BEST LAID PLANS – Chapter 2

[Louisiana, Summer 1925]

The ticking seemed to grow louder by the moment. Denis and Thierry avoided looking at the clock on Marcel's mantel and at each other, and barely touched the glasses of iced tea Marcel's young wife, Lisette, had given them while they waited for Marcel to return home. Thierry paced back and forth and Denis jumped at every sound.

Oh, Paul, what did you do? Where are you? Politics and language, for once, were very far from Denis' thoughts. Growing to manhood in the bayou had taught him all the possible dangers the boys faced, from gators to escaped convicts to drowning or sinking into a bog … Denis wiped his face with a handkerchief. There was worry in his eyes and fear for his son.

Thierry stopped pacing and turned to his friend. "Denis, who knows when Marcel and Pierre will come back? And even if dey were right here, right now, dere's too many places to look for just four men. We got to call Sheriff Breaux. He can get us up a posse and help us narrow down where dey could have gone."

Denis nodded wearily. "Yes. Let's get help."

Thierry turned and left the small house to find the Sheriff.

"Don't worry, Mr. LeMay. Le Bon Dieu, he watches out for the little ones. He'll bring T'eo and your Paulie back just fine." Lisette watched him from her chair.

"Thank you, Lisette." Denis tried to smile and failed. "I hope you're right."

Annette paced back and forth; despite Yvette's reassurance that if anything was truly wrong, they would have been told, her mother's instinct told her that her son was in trouble. Paulie is mischievous, yes, but he knows when to come home and if he could, he would be here by now. Same for T'eo. Oh, Holy Mother, gardez mon fils et son ami!

There was a knock on the door. Annette ran to open it, only to find Anne LeMercier waiting nervously, her young son Armand with her. "I thought you might need someone, Annette. T'e sheriff, he call up the men to go find your Paulie and T'eo Dubois –"

They heard a gasp behind them, and the sound of someone falling.

"Pauvre Yvette. Looks like she got t'e faiblesse." Anne told her son to sit down and she and Annette went to help. As they did, Ysabelle and Paulette Aucoin showed up at the door; Francie Hebert was coming up the sidewalk.

"Annette, we heard. What can we do?"

Paul poked Theo, who had fallen asleep against him. "T'eo, we gotta figure out some way to get home." Looking around, he realized he didn't recognize any landmarks, and the pirogue, still caught in the fringes of the current which had pulled them off-course, was moving them further away from home with every minute.

"What time it is?" Theo yawned.

"'Ey, T'eo. I got no idea. If I hadda guess, I'd say about six heures et demi." He looked at his friend, worried. "T'eo, you all right?"

"I'm not feelin' so good, Paulie." The heat of the day and the effort he had put into poling finally had caught up with the boy. He smiled wanly at Paul. "What you want me to do?"

"Nothin', T'eo. You just rest."

"I can do that!" Theo's attempt at nonchalance was a pale shadow of his earlier exuberance.

Paul bit his lip. Mama always says we should keep cool in the heat and have lots to drink. He dipped back into the lunch sack and pulled out what was left of a bottle of lemonade. "Here, Theo. I had more t'an my share earlier. Besides, I'm not really t'irsty. You can have dis."

Theo took it, and then stopped to look at his friend. "You sure, Paulie?"

Paul gave Theo his best grin. "Yep. I'm fine." He took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead, then he carefully and quickly dipped it into the water and wrung it out. Brushing Theo's hair back from his brow, he wiped his friend's face. "You go up and lay down for awhile. Don't worry; I'm gonna t'ink of something."

As Theo moved to the bow, Paul moved to the stern. He bit his lip and looked over the side. I wonder if I can paddle with my hands in t'e water. It's an awful heavy boat, bigger thanNoncPierre's. He started to reach down when a shadow moved smoothly under the boat and toward the shore. Caimon! If I'm not careful, I won't be around forPapato yell at me. He jerked his hand back and rolled over to look at the slowly darkening sky. What do I do now?

A group of the men from the parish stood in Marcel's kitchen, listening to the sheriff as he reviewed a map of the area. "We need two men to check out dis channel, here." Michel Caissy and Joe Cormier raised their hands. He nodded at them. "Bon."

A thump outside announced the arrival of a pirogue. Thierry and Denis jumped up as they heard Marcel's and Pierre's voices. They heard Marcel say, "What are all dese peeros doin' here, eh?"

"Marcel!" Thierry went to the door.

"Thierry! What you doin' here?"

"Have you seen T'eo?"

"And Paul?" Denis came up beside Thierry.

"Paulie … has something happened to Paulie?" Pierre's voice was tense with alarm as he and Marcel entered the house.

"Have you seen them?"

"Not since this morning … dey came by and wanted to borrow my pirogue – to have an adventure, dey said."

Thierry and Denis looked at each other.

"I didn't give it to them, alors pas!" Pierre said, exasperated. "Denis, even you can't believe I'd be that stupide! I sent dem home to play; said we'd go shrimping on Saturday."

Denis growled at his brother in unthinking fury, "As though I'd let him go anywhere wit' you! Gar ici, he'd be home safe now if you didn't encourage him in runnin' t'e bayou."

Pierre's face darkened. "Careful, Denis. Keep talkin' like t'at and people will think you're Cajun."

Thierry stepped between them. "Stop it! This ain't helpin' the boys." He turned to his brother's friend. "Pierre, when t'ey leave your place this morning?"

Pierre squeezed the bridge of his nose, thinking. "It hadda be, what, dix heures et demi?" Marcel nodded. "But they were heading back this way, and where would they get a pirogue anyway?"

"What kin' of 'adventure'?" Sheriff Breaux broke in.

"What?" Pierre was taken off-balance.

"The boys – what kin' of adventure they t'ink of havin'?"

Marcel broke in. "T'eo said somet'in' about Joe Caissy and there bein' treasure somewhere."

Allain Caissy, Joe's father, stood. "Joe's just down t'e street. I'll talk to him." He exited quickly.

Another pirogue docked outside, and the men froze. Then they heard a tuneless humming and everyone relaxed. Denis and Pierre forgot their anger long enough to exchange a look of mixed mutual annoyance and humor.

Andre LeMay came in and looked around at the group. "What's all the potain, eh?"

Pierre answered his father. "Paulie and T'eo are missing. They went out in the bayou without permission."

Andre shook his head. "Doesn't sound like Paulie. He's no possédé. Or T'eo either."

"They asked me for my pirogue this morning and now we can't find them."

The older man's eyes narrowed. "T'en maybe I do know somethin'. Went by Jacques Dubois' place a bit ago, watching out for his home like he as'ed me to do. His pirogue ain't t'ere."

Denis shook his head angrily. "Paul wouldn't have done that without encouragement." He glared at his brother. "You have him wanting to be like you. Now we see what comes of it."

Andre sneered at his oldest son. "Who let l'etranger in? Ain't we Cajun here?" There were a few quiet snickers around the room and Denis paled in fury. His father stepped forward and shook his finger in Denis' face. "You stop givin' your brother de misère, you hear? If Paulie gets through this bien, it'll be because of what Pierre taught him about the bayou. What'd you ever show him that would help him now? Eh? How to wear a tie? Or work in an office?"

"Papa." Pierre caught Andre's arm. "Don't. Vous ne aidez pas." He led the older man to the table where the Sheriff's map was. "Which way you come?"

"T'is way, here." Andre pointed to a channel from the north. "Too light for me to miss a peero grounded or upside down. Dey ain't t'ere."

Marcel moved to beside Pierre. "We came in t'is way and we were here, cuttin' earlier. We couldn't have missed 'em. So not dere, eit'er."

One by one, the other men of the parish came forward and pointed out channels or other places they'd been that afternoon. Slowly, they eliminated section after section of the bayou.

Thierry spoke up. "Marcel, I'm t'inkin' that if t'e boys took Papa's pirogue, knowing T'eo, he'd want to pole."

Pierre looked up, alarmed. "Paulie knows better."

"I know, Pierrot. T'eo, he ain't so good with the pole. But he's stubborn – and proud." He shook his head.

Allain Caissy came back in. "I talk to Joe 'bout t'at 'treasure' nonsense," he said grimly. "He said he told 'em it was down dis channel," pointing to one of the few places on the map which hadn't been eliminated. "But there's a little channel here, and there's a bad, bad current there. Easy to get pulled off course, not so easy to get out, even for un homme. Just boys, t'ey'd be in trouble easy."

Pierre nodded. "I know exactly where that is. Marcel and me, we're going." He stopped. "And Marcel, bring your scattergun and shells, just in case."

Denis stood. "I'm going, too."

"And me." Thierry rose, behind him.

"Papa, Thierry and Denis need your peero."

"Go ahead."

Theo was scaring his friend. He was shaking and pale, and even Paul knew enough to feel Theo's forehead and know he was badly overheated. He looked around desperately for anything he could reach and use to row and steer the pirogue out. The caimonmade passes under the boat at regular intervals, and Paul knew he could never be able to swim safely to the shore and back with a branch or fallen tree, let alone look for the pole Theo had dropped. It's probably all de way back where T'eo got caught by the current.

He sighed deeply. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Why didn't T'eo say anything? Why didn't I just take the pole from him? He knew Nonc Pierre would be disappointed with him. And Papa – Paul was sure his father would never let him set foot in the bayou again.

There was a thump on the boat and it rocked alarmingly. The caimon circled around again, and headed back for the boat. In the bow, Theo murmured but didn't awaken. Paul clenched his jaw and took out the jackknife Nonc Pierre gave him for Christmas. He carefully opened the largest blade and looked at it. I don't know if it'll do much to hurt thecaimon, but I'm gonna try, for me and for T'eo. He looked back at his friend. Ami, I'm glad you're not awake to be afraid.

He braced himself as the gator neared the boat, and as he raised the knife with both hands, he started to sing.

Pierre had never poled a pirogue as fast as he and Marcel were moving now. The wind whistled past his ears and blinded him a little, but he steered surely toward the channel where they believed the boys were. He slowed a little to allow Thierry and Denis to catch up.

Marcel nudged him. "Listen!"

In the distance, down the channel, he could dimly hear Paulie's voice, singing the song Marcel had taught him, with different words. "Caimon, caimon, où vas-tu? À l'abattoir. Quand reviendras-tu?Jamais!" He handed the pole to Marcel and took the shotgun to load it. "GO!"

As they rounded the turn, Pierre saw his nephew in the distance, hands raised in the air, eyes intent on the water. They rapidly closed on the boys' boat and as they came close, Marcel braked the pirogue. Thierry and Denis stopped beside them. Pierre looked where Paul was watching, sighted on the gatorin the water and fired. Marcel shipped and balanced the pole to keep the boat from capsizing.

Paul looked up at his uncle for a long moment, and then dropped his knife, jumped from his boat into Pierre's and hugged him tightly.

"Nonc Pierre, Nonc Pierre, mo chagren. I didn't mean for dis to happen. You gotta help T'eo. He's sick."

"'Ey, 'ey, p'tit. Easy. Easy now. It's gonna be all right. Chut, p'tit." Pierre held him for a long moment. Then he heard Denis over his shoulder.

"Paul!"

Paulie looked up at his Nonc and then stepped away toward his father. "Yes, Papa."

Denis lifted his son over the side into Andre's pirogue and hugged him fiercely. "Mon Dieu, Paul. You're all right. You're all right."

"Yes, sir." There was no emotion in Paul's voice. "Please, help T'eo."

"I have him, Paulie." Thierry gently cradled his son. "Marcel, take us back." He stepped into Marcel's boat, and Pierre got into the boat with Denis and Paul. The Dubois men poled back the way they had come, leaving the three LeMays behind. Pierre leaned over and reached into Jacques Dubois' pirogue, picked up Paul's knife, folded it, put it into Paul's hand and gently closed his nephew's fingers around it. He used his pole to block Jacques' boat into the shore and turned to the boy.

"Paulie, where's de pole for Jacques' pirogue?"

"T'eo dropped it, I don't know where. I was – asleep." He kept his head lowered. Almost the first thing he'd been taught when Pierre took him and Theo out on the water was to stay alert to help Theo, if necessary. When Paul finally met his eyes, Pierre let him see his disappointment.

Denis reached for their pole, but Pierre stopped him. "Non, mon frère. You take care of your son," he said quietly. He was perceptive enough to see the pain in Denis' eyes because Paul had not turned to him first for comfort. Denis, I'm sorry. I got some t'inking to do.

That night, Annette and Denis watched Paul as he slept uneasily, twitching and mumbling. Denis knew that Paul would have to be punished, but he hadn't the heart to do it now. Tomorrow's time enough.

His wife touched his shoulder. "Marcel came by while you were taking Paul to his room. He says Theo is dehydrated and has a touch of heatstroke, but he's going to be fine."

"Good."

They walked together to their room.

"You haven't said much. Was it bad?"

"It could have been. It could have been very bad. Paul was ready to take on an alligator with just the pocketknife Pierre gave him." Denis sat on his bed and stared at the floor.

"Mon Dieu." Annette crossed herself in shock.

"When we got there, it was Pierre who shot the 'gator." He took his shoes off and stood to put them in the closet. "And it was Pierre Paul turned to, not me, for comfort." He shook his head. "My bright boy, my hope. I'm losing him, Annette, if I haven't lost him already."

"He'd show you love too, mon mari, but it seems as though you're always disciplining him. He has to think you only see the bad things and never the good. If you encouraged him, praised him, I think things would be different." She paused and bit her lip, not sure if this was the time to say what was really on her heart. I have to. Someone does. "Denis, he's Cajun and proud of it. He doesn't understand all the grownup laws. When you stop him from speakin' French or say that you don't want him in the bayou or around T'eo, all he hears is like you're sayin' none of us are any good. He'll never listen to that, Denis, never. Not for a job; not for all the futures you could ever plan for him. What's real to him is the people he loves – us, Pierre, T'eo, his Papère LeMay, even Marcel and the rest of T'eo's family. Not some career that he's not thinking about, that's 20 years away."

Denis' expression became stubborn. "Someone has to think about it, Annette. I could tell you stories about what I've seen, experienced even –"

"Yes, you could. And I could tell you a few – you t'ink they treat us women any better? But there are always going to be stupid, bigoted people, Denis. It doesn't mean we have to let dem run our lives."

Denis looked at her, surprised. "No, maybe we don't." He stretched. "Let's go to bed. We have tomorrow to discuss this."

"Yes. You, me, Hélène, Paulie – we've all got tomorrows. Le Bon Dieu willing, we've got lots of them."

After Mass the following Sunday, Denis went into Paul's room. He had scolded and reprimanded his son the day before to such an extent that he had nearly lost his voice. He'd ordered Paul to write a letter of apology to the sheriff for what he and Theo had done, and another to Jacques Dubois for running off with the pirogue, although Thierry had told him privately that Jacques had roared with laughter when he was told of Theo and Paul's "adventure", once he knew the pair was safe. Today, he just wanted to talk to Paul. There were things Denis needed to say and his son needed to hear.

"Papa." Paul was quiet and perfectly respectful, but Denis could still hear the lack of feeling in his voice. He sighed quietly.

"Paul." Denis paused. He didn't quite know how to begin. "There are some things that need said between us. Things we've never talked about. Mostly I have just talked at you, I think. I want to try to change that, if I can."

Paul looked up at his father, judgment suspended for the moment, listening. "Yes, sir?"

"You know that I have had a difference of opinion – mostly with your Uncle Pierre – about most of the things that go with being Cajun and what that means."

His son nodded, jaw set.

"I think, from listening to you, and watching you, that you don't agree with me. Am I right?"

Paul nodded again. Then he raised his hand, as if in school.

"Go ahead, Paul. I want to know what you're thinking."

"You do?" the boy said, immense surprise in his voice.

"Yes, I do," Denis said gently.

Paul thought for a moment. "I don't like how you say being Cajun is bad. It's like you mean I'm bad or Non – Uncle Pierre is, or Theo or Theo's family, or even Mama or Papère. Like you agree with the people who think we're just no-account." He swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "We're not bad just because we're Cajuns!"

"I'm sorry if that's what I made you feel. It's not that." Denis struggled to explain. "It's only – I look at you and I see that you're smart, gifted and energetic. You could do so much with your life, but people won't give you a chance if all they see is 'Cajun'." He held up his hand to forestall Paul's objection. "I'm not saying I agree with them. We know that being Cajun isn't bad, but unfortunately it's what people think that counts when you're trying to make your way. I could tell you stories about what I've had said to me and about me to my face and behind my back, and maybe I will some day. I don't want you to have to hear those things too. And as your father, I want you to be able to use all the abilities you have to their fullest, with nothing to keep you from succeeding. Do you understand?"

"I guess so."

The two of them sat silently for a moment.

"There's another thing. Paul, I think it would be better if you didn't go into the bayou to see your uncle for awhile."

Paul looked up at his father in shock. "No, please! Why?"

"I feel you spend too much time with Pierre. You don't know how much it hurt me to see you go to him first when we came to find you and Theo. Why you did that -"

His son said something under his breath.

Denis' face hardened. "What did you say?"

Paul refused to look at his father. "I said, maybe because he loves me and you don't."

"I don't love you? I don't love you?" Denis stood abruptly. "How can you say that?"

"'Cause. I brought home a paper with a 98 on it, and you only asked why I didn't get 100. I was the lead in the school play and you told me I was wasting my time. I'll be taking French next year – French French, not Cajun French – in school and you won't let me speak it. You don't want me to be with my best friend – only with boys who hate me because I'm not l'anglais. I can never do my chores right, no matter how I try. You make me feel like I can't ever do anything right." His voice quieted. "And when I need to talk, you never have time. You always say 'later'." He looked at his father directly. "NoncPierre always listens to me; even when he's busy, he always has time for me."

"Paul. " Denis let his shoulders slump, defeated. "I'm sorry. I truly didn't realize. Maybe sometimes I want to see you do your best that I forget – other things." He was silent for a moment. "Son, I need you to give me a chance to change. It won't happen overnight, but I want to try." He reached out and lifted Paul's chin so their eyes met. "Let's compromise, you and I. I won't stop you from speaking French if you spend less time with Pierre. He's getting married again, did you know that?"

Paul nodded.

"He'll want time with his wife after the wedding. This will be a good time for you and I to try to work out our differences."

"Yes, Papa. But I have to tell Nonc Pierre myself that I agreed to this, please. I don't want him to be even madder at you." Paul looked at his father squarely. "I hate it when you fight with each other. I liked it when he'd come over after work in the evenings. Even after I went to bed I could hear the two of you out on the side porch laughing and talking together." He considered. "It felt good, like when it gets a little chilly in December and I come in the house after school and Mama's got supper on in the kitchen and there's a fire and we're all warm and safe."

Denis looked at Paul and slowly nodded. "All right, son. Go ahead." He ruffled his Paul's hair. "I know what you mean. I miss that, too."

Paul smiled at his father. I hope you mean that, Papa. I really do.

Pierre was sitting on the pier outside his home and workshop whittling, when he heard the splash of a pirogue being poled.

Michel Caissy slowed his boat to a stop and looked up at the younger man. "'Ey, Pierre! I got me un vaurien here who wants to talk to you. You armed and ready?" He roared in amusement and the boy in his pirogue turned red.

"Yes," Pierre said, amused. "I t'ink I can handle him. Send him up."

Paul climbed the ladder slowly. "NoncPierre, I gotta talk to you." He sat down next to his uncle, his feet dangling over the edge of the pier, and looked up at him. "Papa and I talked after – well, after."

"I figured you would." He turned the piece of wood in his hands without looking at his nephew, made a small adjustment with the knife and carefully blew wood dust and fragments away to scatter on the water.

"He wants me to spend less time with you, and I said I would. Not because I don't want to be around you, or anyt'ing like t'at, but so he and I can make things better between us. Also, 'cause you're getting married and you'll want to have time den, too."

"I see." Pierre put his work down, folded his knife and put it in his trouser pocket. "Dat's very grown up of you, Paulie."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No." His uncle picked up the small, half-finished carving and reviewed it without looking at Paul. "I was scared for you and worried about you. You won't understand that until you're an adult with a child in your life you care about. And I'm disappointed in you. I would never have t'ought you would take another man's pirogue like that wit'out askin'. Or that you would leave T'eo with de pole and go to sleep when you know how much trouble he has. I expected better of you, Paulie."

Paul flushed with shame, and his head drooped. "Mo chagren. Really! I didn't want anything to happen to Theo. He's my best ami. And I didn't mean to do anything that would make you think I was mauvais."

Pierre took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Paulie - you know your Papa doesn't want you speaking French."

"No, he said I could. We, we compro – something. Since I'll be taking French in school."

"Compromised."

"Yes, compromised." Paul looked up at his uncle. "You are mad at me, aren't you?"

"No, really, Paulie, I'm not. But you know, your Papa was hurt because you came to me first after we found you."

Paul stared at the water below the pier. "I know, he told me."

"Marcel and I had a head start and we were a little faster. We got there first, and so I was the one who shot de caimon. But your Papa was right behind us with T'eo's Papa. If he had been dere first and had de gun, he would have done de same t'ing to save you."

"But Papa doesn't shoot guns." Paul was puzzled.

Pierre said drily, "Once upon a time, Paulie, your Papa was a better shot t'an me. The Army and the war changed t'at." He paused. "I didn't realize how t'ings were between the two of you, not really. My disagreements with Denis meant I didn't look past my own anger with him and that was wrong." He turned to look at his nephew. "I'm not your Papa and I shouldn't be more important to you t'an he is."

"I know dat, too. But you were dere when I needed you … and Papa wasn't always." He watched his nonc; his eyes were steady, but his lip was trembling. "You're not gonna stop lovin' me, are you?" He held himself still.

Pierre's voice was very quiet and compassionate. "Oh, no, Paulie. Not t'at. Never t'at. I'll always be here if you need me." He looked at Paul, seriously. "But you should always go to your papa first. Promise?"

"Yes, sir. Promise." He put out his hand and Pierre shook it. "Just don't forget me when I'm not here all de time, okay?"

"Forget one of de deux terreurs du Bayou Liberté? Never!" He grabbed Paul to give him a Dutch rub.

The boy yelped happily and put up a mock struggle. "Stop it, NoncPierre!"

Their laughter echoed through the channels of the bayou, and even the caimons lifted their heads to listen.

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