The auburn-haired mother watched her six-year-old twirl around the room in her billowy, white dress. Vivienne was still soaring from the exhilaration of her day. In the morning, her whole family had watched her participate in the impressive ceremony on the convent grounds of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart to bless the cornerstone of the new chapel. Vivienne had met Archbishop Janssens when he'd thanked the family for their generous donation.
"Vivi, Honey," Kitty beckoned, listening to her daughter quietly sing Ave Maris Stella. She pressed her lips to her freshly bathed two-week-old's copper tresses. "Are you going to keep twirling?" She believed her girl had covered nearly every inch of the house twirling and spinning since she'd returned home.
"Oh!" the child cried as the soft tulle veil floated off her head. "Maman, it came off."
"Put the veil on my vanity and change into your nightgown. You can't help with Josie until you do," she negotiated, believing the child would sleep in the dress and veil if allowed. She'd been surprised the veil hadn't come off sooner.
Within minutes, Vivienne had changed into her cotton nightgown and sat atop the bedding, humming Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star to her baby sister while gently smoothing lavender cream onto her newborn skin. "Maman says Papa would do this for me when I was a baby," she whispered. "He always smelled like tobacco and vanilla, too."
She'd decided to tell Josie about their father after she'd tagged along for her sister's first visit to the cemetery. Vivienne had found it strange that the retired marshal had remained outside the gates.
Kitty smiled at her girls. In the weeks since Josephine had been born, she'd learned that her youngest daughter was particular about her comforts. Josie was fond of anything her big sister did. She seemed to adore the delicate, timid way her eldest brother held her, but the infant didn't care for how noisy Luc could be. Her favorite thing was the big man putting her to sleep at the end of the day.
"You ain't no bigger than a tater bug," Vivienne imitated her uncle, frowning since she hadn't mastered his unique accent. She tilted her head, looking up from her sister. "Maman, what's a tater bug?"
"Ask your Uncle Festus."
Vivienne closed the jar of lavender cream. "Josie, our papa called me 'mon petit amour'. I miss hearing his voice," she shared in a low pitch, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes as she felt her mother's hand rubbing her back. "'Mon petit amour' means my little love, Josie," Vivienne explained, running her fingers over the delicate, embroidered hem of her sister's nightgown. "Maman, was I just as small as Josie?"
"You were smaller. You were the smallest baby I've had."
"I was?"
"Mmhmm," Kitty lovingly smiled, placing a kiss to her daughter's head. "You were the teeniest, tiniest baby, Vivi…as heavy as a bag of sugar according to your papa, and that's why you were his little love," Kitty answered, scooting closer to instruct Vivienne on how to diaper and dress her sister. She'd let the children help with any task involving the baby, even though it took a bit longer when they helped.
"Good job, Honey," Matt complimented as he strolled into the bedroom.
"Thank you, Daddy," Vivienne beamed at him.
"Your brothers are in bed. You need to be getting there, too."
"Yes, Sir," the child crooned, kissing her sister on the forehead, murmuring, "Fais de beaux rêves, dors bien, Josie. Goodnight, Maman. Thank you for letting me stay up later," she pecked her mother on the cheek and scrambled to stand, holding her arms out to Matt.
He grinned and hoisted her into his arms, hitching his daughter onto his hip. "I'll be back, Kitty."
"Mmhmm," she murmured, lifting her fussy newborn. "Oh, I know," Kitty soothingly cooed, "you have the emptiest belly in all of New Orleans," she situated Josie to nurse, chuckling at her greedy suckling. She smiled at Matt as he returned to the bedroom. "All tucked in?"
"Yeah," Matt answered. "Asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow." He'd listened to Vivienne tell him how much she wished she'd had a pretty scarf of pink ribbon like the champion pupils of the junior class before he put her into bed. "Kitty, how much was the donation to the sisters?" he curiously asked from the bathroom as he washed his face. He'd struck up a conversation with the architect after the ceremony. He'd heard every plan for the beautiful Gothic chapel with ornamental etched windows. His jaw had dropped at the expense.
"Which one?"
Matt nearly dropped the hand towel into the sink. He took a few steps backward, peering at her from the doorway.
She glanced at him, repressing the laugh tickling her throat from the bewildered expression on his ruggedly handsome face. She didn't think he'd ever truly comprehend the Broussard fortune nor the good it could do. "Henri made a generous donation before Vivienne started kindergarten. I recently made another just as generous. Matt, it's well spent. The nuns have been behind the educational progress of Louisiana for nearly a hundred years."
"Honey, you don't have to justify the donation to me. It's your money."
"It's our money, Matt. You've worked so hard," she complimented. He'd learned all that he could from Silas Jackson about cotton and sugarcane. Matt had supervised the harvesting and planting of the crops. Some days, he even worked alongside the laborers.
He settled into bed, propping himself against the button-tufted leather headboard. "Honey, I'm used to government pay. A pension now."
"Do I need to put you on the payroll, Cowboy?" she teased.
"You might," he flashed a boyish grin at her. "Honey, I enjoy the work...better than being cooped up in the damn office."
"Matt, I know it's not what you planned on after retiring, but I also know you never expected to live to see retirement."
Matt licked his lips, unable to look at her, afraid he might breakdown from the truth of her statement.
"I truly appreciate all the work you've done for all of us. I know it hasn't been easy on you," she murmured as she gingerly switched the baby to her other breast.
"It hasn't been easy on you either. You didn't have to let me back in so quickly," he brushed his lips against her freckled shoulder. "I believe we're all where we're supposed to be."
"I believe it, too," she said, leaning in to kiss him.
He returned the gentle caress, stroking her cheek until he felt Josie's foot nudging him. Matt stared at the drowsy baby as he rubbed her foot, snickering at the displeased grunt. "For being so tiny, she sure eats a lot."
"Well, she's having a little growth spurt," she smiled tenderly, gently stroking Josephine's arm. The newborn slowly unlatched from her mother's nipple, whimpering as the milk was wiped off her cheek.
Matt brushed his thumb over her tiny toes, observing her stretch her whole body while yawning. "You ready for me, Josie girl?" he whispered, taking her into his arms, delicately placing her on his chest. He patted her back until an unladylike burp came out of her.
Kitty fixed her nightgown, watching Josephine curl into Matt's chest with a content look on her sweet face as he steadily patted her bottom. She knew the baby would be asleep in minutes. "You know something…"
"What?" he inquired, brushing his lips against Josie's wispy curls while wondering if she'd ask about the letter he'd received from the new Dodge City Marshal, Newly O'Brien. Matt didn't miss his days being filled with having one second to decide whether a man lived or died, but he knew Newly could handle the burden.
"I think she knows she has her daddy wrapped around her finger," she proclaimed, sighing at how his jaw tensed and his brows uncomfortably knitted. Kitty turned into him and placed her hand on his thigh, comfortingly squeezing. "Matt, you're the only father she'll ever know. I heard what Henri said to you that night at The Oaks…about second chances."
The big man exhaled a sluggish, hefty sigh and focused on the girl snuggling into his warmth.
"I don't know why you're having such a hard time accepting that Henri wouldn't have wanted anyone else to take his place. He told me to send for you…you've always had his blessing. Is it because of Josie? Don't feel guilty. You are her daddy."
"No," he licked his lips, smoothing his hand up and down Josie's back. "Kitty, he won't call me Daddy. My son still calls me Marshal."
"Oh, Matt," she emphatically uttered. Luc had begun calling him daddy, but the toddler was more amenable than his older brother. "I'm sure you've noticed that your son is a lot like you. He's faithful and devoted. He doesn't like to rush into anything. After all, how many years did it take you to propose to me?"
"Kitty," he grumbled.
"I'm not saying it'll take him years, but he'll get there. Alexandre needs time is all. He has to reconcile that he won't diminish Henri's memory by calling you Daddy. I'm certain that Vivi will help him, too. She usually nudges him along after she loses her patience."
"Just like her mother."
Kitty smirked. "You better be glad Josie's asleep in your arms," she winked.
Matt shielded his eyes from the July sun, viewing his son and daughter at the end of the dock. The boy and girl sat side by side in the shade of the gazebo. He slid his hands into his pockets, relishing the sound of their sweet, melodic laughter. He slowly approached as Alexandre cast the fishing line into the water, eavesdropping on their animated conversation.
"Haggens say the mainest thing is the catchin' 'em not how it's did," Alexandre quoted his uncle. He'd mastered the hillman's twang. He and his siblings had been thrilled with Festus' decision to stay in Louisiana.
Vivienne giggled. "Don't let Pépère hear you say that."
Alexandre's cheeks puffed out as he dismissively exhaled, hoping to catch a decent-sized bream. He hadn't had any luck using his grandfather's suggested bait.
The petite redhead glanced behind her. Her beautiful face suddenly lit up, scrambling to her feet as she cried, "Daddy!"
"Honey, you're gonna scare the fish away," Matt gently teased.
She shrugged her shoulders, glancing at her brother. "He's not catching anything."
"Vivi," Alexandre groaned.
"You haven't. I'm goin' back to the house." She put her hand on her brother's shoulder to whisper in his ear, "Sois gentil."
Matt watched Vivienne skip down the wooden planks before he plopped next to his son. He wondered what happened to that little boy who'd loved roughhousing with him. He softly cleared his throat. "Wanna know a trick I use to catch a fish?"
"No."
"Alex…"
The six-year-old pursed his lips and set his shoulders, staring at the pond. "My name is Alexandre. My papa named me after his papa. Did you know my grand-père introduced my maman and papa?"
Matt's chest tightened as he looked upon his boy, recalling the true circumstance of the introduction of Kitty to Henri. He squinted, astute blue eyes scanning over Alexandre's tawny-brown curls. He took note of the boy's tense jaw and rigid posture. "I know who you're named after, Alexandre Matthieu. Your maman named you after your grand-père, but your papa named you after me," he gently clarified, drawing in a strengthening breath. "I'd visit you and your sister when you were little. My last visit was the summer when you were two-and-a-half. We picked blueberries, and you had me chasin' you in the rain," Matt grabbed the pole before it fell into the water. He tossed it aside as Alexandre hurriedly scooted away from him. His son's sniffles made his heart ache and caused him to wonder if he should've kept his mouth shut. He watched Alexandre draw his knees to his chest to hide his face. "Alexandre, are you angry with me?"
The boy furiously wiped the tears from his eyes, "No, Sir."
"Well, you seem angry," Matt inched closer to him, placing his hand on the middle of the child's back. "Don't you like me? I sure like you. In fact, I love you, Son."
"Stop!" Alexandre covered his ears and pinched his eyes shut. "Don't say that!"
The gentle giant stood to his feet and squatted in front of his son. "Please, Alexandre, tell me what I've done. Tell me what's wrong. Your maman and I are to be married next month. I wanted you to be my best man…to stand beside me."
The little boy slowly lifted his head, stammering, "I…I love you…too. But I shouldn't. I already have…have a papa. How can I love you? That's not fair to Papa…"
"Son, your papa was a helluva man. He was one of the best men I've ever known. And let me tell you something," he changed his tone, getting Alexandre's attention. Matt locked his eyes onto the blue ones exactly like his, "You have his loving heart, and you have your mother's, too. You know what that means?"
He shook his head, gazing at the big man through watery eyes.
"You have an endless capacity for love." Alexandre bowed his head as Matt placed his hand over the boy's heart. "Son, you could fit the whole world in that heart of yours, and there'd still be room to love one more."
Alexandre wiped his nose and clambered to his feet, throwing his arms around his father's neck. "I'll be your best man, Daddy," he whispered. The six-year-old didn't feel the flood of guilt he'd expected. Instead, he felt a rush of warmth blossoming in his chest.
Matt pulled his son closer into his chest, cradling the back of his head as he embraced him.
The month of August had arrived with a flurry of activity around The Oaks. The wedding date had been chosen, and the invitations had been sent. Kitty had sent word to the pastor of their home parish in New Orleans, asking him if he would mind making the journey north, only to receive a telegram stating that the Archbishop Janssens would be more than happy to oblige the widow Broussard.
August fifteenth had been a lovely, balmy day with the sun seemingly smiling over the Broussard-Dillon family and their smattering of guests. The wedding had been a small, intimate affair rather than a large-scale public affair. Doc and Festus had beamed, subtly wiping away an errant tear here and there, while at long last witnessing their two most beloved friends legally becoming one. Delia and Octavia had openly wept when Alexandre handed Matt the ring, proudly telling his mother, "My papa is happy for us today, Maman."
Eliza Jane Nicholson had also been in attendance. The remarkable and discerning writer had stayed for the cozy reception at The Oaks, writing her piece then and there. She'd made sure to include the quote from Henri Broussard's eldest son in her society page column, along with the fact that Alexandre had been Matthew Dillon's Best Man and his twin, Vivienne, had been her mother's Maid of Honor. The societally savvy editor had known that the acceptance of the Yankee marrying into New Orleans high society would hinge on the portrayal of the family overcoming grief by finding love once again. She'd known people would gossip behind closed doors about the rugged cowboy and the wealthy widow, but she'd be damned if she would fan the flames of innuendo. Eliza Jane had also written, "Mrs. Broussard-Dillon has made it clear that her new husband has not only committed to raising her children in a manner that would be pleasing to their father, but he has also generously offered to further the good works of Monsieur Broussard."
Neither Matt nor Kitty had been thrilled with the portrayal of their relationship, but they'd chosen to enjoy each other and their children by taking their honeymoon at The Oaks. Kitty realized how vastly different her second honeymoon would be. There would be no rooftop gardens, shopping at Lord and Taylor, or horse carriage rides in Central Park. She didn't mind that her honeymoon would be filled with lazy days, as much as four children would allow her and Matt to be lazy, that is.
As the crescent moon hung in the sky, the estate was quiet except for the occasional call from an owl. A vivacious redhead trailed down the familiar path to the pond. Her bare feet thudded on the cedar dock until she reached the gazebo. Kitty set the oil lamp on the railing and knelt, tugging on the rope she'd tied to a bottle of champagne. She startled as a frog leapt off a lily pad and into the water. She laughed at herself as she spread out the quilts and pillows that she'd brought from the house.
With her hands on her hips, she surveyed her work and plopped onto the gazebo's bench to wait for her husband, speculating on how long it would take Matt to get almost four-month-old Josephine settled. The baby's nighttime routine seemed to stretch longer each night since the gentle giant would do anything to hear her precious, little laugh. Kitty had to admit that she never thought she'd hear Matt sing Pop! Goes the Weasel, but the silly faces he'd make while singing elicited the biggest laughs from the infant.
Matt crept behind her, slinking without a sound as if he were approaching an outlaw on the prairie. He observed his wife for several moments, struck by the fact that he'd just married her hours ago. She'd been a vision in ivory silk brocade and pearl trim, fiery tresses elegantly coiffed, and a modest amount of face paint to enhance her stunning features. But her present appearance took his breath away. She wore a sleeveless lace nightdress, her auburn locks tumbling over her shoulders, perfectly framing her paintless face. He stepped closer until he was feet away from her and hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants. A playful grin spread over his lips. "You shouldn't be out here by yourself."
Kitty turned her head, arching a brow while rising to stand. "Oh?"
He lowered his eyes to the hem of the thigh-length gown, painstakingly dragging his eyes to the three pearl buttons on the lace bodice and the diminutive silk bow resting in the daring dip of the neckline. Matt sucked in a breath as the chiffon robe slipped off her shoulder, revealing the sprinkling of freckles on her fair skin. He unconsciously licked his lips and sluggishly dipped his head. "It's not safe," he proclaimed, viewing her sink onto the pile of blankets. "A man could come along and…" Matt lost his voice as she seductively reclined, resting on her elbows while fixing her gaze on him.
Kitty toyed with the gossamer edge of the nightgown, teasingly inching it back. "Come along and what?"
"Take you," he throatily uttered.
"That's what I'm hoping for, Cowboy."
The early September sunshine smiled upon Matt and Kitty as they climbed the stone steps leading to the large cypress doors of Holy Cross Academy. Alexandre's teacher had sent word to Madame Broussard-Dillon that they needed to have a meeting regarding Alexandre Matthieu's recent defiant behavior.
"I can't imagine what this is all about," Matt grumbled as they strode down the marble-floored hallway. "Alexandre is never defiant."
"I guess we're gonna find out, Cowboy," Kitty whispered, nodding toward Alexandre's classroom. "Be prepared, Matt. These nuns are fast talkers."
Matt's eyes widened when he spied his son sitting in the back row of the well-appointed classroom, furiously writing something on a sheet of paper, while the middle-aged nun had her back to all of them as she wrote something on the chalkboard for the next day.
Kitty cleared her throat, "Sister George."
The teacher slowly turned, eyeing the handsome couple over the rim of her small, round spectacles. Her eyes seemed to double in size once she'd fully taken in the features of Monsieur Dillon's face. She briefly closed her eyes as if to refocus on the topic at hand.
"Madame Broussard, I thank you for coming on such short notice," Sister George rounded her desk as she folded her hands under the apron of her habit.
"Well, Sister, Alexandre's grandfather told me that I had to come and speak with you in order to collect him from school today. And my name is now Broussard-Dillon. This is my husband, Mister Dillon." Kitty's tone was polite, but direct.
Matt took a small step toward his son's teacher, "Good afternoon, Sister George. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Monsieur Dillon," she nodded, "I wasn't expecting you."
Without missing a beat, the offended father retorted, "Anytime there is an issue regarding Alexandre, you can expect to see me at his mother's side."
"Alexandre," Sister George motioned for him to join her at the front of the room, "please tell your mother what you are writing for me as a punishment."
The scared boy slowly approached his mother, handing her his paper. "I have to write 'I will not disobey Sister' fifty times." He couldn't bear to look his mother in the eye.
"Alexandre Matthieu, what did you do?" Kitty spoke softly as she lifted his chin with her finger.
His blue eyes filled with tears, and he swallowed hard. He couldn't speak.
"What is it, Son?" Matt gently placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.
Unable to tolerate the child's silence any longer, Sister George curtly interjected, "This whole first week of school, he has been printing his name incorrectly on his papers."
"I beg your pardon?" Kitty narrowed her eyes at the teacher. "Alexandre knows how to spell his name."
"Madame Broussard, I didn't say he couldn't spell his name. I said it was incorrect."
"Once again, Sister George, my name is Madame Broussard-Dillon-"
The impatient nun interrupted, "Well, that may now be your legal name, but it is not your son's."
Matt slowly turned the boy to face him. "Can you tell me what's going on here?"
"Yes, Sir," the child sniffled, swiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I've been printing my name like Maman's. Alexandre Broussard-Dillon. And Sister George says that's not my name. But you and Maman got married, so isn't it my name, too?"
The big man quickly scooped up the boy and planted him on his hip, tenderly kissing him on his cheek. "We can talk about this at home. Okay?"
"Excuse me," Sister George thrust her hands onto her hips, causing the gigantic rosary around her waist to sway, "We are here to talk about the boy's defiance. I told him to stop using a name that isn't legally his, and he defies me day after day."
Kitty gently squeezed Matt's arm, her eyes asking him to leave the room with their son. Once the door snicked shut, the redhead planted her hands on her hips. "Sister George," she slowly spoke, "I cannot believe that you called me here from my home where I not only have a toddler and an infant, but from where I also run several businesses, to discuss such a trivial issue."
The nun's eyes flashed with fury as she raised her voice, "Madame, how dare you tell me defiance-"
"Defiance!" Kitty roared, "My son is sweet, kind, and gentle. He's not defying you. He's trying to heal. His father was murdered in front of him, Sister! In front of the boy's very eyes. And now he has another man who will love him and care for him. Don't you see that this is Alexandre's way of fully accepting my husband? Surely you're not blind."
Sister George crossed her arms in front of her chest, scoffing, "I'm certainly not blind, Madame."
Kitty's eyes narrowed while she balled her hands at her sides. She knew exactly what the habit clad woman had insinuated. She whispered, "I hope your hearing is better than your eyesight. I'm going to only say this once. Henri Broussard was a wonderful, loving father. He wanted the best education for his children, so he sent his son to his alma mater. I'm telling you now, Sister George, if you or anyone else in this school tries to smear my dearly departed husband's reputation, I will remove my son from this institution. Have I made myself clear?"
The big man stifled a yawn as he sipped a robust blend of chicory coffee in the chaotic family room. He'd only been in bed for a handful of minutes when the children had bounded in, excitedly shouting that Père Noël had come. He'd stayed up to put together tricycles and bicycles. He set his mug aside, watching the eight-month-old crawl through the mess of decorated paper, lace, and ribbons. He melted as soon as Josie sat on her bottom, happily squealing while reaching for him. "C'mere, Josie girl," he murmured, lifting her onto his lap.
"Not in the house, Luc," Kitty reprimanded while stepping over a zoetrope with her second café au lait in her hands. She was grateful the children had gone to bed straight after réveillon, but she wasn't appreciative of the fact they'd woken up shortly after four o'clock in the morning.
"Maman," the four-year-old whined from the seat of his shiny, new tricycle.
"Daddy will take you outside," she sighed as Luc furiously yet clumsily pedaled, heading out of the room. The sleep deprived mother smothered a laugh as her son bumped into the doorway. "Luc, Sweetheart, Daddy will take you outside after the sun comes up." She ignored the boy's grumbling and glanced at the twins, fascinated by the Kodak box camera. "Is that all of 'em?" she whispered to Matt, stepping over the dozing silver poodle.
"I think so," he kissed the top of Josie's auburn head.
Kitty set her floral-painted mug on the end table and disappeared for several minutes, returning with four elaborately decorated gifts. She eased onto the plush settee and gazed at her children. "C'mere, you three," she beckoned with a warm smile on her face.
The children drifted to the settee, plopping onto the floor in front of their parents, waiting and wondering what was in the wrapping paper.
"Your daddy and I saved these for last."
"Why?" Luc piped up.
"These last gifts are special, Son. Open them slowly," he instructed, chuckling as Luc speedily tugged on the red ribbon and tore at the fancy paper. Matt stole a glance at his wife, grinning from ear to ear while she sank onto the floor to read the sign to Luc.
"Merveilleux! Je suis très contente!" Vivienne cried, leaping to her feet. She hugged her father, smushing her baby sister. She jumped back as soon as she heard Josephine's displeased squeal. "Je suis désolé, Josie. Alexandre?" she murmured, looking over her shoulder at her brother. She flopped next to him and gently nudged him. "Alexandre…"
The almost seven-year-old held the small sign in his lap, running his fingers over the wooden frame, reading the words over and over. It's official. I am Alexandre Matthieu Broussard-Dillon. The quiet boy hadn't noticed his mother had moved to sit next to him. He startled as her arm wrapped around him.
"Honey," Kitty spoke softly.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, blinking to keep the tears at bay while nestling into the security of his mother. "I'm like you now, Maman. I'm a Broussard-Dillon."
"Mmhmm," she pressed her lips to his temple. "We're all Broussard-Dillons."
Alexandre kissed her cheek, beaming as he stood. He settled on the sofa and shared his father's lap with Josie. "I can't wait to show Sister George."
Matt grinned. "I can't wait for you to show her," he awkwardly cleared his throat at his wife's censuring look, "but you be respectful to Sister George, Son."
"Yes, Sir," he replied, peering up at his father's face while brushing his fingertips over the writing. "Thank you, Daddy."
"No…thank you, Son. It's a pleasure being your daddy."
Matt reclined into the cushions, holding onto a sleepy infant and his son. He smiled at Vivienne and Luc until he met his wife's blue eyes. He thought about what that whiskered, craggily-faced old-timer had told him during his adolescence about regrets. His regrets were no more. He'd married the love of his life, and his children finally had his name.
Author's Note: AZgirl66 and I discovered we share a love for two movies, Where Angels Go Trouble Follows! and Yours, Mine, and Ours...the original, of course, with Lucille Ball and Henry Fonda. I let her take the reins with the visit to Alexandre's school. I'm sure most of you will be thrilled more than saddened to know that there's one chapter left.