Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy

by Deborah Epperson

  He nodded. “She were a good woman. Gave me four peach fried pies once. Peach is my favorite.”

  Jax’s sudden appearance surprised her. The Boudreaux family kept mostly to themselves, especially Jax, the youngest of the clan. Rumor had it his mother was a quadroon, meaning she was one-fourth Negro, the offspring of a mulatto voodoo priestess from New Orleans and a white sailor. Elita understood how a person of mixed blood would shy away from some of the townsfolk, if you’d call LaSalle, Louisiana, with its population of 682 souls, a town.

  Having grown up in Louisiana during the ‘50s and early ‘60s, Elita recalled that the public water fountains, restrooms, and doors into the town’s only grocery store had signs hanging over them that read Whites Only or Colored. She figured if people were only one-eighth Negro like Jax, they’d be considered white. But it didn’t work that way in the Deep South. If you carried any Negro blood, you were viewed to be a Colored, arithmetic be damned. After the passage of the Civil Rights Act in ’64, the signs came down. But signs are easier changed than minds.

  Jax’s older half-brother, Luther, shared the same daddy, but not the same mother. Thus, Luther was viewed as being white. Nobody paid him much mind unless they wanted to hear the latest gossip or buy a mess of catfish for supper. Uncle Matt claimed Luther’s two talents in life were spreading rumors and catching fish.

  “What brings you to Tadpole Island, Jax? You got trotlines set out around here?”

  He shook his head. “The Caddo talks to me. She told me you were here.”

  “I wish she’d talk to me and tell me how I got lost.”

  “The Caddo’s mad at you cause you and your ma up and left her.”

  Elita didn’t mean to laugh. She did that sometimes when she got nervous.

  Jax’s face darkened. “It’s not funny, Girl. The Caddo can be real hurtful to those who upset her. You should know that better than most.”

  His insinuation was less than subtle.

  “My daddy loved this place. His death was an accident, pure and simple.”

  “There ain't no accidents in the Caddo.” Jax studied the sky. “Dark’s coming on fast. The loup-garou will be prowling soon.”

  She hadn’t heard the term loup-garou since leaving the Caddo, but every child raised on the bayou knew about them. Some folks called them werewolves, while others referred to them as rougarous or shapeshifters. Half-human, half-wolf. Whatever the term, they were the most feared of all the creatures rumored to haunt the swamps of Louisiana. Like the werewolf, a loup-garou couldn’t be killed with regular bullets. And when one bit you and tasted your blood, you became one of them.

  Even as a child, Elita had never believed in the tales of the Cajun werewolf. Still, the thought of navigating the bayous alone at night made her feel uneasy.

  “You’d best come with me, Girl, before the loup-garou finds you here.”

  Dammit. She’d only been home a week and already managed to get herself into a bind reminiscent of her early teenage years spent on the Caddo. Why hadn’t she listened to Nettie? Her father had spoken the truth—Elita was jackass stubborn. She was also a twenty-two-year-old educated woman who wouldn’t be intimidated by ancient tales of imaginary swamp monsters. But Shotgun Jax and the alligators that navigated the murky waters of Caddo Lake were not fantasy.

  In her haste to make it to Moccasin Bayou, she’d forgotten to get a lantern or a flashlight. Alligators didn’t worry her in the daylight, but at night they could be mistaken for a submerged log. In the dark, she might paddle right over the top of a gator. An angry alligator could flip a pirogue over with one swish of its mighty tail.

  “We need to git.” He glanced around the clearing. “We need to leave before it’s too late.”

  Jax’s nervousness was catching. You’d think an anxious man holding a gun would be worrisome enough, but no. Her annoyingly inquisitive brain kept wondering what could make a man who knew the Caddo as well as Jax did, a man protected by a double-barreled and no doubt loaded shotgun, so anxious.

  She decided to take her chances with the gators. “I can’t leave my grandpa’s pirogue here, so I’ll just drift on home before it gets good dark. It was nice seeing—”

  “Be quiet, Girl!” Jax took a couple of steps toward the lake. “You hear that?”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “That’s cause the Caddo won’t talk to you, but I hear. He’ll be here . . . soon.”

  Elita’s scalp tingled, never a good sign. She’d almost decided Jax was hallucinating when she heard the sound of a boat motor.

  “A Mercury engine. 135 horsepower.” Jax shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come here, Girl. You shouldn’t have come.” He stomped off toward the woods.

  She watched Jax’s retreat until the underbrush and fading light swallowed him. The precariousness of the situation settled in her chest. Alone, Elita would face the menace that had sent Jax and his shotgun fleeing. Her mind swirled. Should she jump in the pirogue and paddle as fast as possible toward Rat Snake Slough? She couldn’t out-paddle a motorboat, so she might as well get ready for the unknown coming around the west end of the island.

  Elita picked up a sturdy limb. Her father had dubbed her Warrior Girl of the Caddo for a reason. This would not be her first fight. A swift kick where it’d do the most good, followed with a sharp blow to the face always sent the meanest school bully running for home. The groin and nose would be her first targets.

  That fighting spirit of her youth fueled her resolve as the sound of the motor grew louder. The Caddo was Dupree country, the home of her ancestors. She’d never let anyone or anything intimidate her before and dammit, she wasn’t going to change that today!

  The reflection of the setting sun blocked a clear view of the boat. As he approached the island, the driver cut his engine. Elita held the stick behind her back, shaded her eyes with her other hand and tried to identify the man coming ashore. He wore sunglasses and a tan cap that shadowed the upper half of his face.

  He stopped fifteen feet from her. “Saw your pirogue and knew I’d find you here, lost as a goose.”

  “I’m not lost.”

  “Really? I heard you were going to Moccasin Bayou. In case you’ve forgotten, this is Tadpole Island.”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything, smart-aleck. I needed to rest my arms a spell. Been awhile since I paddled a pirogue.”

  He pushed back his cap, slipped his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and grinned. “You’re as bad a liar now as you were five years ago and just as crazy.”

  She shook the stick at him. “Maybe, but I can still beat the devil out of you if I want to.”

  He laughed, stepped closer and held out his arms.

  Elita dropped the stick and ran to him, practically knocking him down as she jumped into his embrace. Her arms locked around his neck. “Where the hell have you been, Royce Sutton?”

  He pulled her close. “I’d have been here sooner if I’d known you’d come home, Cricket.”

  “You remember the nickname you gave me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Your hair is still black, and I’d wager you can still out talk an auctioneer when you’ve got something on your mind.”

  Elita pushed a lock of light brown hair off his forehead. He had the same strong jaw, perfect teeth and blue eyes. But the physique of the lanky six-footer who’d captured her teenage heart and innocence had changed. The slender arms and gangly legs of a teenager had developed into firm biceps and hardened thigh muscles that pressed against the thin cloth of his slacks. At twenty-four, Royce Sutton was definitely a man full grown, and more handsome than she’d remembered.

  Royce released her and stepped back. “Let me get a good look at you.” The smile on his face grew. “Nettie said you’d developed well.”

  “She said no such thing. Nettie doesn’t talk so vulgar.”

  “That’s true, but she said you’d grown into a beautiful young woman, as beautiful as your mother.” His face turned somber. “I’m sorry about yo
ur loss. You know I’d have been here if—”

  “If Dorothea had told you. It’s clear she hasn’t changed her feelings about me.”

  “When I got in, I went by the house and Nettie told me you’d headed out to Moccasin Bayou alone. I didn’t change clothes, much less speak to Mother. I wanted to find you before dark. When I see her, I’ll have a few choice words for her.”

  “You’re here now, that’s what counts. But you didn’t have to come. I can still take care of myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Elita. Just the same, let me take you home. It’ll be dark soon anyway.”

  “Okay. After all, I don’t want to get bitten by the loup-garou my first week back.”

  “What made you think of that silly yarn?”

  “Jax Boudreau was just here. He said I’d better go or the loup-garou would get me.”

  Royce glanced around the clearing. “Where is he now?”

  “He left when he heard your boat motor. Why?”

  “That’s another good reason why you shouldn’t come out here alone. There’re too many crazies around here nowadays.”

  “Jax isn’t crazy. A little slow maybe, but I’m not afraid of him.”

  He tugged one of her long curls. “That’s the problem, Elita. You’ve never been afraid of anyone or anything, even when you should’ve been.”

  “You worried enough for both of us.”

  “Grab a rope and I’ll tie your pirogue to the back.”

  She climbed aboard Royce’s boat and tossed a rope to him. “By the way, what kind of motor does this thing have?”

  “It’s a Mercury engine, 135 horsepower. Why?”

  “Just curious.” Elita scanned the woods, for what she wasn’t sure. Across the clearing, six cattle egrets perched in a dead tree. They watched her like milk-white vultures eyeballing their supper. All at once, the egrets took flight, their three-foot wingspans silhouetted against a darkening sky. Dozens of smaller birds joined the exodus.

  Royce pushed the boat off the sand bar and hopped in. “What frightened them?”

  “I don’t know.” She surveyed the woods once more, but saw no signs of life. Still, the feeling of being watched lingered.

  He started the engine. “Let’s not stick around to find out. Okay?”

  For once, he got no argument from her.

  * * *

  It was after dark by the time they tied up at what Dorothea referred to as the Sutton’s little cabin on the lake. This cabin consisted of four bedrooms, three baths, and a kitchen with every modern convenience imaginable. In addition to a double garage, several patios, and a workshop, the property included a pool, dock, and a three-stall boathouse for his ski and bass boats, and Elita’s favorite, his cabin cruiser.

  Elita stood on the patio listening to the nocturnal symphony, a Caddo ritual led by a chorus of barred owls and crickets. Near the water’s edge, a family of bullfrogs added the bass. The blended sounds grew louder, then softened. Just as the recital ended, some bayou songster kicked off another verse that swelled to a passionate pitch before subsiding again. Amplified by the water, the critters’ concerto would continue all night.

  Royce returned with their drinks. “I hope you like Chablis.”

  “Love it.” She picked up a glass.

  “How long are you staying, Elita?”

  “Until the end of summer.”

  On the trip in, they had exchanged abbreviated histories of their lives over the past five years. Elita told him about her job and her plans to become a pharmacist. He spoke briefly about his stint in the Army and of his present position as vice president of Sutton Oil. He didn’t mention Vietnam, medical school, or his late father, except to say he’d died of a heart attack the previous summer.

  Elita wanted to ask Royce why he dropped out of medical school and about his cancelled engagement. But, she decided to bide her time.

  “Why did you stop writing to me?” he asked in a soft, pained voice.

  “You were getting married. I didn’t think your wife would appreciate you corresponding with another woman, especially one you’d been intimate with.”

  “If you’d read my last five letters instead of sending them back unopened, you’d have known the wedding was canceled.”

  Her fingers tightened around the back of a wrought iron chair. “If you’d come to visit me like you promised, you could’ve told me in person.”

  “You know I took extra classes so I could finish college early.”

  “I know you said you were coming to see me, but never did. It’s not like you didn’t have the money to fly up for a weekend now and then.” She slapped at a mosquito. “Why didn’t you keep your promise?”

  Royce gulped down his drink. “The mosquitoes are bad tonight. Let’s go in.”

  Changing the subject—his classic ploy for ignoring questions, especially the hard ones. At least that habit hadn’t changed, she thought.

  Once inside, Royce poured another glass of wine. “Want a refill?”

  She jerked the patio door closed. “I want an answer to my question.”

  He lowered his gaze. “What difference does it make now?” Royce downed half his wine. “Why were you so adamant about going to Moccasin Bayou?”

  “It’s something I need to do. My mind is filled with questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  Elita stood by the patio doors, staring out at the darkening bayou. “Is it possible to love and hate something or someone at the same time?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Sometimes, I look at the Caddo and I want to wrap her beauty and serenity around me like a quilt. An old, granny-made quilt, that’s warm and soft, and at places almost worn through from where it has wrapped the ones I love in its cotton arms.” She took a sip of wine. “At other times, I can’t stand to look at her. When I think of what she’s stolen from me, I want to destroy her, to drain all the life from her like she drained it from my daddy.”

  “It’s not good for you to feel that way, Elita. The Caddo is what she is. Neither good nor bad. You can’t blame her for the actions of those of us who use her.”

  “Then who can I blame? My daddy?”

  Royce shrugged.

  “It’s my feelings about him that confuse me the most.” She walked over to the picture window. “I remember everything about him. The way he smelled of Barbasol blended with chicory every morning when he woke me up. The way he’d hold his coffee cup close to his mouth and blow on it to cool it, stopping now and then to sniff the aroma of the breakfast Mama was cooking.” She took another sip of wine. “More mornings than not, Daddy would wink at me over his coffee cup and say, ‘I could sure use your help checking my trotlines today, Elita.’ I’d chime right in offering my services, but Mama would remind him it was a school day. Daddy would grin and say, ‘Elita’s smart enough. Besides, the Caddo can teach her everything she needs to know about life. Ain’t that right, Baby Girl?’ And of course, I’d agree and start begging Mama to let me skip school.”

  Royce joined her. “What would your mother say to that?”

  “She’d set Daddy’s plate in front of him and say, ‘Yancy Dupree, if you don’t stop stirring Elita up, I’m going to tie both your tails together and throw you over the clothesline.’ Then we’d all laugh.”

  “I recall her threatening to do the same thing to us on numerous occasions.” Royce sucked in a deep breath, blew it out. “At least you have good memories of your father.”

  Elita laid her hand on his arm. “I know you and your dad never got along.”

  “None of that matters anymore. He’s dead. And now I’m doing exactly what he wanted me to do—working for my family’s company.” Royce squared his shoulders. “Maybe the old coot would be proud of me now.”

  “Why did you go to work for Sutton Oil when you swore you never would?”

  “I graduated college and did a year of medical school before joining the Army.” He strolled over to the liquor cabinet and opened t
he door. “When I got discharged, I came home and went to work for my old man as everyone expected.”

  “I didn’t expect that. Becoming a doctor was your dream.”

  “I was stupid back then.” Royce set a glass on the bar and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  Elita went to him, yanked the whiskey bottle out of his hand. “You were not stupid. Don’t you remember the camp house we built out of pine saplings on Duck Island? We lined the walls with old curtains so if Cliff and his friends found us, they couldn’t peek through the cracks and see us studying.”

  “Studying? You still call what we did studying?”

  “In the beginning. You needed to learn the parts of the body so you could be a good doctor one day. You studied the pictures in those biology books and then found the parts on us. You—”

  “I was a teenage boy and you were a pretty girl. The books were excuses to talk you into taking off your clothes and letting me mess around.”

  “That’s a damn lie.” Elita jammed the whiskey bottle back into the cabinet and slammed the door shut. “You planned on being the best doctor in the whole world and I helped you study.”

  “Come on, Elita. You might have been that naive back then, but you’re old enough now to know better.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. “Don’t do this to me, Royce. Don’t you dare make what we shared sound dirty and trivial.”

  “We did what teenagers do. It wasn’t good or bad, it was nature taking its course.”

  “Dammit, Royce! Stop trying to take away my good memories of us,” she said, hating the quiver in her voice. “They’re all I have left to believe in.”

  “You have your recollections of your family and of your father.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to explain. The possibility that Daddy might’ve committed suicide taints all my thoughts of him, making them appear more like dark shadows of home than happy memories.” Her hands balled into fists. Fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. “Sometimes I wonder if he purposely left Mama and me alone and in pain because he was too weak to bear his guilt over Ricky’s death. At those times, I hate him. I purely hate him.”