The Devil in Canaan Parish Read Online Free

expecting to never get a reply.
    But the replies came, frequent and fervent.   It was as though the passion she could not show me in person was unleashed on the page.   She signed her letters “your Madeline”, and would finish them with a line from The Eve of St. Agnes :

    Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,
    Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!
    Oh leave me not in this eternal woe,
    For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.
    I did my best to match her letters’ ardor in my own, calling her “my heaven” and proclaiming the aching of my soul, but it didn’t seem to matter.   Her love for me was complete, and I had only to claim her if I still wanted her.   She begged me to spend my Christmas break with her and her family, and having nowhere else to go, I obliged.  
    I was dazzled. I did not understand from what kind of money Sally came until I visited her family’s tiny kingdom in Canaan Parish. The parties were sumptuous and elegant and lasted until the early morning hours. The women dressed in opulent silk gowns and the men wore white tie tuxedos. Smartly dressed servants circled the room bearing silver trays and an endless supply of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.   Sally became an enchanting princess on my arm.   She was witty and charming and beautiful.   I was astonished to see this side of her, and I relished being the one man in the room who had her full attention.   She was again my tutor, this time in the art of sparkling conversation and social etiquette and delighted in providing me entrée into her world of power and prestige, a world I had only ever read about.
    Caught up in the heady pageantry and intoxicating brilliance of Christmas Eve, I asked her father’s permission for her hand in marriage.   He squinted his eyes at me and wrinkled up his nose the way he did when he sniffed an ancient bottle of cough syrup at his drugstore to see if it was still good enough to sell.  
    “Palmer,” he said. “That ain’t no Jew name, is it?”
    “No sir. Scottish, I think.”
    “Well, I guess I’d better say yes, then,” he said.   “Seems like Sally’s got it in her head that you’re the man for her, although damned if I can see why.”   He then took a sip of his brandy and nodded to me, to indicate the conversation was over.    
    I soon learned that whatever Sally wanted, Sally got, and Sally had sets her sights on me, the noble savage of her dreams. My nomadic existence as a loner and outsider made me the forbidden fruit, the Porphyro come to storm the castle and whisk the sheltered virgin away to a life of excitement and mystery.
    On Christmas day we were having dinner at the Grande Maison on her grandparents’ plantation.   The entire Landry family was there – Sally’s mother was one of five siblings – and the majestic old house was filled with laughter, rambunctious children, music, drink and dancing.   During a quiet moment, I pulled Sally out to the porch, got down on my knee and offered her the tiny diamond I had in my pocket, a ring I had purchased on credit at the jewelry store in Techeville.   Overjoyed, she shrieked, and then grabbed my hand and ran with me into the house.   I had intended to make the announcement myself at dinner, but an impulsive Sally made it for me.   She ran from room to room, shouting the news and kissing the well-wishers.   I followed her, red-faced and smiling, trying to remember the names of everyone I was meeting.   I was again surprised to see the passionate side of quiet, demure Sally.   It was almost as if there were two of her.
    The following spring we were married.   I had agreed to convert to Catholicism -- it seemed as good a religion as any -- so that she could have her lavish wedding at the Catholic church in town.   The church was crammed with family and friends – Sally Landry Bordelon’s wedding was the social event of the year.   There was no one from my side of the family coming, and so