He reached out and touched a sleeve ruffle. “And now I’m thinking it wasn’t meant for my sister but you.”
She smiled at the fanciful thought, that long ago he had chosen the fabric for her instead, a woman he had yet to meet. Perhaps the gown was meant to be passed down in the family, from one wedding to the next.
The tender moment was undone by the noisy tumult of his nieces and nephews as Will and Sylvie led their brood out the front door and down the hill, each bedecked in their best, while Bleu followed behind with Brielle, his hand at her elbow. Titus was already at the river with numerous other children, dressed in the shirt and breeches she’d made him.
The sound of fiddle music and the scent of roasting meat permeated the humid late June air. In the flickering, dramatic light of the cressets—burning iron baskets hanging from poles—Brielle did a quick count of nearly one hundred Acadians. What a picture the women made in their colorful dresses adorned with a rainbow of ribbons and streamers. The custom of Acadie? And a great many wooden shoes.Sabots, Sylvie said. The men dressed much like Bleu in finely tailored shirts and dark breeches, a few in waistcoats.
Bleu left her side to speak with some of the men while Brielle kept close to Sylvie. Dressed in green brocade, her advancing pregnancy apparent, she was quick to sit yet greeted everyone graciously, introducing Brielle to those she didn’t know. Benches lined the south riverbank, and the kitchen house doors stood open. As theporcwas raised from the pit, women set out vegetables and bread of all kinds as well as ale and cider.
“First the feasting, then the dancing,” Sylvie told her as a line formed.
Brielle removed her fan from the ribbon at her wrist and opened it. “Do you often have these gatherings?”
“Once a month, usually, aside from weddings and christenings and such. It’s been our tradition since the settlement’s founding, a rest from our labors and a celebration of God’s bounty foremost.”
Sabine Broussard was first in line, reminding Brielle of Bleu’s refusal to return her to Acadie. At the sound of his voice, Sabine looked back at them, unsmiling. Uncomfortable, Brielle pivoted toward Bleu who now stood so close she caught the Castile soap scent of him.
His gaze lowered to her throat. “You’re wearing the Galant pearls.”
She fingered the necklace, warm against her skin. “Sylvie is as bighearted as you are.”
“Bighearted? My sister just evicted me from her house.”
“What?”
“I’m now in mine, rough as it is. But the staircase is nearly done.” His voice held an enthusiasm she’d not heard before, even regret. “It doesn’t curve quite like yours in Philadelphia nor is there an angel in an alcove—”
She put a finger to his lips to shush him. “There needn’t be.”
He smiled and her hand fell away. Their close rapport was garnering attention and not only Sabine’s. Suddenly shamefaced, Brielle moved forward in line, turning away from him.
Her attention swung to desserts on a far table. “Tarte à la rhubarbe? Andgâteau à la mélasse?”
“You make me want to finish my kitchen,” he said behind her.
Suddenly sweets were the furthest thing from her mind. She was all too aware of him—and Sabine—and the notice being paid her in her Lyonnais silk gown. Sabine left the kitchen house, her head held high like an Acadian queen while Brielle suddenly felt an imposter, a tavern maid, trying to fit in and find her place.
If Virginians were said to be the finest dancers among His Majesty’s colonials, surely the Acadians weren’t far behind them. Bleu’s lesson in the orchard helped smooth Brielle’s steps and nerves. Once supper had settled, he claimed her for the first dance, a lively reel, and though she didn’t step it perfectly she learned quickly and didn’t repeat her mistakes.
Bleu partnered with Sylvie next and then Sabine while Brielle danced with several men she didn’t know as the clock ticked toward midnight. Winded and exhilarated, she wanted nothing more than to be away from the melee and alone with Bleu. But he seemed to have forgotten about her, talking and laughing with his fellow Acadians when he wasn’t dancing, sometimes disappearing altogether. When Sabine vanished, too, Brielle felt a qualm.
What was the gist of their relationship?
Titus sidled up to her and gave a charming little bow. “You look pretty tonight, not all worn out like you did at the tavern.”
Amused by his honesty, she sat down on a bench facing the river, patting the seat beside her. “How good it is to be worn out from afêteinstead.”
He nodded as he turned his back on the swirl of dancers. “I just want this frolic to be over so I can return to the river. Bleu’s going to take me fishing again tomorrow after I help him put up shelves in his kitchen.”
Ah, the kitchen, in need of her own special rhubarb tart. She felt a bone-deep contentment thinking of the clean, whitewashed space, followed by an ache that it might someday belong to someone else instead.
“Look at this hook and lure he made.” He dug into his pocket then held it aloft in the flickering light of the cressets. “He took one of Mrs. Blackburn’s sewing needles and bent it to shape, then carved this lure of willow and stained it in the dying shed. Now it only needs a feather to finish.”
Brielle studied it, impressed. “You’re becoming quite the fisherman. I even heard you’re helping build a stone weir upriver.”
“I’m making a reed weir for streams, too, but first Bleu taught me to swim.”
Had he?
