Big Easy (Cowboy Craze)

by Sable Hunter

  “I can understand his disappointment.”

  Jewel laughed again. “Just hold on, he got his money’s worth. Because…while we were there at his home, a storm came up and not just any storm, but a monster tornado. I swear, this black whirlwind looked to be a half mile wide and was heading right for that man’s house. Instead of trying to get out of the way, Hazel told the man to fetch her an axe. When he brought it, Mother ran toward the storm and hurled the blade of the axe into the ground, screaming scripture as she did so. Thou art my battle axe and weapon of war, for Jesus rebuked the wind and cried Peace, be still! When the whirlwind passes, the wicked are no more, but the righteous have an everlasting foundation!”

  “Good God. Obviously, you didn’t get blown away.”

  “No. The older gentleman stood there in amazement when he saw the storm abruptly change directions. I think he wanted to get down on his knees and kiss Hazel’s feet. To say he was grateful was an understatement.” She laughed. “Hazel does love her drama.”

  “She quoted scripture?” he asked, puzzled. “Isn’t that a little contradictory?”

  “Not at all,” Jewel told him. “Several forms of folk magic use scripture in their workings. In fact, belief in this type of stuff is more prevalent than you’d think. Some don’t even realize they’re doing magical things. Like keeping a bowl of lemons by your front door, that’s a hoodoo protection device. So is the practice of using ammonia to clean everything. And those blue bottles hanging in trees all over the south? Those are meant to capture evil spirits. Blue paint around windows and doors is also meant to keep ghosts at bay. Even the practice of eating black-eyed peas, greens, and cornbread on New Year’s for good luck is a hoodoo ritual.”

  “You know so much.” Easy wiped his mouth and looked at Jewel carefully. “So, you’ll help me soon, right? Contact my father?”

  “I will,” she promised him as he raised his hand to call for the check. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  After he’d settled their bill, they resumed their journey. “Okay, now for The Myrtles. Just continue north on 61. It’s not far.”

  “Okay.” As they drove, he checked out their surroundings. “This is a quaint little town. Almost looks like we’ve stepped back in time.”

  Jewel had hoped he would speak more about his father. Perhaps, he would later. “I agree. History seems alive here.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, leaned her head back against the seat, and sighed happily. “There’s an old red brick Gothic church, built closer to the river, called Grace Episcopal. There’s a graveyard right beside it, a drowsy, peaceful place with Spanish moss hanging from the branches of centuries old oaks. Do you have any idea what its claim to fame might be?”

  “A vampire? A zombie?” He glanced at her with a twinkle of light in his eyes.

  “No, it’s the place where the Civil War stopped for a day.”

  “Why? Is this like the time the Germans and the Americans during WWII stopped their fighting long enough to celebrate Christmas together?”

  “Hmmm, yea, almost. This part of the river was protected by a Confederate stronghold. The USS Albatross managed to breach their blockade. From both sides, the fighting was intense. The small town of Saint Francisville drew a tremendous amount of shelling. In the heat of the battle, while raging mad with fever, the commander of the Albatross, a man by the name of Lt. Commander Hart, took his own life. Suddenly, the shelling stopped, and a group of his men, bearing a white flag, marched up the hill to gain an audience with the Confederate commander. They had an unusual request for wartime. They asked for the right to bury their leader in the cemetery of Grace Episcopal with full Masonic honors.”

  “Freemasonry, you mean?”

  She nodded. “Yea, the fraternal organization. Most of the founding fathers were members. I think it was a lot more prominent in the past than it is now. I know my dad was a Mason. Anytime men found out they shared this affiliation, it could promote an instant bond between strangers.”

  “So, did they do it?”

  “Yea, the fighting stopped and men from the North and the South came together to give this guy a Masonic funeral.”

  Easy scoffed. “Seems like if they could agree on that, they could find some common ground for peace, doesn’t it?”

  “True.” She stared out the window and pointed out a billboard. “That’s Oakley Plantation, built by the same family as The Myrtles. The Oakley’s claim to fame is that John James Audubon, the painter, stayed there while he painted thirty-two of his famous paintings of birds.”

  “Hmmm, what’s The Myrtles’ claim to fame?” Easy asked as he put on his blinker at the sign that said they’d arrived at their destination.

  “Oh…” Jewel shrugged. “This B&B is the most haunted house in America. Supposedly.”

  Easy barked a laugh. “Now, you tell me.”

  Jewel held her breath as they turned off the road and passed through a narrow tunnel of overhanging branches, a canopy of dark green that separated the present from the past. The temperature dropped, and in her imagination, it was almost as if she heard a POP sound as they passed through the membrane of reality.

  By the time Easy found a spot to park in the white rock covered lot, Jewel felt a bit more grounded. “Beautiful isn’t it?” she asked as they took a few moments to admire the eastward facing Creole Cottage painted white and framed in silvery-blue French grillwork all along the wide front verandah. The front yard was bright with the pink blooms of crepe myrtles, from which the plantation derived its name.

  Easy agreed that it was beautiful. “Very. So, what’s the story of The Myrtles? What’s happened here to earn the ‘most haunted house’ distinction?”

  Jewel let her eyes rove over the grounds, her gaze stopping on the life-size statue of a young woman. For a moment, she’d thought it might be a ghost. “For starters, this whole property is built on a Tunica burial ground.”

  This information brought a chuckle to Easy’s lips. “At least half the hauntings I’ve ever heard about claim they are taking place on Indian burial ground. If my people had half the power in life that we seem to have in death, this country might look a little differently today.”

  “I hear you.” She unbuckled her seat belt to make herself a bit more comfortable. “According to my research, twelve spirits haunt The Myrtles. One is an Indian maiden who walks the grounds.” Jewel gave him a mischievous smile. “You’ll probably be interested to know that she’s been spotted sitting naked down by the pond.”

  “Seriously? And they let children come on this tour?” He pointed toward a family with two small children who were exiting a car that had just pulled up near them.

  “Remember, the ghosts aren’t regularly seen by tourists. So, the chance of one of those children seeing a naked spirit is about a billion to one.”

  “Maybe, I’ll get lucky.” Easy winked at Jewel as he opened the driver’s side door. “Sit tight.”

  As she waited, Jewel caught something out of the corner of her eye. Someone was lurking in the bushes near the house. Blinking, she focused on the spot – but there was nothing there. “Huh.”

  “Give me your hand, treasure.”

  Turning her head, she gazed into Easy’s face. “Thank you.” His grasp was warm and made her palm tingle. “Keep your eyes open. I just thought I saw something.”

  “Oh, really?” He placed her hand on his arm. “Where?”

  “Over by the watchtower.” She nodded in the direction of an octagonal tower near the driveway entrance. “There’s nothing there now.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “A person, I didn’t get a good chance to focus.”

  “Do you want to go over there for a closer look?”

  “No, let’s keep going.” She steered him down the drive toward the back of the house. “We’ll need to go into the gift shop to buy tickets.”

  “Yes, ma’am. So, other than our exhibitionist maiden, what other apparitions might we encounter.”
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br />   “Well, The Myrtles was ransacked by the Union during the Civil War, three soldiers were killed in the house. Be on the lookout for an old blood stain at the front doorway, supposedly the size of a human body.”

  “I guess they’ve tried to clean it up, but the stain won’t budge.”

  Jewel glanced up at the handsome man with a smile. “You’ve watched a lot of spooky movies, haven’t you?”

  “Guilty.” Easy drew her closer, guiding her around several groups of tourists. “This is a busy place.”

  “It is. The Myrtles brings in a ton of money to the area.” Leaning near to him, she continued speaking in a low voice. “Two other spirits known to make rare appearances are a young girl who died after being treated by a voodoo practitioner and the son-in-law of one of the owners who was shot on the front porch, yet lived long enough to stagger up to the seventeenth step of the staircase before falling dead in his wife’s arms. Some of the guests who spend the night report hearing uneven, plodding footsteps coming up the stairs, then stopping on the seventeenth step. When they run out to see who it is, there’s never anyone there.”

  “Whoo-hoo-hoo.” Easy made a spooky sound as they rounded the side of the house, coming to the white picket fence surrounding the courtyard. “What else?”

  While walking through the gate, Jewel reached out to touch the leaf of a large bush. “The star of the main haunting is an African slave by the name of Chloe who killed the wife and two children of her master by feeding them a cake she baked laced with leaves of this deadly oleander.”

  The shocking impact of her story showed on his face as they crossed the red brick paved courtyard, past concrete statues of children, wrought iron tables and chairs, and a fountain providing a constant whisper of flowing water. Numerous pink crepe myrtles provided ample shade for the back verandah of the house where white rocking chairs sat in a row, awaiting someone to sit a spell and drink an Abita strawberry or a mint julep.

  Upon arriving at the gift shop, they realized there was a short line. “I’ll buy the tickets; you can look around to see if there’s anything you can’t live without.”

  “Okay.” While Easy pulled his wallet from his pocket, Jewel moved further into the small building to browse. She found cookbooks, candles, dozens of items emblazoned with fleur-de-lis, and – big surprise – what looked like handmade gris-gris bags. Taking one of the charms in hand, she saw it was designated as a good-luck bag. Enfolding her fingers around it, Jewel tried to sense some power behind it – but found none. She wasn’t surprised. To have power, the maker needed to know the specific need and circumstances of the one for whom the bag was made. After lying it back down, she deemed the generic charms to be useless.

  “Want anything, love?”

  Hearing Easy behind her, she faced him. “No. I’m good. Ready?”

  “We’re in the next scheduled tour. There were only two spots left and the other parties waiting were too large.”

  “Excellent.” She took his arm as they made for the group assembling at the back entrance to the main house.

  “Ready?” asked the middle-aged woman who would serve as the tour guide as she jangled the keys to the house. There were several people who tittered and whispered, but Jewel and Easy just shared a smile. “My name is Sally and I’ll be taking care of you today. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to turn off your phones. No photos are allowed inside the house and no recordings. Now, keep your eyes open and your wits sharp. If a ghost gets after you, don’t come running to me.” She winked at them. “You probably won’t be able to catch me.”

  “What are some of the things we should look for, Sally?” a woman wearing bright yellow sunglasses asked. To Jewel, she looked like some type of tropical bug.

  “Oh, many things. We’ve had dozens of ghost hunters come to investigate the premises. They find handprints appearing on smooth bedspreads. Sometimes you’ll feel someone tugging at your hair. Ladies, don’t be surprised if Chloe removes your earrings.” At this suggestion, several ladies reached up to finger the studs or hoops in their ears. “Doors and windows might shake. Who knows? You might run into a ghost you know well. One man saw and talked to his dead wife while on the tour.”

  “Huh, you think my dad might show up here?” Easy whispered to her.

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Jewel whispered back, giving him a playful punch in the ribs.

  “All right. Here we go.” With another jangle of her keys, Sally unlocked the double doors, leading them into an entryway wide enough to drive a carriage through. Jewel studied the antique, flowered wallpaper, wondering how long it had adorned the walls.

  “The Spanish crosses etched into the stained glass are a protection symbol. Aren’t they pretty? And on that wall is the haunted looking glass.” She pointed to an ornate gold-leaf framed mirror reflecting a piano ensconced beneath the staircase. Several women squealed at the sight of the blurry surface.

  Jewel moved close enough to Easy to whisper in his ear, “Some say they’ve taken photos of the dead little girls in the mirror.”

  Teasing her, Easy shuddered dramatically, drawing her close for a quick hug. “Stay close and keep me safe.” Jewel elbowed him, but stayed tucked in his embrace.

  Stepping to the staircase, Sally held up a small painting of an ascot clad man with muttonchops. “This is General David Bradford; he built The Myrtles in 1796. The plantation passed through the hands of several owners, but the one of most interest on the tour is Judge Clark Woodruff.”

  Over the next hour, while the tour was led from room to room, they learned the history of the property. When they came to the kitchen and dining area, the story finally arrived at the point most of the attendees were waiting for – “Since our group is adults only, I’ll be frank. Judge Woodruff was known to have a healthy sexual appetite and he selected one of his slave girls as the focus of his attention. The young woman, Chloe, knew better than to spurn his advances. If she tried to refuse him, she’d only be sent to do backbreaking work in the cotton fields under the blistering sun at the mercy of the overseers and their brutal whips.

  “For a few years, all went well for Chole. Ever trying to walk the fine line as Sara Woodruff’s personal maid and Judge Woodruff’s mistress, she developed the unfortunate habit of eavesdropping on the family’s conversations. One day, sadly, Woodruff caught her with her ear to the door and punished her by having that ear cut off. From that day on, she wore a turban to cover the wound.

  “After the incident, Chloe fell out of favor with Sara. Afraid she was about to be thrust out into the fields, she tried a foolhardy trick to regain favor. Thinking if his wife and children fell ill and she could be the one to nurse them back to health, Chloe baked a cake laced with oleander. Her plan failed, for within days Sara and her two daughters were dead.

  “Fearing their Master’s wrath, the other slaves turned on Chloe and hanged her from a large oak on the property. Once she was dead, they cut her down and threw her lifeless body in the river. And that was the true beginning of the hauntings at Myrtle’s Plantation.”

  Easy nudged Jewel, raising his eyebrows. “Do you see anything yet?”

  Jewel nodded, cutting her eyes to the left.

  Glancing in the direction she indicated, Easy saw nothing.

  “Down through the years, guests have told of strange noises, ghostly sightings of a young woman in a turban. Many hear the girls laughing. A few have awoken to find the tykes jumping on their bed or even swinging from the chandelier. No evidence is more compelling, however, than what I am about to show you…”

  As Sally moved to a side table to pick up a black framed photograph, she turned it around to the crowd with a dramatic flair. “This is our famous picture of Chloe. In 1992, the owner submitted images of the home for insurance purposes. A few years later, a team from National Geographic researched The Myrtles and asked if they could use one of the photos for a promotional postcard. When the image was blown-up, something amazing was discovered.” Everyone gathe
red around as she pointed to the translucent figure of a woman standing in the breezeway between the gift shop and the main building. “The figure appears to be a slave girl wearing a turban. The horizontal exterior boards of the cottage are absolutely visible through the figure.” Gasps of shock and awe filtered through the room. Even Easy bent for a closer look.

  “After enlarging the photo and performing a shadow density procedure, it was discovered that the physical measurements of the figure all indicated a human being.” Once everyone had a chance to look at the photo closely, Sally reverently replaced it on the table. “This isn’t the only photo showing the ghosts of The Myrtles, of course. A few years ago, a teacher brought a group of students and one of their photographs clearly shows the image of a young girl child standing in the front window. The features of her face can be clearly seen, even the stripes on her dress are prominently displayed.”

  Taking advantage of everyone’s rapt attention being focused on Sally, Jewel took Easy’s hand and they moved away from the tour group, retracing their steps to the front parlor. “What is it?” Easy asked, aware that Jewel wanted to share something with him. “Have you spotted Chloe or any of the other spirits?”

  “Not quite.” She pulled him nearer so she could whisper, “I can’t sense any of those spirits. I don’t think they’ve been here for quite some time, if they ever were.” Jewel motioned toward the tour group. “And who can blame them? People are in and out constantly. Hunters try to capture them on film, but not because they want to communicate. No, a ghost would feel like a zoo animal in an atmosphere like this.”

  Easy looked a bit disappointed. “So, the most haunted house in America isn’t haunted?”

  With a laugh, Jewel shook her head. “I didn’t say that.” She pointed to the staircase. “Look.”

  Easy did as she directed, narrowing his gaze, concentrating. At first, he saw nothing. “What?”

  “Look at the seventeenth stair.”