Well, that was water over the dam now. Luc had advised her to leave it all in his hands, and in the meantime to stay out of sight for several weeks. So, she had put responsibility for her two beauty shops in her managers’ hands with orders to contact her, via Luc, only in the direst emergency. Then she had hightailed it out of Houma, heading for the Triple L Ranch. Not that Rusty had invited her, or knew that she was coming. Their last meeting had ended on a slightly sour note. But she didn’t need an invitation. She owned half the ranch, after all. That matter had been placed in Luc’s expert legal hands, as well. He also was checking on the status of her marriage, or nonmarriage, to Rusty. If I’m not careful, the bill from my lawyer will exceed the bill from my loan shark, she joked to herself.
Charmaine planned a short visit, which was not evident in her overflowing vehicle. The hard top was on the convertible, it being November and the temperature in the low sixties, but still she had managed to pack the other bucket seat, the back storage area and the trunk of the little coupe with everything from designer jeans to blow-dryer to vast amounts of fresh foods, the latter pushed on her by Tante Lulu, whose philosophy was “always be prepared.” In other words, overcook, over-pack, overclean, overshop, and overdress.
She slowed down eventually as she entered Calcasieu Parish, which was in the southwestern portion of the state. Soon there would be a turnoff for the vacherie, Cajun French for cattle ranch.
Lots of people thought Louisiana was nothing but a semitropical network of bayous and marshes, but prairie grasslands formed a large portion of the southwestern sector. It wasn’t one single prairie like parts of Texas, but rather a series of prairies separated by forests and large streams. The largest of these prairies had such colorful names as Faquetique, Mamou, Calcasieu, Sabine, Vermilion, Mermentau, Plaquemine, Opelousas, and Grand.
Even more surprising to many people were the ranches in Louisiana. They’d heard about Texas cowboys, but not about Louisiana cowboys. Little did they know that southwest Louisiana had been known as the “Meadow-lands of America” in the 1800s. Some even said that the West had begun there. In fact, the folklorist Alan Lomax suggested that the popular cowboy yell “Hippy Ti Yo!” derived from the Cajun French expression and song, “Hip et Taïaut.”
Charmaine, like many of the Pelican State’s natives, loved Louisiana because of its colorful diversity.
Overall, Charmaine was in a surprisingly good mood for the first time in weeks. The worst wasn’t over, but she was hopeful that things would get better soon.
Her good mood came crashing down as she drove slowly along the single lane leading to the ranch house. The Triple L was relatively small, only a thousand acres with more than five hundred head of Black Angus cattle, and it had never boasted a big Dynasty-style mansion or anything remotely like that, but it had been well kept and profitable. What happened? Tears misted her eyes as she got out of her car and gazed about her. The one-story, rambling clapboard house with its wide front and back porches had lost its whitewash years ago. Not a single flower or decorative plant offset the starkness of the setting, except for wisteria vines and bougainvillea bushes, which had gone wild, and a tupelo tree near the front porch and several oaks in the back near a small bayou about a hundred yards from the house. A fenced-in vegetable garden beside the house had gone to seed, overgrown with weeds. The barn door hung on one hinge. Corral fences were broken here and there. Pieces of rusted machinery lay about like a junkyard. Several roosters—escapees from a dilapidated chicken coop—pecked at the hard dirt of the front yard searching for feed. The Triple L was a sad, neglected mirror of its old self. What happened?
“Well, well, well! Looks like Rusty’s little filly done come home,” she heard a crotchety voice say behind her. She turned to see Clarence Guidry, the longtime Triple L foreman, who spat out a wad of tobacco and wiped his mouth with a bandanna before reaching out a hand to her in welcome. Charmaine engulfed the old man in a hug. She would have thought Clarence retired a long time ago, being in his late sixties. The last time she’d seen Clarence was at the funeral home after Charlie Lanier’s death.