"Pierre needs you desperately, Mommy. If you're here, please call to us. Please!"
There was only the echo of my voice followed by silence. We returned to what had been my mother's bedroom. The bed had no linen, but there were still pillows and a mattress. Both of us ran our light beams over the floors and walls, even under the bed, but we saw no one and no evidence of anyone having been here recently.
"Maybe I just imagined the candle," Jack said woefully, "and brought you up here on false hope. The swamps play havoc with your senses sometimes. You ever see a flash of swamp gas?"
"No."
"It ignites and rolls across the water's surface like balls of lightning," he said. "It happens so quickly you're not sure whether or not you imagined it."
"I think I saw something like that when I drove up to the house. I don't really remember much at all about the bayou; I was just a little girl when I left. It sounds fascinating."
"I wouldn't want to live anywhere else," he said. "Don't mean any disrespect, but as you know, I'm not one for city life."
I smiled for the first time in hours, but I wasn't sure he could see in the dark.
"Well," he said after a moment, "you're welcome to come back to the trailer with me. I can make us something cold to drink. I got some watermelon in the fridge, too," he added. "Unless you're too tired."
I had been so excited and nervous, I never realized the lateness of the hour or the weariness in my body. Now that we had paused for a while, my legs did feel heavy, and fatigue began to climb up as if I had stepped into a pool of it.
"I'm okay," I said. "Just a little tired."
"What are your plans?" he asked. "You don't want to just turn around and drive back, do you?"
"Oh, no. I'm going to stay here," I said, gazing around.
"Stay here? You mean, in the house?"
"Yes. If my mother was here, she might come back, and if she's hiding, she might finally show herself. I don't know what else to do."
"But this is an empty house. Don't you have any relatives or friends to stay with? I mean, there are probably all sorts of creatures living in here by now, including spiders and snakes and—"
"Don't!" I said. "You're scaring me, and I have to stay here."
"I'm sorry," he said, seeing my determination. "If you're positive you want to do this . . ."
"Yes."
"Okay. Let's go back to the trailer. I’ll dig out some food and get us some blankets," he said.
"Us?"
"Well, you don't think I'm going to let you stay here by yourself, do you? I wouldn't catch a wink of sleep lying back there in my trailer, worrying about you here," he said. "I mean, that candle could have been used by a prowler."
"You don't have to stay here. I'll be all right," I said, but my legs were shaking and my knees knocking.
"I told you, I take care of your oil well, and I'll take care of you," he said firmly.
I smiled in the darkness, grateful for his generosity and concern. "Thank you," I said.
"No thanks required. Let's go get what we need," he said, and we left the house.
The cold watermelon was refreshing. After I had eaten some, I used the bathroom while Jack gathered the bedding and a kerosene lamp. Then we returned to the house.
"Where do you want to camp?" he asked after we entered and stood gazing into the dark.
"Upstairs," I said. "My mother's old bedroom." The glow from the kerosene lamp cast pools of dull yellow light over the walls as we climbed the stairs.
Our shadows spilled behind us down the steps and over the entryway. Jack saw where my attention had gone and laughed. He lifted the lamp making the shadows change their shapes and sizes.
"We're gigantic," he said. "We'll scare away any ghosts that might dwell in these crannies."
"Do you believe in ghosts, Jack?" I asked him. "Sure. I've seen them occasionally."
"Stop," I said.
"No. I have." He paused at the landing and turned to me. "In the swamp at night, floating over the water. Indian ghosts, I'm sure."
"Maybe it was just that swamp gas you described," I told him.
"You don't believe in spiritual things?"
"I believe in God, but not in goblins and ghosts and voodoo spirits. I'm a scientist," I said. "I believe there's a logical cause and a logical reason for every-thing. We might not know it yet, but there is."
"Okay," he said with a small, smug smile on his lips.
"You think I'll be proven wrong?"
"Don't know. I just know what I've seen," he said confidently and continued to the bedroom.
When we entered with the brighter light from the kerosene lamp, the room looked larger. When Jack started to put the lantern down on the vanity table, I spotted something on the bed.
"Wait!" I cried. "Bring the lantern closer to the bed."
He followed me. We both stared down between the two pillows.
"What the heck is that?" Jack asked. "I didn't see it before, did you?"
"No." I reached for it slowly. "It's a mojo," I said.
"A what?"
"The leg bone of a black cat that's been killed exactly at midnight. Powerful gris-gris," I told him. "My mother was definitely here! Either we didn't see this when we were here before or she came back after we left to go to the trailer."
When I turned around, Jack was standing there with his mouth open. "Leg of a black cat?"
"My mother's old cook gave her this mojo. She was the woman who died and came back with the warning my mother never got because she was at a party celebrating her new art exhibit. That's one of the reasons she blames herself for what happened to Jean," I explained.
Jack gazed at me as if I were crazy. "This woman died and came back?"
"I don't really believe any of this," I said. "I told you my mother's having some sort of emotional breakdown."
He nodded and then looked around the room. "Sure you want to stay here?" he asked again, a little tremor in his voice now.
"Positive. My mother might return."
"But what if she's off doing something weird someplace else?" he asked.
"The only way to be sure is to stay here and wait," I said, more determined than ever. He sensed the resolution in my voice and stopped trying to talk me out of staying.
"Okay. You want to sleep on that mattress? It's a little dusty, but if I put this blanket over it and this one over the pillow . . ."
"That'll be fine," I said. "Thank you."
"I'll fix myself a spot over there," he said, nodding toward the settee.
He prepared my bed and then went to prepare his own, placing the kerosene lamp between us.
"You all right?" he asked, after sprawling out.
"Yes," I said. "It's really nice of you to help me like this."
"No problem."
"How old are your two sisters?" I asked. Now that I was lying down in Mommy's old bedroom in the empty mansion and the darkness had closed in around us, I felt the need to keep talking. Besides, I was interested in Jack's life.
"Daisy's twenty-two and Suzanne is twenty-nine. She's married with two kids, a boy, three, and a girl, four. Her husband runs a canning plant."
"What's Daisy doing?"
"She just finished college in Baton Rouge and got engaged. She's getting married in two months to a fellow over in Prairie. His family has a furniture business. They met at college."
"Did you go to college?" I asked.
"Me? No," he said. "I barely finished high school before I went to work with my father on the rigs."
"You said you were working when you were twelve."
"I was, but I couldn't collect a salary yet. How did you remember I said that?"
"I just did," I said quickly, happy he couldn't see me blush.
"No, I got my schooling on the job," he said. "I read a lot, though. We have lots of time to ourselves." "What do you like to read?"
"Mostly about nature. The other guys call me Einstein because I always have my nose in a fat book.
I think it's great that you want to become a doctor. 'Course, I've never been to a real doctor, just a traiteur lady."
"My great-grandmother was a traiteur."
"I know. She's kind of a legend around here. You got magic in your hands, too? Oh, I forgot, you don't believe in anything that isn't logical." He laughed.
"Sometimes people get better because they believe so strongly in someone. That's logical," I said.
He was quiet a moment. "I guess it is. You're pretty smart, huh?"
"I get good grades."
"How good?"
"Good enough to be valedictorian of my class," I said.
"No! Really? I thought so," he said. "You just look smart, but I wasn't sure."
"Why not?" I asked laughing.
"Well," he said slowly, "the only smart girls I ever knew were . . ."
"Were what?"
"Not ugly, but not very pretty," he said.
There was a long moment of silence between us, neither of us knowing exactly what to say. Finally I spoke.
"That's silly, Jack. Looks have nothing to do with mental abilities."
"You're right," he said. "I'm just babbling. Tired, I suppose."
"We should sleep," I agreed. "Good night, Jack. Thanks again."
"Night," he said. "You want the lamp on or off?" "On, I think."
He paused and then said, "Not logical."
I had to laugh aloud. "You're a very nice person, Jack. I'm glad you're the one who's looking after my well."
"Thanks," he said. "Pearl?"
"Yes?"
"What did you do with that cat bone?"
"It's still here on the bed," I said. "That's where my mother wanted it."
He was quiet. The wind wove its way through the openings in the house and in and out of rooms below us, sometimes making a whistling sound. Walls creaked, and a loose shutter tapped monotonously against a window frame somewhere. I thought I heard the sound of flapping wings and imagined bats had inhabited the rafters, but I knew they weren't dangerous.
It had been a long, emotional night. Now that I was lying down, my body felt as if it would sink into the mattress. I tried to stay awake to listen for footsteps or the sound of my mother's voice, but before I knew it, I was in a deep sleep.
I sank into dreams filled with the faces of people I had met in the bayou. I imagined the people in the shack who gave me directions, and I dreamed they were outside. They had followed me to Cypress Woods and were muttering to themselves in the shadows. They drew closer and closer and entered the house. They were all coming up the stairs, the woman with the rolling pin arms leading them and the children all following behind. I saw them enter the bedroom and sensed them around me. Their eyes were big, and their faces were liquid, changing from round to oval to round again.
And then I felt a hand on my cheek. It was too real to be in a dream, but I couldn't open my eyes. I moaned and struggled against the invisible bonds that bound me. I tried to open my mouth, but my jaw was locked. I gagged on my tongue and exerted all my strength to get my mouth open. Finally my lips parted and I screamed.
Jack was at my side in moments. I sat up and threw my arms around him.
"What happened? What's wrong? Pearl?" He held me tightly, and I locked my arms over his strong, secure shoulders.
"Just hold me," I pleaded. "Just hold me."
"It's all right," he said, gently brushing my hair, first with his hand and then with his lips. "You're safe. It's all right."
I tried to swallow. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure Jack felt the thump in his chest, too.
"You poor girl," he said. "Damn this bad luck. Damn it."
His lips moved to my forehead. I closed my eyes, welcoming the warm affection and comfort, bathing in his touch. He continued to kiss me, moving his lips down to my closed eyes and then my lips. I didn't resist. We kissed long, but gently. And then he pulled back.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."
"It's all right," I said and sighed as he eased his embrace. I lay back.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I felt a hand on my cheek."
"Just a dream, I suppose. I was having nightmares myself," he added. He held my hand. "You all right now?"
"Yes, thank you."
"I don't want you to think I was taking advantage of you or anything. I . ."
"I'm glad you kissed me, Jack."
"You are?"
"Yes. It was very comforting."
"Good," he said. "Well . . . should we try to sleep again?"
"I'm sorry. I know you have to get up early and work."
"I'll be fine," he said. He stared down at me a moment longer and then started to rise, but hesitated, turned, and leaned down to kiss me again. "Just to be sure," he whispered. I saw his small smile and felt the warmest tingle travel through my breasts to my heart.
I actually was sorry when he rose and returned to the settee. I heard him settle in, and then I turned to look at him. For a moment we just stared at each other through the dim light of the kerosene lamp.
"Night," he whispered.
"Good night."
I turned over and thought for a moment before I realized why I was suddenly anxious. I patted the bed and searched with my hand.
Jack heard me moving about. "What is it, Pearl?"
"Jack," I said. "The mojo."
"What about it?"
"It's gone!"
12
Hatred Is as Slow as Poison
If Mommy was in the house during the night, she was gone or well hidden by morning. Jack and I searched the studio, the kitchen, and even the pantries more vigorously than we had the first time, but there was no sign of her, and she didn't respond to my continuous calling and pleading for her to show herself.
"She's just not here," Jack finally said. "She must have gone someplace else during the night. Do you have any other ideas where she might go?"
"The only people I know are my aunt Jeanne and uncle James. My mother likes Aunt Jeanne. They've stayed in touch all these years."
"Maybe she finally went there, then. We can call them," Jack suggested.
"I'll just go see them," I said. "But I do want to call Daddy first."
"And you should eat some breakfast. You're running on an empty tank."
"I'll go into town and—"
"No, you won't. Let's go to the trailer," he insisted.
Most of the other riggers had already arrived by the time we drove over to the trailer. Heads spun and eyes widened when we got out of my car.
"Pick up a new helper, Jack?" someone shouted, and the others laughed.
"Just ignore them," Jack mumbled, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his head stiff.
When we entered the trailer, Bart LaCroix, the foreman, looked up from the small kitchen table where he was having coffee and a cruller. There was another rigger with him, a man about his age, only taller with a full head of dark brown curly hair.
"What's this?" Bart asked, surprised to see me.
"Mademoiselle Andreas has returned to continue her search for her mother," Jack explained. "It looks as if her mother was here during the night."
"Don't say. During the night? This ain't a place to be wandering around during the night."
"No one's wandering around," Jack retorted.
Bart grunted, gulped some coffee, and gobbled the rest of his cruller. "Billy says we're having a problem with the pump jack on thirty-three. Stop by and give it a look-see, hear?"
"Right. How about some coffee, Pearl?" Jack asked.
"Thank you," I said. The taller man stood up and pulled a chair away from the table for me. "Thank you."
"Your father here, too?" Bart asked.
"No, monsieur."
Bart raised his eyebrows and then looked at the other man, who stood waiting for an introduction. "Oh, Lefty, this here is Mademoiselle Andreas. Pearl. Number twenty-two."
"Number twenty-two? Oh," Lefty said, impressed. I sat down.
"How about
a cruller?" Bart offered. "Picked 'em up fresh on the way in today. We got a pretty good baker here. Bet he compares favorably with your Café du Monde."
"Thank you," I said and tried one. I smiled and nodded. "He does compare favorably," I said.
"Well, we better get shaking, Lefty. We got oil to pump," he said eyeing Jack, who pretended not to hear as he poured thick, black Cajun coffee. Bart and Lefty put on their helmets and left the trailer.
"You like a little cream with that?" Jack asked nodding at my cup.
"Please. I didn't mean to cause you any embarrassment with your fellow workers," I said.
"Don't think a second time about it," he said firmly. "Most of them are just jealous. I can make you eggs, if you like."
"This is fine for now," I said. "It really is a good cruller."
"How about some orange juice or cereal? I got some cornflakes, I think."
"I'm fine, Jack. Really. Just sit down and drink your own coffee. I don't want to keep you from going to work one more minute," I said.
He smiled and sat down. "Coffee's pretty strong, I know. The men like it that way. Bart says it keeps the hair off his tongue. He used to work with my father," he explained. "He might sound and look gruff, but he's a pussycat. Thinks he has to look .after me."
"It's nice having someone who cares about you," I said, which reminded me of what I had to do. "I have to call my father."
"Go on. Use the phone right there." Jack pointed.
Aubrey answered on the first ring, which immediately sent a chill up my spine. It was as if he'd been waiting right there for my call.
"Monsieur Andreas is asleep, mademoiselle," he said a low voice, obviously not wanting the other servants to overhear his conversation. "He had a slight accident late last night."
"What sort of accident, Aubrey? What happened?" Had Daddy come after me and cracked up his car in that torrential downpour?
"I don't know what time he started up the stairs last night, but he got dizzy and fell, and I'm afraid he broke his right leg just under the knee. It's a small fracture, but the doctor had to set it and apply a cast and give him a painkiller. That's why he's asleep, mademoiselle."
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