Chapter 3

Baton Rouge was big, the biggest city Claire had ever seen, much bigger than she remembered Houston. Buildings and wharfs stretched along the Mississippi River for a half mile or more as they passed by one after another along the bank. The barge cast a long shadow across the water toward the city. The sun would set before long.

Bart guided the craft from the stern with a tiller. The river had been wide as a sea for days, ever since they left the Red River and entered the Mississippi. They stayed close to the shore now and the muddy bank moved by faster than it had on the Red.

Claire was a little scared as they bore down on an old wooden landing ahead and she did not know how they would stop once they got to it, but Bart was calm as he sat in the stern at the tiller guiding the barge toward the ancient wharf.

Behind the river front, up on a high bluff, Claire could see wooden warehouses, and beyond them, tall buildings in the town. Most were red brick, like in Shreveport and Alexandria, but some were buff-colored stone and taller than any she had ever seen. The wharf came toward them faster now. Bart jumped up from the tiller and ran forward on the deck. Agile for his size, like a quick moving bear, he picked up the end of a mooring line coiled on the bow and tossed the loop on the end high up and over a bollard on the dock.

The line payed out fast and stretched taut as the barge continued down river on the current. Then the line stretched even more as the craft turned slowly until the bow pointed upriver. Bart ran back and yanked the tiller over, and the barge swung against the wooden pilings, then stopped with a bump that made Claire grab hold of the deckhouse door facing. Bart threw a stern line over another bollard, and they were fast to the shore.

He sat down on the deck to pull on his boots, then turned with his back to the city to unbutton his pants and tuck in his shirt. Claire watched impatiently. She was already dressed to go ashore. She had gone inside the cabin and pulled her best dress on over her shift when Bart first pointed out the city on the shore ahead. The dress was white eyelet with ruffled collar and cuffs and fitted her close over her breasts and hips. Too close, Papa had said, but she had sewed it herself and was not about to pull out the stitches and to make it bigger.

Bart went back Inside the deckhouse to get his hat and Claire went in after him to hurry him up. It was cooler now, but waiting for them to land, even in the shade had been hot and she was afraid of sweating through the dress, making dark wet spots under her'arms and at her waist.

Besides, she was excited and ready to go ashore and see the town.

"It'll still be there whether we hurry or not," Bart said, smiling at her impatience.

"I'm so excited," she said. "What will we do first?"

"Whatever you want. If you're hungry, we can eat supper."

"In a restaurant at a hotel?"

"I ain't dressed right for that. You got to have on a necktie."

"Oh."

"But there's a good place not too far away where the food's better than any restuarant. You ever eat Cajun food, Widow Leblanc?" He grinned at her.

She smiled back at him. "You mean like the French people that live on the bayous down here?"

"Yeah, that's the ones."

"No, I never ate any of their food. Is it good? Pappa said they were dirty and would go to hell because they're Catholics and they drink whiskey."

"I don't expect they're more likely to go to hell than a Baptist preacher that beats his daugher, Widow Leblanc, and they're no dirtier than most. No cleaner either, I reckon, but they can cook like all get-out. Crawdads and hot pepper stewed up together with rice and beans. Sausage stuffed with rice and pork too, called bo-dang."

"Crawdads?" She made a face.

"Don't go turning your nose up at something you ain't never tried now."

She smiled. I guess you're right. I'll try anything once."

"That's my girl," he said. "Let's go. I'm hungry.

He propped a ladder from the deck of the barge to the wharf and they climbed up. When they were at the top, Bart pulled the ladder up after them and stuck it under a dense growth of foliage sprouting from a willow stump next to the bank beside the wharf.

"Why'd you do that?" Claire asked.

"I don't want the ladder walking off while we're gone."

"Oh," she said. She felt uneasy. New Orleans was much bigger even than Baton Rouge. What would it be like there if thieves would take a boatman's ladder in Baton Rouge.

*****

The building looked from the outside more like a saloon than a place to eat, Claire thought, but she could Tiear the noise of dishes and smell food from the sidewalk outside. She stayed close to Bart and followed him in through the open door.

Inside was hot and heavy with the smell of spicy food. A momentary lull in the babble of voices let her know their entrance had been noticed, then the talk started up again, but she could not make out anything that was being said.

"Are they speaking French?" she asked.

Bart nodded yes, but did not speak. He was looking around the room as if trying to find someone.

"Hey," a man's voice shouted over the general noise of the diners. "Hey, Dillon."

Bart looked around to find the voice shouting his name.

Across the room he saw the man standing behind the bar pouring liquor into a shot glass from a dark green bottle.

"Pierre Boyo," he shouted back at the man and waved. He took Claire's hand and pulled her across the room toward the bar where he took the man's hand and shook it laughing.

"You ol' son-of-a-gun," he said. "How you doing?"

"Good, you old river rat. Tres bien. Tres bien." The Cajun was looking at Claire.

"Uh, Claire," Bart said. "Meet my friend, Pierre. Pierre, this is, uh – Claire.

"Enchante," Pierre said. He extended his hand across the bar and when she gave him her hand, he bowed over it and touched it lightly with his lips. "Pierre Beauxyeux, at your service, Madamoiselle,” he said looking up at her with his head still hovering over her hand.

"Claire - uh. . ." She looked out the window behind the bar. In the distance she saw a white bird flying against an orange sunset over the Mississippi. "Claire Crane," she said.

"Enchante," Pierre said again, looking closely at Claire then back at Bart.

Bart saw the man look first at Claire then at him.

"Where's that worthless brother of yours anyway?" Bart asked.

"Ah, yes, your good friend Andre," he said and smiled again at Bart. Something was odd about the smile, Claire thought, something that the men knew between them.

"He's about. In the back, I think. He'll be delighted to see you, and Madamoiselle Crane." He again looked at Bart with the same strange smile as before. He gestured toward a table. "Sit down – over there by the window where there's a breeze from the street. And here, take some wine."

He poured red wine from another dark green bottle into glasses with long stems and pushed them by their bases toward Bart. "I'll tell him you're here."

Soon a good looking young man approached the table. He waved at Bart and spoke before he reached them.

"Bart, mon ami, mon tres bon ami."

"Yo, Andre. You're a sight for sore eyes, you handsome devil."

Andre sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table from Bart and Claire. He had a French accent like his brother, Pierre, but not quite as strong. He was younger than his brother. Twenty-four, he said when Claire asked. And he was very handsome, with dark, almost black eyes, and dark brown curly hair that seemed to shine in the light from the candle on the table. His teeth were straight and white and his eyes flashed when he smiled at her in the candlelight, which he was doing now, amused by something she had said about eating crawfish. She felt a strange warmth stirring in the pit of her stomach as he looked directly into her eyes.

"Have you ever eaten the crawfish?" He asked the question as if he were asking more than merely a question about the food.

"Well, no. Is it good."

"I think it is very good and so does our good friend Bart. Isn't it very good Bart."

"It's very good," Bart said smiling. He too spoke as if he were talking about something else.

"Then I guess I ought to try it," Claire said. The feeling stirred again as Andre continued to look into her eyes. ". . .If you both think it's that good." Somehow she felt as if she too were now talking about something other than food.

"Claire's the kind of girl that will try anything once," Bart said. "Aren't you Claire, sweetheart."

Claire smiled looking into Andre's eyes. "Yes, she said, "I'm willing try just about anything once."

"Oh, good. I think that is an excellent thing -- that that you have an adventuresome spirit," he said.

Claire saw him glance quickly at Bart, meeting the other's eyes. "It delights me to find a woman with a spirit of adventure. Don't you agree, bon ami," he said.

"Sure do," Bart grinned. "How else you gonna find out what you like."

The two men smiled at each other and Claire thought of the expression on Pierre's face that had puzzled her earlier.

"So. . .," Andre said looking back at Claire and fastening his eyes on hers. ". . .we will see what we can find for you to try. Would you like that?"

"Well, yes, I think so," she said then added, ". . .at least once anyway."

She drank from her wine glass and looked down at the liquid for a moment. She had already finished two glasses before they ate, and this was her third. At first, the wine seemed bitter, but after a swallow or two, she began to enjoy the subtle taste hiding under the bitterness. She also like the effect it had on her spirits. She was feeling happy and light hearted. Andre was having a strange effect on her and she was enjoing how it felt.

She looked up and met Andre's eyes. And she had never seen such a handsome a man. Memories of the nights on the barge floating downriver rose into her mind and found herself wondering what it would be like to have Andre on top of her naked. She could see he was muscular under his clothes – not big like Bart's barrel-chested, bear body, but well built in a classic way. The biceps of his upper arms filled out his sleeves the twin mounds of his pectoral muscles pushed against his shirt front. The top buttons were undone under this collar and she could see the deep valley that ran down between the mounds.

The wine was taking away her inhibitions and she found herself wondered how big his dick was, if it was big like Bart's. Then she became aware of her thoughts and almost afraid as Andre looked into her eyes, that he could read them.

She sipped again from her wine and found the glass empty.

"Ah, you have finished your wine," he said. "Shall we go then?"

Both men stood up from the table.

"Go?" Claire said. She had been deep in a fantasy about the Cajun man and had missed an exchange between him and Bart.

"Yes, to Andre's house," Bart said. "He has some better wine and the air will be cooler nearer the river."

"And there will be something new for you to try," Bart said.

"Oh, what? A different wine?" Claire was still sitting at the table. She was looking up at the men, but her eyes were at the level where Andre'sa shirt was tucked into his trousers and she could not resist the temptation to glance lower. He eyes did not remain there for more than in instant, but what she saw increased her excitement. When she looked back up into his eyes, she saw that he had noticed the glance at his trousers.

He smiled at her and fussed at tucking in his shirt more firmly, and arranging his tousers a bit as well, smoothing them down in front as her eyes followed his hand. "Yes, a different wine to be sure," he said, ". . .and something else that will make you feel like a new woman."

"What?" Claire said. She felt her excitement continuing to grow.

"First, after your trip down the river, I thought you would like a bath in a real tub with running water."

"A bath in a tub with running water?" Claire said. "A wonderful idea."

She got up from her chair, then had to sit back down quickly. "Oh," she said. "I'm a ittle dizzy."

The men laughed. "It's the wine," Andre said. "Here let me help you. Just get up slowly and I will support you. The fresh air outside will make you feel better in no time."

He took her hand to help her up and then put a strong arm around her waist. He put his other arm around Bart's shoulder and together the three left the establishment. Smiling, Andre's brother Pierre watched them leave.

He reached over and patted the butt of the bar maid standing near him. "Marie, I think my brother is about to have a party," he said.

"Oui, Pierre," she said. "But a very private party. Le ménage à trois, n'est pas?"

"Mais oui, mon cher. Mais oui," he said.

"We might have le ménage as well. Should I send for my friend Collette to come at closing time? "

"Mais oui, mon petite cher. Mais oui," he said.