by Sable Hunter
“Forget Me Never”
CAJUN SPICE II
By
Sable Hunter
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012
Sable Hunter
All rights reserved.
www.sablehunter.com
Glimpses Into The Past
GEORGIA at 16
Savannah’s Mother-to-be
“Rise and be healed!” Elisha Renfro threw his arm in the air and shouted in a vibrant, mighty voice. In his hand he clutched a Bible which he waved in the air like a banner.
Georgia Renfro timidly stood with head bowed in front of her father.
“In the name of Jesus, I command the vile spirit of leprosy to vacate the body of this, thy maidservant!” The words echoed in the small building. As the healer sing-songed the name of the Savior, it seemed the very walls vibrated with power. He strained, red-faced as he tried to pour every ounce of faith in his soul into the words that would eradicate the ancient plague from his daughter’s body. Elisha placed the handkerchief covered palm of his hand on the top of her head and pressed hard, pushing her backward. She stumbed and would have fallen if Malcolm Waters hadn’t caught her. Immediately he righted her, and then wiped his hands over and over again on his pants.
“Easy, preacher,” Elisha’s assistant cautioned the man of God, “remember what we’re dealing with here. Okay? It’ll be all right, Georgia.” He patted the air near the trembling young girl’s shoulder. “He’s just trying to help you; that’s all.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Check for the spots,” her father demanded.
Georgia hung her head in humiliation as Malcolm grabbed her arm and gingerly pushed her sleeve up without coming into contact with her skin. They all looked, but the white patchy lesions were still there. “God Dammit!” the pious evangelist bellowed.
“What’s going to happen to me, Daddy?” Georgia was scared out of her mind.
“You’ll have to go to the hospital, Girl,” Malcolm tried to comfort her without touching her.
Georgia wondered if anyone would ever touch her again.
“Take her away,” Elisha sighed as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I can’t do anything more for her.”
“But, I don’t want to go, Daddy,” she pleaded. “I want to stay with you.”
Malcolm led the crying sixteen year old from the room and returned after a few minutes. “Sister Jones is getting her ready to leave. Everybody’s scared to death, preacher. What now? Are we all infected?”
“I pray to God He’ll spare us.” Elisha laid his Bible down and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Georgia will have to go to Carville, it’s the law. But I don’t want my name or the ministries name involved in any way. From this day on, I don’t have a child.”
“Sir?” Malcolm Waters tried to understand.
“Don’t you get it?” Elisha paced across the wooden floor of the small country church where he was leading a charismatic revival. “I am a faith healer! I am God’s physician! It can never be known that my child has come down with a disease that is the very expression of sin and evil! It’s beyond my understanding, but Georgia has come under divine judgment and I do not have the power to deliver her!” By now his swollen face dripped sweat and his breath was coming in gasps.
“Sir, you need to calm down. You’re going to have a stroke and then where will we be? I’m sure the doctors will be able to help your daughter at Carville.”
“I no longer have a daughter!” width bellowed. “When you leave her at the leprosarium, give them another name for her. I’ll pull some strings at the capitol and have the records sealed. I don’t ever want her real name or my name connected in anyway ever again. In fact, her name is to never be spoken again. After I’m finished, there will be no way for anyone to ever trace Georgia back to me. I wash my hands of the leper.”
“Why?” Malcolm couldn’t believe the man that he followed as his spiritual leader could be so cold as to abandon his only child. Where was the compassion? Where was God’s love in all of this?
“Don’t you see? She would be the ruin of us all. I can’t afford to acknowledge this travesty. If I cannot heal my own child, no one in the world would ever place their faith and trust in me again. My reputation would be in tatters. Our ministry would be over.”
Malcolm almost reminded him that it was God in whom people should place their faith and trust, but Elisha paid his salary – the words went unspoken.
Georgia and Miguel
“Push!” The infirmary nurse stood about a foot away clothed in enough protective gear to enable her to survive a nuclear meltdown. Georgia complied; she pushed as hard as she could and held her hand out to touch Miguel. Dr. Cheshire had allowed him in for the birth, even though they both knew they wouldn’t even get to touch the baby.
“It won’t be long now. Good girl.” The doctor stood back and looked at the couple who had created life in the midst of suffering and death. His heart went out to them.
Miguel took her hand. It was as unmarked as his was. Their disease was under control, yet they still had to abide by rules that went beyond cruel and unusual punishment. They had to give up their baby. “I love you, Georgia,” that was the only words of comfort that he could think of.
He had come to Carville from a border town in West Texas. The doctor at the clinic who had handed down the sentence of leprosy had told him that great strides were being made in the treatment of Hansen’s Disease and that it didn’t have to be a death sentence. What he hadn’t told him was how people would treat him, or how confining the leprosarium would be. If he hadn’t found Georgia, he would have gone stark-raving mad. But sweet, beautiful Georgia had been his salvation. She had given him hope where there was none and a reason to live that went beyond just the instinct to survive.
“Come closer,” she urged him. Georgia squeezed his hand hard. The pain was incredible. “Will our baby be okay?” She looked up at his dear face. When her father had sent her to Carville, she had felt as though she were being sent to the death chamber. No one would touch her; no one would even look her in the eye. But at Carville, she had found acceptance and love. She had found Miguel.
Miguel looked at the doctor who had a smile on his face. “How does it look, doctor?”
“It looks fine. The head is crowning; it’s time for one more big push.”
Georgia clung to Miguel and pushed hard. She was fraught with emotion. For nine months she had carried this baby and she loved it to distraction. Everything within her wanted to clasp it to her breast and love it forever. But that couldn’t be. The doctor had told her that leprosy wasn’t passed to a child during gestation or childbirth, but it could be passed by close contact afterwards. So, she knew what she had to do. And it wasn’t like she had a choice. “God help me!” she screamed as her child slid from her body.
“It’s a girl!” the doctor announced.
Instinctively Georgia held out her arms for her child, but the nurse stepped up and took the squirming, wiggling, screaming infant from the doctor’s arms. With tears streaming down her face, she watched as they wrapped her little girl in a blanket and prepared her to leave. “Bring her close, I want to look in her face just once,” she pleaded.
The nurse hesitated, but Miguel added his appeal. “We just want a moment with her. We’ll never see her again. Have mercy on us, please.”
Dr. Cheshire nodded his permission to the nurse who had looked to him for guidance, then moved a few steps nearer to the new mother and father who were a
bout to say goodbye to their infant daughter before they had even said hello.
Georgia’s heart filled with love even as it broke with utter despair. “She is so beautiful. Just look at our baby, Miguel.” Together they stared at tiny fingers and tiny toes, a button nose and a head full of curly black hair. Georgia gasped in magnificent agony. “I love you, Savannah.” She didn’t know if the name she chose would be given to her child or not, but she prayed it would be so. “Mama will pray for you every day. In my heart, I will always be with you. You’ll never be alone. And I will never, ever forget you.”
SAVANNAH
At 12 years old
Savannah edged just as close to the wall as she could. All she wanted to do was hide behind something, but there was nowhere to go. These nice people with their pressed Sunday clothes and too-wide smiles weren’t going to take her home with them. No one ever did. She was unwanted. And it wasn’t because she was too old; although, she was almost a teenager, it was because she was dirty. And it was the kind of dirty that you couldn’t clean off of you. With jerky movements, she scratched nubbins of grey paint off the sheetrock with her thumbnail. She’d get in trouble for it, but she didn’t care. The scars she put on the wall could never be worse than the scars on her soul.
“Stop that, Girl!” A hard slap upside her head caused Savannah to reel sideways and a sharp ringing started in her ears. A rough, gloved hand grabbed her by the collar of her worn cotton dress and led her through the door of the Baton Rouge Humane Services Department out into the stark sunlight of a hot summer day. “This was a damn waste of time. Nobody’s ever going to adopt you!”
What her current foster father shouted came as no surprise to Savannah. She knew she wasn’t going to be adopted. She had already been rejected twelve times. No one wanted a child born at the leper hospital, no matter how healthy and polite she was.
For a long time, the word leper had confused her. Why was being a leper bad? At first she had thought they were saying leopard hospital, and she had liked that. Later, Savannah had found out being a leper was shameful. Harlan Mosby, her foster parent’s oldest son had taken great pleasure in explaining to her what a leper was and why she was tainted forever.
It was state law that the circumstances of Savannah’s birth had to be disclosed to any couple who might consider bringing her into their family. But they wouldn’t tell her or anyone else who her real parents were. The details of Savannah’s birth were sealed by request of the family and a court ruling. That worried Savannah. Why didn’t they want her to know who she was? It couldn’t have been to protect her, because she was not being protected by anyone.
All she had been given from her real family was a tattered Bible. For years she thought there were no clues in it at all. But one day, she had been reading it and discovered that two of the back pages were stuck together. When she had carefully separated them, what she found were just a few words scrawled in blue ink. They didn’t make any sense to her: ‘Forgive me daughter. You are my greatest failure. May the Word bring you comfort. God save us both.’ And it was signed, ‘the Prophet.’ One day, Savannah vowed, she would find out what that meant. Savannah wanted to find her mother and father, she didn’t care if they were lepers or not.
“When we get to the house, I want you to get back to cleaning out the basement. If you want a room of your own, that’s where it’s going to be.” Savannah didn’t mind the work; it gave her something todo. And it would be nice to have a real room and not have to sleep in the broom closet. There were three other foster kids, one boy and two girls, and they had bedrooms. She wasn’t allowed to mix with them or the family to any extent.
“Yes, Sir.” The differences between her and the other kids weren’t obvious to Savannah, but apparently everyone else understood. They were clean and she wasn’t. Savannah ate by herself, slept by herself and played by herself. She had her own plate, glass, fork and spoon. No one wanted to eat after her. And she had to use a hospital portable potty chair because no one wanted to share a bathroom with her.
Mrs. Mosby had said keeping her was worth it, though. Apparently, the state paid them double for all the trouble she caused them. This confused Savannah. She had asked if she was a leper, and they had told her ‘no’, so she didn’t understand why she was dirty. Some nights she washed her hands over and over trying to get clean, but no one ever treated her any differently, no matter how pruny her skin became.
It didn’t really matter, that’s what she told herself. Savannah tried to be happy. She sang and made up stories to entertain herself. And she read everything she could get her hands on. Her foster mother brought her books that the library was throwing away. Or at least that’s what she said, why the library was throwing away good books was a mystery to Savannah. She liked to think that the librarian didn’t mind her touching the books. That would be nice. History was her favorite subject, so Mrs. Mosby took extra care to bring her all types of biographies and text books.
Savannah liked Mrs. Mosby. She talked to Savannah quite a bit and let her sit near while she was ironing or mending clothes. Although, she didn’t care much for some of the things she said. If her life was going to be as lonely as her foster mother tried to prepare her for, she didn’t really know if she wanted to grow up.
As Savannah sat on a towel in the back seat of Mr. Mosby’s sedan watching the flat landscape go by, she thought about what his wife had told her. “You’ll never be able to get married, Savannah. No self-respecting man is going to want to touch you.” Savannah didn’t really know why she would want a man to touch her other than to be held. Sometimes she dreamed about being held. The Mosby kids got hugged, even the other foster kids got hugged occasionally, especially the girls - but as far as Savannah could ever remember, no one had ever hugged her.
“Get out, Kid. We’re home,” her foster dad held open the door. Savannah hadn’t even been aware the vehicle had stopped. As she climbed out and looked up at the stern older man with his balding head and bad teeth, she wondered what her real dad was like. Savannah bet her dad had a nose. Harlan said lepers didn’t have noses or toes or fingers, that they rotted off and left holes in their face and stubs on their feet and hands. The thought of what her parents must have suffered through made Savannah’s heart hurt. Despite the horrible picture Harlan painted, she longed to be with her real mom and dad. She longed to be happy.
So right then and there, as she walked into the foster home where she wasn’t wanted except for the money she brought into the household, Savannah vowed to find out who she was. Flipping the basement stairs light on, she looked down into the lonely gloom, wondering what her life would be like. Would she ever have a home? Every night she prayed that God would give her a place to belong and someone to love.
PATRICK
At 13 years old
“All we want to do is look in the well, Patrick. Go ask your grandpa if it’ll be all right,” Izzy urged as she pushed him toward the gazebo.
It was Halloween night and his Grandfather had decided to have people over. Thank God the night was winding down. All he could think about was getting rid of these girls so he could head out to Revel’s. They were planning on wrapping some houses. “Oh, all right. But that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t believe you’ll see anything in that old well but water.”
“My aunt said the well was dug by slaves before the Civil War and that it’s magical,” Gertrude crossed her arms in front of her and stuck her nose up in the air so high that Patrick could have seen her brains if it hadn’t been so dark. “We want to see who we’re going to marry.”
“Marry? Who wants to get married?” Patrick thought that he would never understand women if he lived to be a hundred.
“Do you wanna look, Patrick? There’s no reason it can’t work for boys. I bet you’d see Mandy’s face. She’s in love with you.”
A chorus of giggles erupted from the two pint size females who lived to make his life a misery. Why his gramps insisted he entertain this pair of
menaces while he visited with their aunt, he’d never understand. Grandpa was supposed to love him. “I’ll ask him for you, but I don’t believe that crap. And Mandy’s face is the last one I’d want to see. She’s way too bossy!”
“You need a boss,” Izzy stuck her tongue out at him.
“Geez Louise! Wait here, I’ll be right back. And don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.” They weren’t going to drop it, so he made his way over to where the grownups were having drinks to ask permission. Evermore Plantation had seen its share of parties over the years. Sometimes Patrick would peek in the windows of the main ballroom and imagine the people in their grand costumes. He and lived in the caretaker cottage. And as far as Patrick was concerned, the whole place was entirely too creepy. During the day when tourists came for tours, it was okay. But at night, when it was just the two of them, it was far too quiet. As he walked by the old slave cabins, a funny feeling wiggled down his spine. The moon had gone behind a cloud and it was dark. Patrick told himself that he didn’t believe in ghosts, but this was one part of the property that he didn’t like to walk through at night. He sped up a bit, breaking into a trot. Soon, the sound of music drifted to his ears. He was getting close.
