Sweet Words of Love

by Betty Brooks

  Soon they were entering a shady tunnel of sweet gums, where wisteria grew along the edges of the channel along with water elms and cypress, each adding their own special beauty to that of thick groves of feathery bamboo. They continued to travel down the channel, deeper and deeper, while all around them the swamp came alive with strange, almost unearthly sounds. There were screeches, but she'd already identified those as a screech owl-hoots, and howls, and so many bird sounds that she'd never heard before. And always beneath those sounds was the constant lapping of the water against the side of the pirogue.

  Where they traveled, the sun was only a memory, unable to reach beneath the dense foliage. But when the house they were searching for appeared ahead, Rainey judged it to be almost noon.

  "Is that the old man's house?" she asked.

  "It must be," he replied. "According to the man who drew the map, he's the only one who lives down this channel." He poled the pirogue closer to the tangled underbrush, until he found a clearing closer to the house, which was fashioned from mud and reeds.

  The pirogue bumped against the bank, and Thorne swung his leg over the side, gingerly testing the ground with his weight before lifting the other foot from the safety of the boat. Moments later, Thorne curled his hand into a fist and rapped on the door.

  "Gustave," he called. There was no answer, no sound of stirring inside. Knowing they couldn't leave without seeing the old man, Thorne pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was bare of furnishings except for a wood stove and a bed and table. Shelves had been built along the wall to hold supplies, but they were almost bare. Not so the room, though. On the bed, lay an old man, his breath raspy and harsh.

  "Are you Gustave Larson?" Thorne asked, bending over the old man. The old man nodded. "Do you need help?"

  ''Too late," the old man whispered. "I been-been bit by a . . . cottonmouth."

  "How long ago?" Thorne asked, knowing the reptile's bite could be fatal if not treated right away.

  "Two days now," the old man said. "I been laying here waiting for somebody to find me so's I could send word to my granddaughter."

  "I will carry word to her," Thorne said gently, knowing there was nothing he could do. The old man was too far gone. "Tell me where to find her."

  "Her name ... is Eulalie," the old man whispered huskily. "She is in New Orleans. Got herself a maid's job in a big house. Visits me whenever she can. About every two weeks. Don't---don't want her to find me like . . . like this." He gripped Thorne's wrist with surprisingly strong fingers. "You got to see to things when I'm gone. Don't let her find me dead here. It would be too cruel."

  "Don't worry," Thorne replied gruffly. "I came to take care of her.”

  "You? Who are you?" the old man queried.

  "Her brother."

  Suspicion darkened the old man's eyes. "She don't have no brother."

  "According to my father, she does. His name is Eugene Lassiter."

  The old man's expression became bitter. "Where you been all these years, boy? My girl's been needin' folks for a long time now."

  "I've only just learned of her existence," Thorne replied. "And I came straightaway. You can rest easy about your granddaughter, old man. Eulalie is my responsibility now."

  "I'm gonna believe you, boy," the old man said." 'Cause I ain’t got no choice. But don't you let that girl down, or I’ll come back from my grave and haunt you."

  "I won't let her down," Thorne promised. "You can count on that."

  The old man relaxed, and his hand released Thorne's wrist. He looked over at Rainey. "Don't know who you be, girl, but I'm hankering for the sound of a woman's voice. Come over here and talk to me."

  She went to his side. "Would you like me to sing you a song?" she asked, leaning over him. "Some folks say I have a good voice."

  "Yes," he said. "Sing to me. I like music. Do you know 'Amazing Grace'?"

  "Yes. I know it." She began to sing the old hymn. "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound . . ." The high trill of her pure voice rang out in the small cabin, and the old man seemed to take comfort from it. ". . . that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind but now can see."

  She began the second stanza, watching his face closely for signs that would mean he was tired of listening to her, but they never came. And by the time she'd finished singing the last stanza of the song, there was a definite relaxing of his body, and peace had drifted over his face. When she'd finished singing, she leaned over and met his eyes. "Would you like me to sing another hymn," she asked quietly.

  "Come away, Rainey," Thorne said gently, taking her hand and pulling her away from the bed.

  "But he may want another song, Thorne," she whispered. "It seemed to comfort him."

  "It did comfort him, Rainey, but there's nothing more you can do now. He's beyond hearing us."

  "Beyond . . ." She looked at the old man and reaized Thorne was right. The old man was gone.

  Tears dimmed her eyes then, brimming over and flowing down her cheeks. She hadn't known the old man but it didn't seem right that he'd ended his life this way. Without kith or kin to keep him company.

  Recognizing her distress, Thorne pulled her into his arms and comforted her. She allowed his embrace until she felt more able to handle her emotions, then she pulled away from him.

  "Take care of him, Thorne. He didn't want his grand­ daughter to see him this way."

  "I know. And I intend to do just that." He closed the old man's eyes gently and pulled the cover over his face. "I have to go dig a grave. Do you want to stay with him until then?'

  "You don't think we should take him back to New Orleans?"

  "He lived here in the swamp, Rainey. I imagine he loved it. And I think it would be most suitable and more to his liking to be buried here. There may even be graves here already, where other family members are buried."

  "Do you think he would mind if I go with you?"

  “I’m sure he wouldn't mind."

  Behind the house they found a well-trodden path leading through thick foliage, which made a tunnel overhead. It was obvious that someone had been careful to keep the vines and underbrush trimmed away to make traveling easier. The trail wound and curved through mimosa and cane until it reached a small clearing where sunlight streamed through. In that clearing were wooden crosses that marked the site of two graves, which had been carefully tended to keep the weeds out and help the flowers grow.

  When they were close enough to read the markers, Rainey realized Gustave had buried his loved ones there.

  "Natalie Grace Larson, beloved daughter and mother," Thorne said softly, and Rainey knew he must be reading the marker.

  "She didn't use your father's last name," Rainey said. "But he said his granddaughter's name was Eulalie Lassiter."

  "I know. And as far as I'm concerned, she's entitled to the name, just as her mother was."

  Rainey moved to the other grave and silently read the words: Colette Lacy Larson- beloved wife and mother- You take my heart with you.

  Tears blurred Rainey's vision as she read the words. To be so loved was a wonderful thing.

  "What is it, Rainey?" Thorne asked, noticing the tears.

  She swallowed but emotion clogged her throat making it impossible to speak. He came to her and read the marker, then looked at her with the dawn of understanding.

  "Their love was obviously the most important thing in their lives. He would have felt a great sadness when she died. But he's no longer alone, Rainey. They are together at last."

  She couldn't hold back the hot tears then. He took her in his arms and held her while she cried. Although she knew he didn't understand her great sadness-for she had barely had moments with the old man before he died-he was sympathetic to her tears.

  When she finally got herself under control, Thorne said, “I’ll get this grave dug and then take care of the old man-"

  “Gustave," she said.

  He looked at her, not understanding.

  "His name is
Gustave, Thorne. He had a name. We should use it when we speak of him."

  "Of course. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful." He raked a hand through his dark hair as he was apt to do when he was tired. "He was my sister's grandfather, not some stranger. And he'll be laid to rest with the greatest respect."

  Rainey made a marker while Thorne dug the grave, cleaving the earth beside Colette's grave. Rainey was almost finished by the time Thorne considered the grave deep enough. And then the old man-covered with the quilt from his bed-was laid to rest beside his wife.

  Thorne surprised Rainey by saying a prayer over Gustave and then the two of them left him with his family, knowing the old man had found his peace at last.

  Fifteen

  Rainey thought the trip out of the bayou went nice as fast as had the journey into it. But that wasn't the least bit surprising. When they'd gone into the swamp they'd been traversing strange waters. Now those same waters were familiar, each twist and turn expected, and the map need be consulted no longer.

  Thorne had been silent since he'd taken up the pole to propel the pirogue forward, and she sensed an air of sadness about him. Was it the knowledge of the old man's death that caused him to be so? she wondered.

  "Are you thinking about the old man?" she asked quietly.

  "Yes," he confessed. "It's a damn shame Eulalie wasn't with him at the end."

  "Yes," she agreed. "It is sad. I hope she doesn't blame herself too much for being away."

  His lips twisted wryly. "I suspect she won't overburden herself with guilt."

  "What makes you say that?" she asked.

  "A woman who would stoop to blackmail probably has no trouble with her conscience."

  "Don't judge her too harshly, Thorne. It must have been hard on her, knowing that she was forced to clean houses for a living when her father was a rich man."

  "Yes. I imagine it was hard on her. Although I found no problem with earning my own living."

  "You're a man," she quickly rebuked. "Society has a place for a working man. But it's harder for a woman to find work."

  "You've supported yourself for years, Rainey. And your grandfather, as well."

  "I was in the mountains then. Things are different there. You know that. And earning our bread wasn't all that easy there, either. We had next to nothing. You know that as well as I do."

  "You were happy enough, though."

  "Yes. I was happy." After you came, she could have added, but didn't. Instead, she looked out across the water. "Perhaps education is not such a good thing for some people, Thorne. I had no idea what the world was like then. But now I know there's more to life than following a bee line. Sometimes knowledge isn't such a good thing."

  "Do you think you'll be unhappy when you return to the mountains," he asked gently. "Can you go back to the simple things in life without a feeling of regret for what you never had?"

  If that life was with you, she thought. I would be happy anywhere, whatever the circumstances, if we were together. But she didn't speak the words aloud, did not dare, lest he feel obliged to make her promises he couldn't keep.

  Realizing he was still waiting for her answer, she said, "I've grown up since leaving the mountains, Thorne. I was a child then, eagerly reaching out for what I couldn't have. Now I see how wrong I was."

  And she had been wrong. And selfish. Her head had been turned by Robert Golden's outward appearance and she'd been determined to have him whatever the cost. And all the while there had been Thorne, a man who'd proven his worth many times over in the years past. How could she not see him for what he was? she wondered.

  Thorne. Oh, God, how she loved him.

  Rainey tried to envision her life without Thorne, and tears misted her eyes. He looked at her then, saw her expression and said, "Does the thought of returning to that existence make you so sad, Rainey?"

  She gave him a weak smile. "No. I'm just being silly." "You're still worrying about the old man, aren't you?

  You don't have to, you know. He's at peace now."

  "I know." She was glad he hadn't guessed her thoughts. "Gustave's with his wife and daughter. It's Eulalie we need to worry about now." She felt a sense of frustration at not being able to locate Eulalie and knew that Thorne must feel it, too.

  "We're bound to find her soon," Thorne said. "Her grandfather said she was working for one of the wealthy families in New Orleans. All we have to do is check with each one of them until we locate her."

  "That could be time consuming," she replied. "We've been in New Orleans for several days now, and there is still so much of it that we haven't seen."

  "Even so, we'll find her. It might take longer than we originally thought, but someone is bound to know where she is. And we'll find that someone, eventually."

  "I hope we find her before she returns to the bayou to visit her grandfather," Rainey said. "I hate to think of her going there and worrying about him not being there." She gave the man beside her a speaking look. "We don't know exactly when she'll be going there, Thorne. We might miss her." She frowned worriedly. "Do you think she's in the habit of visiting the graveyard? It would be awful for her if she found out that way . . . by seeing a new grave in that little glade."

  "She would have no way of knowing the new grave belonged to her grandfather. There is no name on the marker."

  "I know that,” she replied softly. “But Eulalie would have to be a half-wit not to guess the truth about that grave. She'll take one look at the freshly dug earth and know immediately who is buried in it."

  "Then we'll just have to make sure she doesn't stumble over the grave," he said. "If we don't find her within the next few days, then we'll hire the pirogue again and make the trip into the bayou. We could wait in the cabin for her to show up."

  They fell silent then, each busy with private thoughts, and that silence lasted throughout the return journey to New Orleans. As they drew up beside the dock, Sam Sheppard, owner and operator of the Riverside General Store, left his store and tied the pirogue to one of the poles that supported the floating platform.

  "Did you find the old man?" he asked.

  "Yes," Thorne replied grimly. "We found him."

  "Thought you would." Sam grinned and bit off a chaw of tobacco. "I draw a good map, even if I do say so myself. Of course if you'd been going to the Devon place it would of been harder to make a map. There's too many turns and twists to remember every one of them. And too many canals branching off from the main one . . . not like the straight shot you had to old man Larson's place. That was a straight course mostly, except for that one turn from the main channel and-“ He broke off when Thorne handed him his money, obviously realizing for the first time that neither of them had much to say. "Hope everything was all right with the old man," he said, taking the money and stuffing it in his trouser pocket. "He's a nice old coot, not squirrely like some of them Cajuns that live back in the bayous."

  He was counting out change when Thorne stopped him with a wave of the hand. "Keep it," he said. "It was kind of you to watch the carriage while we were gone."

  "Didn't mind that one bit," the man said, tilting his hat farther back on his head. "Good luck to you folks. And if I can be of any more help, be sure and come around."

  "There is one thing," Thorne said, turning back to him. "About Gustave's granddaughter . . . Eulalie . . . the old man told us she was working in one of the big houses here, but he didn't seem to know which one. You wouldn't know, would you?"

  "No." Sam Sheppard frowned at Thorne. "She's a mighty nice girl, that one. Real quiet, though. Not snooty, mind you. Just quiet, as though she don't have nothing to say. Keeps herself to herself. Know what I mean? Don't think she's ever said more'n two words to me that didn't need to be said. I don't ask questions, though. I figure if folks want to tell me their business, then they'll do it without me asking questions. She's been a good granddaughter to him . . . the old man. Comes along-regular as clockwork--once every couple of weeks, carrying a box of supplies for the old man. Not m
any young'uns these days are so generous with their time. Especially when it takes most of the day to get there and back."

  "No, I imagine not," Thorne said gruffly. "Thanks again."

  Rainey was aware of Sheppard watching them leave. And when they were out of hearing, she asked the question that had been bothering her. "Why didn't you tell him about Gustave?"

  "Because he might tell Eulalie when she showed up and she would have no need to go to the house in the bayou. If our search proves fruitless, her visit to her grandfather may be our only way of finding her."

  "But someone has to know about him,'' she protested.

  “I'm aware of that. I'll go to the police station after I leave you at the hotel," he said. "And there's every possibility they may know something about Eulalie's whereabouts. It certainly won't hurt to inquire."

  He left her alone then, and Rainey, restless for some reason, crossed to the window. The room overlooked a small courtyard, where there was a profusion of growing things. She recognized wisteria and hibiscus, could smell their fragrance, and suddenly she felt a yearning to see the mountains again, to race along the ridge with the wind in her hair. She imagined herself there, searching the sky for the small insect that flew in a straight line toward its hive. She'd enjoyed the pursuit enormously, but would she ever enjoy such pursuits again? Now that she'd seen the wonders of another world? Would she be able to go back to the hills without regret, to a life where things would be so drastically changed now that she’d seen how large the world actually was?

  The cabin that had been large enough for Grandpa and herself would be too small for five people. And George Watson would never consent to living elsewhere. Oh, God! She couldn't return to the cabin and share it with those god-awful boys of Sadie's. But what else could she do? Her place in life was gone now. She belonged nowhere.

  After Thorne left Rainey he made his way to the police station. The sergeant in charge-when presented with Thorne's credentials­ was sufficiently impressed to take Thorne to his superior.