to hear your version.” In her sweet, lilting voice, the details, he was sure, would be far more interesting than when he’d been five and his grandfather had been reciting family history lessons.
“The French set up colonies here, starting in the 1600s, and also in Acadia, now the Maritime provinces of Canada.”
He grinned. “Oh, yes. The Acadian history is something every schoolchild learns.”
Her hand trailed lightly along the wood railing as she climbed the narrow staircase. “Later, when Napoleon claimed Louisiana, the people who settled here were known as the French Creoles. However, in the 1750s, after the British won Acadia from the French as a prize for settling a war, the British marched in and claimed Acadia for themselves. They told the Acadians to either swear allegiance to the British crown or face forcible eviction.”
“Many ended up shipped out on boats and forced into indentured servitude in places like the West Indies,” Paul said.
Marjo nodded. “ Le grand dérangement was a horrible time in our history. Many came to Louisiana, settling in this area. Lafayette became the unofficial capital, because more French settled there than anywhere else.” They had reached the top of the staircase. “Alexandre Valois was a French Creole and the grandson of wealthy parents, who had a distant bloodline to the Frenchmonarchy. The Valois family started out with an indigo plantation—”
“But switched to sugarcane,” Paul interjected. “Because someone in the family had been successful with it.”
Marjo nodded. “Alexandre’s mother. So, you do know some of this story?”
“Some. Although my family is descended from Amelie, not Alexandre, my sister did some research into both family lines on her computer.”
“Well, stop me if I repeat anything,” she said.
“No, please, go on. It sounds so much better coming from you than my relatives. And, I admit, I never really listened much to these stories.”
“In those days, marriages were often still arranged, particularly to enhance the family wealth and protect the Creole heritage, which was seen as more pure than that of the Acadians, who’d settled here nearly a century earlier. Alexandre’s family wanted him to marry a wealthy second cousin, a fellow Creole.” She paused by a painting hung on the wall, a severe portrait of an older couple and their young, twenty-something son. “Here they are,” she said. “It’s one of the only portraits we have left of the Valois family.”
Paul studied it, seeking…he wasn’t sure what, in their painted eyes. Like many portraits of that day, the Valois family wasn’t smiling, but in Alexandre’s countenance, Paul detected a rebellious streak. It was the way his lips curved a little more on one sidethan the other, and in the glint in his eye. “But Alexandre wanted someone else.” He turned to Marjo. When she gave him a questioning look, he went on. “I read my Shakespeare in college. It wouldn’t be a good story if it didn’t have some element of tragedy, now would it? Besides,” Paul said, gesturing to Alexandre’s portrait, “he looks like a man who wouldn’t want to be told what to do.”
She laughed again. “That part’s true.”
Paul studied the portrait again, then he lifted his camera and snapped an image. “Did he marry her?”
“Amelie was an Acadian, so to Alexandre’s parents, she didn’t have the true blood they wanted for their son, nor the royal connection. Ironically, her parents felt the same about him. Both sets of parents were interested in protecting the bloodline, so they couldn’t see the love Alexandre and Amelie had for each other. But the couple ran off and got married anyway. Their parents grudgingly accepted the marriage, and for quite a while, Alexandre and Amelie were happy. But when she couldn’t have children, Amelie grew more and more despondent about the one thing missing from their perfect life.”
Paul thought of that and how it mimicked
“The French set up colonies here, starting in the 1600s, and also in Acadia, now the Maritime provinces of Canada.”
He grinned. “Oh, yes. The Acadian history is something every schoolchild learns.”
Her hand trailed lightly along the wood railing as she climbed the narrow staircase. “Later, when Napoleon claimed Louisiana, the people who settled here were known as the French Creoles. However, in the 1750s, after the British won Acadia from the French as a prize for settling a war, the British marched in and claimed Acadia for themselves. They told the Acadians to either swear allegiance to the British crown or face forcible eviction.”
“Many ended up shipped out on boats and forced into indentured servitude in places like the West Indies,” Paul said.
Marjo nodded. “ Le grand dérangement was a horrible time in our history. Many came to Louisiana, settling in this area. Lafayette became the unofficial capital, because more French settled there than anywhere else.” They had reached the top of the staircase. “Alexandre Valois was a French Creole and the grandson of wealthy parents, who had a distant bloodline to the Frenchmonarchy. The Valois family started out with an indigo plantation—”
“But switched to sugarcane,” Paul interjected. “Because someone in the family had been successful with it.”
Marjo nodded. “Alexandre’s mother. So, you do know some of this story?”
“Some. Although my family is descended from Amelie, not Alexandre, my sister did some research into both family lines on her computer.”
“Well, stop me if I repeat anything,” she said.
“No, please, go on. It sounds so much better coming from you than my relatives. And, I admit, I never really listened much to these stories.”
“In those days, marriages were often still arranged, particularly to enhance the family wealth and protect the Creole heritage, which was seen as more pure than that of the Acadians, who’d settled here nearly a century earlier. Alexandre’s family wanted him to marry a wealthy second cousin, a fellow Creole.” She paused by a painting hung on the wall, a severe portrait of an older couple and their young, twenty-something son. “Here they are,” she said. “It’s one of the only portraits we have left of the Valois family.”
Paul studied it, seeking…he wasn’t sure what, in their painted eyes. Like many portraits of that day, the Valois family wasn’t smiling, but in Alexandre’s countenance, Paul detected a rebellious streak. It was the way his lips curved a little more on one sidethan the other, and in the glint in his eye. “But Alexandre wanted someone else.” He turned to Marjo. When she gave him a questioning look, he went on. “I read my Shakespeare in college. It wouldn’t be a good story if it didn’t have some element of tragedy, now would it? Besides,” Paul said, gesturing to Alexandre’s portrait, “he looks like a man who wouldn’t want to be told what to do.”
She laughed again. “That part’s true.”
Paul studied the portrait again, then he lifted his camera and snapped an image. “Did he marry her?”
“Amelie was an Acadian, so to Alexandre’s parents, she didn’t have the true blood they wanted for their son, nor the royal connection. Ironically, her parents felt the same about him. Both sets of parents were interested in protecting the bloodline, so they couldn’t see the love Alexandre and Amelie had for each other. But the couple ran off and got married anyway. Their parents grudgingly accepted the marriage, and for quite a while, Alexandre and Amelie were happy. But when she couldn’t have children, Amelie grew more and more despondent about the one thing missing from their perfect life.”
Paul thought of that and how it mimicked
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