Love Finds You in New Orleans(76)

“Of course, Monsieur Joubert.” Armstrong whistled to a younger version of himself perched on a barrel and cleaning his fingernails with a knife. “William, come get this order ready.”

His son folded the knife closed with one hand and slid off the barrel with the speed of thick molasses. “If I had hair, half this weight, and all my teeth, I wouldn’t be holding down a barrel waiting for the next whistle. Guess it’s my fault for not making my son work as hard to feed himself as I had to.” He handed Joseph the invoice. “Don’t let that happen to him,” he said, pointing to Gabriel. Joseph just smiled and nodded.

As they left the store, Gabriel said, “You didn’t correct Armstrong when he mistook me for your son.”

“No, I didn’t mind him thinking that at all. Though he must be wondering how you came to be so light with me as your father,” Joseph said. “Wait. Gabriel. I just realized how that must have sounded. I didn’t mean to suggest any disrespect to your father. Or to you. I shouldn’t assume.”

“No one has ever recognized me, mistaken or not, for anyone’s son before today.” So that was the feeling he’d missed all those years. Gabriel wanted to resent Jean Noel for having deprived him of a father-son relationship. But sons of placées, even when their fathers had no other biological children, were rarely acknowledged. Joseph had given him what his own father could not. Recognition.



* * * * *


Gabriel and Joseph stopped sawing when they saw Nathalie step behind the kitchen and move to where they were framing the addition. A shower of fine white dust covered almost every part of her gown that her apron didn’t.

“Have you checked the powdered-sugar expenses since she started working for your mother?” Joseph smiled and shook his head.

“No. Rosette said anyone who wonders what it means to beat the devil out of something needs to watch Nathalie with a shaker and a plate of beignets,” said Gabriel. “She said she hates to spoil her fun, and it entertains the customers.”

“You two are laughing at me, aren’t you?” Since Nathalie laughed herself when she asked them, the men figured they were safe in agreeing with her. “Customers haven’t complained about the new prices. They think that little mountain of sugar is lagniappe. Just you wait.”

“Did you need to tell us something?” Gabriel asked, knowing she would not have bothered them outside otherwise.

“Oh, yes. Gabriel, you have visitors. Charlotte and her friend, the one who talks constantly—Justine. Yes. Do you want them to meet you out here?”

“Tell them I’ll be right in.”

“I already did. They’re having coffee.” She winked and went back inside.

Joseph wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Some man is going to have his hands full, taking care of her.”

“And it’s not going to be me,” Gabriel said as he rolled down his sleeves and cuffed them at the wrist.

“Does she know that?” Joseph wiped sawdust off his shirt and brown cotton work pants.

“Why wouldn’t she? I didn’t think it was ever an issue,” said Gabriel. He had always considered Nathalie a friend. Their discussions and actions had never ventured beyond that relationship.

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Joseph warned. “I might as well take a break while you do. I’m sure your mother misses me.”

Gabriel saw Lottie in one of those unguarded moments before she knew he was in the room. Her hair had been tightly drawn back on each side of her face but released in a thick sea of curls that flowed past the nape of her neck. The teardrop emerald hanging from her pearl choker nestled itself in the hollow of her throat. He outlined her face with his eyes and in that moment knew he could not watch her become the wife of Paul Bastion. She scanned the café, and when her eyes found him, his heart shattered.

He threaded his way through the tables, pausing to greet a regular customer or friend as he went. When he reached Lottie and Justine, he first apologized for and then explained his disheveled appearance. “I did not expect company,” he said, “but I am glad you are here.”

“Justine and I planned to spend time this evening strolling along the levee since the winter has not seemed nearly so angry the past few days. Agnes and Abram will be with us, of course. I thought, if you were free—”

“Sometimes I do not know why she bumbles when you are around. Or maybe I do. She is trying to tell you that the two of you could meet and have that talk. I’m only going to lend legitimacy to the event. That, and to avoid being asked to do Ruthie’s chores since she is so ready to deliver that child she needs help to stand once she’s seated. I’m even being told to flatten my own mattress and fill my own pitcher for my bedroom and help with meals. My mother and Isabelle are going to ruin that girl if they continue to treat her as if she is white.”