The Picture In The Attic

Remy froze in mid-step and stared straight ahead at the door. He heard the crinkling of the newspaper as it was lowered from the man's face and the page turned. Shaking his head and telling himself that it must have been the journal getting to him, he took another step and reached the handle on the door. Sighing and glancing at the book in his right hand, he nudged the door open with his left and walked outside.

"Must be tired." He told himself. The ground had been darkened from the early morning rain, and he stepped over a few small puddles on the way to end of the filled parking lot. It was a cool morning, and he had worn a tan windbreaker jacket overtop of a faded blue, long-sleeved shirt with an LSU logo. His blue jeans had been a bit loose and made him shiver as the cooled material touched his warmed leg with each step. The white of his tennis shoes reflected the sun that had peeked out through the swirl of gray and white clouds that hung low in the sky.

The door to the cafe opened, behind him, and the same voice called out the name again. "Jacques! Wait!"

He had been halfway through the parking lot and stopped in the middle of the lane. His breath caught and he dared not turn around. Taking deep, slow breaths, and clearing his throat, Remy waited for the person to catch up to him.

"Captain Jacques LeBeau, under General Pemberton?" The man stopped a few paces behind Remy.

Remy gulped a breath of air and turned around to see the man who had sat on the other side of the door, reading the paper. "Non, m'sieur. Jacques was my gran'pa. My name is Remy. Remy LeBeau." He smiled and held out his hand, not at all realising that the person who now was shaking his hand, was the very object of the painting in his bedroom.

His black hair had been combed neatly but the sides tended to stick out on their own, making him look slightly cartoonish. Brown eyes gleamed in the sunlight and seemed to be looking past Remy, as if remembering something or someone from the past. He was shorter than Remy but only by a few inches. The clothes he wore looked comfortable but also a bit chilly. Faded blue jeans, broken in brown boots and a black button up shirt with long sleeves, he had actually looked like he belonged to this century.

"Was?" The man looked confused. "Uh, Logan. Logan Howlett." Releasing Remy's hand and taking a step back to get a second look at the man before him, Logan tilted his head in question. "Yer grandad was Jacques? So he did go through with the marriage thing?" The two questions were more of an outloud mental note but, Remy had heard and nodded his head. "But, you look...... just like him. 'Cept fer the eyes."

This time Remy was confused. "How did you.....? If you're de man in de paintin, well.... Poppa said you died a long time ago." He absently reached out his hand and touched Logan's left arm, as if making sure he wasn't dreaming or halucinating.

"Uhh, yea. I did. But, it's a really long story about me." Shaking his head and changing the subject, quickly. "I see you've found his journal." He nodded to the small brown book in Remy's hand. "Still a good read as when he was writin it?"

Remy looked down at the book and sheepishly placed it behind his back. "It was in de trunk dat Poppa brought to my house. Dere was some stuff of yours in dere, too."

"I bet." Logan half smiled. "Look, I was just in town for some business calls." He shifted his weight to his left foot and reached into his back pocket to pull out a thick, worn, black billfold and pulled out a card, hidden in one of the pockets. "That's my cell phone, for my business. It's at the hotel, now. But, if you feel like talkin about......" He paused for a sigh. "Give me a call, day or night."

Taking the card and nodding as he looked it over, Remy looked up and smiled at him. "Merci. I have to get to de office, too. T'anks again." He shook the man's hand again as they both turned away from each other and went on their ways. Remy stared at the card as he walked the whole way home.


Logan Howlett
Historic Artifact Restoration
Art - Painting - Caligraphy
Offices in London - New York - British Columbia - New Orleans
(504)555.6982

"So he is alive. Dat really was him. But, how?" He stopped at his front door but didn't move to unlock it. "Does Poppa know? Did Jacques know before he died?" Tucking the card into his back pocket, he took out the keys from his left jacket pocket and unlocked the door.

Taking off his jacket and laying it over the back of the sofa and placing the journal on top of it, in the livingroom, he leaned over the lid of the trunk as a scratch caught his eye. Remy knelt down to examine it closer and ran his fingers of his right hand over top of it. I will be with you, Logan. Giving a short laugh to himself, he opened the lid and said aloud. "Hundred year old graffiti."

Rifling through the remaining contents, he came across a single, trifold page that appeared to be the second page of a two page letter. Rubbing the corner between two fingers, thinking it might have been stuck together, Remy began taking everything out of the trunk to find the rest of the letter. Nothing. He sat down in the small space he had given himself and read the letter, hoping it would give some new light.

The winter is almost gone, Logan, and the Spring brings
my marriage to Mary. She is a beautiful girl, and only five
years my junior. I tremble as I say I love her too. But,
my heart belongs to another. You, my dear Logan.

I will keep writing to you, and have given orders to
the house maid to hand me your letters as they
arrive. I have received only a few, and keep them
safe in the bindings of my journal.

Jacques

Remy read and reread the two small paragraphs on the page. Finally standing up, he reached for the journal and opened the covers of it, feeling the lining of each cover. There was a small bulge underneath the lining in the back, and Remy hurried into the kitchen for a knife to slice a slit in the paper. "Sneaky, gran'pa." Carefully opening the hole, he tipped the book upside down and shook it, letting several folded papers slip out and onto the countertop.

Sure enough, out spilled a bundle of letters from Logan, some still in their original envelopes. "A-lors....!" He whispered in surprise. Opening in one envelope, he slipped the letter with the same trifold out and looked over the handwriting before he read it.

May 12, 1865

Jacques,

The colt is almost grown and prances around
the pen like he is full grown. He hurt his leg
last week in the storm but, is doing fine now.
A couple more weeks and I am selling him to
the old couple down the way from me. Winter
is here and they need all the help they can
get.

I am having something sent to you. It is a
large package and I want to be sure you are
able to keep it safe. I have had a portrait of
myself done so, unwrap it alone. This is my
last letter for awhile.

Grant has written me to come back and
see things over in Louisiana. I understand
President Lincoln was killed last month.
I am ready for anything that comes my
way. My station will be in Port Arthur
but, I will be in New Orleans for a few
days rest. I hope to see you.

I will see you when I get there and you
can tell me how you like the protrait.

Logan

Remy pulled the card out of his back pocket and stared at the number. Not taking his eyes off of the number, he walked to the phone, that hung on the wall by the entrance way to the dining room, opposite the front door. It was an early 90s rotary phone, peach in colour, and corded, the kind Remy liked as not to lose it. He picked up the receiver and dialed the phone number.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Logan...uh... Monsieur Howlett?" Remy stuttered a bit as he hadn't thought Logan would answer. "Dis is Remy LeBeau; Jacques' grandson. Am I disturbin you?"

Logan cleared his throat as he answered. "No. I was actually hopin you'd call. Somethin I can do for ya?"

Exhaling a breath, Remy closed his eyes and let his mouth lead. "I just found yer letters dat Jacques kept. Ya mind havin dinner wit' me? Can show you what was in his trunk....?"

Taking a long moment to answer, Logan walked around his medium sized, plush hotel room and let the time sink in. "The last time I tried to meet up with a LeBeau, I was lynched by Confederate sympathisers. That was 140 years ago but, sorry if I hesitate. Did he keep the paintin?" He had been wearing a towel and had just gotten out of the shower and took a moment to assess himself.

"Oui." Remy turned around and paused. "Yes. He kept ev'thin of yours. Poppa say his room has been collectin dust for 60 years. I found your paintin in my attic, an' I don't remember puttin it dere. Poppa don' wanna know not'in about it but, I only know what my gran told me 'bout him. He looked like me, Logan. Dat's why you t'ought I was him, oui? De kids are wit' my poppa so, jus' me here."

Logan nodded as he listened. "Alright. What time?"

"Round 6's fine. De house is a mess from all de stuff so, it'd take me dat long to clean it up." Remy smiled and gave him directions to the house. He thanked Logan for agreeing to speak to him about Jacques, and hung up to hurry and clean before starting dinner. He quickly and carefully put everything back into the trunk before bringing the picture downstairs, instead of having Logan look at it in his bedroom, thinking that would be too suggestive.

~~~~~~~~~

Logan knocked on the door promptly at six. He was unsure of how to approach Remy about the questions he had concerning Jacques, as he was sure Remy had the same problem. He checked his watch, hoping he hadn't been stood up, and breathed a sigh of relief as he heard footsteps approaching the door. Tucking his hands into his jacket pockets, he waited.

The door opened and Remy welcomed him with a warm smile as he stepped aside to invite him in. "Desole. Was checkin on dinner. Been dere long?" Shutting the door behind him, Remy turned to catch a glimpse of Logan curiously looking around, possibly half expecting to see Jacques pop out from behind a chair or a wall.

Turning sharply, Logan took a moment look at Remy before he answered. "No, actually, I just got here. Took ya a couple seconds to answer after I knocked." His breath caught as Remy smiled and nodded again, offering to take his jacket. Taking off and handing Remy the jacket, he held onto it as he calmly told him his thought. "You look too much like him. Same smile, same hairstyle, different eyes, though. You sure yer not Jacques?" He smiled warmly.

Remy smiled back. "I'm sure, m'sieur." He hung the jacket up on a hook, next to the door and showed his guest into the diningroom. "I t'ought we'd eat first, den take a look."

They sat across from each other at the small square table and talked about themselves to each other. Between a bottle of wine and only slightly spicy jambalaya, Remy had come to learn a lot about the man his grandfather had fallen in love with. "Ya married?" He asked almost sheepishly.

"Nope. Never did." Scooping up another bite onto his fork, Logan asked. "You said you had kids...? Will the missus be joinin us?"

Remy set his fork down and finished his bite before answering. "Not anymore." He sighed. "I- uh- caught her in bed wit' someone from work. Now, dey're in California."

Logan flushed at the answer. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok. Been fallin apart for awhile." Remy shrugged. "My two monsters keep me afloat." Nodding to the wall, behind Logan, where a framed class picture hung from each child. "Alex is 9, an' Roberta is 7. Dey're good kids. Mostly." He smiled at the personal joke and watched as Logan turned around to look at each child.

"Cute kids. Bet they're a handful." He smiled and started to turn back around when his eye caught a picture on the adjacent wall of Jean-Luc. "That yer dad?" He waited for Remy to answer.

Remy finished his bite and set down his fork as he had finished his meal. "Oui. Dat's Jacques' boy. My Poppa. His name's Jean-Luc."

"Must look more like Mary but, I can see Jacques in him." Logan turned around and finished his last remaining bite of food before laying his fork down.

Standing up with his plate in hand, Remy came around to take Logan's plate and set them in the sink. "I found a picture of Jacques, in de trunk, too. Poppa told me once dat he an' I looked alike but never believed it, til I saw de picture." He spoke as he walked through the doorway to the left, and into the kitchen to put the plates in the sink. When he came back, Logan was standing up and staring at the picture of Jean-Luc, more closely.

"Got his mother's face but his dad's eyes and mouth." Logan summarised. "Quite the boy, you got, Jacques." He had said it more outloud to himself than Remy but hadn't realised Remy was standing beside him. Turning to look at Remy, he had to remind himself that it wasn't Jacques that stood beside him.

Remy led the way into the livingroom, where the trunk sat. He had turned the sofa around for them to sit on, instead of the floor. He had closed the lid to the trunk but hadn't locked it, and placed both uniform jackets on the lid. They were neatly folded and laying side by side with only a few inches between them.

Logan sat down on the left side while Remy took the right, and picked up his old Union jacket. "Yep. I knew he sifted one of my jackets."

"Dere's another one in dere but, covered wit' blood." Remy offered as he picked up Jacques' jacket and laid it on the cushion between them. He kept a careful eye on Logan as he lift the lid and sat back.

Making no attempt to find the other Union jacket, he only nodded and leaned forward to peer inside the trunk. "I had it on when I was attacked. When I woke up and crawled out from under the dirt, it was gone. Everyone was gone. I saw him before he died but, I more or less spooked him and his family dragged him to the funny farm. So, I stayed away. He was a good strong man but, I'm guessin the errand boy got back before I got there and told him the news."

"I'm sorry."

Logan looked at his lap and shook his head. "Don't be. He had his chance at life. A wife, kid,....." He looked up at Remy and smiled. "grandkid. I wasn't the kind to settle down with a kid of the Confederacy. Back then, it wasn't somethin the public needed to see, or know."

Picking up the picture of Jacques, that laid atop of a stack of papers, on the right hand side of the trunk, Remy stared at it. "What was he like, back den?" He blushed as he told Logan about the dreams he had after reading the journal. "My mind tends to wander like dat, sometimes."

Logan thought back to that night in his tent. "Shells were blowin from all directions, and gunfire was a constant sound. Most o' the people we killed were just younng kids, barely 18. I was one of several lookouts spread out all around the camp, lookin for any Confederates. I never did like sittin still, so I decided to scout outwards a ways, and came across a post. Jacques was sittin at a table, writin in that book, while the kid with him was standin guard. A few minutes later, he stood up and told the kid he was goin out to see what the noise they heard, was." He smiled to himself as he knew what the noise had been. "Good fighter. Very strong and stubbourn when it came to differences of ideals. And, also..." He reached up a stroke Remy's left cheek with his right thumb. "very soft, and sweet." Slowly, he leaned over and gently kissed Remy's lips before remembering where he was.

Remy tensed and stiffened at the other man's closeness. He had wondered what it had been like to feel Logan's kiss but, hadn't expected Logan to take the initiative. "What really happened in de tent?" He asked as Logan had backed away and stood up to walk to the fireplace and stare at his painting on the step. Not turning around, his left hand absently reached up to touch the spot where Logan's lips had been.

A heavy sigh as Logan stared at the painting. "We fought for a bit. He was hell bent on the South winnin and continuin their way of life. I tied him up and told him that since he liked the idea of slavery, he was my slave. We 'talked' a bit more about the subject and then....." His voice trailed off as he seemed to relive, in his mind alone, the rest of the events.

Eyes opeinging wide, Remy had a feeling that his dream was more than a dream, but a memory. He hadn't said what he wanted to say, only sat in silence until Logan offered more.

"The next mornin was supposed to be the last time I saw him but, then there was Fort Sumter, Chattanooga, Devil's Backbone, and Charleston Harbor. Each giving the other chance to escape before commanders collected us. We kept it quiet and away from the groups." Logan turned around and caught a glance at Remy as he hadn't moved from his position. Looking about the room, he thought it best if he called it a night and let everything sink in for Remy. "Well, I think I'd better goin. I'd like to get back to the hotel before it starts rainin."

Remy stood up as if suddenly coming to life. He had opened his mouth to say something at the same time a burst of lightning and a roll of thunder drowned him out. He waited until it was over before he started again. "I t'ink ya better stay here. Ya only get wet, waitin fer de cab." He looked to the window as another burst of light illuminated the curtains.

Logan sighed, swallowed, and nodded as he went to reclaim his seat on the sofa, beside Remy.


Continued.......