by AJ Sikes
“Oh, Eddie? Your man, is he? Well”—the flapper stepped close enough that Emma could smell the cigarette on her breath—”You’ll find him around back, I suspect. But you know that saying about fools rushing in. Best if you just hang there by the door and listen,” the woman suggested, her lips still doing the same serpent’s smile as before.
Emma’s hand shot out before she could stop it. The flapper’s face spun to the side, driven by the slap like a car that’d been slammed into.
One of the toughs at the door stepped inside with a hand hovering over his lapels.
“Miss June, is everything all right?”
The flapper recovered and waved a hand at the doorman. She said it was all right. That and her eyes told Emma she’d won this round.
“Where is he?” Emma asked. “You said out back. Where out back?”
“In the gatehouse,” the flapper said. “But—”
“But what?”
“You don’t want to go out there on your own. He won’t be the same man you know, and it won’t be good for you.”
Emma sniffed at that. “Sister, he’s not the same man I know and from the look of how this place runs, he hasn’t been for a good long time.”
“That’s not what I mean, honey,” the flapper said, her old malice coming back into her voice. “I mean no woman ever goes out there and comes back the same as she was before.”
Emma let that sink in. For a second she thought about heading back to the Vigilance and just flying out of town, anywhere but here in this hellish den of vice she’d wandered into. Then Lisette’s face came to her memory, and Emma’s feet took her out the front door and down the stone walkway that led around the building to the gatehouse by the riverbank.
Heavy dark trees lined the walk and Emma kept to the shadows as best she could. She paused when she heard Eddie’s voice from around the corner of the house. His deep laugh, the laugh that used to make her smile, echoed between the trees like a whispered warning.
Chapter 32
Aiden shuffled up the stairs to his and his ma’s apartment, cradling his left arm with his right and keeping away from the wall in case he slipped and had to fall against it to keep his feet. The way his shoulder hurt, he knew he’d scream if it bumped against anything but air.
He’d gotten away from Mother Bonvivant’s house. Well enough anyway, even if he wasn’t well enough to work for the house mother anymore.
He’d run and kept running, but they’d caught up to him. Two guys from Mother Bonvivant’s krewe rounded a corner in his path, so Aiden had dodged and made for the other side of the street. An alley opened there, and he was sure he’d get away if he could just make it inside.
One thing he’d made sure to do since getting work as a houseboy was learn the streets. Julien had helped him there, and the alley would have given him a maze to hide in. They’d never have caught him if he’d made it inside.
But two more of the house mother’s krewe had come right out of the alley and made straight for him. By the time he’d dodged again, the ones behind him had his arms and soon enough the other pair had his legs, too.
“Little dove tryin’ to fly. Time to clip your fool wings.”
One of them had grabbed his left arm and wrenched it up behind his back hard enough to pop it loose. Aiden had felt a heavy burn shoot straight down his arm and across his chest, a pain like someone had shoved a branding iron against his shoulder and held it there.
The toughs dropped him to the ground and had kicked him a few times in the gut. He’d curled up, holding his good arm against his belly and taking the kicks there. One of them had spit on his face and talked about knocking out some teeth, but another one said they’d done enough, that “Mother Sophie don’t want her little dove thinkin’ she has no use for him.”
“She just say teach this white boy a lesson he don’ forget. We taught him, I’d say. What you say, dove? You learnin’?”
They’d all laughed, and one of them had put a foot into Aiden’s crotch before they left. Aiden had cried and held his lame arm, fighting the urge to move it but feeling like he had to so it would go back where it belonged. Finally he’d struggled to his feet and swallowed hard as he gripped his left arm and pushed it up. A fire like he’d never felt spread across his chest, down his back, and so deep into him that it brought up his dinner.
He’d made it home right about the time he’d usually get there, but with tears still pouring from his eyes. At the top of the stairs, he’d leaned back against the wall so his arm would rest against his body. Then he’d used his good hand to pull his key out from his shirt collar.
It took a few tries to get himself set right, so his bum arm wouldn’t hang wrong and hurt more, but he’d finally got the key in the lock and gently turned the knob with his good hand. With a push from his foot, the door had slowly swung open.
His ma was awake when he came in. And she was dressed, wearing a coat and everything. He wanted to ask her what was what, but she came to him and cradled him against her like she did when he was a little kid. Aiden felt her tears falling on his cheeks, mixing with his own. Even though it felt like his ma was a new person out of the blue, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t like the way she held him. He’d missed it.
Without any words, she ripped a bed sheet and rigged up a sling for Aiden’s arm. Then she went to the little dresser and pulled out a traveling satchel from the bottom drawer.
Aiden’s tear-blurred eyes met his mother’s.
“We’re leaving, Aiden. Now.”
She pulled open the first drawer in the dresser and stuffed their clothing into the satchel. “I’ve been such a fool, Aiden,” she said. “You don’t have to look at me like that. I’m not blaming you.”
Aiden wanted to say something about how it sure sounded like she was blaming him. But before he could get a word up from his throat, she was back at the packing and twice as hard. She went to the sink basin and grabbed up the box of soap chips and a few rags that she stuffed into an old coffee can from a high shelf. Then she leaned on the sink and looked fire at him. Whatever had her acting sweet and kind just then, it looked to be gone now.
“If you’d only found a different job, Aiden. Then He wouldn’t have to test us this way.”
“‘He’ who, Ma? And what kinda test?”
“The Lord,” she said, and some of the fire left her eyes when she said the word. “He’s been testing and testing and testing. And we haven’t been listening. This whole time, and I’ve been such a fool not to see it. I’ve been too worried about the people you’ve been working for.”
“Ma, I . . .” Aiden began, thinking about all the things he wanted to say. But something ate a hole in him. The letter Mr. Brand had had for him, and what he said about Miss Farnsworth needing help. And as soon as her name hit Aiden’s mind, he saw his mother shrieking in fright when Mr. Collins had come into the cabin that day they’d flown into New Orleans.
She wasn’t just afraid of colored folks. Aiden’s ma was terrified of Negroes. She acted like they were the Devil come to earth.
“Did you want to tell me something, Aiden?” she asked, and he felt himself shiver as he leaped out of his memories and back to their little room with her standing there against the sink, still giving him a look that warmed him but felt halfway to burning.
“No, Ma. I-I got nothing to say.”
“Don’t have anything. How many times do I have to remind you, Aiden? Proper speaking will get you where you need to be. But if you keep on talking like a nigger, you’ll—Oh, Aiden . . .” She then shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t you see? This is just another test. For us both. God is testing us, to make sure we know what’s right and what’s wrong.
“When we first landed and that savage stabbed your father’s hand, I thought for sure we’d come down to Hell. But this is just the place of our trials and the only reason we’re here is because we’re not right with the Lord. But we can be, Aiden. We just ha
ve to have faith.”
“Okay, Ma. But I—There’s something . . .” Even as he felt the words forming in his mouth, he knew he’d never get them out. Telling his ma about Mr. Brand and the letters would be about the dumbest thing he could say right now.
“You’re confused, Aiden. I know,” she said, coming forward to kneel in front of him and look up at him. She put her hands on his and looked him in the eye with a goofy smile on her face, like she wasn’t even seeing him. Aiden tried to keep his eyes steady, but he saw something in his ma’s face, and it didn’t shine like anything holy. It glowed behind her eyes, like gold mixed with oil, a swirling mess of everything beautiful turning into nothing but ugly.
“Aiden, it’s all okay now. God has shown us all what we’ve needed to see. It’s okay, Aiden, what those men did to you. God has shown you,” she said, touching his hurt arm gently. Aiden wondered how she knew. He hadn’t said anything about how he got hurt. For a second, he figured maybe she was in on it, like she’d helped those heavies find him and twist his arm out of joint. Aiden opened his mouth to speak, but his ma was right back at it before he got a word up on his tongue.
“This wounding isn’t a reason to fight back. It’s a reason to listen, to hear Him. He’s speaking loudly now, Aiden, because we haven’t been listening. At least not all of us. Your father . . . he dulled his hearing so much he couldn’t listen if he tried. And that’s why he walked out on us to go curl up in the street with the other lost souls.”
That was too far, and Aiden had to say something this time.
“Ma, he didn’t—”
“Didn’t what, Aiden? He didn’t love us enough. Didn’t love himself enough. He’s lost, Aiden. But us, we can be saved.”
“No, Ma. I mean . . . Pa, he didn’t walk out. He got—”
“He got himself into a mess he can’t get out of. That is his trial, Aiden. His burden. But this has been a trial for us, too, for you and me, Aiden. To hear. To listen and to hear. And now this has happened,” she said, touching his shoulder softly again, but making him wince and try to pull away from her just the same. Something wasn’t right with his ma’s eyes.
Something wasn’t right with her at all.
“Ma—?”
“Aiden, don’t speak. Just listen to me. Listen and trust. Have faith, Aiden. We’ve been tested, and this wounding you’ve received, it’s the last trial, Aiden. The last one we’ll ever need to witness. We can leave New Orleans and all these . . . these niggers and their money. We can leave it all behind. We don’t need it anymore.”
Aiden didn’t know what to say to any of it. He thought to tell his ma that Mother Sophie wasn’t a ni— He couldn’t even get the word into his mind let alone his mouth. Before he could think of what he should say, his ma had stood and then took the floor again.
“Do you know how they get that money, Aiden? Do you know what they do to earn it? Oh, you can’t even call it earning,” she said, twisting her mouth into a snarl. Then her mouth went back to the goofy smile she’d had on and she started in on him again. “It’s stealing, Aiden. They’re thieves and pirates, no better than the rum runners in Chicago City.”
“Ma, I . . .”
“Yes, Aiden? What is it, son? Do you need to confess a sin? I can’t give you absolution, but we can go see Father James at the—”
“No!” Aiden shouted, before he knew what he was saying. His ma looked funny at him, like she was scared of him for a second. Then her face twisted sideways and her eyes went dark and angry. “Do you want to stay here, Aiden? Do you want to tell me we should stay here? Well, you can forget it. New Orleans isn’t our town anymore than Chicago City can ever be our town again.
“There are white communities around here. They’re clean and straight, with no krewes fighting one another to own the streets. I’ve been paying a woman I work with downstairs ever since we got here. She says we can stay with her anytime we need to, and she knows people over in Pass Christian who’ll take us in.”
Aiden’s mind spun around what his ma just said. She’d been payin’ a sewing lady? Was that what she’d been doing with his money?
His ma went back to the kitchen and opened the cupboards, removing cans and jars and putting them on the table next to the satchel holding their clothes. She worked like one of them fancy gearboxes on the Metairie mooring deck, all practiced and smooth, almost like she’d planned this and was just waiting for the day to do it, and thinking about it now, Aiden figured that was just what his ma did have planned.
Aiden looked back at the dresser; the small wooden case appeared smaller now that Aiden felt his world crushing into him from all sides. Everything in the room felt distant, removed from touch and sound, vanishing into the distance and threatening to leave even his memory.
“Ma?”
“What?” she asked as she went to the mattress to fold up the blankets. He still hadn’t earned enough to get them a proper bed frame. That was supposed to be his next buy after a visit to the Ghost’s window. But he hadn’t been back to see the Ghost since the last time he saw Julien.
That’s going on two weeks, isn’t it?
Aiden’s mind went in circles as he watched his ma work. She pulled a canvas duffel out from behind the mattress and used it to stow the linens after she folded them up. She stopped halfway as she was stuffing a blanket into the duffel to stare at him.
Aiden wanted to say something, anything . . . but the look in his mother’s eyes made him think twice, and better. He nodded and went to gather up his things. First he pocketed the little knife and other items he kept on the shelf over the mattress.
His ma went on packing things behind him. He heard more cupboards open, and then a sound like splitting wood.
Aiden stole a look out the corner of his eye and saw his ma using a bread knife to pull up a loose floorboard. She reached into the space and lifted out a Derringer. Aiden knew he shouldn’t say anything else, but he couldn’t pretend any longer when he saw his mother holding the tiny pistol.
The krewes carried bigger guns than that, and they did it right out in the open, on the street and anywhere else they wanted to go.
“They’ll get the drop on you, Ma.”
“Just shut up, Aiden. Shut up and get in line for once. For one damned time just do what you should do.”
She tucked the little gun into her coat pocket and went to the kitchen to get the last few jars she’d pulled down from the cupboard.
“Honestly, Aiden, if you hadn’t taken that job with those savages, we wouldn’t be in this mess. You got a job, all right. You got a job and that kept us from going hungry. But you couldn’t even get the right job.”
That rankled him and Aiden found he couldn’t let it go. “C’mon now, Ma, that ain’t fair.”
Aiden’s ears rang with his mother’s words.
“You couldn’t even get the right job.”
But she didn’t know why he’d been beat up. Did she? Aiden couldn’t make head or tail of it now. His ma seemed to know things she shouldn’t and believed stuff he’d never even thought about much less figured his folks had considered.
And she didn’t know about the dead girl. The one a white guy from New York had killed.
He was about to explain it all to his ma when she opened her mouth again and let out just about the worst thing he’d ever heard.
“You’re no better than them now, Aiden. No better than those filthy criminals. We should have just left you with that awful Farnsworth woman in the airship. She could have set you up with a nice little dark girl and then you’d both be happy with your Negroes.” Then, her eyes rounding in anger and fire and hatred, she finished by saying, “And I wouldn’t be here frightened for my life.”
Aiden tried to see his mother underneath all the tears, the rage in her face, but she was gone. Whatever was crawling around behind her eyes had found a way out. All that remained of his mother was a monster. She looked ready to speak again, and Aiden waited for more in
sults, but she just shouldered the duffel full of blankets and lifted the satchel with her other hand.
“I guess I’ll have to carry it all since you’re sitting there with a broken wing,” she said, surprising Aiden. He thought she’d actually cooled down, but it looked like he was wrong.
His mother warned him with a look as Aiden shuffled across the room to open the door. Tears spilled down his cheeks, but he held in the sobs.
She’s been ready for this day all the time. And she didn’t tell me about any of it.
“It’s about time you started listening to your mother,” she said. “It’s a good thing those niggers didn’t get you acting like them, too. I’d have to leave you behind if that was the case.”
Aiden couldn’t believe his ears. His ma looked like she was about to say more, like half of her wanted to drop the bags she carried and come over and sweep Aiden into her arms like she did when he was a boy, like she had when he first came home.
But the other half won, and right then Aiden knew this was the last time he’d see his mother.
Her eyes went dark as could be, and all around her the air shook and filled with wisps of memory and thoughts of fear. Fire licked the night around his ma’s hair, and flaming ghosts danced all about her, wrapping her in shrouds of smoke and oily black rage. His ma’s face went slack, like the part that had been keeping her alive was slowly fading or being sucked out by the ghosts that whipped and swirled around and poured from her mouth.
Her eyes, though. His ma’s eyes stayed firm and focused, beady and dark like black pearls. Whatever gold or beauty he’d seen before was long gone now. His mother’s face twisted around like some kind of monster and she roared at him.
Aiden stood frozen in place, afraid to move and afraid to stay. His mother had become a nightmare he couldn’t escape.
“Get out of my way, boy,” she said and reached a clawed hand for his face. Aiden flinched and shrank away from her, but she stepped closer and set her hands to strike. Her fingernails grew out like knives and aimed straight for his eyes.
