Free Postmark Bayou Chene by Gwen Roland

cooked much out of it, but it makes good reading all the same. Sort of like taking a trip without having to leave home.”
    He took another helping of fish and passed the platter to her. She looked interested but shook her head.
    â€œThank you, but I can barely breathe as it is.”
    He noticed her seams did pull ever so slightly more than they did earlier, so Adam didn’t press the offer.
    â€œKeep that coming ’round this way,” said Fate. “This is just the size I like best, the ones too small to sell.”
    â€œTalking about people eating different,” Val spoke up. “On the Monongahela last trip a buyer come aboard looking for scale fish. Says whole communities up there won’t eat catfish. Got to have fish with scales. They’re Jews, just like in the Bible.”
    â€œJews!” Fate said. “I thought they were all gone like the Philistines and such. You mean they still around and living here in the United States?”
    â€œMr. Landry, Jews live all over the United States, including right down the river in New Orleans,” said Mrs. Barclay. “All the big cities along the East Coast have sizable Jewish populations, and their faith prohibits them from eating fish that are bottom-feeders such as catfish.”
    â€œNow, if a fella could just come up with a way to get loads of worthless buffalo fish to them, he could make some money!” Fate said.
    Adam knew what was coming next.
    â€œThere you go again, just as predictable as a squawking hen who’s just laid an egg,” Loyce jumped in.
    Talk about predictable, Adam thought. Did Fate say things like that just to rile her? He could tell by the pitch of her voice she was winding up for a long spell of it.
    â€œAll you can think of is how many pounds mean how much money. You don’t give a thought to how much work that fella would have to put in hauling those buffalo out of the river and then how he’s going to get them to those big cities.”
    â€œLoyce got a point,” Val chimed in. “A load of buffalo would be a powerful weight to row any distance, for true, and they don’t live in a fish cart like catfish will.”
    By then even Adam had to break in with his opinion.
    â€œDepends on the time of year, for sure. A powerful lot of water pours down the ’Chafalaya in the spring. Back in ’82, when those surveyors came to measure the rivers around here, they said Bayou Chene was thirty feet deep in places. Alcide claims he’s fished places in the ’Chafalaya that’s a hundred and fifty feet deep. You won’t row upstream long in high water, that’s for sure. But what I don’t understand is how can someone not eat catfish? I just can’t seem to get past that notion. Why would God make a creature as tasty as catfish and then tell people not to eat them?”
    Then he noticed the newcomer. She appeared exhausted amid the heated opinions about boats and fish. Adam nodded to her.
    â€œI see you’re finished eating, and you must be thinking about stretching out. Let’s go see what we can do with that room before dark. The young’uns’ll take care of the cleanup.”
    He led her to the breezeway and held open the screen door. He noticed she stopped on the threshold, just like she’d done in the kitchen. That woman had a problem with doorways.
    â€œWhat happened?” she finally said, her voice breathless and tinged with wonder. Adam chuckled when she pulled her skirt closer as if to protect it or maybe herself.
    â€œWell, it’s a little untidy, now that you mention it,” he said. “Things just sort of got out of hand after my wife, Josie, died.”
    He led the way, kicking boxes, boots, and unpacked inventory aside until they reached the stairs.
    â€œHadn’t been much call to go up here for a while since Mame and Fate moved onto the houseboat, but I think once we get a path opened up, we’ll find