Savage Nature - Christine Feehan [52]
“Oh, she worked, that one did,” Pauline said. “She did all the cookin’ and cleanin’ in that house. She was a little thing, barely able to stand up to the stove.”
“I used a stool,” Saria explained.
Pauline gave another sniff. “And she did the fishin’ and trappin’ as well.”
“You make it sound terrible, Pauline. I loved my life. It was my house and my swamp, my world. And it still is.”
“See?” Pauline appealed to Drake. “She’s always been like this. It never mattered what anyone said to her, she did what she wanted. We all got together to try to talk to her pere, but he wouldn’t listen. Told us to mind our own business.”
Saria blew her a kiss. “I appreciated it.”
“Is that why every single one of the women who tried to intervene ended up with a baby alligator after they interceded on your behalf?” Pauline demanded. “She snuck into their homes and left them all a present—a very pointed present. I received one as well.”
Saria threw back her head and laughed. Drake had the sudden vision of a precocious child with gleaming white-gold hair, mischievous and running wild. He found her more fascinating than ever. His Saria had to have a backbone of steel if she was standing up to an entire community at such an early age.
“Did you really sneak into houses . . .”
“Eight houses,” Pauline pointed out. “All in one night and no one caught her.”
Drake shook his head, unable to keep from laughing. “You broke into eight homes and left each one a baby alligator?”
Pauline nodded, beginning to laugh at the memory. “She’s very inventive, this one. She tied a bow around the necks of the alligators with a little rolled-up note, like a scroll, and left one in each bathroom, either in the tub or shower. All women of the church and very proper.”
“I’ll bet that went over well.”
“Mind you,” Pauline added, “these were town women. They lived on the river, but they weren’t like those of us in the swamp. Can you imagine the ruckus those ladies made findin’ gators in their fancy bathrooms? I think everyone heard the screams up and down the Mississippi.”
Saria burst out laughing again and Pauline, shaking her head, joined with her.
“What did the note say?” Drake asked.
“Wait, I still have mine,” Pauline jumped up so fast the chair wavered for a moment.
Drake steadied the chair while Pauline left the room to retrieve the note.
“Remind me not to get you upset with me,” Drake whispered. “You believe in revenge.”
“Good thing to know about me,” Saria said. “I don’ like people pushin’ me into anything, even ma famille. I had to be an adult and no one was goin’ to come into my home and tell me what I could or couldn’t do.”
“We were tryin’ to give you a childhood,” Pauline pointed out as she plunked the note down on the table in front of Drake.
“I know that now, Miss Pauline,” Saria said. “That’s why I said I appreciated the intervention. Later, when my temper cooled, I sorted it out and realized it was done because you all cared. I left an apology at each house a few weeks later.”
Drake glanced down at the note expecting to see a childish, angry scrawl. He was shocked that the note was done in calligraphy. He looked up and met Pauline’s eyes.
“Do you see why I kept it? That note was such a work of art. She gave us all a baby to take care of because we had too much time on our hands and she didn’t need our concern. She said to pour our lonely feelings out to the new baby.” Pauline ped herself another cup of coffee and took a beignet. “Of course it was a baby alligator, but so clever to think of it.”
“And what did you do for an apology?” Drake asked, more fascinated than ever. Clearly there was quite a lot to learn of Saria and he wanted to know everything.
“I baked them a rare Cajun bread, a recipe that’s been in ma famille for years. I wrapped each loaf up with a beautiful tissue paper my mom had kept for years in case something important came up and I snuck into their houses and left it on their tables. That was much easier than putting the alligators in the bathrooms.”
Pauline beamed at her.