Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Read online

  Along the Cane River

  Books 1-5

  by

  Mary Jane Hathaway

  All rights reserved. © 2017 by Gumbo Books and Mary Jane Hathaway.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  This book is dedicated to the enthusiastic and delightful readers of the Cane River series. Thank you for all your notes of encouragement and support.

  This book is for you, my friends, with all my love.

  The Pepper in the Gumbo

  OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway

  OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael

  The cats of By the Book

  Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:

  Movie references

  Louisiana Creole glossary

  Recipes

  These Sheltering Walls

  Songs, Poems, Poets, Writers, Books, and Stories mentioned in the book

  RECIPES

  Only Through Love

  Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:

  Louisiana Creole glossary

  Recipes

  A Star To Steer By

  OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway

  OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael

  Sea Fever by John Masefield

  Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:

  Recipes

  The Boundless Deep

  OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway

  OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael

  Contents

  The Pepper in the Gumbo

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  Dear Reader,

  BIOGRAPHY

  OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway

  OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael

  Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:

  Recipes

  These Sheltering Walls

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  BIOGRAPHY

  Louisiana Creole glossary

  Songs, Poems, Poets, Writers, Books, and Stories mentioned in the book

  RECIPES

  Only Through Love

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Acknowledgements

  Dear reader,

  Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:

  BIOGRAPHY

  Louisiana Creole glossary

  Recipes

  A Star To Steer By

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Acknowledgements

  Dear Reader,

  BIOGRAPHY

  OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway

  OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael

  Sea Fever by John Masefield

  Novels, illustrators, poetry, and poets which play a role in this story:

  Louisiana Creole glossary

  Recipes

  Chicken Sauce Piquant

  Root Beer Doughnuts

  The Boundless Deep

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty (Epilogue)

  Crossing the Bar

  OTHER TITLES by Mary Jane Hathaway

  OTHER TITLES by Virginia Carmichael

  Calas Rice Fritters

  Ruby’s Pineapple Cheese Salad

  The Pepper in the Gumbo

  By

  Mary Jane Hathaway

  All rights reserved. © 2014 by Gumbo Books and Mary Jane Hathaway.

  Editing provided by Kathryn Frazier

  Dedications

  To Mrs. Gaskell, who wrote her books standing in the kitchen, while her five children ran through the house. Your romances captivated a generation. Your passion for social justice shaped my moral code. North and South, the story of a ruthless mill owner and a fiery minister’s daughter, will live forever in the hearts of your readers.

  To Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who wrote some very fine love poetry, but considered her life’s work to be fighting child labor even though she lived in a time that didn’t allow women a political voice. Virginia Woolf said it best when she said, “Elizabeth Barrett Browning rushed into the dra
wing room and declared that here, where we live and work, is the true place for the poet. The heroine’s passionate interest in social questions, her conflict as artist and woman, her longing for knowledge and freedom, is the true heroine of her age.”

  Also to Christalee Scott May, who will never stop trying to bring me into the twenty-first century.

  Chapter One

  If we continue to develop our technology without wisdom or prudence,

  our servant may prove to be our executioner.

  ―Omar N. Bradley

  “Van Winkle, scoot. You’re taking up half the desk.”

  Alice Augustine brushed aside piles of receipts and set down her steaming cup of coffee, but the sleeping gray cat didn’t budge from his spot in the sun. Alice gently slid the kitty to the left and angled into her chair. She loved Mondays, loved the pale light of early morning illuminating her workspace, loved the way her little bookstore creaked and rustled like an old lady waking up from a long winter’s nap. Or at least, she loved every Monday other than the last Monday of the month. Then it was sixteen kinds of terrible.

  Balancing the accounts was becoming an unpleasant task. That far column of red numbers was growing at an alarming rate. She pulled her cardigan tighter against the unseasonable late-summer chill, and reminded herself that the store survived the last ten years of economic downturn and it wasn’t going to fail now. Not on her watch. Not after Mr. Perrault kept it afloat for fifty years and made it one of the most famous bookstores in Louisiana.

  Opening her laptop, she took a slow breath, letting gratitude for the place win over the nagging worries that fought for her attention. Her store was in the National Historic Landmark District, a local treasure at the very end of the thirty-three block stretch along Cane River. The rows of tidy shelves showcased the best in rare and vintage volumes. Customers traveled from around the state to spend the day in By the Book, sharing stories of the eccentric former owner, Mr. Perrault, and his wife, Angeline. Alice was proud to be the owner and so very grateful for every day she came to work. Usually.

  Mr. Perrault. Alice paused, waiting for the ache in her chest to ebb. Mr. Perrault, the man who didn’t snap at a surly teen girl who wandered into his bookshop and argued that Elizabeth Barrett Browning should not be placed next to her husband Robert just because they shared a name. He didn’t laugh, even when she said Robert Browning was an overeducated blowhard whose collection should be used as a doorstop. No, Mr. Perrault spoke to her as if she were a poetry expert and a person. He took notes, offered her coffee, and asked her to come back to chat. Alice had spent so long being angry that she didn’t even notice for the first six months of Saturday literary debates that she’d made a friend. She wasn’t just the annoying little sister of four boys, all being raised by their grandmother and haunted by the accident that took their parents.

  She could never get away from the pitying glances of the people of her small town. Natchitoches was one of the oldest communities in the south, and the people made it their duty to never forget anything, good or bad. Alice was not just Alice. She was “poor, sweet Alice, whose parents are dead.” But not to Mr. Perrault and not to his wife. With them, Alice felt like she was someone apart from all of that, someone who had read more widely than anyone she knew. To them, she was a reader and a friend.

  Mondays always made her pensive and she slipped the fragile chain out from her shirt, touching the two gold rings that hung there. Those simple, plain gold bands had once signified the marriage of her parents and the unity of her family.

  “Darcy, come on down. You’ll get all dusty,” she said more from tradition than any real expectation that he would listen. Darcy didn’t answer to anyone. The large black cat stayed high up, his perfect pink nose in the air. He came down to eat only after the other cats had wandered away. He was happy there, far above the fray, and there was no reason to coax him down. Her employees poked fun at Darcy’s antisocial habits, but Alice felt a secret kinship with him.

  A bright tinkle sounded from the little brass bell that hung from a faded red velvet ribbon on the door.

  “Good morning,” Alice called out. She added a wave although old Bix Beaulieu was so nearsighted he wouldn’t know the difference. In fact, he shouldn’t be driving himself to work. Somehow he kept passing his renewal test. Alice harbored a strong suspicion that had something to do with Bix’s great niece working at the DMV. The people of Natchitoches had learned to watch out for Bix and his bright green Cadillac of Doom. Like a moving landmark, it had been the cruel end of nativity scenes, award-winning rose bushes, and too many pink flamingos to count.

  “Mornin’, sha,” he called back. It made her smile to hear him use the endearment her Papa used. Alice was always “dear” to Bix. Stark white bristles sprouted from under his old straw hat, and his World War II, Navy-issue raincoat was buttoned to his chin. It hardly ever rained, but Bix hated to be unprepared. “I thought I’d come in early and rearrange those bottom shelves of paperbacks.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” Alice could think of ten things more worthwhile than rearranging the paperback section. Customers sorted through them like folded T-shirts on sale at the mall. It was a waste of time to even put them on the shelves. She should just shovel them in mountains labeled Romance, Thrillers, and Mysteries, and not worry any more about it. But Bix did what he liked, when he liked. It could be aggravating, but Alice loved it a little bit, too.

  “Thanks, but I got a cup at The Red Hen.” Bix placed a paper bag on the desk and Alice inhaled the heavenly scent of fresh beignets. The Red Hen served hot Beau Monde coffee and the area’s best bakery items. Bix’s dark brown eyes crinkled at the edges, his face creased with a grin. “I figured you’d appreciate a little pick-me-up while you crunch the numbers.”

  Alice murmured her thanks as she opened the bag. She hated that Bix knew the bookstore was losing money. The man was pretty observant for being nearly blind.

  “Louis asked after you,” Bix said.

  Alice took a large bite of still-warm beignet and chewed slowly. Louis Guillorie was balding, short-tempered, twice her age, and most definitely not Alice’s idea of a romantic partner. The day she graduated high school, he’d asked her out by telling her he had a thing for green-eyed Creole girls. She’d almost cried, trying to let him down easy, afraid to bruise his ego. After nearly ten years of searching for the gentlest way to get through, she decided it wasn’t her problem if he wouldn’t face the facts. Now she just pretended the owner of The Red Hen didn’t exist. It was a whole lot easier than feeling guilty about hurting his feelings.

  “Wanted to know if you were still seeing that short Yankee with the horsey laugh.”

  “He’s not short. He’s three inches taller than I am.” Eric was a perfectly nice guy who made great money as the area’s only dentist. She didn’t argue about him being a Yankee or the laugh. Eric didn’t laugh much, so she could almost forget about his unfortunate affliction.

  “I told him to bide his time. Horse boy won’t last long. He don’t even take you out. A girl’s gotta get out of the house once in a while.” Bix took off his straw hat and unbuttoned his coat, as if he weren’t being rude in the slightest.

  “He’s lasted four months,” Alice said. “And I’m a homebody. I don’t mind.” Eric was more than a little boring, but she was no rock star herself. Her mamere called her curvy, but that was just a nice way for her grandmother to say Alice loved beignets a little too much and didn’t love exercise quite enough. Her hair was so curly it had a life of its own, her mouth was a little too wide, and she wouldn’t ever be called anything more than pretty. Add in the fact that she owned too many cats and a bookstore that was hemorrhaging money, and Alice figured she wasn’t one to point fingers.

  “You’ve got to get out more, especially since you’re up there all alone now. I felt better when that family was living in the other half. This is such a big old place. You could slip in that claw-foot tub, crack your head, and nobody would find you for days
.”

  Alice tried to ignore the visual that popped into her mind. “A possibility, I suppose.” If she fell and hit her head while getting in the tub, she certainly wouldn’t want her neighbors to come rescue her. Then again, she couldn’t think of a single person who would be really right for that job.

  A short-haired tabby crossed the floor toward the back door, sending a glance at Bix that seemed to say she was highly offended but would suffer silently, as usual. “Jane Eyre wanted one of those maple-cured bacon slices you brought last time,” Alice interpreted. “And Eric is a perfectly nice boy, whether or not he likes to go out.”

  “Boy. See? There’s your problem. You need a man,” Bix said, punctuating the phrase with a thump of the chest, his wrinkles magnified with a scowl. It would have been funny if he hadn’t been so serious. “Louis wants to take you to the zydeco festival this weekend. He sure is sweet on you.”

  Alice loved zydeco music and the festival ranked as one of her favorite parties of the year. Her parents had met at a dance hall, her mamere sang in a juke band when she was young, and Alice had been listening to zydeco all her life. She could probably dance the crazy combination of swing and foxtrot in her sleep. But although Eric vowed he’d rather drill his own teeth than go, Alice wasn’t about to accept Louis’s invitation. “Yes, I’m aware. Well, we better get ―”

  “You could do worse than Louis, you know. He makes a mean croissant, and he’s a morning person. My first wife was a bear in the morning. I love me some passion, and I gotta have a woman who puts a little pepper in the gumbo, but I didn’t make that morning mistake twice. When she passed away and I was ready to look again, I said to myself, ‘Bix, you get yourself a woman who won’t bite your head off if you talk to her before noon.’ Of course, Ruby is always real affectionate in the mornings so I had to adjust to―”

  “Oh my, look at that dust!” Alice swiped a hand over the bookcase next to her. She cringed at the awkward interruption, but didn’t want to hear any more about Ruby’s morning affections. Every Sunday morning, nine o’clock, Ruby and Bix sat in front of Alice at the cathedral. If she heard any more, she would never be able to look the woman in the eye again.

  “Dusty? That reminds me. My niece asked if you needed someone to come pass the mop once a week or so. She started a cleaning business all by herself called Nettie’s Nettoyage. She’s got five employees and two big vans. Maybe you seen them,” Bix said.