Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Chapter 10 – The Book of Revelations, Chapter Four

Once Bart got the fire going it was pleasantly warm inside. As anticipated, there was a pot of coffee on the stove, and Beauregard brought it into the main room and poured two cups, one for each of them. Bart took the pot from his father and walked it back to the kitchen, then returned with a spare blanket Lily kept there for just such an occasion. He laid it across his father's lap and tucked it in around his legs so that Beau would stay warm.

There was genuine affection in Beauregard's voice. "Thank you, son."

Bart simply smiled and sat in the other chair.

Almost three days later Beau arrived in Vermilionville. It was growing rapidly, and he had no idea where to start looking other than the schools. One at a time he checked every schoolhouse he could find but had no luck; he began haunting the saloons at night looking for Jeremiah Grayson. It took him almost four months before he finally tracked Jeremiah down. It happened unexpectedly one night when he was almost ready to leave the saloon.

He was sitting in a better poker parlor called the 'Louisiana Gentlemen's Club' and the only reason he was still there had nothing to do with Isabelle or her father. He'd been watching a local card sharp named Ransom Adams all night, trying to catch just what it was that Adams was doing with the cards and he was frustrated that he'd been unable to spot the problem. He bowed out of the game but stayed to watch a little while longer and finally caught just how it was that Adams was able to maneuver the deck. That was a new one to him and he was determined to make sure he understood it well enough to duplicate it. He just about had it when Grayson walked in.

Beau shifted to stand behind another man at the bar so that Jeremiah couldn't see him and watched. Grayson took the seat that Beau had recently vacated, sitting with his back to Beauregard. He drank coffee and watched Jeremiah fall prey to Ransom just the way he had at first, for almost two hours. When it appeared Grayson had lost just about everything to Adams, he picked himself up and left the parlor, with Beau far enough behind him to avoid being seen. Three blocks down and two blocks over, Grayson headed into a small house and closed the door behind him.

The next morning found Beau still watching the house, determined to see if Isabelle lived there, too. Finally the door opened and there she stood, just as bewitchingly beautiful as the first time he'd opened his eyes and found her in front of him. She looked taller and was definitely thinner, and her long black hair was piled neatly on top of her head in a bun. She walked out onto the porch of the little house and across the yard, turning the opposite way he'd come last night.

About a quarter of a mile away the schoolhouse stood, in desperate need of repairs. Windows were broken, boards needed to be replaced, the steps were unsteady. There was an unseen hole in the roof that leaked into a bucket sitting on the schoolroom floor in a corner. She went up the steps and unlocked the front door, leaving it open wide for the students to arrive.

Beauregard had an idea, and he hurried back to his hotel room to check the money he kept hidden behind the mirror. Almost sixteen-hundred dollars, enough to keep him going for quite some time without playing poker. He had a plan in mind; all he had to do was execute it.

For the next several weeks he slept during the day and made repairs on the schoolhouse at night. One of the many skills that Beau had learned just enough of to get by was carpentry, and he put those skills to good use as he worked on Belle's little school. He replaced the old and rotting boards in the building proper, then repaired the steps and the roof. The windows were the last thing he replaced; they were a little harder to deal with and took a bit more time. Finally he built her a new desk.

Isabelle had no idea who was making the repairs on her schoolroom, but she was grateful for whoever it was. No more skinned knees on the steps, no more shivering inside while trying to teach the students. And when it rained! It stayed gloriously dry inside. Her unknown benefactor was an angel in disguise.

His hands were cut and bruised, not at all like the well-groomed gamblers hands he'd always kept, when he was done with the repairs. Then and only then was he ready to reveal himself to the young schoolmarm, and he prepared himself like a new bridegroom for the wedding night. A bath, a haircut and shave at the barber shop, clean clothes, and by late afternoon he was ready to go. He traveled back to the schoolhouse, now in much better repair, and waited as the children ran out the front door at the end of the day. When he was sure that the last child was gone, he walked nervously up the steps and in the door.

Belle was seated at the desk he'd built for her and looked up as soon as she heard his steps. 'A good sign,' he thought, as the expression on her face didn't change into one of anger or disgust. She was the first to speak. "Hello, Beauregard."

"Isabelle."

"How did you find me?"

"It wasn't easy."

"Grace?"

"Eventually, yes. I met her husband. He's quite . . . . . . impressive."

"Dylan's a good soul. And he adores Grace. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, Isabelle."

"Why, Beauregard?"

"I love you, Isabelle."

She said nothing for a moment while she sat there and watched him. He stood stock still, afraid to even breathe. Slowly she put down her pen and pushed her chair back. Then she stood and looked right at him. "That seems to be your problem, Beauregard."

He felt like she'd shot him all over again. Did that mean she no longer loved him? But he didn't have to ask the question – he could read it on her face. Beau turned to go. No sense in staying there if she didn't love him.

Something caught her eye and she suddenly said, "Stop."

He turned back around to face her and she stepped towards him. She paused right in front of him, staring down and focusing on his hands. His bruised, battered and cut up hands, not at all the beautifully manicured hands of a gambler. In that instant she knew who'd made all the repairs on her schoolhouse, and never said a word about it. And the mask that she'd worn on her face for months cracked, then broke, and she smiled at him.

He let out a breath, slowly, and smiled back. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and she kissed him back, the hurt and pain and months between them melting away with each caress.

He was afraid to let her go, to allow her to breathe, almost as if a breath would erase the fragile peace they'd just found. And at that moment he was sure of her love.

The front door creaked open and Bret walked in. He was startled to see his father and brother sitting in the main room, in front of the fire, at four o'clock in the morning. To top it off, it looked as if he'd interrupted something, although he wasn't sure exactly what they could have been discussing at this time of night.

The expression on Pappy's face was one of pure ecstasy, and Bret couldn't begin to imagine what had occurred to put it there. Bart looked normal, if a little on the 'giddy' side, almost as if he'd just heard the best news in the world. "Pappy. Bart. Did I interrupt something?

Father and youngest son exchanged looks, and Bart's expression changed to that of a sheepish grin. "Nope. Not a thing," he answered. Pappy's look was now nothing more than a slightly bemused expression, as he watched his oldest son's confusion. He was tempted to ask if Bret had enjoyed himself, but that question would have been redundant, given the look that had been on his face when he first entered the house.

"You two are up kinda late, aren't you? Or did you go into town tonight?"

Beauregard was slow to answer, but he eventually did. "No, Bret, I've just been telling your brother some things I should have told him a long time ago. Things I wanted to explain to you, too, but you had other plans. I'm sorry you haven't been here to hear them."