Lulu's Recipe for Cajun Sass - Sandra Hill Page 0,10
wash her hands and turn down the heat on the stove. Before she returned outside to pack up the rest of the produce, she checked on Adèle, who was thankfully still knocked out on her cot from her energetic morning. As Louise had suspected, when she glanced in the mirror, she saw that she was a mess. There were even some twigs in her hair. Oh, well. She wasn’t out to impress anyone…least of all a full-of-himself Cajun stud.
“Can I help you?” he asked half-heartedly a short time later as he sipped at his drink, his long legs extended and crossed at the ankles.
“No. I’m fine. I’ll be toting in lots more over the next few weeks, gettin’ ready for Labor Day weekend.”
He nodded, and contented himself with observing her packing up more of the vegetables into boxes, along with a passel of fresh-cut sunflowers which she tied with a string into a half dozen clumps and slid into a paper sack. Sometimes folks bought a bouquet or two on a whim, though she wasn’t about to explain that to him.
“Who is that?” he asked, holding up a paper napkin with a face imprinted on it, then pointing upward to the wind chimes hanging from the porch ceiling with bronze discs displaying the same image.
“St. Jude.”
He arched his brows in question. “You mean the traitor, the guy who betrayed Jesus.”
“No. Jude Thaddeus, the brother of James, was an apostle. He’s often confused with that other apostle Judas Iscariot, the bad guy,” she told him. She waved at the napkin and wind chime and explained, “Maisie Fontenot got them for me when she went to Rome last year. She also bought me a St. Jude umbrella.”
“Isn’t Jude the patron saint of hopeless cases?”
She felt her face heat. Why did she always have to defend her devotion to St. Jude, like it was weird of something? “Yes.”
“Are you feeling hopeless?”
“Not now. But there have been times in my past.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I could use a little of his help in preparing for my medical board exams.”
He was probably joking. Still, she offered, “I could give you a medal.” She had more than twenty left from the stash she’d bought at a church rummage sale last year.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass for now.” She must have given him a dirty look because he added, “I’m not much for wearing jewelry.”
She thought about warning him not to annoy the saint, but then St. Jude whispered in her head, Not to worry, child. I am overburdened with prayers for help these days.
Suddenly, Justin scrooched up his nose, looking toward the open door of the cottage. “What is that godawful smell?”
At first, she thought he referred to her body odor and barely restrained herself from sniffing at an armpit. But then she noticed him looking toward the cottage interior. “Croup cough syrup.” She’d become immune to the pungent odors after all this time.
“You’re making medicine? Isn’t that…illegal?”
“I don’t call it medicine. Folk healing relies on herbs and such.” Although the new FDA regulations under the Durham-Humphrey Act didn’t speak to folk medicine, it clearly tried to outlaw any drugs that could be harmful or habit-forming without a physician’s prescription. Which wasn’t a problem for Louise. But it was best to be careful. The last thing she needed was some FDA person snooping into her business.
He frowned and gave her a skeptical look. “That’s splittin’ hairs, don’t you think?”
“What are you…the medicine police?” Lordy, Lordy, could he be FDA?
“No, but I am a doctor, or almost a doctor.”
She stopped loading her produce and looked to him with question. Now that he mentioned it, she recalled Leon mentioning a brother, about four or five years older than the two of them, who was studying medicine. “Almost?”
“I’m doin’ a residency this summer at Charity Hospital in Nawleans. Hope to finish up by next month.”
“And then?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe continue my studies with a specialty. Or take a job with a family practice for a year or two, then decide if I want to branch off.”
“Back here in the bayou?”
“I’m not sure. There are some excellent hospitals up north where I could learn a lot. It would be an honor to be asked to join them.”
“And are there no ‘excellent hospitals’ in the South?”
“Of course. It just depends on what specialty I choose, if I choose a specialty.”
“And in the meantime you’re deliverin’ vegetables. And gettin’ all hoity-toity over my cough syrup.”
He laughed, and, boy oh boy, his handsomeness amped