Acadian Waltz (30 page)

He threw the
T-shirt on the bed behind me. “You don’t know everything. There are things I
need to tell you.” 

I patted my hand
reassuringly on his chest, convinced that there was nothing more he could
disclose to me about his business dealings. “Tonight you can tell me all about
your smuggling secrets, and then we will make plans.”

His deep brown
eyes anxiously searched mine. “You might not feel the same way about me after I
tell you of my past, Nora.”

I shook my head.
“None of it can ever change how I see you. To me you will always be that
adorable boy chasing after me on the docks. The boy I fell in love with because
he believed in me before I believed in myself. ”

“You may despise
that boy after tonight,” he warned with a frown.

“I won’t change
my mind, Jean Marc. I promise I never will.”

He pulled me
into his arms. “I hope so, Nora. I truly hope so.”

I knew no matter
what he told me, it would never lessen my love for him. My faith had taught me
that true love could forgive a multitude of sins. I had never believed in such
absolution prior to that moment, but my feelings for Jean Marc had opened my
heart to such possibilities. After all, our souls are not judged by the sins we
accumulate in life, but by the love we take with us after our life has ebbed
away.

Chapter 26

I had just
stepped up to the back door of the main house when I heard Uncle Jack’s truck
heading toward Jean Marc’s cottage. The sun was coming up over the horizon and
the house was still. When I entered the kitchen I expected to see Henri, but
instead I found his half-full ashtray on the kitchen table. I walked over to
the coffee machine and started filling the coffee chamber with the aromatic
coffee and chicory blend so many of us in the South had grown addicted to. I
turned the machine on, then stood by the counter and waited impatiently for
those first few drops of the dirt-colored liquid to appear in the pot.

“Damn things always
take forever,” a hard-hearted voice said behind me.

I turned to see
Henri standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing his robe over his pajamas and
leaning heavily on the cane the physical therapist had given him the day
before.

“Using the cane,
I see.” I pulled out two coffee mugs from the cabinet above me.

“It’s easier for
getting around,” he admitted as he came toward the kitchen table and eased
himself into the closest chair.

I placed a mug
in front of him. “You’ll be ready to travel soon.”

He rested his
cane against his chair. “A few more days.”

“How about
today, Henri?”

“Why should I do
that, Nora? I’m not quite ready yet, and I still have to get some cash.”

I took a deep
breath. “I’ll give you my engagement ring and the keys to my car if you leave
today.”

He sat back in
his chair and eyed me for a moment. “Things must be progressing nicely with my
brother for you to want me out of the picture so quickly. Did he ask you to
move in with him already?”

I said nothing
to confirm or deny his suspicions. His eyes went to the gold-painted ring on
the third finger of my left hand and then he grinned.

“Jean Marc wants
to marry you. You do work fast. Haven’t even dumped fiancé number one and
you’ve got number two all lined up. Like mother, like daughter.”

I slapped him
hard across the face.

He did nothing.
He did not even flinch when I hit him. He kept his soulless eyes on mine. Then
he gave me a cold sneer and raised his left hand to rub his red cheek.

“Was it something
I said?” he quipped.

I glared at him.
“It’s no business of yours what happens between me and Jean Marc.” I returned
to the coffee machine on the counter.

“Far be it from
me to stand in the way of true love, Nora. But you must admit it gives one
pause how quickly you fall in and out of love. First with the nice doctor, and
now with my brother; some people might wonder what you’re after, girl.”

I wheeled
around. “What I’m after? I’m not after anything, Henri. I’m in love with your
brother and he loves me. There is nothing else.”

“Love? With Jean
Marc?” He chuckled and reached for his cane. “That man doesn’t know how to
love.”

“What do you
know about love, Henri? You’re so wrapped up in yourself that there can never
be room in your heart for another person. You can’t love; all you can do is
destroy. That way you don’t feel so alone and so empty inside.”

“You think you
have me all figured out with your psychobabble.” He looked down at the ring on
my finger. “Let me tell you something, love tarnishes. I’ve seen it a hundred
times. It starts out great, but after a while the luster fades and the polish
wears away. Then all you’re left with is a cheap piece of tin, and you wonder
what in the hell you ever found so appealing to begin with.” He leaned on his
cane and slowly stood from his chair. “I‘m not the kind of man who goes around
filling a woman’s head with promises of white picket fences and wedded bliss,
because I know it doesn’t exist. Such happiness is a myth, the golden grail of
life. If you set out searching for it, all you will ever find is sorrow.” He
paused as he caught his breath for a moment, leaning heavily on his cane. “Take
some advice, Nora. Go back to your doctor and be content with that, because you
will never have happiness with my brother.”

I held up my
head defiantly to him. “You’re the one who has always carried unhappiness
around with you like an all-consuming plague. You have no idea what happiness
is, what love is, and you hate the idea that Jean Marc and I could ever be
happy.”

“Oh, yes, try
and be happy with the untouchable, cool, and always perfect Jean Marc.” He
wavered on his feet. “You’ve never had to grow up in the shadow of a sibling,
Nora. To be compared day in and day out to the better half of your biological
self. I’m sick of hearing from everyone how great and dedicated dear, sweet
Jean Marc is. You’ll never know everything about him; all the bad things he has
done. God help you if you ever learn the truth.” He slowly made his way out of
the kitchen, leaning on the cane as he went.

I stared out the
window behind the sink as I waited for Henri’s shuffling to fade away. The red
light of the coffee pot beside me started to blink, signaling the brewing phase
was complete. But I did not feel like coffee anymore; the fight with Henri had
ruined my happy mood.

I tried to relax
my shoulders and let all the tension his words had created leave my body. But
as I replayed the conversation over in my head, one thing he said ate at me.

“God help you if
you ever learn the truth,” I repeated the words he had used as I inspected the
full coffee pot next to me. “What truth?” I asked out loud.

“Oh, Nora T,
you’re up,” Ms. Marie’s cheerful voice came from the kitchen doorway. “And you
have made the coffee. Ca c’est bon.”

The dainty woman
was dressed in her Sunday best. Her plain, white cotton dress was dotted with
yellow daises, and her pale yellow shoes matched perfectly with her yellow
handbag.

“You look very
pretty,” I commented, admiring her outfit.

“Thank you,
child.” She came forward and placed her handbag on the kitchen table. “Was that
Henri I heard shuffling about?” she asked as she reached for the empty coffee
mug on the table.

“Yes, he was
awake so we have been practicing walking with his new cane. He’s doing well
with it.”

“Oh,
that’s wonderful
.” She brought the mug to the
sink and then pulled out another mug from the cabinet beside her. “I want him
to get out of that room. Maybe we could take him out this afternoon, get him
some sunshine.”

“That would be
good for him,” I concurred.

She turned to
me, holding her mug in her hands. “I don’t know what we would have done without
you these past few days, Nora T. Havin’ a nurse ‘round here would have broken
my Jean Marc. The therapists were expensive enough, but I can’t imagine how—”

“What do you
mean ‘broken Jean Marc,’ Ms. Marie?” I interrupted.

“Jean Marc pays
for everythin’ ‘round here, child; has ever since he came back from Texas. He’s
spent a fortune fixin’ up this house and his cottage, and then havin’ to pay
all of Henri’s medical bills on top of everythin’ must be costin’ him. I know
my boys haven’t spoken in years, and I would never have asked Jean Marc to
spend any of his money on his brother, but I had no choice.”

“His money? I
don’t understand.”

“Money from his
accounts,” she replied, smiling. “From the money he made in Texas.” She reached
for the coffee pot. “Investments, or somethin’ like that.” She poured the
coffee into her mug. “I can never remember,” she added.

“Texas?” I
asked, feeling an uncomfortable twinge in my gut.

“Oui, he made a
lot of money in Texas. When he came home, he took over the business from Emile.
Henri and Jean Marc were supposed to take it over together, but they had a
fallin’ out and Henri left.” She replaced the coffee pot on the warmer.

“Ms. Marie, this
is very important. Do you know what these investments were?”

She shook her
head and frowned. “But Henri knew. Shame Henri can’t remember. He could have
said more ’bout it.”

My happiness
disintegrated as the bite of bile rose in the back of my throat. I left Ms.
Marie and went down the narrow beige hall toward the parlor. I tore open the
doors to Henri’s bedroom and caught sight of him by his hospital bed, wearing
only his pajama bottoms and struggling to pull his blue T-shirt over his head.

“How did Jean
Marc make his money in Texas?” I questioned as I entered the room. I quickly
shut the doors behind me.

Henri peered out
from under his T-shirt. With his good left hand he pulled the T-shirt off his
head and then threw it on the bed.

“Mother ran her
mouth, I suspect.” He shifted his weight and leaned on the bed next to him.
“She always had a bad habit of talking too much.”

I marched up to
the bed and stood before him. “What happened when Jean Marc came home from
Texas?”

He sat down on
the bed and rubbed his left hand across his thin, pale chest. “The question is,
dear girl, what didn’t happen? You never would have guessed it by looking at my
brother, but he is a very shrewd businessman, Nora. Do you know what I mean?”

I shook my head,
waiting with a sickening impatience for his next words.

“I’m sure you
know about the history of my fine family. Smugglers and thieves, that’s what we
have been for almost two hundred years, and in many ways what we still are.” He
paused, looked down at the sheets on his bed, and picked at a piece of lint
with his left hand. “Granddad taught my uncle and father all about the business
of swamp running, and in turn, my father taught Jean Marc and me.” He raised
his head. “The real family business, you could say. Trawling has always been
something of a cover for the Gaspard family…sort of an alternative career.”

“Jean Marc told
me you ran drugs,” I confessed.

He nodded.
“Yeah, drugs, small arms, whatever was needed. Father had many clients, and I
picked up the business from him.”

“And Jean Marc?”

“Oh, he started
out like me, running stuff occasionally through the swamps for Dad. But he
never really had a taste for it. He found his true calling when he went to
Texas.”

My gut
tightened. “Why Texas?”

“He met his
father-in-law, Lawrence Castille, when he was in school there. Castille was one
of the best smugglers in the world. He took Jean Marc under his wing and taught
him all about the art of smuggling. He became a real asset to Castille, even
married his daughter. My brother ran everything from antiquities out of Egypt,
to illegal arms into North Korea. He made a lot of money doing it.”

A wave of nausea
rolled in my stomach. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it,
Nora. Jean Marc was never crazy about the business, but he sure did like the
money. Tried not to get into it, even got a regular job after he graduated from
college to support his wife, but that soon failed and he eventually succumbed,
like we all do. The money is too damn good to walk away from.”

“Why did he walk
away from it?”

“Castille was
killed in a raid on one of his compounds in Texas. Jean Marc was on a run for
him at the time, out of the country. When Jean Marc came back to the States, he
decided to come home and put his money into expanding Gaspard Fisheries. But
when he found out I was still smuggling, he decided it was time to go straight
and cut the family business off from our other enterprises. I tried to talk him
out of it.” He grazed his hand down the scar on his right cheek.
“Unsuccessfully. So, I left and went out on my own.”

I leaned over
the bed. “Why didn’t you want to go straight, Henri? You could have worked with
Jean Marc to build up the business.”

“The last thing
my brother wanted was having me around to spy on him. Jean Marc doesn’t like
anyone knowing his dirty little secret. But I heard about it from a few
associates I know. They said that he was a real pro in Texas, a cool customer
with a ruthless reputation and some very powerful connections. When I heard he
had returned to his former ways, I wasn’t surprised.”

I shook my head,
feeling confused. “What former ways?”

“His smuggling
ways, of course. Rumor around the swamps is that Jean Marc Gaspard never left
the business.”

I sighed with
relief. “I already know about his smuggling activities, Henri. When I went over
to his place the other day, I saw him loading up a boat with boxes to take into
the swamps. I confronted him about it, and he told me everything.”

Henri rolled his
eyes and laughed at me. It was a harsh and evil sound that reverberated
throughout the small parlor. “You think I’m talking about swamp smuggling,
girl? Lord, Nora, you really are innocent, aren’t you? You can’t make enough
off smuggling junk through the swamps to pay all of the bills my brother has
racked up through the years. No, I’m talking about high-end smuggling; taking stuff
across borders and into other countries. Dangerous stuff that can get you
killed, like gems, weapons, money, antiquities, even secrets. My brother is
still an international smuggler, Nora. He’s considered one of the best in the
business. His clients are some of the wealthiest men on the planet. That’s how
he has been able to pay for everything around here since he came home from
Texas.”