Under the Cajun Moon (50 page)

My mother had also changed in the past year—or at least our relationship had changed. Though she would probably always be self-centered and shallow, the time we endured together down in the salt mine somehow managed to soften our hearts toward each other. We would never be the best of friends, but I felt that we had finally at least made our peace and found a way to start over again.

Travis was a big part of that. As he helped me understand what forgiveness really looked like through God’s eyes, I realized I had been carrying around for many years the burdens of my own unforgiveness. Surrendering my anger and frustration and resentment at both of my parents had been a huge step for me. Once I did that, many of the elements of my spiritual walk fell into place more fully as well.

By moving back to Louisiana, I felt that my life had come full circle. In the months leading up to the wedding, I had managed to develop a whole new appreciation for my home state. Though I still didn’t like snakes or alligators, I couldn’t get enough of the beautiful scenery and the colorful culture and the extended Cajun family that seemed to welcome me in with open arms as if I had always belonged.

My snake bite had left a scar, two shiny circles on the back of my hand, and I considered them my badge of courage. As a private joke, Travis had given me the honorary Indian name of “Twin Fang.”

The wedding of Twin Fang and Cajun Boy was held at City Park, but, of course, there was only one place the reception could be, and that was at Ledet’s. My parents had gone all out for the event, even surprising me by closing the restaurant for the day.

Once the private party was fully under way, Travis and I had fun simply meandering from room to room, greeting our guests, listening to
the strains of the Cajun and zydeco music wafting in from the courtyard, and dining on the Creole high cuisine my father had chosen to serve. Out of respect for Travis, my dad had tailored some of those courses to the Cajun palette. Had there been a restaurant reviewer there that night, no doubt the Michelin guide would not have had enough stars for the rating Ledet’s would have received. My father had outdone himself that much.

Ironically, our wedding had fallen on the one-year anniversary of our discovery of the treasure, so in a way we were celebrating both. When we finally understood that the treasure had been divided into two parts, everything that had happened one year ago made much more sense. The portion my father had found in his youth had been discovered in a pink vein of the mine in a disintegrated canvas bag. At first, he and Alphonse Naquin had decided to leave it right there where he had found it, thinking it would be safe. Later, when they chose to tell the investors about the treasure, they moved it to a better location, one they felt sure no one would ever find unless they had the coordinates. Thanks to Hurricane Betsy’s handiwork with the
Cajun Moon,
they had been able to create a hiding spot underneath the upturned boat, one that was accessible only to the two men who knew how to climb inside, get to it, and open it up.

The wooden trunk I had discovered in a different, pinker vein of the mine contained a treasure no one had ever known about before. Inside the trunk were one hundred more of the statuettes, the value of which was legally halved between me, as the finder, and the Naquins, as the landowner. Now that Travis and I were married, it didn’t really matter as it was all in the family anyway.

Once news of the treasure came out, the truth of its origins finally surfaced as well. A French historian who read about it contacted us to explain, saying how the gold had originally been created as an enticement for settlers to the New World but was supposed to have been switched out for gold-plated statuettes instead. Having that information to go on had made the rest of the research easier. Eventually, we were able to uncover the story of two of Travis’ ancestors named Jacques and Angelique Soliel. From what we were able to piece together, Jacques Soliel had been a goldsmith with ties to the treasure and at one point had nearly been killed by
an angry New Orleans mob over its mix-up. The Soliels’ Creole grandchildren had married the Acadian Naquins and relocated the whole clan down to the Atchafalaya Basin. Obviously, they had brought the treasure with them, though we would probably never know why it was divided and hidden in two different parts of the mine. Legend had it that Jacques and Angelique were so deeply in love that they died in each other’s arms. The last word Jacques uttered before death was “Paradise,” so that’s what his children named the island where they lived in his honor.

Knowing that whole story made a big difference in refuting Wade Henkins’ territorial claims to the land. In fact, his family had bought Paradise from one branch of the Naquin family in 1925 and sold it back to another just a few years later. We weren’t sure why knowledge of the treasure hadn’t passed down through the generations, but with further research we hoped one day to find out.

At least we finally learned how Wade Henkins had come to know about the treasure in the first place. According to court testimony, it had simply been a matter of his having been in the right place at the right time. Working security at Ledet’s on the night of Ruben Peralta’s funeral, he had been fine-tuning the alarm system down in the wine cellar when he overheard a conversation between my father and Sam. They had thought they were having a private discussion about the need to tell Kevin Peralta all about the treasure now that he would be taking over his father’s practice. Putting two and two together, Wade had begun snooping around after that, embarking on a greedy pursuit that would eventually end up in murder.

About six months after the treasure was made public and just before it was about to go up for auction at Christie’s, we were contacted by a representative of the French government and told that the treasure rightfully belonged to them. Just as my father had always feared, by revealing the statuettes to the world, it looked as though we were going to lose them entirely.

But my father hadn’t counted on my help in the matter. The day the representative showed up to claim the gold and bring it back to France, we all decided to meet for lunch at Ledet’s and give the treasure a proper sendoff.

I’m not sure what tipped me off about the representative first, if it was the “okay” sign he flashed during conversation (which, to the French, meant “zero,” not “okay”) or the fact that he politely kept one hand on his lap during the entire meal (when the French politely keep both hands on the table). But at some point, because of his very American etiquette, I began to suspect that the man wasn’t actually French at all. Discreetly, I managed to quiz him about French protocol, French manners, and even the order of the seven courses in a Parisian restaurant. He failed on all accounts, and so, as we were waiting for our desserts, I excused myself to go to the restroom and called up the police instead. The man was under arrest practically before the others at our table even understood what was going on. I was afraid he might be an extended relative of the Henkins, maybe one who hadn’t participated in the original crime and wasn’t serving time at Angola like the others. But as it turned out, this guy was just a petty criminal from Shreveport who had apparently planned to con the gold right out of our hands and then disappear.

Two weeks later we were all stunned when the fleur-de-lis statuettes sold at auction for $96 million dollars. Once we all had our money, it was fun deciding how to utilize it. I was especially touched when my father established a huge memorial scholarship fund in honor of his late best friend and right-hand man, Sam. Because he had been in the hospital and missed Sam’s funeral, my dad had rented out Preservation Hall just last week, on the anniversary of Sam’s death, and thrown a huge musical party in his honor instead. Travis and I had been there, and it was one of the first times I had ever interacted with my parents in a social setting and hadn’t felt in any way excluded or overlooked. I still wasn’t sure if that was because I was changing or they were, or both.

Following his example, I had established a scholarship fund of my own, one in honor of Ben Runner that would benefit Chitimacha tribe members who were interested in majoring in the fields of medicine or pharmacology. I also made a sizeable donation to the Tribe’s already-outstanding senior care program and managed to convince Josie Runner to take advantage of all the services available to her there. With the help of her fellow tribe members, we even engineered a complete renovation of her house. Given
the fact that I had nearly gotten her killed, I thought it was the least that I could do.

As for me, all charges had been dropped by the time we were rescued from the salt mine. Many inconsistencies had led Detective Walters to rethink his original impressions about the case, especially when blood samples taken from me and from Kevin Peralta had both tested positive for the date rape drug known as GHB. Wade Henkins, on the other hand, was convicted of numerous felonies and had recently begun serving concurrent life sentences at Angola State Prison. His brothers were at Angola as well.

In fact, many parts of what had gone so wrong one year before had actually turned out so right in the end. As the wedding reception drew to a close, my father gave a beautiful toast to the bride and groom, welcoming Travis into our family. Later, I found myself thinking about my father’s choice of words. Had my parents and I ever been a family? Maybe not, but we were getting there.

As TJ happily stayed at home with his numerous aunts and uncles and cousins, Travis and I headed off for ten heavenly days in Hawaii on our honeymoon. Though the scenery was amazing and the nights breathtaking, the highlight of the whole trip for me actually came one afternoon when we were lounging around together in our rented condo. Travis decided that his new wife absolutely had to learn how to make a gumbo before the week was over. We rounded up the ingredients we needed and started with a roux, but soon Travis moved in close behind me so that he could perfect my stirring technique. That led to some kissing of my neck and a warm hand around my waist, and soon we both forgot all about the gumbo.

Ten minutes later we were so lost in each other that the smoke alarm had to go off before we realized what was happening. As it beep-beep-beeped from high up on the ceiling, Travis moved the smoking pan from the burner while I raced to open the windows and doors to fan the smoke outside. When the alarm finally stopped, I nervously turned to look at my husband’s face.

“You’re not mad that we burned the roux?” I asked, biting my lip.

“Why?” he replied, seeming genuinely perplexed. “It’s just a roux.”

At that moment, my eyes filled with tears. He didn’t understand my reaction at all, and I had to assure him that they were happy tears, not sad.

“If you say so,
cher.
”

Standing there and looking at each other, I recognized yet another facet of the character of God. Somehow, He had a way of bringing into my life people who were helping me to heal and grow. Chief among them was my new husband.

As he wrapped his arms around me and we picked up where we had left off, I knew one thing for sure: I would love this man forever.

Under the Cajun Moon
is Mindy’s eleventh novel from Harvest House Publishers. Previous books include the bestselling Gothic thriller,
Whispers of the Bayou,
and Amish romantic suspense,
Shadows of Lancaster County,
as well as the Million Dollar Mysteries and the Smart Chick Mystery series, which includes
The Trouble with Tulip, Blind Dates Can Be Murder,
and
Elementary, My Dear Watkins.

Mindy is also a playwright, a singer, and a former stand-up comedian. A popular speaker at churches, libraries, civic groups, and conferences, Mindy lives with her husband and two daughters near Valley Forge, Pennsylvania.

In any story, where facts are used to mold and shape fiction, sometimes it becomes hard for readers to tell the two apart, particularly when learning about a history or culture that isn’t overly familiar. For more information and to find out which elements of this story are fictional and which are based on fact, visit Mindy’s website at:

www.mindystarnsclark.com
.