Rings of Trust

by Kittie Howard

Arlette tightened the rubber band around her ponytail, tugged her sleeveless white blouse lower over blue pedal pushers, and shifted her weight on the edge of the porch. After tapping her white Keds on the porch step, she frowned. “Not agin,” she said and jerked her feet up.

  “Boo boo, I dôn know w’at’s wrong wid you,” Lucille said. “Why kan’t you keep still?”

  “Id’s da damn humidity, yeah. Mah clothes is stickin’ to me.” After Arlette re-tied the tennis shoes’ laces, she shielded her wide-set eyes from the mid-afternoon sun.

  “Stop starin’ at Mr. Franneaux’s house. You’s lettin’ da capon git to ya,” Lucille said.

  “Mais jamais! I ain’t neva runnin’ from no coward.” Arlette dropped her hand. “I was juz lookin’,” she said and faced Lucille. “Boo, is you mad ’cause Joseph’s gone by LSU agin dis mornin’?”

  “Mais non. Now dat da G. I. Bill’s done got Joseph to college, he ain’t gonna git a break fo’ fou’ years. Dis field trip to da marshes is juz da beginnin’. But when mah man’s a geologist, he kin git a good, good job.” Lucille brushed a bug from her red pedal pushers and hugged her knees. “We’s got mo’ kids dan you’s got. Jack Landry’s a saint fo’ da way he done treat us, but we’s gonna need mo’ money. Befo’ Madeleine goes to college, she’s gotta go to dat finishin’ school I’s hearin’ ’bout up in Missouri. Comin’ from sharecroppas like she do, Madeleine needs some polishin’. Good families dôn want dere boys marryin’ down.”

  “Lord, juz yestaday I tole David our Remy’s gonna be fine. I plumb fo’git ’bout Madeleine gittin’ married one day.” Arlette slumped forward. “Bein’ sharecroppas is like a gree gree a voodoo queen done put on us.”

  “I dôn believe dat shit, no.” Lucille swatted at a gnat. “’Sides, Marie Laveau is long dead.”

  “Meybe.” Arlette glanced at the bayou road stretching to her right. The afternoon sun danced on the hardened dirt. “Sometime I feels like I’s livin’ in a wringer like w’at I wash da clothes in.”

  “Ain?” Lucille asked, a puzzled look on her face.

  “Mais, id dôn matta which way you goes on dat road out dere, you’s gonna end up in Narrow Bridge. Id juz takes a bit longer if you goes left,” Arlette said and made a wide swoop with her hand. “We’s da same people goin’ ’round an’ ’round wid nuttin’ changin’.”

  “You’s tinkin’ too much, cher,” Lucille said. “You’s gonna git yo’self in a hole.”

  “I know dat, me.” Arlette tapped her Keds on the porch step as if a song played in her head. “Id’s time fo’ David’s to git his ass back from Narrow Bridge. Now dat he done dropped Remy by Mr. Laurent’s to spend da night wid Maurice, da house is feelin’ like a barn.”

  “Mais jamais. You’s mekin’ little shadows into big ones, boo.” Lucille yawned. “Mais, I needs a nap. Joseph an’ me was up late, late last night talkin’.”

  “You’s lucky you kin nap, boo.”

  Lucille gestured toward the gap in the pine trees. “If you’s not starin’ at Franneaux’s house, you’s worryin’ ’bout w’at dose fou women in da Altar Society done said. You needs to git ’hold a yo’self. You’s lookin’ pale, pale. Dem circles unda yo eyes is worse today, no.”

  “Id’s da damn heat.” Arlette wiped her forehead. “Id needs to rain.”

  “Lord, but you’s entêté, cher. I’s be seein’ ya tomorrow.” Lucille stood and walked down the steps.

  Arlette tilted her head and smiled at a small bird flying toward the pine trees. It changed course and circled wide, then hovered above the gap between the trees. As a truck sputtered into view, the bird dove into the opening and disappeared. Arlette shook her head and stood. After a long look at the road, she dragged a rocker by the door to the flower-draped clay pot near the steps and sat on the rocker’s edge. Her red-polished fingernails snipped off faded purple- and gold petunias like a scissors.

  “Hello, Miz Arlette.”

  Arlette’s head jerked up. Fear raced across her eyes.

  Madeleine smiled from the bottom of the porch steps. She wore a petal-pink dress with a scooped neck. One of the sunhat’s pink streamers curled on a capped sleeve.

  “Madeleine, I’s so glad to see you, me.” Arlette’s face visibly relaxed. “Mais, how comes you’s not gittin’ some doe doe?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Madeleine’s hand fanned toward the driveway. “Yo car’s not here. Where’s Mr. David?”

  “Mais, he went to Narrow Bridge,” Arlette said and fluffed the petunias.

  “Hmm. Is Remy home?”

  Arlette sat back in the rocker, a gentle smile on her lips. “Mo chagren. Mais, Mr. David done took him by Maurice’s to spend da night.”

  Madeleine pursed her heart-shaped lips, then smiled. “Dat’s nice.” She walked up the steps, careful not to disturb dark pink socks or scuff her Mary Jane shoes. “I’m sorry if I scared you. Momma says I’m like a cat in a pink dress an’ a sunhat.”

  A wistful look crossed Arlette’s face. “I wants a little pink in mah house.”

  “Do you tink I wear too much pink?” Madeleine tilted her head and tipped her chin with two fingers, then batted her lashes at Arlette.

  “Yo shoes is white,” Arlette said, a smile in her voice.

  “Momma couldn’t find pink shoes, no.” Madeleine twirled a curl on her shoulder. Her black eyes were thoughtful. “I neva want to wear boots agin wid a dress, like I did last year. People looked at me funny. I felt like I wasn’t good nuff. I wanted to hide. Lookin’ po’ hurt mo’ dan bein’ hungry.”

  “Don’t you worry, bébé. Mr. Laurent an’ Mr. Landry’s done mek sure we’s neva gonna be po’ agin.”

  Madeleine’s face brightened. “Do I wear mah sunhat too much?” she asked, then patted her dimpled cheeks. “I dôn want to git wrinkles an’ look like a prune.”

  “Boo, boo, you’s always gonna be beautiful, inside an’ out.”

  Madeleine’s shoulders slumped. “Mah brodders say mah sunhat looks like a soup bowl on mah head.”

  “Dôn you pay no ’ttention to dere foolishness, no,” Arlette scoffed. “Boys git to talkin’ an’ don’t know w’at dey’s sayin’.”

  Madeleine tucked her chin into her shoulder. “Sometimes dere teasin’ meks mah tummy act funny, like id wants to run ’way,” she said, blinking back tears.

  “Mais, dôn you go upsettin’ yo’self, no. You’s juz got a sensitive tummy.”

  “When dere teasin’ meks mah tummy act funny, I git mad at mah brodders. Den I feel guilty. Jesus wants us to be kind to people, not fuss at dem.” A tear splashed onto her pink dress. Madeleine wiped her cheek. “I have to go to Confession and tell Father Lorio I sinned.”

  Arlette’s gripped the rocker’s arms. “Cher Bon Dieu. Why’s you talkin like dat?”

  “Mais, I was happy when mah uncle took mah brodders an’ sisters to Mississippi. I wanted to read mah books widout dem makin’ noise.” Madeleine sniffled as she tugged on the gold cross at the end of the chain around her neck. “Peppa ran ’way ’cause I was se’fish. Dat’s why he wasn’t on da porch dis mornin’. Peppa neva tells me I have a soup bowl on mah head,” Madeleine said through her tears.

  “Dôn you cry, bébé,” Arlette said and got out of the rocker. As she hugged Madeleine, the child’s sunhat tumbled to the porch. “Da last time Peppa run ’way, one a Mr. Laurent’s men found him chasin’ a rabbit in a hay pasture. Somebody’s gonna find Peppa in da mornin’, yeah.”

  “I dôn tink so. Peppa’s water bowl was turned ova dis mornin’. Dat’s neva happened befo’.”

  “Mais, Peppa got to chasin’ a critter off da porch an’ knocked id over, boo.”

  “Dat’s w’at Momma says.” Madeleine stooped and picked up her sunhat. “I’m sorry fo’ bodderin’ you. Mais, I didn’t sleep good, good last night.”

  “Meybe da heat done keep you up?”

  “No, ma’am. A funny noise on da porch woke me up. I got a little scared, me.”

 
“Dôn be scared, no. You’s heard a raccoon. I’s seen dem on da porch befo’. Dat’s how da water bowl git turned ova. We ain’t had no rain. A raccoon git t’irsty, t’irsty an’ done mek a mess.” Arlette’s face creased into an exaggerated frown. “Stop worryin’ or you’s gonna git wrinkles, boo.”

  Madeleine sighed as she positioned her sunhat on her head. “Meybe I’m spooked ’cause id’s so quiet behind dose pine trees. Sometimes I feel like a pink ant ’bout to be stepped on,” she said with a shudder.

  “Mais, id’s quiet. You’s right ’bout dat.”

  Madeleine wrung her hands. “W’at’s Mr. David doin’ in Narrow Bridge?”

  “Nuttin’ much, juz goin’ by Junior’s Hardware to git a latch fo’ da shed.” Arlette returned to the rocker and sat down.

  Madeleine giggled.

  “W’at’s so funny?”

  “Dat man at Junior’s looks like Santa Claus. Mais, he’s not nice like Santa Claus.”

  “Hush, boo. You kan’t ’cpect ev’ry man wid a white beard to act like Santa Claus.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Madeleine pulled her shoulders up. “Miz Arlette, da last time I went to dat magazin wid Daddy, dat man stared at us funny. He fussed at me when I looked in da penny candy barrel.” Her black eyes flared. “Den he unwrapped a candy an’ ate it in front a me. He even smacked his lips loud, loud. Dat’s not bein’ nice, no. He was actin’ like people did when I wore boots wid mah dress. Mah tummy wanted to run ’way.” Madeleine drew back and pointed toward the road. “Look. Dere’s a dust cloud. Meybe Mr. David’s comin’ home.”

  Arlette’s eyes followed Madeleine’s finger. Her optimism faded. “Sumptin’s not right. He’s drivin’ too fast. You needs to go home, Madeleine.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She turned and ran down the steps.

  Rocks flew when David hit the brakes in front of the house. Arlette rushed to the car. “Beb, w’at’s wrong? I’s neva seen you drive like dis befo’.”

  Relief flooded David’s face as he got out of the Ford. “Merci Bon Dieu, you’s here.”

  “’Course I’s here. W’at’s da matta wid you? C’est sa cooyôn.”

  David stared at her.

  “Dôn you look at me like dat, no,” Arlette said, rising panic in her voice.

  David took a deep breath. “Da bank clerk says we ain’t got no money in our account.”

  “Mais non. Dat’s not troo, no,” Arlette said as color drained from her face.

  David pulled a green booklet from his shirt’s pocket. “Da money ain’t dere.”

  “Dat’s fou. Dere’s $25,000 in dat account, yeah.” Arlette yanked the green booklet from his hand and thumbed the pages. “Da money’s here, right where da clerk put da interest last quarter, yeah,” she said and pointed to the handwritten entry.

  “Not accordin’ to da fuckin’ bank.” David slipped the booklet from her hand and returned it to his shirt’s pocket.

  “W’at happened to da money?” Arlette reached for David’s arm. “Money dôn got legs, no.”

  “Beb, I tink da Klan stole our money. Franneaux’s brodder-in-law is da bank’s manager.”

  Arlette sucked in her breath. “Bon Dieu, we ain’t got no power ginst da Klan.”

  “Meybe dere’s a chance,” David said, his hand on her shoulder. “I telephoned Mr. Laurent from da courthouse in Narrow Bridge. He said he knows a man wid da Bankin’ Commission in Baton Rouge. Mr. Laurent tinks da man kin hep us.”

  “Mon Dieu, we’s got problems if Mr. Laurent’s needin’ hep.” Perspiration formed on Arlette’s brow. She licked her lips and brushed strands of hair from her eyes. “W’at else happened?”

  “Da man at Junior’s wouldn’t sell me a latch fo’ da shed. He said he dôn want no black-lovin’ white trash in his magazin.”

  “Dôn you tell me he’s one a Franneaux’s shit relations, no.”

  “Mais, oui. He’s Franneaux’s first cousin,” David said, his voiced filled with sarcasm.

  “Gosh da dônc. Dammit to hell. Ev’rywhere we turns, dere’s Franneaux. Our own Cajun people is destroyin’ us. W’at’s we gonna do?” Arlette asked as screams reverberated through the late afternoon’s stillness. Her fingernails dug into David’s arm. “Cher Bon Dieu. Dat’s Madeleine screamin’.”

  “Stay here, beb,” he said and ran to Madeleine’s house. Lucille was on her hands and knees at the side of the porch steps. “Is Madeleine unda da porch?” David asked.

  Lucille looked up at him. Her eyes were wild.

  “Lucille, you’s gotta move. I’s goin’ unda da porch.” David reached to pull her up as Arlette’s hand brushed his shoulder.

  “I’s hepin’,” Arlette said. “Madeleine done bumped her head, cher,” Arlette said to Lucille as she and David helped her up. “Madeleine’s gonna be juz fine.”

  After they nudged Lucille away from the steps, David flattened his body on the St. Augustine grass and crawled under the wooden steps. “Damn, dis is like da caves on Iwo Jima.” He shook clotted dirt from his hand, wiped cobwebs from his face and then inched forward. “Merde,” he said and froze. A black snake slithered from beneath a clump of pine needles and disappeared into the deeper shadows.

  David tossed a rock at a nearby stick. It didn’t move. With the stick in his right hand, he cleared a path and crawled into the porch’s nether world. After blinking his eyes into focus, he dropped the stick and reached for Madeleine’s hat. “If dat snake was poisonous—”

  As if possessed, David pushed deeper, not stopping until he reached Madeleine limp body. Her hands were out-stretched, one hand on Pepper’s face. Her eyes were closed. Mud caked her pink dress and white shoes and clung to her cheeks like chocolate rouge. “Madeleine, kin you hear me?” he asked, patting the rouge. “Talk to me, Madeleine. Talk to me.”

  Madeleine’s eyelashes fluttered. A moan escaped her lips as she stirred. “Peppa’s gone,” she said, her voice like an old lady’s raspy whisper. “Peppa’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry, bébé,” he said and held her hand. “Mais, Peppa doesn’t want you stayin’ here. We’ve got to go, Madeleine.”

  “Non, Peppa’s here,” she said and moaned. The sound pierced the shadows as if a train had run through her very being.

  David closed his eyes. “Bon Dieu, not anodder soul dyin’ in da night.” He tugged her hand. “Madeleine, please, kin you git on yo knees an’ crawl?”

  “I-I don’t feel good, good.”

  “Try, please try. Please.”

  David held her elbow as Madeleine struggled. Her knee slipped. “Mr. David, I have to pray,” she said, her voice in spurts.

  “I understand.” David exhaled.

  “Jesus, people say dey love you. Mais, people git busy an’ fo’git ’bout love. Dey hurt people not hurtin’ dem. Please, Jesus, fo’give dem. I love you, Jesus. Amen.”

  When Madeleine emerged from under the steps, Lucille fell to her knees and pulled her daughter into her arms. “Mon cher t’bébé, je t’aime. I love you.” Lucille nestled her chin on Madeleine’s forehead and rocked her. Lucille’s tears tumbled into her daughter’s.

  Madeleine reached for her mother’s face. “Momma, Momma, hep me,” she sobbed. “Peppa’s gone.”

  Lucille gasped and kissed Madeleine’s mud-stained forehead. “Allons, mon jolie catin. Let’s go inside, my beautiful doll.” After she got Madeleine to her feet, Lucille wrapped her arm around Madeleine’s shoulder. “You’s gonna be fine, bébé. You juz needs time to heal. We all do.”

  David’s lips brushed Arlette’s. “I’ve got to git Peppa’s body from unda da porch befo’ da night animals find him.” He cupped her chin. Tears spilled from his eyes. “I was wrong fo’ not listenin’ to you. Mo chagren, mon amour.”

  “I knows you’s sorry.” Arlette said and reached to stroke his cheek. Her eyes drifted to the white paper sticking out of his shirt’s pocket. “W’at’s on da paper?”

  “Mais, I dôn know.”

  Arlette pulled the paper out
and unfolded it. She sucked in her breath. “‘You’s next’,” she said.

  Chapter Four

  Magnolia Tree