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Jacques Benoit and several other young men stood in a conversational huddle on the wooden banquette outside, on the corner of Main and Barrow. Jacques caught sight of Pierre using his wooden paddle to remove golden mounds of bread from the open-air oven behind Jean-Marie Dupont’s bakery shop. Pierre wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, smiled, and called out to Jacques and the others, “War talk again, or les femmes?” They all chuckled because those two topics had indeed been the subjects of their short talk. Soon they had to rush off to their own jobs in the stores and markets along Main Street. It had not even been a month since news came of New Orleans being occupied by Union forces. Soon after that, Baton Rouge and other places Pierre had started to learn about began to fall to federal troops. For months the war had been the focus of town talk, but Pierre was relieved not to hear of any major threat to Houma and Terrebonne…so far. Later, after the early morning rush, Pierre stood beside the front door of the shop and looked up the street beyond the Courthouse Square. He could just see the point where he had first stepped foot in Houma, where the Bergers’ express line ended at Barataria Canal. His eyes swept in both directions of Main Street, as far as he could see. I thought Barbazan was small, but this place is even smaller. That suits me fine, after the still air and tight buildings in New Orleans. After all, it’s what surrounds Houma that I’m interested in. All that beautiful black soil, a lot of it unclaimed. The flat land has taken some getting used to, but I even like it flat now. Easy to cultivate. No stones to clear, no rocks. Just trees and land. And beaucoup de l’eau. I’ve never seen so much rain, and I’ve never seen so many waterways. Perfect for transportation and irrigation. CHAPTER 7 1862: First Encounter Anoutdoormudovenc.1890 PortraitofHenryS.Thibodaux,onetimestatesenator (1812-1824)andGovernorofLouisianafromNovember 15toDecember13,1824 77 Chapter 7 Pierre thought back to last year’s final leg of his journey, and the very first local plantations he saw from the window of the express carriage. Fields stretching far into the distance, sugar cane thick and tall and green. The first plantations that Pierre caught sight of from the express conveyance to Houma were St. Brigitte’s and Balzamine near Schriever. Both fronted on Bayou Terrebonne not far from Terrebonne Station. A chatty lady who was a fellow passenger on that trip asked him many questions about himself, and he was glad she spoke French. After he answered her questions about his home in France and a dozen other things, she must have decided Pierre needed education about the local area, because she talked to him the rest of the way to Houma. “Young man, let me tell you about the grand homes we’re about to see.” She pointed out to Pierre that St. Brigitte’s had been the home of Henry Schuyler Thibodaux, onetime acting governor of Louisiana for whom Thibodauxville was named. He was already called the Father of Terrebonne Parish, and had established his home within Terrebonne’s northern boundaries. Balzamine, across Bayou Terrebonne, was owned by Henry Schuyler’s son Bannon Goforth Thibodaux. “Isn’t it just beautiful the way they keep the grounds, and how brilliant the two houses’ white paint shines in the sun?” his self-designated teacher had fluttered. She leaned a little out the window until the houses were behind them. She whispered conspiratorially, “I’ve heard that the young Monsieur Thibodaux even commissioned the artist Persac to paint the two homes and grounds.” Whoever this Persac was, Pierre decided, he must be an important man. And this Thibodaux, even more important to hire the artist. One of these days, maybe…. Northern Terrebonne’s well-tended, bountiful fields were as appealing to Pierre now as they had been when he first set eyes on them. I wonder if Barbazan and all the Hautes-Pyrénées ever made it past the crop failures and the vineyards’ blight. It was so hard to watch everything dying, and families trying to get by on the little they could grow to feed themselves. Pierre wondered for the hundredth time if his brothers and sister thought about him as much as he thought about them. Maybe one...

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