She expected that, as she grew older, she would understand more of life. Instead, she understood less. She asked more questions but received fewer answers. The party, the marriage, Gabriel, Justine, her parents, her grandparents. Agnes and Abram, who had no control over the color of their skin, now had no control over their lives. But isn’t that true for all of us? The God Grand-père explained all those years ago seemed then far less confusing than He did today.
And now her grandparents’ voices drifted through her window, but no one had yet called for dinner. Lottie watched the rain exhaust itself, leaving behind drops on the lemon trees, a shine on the bricks in the courtyard. She decided she was tired too. She closed her eyes and waited. She just wasn’t sure for what.
Chapter Fifteen
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Of course she would be there. It was her house.
Gabriel left the LeClercs’ house hoping his day of disappointments ended soon and that Rosette would be understanding about his being away so long. Neither one seemed likely.
First, he had watched as his father, the man he intended to visit in moments, turned to meet his wife and son. The reunion Gabriel plotted in his head became as useless as he felt. Knowing he didn’t want to tell Rosette what happened, Gabriel went directly to Agnes. The thought that he might have to endure the awkwardness of seeing Lottie didn’t occur to him. That is, not until he finished explaining to Agnes what happened and then saw Lottie walking through the hall. And there was no way out for either one of them.
He saw how the delicate yellow of her dress highlighted the honey gold in her eyes. And when he had averted his eyes from Agnes, having heard the rustling of Lottie’s dress, he saw that she smiled. That she held one hand with the other, he knew signaled her nervousness. Their first few times visiting the children’s homes, days they’d walked and she’d talked about her grandmother’s distance from her, she’d clasped her hands just like that.
The discomfort he sensed between them was sadly reassuring, because it reflected what they could not openly acknowledge. It pained him to be so close that he could take her hands, draw her to him, and no longer need to wonder what it would be like to bend to kiss her, knowing it would be welcomed. And worse, her grandparents might have already decided on her husband, and yet she didn’t know. He wanted the party to be over, perhaps more than Lottie.
* * * * *
Gabriel dreaded explaining to his mother the reason he had not arrived home at the time she’d asked. And if she did not bother to ask but instead walked past him with Alcee in tow, he knew he’d best prepare for a hurricane-force wind upon her return.
He heard a medley of voices as he approached the house. Probably Tante Virgine. But entering through the open French doors of the dining room, he was surprised to find unfamiliar faces gathered around the table.
“Gabriel, so glad you are home.” Rosette sounded as if she meant it. “Finally.”
Ah, there it was.
His arms occupied holding his wardrobe, he simply nodded and wished he had first gone to his garçonnière and perhaps stayed there.
Excusing himself from the guests, Gabriel brought his clothes to his room and laid them on his bed. Rosette expected him to join her and her guests, so he quickly splashed water on his face, dried off, and returned to the dining room.
Most everyone had already finished eating, and, judging by the smell of fresh coffee, dessert would be served soon. He hated feeling uncomfortable in his own home. He served himself a bowl of red beans and rice then sat at the table across from his mother. Tearing the heel off the crusty French bread on the serving tray, he set it on his plate. When he lifted his spoon to his mouth, Rosette decided to start the introductions.
“This is my dressmaker, Madame Barrier. She graciously came here after Virgine told her we were without transportation.” Rosette gestured to the lady on her right, whose high white lace collar had been fastened by a rectangular brooch. The pink-and-gray horizontal stripes of her dress made for a surprising contrast, as Gabriel would have expected on a younger woman. Perhaps the lines around her eyes made her appear older.
“And this is Monsieur Joseph Joubert. He is a builder.”
Curious. “Pleased to meet you. And what is it you build?”
“Cottages, town houses, and stores. Most of my designs are traditional, but I do my best to know current trends. I provide floor plans, sketches of the completed project for my clients. I also renovate, which is what brought me to Madame Girod’s home today.”
He spoke with the practiced assurance that comes from knowing his clients wanted someone trustworthy, competent, and confident. Had he not introduced himself as a builder, Gabriel might have mistaken him as someone who worked on the river. Joubert had the well-developed arms of a man who spent the major portion of his day carrying objects the size of which might make another man, like Gabriel, collapse. Considerably darker than the Girods, Joubert’s close-to-his-scalp, tightly curled hair may have defined him as entirely black had his eyes not been as green, his lips not as thin.