by Paula Morris
"Oh, you'll love it," Marianne said, picking up her pace. "It's going to be so much fun!"
"But I thought you had to belong to Septimus? I mean, that your father or grandfather or whoever had to be a member. And doesn't it cost thousands of dollars to get your daughter onto a float like this?"
Some of Amy and Jessica's tutorials had stuck in her brain.
"They can waive the rules." Marianne sounded completely unconcerned. "And Helena's father has already paid for her costume and throws and everything. He's hardly going to ask you to pay him back."
This sounded a little ruder than maybe Marianne intended, Rebecca thought, loping along the sidewalk toward the Sutton house on First Street.
"The costumes are just amazing," Marianne was saying. "My mother's going to be so happy you said yes! I told her I was going to ask you. We've been totally racking our brains about who could step in."
"Your mother's home now?" Going to the Suttons' house might mean seeing the vile Toby, and Rebecca didn't want to be under the same roof as him. But she couldn't say this to Marianne.
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"My mama and our dressmaker. Toby's at soccer practice." At this, Rebecca almost wheezed out a sigh of relief. "So we've got the place to ourselves."
And some place it was, Rebecca thought, climbing the pristine white front steps. The Suttons' house was as grand as the Bowmans' and more beautiful in some ways, painted a rich terra-cotta, with black cast-iron gallery railings as ornate as fine lacework. The garden surrounding the house was subtropical, like a lush jungle, though it wasn't messy and overgrown like Aunt Claudia's. And inside the house, with its dark wooden floors, soft rugs, and dark green walls, Rebecca felt as though she was in some orderly, peaceful sanctuary, like the Temple Mead library on a much larger scale.
"This must be Rebecca!" A thin, middle-aged woman with smooth platinum blonde hair -- a much more fake version of Marianne's blonde mop -- came padding out of another room. She wore slim-fitting velour sweatpants and a soft-pink sweater, and Rebecca thought she recognized her vaguely from the Bowmans' Christmas party, though Mrs. Sutton was interchangeable with any number of the mothers who lined up in their cars outside Temple Mead or dropped into the Café Lafayette for a skim iced latte. They had perfect tans, taut faces, big diamond rings, even bigger shoulder bags, and cars as large as studio apartments in New York.
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sutton," Rebecca said, suddenly a little bashful.
"You just call me Miss Karen," said Marianne's mother, flashing a giant crocodile smile. However warm she was acting, there was something chilly about her. The look in her ice blue eyes wasn't truly friendly, Rebecca decided. She
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was appraising this new friend of her daughter's, looking her up and down as though Rebecca were an item on sale in a store.
"Wasn't I right?" Marianne dropped her bag onto one of the silk-cushioned chairs, but Rebecca was hesitant to follow suit. All of this furniture looked expensive and breakable, kind of like Miss Karen. "She'll fit Helena's costume,
I'm sure.
"Well, let's just see about that right away." Miss Karen gestured toward the stairs, and Marianne bounded up. There was nothing to do but follow her. "Shirley has everything set up and waiting for you. Rebecca honey, I hope you're not shy!"
At the top of the stairs, Marianne raced down a long corridor and disappeared into a room at the back of the house. It overlooked the broad back garden, though it was some time later when Rebecca even thought to look out at the view. There was far too much to look at in the room itself. Not furniture, because there was nothing in there aside from a small writing desk and a couple of gilt-edged chairs. Not decoration, because it was a fairly plain room, with butter yellow walls and white moldings, the cream-colored curtains heavy and tied back with simple cords. And not people, because the only person in there was the dressmaker, Shirley, who was dressed in unflattering mom jeans and was busy crawling around on the floor picking up pins.
What was transfixing in this room were the two costumes, standing upright as though worn by invisible models. Both were dazzling, awash with sequins and fake jewels, their ball gown--style skirts falling to the floor and fanning out like
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glorious flower petals. One of the dresses was a dramatic black and silver; the other was made up of vivid reds, oranges, and golds. Against one wall lay vast feathered objects, which at first Rebecca thought might be giant fans; just as she was wondering how they'd be able to pick them up, Marianne told her they were headdresses.
"They'll be fixed to stands, honey," Miss Karen said. "So they don't crush your poor little skull! And show her how the dress works, Shirley."
Shirley hastily stuck her fistful of pins into the black pincushion she was wearing like a bracelet and explained that Rebecca would have to show up that day in leggings and some kind of glittering leotard top. She wouldn't step into the dress itself until she was on the float: It was easier to get those over-the-top constructions in place and have the girls climb in, rather than ask them to negotiate the steps while in costume.
"It's perfectly safe," Miss Karen reassured her. "You just want to make sure you take one more powder-room break before you get onto that float. Because once you're in, you're in. And you're not getting out until someone lifts you out!"
"Which one is mine?" Rebecca whispered. She'd never worn something so extravagant and ridiculous and extreme before in her life. The idea of wearing it in public, while traveling on some kind of lurching float, was both exciting and kind of scary.
"The red one," Marianne said. "The theme for this year's parade ... Mama, can we tell her?"
"It's top secret," Miss Karen said with a wink. "Can we
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trust you, Rebecca? You can't say a word to any of your friends at Temple Mead."
"Phoenix rising from the ashes," Shirley said, before anyone could stop her. So Aurelia was right! "And that's what Miss Marianne is, the ashes."
"And Rebecca will be the flames!" said Miss Karen, frowning at Shirley. Rebecca got the feeling that Miss Karen had planned on revealing this allegedly top-secret information but --judging from the number of times Shirley checked the fob watch hanging from her pocket -- the dressmaker hadn't wanted to waste any more time. "You lucky girl! I'm sure half of Temple Mead would cut off their right hands to get an invitation like this."
Rebecca thought of Jessica and felt a little bad. It would mean so much more to her. Maybe Rebecca should decline the honor and suggest Jessica instead.
"But it's been so hard to find someone exactly Helena's height and size," Miss Karen was saying, and Rebecca realized that Jessica, who was much shorter and stockier than Helena, would never fit into the costume.
There were two other maids, according to Marianne, and their costumes would represent water and wind. They'd ride on another float, with their own stewards to hand them beads. Rebecca would be standing on a pedestal-like platform at the back of her float, with Marianne on another pedestal at the front.
"Just move from side to side a little." Miss Karen acted it out. She looked like some kind of mechanical Barbie doll. "Waving and smiling, waving and smiling. Shirley,
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help Miss Rebecca climb into this thing. Do we need the stepladder?"
Rebecca had long enough legs to render the ladder unnecessary, though she did have to take off her school skirt and blouse -- that was why Miss Karen had hoped she wasn't shy, she realized, clambering into the costume wearing nothing but her underwear, and half wishing that she wasn't wearing the camisole set Ling had bought her as a joke at Christmas: the words NYC CHICK were plastered, in red letters, across her backside.
Shirley draped the scratchy, heavy folds of the top over her, pinning and grunting and darting away to make notes on a small pad of paper. It wouldn't itch, Marianne assured her, when they had their leotards on; Miss Karen had them on order. Rebecca couldn't feel the skirt at all: It was so wide and sprawling that it missed her legs al
together. She loved the vibrant colors of her gown and the way it glittered when the sun hit it.
"We'll try the headdresses next week," declared Miss Karen, flicking open her cell phone and closing it again. "I have to go pick up Toby. Can you come back on Monday after school, honey?"
Rebecca walked home as fast as she could; it was already growing dark, and the first drops of rain were splattering onto the sidewalk. She couldn't wait to see the look on Aunt Claudia's face when she told her all this. Sure, she wasn't supposed to hang out with the Bowmans and the Suttons et al, but this had to be an exception. The chance to ride in a Mardi Gras parade, especially one as exclusive and prestigious as
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this, in such a glamorous costume, with no cost involved whatsoever ... her aunt had to say yes.
But Aunt Claudia didn't look shocked at all when Rebecca found her sitting in the semidarkness of the front parlor, a book lying open and facedown in her lap. Maybe she'd been napping, Rebecca wondered, because at first she didn't seem to react to Rebecca's announcement at all.
She simply reached for her reading glasses, which were lying on top of a brass dish etched with Arabic letters.
"What night is the parade?" she asked slowly, her face grave.
"February twentieth," Rebecca told her.
"I'll just have to ..." Aunt Claudia began, heaving herself up from the low-slung armchair. She padded out of the room and down the hallway, Rebecca following her. She wanted to get a definite answer on the parade now, and not let her aunt dither about it for days. There wasn't time for that. She'd already been fitted for that amazing glitter-flame costume. And secretly, she couldn't wait for the near-hysteria sure to break out at school when word of her maid-of-Septimus status got out. Legions of Debs would be fainting in the hallways, overwhelmed by jealousy and outrage. Mean Amy would be struck dumb. That, at the very least, made the whole thing worth it.
Her aunt walked into the kitchen and straight to consult -- surprise, surprise -- her ad hoc oracle, the wall of odd calendar pages. Carefully she peeled one day off, fingering its corners. This was the first time Rebecca had ever seen Aunt Claudia actually remove a page from its spot on the wall.
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"What's wrong?" she asked, leaning in from the doorway, trying not to sound impatient.
"I'm ... I'm not sure if the parade is a good idea." Her aunt's voice was creaky and strained. "I mean ... well, I just don't know."
"Don't know what?" This was beyond ridiculous. Rebecca could see the page in her aunt's hands, and sure enough, it was February twentieth. What, was her entire life going to be controlled by these stupid pages stuck on the wall? Just because that date happened to be ripped out of a calendar at random didn't mean Rebecca should suffer. This was her one chance to take part in a big carnival parade. Other girls would fight tooth and nail to be in her spot! Why her aunt was such a killjoy, Rebecca didn't know.
"We'll talk about it later." Aunt Claudia slithered past her, walking back up the hallway to the parlor. Enraged, Rebecca stared at what was left on the Wall of Nonsense. She wanted nothing more than to rip every stupid white date off and throw it in the trash. It was just coincidence that the date of the Septimus parade matched one of the pages. It didn't mean anything.
Rebecca grabbed the closest page at hand. October twenty-fifth ... OK, that wasn't random. It was the day she arrived in New Orleans. And the next October page: Wasn't that the first night she slipped into the cemetery to spy on Anton and Helena, the night she fell over and saw Lisette for the first time?
She clutched at another page, ripping it as it pulled free from the grease-stained, peeling wall. The Saturday after Thanksgiving: That was the day she'd walked to Tremé with
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Lisette. The date in December was the night of the Bowmans' party -- the real date, not the one she'd told Aunt Claudia. The other day in February was Helena's birthday, the day after the Septimus parade. The only date Rebecca couldn't account for was the one in March. She tore it from the wall and, grasping her damp pile of pages, marched along the hallway to find her aunt. She wanted answers -- straight answers -- and she wanted them now.
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***
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
***
In the parlor, her aunt was sitting down again, but she wasn't reading. Her glasses were folded and set aside on a cluttered table. Her book was lying open and upside down on the frayed Turkish rug. The only thing in Aunt Claudia's hands was the calendar page for February twentieth, and this she was absentmindedly turning, rubbing its edges between her thumbs. In the twilight of the room, it was hard to make out the expression on her face.
"What do these mean?" Rebecca demanded, brandishing her handful of calendar pages. "I know about some of these days but ... what is this date in March about? Why did you stick all these dates up on the wall?"
Aunt Claudia looked up at her, and now Rebecca could see how weary she looked, how strained. She wasn't even wearing any jewelry today, just a floaty caftan of nebulous ethnicity.
"I just knew they meant something," she said, motioning to Rebecca to sit down on the chaise longue. "But when I first
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pulled them out of the calendar ... well, baby, I knew what some of them related to. Some of them were a mystery. They just spoke to me, that's all. I know you don't think much of my psychic powers, but there are some things I can see, even if I don't understand them altogether."
"So that's the Septimus parade." Rebecca wriggled forward on the silky chaise longue, and pointed to the sole page in Aunt Claudia's hands. "And this one is the Bowmans' Christmas party. And this one is the day I arrived."
"And what about the other dates?" Aunt Claudia squinted at the pages Rebecca was clutching. Rebecca opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again. So far she'd never said a word to her aunt about Lisette. Actually, she'd lied, saying she'd never seen a ghost. She wasn't sure if this was the right time to admit her secrets and lies: Aunt Claudia might get annoyed, arid clam up about everything else.
"Baby, you have to tell me everything you know." Her aunt sat forward in the collapsing armchair so her knees were almost touching Rebecca's. "You have to tell me everything that happened on the days I don't know about. And then I'll tell you everything I know, and we'll see where it all leads. I want to be straight with you, but you have to be straight with me, OK?"
"OK." Rebecca was still reluctant. She was going to have to own up to a lot of things. But this mystery, she sensed, would be solved only if she and her aunt worked together. "That one day in October ... well, it was the night, really."
"The night?" Aunt Claudia looked startled. "You were home that night."
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"I went out," Rebecca said in a small voice. "To the cemetery."
"To the cemetery at night?" Rebecca nodded, trying not to be deterred by her aunt's horrified tone.
"I went in to see what Anton and all his friends were doing, but on the way out, I bumped into ... I met ... I saw, for the first time, without knowing ..."
She trailed off, gazing down at the clump of pages in her hands, unable to look Aunt Claudia in the eyes.
"You saw the ghost?" Her aunt sounded surprisingly calm. But when Rebecca glanced up, she realized Aunt Claudia wasn't calm at all: She was white as a sheet.
"I didn't know she was a ghost until later," Rebecca stumbled on. "And then, after Thanksgiving, we went for a walk together. Through the city, to her house in Tremé."
"I see." Her aunt didn't sound angry--just terribly, terribly sad. It was almost as though she had known or suspected it all along. Since she was telling the truth at last, Rebecca decided she may as well tell her aunt everything.
"After the Bowmans' party, when I told you I'd never seen the ghost ... I had. I'm really sorry I lied. But then I didn't know what it all meant. Actually, I still don't. I don't understand what's going on, or why Helena and I can see something nobody else can see."
"Of course you don't u
nderstand." Her aunt spoke softly.
"And that date you have there -- the Septimus parade," Rebecca went on. "Why is that a special day? Why did you say I shouldn't take part in the parade?"
Aunt Claudia crumpled the piece of paper in her bony hand.
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"Because that," she said, "is the day the curse will be lifted. Or so I think."
"Really?" Rebecca tossed her stack of pages onto the chaise longue. "What makes you think that? Wasn't the curse in ... in perpetuity?"
She thought of Aurelia telling her that when she first arrived in New Orleans.
"People think that," said Aunt Claudia. "At least, those people who know a little about the curse, and there are too many of them around, as you've gathered, I'm sure. But long ago, the Bowmans found someone who could tell them more about the curse, and the story's a little different."
