Page 46 of Frankly, My Dear

“Every day? I’ll die,” he moaned.

James’s lips twitched with a suppressed smile. “You’ll live.”

The boy glared at Selene, as if she were the cause of all his troubles.

“Do you want to grow up to be an ignorant swamp farmer?” James continued.

“Oui.”

“Well, I won’t allow it.”

The little boy seemed to weigh all his choices, then nodded reluctantly. “You won’t send me away to that school in New Orleans then—the College d’Orleans?”

“We’ll see,” James replied evasively. “Now take Mademoiselle Selene up to the house and show her the schoolroom.”

“Me and Jacob’s been usin’ it to dry muskrat skins.”

James’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “In the house? You’re drying animal skins inside the house? In the schoolroom?”

“Well, no one was usin’ it anyways.” He lifted his chin defensively.

“Etienne!”

“Oh, all right. I’ll take ’em back to the shed, but the roof’s leakin’ somethin’ fierce. And any damn fool knows wet skins are worthless.”

“Etienne, what have I told you about using that word?”

“What word?” he asked innocently, peering up at his father with wide blue eyes.

“Perhaps you need to be reminded with a willow switch across your bottom.”

The child grimaced, then hitched his little trousers up and gave his father a level stare, facing off with foolish bravery. “You use bad words sometimes, like—”

“Etienne,” James warned.

“—damn, and shit, and sacrebleu, and mon Dieu, and—”

“Etienne.”

“—and that other word. Begins with F, I think.” The miniature version of James tapped his head thoughtfully as if trying to think of the forbidden word.

“If you dare—”

“Now I remember. It was f—”

James clapped one hand over his son’s mouth and lifted him by the back of his shirt with the other. To James’s surprise, the worn material ripped and Etienne fell, giggling, to the ground.

Selene and James exchanged looks of incredulity at the boy’s antics, then both burst out laughing as the imp rolled around in the dirt, hooting with amusement.

After a while, James forced a stern look back onto his face and wagged a finger at the boy. “We will discuss this later. I have to help the men unload the boats now. Take Selene up to the house.”

He turned and started walking toward the flatboats where the slaves, under Fergus’s direction, were unloading the goods.

“Didja buy me a present?” Etienne called after his father.

“I don’t remember,” his father answered without looking back.

“It better be a wagon. A red one.” When his father still ignored him and continued walking, the scamp narrowed his little eyes with determination and yelled at his father’s back, “Hope you bought some tobacco. I could use a good smoke.”