The Creole Princess by Beth White

Author:Beth White [White, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042030, FIC042040, FIC027050, Alabama—History—Revolution (1775–1783)—Fiction, Christian fiction, Love stories
ISBN: 9781441221186
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2015-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

SPRING HILL

EARLY MARCH 1778

“How much further, Lyse? I’m so excited!”

Smiling, Lyse looked down at Genny dancing along beside her like a small fairy maid. “Almost there, cher.” Luc-Antoine and Denis had jumped the creek and run on ahead through the woods, and she could hear them shouting as the dogs barked in greeting.

Mardi Gras season of 1778 had come to Mobile. The first signs of azalea bushes flirted their lacy pink skirts along the old shell road which ran westward from the juncture of the three rivers that dumped into the bay. Through the trees Lyse could just see the red-tiled roof of Grandpére’s ancient two-story cottage.

It was a momentous occasion. Papa had finally relented and allowed her to bring the children to Grandpére’s annual Mardi Gras party. She and Simon used to come when Grandmére was still alive, but when she died soon after Uncle Guillaume was executed, the relationship between Papa and Grandpére had deteriorated beyond repair. It was too bad there wasn’t money for new clothes and shoes, but she had helped the children paint masks of papier-mâché they’d made at school, added a few shells and feathers picked up from the beach, and twisted up Genny’s hair and her own in fantastical braids, with knots of ribbon for a festive touch. Justine and baby Rémy would be along later with Papa.

At least, Lyse hoped they would come. One never knew with Papa.

Genny tugged on her hand. “Will there be a king’s cake? I hope I find the baby.”

Grandmére used to make the braided cinnamon sweetbread in the French tradition, twisted into a crown-shaped oval and glazed with sugar. A gilded fava bean tucked in from the bottom represented the baby Jesus, for whom the Wise Men had searched so diligently. Good luck was said to follow the child who found the trinket in his or her slice of cake. With Grandmére gone now, there might not be a king’s cake.

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Genny. Maybe we can make one.”

Genny twirled her mask on its bamboo stick. “That would be fun. I’ve missed you, Lysette.”

And Lyse had missed her family to a painful degree. Since the night Rafa had come and gone so abruptly, and Simon had inexplicably deserted Daisy, life had taken on a whitewashed dullness that even her responsibilities at the grammar school failed to color.

She swept her little sister into a bear hug. “Did you miss getting squished like a jellyfish?”

“Yes! But don’t mess up my hair!” Genny giggled, squirming. When Lyse let her go, laughing, Genny ran ahead, ribbon-festooned pigtails bouncing. “Don’t worry, I won’t get lost!”

Lyse followed at a pace more suitable for a young lady, stepping carefully over rain puddles left from yesterday’s storm. There was still a nip in the air, a brisk wind whipping through the trees, and she was glad she’d chosen her good woolen dress and the matching shawl Daisy had helped her knit.

The thought of her friend brought on a fresh wave of worry.

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