Free Flowers of the Bayou by Arlene Lam Page A

them across the ballroom floor, Margaret felt the familiar feeling of defeat as she made eye contact with Bernadette, a feeling the latter made sure was a staple in Margaret’s life…
     
     
     

 
    New Orleans, 1854
     
    Margaret hung high in the top of the birch tree, leaning down dangerously to spy on her cousin and his closest friend. She would be able to hear perfectly if only she could get a bit closer. She would be able to see perfectly, too. But the stubborn branch she perched upon refused to budge.
    For the moment, however, she was content with watching her cousin Jordan try to fondle the hoity Sue Ellen Ferguson. Her tight flaxen curls could be seen from above bouncing fiercely as she giggled at something or other her cousin had said, but soon, all was quieted as she could be seen leaning in for a kiss.
    Turning up her nose, Margaret faked a silent gag, letting her eyes finally fall on the reason she risked scraping her knees and a whipping from her mama that would sting for a week for ruining her new dress—the blonde head of Jasper McMahan.
    Jasper leaned casually against the old tree, fully engrossed in the task of ogling the chest of auburn-haired Bernadette Walker while pretending to listen to her. How Margaret hated the red-headed witch. The way she fluttered her fan whenever he spoke and leaned into him with every giggle was beyond inane. She was the very definition or irritating.
    Jasper listened half-heartedly to Bernadette's chatter finding joy in the way her chest heaved with every breath. His friend Jordan was fairing far better than himself at the moment and he was waiting for the right time to make his move so he could have a little fun himself.
    "Are you even paying me any mind, Jasper?"
    "Of course I am," he quickly responded.
    "Then what did I just say?" Bernadette was no fool.
    "Come on Dette," Jasper whined, using his pet name for her.
    "Don't Dette me! You haven't heard one thing I've said all day."
    "You haven't heard one thing I've said all day," Jasper mocked playfully, winning a smile from her.
    “I don't know why I like you so," Bernadette said, smacking him on the chest with the fan she held in her hand but also leaning in just enough to create an improper closeness that was just begging to be taken advantage of.
    There was his chance and Jasper was not going to let it pass. Leaning in, he let his lips graze hers in the first beginnings of a kiss.
    Above in the tree Margaret observed this and nearly choked. Why did Jasper even pay attention to Bernadette? She was mean and she was ugly. Well, at least to Margaret she was. Unfortunately, everyone else thought Bernadette was the epitome of Southern belle beauty.
    Margaret felt her footing slip at the shocking display below her, but held fast. However, she couldn't help the disgusted howl of disbelief and disapproval that escaped her throat.
    Jordan peered up into the branches, squinting against the bright summer sun but nonetheless spotting his thirteen-year-old cousin dangling from the branch above his head, her tiny foot dangling just within reach. With a quick tug, he sent her tumbling to the carpeted floor of grass. "I ought to strangle you!' Jordan yelled.
    "Look what you've done to my dress. Mama's going to kill me."
    "Aunt Susanna will do more than that when she hears you've been spying again."
    "You tell my mother and I'll tell what you've been doing out here when you’re supposed to be helping Miss Ferguson pick flowers for tonight's supper," Margaret quickly countered, smiling brightly as she stopped him in his tracks. "That's what I thought."
    "Why are you out here anyway?" It was Sue Ellen, who now stood in a huff, trying to fix her dress.
    "Why, you didn't know? Jordan's cousin has a fluttering heart for my beau!" Bernadette shot arrows at the little brunette who always seemed to be intruding on her and Jasper.
    "Not so!" Margaret felt as if the ground was about to open up and swallow her. No one but her mother knew how she