Set in Louisiana, Summer, 1925

[A/N: © 2014, Janet Aldrich. Plot and OCs are mine]

"May I go now, please?"

"Are you done eating?"

Nine-year-old Paul LeMay glared at the detested cold couche couche left in his bowl. He shook his head. "No."

"Then there's your answer, Paul." His father looked at him over the top of his newspaper. "Finish your food. There are hungry people out there who would be glad to have it."

"Then let t'em come and eat it," Paul muttered mutinously, under his breath.

"Did you say something?" The newspaper lowered a little more, a sure storm warning.

"No, sir." Paul retreated.

"Eat your breakfast. You have chores to do this morning, young man." The newspaper went back to full mast.

Paul quietly began scraping out his dish. He didn't understand what the new laws were he'd heard Papa arguing about with Nonc Pierre, but it sure seemed to make the grownups cranky, especially his Papa. Nonc Pierre had made most of the furniture in Denis LeMay's snug yellow house halfway between Bayou Liberté and the heart of New Orleans, and after some of Papa and Nonc Pierre's fights, he almost expected to come home one day after school and find all of the furniture thrown out on the curb. Papa had been that angry.

Across the kitchen table, his little sister, Hélène, smiled at him, trying to make him feel better. As little sisters went, Paul thought, she wasn't too bad. At least she didn't cry all the time, like Nanny Caissy, Joe's little sister, and she usually didn't demand to tag along with Paul and his ami, Theo Dubois. He smiled back, a little. Today of all days, he needed to finish his chores and make a quick getaway.

"I'm done now. May I be excused?"

"Yes, Paulie. Go do your chores."

"Oui, Maman."

Denis LeMay glared at his son over the newspaper again. "How many times do I have to tell you, Paul? English!"

"Yes, Papa," Paul said, giving the word its English intonation rather than the French. Louisiana was determined to integrate its Cajun citizens into the mainstream and had recently passed laws restricting teaching in and of the Acadian French they spoke. Denis supported this initiative wholeheartedly; his brother, Pierre, opposed it just as vocally.

Paul ran out to sweep the porch of the leaves that had fallen. He knew that today he had to bring in wood for the cookstove and water for priming the indoor pump. He hurried through the sweeping, trying to estimate if there was enough wood in the shed, or if he'd have to gather more.

Denis came out onto the porch carrying files, heading for his office. He adjusted his tie and tugged down his vest, which had grown somewhat snug over the past couple of years. I should really t'ink about eating a little less. He sighed and then sneezed; Paul was being a little too enthusiastic in his sweeping. "Take your time, Paul! You know better than that!" Denis shook dust from his thinning black hair.

"Yes, sir." Paul slowed down his pace; he also knew better than to disagree.

"And I'd better not hear you were running the bayou today with Theo! Why can't you play here in town with Willy Johnston or Jim Buford?" It was an old argument that had devolved into a rhetorical question. There was no point in Paul explaining that neither Willy nor Jim wanted anything to do with him. And short of ordering Paul to stay away from Theo, there was nothing Denis could do. He was not quite ready to completely sever his ties to the community he'd grown up in, and there was nothing objectionable about Theo, the son of his oldest friend, as such. He just wanted to see his son assimilate and be more than "Cajun". For a lot of Louisianans, that was just marginally better than a swear word. He walked to the sidewalk to wait for the streetcar, turning to look back at his son for a moment. He's smart and he has so much spirit. I just need to find a way to harness that and help him find his niche – outside the bayou.

Paul was struggling with the heavy water bucket when he felt something hit him in the back. "T'eo! Stop t'at!"

"How'd you know it was me?"

"You make so much noise, who else could it be, coo-yôn? Don't bump me. As soon as I get the water in the house I t'ink I can go. Are you ready?"

"Ready as I can be, mon vieux!"

Paul's hazel eyes met Theo's dark blue ones. "Vieux means 'old', T'eo. I'm only nine, so I am not old. Don't call me t'at."

"Ok, mon vieux!" Theo gave his friend a sunny grin that went well with his blond curls.

"T'eo, if maman didn't need this water, I'd dump it on you. You're hopeless." Paul shook his head.

"Hey, my Nonc Marcel calls your Nonc Pierre that, and they're not old either." Theo held the kitchen door for Paul, who carefully brought in the bucket and thumped it down in the corner.

Paul brushed back his thick black hair with his hand and took a deep breath. "Nonc Pierre is thirty, or almost. That's pretty old." His uncle, or Nonc in bayou patois, was the rock of Paul's life, kind where Denis was strict, understanding where his father was prone to criticize. He could count on Nonc Pierre to listen to him and offer advice or support when he had a problem, while Denis, caught up in his own concerns, tended to put Paul's problems on the back burner. I love Nonc Pierre more than I do Papa, he thought. Maybe I ought to feel guilty about t'at, but I don't.

"Yeah. Guess I didn't t'ink about it t'at way."

Annette came into the kitchen, lifted her apron off its hook and tied it on. She looked at the two boys and thought sadly about how Denis' stubbornness might break apart this friendship, which existed from the moment the two boys met as just more than infants.

"Maman," Paul said. "My chores are done. I swept the porch and I brought in wood and water. Can I go play with T'eo?"

She looked at her son fondly. My handsome 'tit fils, wit' your beautiful eyes and winning smile. Ah, garçon, you are gonna break hearts, I can tell. "Yes, Paulie. But be back before your papa comes home." All of Denis' rules! I know I ought to stop him speakin' le français, too, but …

There was a warning in her eyes Paul understood very well. "Oui, Maman." He hugged her quickly and went to the icebox to get the lunch he knew she had packed for them. "C'est parti, T'eo."

"Merci, Madame LeMay."

"De rien, Theo."

The two boys turned and ran out.

"Mouton, mouton, où vas-tu? À l'abattoir. Quand reviendras-tu? Jamais! Baaaaaa!"

In his workshop on Bayou Liberté, Pierre LeMay stood up from the table where he was working on the sketch of a dining room table, and stretched. He pretended to glare at his partner and old friend. "Marcel, did you have to teach t'em dat annoying little song?"

Marcel grinned. "Have to? Non. But you must admit, mon vieux, that it makes an admirable warning dat t'ey are coming,non?" He turned the sketch around and began writing down dimensions on his list of wood to be cut.

Pierre scratched his beard and sighed. "I suppose so. Although I t'ink I'd rather just have t'em knock at t'e door." He walked out of the workshop next to his small clapboard house and onto his pier. Michel Caissy, who rowed people around the bayou on his pirogue, left the boys off. Pierre put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "What are you two terreurs doing here?"

They climbed the ladder and stood, trying their hardest to look angelic and harmless. Theo nudged Paul. "Go on," he whispered. "He's your Nonc!" Theo watched Paul face his uncle, and thought that looking between his friend and Pierre LeMay was like looking at a before and after picture of the same person twenty years apart. And though he couldn't see it himself, the same could be said of him and his Nonc Marcel.

Paul tried his best ingratiating grin. "Nonc Pierre, we – I mean T'eo and me – we wanted to go out into the bayou, and well, have an adventure! We just need your pirogue!"

"My pirogue, eh." Pierre LeMay put his hand over his mouth. He looked as though he was considering their request, but was, in fact, trying very hard not to laugh at the two scamps' attempt at innocence. "'Ey, Marcel. viens-t'en!" When Marcel came out of the workshop, Pierre continued. "T'ese two rogues are plannin' an adventure, and all dey need is my pirogue. What you t'ink o' t'at?"

"T'eo!" Marcel reached for his nephew, who ducked behind Paul to avoid his Nonc Marcel's traditional head rub. "Well, I don't know, Pierre. What kind of adventure, eh?" He tilted his head and pretended to scowl at the two boys.

"Yes, Marcel. That's a very good question. What kind of adventure requires my pirogue?"

"We want to explore someplace new like we never been at before," Theo said before Paul could open his mouth. "Joe Caissy said about a place where t'ere might be treasure, and we wanna go see."

"What if dere are caimons dere, eh?" Marcel shook his head. "Pierre, do t'ese two bougs look like dey'd make more than a bite or two for any good-sized caimon?"

"Not to me!" He looked at Marcel and they burst out laughing.

"I got the knife you gave me for Christmas last year, Nonc Pierre. I can take care of us!" Paul was indignant at his Nonc's lack of trust.

Pierre and Marcel looked at each other. "Oh, yes, Paulie. T'at's much better. Definitely makes it all right." Pierre shook his head, and the two of them laughed again.

The two boys looked at each other, deflated. "Does this mean you won't lend us your boat?" Paul persisted.

Pierre squatted down in front of his nephew, suddenly serious. "No, I won't, Paulie. Gar ici, dere's two reasons. One, I need it myself. Me an' Marcel are goin' out t'do some cuttin' for some new furniture I'm makin'. And two," he put his hand on Paul's head, "if I could go with you, it would be different, but you two shouldn't be running the bayou alone. How do you two t'ink your mamans and papas would feel, or Marcel or I would feel, if you got hurt, or le Bon Dieu forbid," he crossed himself, "got killed? You both know how dangerous the bayou can be. Besides, Paulie, your papa and I aren't exactly getting along right now. Like as not, he'd never let you come back here if I did anything that would get you hurt, and I'd deserve him bein' mad at me if I did. Would you want dat?"

Paul shook his head. "No." He rushed at Pierre and hugged him. "I wouldn't want dat at all."

Pierre hugged Paul back, ruffled his hair and stood. "Bien. You boys go find a place to play and Saturday, you an' me an' T'eo, we'll go shrimping. Dat sound good, Paulie? T'eo?"

"Yes, sir," the two of them chorused, not exactly enthusiastically.

"Good. Now get moving. I have work to do."

"Cutting wood. Some work," Paul mumbled, disappointed, as he and Theo climbed down. He didn't know his Nonc had heard him, and was hurt by his disdain. It would be years before he realized and made it right.

"So now what do we do?" Theo picked his way across a hummock of grass and reached back to give Paul a hand.

Paul sighed deeply and gave the matter some thought. If only Papa had a boat; I know I could use dat. He didn't understand why his father didn't seem to want to be Cajun anymore. He remembered good times when he was very young, when he and his family would go to fais do dos and Mardi Gras and his papa would have as much fun as anyone there, matching drinks with T'eo's papa and dancing long into the night with Maman. But things had somehow changed since then, and now Denis LeMay was an entirely different person than the one his son only dimly remembered.

"T'eo, you understand all the potain about bein' Cajun?"

"Nope." Theo looked at his friend sideways. "I know your papa and my papa don't get along so good anymore. My papa agrees with your Nonc Pierre and your papa don't. All about some stupid laws."

"I hate that he don't even want me to speak le Français no more around him. You've heard him. What am I gonna do in school next year when I take regular French? And he and Papère don't talk no more either. It's like Papa's 'shamed of us. Of what we are."

Theo put his hand on Paul's shoulder. "But we're always gonna be friends, right?"

"Always, T'eo. No matter what. Like brothers." Then, as it occurred to him, "Although, since Papa and Nonc Pierre are brothers and they don't get along too good, maybe that ain't a good way to put it right now, eh?"

Their laughter soaked into the Spanish moss that hung thickly from the trees around them.

Then Paul had a thought: "T'eo, what about my Papère LeMay?"

"You're kidding, right?" Theo gave Paul a 'you oughta know better' look. "Your Papère LeMay is never home half de time. He's probably out wandering around himself."

"Well, den, what about your Papère's boat?"

Theo stood stock still. "Dat might do it." Jacques Dubois was in the hospital in New Orleans proper, and no one was watching – or as far as the boys knew, using – his property. He looked at his friend, eyes shining. "Let's go!"

"Hello, little one." Denis reached over the fence of his home and picked up Hélène for a hug. He was in a good mood. Circling around the one-story house, he came in through the kitchen door carrying his daughter and kissed Annette on the cheek. Looking around, he realized someone was missing. "Where's Paul?"

"He should be back before long. You're back early yourself."

"Business was good today. I decided I would give myself permission to leave." He leaned appreciatively over the stove. "That smells good, dear." He went to the icebox and took out a pitcher of lemonade. Denis wasn't thrilled about Prohibition, but he wasn't a lawbreaker like a lot of the people he knew, in and out of the bayou. "Besides, it was too hot in the office to get any work done. So where did Paul go?"

"Just out to play. He was supposed to be back before you would normally be home, so he may be a little while yet."

"Hmph." He heard the relatively unfamiliar sound of a Model A pulling up in front of the house, and went into the small but tastefully furnished living room to peer out of the window. "That's Thierry Dubois. And Yvette." His jaw set and he turned to look at his wife. "Paul's out with Theo, isn't he?"

"Yes." She turned to stir the pot on the stove.

Denis took a deep breath and bit back a comment as he went to answer the knock at the kitchen door. "Thierry, Yvette. It's good to see you."

"Et toi aussi, Denis. Annette, I swear you grow plus belle by t'e day!"

"Merci, Thierry. Yvette, it's good to see you."

Denis glanced at his wife, but said nothing. Paul's the important one. I have to pick my battles.

"Et toi aussi, Annette."

"We t'ought we'd come get T'eo on our way home. Save 'im the walk."

Annette said, surprised, "T'eo's not here."

Thierry exchanged glances with his wife. "He's not?"

"No, he came over dis morning and he and Paul took off. I thought they were going to your house."

Yvette shook her head. "I haven't seen T'eo since dis mornin' and I haven't seen Paulie at all."

Denis took a deep breath. "They've gone to Pierre's, of course." His face was set and angry. When Paul gets home, we're going to have to have a talk.

"Please," Annette said, "I'm sure dis is all just a misunderstanding. Sit down. We'll have some lemonade and I made a Gateau de Sirop. Let's have a visité. The boys should be coming home and this we'll see this is all a potain over not'ing."

The four adults looked at one another and Thierry, Yvette and Denis sat down as Annette bustled around getting glasses, plates and silverware, making stilted small talk and pretending not to watch the clock as the seconds ticked by.

"It's my Papère's pirogue!"

"Je m'en fiche. You always mess up when Nonc Pierre lets you pole. So I'm doing it," Paul said firmly, holding out his hand.

"No, you aren't!" Theo began poling furiously and distance opened up between them and the dock. "See, I'm doing fine!" Sometimes he resented the ease with which Paul was able to take on physical tasks. He knew his own skills weren't as great, but it grated on him when he had to hand chores such as poling over to his ami, and feel as though he was somehow the lesser part of their friendship because of it.

"Okay. Go ahead." Paul went back to sit in the stern of the boat, put his cap over his eyes and pretended to go to sleep. "But when you get in trouble, boug, don't look to me for help." He counted to himself: un, deux, trois …

"Don't call me that!" Theo exploded.

Under his cap, Paul's eyes twinkled. "P'tit boug, that's what you are."

"I. Am. Not! I have to let Nonc Marcel call me that, but you better not."

Paul grinned and lifted up his cap a little to look at Theo's flushed face and thinned lips. "T'eo, you're too easy." He settled into the boat, the cap back over his eyes.

"Oh, yeah, ami? If I'm so easy, how come I'm always holding you back from fighting when Willy Johnston calls us 'frog', eh, mon vieux?"

Still reclining, Paul shrugged. "That's different. That's a matter of honneur, like what Nonc Pierre tells us histoires about." He lived by the stories Pierre told him and Theo from his books about chivalry and the Middle Ages, and about his and Marcel's wartime experiences – stories of daring feats, bravery, caring for one's comrades, and duty. "And if you don't stop calling me mon vieux, I'm going to tip you over the side and have an adventure all by myself."

Suddenly, Theo realized in truth that he was having trouble with the heavy pole. He held his breath as he realized the pirogue was going down a different channel than the one they'd planned. He opened his mouth to tell Paul and ask him to help to get the boat turned around, but then stubbornly changed his mind. Don't ask you for help? Bien. I won't.

Denis' patience, which had worn thin the moment he knew that not only was Paul with Theo, but that the boys had also gone to see his brother, finally snapped. "This is long enough." He turned to Thierry. "They should have been back by now. Would you drive me out to Pierre's so we can bring them back? I'd gladly pay you for the ethyl."

Thierry stood. He patted Yvette on the shoulder. "Don't worry, ma chère. I'm sure T'eo just forgot de time. We'll be back soon."

The two men rode to the dock in silence. "You're awfully quiet, Thierry. Something on your mind?"

Thierry stopped by Marcel's and pulled the car's levers. "You know you and I got a difference between us, Denis? I can't agree with de new laws, not one bit; me and Pierre, we are dans le blanc des yeux about that. And I can't help t'inkin' what you're really en colère about is that Paul and T'eo are friends. We not bon enough for you anymore, mon ami?"

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you and your family; I can't believe you'd even t'in – think that. We've been friends since we were smaller than our sons. I don't have any problem with Theo either. He's a good boy. But Paul is bright, talented; he could end up doing something special with his life." Denis shook his head, exasperated. "That boy thinks the sun rises and sets on Pierre. If he had his way, he'd wind up just like my brother, cutting trees and making furniture and just barely getting by. There's no future in being on the margins as a Cajun, and I have a right to want something better than the bayou for my son."

"Pierre does all right, better than you know, maybe. I don't hear how he comes around askin' you for money, eh? Or anyone else, either. Now he's t'inkin' about getting married again –"

"He is?" Denis was surprised.

"He's been payin' mind to Charlotte Cormier, up Bayou Lafourche way. Been long enough since Francie and Michel have been gone," Thierry said, speaking of the wife and son Pierre had lost in childbirth. "About time he found someone else to love."

"Good for him." Denis was hurt that his brother hadn't bothered to tell him. Well, maybe there's a reason for that. It isn't as though we've had any time to discuss family matters when we see each other. Mostly, we just seem to fight. Besides, between us, we've got enough pride to sink a pirogue. No wonder I didn't know.

"I listen to you talk, Denis, and you don't hardly sound like yourself no more."

"There's nothing wrong with speaking proper English."

"Hm. T'eo tells me you don't let Paulie speak le Français no more around you either. You t'inkin' about maybe changing your name, eh? Maybe put another 'n' in Denis and maybe call yourself 'May' instead of 'LeMay' and they'll t'ink you're l'anglais?" Thierry snorted. "Ami, anyone can see your Paulie gonna look just like Pierre when he gets older, and Pierre has a face like a map of France. Your boy ain't never gonna be anyt'ing else." He stopped for a moment, and caught his breath and his temper. "T'ere ain't no point in running away from what you are, or lettin' folks make you ashamed of it. Me, I'm Cajun and that's the end of it. You used to be de same." He looked at Denis sternly for a long moment and then got out of the car, shutting the door with a little more force than was absolutely necessary.

Denis didn't get out of the car right away. Finally, he got out and slowly followed Thierry.

In the heat of the late summer day, Paul had fallen asleep for real. He awoke to find Theo leaning over him, sweaty and tired.

"Paulie, I t'ink we're lost."

Paul jerked up. "What?"

Theo couldn't quite meet Paul's eyes. "Mais, I missed the channel back a ways."

His friend looked at him wild-eyed. "And what, you didn't t'ink to tell me?"

"You said, 'don't ask me for help', so I didn't."

"T'eo! I was just teasin' you. You know t'at!" Paul ran his hands through his hair until it was almost all on end. Then he took a deep breath and smoothed his hair back down. "Mais, let's turn the pirogue around and go back the way we came."

Theo didn't look up and Paul's heart sank. "What else is wrong?" He looked around slowly. "T'eo." Theo still didn't look at him. "T'eo, where's the pole?"

"I dropped it in the water."

"You dropped it." For a moment, Paul was silent. The only sound was the 'neeka-neek' of the treefrogs, the croaking of the wawaron and the distant splash of a 'gator going into the water. "T'eo, right after I get out of my room again, prob'ly about de time I make 21 or so, I'm gonna look you up and murder you."

"Mo chagren, Paulie." Theo, whispered, very nearly in tears.

Paul sighed. Wait until Nonc Pierre hears about this. He's gonna be so mad at me. "C'est bien, T'eo." He stepped carefully over the seats of the boat and picked up the bag that had the remains of the lunch. He came back, sat by his friend and rummaged through it. Grinning, he said. "'Ey! No point in being lost and hungry. Want a beignet?" As he looked away from the other boy, his grin faded and his eyes darkened. We're in a lot of trouble.

End of Chapter 1