Miranda jumped. She looked at Roo, who was gazing levelly back at her.
“The battle of St. Yvette was a complete slaughter,” Roo said again. “The Confederates never had a chance. You can read about it—all the accounts are equally gruesome.”
Parker winced. “Can you tell by now that she’s really into gruesome?”
“There was so much smoke, it was like nighttime. They couldn’t even see the sun.”
“Guns and cannons,” Parker clarified, while Ashley threw each of them a pleading glance.
Feeling more anxious by the minute, Miranda tried her best not to show it. Roo’s eyes were still fixed on hers in a bold, unwavering stare. Almost as though the girl sensed her sudden vulnerability and was closing in for the kill.
“They said the air was actually wet.” Roo’s tone was somber. “Wet and red. From all the blood spraying everywhere.”
Reaching back, Ashley pounded Roo on the knees. “You are making that up! Just to be disgusting! Now stop it right—”
“Actually, she’s not,” Parker broke in. “Making it up, I mean. She is disgusting.”
From the look on his face, it was obvious how much this pained him, taking Roo’s side. “The battle of St. Yvette was one of the bloodiest ever recorded around this area. But then, the Civil War was also the bloodiest war up to that time.”
And the nag was still there, that persistent little nag in Miranda’s head, refusing to be ignored. It pushed her to the edge of her seat and leaned her in close to Parker.
“Why was it the bloodiest?” she asked him.
Nodding, Parker spoke louder. “Partly because of the bullets. Up till then, bullets were round—they didn’t hit their targets that well, and they tended to bounce off bone. But during the Civil War, there were these new conical bullets that were heavier and more pointed. A lot more accurate. A whole lot more blood. Bad infections, too. When a bullet like that tore through a guy’s skin, it took dirt and parts of his clothes and who knows what else with it. It was pretty much a death sentence.”
“Bet you’re glad you asked.” Roo slanted a look at Miranda.
But Miranda had sunk back into her own uneasy thoughts. She knew what it was now, that restlessness in her mind—the memory of that strange, familiar smell. And while Parker had been talking, she could swear that smell had come to her again—a faint odor of smoke mingled with . . . what? Sulfur? Flesh? Blood?
“Oh my God,” Miranda murmured.
“Oh, Miranda, I know.” Ashley was quick to sympathize.“I can’t stand to hear about blood either. I can’t stand to look at blood. I can’t even stand to think about it! So y’all talk about something else, okay?”
As Ashley went on to scold Roo and Parker, Miranda scarcely listened. What she’d heard and smelled earlier had seemed so totally real. And now this—this Civil War battle—was it related somehow? She’d never even heard of the battle of St. Yvette. Never studied a single detail about it, never read a single historical account. Didn’t have the slightest knowledge about artillery smoke or bullets.
So how could this be possible, when it all sounded crazy, even to herself? Because I can’t be sure, can I? How can I be absolutely sure that I’ve smelled the battle smoke—that I’ve heard the cries of the wounded and dying?
Once again she felt overwhelmed with uncertainty. I must have seen something about that battle—on TV maybe, or in a magazine. Because the other can’t be true, it’s too impossible to be true.
And what on earth had ever possessed her to think it?
6
RESTLESSLY, Miranda tried to concentrate on the scenery flying past. It occurred to her that she hadn’t noticed any buildings for a while—other than an abandoned gas station and a couple of rotted barns. Trees closed in from both sides of the road, and the road itself had begun to narrow, winding on beneath scattered canopies of moss. When Parker made a sudden left turn into the woods, Miranda felt as if they were all being swallowed alive.
What have I gotten myself into?
The paved road began to disappear. Soon it was nothing more than a trail of mud and crushed oyster shells rutted deep with tire tracks, and barely wide enough for the car. Trees grew even thicker here, shutting out the light. Moss brushed over the top of her head, and she slid lower in her seat.
Even the air had changed. Heavy and wet and overly ripe with smells, and a promise of water close by. These smells were different from the wind-and-surf beach she was used to. These smells were secret and primal and dark.
"Here we are,” Parker announced, and the car lurched to a sudden stop. As he killed the engine, a wave of silence engulfed them.
Miranda sat there, eyes and ears straining to adjust. Straight ahead of her, among moss-shrouded trees, was the Union cemetery they’d told her about, and beyond that, the murky waters of Bayou St. Yvette.
“Come on!” Ashley called, and Miranda realized everyone else was out of the car. “This way!”
But Miranda didn’t move. She couldn’t stop staring at the cemetery.
In a halfhearted attempt at maintenance, someone had recently clipped back weeds and underbrush, leaving a few stone urns holding plastic flowers. But the old tombs—no more than a dozen and built aboveground—lay scattered at odd angles with no hint of order. Some resembled low-lying slabs, suggesting only one or two occupants; others stood nearly as tall as Parker, indicating several inner burial compartments, stacked one upon another. None were marked with names. No grass grew between them. Peeling whitewash hung like scabs, leaving gaps in the powdery brick and rotted plaster. Some tombs had actually sunk into the ground; others were partially washed away, victims of too many floodwaters, she guessed.
Hundreds dead and only these few pitiful graves.
Remembering what Roo had said earlier, Miranda wondered just how many abandoned soldiers had lain in mass graves all these many years, or in the overgrown tangle of the woods, or at the bottom of the bayou.
Despite the sweltering heat, she rubbed a chill from her arms. That heaviness in the air was growing worse—oppressive almost—the way a room could feel when it held too many people.
With a sheer effort of will, she climbed out of the car and caught up with the others. They were sitting at an old picnic table in a small, concrete shelter.
“Oh, there you are!” Ashley motioned Miranda down beside her. “Wasn’t I right? Isn’t it nice here?”
Miranda thought fast. “Well . . . there’s atmosphere, that’s for sure.”
“I could never come here all by myself. But when Roo’s mad or sad or worried about something, this is where she always runs away to.”
“Yeah.” Parker sighed. “Too bad she always runs back home again.”
“And thank you so much, Ash.” Roo forced a saccharine smile. “For sharing my secret place with everybody in the whole entire universe.”
“Oh, Roo, I didn’t—Look, there’s Etienne. I hope he remembered to pick up Gage.”
Miranda craned her neck for a better view. What she saw was an old muddy pickup truck lurching slowly along the road, then coming to a stop about thirty feet behind Parker’s BMW. There was a half trailer hitched to the back—both it and the truckbed were full. Among the cargo, Miranda could pick out lawn mowers, ladders, chain saws, and a generator.
Jumping casually to his feet, Parker flashed an endearing smile. “Just stay put now, ladies—I’ll see if they need any help. I have to get the cooler out of my car, anyway.”
Miranda caught the quick glance Roo shot him—something between curiosity and outright suspicion. “Don’t bother,” Roo said, just as casually. “I’ll do it.”
Before Parker had a chance to respond, Roo turned and started walking. Parker’s expression tightened for a second, then went carefully neutral as he headed for Etienne’s truck.
“Wait, Roo, we’ll go with you.” Ashley gestured to Miranda. “There’s some blankets in the trunk, and I forgot the darn bug spray.”
Miranda was only too glad
to join them—any distraction to keep her mind off the day’s unsettling events.
Reaching the convertible, Ashley popped the trunk and started digging inside. Roo immediately hauled out a small ice chest and opened the lid.
For a moment Roo stood there, staring down into the cooler. Then, pulling out a beer, she turned to Ashley and held up the can.
“Nice, Ash. Star quarterback busted for drinking. Again.”
“He’s not getting busted. And he’s not drinking—not like before. Especially not since our last fight.”
“So what’s this?” Roo’s glance moved between Ashley and Etienne’s truck, where the three guys were deep in conversation. “A root beer in disguise?”
“It’s not like he’s the only guy at school who has a beer once in a while. It’s no big deal.”
“It will be when his coach finds out.”
“Well, Coach doesn’t ever have to find out.” The implication was clear. “Unless somebody tells him.”
“Nobody has to tell Coach anything, Ashley. It’s amazing all the things you can find out about a guy when he pees in a cup.” Roo gave a mock wave. “Surprise! Good-bye, Parker! Good-bye, scholarship! Good-bye, multimillion-dollar career!”
“He’s not even playing right now—not till his shoulder’s completely healed. And anyway, one little beer won’t make any difference.”
“He’s scary enough when he’s driving and hasn’t been drinking.” Roo’s tone was mildly chastising. “Or haven’t you noticed?”
Ignoring the comment, Ashley reached back into the trunk, grabbing some blankets and the bug repellent.
“You’re not helping him, you know,” Roo persisted. “You’re enabling him. You’re just afraid he’ll dump you if you don’t go along with what he wants.”
Ashley tossed her things at Roo. “Here. You bring these. I’ll take the cooler.”
It was obvious to Miranda that the argument was over— though she seriously doubted if either side had won. Unsure what to do, she watched Ashley hoist the cooler and march away.
“Love really is blind.” Roo let out a gloomy sigh.“Love is also dangerous, insane, and highly overrated.”
There was a long pause before Miranda finally asked, “Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“No, from Ashley’s personal experience. Sisters are also highly overrated.”
“You two are sisters?” Miranda hadn’t meant to sound so shocked, but Roo took it in stride.
“Why are people always so surprised by that? Yeah, we’re sisters. Stepsisters, actually. But our parents got together when we were both three years old—so we’ve never felt like stepsisters. We’re not anything alike though.”
No kidding. Miranda almost smiled.
At the sound of approaching voices, she turned to see Parker, Gage, and Etienne walking past. Etienne mumbled something she couldn’t quite catch. Parker kept his eyes straight ahead, while Gage shot them a quick glance.
Roo tossed the blankets into the backseat, then reached for Miranda’s arm. “Stand here and hold your breath.”
Miranda felt the first cold squirt of bug spray. Before she could move, Roo had doused her from top to bottom, and she was choking on fumes.
“There. That should do it.” After pitching the can into the trunk again, Roo slammed down the lid and leaned back against the car. She fished a cigarette and matches from her jeans pocket. Then she lit up and inhaled a slow, satisfied breath. “So what do you think of Etienne?”
The abrupt question caught Miranda completely off guard. She said the first thing that popped into her mind. “He came to fix our air conditioner.”
“Yeah, everybody calls Etienne when something breaks or doesn’t work right. He can fix anything. He’s got the touch.”
“So he said,” Miranda recalled.
“Besides, he really needs the money.”
Miranda felt suddenly awkward. It wasn’t her business to discuss Etienne’s private life—yet she couldn’t help being a little curious.
“He and his mama run swamp tours back in the bayou.” Roo flicked ashes into the trampled weeds. “Tourists really like that kind of thing, don’t ask me why. He works construction jobs, too. Mows lawns, cuts trees, takes fishermen out in his boat. Stuff like that.”
“Quite a résumé.”
“And not bad to look at either.” Roo arched an eyebrow. “Or haven’t you noticed?”
“I don’t even know him.”
“You don’t have to know him to notice.”
Miranda hedged. “Well . . . sure. I guess he’s kind of cute.”
“Cute? Kind of? I’d say that’s the understatement of the century.”
“Does he have a girlfriend or something?” As Roo flicked her an inquisitive glance, she added quickly, “He keeps calling me Cher.”
Clearly amused, Roo shook her head. “It’s not a name, it’s a . . .” She thought a minute. “It’s like a nickname . . . like what you call somebody when you like them. Like ‘hey, love’ or ‘hey, honey’ or ’hey, darlin’. It’s sort of a Cajun thing.”
Miranda felt like a total fool. No wonder Etienne had gotten that look on his face when she’d corrected him about her name.
“His dad’s side is Cajun,” Roo explained. “That’s where Etienne gets that great accent.”
Miranda’s curiosity was now bordering on fascination. She knew very little about Cajuns—only the few facts Aunt Teeta had given her. Something about the original Acadians being expelled from Nova Scotia in the eighteenth century, and how they’d finally ended up settling all over south Louisiana. And how they’d come to be so well known for their hardy French pioneer stock, tight family bonds, strong faith, and the best food this side of heaven.
“Before?” Roo went on. “When he walked by? He was talking to you in French. Well . . . Cajun French, actually.”
“He was?” Miranda wanted to let it go, but the temptation was just too great. “What’d he say?”
“He said, ‘Let’s get to know each other.’”
A hot flush crept up Miranda’s cheeks. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear, and she was totally flustered. Maybe Roo was making it up, just poking fun at her—after all, she didn’t quite know what to make of Roo.
“Oh,” was the only response Miranda could think of.
“He and Gage are cousins, you know.”
This was even more shocking than Roo and Ashley being stepsisters. “I had no idea.”
“First cousins. Their mothers are sisters—twins. Etienne’s mama got cancer a few years ago. She was so sick for a while, we were all scared. She’s better now though. They’re a really close family—Gage always says it’s like he and Etienne each have two moms. And Gage’s daddy helps them out a lot—he owns a fleet of trawlers—he hires Etienne on with his crews during shrimp season.”
“What about Etienne’s father?”
“Dead.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Roo shrugged. “Didn’t you notice those scars on Etienne’s arms? His daddy beat him—and his mama—on a regular basis.”
Miranda looked away. The unexpected reality of it sickened her. This was something that happened on crime shows, not to people she knew.
“We better get back,” Miranda said, not wanting to hear any more. Gathering up the blankets, she tried to switch gears. “So, are you . . . and Gage . . . together?”
“What? Gage and me?” Wryly amused, Roo took another puff of nicotine. “Here’s the thing about Gage and me. We’ve lived next door to each other since kindergarten. There’s not much about each other we don’t know.”
“So . . . best friends forever? That sort of thing?”
“We did have sex once.” Roo was matter-of-fact. “But then we decided—why ruin a perfect friendship?” Holding her cigarette at arm’s length, she casually studied the black and purple lipstick smudges around its filter. “He was amazing.”
“I . . . see.” Miranda couldn’t tel
l if she was being teased, shocked, or confided in. “Thanks very much for sharing.”
“Of course, he’d be completely mortified if he knew I’d told you. He has this real problem about sharing personal stuff.”
Roo pushed herself away from the car, dropped her cigarette butt, and ground it underfoot. Then she walked off without a word, leaving Miranda to trail behind. By the time the two of them reached the cemetery, the others were already engaged in a lively discussion.
“There’s always the Historical Society. And the Ladies of the Southland.” Lounging back on top of the picnic table, Gage drew up one knee and draped his arm across it. “Parker’s mom could help with that.”
Parker recoiled in mock horror. Taking the blankets from Miranda, he spread them on the ground, plopped down, and pulled Ashley down beside him, not bothering to hide the beer he was drinking. “No! No way! Leave my mom out of this.”
“Just see if she’ll talk to us, Parker,” Ashley insisted. “Think of it as investigative reporting.”
“Hey. Lois Lane. Mom and I don’t like seeing each other any more than we have to. What part of no way don’t you understand?”
Etienne was leaning against a tree, arms folded over his chest. Now that Miranda knew his family background, it was all she could do not to stare at those faded, telltale marks over his skin.
“What’s up, Boucher?” Roo greeted him. “Is that your screwdriver, or are you just glad to see me?”
While everyone groaned, Etienne spread his arms wide. “You just have that effect on me, cher.”
Roo grabbed a soda from the cooler, then settled herself comfortably on a low-lying tomb. She motioned Miranda to sit with her.
“We have to decide how to start our research,” Ashley said. “Like, should we look for information on the whole town, or just one specific area. Roo and I decided we should all focus on the Brickway.”
“You decided we should all focus on the Brickway,” Roo mumbled, popping the tab on her can.
Gage nodded. “Ashley’s right. If this is a walking tour, some kids in our class might not want to walk very far.”
“If, in fact, anybody wants to walk on this tour at all,” Parker couldn’t help adding. “Come on . . . we’re not really going to do this ghost stuff, are we?”
Walk of the Spirits Page 5
