Focus, girl. Let the past go. You’re here now and all that other shit’s done. Celia inhaled a long, deep breath and held it, then released it slowly. Somewhere in the vast house a clock chimed out the hour ten times. She hadn’t realized it’d grown so late or that she was hungry. Hours had passed since she had eaten a chicken sandwich. Her tummy rumbled at the thought of food. Thoughts of her favorite comfort foods—boudin sausage, red beans and rice, and gumbo, increased her appetite. Even a plate of humble rice and gravy held appeal. I may start cooking again, Celia pondered, I might even make some of Mama and Granma’s dishes. She’d lacked time in recent years to do more than simmer a can of soup, sauté a steak with some mushrooms, or throw something in the Crock-pot. Her microwave had become her meal prep buddy. When the urge for down-home Cajun food hit, she’d indulged her yearning at her favorite local restaurant back in Natchitoches or headed home to her mama’s kitchen.
In Angie’s high tech kitchen, Celia rooted in the cupboards and fridge until she found some frozen grilled chicken breasts. It wasn’t what she craved but it would do so she plunked two onto a cookie sheet and turned on the oven. She found a box of dirty rice mix in one cabinet so she followed the package directions for the microwave. Celia poked deeper into the freezer until she found an Asian vegetable blend with thinly-sliced green beans, onions, snow peas, and broccoli. She nuked a serving and by the time she carried her plate into the dining room, she had managed to create a small feast. She ate at the big table, leafing through the notebook, and doing her best to commit all the information to memory. Celia washed down her meal with a glass of sweet tea and returned the notebook to the kitchen.
Tomorrow she would assess the available ingredients and check out the pantry Angie had mentioned along with the rest of the basement. Now, she’d wait for the ranch boss to show up and then she could indulge in the decadent bath she envisioned. To pass the time, she turned on the television and found more channels than she could count. Then she recalled a notation in the notebook about satellite programming. Although not much of one to watch much television , Celia located the remote control and flipped until she found a movie, but after thirty minutes she decided she couldn’t hack any more of it. The vintage chick flick oozed sweet sentimental goo and romance, something Celia no longer believed possible. One early and mercifully brief marriage and a string of bad relationships turned her off the entire hearts, flowers, and love thing. Until her job was eliminated, she’d had an ongoing thing with an anesthesiologist on staff, casual and without commitment. They’d been friends and sometimes lovers, but neither had any starry-eyed expectations of anything more.
But Sid headed back to Dallas to find a new job and Celia remained in Cajun country, although she had no idea why she’d stayed. The life she’d built over the past decade in Natchitoches had unraveled with speed. Most of her friendships were work connected and faded fast when she became one of many unemployed. Until Angie called, Celia had sent her resume far and wide, north to Shreveport and south to New Orleans, without any success. Apparently, social service workers weren’t in high demand.
Too keyed up to read, Celia wandered out onto the front porch to wait for Chuck. The cool air refreshed her and she inhaled a country smell she liked, although it didn’t resemble the bayou aroma in the least. This smelled of wind and water, fresh-cut hay, and distant livestock. It wasn’t rank but a little gamey and the powerful scent of blooming honeysuckle tempered it into something very pleasant. She noticed there wasn’t a yard light in evidence, at least not in front or within view. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Celia noticed the skies were clear and thousands of stars glimmered above. The vast bright panorama made her seem very small and with a childlike wonder she stepped from the porch to gaze upward. A sense of timeless peace pervaded her senses and a calm she hadn’t known in ages filtered down through the silver light of the moon. She imagined taking flight through the stars, winging past the wisps of clouds floating through the sky. God, it would be so free, she thought, free and marvelous.
When approaching headlights sliced through the night, Celia became grounded once more. She retreated to the porch and waited until a beat-up old pickup eased to a halt in the drive. A mature man climbed out, hair half gray, face lined like tooled leather, and approached the porch with a hitch in his step. His night vision must be far better than hers because he spotted her immediately. “Hey, you must be Miss Lecompte,” he said in a voice rough as a gravel road and with the bass sound she associated with bullfrogs. “I’m Chuck.”
“Hi, Chuck,” she said and came to her feet. “Please, call me Celia. Angie said you’d be delivering her keys.”
“Yeah, I got ‘em right here.” He mounted the steps and handed them to her. “You need anything else?”
Celia opened her lips to say “no,” then hesitated when she caught sight of her car. “Well, not tonight, but is there any way I could get some gasoline for my car? It was almost empty when I pulled into the ranch.”
He nodded. “Yeah, sure there is. We’ve got a gas pump behind the main barn for ranch vehicles. I’ll come get it tomorrow morning and fill it up for you, no problem.”
A year to stay in the beautiful, large house, utilities paid, all the food she could eat, plus a salary and gas for her car. Damned if she hadn’t dropped into the middle of an enchanted fairy tale. “That’d be great, thanks,” she said. “Alright,” he said. “Now if you need me, you should have my number up at the bunkhouse. I can be down here in a jiffy if anything goes wrong.”
“I appreciate it, Chuck.”
She headed inside but watched as he drove back down the circular driveway and then off in another direction. Celia jingled the keys. They were heavy in her hand and she noted each one had been color coded as well as tagged. She fingered the one marked “front door” and sorted through the bunch. Unwilling to misplace them, she tucked them into her purse. Then she locked the door and headed for the master bedroom. Her basic discount store luggage didn’t fit the luxurious décor but she unzipped one of the bags to retrieve a nightgown and clean panties. Celia shucked off her clothing onto the floor and headed for the bathroom. She ran the water as hot as she could stand and drew a full bath, adding some scented bath oils to the water before she climbed into the tub.
Instant bliss surrounded her as the heated, fragrant water eased her weary body. The long day would end soon, a day beginning with a final farewell to the apartment she’d called home and a long road trip. Celia reflected on the beauty of the night sky and for the first time thought she might’ve made the right choice coming here. About the time she adjusted, though, the year would end and she’d have to start over somewhere new, but Angie, her cousin and fairy godmother, had gifted her with time to figure it out. And she would…somehow.
Her skin tingled with anticipation and hope, something she’d lost. Now it crept back. Tomorrow she would unpack her suitcases and touch base with her mother about the things she’d stored there. She needed to withdraw her applications and resumes for now, unless she found something close to the ranch. In the morning, she’d head over to Sallisaw and familiarize herself with the layout of the small town. Celia’s mind brimmed with mental lists and plans.
When she crawled beneath the covers of the king-sized bed, drowsiness hit with the force of a windstorm and for the first time in several months, Celia slept. If she dreamed, she remembered nothing but when she woke it was with a renewed sense of purpose and faint stirrings of contentment. She lazed in bed awhile longer, savoring the fact that she didn’t need to hurry to do anything. The comfortable mattress kept her prone and she might’ve lingered until midday if her cell phone, still inside her purse on the dresser, hadn’t rung and roused her with the familiar notes of the Hank Williams classic, “Jambalaya.”
“Hey, Mama,” she said as she kicked the sheet back and sat up. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I wanted to make sure my girl made it up there to Oklahoma,” her mother replied. Her voice resonated across
the miles, sweeter than corn syrup, thicker than spring mud, and flavored with the smoke from too many unfiltered cigarettes.
“I did. I got here yesterday afternoon in time to see Angie.”
“Oui, chérie. I’m sure some policeman would’ve called me if you hadn’t.” Her mother’s dry wit never quit, Celia thought. “But I wanted to hear you say so yourself. So, how is it?”
“The house? It’s fantastic, like something out of a movie.” Words to describe the place escaped Celia. “It’s big.”
“I’ve heard. So you cleaned out your apartment?”
Rub salt into my sore wounds. “Yes, and turned in the key night before last.”
“Do you think you’ll go back to Natchitoches later?”
She didn’t. That chapter of her life had ended but Celia told her mother, “Maybe, I don’t know. A year’s a long time.” Her mother chuckled, her laugh dry and breathless. “You’re young—for me, a year is the blink of an eye. You need to think about what you’ll want to do, where you want to go, after Angelique gets home.”
Celia mentally counted to ten. Her maman always talked about Christmas in July, shopped for it in August, planned Easter dresses in February, and added a year to someone’s age long before they celebrated their next birthday. She hadn’t been house-sitting for twenty-four hours yet and Mama thought she should figure out her plans for next year. Emotions under control, she said, “Yes, and I will. But I’m here and I need to get familiar with everything. I’m going to the supermarket in a little while.”
“It must be in town. I looked up Angie’s place on Google Earth and its way out in the boondocks.” Still nosy, too. “Yes, it’s in Sallisaw. I’ll call you soon, Mama.” And she would, but on her terms, not her mother’s. Celia ended the call and turned off the phone to begin the day. For now, she possessed possibilities and time. She could make the best of things if she tried.
Chapter Three
When she’d passed through Sallisaw en route to the ranch, Celia hadn’t given it much notice. She’d gobbled down a quick sandwich before finishing her journey but her first impression had been “just another small town.” Things appeared different now as she headed into Sallisaw with a full gas tank. Chuck, as promised, had delivered her car to the front drive.
Celia realized that the highway cutting through town from east to west had once been historic Route 66, the highway made legendary in song, film, and memory. The older brick buildings lining both sides of the wide street had character and vintage style. Some boasted an almost frontier town appearance and all resonated with small-town appeal. The main drag wasn’t named Main Street either, but Cherokee Avenue. The small businesses located along Cherokee Avenue were mostly mom-and-pop stores, including a beauty parlor, flea market, and offices. Enchanted, she drove around the downtown district and found the small, plain county courthouse and city hall.
Celia got her bearings and recognized the busy thoroughfare where she’d bought her lunch the day before as South Kerr Avenue. Most of the modern additions to the town—the motels, the discount chains, the fast food restaurants, and convenience stores—clustered between Cherokee Avenue and I-40, south of town. If Sallisaw wasn’t a crossroads for the interstate, Highway 64 and Highway 59, she doubted most of the national chains would’ve located here, but the town had some bustle and she liked that.
She found an IGA store and chose to stop there rather than the giant Wal-Mart for her shopping. Celia parked in the lot and joined the old ladies in flowered blouses, the harried young moms with carts loaded down with kids, and the others. After a quick breakfast, she explored the basement and found the pantry. Its well-stocked shelves boasted plenty of food but she’d made a list anyway. She planned to make a shrimp étouffé for her evening meal and maybe boudin sausage in a day or so. Celia picked up the ingredients, chose a few things to suit her taste and not Angie’s, then checked out. The supermarket carried everything but the natural pork casings for the sausage so she asked the checker if he knew where she might find some. He directed her to a smaller store and suggested she might visit the Oklahoma Tourism Center out near the interstate. “If you’re new here, they can give you all kinds of stuff about Sallisaw and the area,” he told her. “You know, Sequoyah lived here and his cabin still stands, north of town. This here is the stompin’ grounds for Pretty Boy Floyd too, and he’s buried not too far up at Akin. Lots to do and see ‘round here.”
Celia nodded and flashed him a smile. “Thank you. I might just do that.”
“I can tell you ain’t from Oklahoma,” he said in a flat twang. “You’re a Southern girl?”
Was it so obvious? Her gumbo voice must give her away. “I am, Louisiana born and raised.” She stretched out the name of her home state to Loo-zee-anna. “Cajun, too.”
“I figured.” He grinned. “Say, are you kin to Miz Broussard from out the ranch? She talks like you do.”
So much for any chance at anonymity or keeping a low profile, Celia thought. “Yes, she’s my cousin.”
“Fifty-five, thirty seven,” he said, and she paid him. “You’re staying out at the ranch, then. What’s the name of it?”
“The French Quarter,” Celia said. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he called. “Welcome to Sallisaw and Sequoyah County.”
She toted her own bags out to the car and mindful of the heat, she parked them in the backseat. Although she’d meant to head back to the ranch, she decided on a whim to check out the tourism center. She located it without any difficulty and spent ten minutes gathering up brochures and booklets about the area. “Take the main Oklahoma guide too, honey,” the elderly woman behind the counter said. “How about a map, too?” Celia accepted it with thanks and waited for the questions, but none came. Instead, the woman craned her head for a better view through the window and said, “Looks like it may storm again later. You’d better mind the weather in case it turns ugly. Hope you’ve got a basement.”
“I do, thanks.” Celia appreciated the kindness but she hoped it would. She craved the power and energy a storm brought. In some strange way, she thought she needed it to calm some uneasiness in her soul. Weird, but she couldn’t help how she felt.
****
As Celia backtracked through Sallisaw, she realized that although it lacked the French influence she’d grown up with, it was a pretty enough town. It’s not like I’m moving here to stay, anyway. It’ll do for the year. What came after, she’d decide then. As she headed out of town Celia noted a thin line of clouds on the far western horizon. Must’ve been what the woman at the tourism center saw to predict bad weather, I guess. Maybe it would storm later. At the house, she carried her purchases inside and put everything away. Celia made a small salad and ate it, then wondered what the hell she’d do for the rest of the day.
She could explore the house and wander around the property but when she stepped outside, the heat hit her in the face, heavy and humid. Maybe she would do that another day. She could start cooking, but the hours until supper time loomed long and empty. Celia stared down at the lake, pond, or whatever it was. Pond, she decided, too small to be called a lake. Willows grew around the edges and the water beckoned her. It might be cooler down there, she thought, so she walked across the drive and across the open grass toward the pond.
Sunlight tap danced across the rippling surface and she inhaled a rich smell of water and loam. It wasn’t the same aroma as the bayous back home but Celia liked it. She found a spot beneath a stand of willows and sat down, arms linked around her knees. If she had her directions right, she faced south and the west lay to her right. A slight breeze rippled through the willow trees but otherwise it remained still and sultry. Celia glanced off to the west and noticed the line of gathering clouds had thickened. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost believe a mountain range loomed on the horizon.
Despite the mugginess, she remained at the pond for more than an hour. Dragonflies fluttered in the air and she watched several water striders, so much
like spiders, skate over the surface, darting to and fro. No scum or green algae marred the pond and she wondered why until she noticed the small flow entering on the far side. Celia rose and wandered over. She leaned down and plunged her hands into it. The icy temperature confirmed what she’d suspected—it was a spring. Tempted to strip away shoes and socks to stick her feet into the coolness, she resisted and decided she’d head for the kitchen.
Celia skirted the pond and when she made it around to the side closest to the house she noticed the sky. A single airplane passed above and she wondered if it might be a crop duster or just someone out for a fun flight. They’d better head for the airport and soon. Most of the blue had vanished beneath the approaching dark clouds and the remaining sunlight came from the east. Lightning forked through the coming storm and she heard the distant growl of thunder. She picked up her pace so she could make it inside before the thunderstorm rolled across the ranch. The wind had stilled and something about the ominous green black shade of the clouds evoked a feeling of dread. As she passed through the stand of willows, Celia almost stumbled and she glanced down to make sure she wouldn’t trip.
Byrd's Desire Page 2
