Even the dogs had been calm.
As if wishing to prove her wrong, the pair rushed to the front kitchen door and set up a chorus of barks, shattering her thoughts.
When a loud rumbling noise, increased the cacophony, she put the pen down and went to the door. Through the glass, a red motor car was visible, stopping in front of the house.
A man got out. Grace recognized him immediately and hurried to get her rifle. Once armed, she let the dogs out then followed them before the man could knock. “Git. Down.” Guidry waved his arms as Mars and Mercury harassed him with leaps and growls.
Good boys.
“Call off your mutts,” the tavern owner hollered.
Grace considered ordering the half-grown hounds to attack. She refrained. Such an order could cause more trouble than it prevented. Guidry was someone she never wanted in her house. Had she a choice, she’d never have to speak to him.
“Heel,” she ordered. The dogs raced to her side but remained standing, ready to launch at her signal.
Guidry took a step forward.
She shouldered the rifle. “Stop right there.”
“Certainly, Miz Thibodaux.”
“What do you want?” she barked.
“I’m here at the request of your land manager.”
“You’re the telephone agent?” Two days ago, the manager had told her she needed a telephone. He worried that if the men, or herself, should have an emergency, help wouldn’t get to Sweet Dreams in time to do any good.
“Among other things.” A smug sneer traversed the tavern owner’s mouth.
“Did you bring a proposal?” If the man were a saint, she’d still ask for an estimate.
“No. I ain’t doing all that work until I know exactly what you need.”
“I need a telephone line. It isn’t complicated.” Grace gestured with her rifle.
“Mebbe. How many phones do you need? That’s a big house. You want to run down all those stairs every time you get a call?”
“I doubt I’ll get that many calls.”
“Then whenever you want to call out, you’ll have to use the stairs.”
“I won’t mind.”
Guidry shrugged. “If you say so. I still need to go inside and check for the best entry point for the wires.”
That wasn’t going to happen.
“You can work from structural drawings. I’ll have my attorney send some to you.”
There was no way this man was having access to her house, ever.
“If you insist, Miz Thibodaux. I’ll appreciate those drawings. However, I’m also the local tax assessor. You done made a number of improvements to the house and property. I’ll have to examine the house to make sure you pay the right taxes.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Hire someone to do that for you. I do not want you in my house.”
“Not even if I apologize for my rude behavior when we first met?”
His behavior had been beyond rude.
“Not even,” she said, keeping things simple. Grace lifted her chin.
The dogs danced in place, ready to leap.
“Well, now, I can hire men like you ask, but I’ll have to add the charge to your tax bill.”
“I value my privacy. I can’t have strangers coming out here unannounced.”
“I can use the same men for the assessment and the telephone installation. They can do it all in one day.”
“Fine.” She wasn’t going to be able to get a telephone without some disturbance to her solitude. “Make sure you send a note with the date for their work at least two days ahead. You can send it with my land manager.”
“I’ll do that, Miz Thibodaux. Y’all have a nice rest of your day.” He gave a half-bow that was more insult than manners.
She kept the rifle on him while he returned to his automobile.
As he drove out of sight, Mars and Mercury whined then sat and looked up at her.
Is that disappointment I see in their eyes?
“You two really wanted to bite him, didn’t you?”
Mars’ woof echoed Mercury’s.
When Grace finally lowered the weapon, she was shaking.
Fury, fear or frustration?
All were so familiar; she could scarcely tell the difference anymore.
She went back into the house and buried herself in cleaning the attics—the one place in the house she’d neglected.
Grace accomplished a great deal, despite Guidry’s unpleasant interruption.
She swept, dusted, removed broken furniture, setting aside those pieces she felt might still be useable.
As sunset neared, she dusted her hands and descended to the kitchen.
The animals needed feed and water. So did she.
Eventually she grabbed the lantern and headed for the dock, where she settled like every pleasant evening.
She was proud of how she’d handled Guidry, yet she had no one with whom to share her pride.
Knowing I did something well, should be enough. Grace didn’t need other people’s approval, least of all from some man who couldn’t even be bothered to visit frequently enough for her to determine if he was truly friend or foe.
“Aunt Sarah, I hope you saw my encounter with Guidry. I did as you taught me. I never let him see how angry he made me. I’m getting better at ignoring other people’s attempts to manipulate my feelings. It feels good.”
Except when it doesn’t.
True, she confessed to herself. Luc was the only person she’d been unable to pretend did not exist since she’d moved to Sweet Dreams. Despite their rocky start, and their short number of encounters, she wanted to think of him as a friend.
I can’t. Not until I know him better. Even then, friends have betrayed me before.
That was the reason she held back from calling Luc friend. Grace wouldn’t survive another betrayal like Boston.
She looked out over the bayou. The bright purple red of the sky was fading, but enough light lingered that she clearly saw the outline of a sailing ship.
“Aunt Sarah, is that ship really there?” Asking the question helped still the tattoo of fear that drummed in her chest. “I thought I imagined it the first time, but now…”
Now, the masts, lines, and spars, with sails tightly furled, loomed stark against the fading sunset.
She stared. Absently, she’d stood and left the dock moving closer to the ship.
She had to get to that ship. Needed to know if it was real or not.
The bayou soaking her sandaled feet startled her from her daze.
The image never wavered, never changed shape or size regardless of her position.
Grace stepped back onto dry land, and shielding her eyes, watched as darkness grew consuming the vessel. “That ship has to be real. It shouldn’t be here, but it is. Tomorrow, I’ll find it.”
Who knows what items of historical significance I might discover?
And with that personal success, maybe, just maybe, the empty ache in her heart would vanish.
At the very least, she could learn what keeps a nineteenth century, deep-water vessel in the shallows of Bayou Mal Chance.
***
The following morning, instinct told Luc that Grace would be frustrated, the moment the two trucks drove down her lane. She wanted to search for his ship. Now she couldn’t. At least, not today.
He drifted close to where the trucks stopped in front of the house. The men were on the ground when Grace stepped outside with her rifle, dogs at her side.
“Stop right there.” She shouldered the rifle. “Who are you, and why have you come to Sweet Dreams?”
The men held up their hands.
“We ain’t armed,” the nearest one said. A skinny, short fellow with a raspy voice. The other one nodded. “Don’t shoot.”
“Answer the question.”
“Mr. Guidry sent us.” That information came from the man standing farthest away. Taller than the first, he had a bull-like build with almost no neck. His voice was very nasal.
He must have hay fever,
“I’m Walters, and this here is Jeffries,” the man said. “We’re here to install the phone and assess the house,” the first man added.
“Guidry was supposed to send a note advising me when you were coming,” Grace growled, her irritation clear.
“This, note, Miz Thibodaux?” Nasal Walters reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
She rolled her eyes then lowered the rifle. “Bring it here.”
The man approached. Mars issued a low growl as the man approached.
“It’s okay,” Grace reassured keeping her eye on the man.
“That’s close enough,” she warned when he stood an arm’s length away. Rifle secure in one hand, she held out her opposite palm. “Now get back in your trucks. Come back in two days.”
A woof from Mercury emphasized the order.
Luc approved of her caution, especially after the incident with Filthy and Jowls, who also worked for Guidry.
The two new men moved in the direction of the trucks, but Jeffries hesitated. “We can’t come back in two days.”
Grace sighed. “When can you come back?”
“I…I dunno,” he rasped. “That’d be up to Mr. Guidry. He’s got a lot of appointments set up for us. I know that much.”
“Might be a month or more,” Nasal Walters volunteered.
Liar. Luc sensed the man’s pulse racing.
Grace frowned. “I need to get this done and over with. I can’t have people coming out here anytime they like. You’d better stay and do the work now.”
Raspy Jeffries grinned. The yellowed toothy smile took up most of his thin face. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
“Thank you, Miz Thibodaux,” they chorused. “You just go on about your business. We’ll be done in a jiffy,” Nasal said. He pulled gear from his truck.
“We work quiet, too. You won’t even know we’re here,” Raspy stated.