Free Always & Forever: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 1) by Gretchen Craig

the new grave.
“The rain has been hard on the tombs. My maman’s too.”
    “I’m trying to dig a channel,” Josie said. “I don’t know
what else to do.”
    “You will let me help you? I’ll show you how I repaired
Maman’s crypt.”
    He picked up the trowel and deftly dug a trench all around
the tomb. Josie sat on the little stone bench and watched his long fingers at
work. At higher ground, he led the run-off channels into his trench and at the
lower end, he fanned the trench into smaller crevasses.
    “If the rain doesn’t let up, you may need to have someone
haul fill-dirt up here,” he said.
    Josie pulled her skirt aside and made room for Phanor on the
bench. As he wiped his hands on one of her rags, Josie said, “Your mother died
in the winter?”
    “ Oui .” He shoved his hat back. Josie saw him swallow
hard. Would she still have trouble talking about Maman in half a year?
    “She had bad lungs, for a long time,” Phanor said.
    “I’m sorry.”
    Phanor breathed deeply. “She was a good woman, my maman.”
    “And now it’s only you and your father.”
    “ Mais, non . We are five. Papa and me, my sister
Eulalie, her husband, and the baby, Nicholas.”
    “It’s nice you have a sister.”
    Josie caught sight of Grand-mère Emmeline crossing the
courtyard. If she should look up the hill and see her sitting with Phanor,
unchaperoned . . . Grand-mère stepped into the cookhouse without looking their
way, and Josie said a quick silent prayer of thanks. “I must go,” she said.
    Phanor nodded, a sad smile on his face. “A dangerous moment,
eh?” he said, nodding toward the cookhouse. He tossed the possum sack over his
shoulder and picked up his rifle. “ Au revoir, Mademoiselle . I will maybe
see you again.”
    Josie watched him disappear down the hillside opposite from
the house. She didn’t want him to leave her. Heedless of decorum, and safe from
Grand-mère’s eyes, Josie slipped down the muddy slope after him. “Monsieur,”
she called.
    She slid into the grassy patch where he waited for her. When
he held a steadying hand out to her, she took it and her breath caught. His
grip was warm and firm.
    “I didn’t say thank you,” she said. “Phanor.” She felt very
bold using his first name, but he had once invited her to. Even so, she knew
her face reddened when she said it.
    “You are welcome -- Josephine.”
    She should probably not allow him to use her familiar name,
she thought. But she’d just used his, and it seemed a silly formality when the
two of them were muddy from the knees down.
    “But,” he added, “Cleo, she calls you ‘Josie.’ Shall I call
you ‘Josie’?” The gentle tease on his lips said he knew it was improper as well
as she did. She was about to insist on “Josephine,” but Phanor reached down and
plucked a wiggly purple worm from her skirt.
    Josie had to laugh. It was absurd to be formal with an
earthworm on her dress. “‘Josie’ then. But,” she warned him, “if Grand-mère is
near, Phanor, you must say ‘Mademoiselle Josephine.’”
    “This I know. Even my papa is careful with Madame Emmeline.
And they knew each other as children.”
    “They did?”
    “Oh, yes. Their fathers used to hunt gators in the bayou
together. Papa says in the old days, my grandfather and your grandfather had
big cook-outs at the lake, and the two families would picnic on the shore.”
    “Cajuns and Creoles? I mean, my grand-mère . . .”
    Phanor nodded. “I understand. I will not forget you are
Mademoiselle Josephine.”
    Josie ended an awkward moment. “Do you like possum meat?”
    “Mmwa,” Phanor said and kissed his fingers. “My sister, she
roast it with sweet potatoes and apples. I will bring you a possum some day,
and your cook, she will know how to fix it.”
    Josie lost herself for a moment in his black eyes. Such
beautiful eyes. Phanor held her gaze and moved toward her. Her breathing
quickened. They were very much alone. Was he going to kiss her?
    She