Creole Fires

Creole Fires 1 Louisiana, 1837 "Allons! Nicki, let's go! We should not have come so far into the swamp." Michele was right, of course, and Nicole St. Claire didn't miss the uncertainty in her friend's softly spoken French words. Still, it was a lovely day and the first chance she'd had to get away from the endless procession of friends who had heard of the St. Claires' visit and come to the Christophe plantation to pay their respects. "You worry too much," Nicki chided. "It isn't good for you." Stretching a bit, she worked the kinks from her back, and filled her lungs with the still-cool Louisiana air. "Mon Dieu, but you are stubborn." Michele glanced over her shoulder. Though she craned her neck and stood on her toes, she couldn't spot the big white plantation house they'd left behind. "I do not like this. There are snakes out here. Besides, I want to get out of these old clothes." Across the thicket, Nicki just smiled, brightening her pretty oval face and tilting a pair of vivid aqua eyes. "Cook says we need two buckets of berries if we want pies for supper," Nicki reminded her. Several inches shorter than Michele, Nicole was petite but not frail, her bosom full and high, her hips shapely, and her waist narrow. "You go ahead. I won't be far behind." "Your maman's not going to like it." Michele looked again at their surroundings: the meandering inlet that drained the Mississippi River not far away, the heavy carpet of grass at their feet, the towering cypress that seemed to guard this small stretch of uncultivated swampland. She swiped at a gnat that buzzed beside her ear, then jumped as a vine snagged her skirt. "I don't think I should leave you out here alone." Nicki's copper-haired head popped up from the thicket. "Who would dare to bother us" Who indeed? Nicki thought. The Christophes were one of the wealthiest families in these parts, even if times had gotten tougher. And the St. Claires were widely respected. Michele still seemed uncertain. "Papa says Alain Lefevre is coming to supper." If an image of the handsome French boy was meant to lure Nicole away, it failed miserably. "You can have him. I'm not interested." "Why not?" "He's far too . . . proper . . . for my tastes, always fawning about and spouting his meaningless poetry. I want someone reckless and dashing. A man who will sweep me off my feet." "Mon Dieu, you are crazy." But Michele knew better than to argue. Nicole St. Claire was as stubborn a young woman as Michele had ever met. Far different from her own quiet nature, Nicki was determined and bold and fearless. It was amazing they could be such good friends. "You are sure you will be all right?" Michele asked. "I'll be fine." Rolling her eyes in vexation, Michele took a last glance in Nicki's direction, but saw only the wriggle of her bottom in the faded blue gingham dress she had borrowed so her own fine yellow muslin would not get soiled. Michele frowned, wondering again if she should wait, then decided against it. Nicki wouldn't leave until she was well and ready to go, and the lure of a bath and an afternoon nap were far too strong. Lifting her worn brown slightly too-short skirts up out of the way, Michele headed back toward home, eager to be rid of her dowdy clothing and once again dressed in expensive silks and satins. Nicki watched her friend cross the rise and disappear out of sight. She wished she could see Michele more often, but with Cote Verde, the Christophe plantation, here in La Ronde on the Mississippi, and Meadowood, the St. Claire plantation, near Napoleonville on Bayou Lafourche, they visited just a few times a year. Michele Christophe was a good and loyal friend. StiMartin, Kat is the author of 'Creole Fires', published 1992 under ISBN 9780440208037 and ISBN 0440208033.