by catt dahman
“Mother. You have tried to dress her, and you’ve taught her how to behave in polite society; there’s only so much you can do,” Trish interrupted Emeline’s ensuing water works. “Let her have the baby, and eventually Landry will come to his senses. Then, we can toss her out; we’ll keep the baby and raise it. No one will know who the mother was in a few years. She’ll go back to her own people and the shacks they live in,” added Trish as she gave a dramatic shudder.
“It can’t come too soon for me,” Emeline said, taking hope again.
Frank frowned. When the women spoke this way, it shamed him. A widower, he had married Emeline ten years before and taken on her two children to raise with his own, and while Emeline could be a little shallow and didn’t have the same specific values that Frank carried and taught his children, she wasn’t this shallow was she? It made him feel uncomfortable.
“Maybe they’ll both die,” Emeline mused, almost to herself, “with the roads being out and no hospital. Things happen….”
Frank blanched white, “Em?” Surely she didn’t mean, well, of course, she didn’t. She was a genteel, southern lady.
“I’m thinking about the good of all; I didn’t mean it hatefully, but Frank, I have suffered these months. We all have. I want our lives back without that girl and her spawn. How much must I endure?”
“It sounds pretty nasty to me,” Frank said, “and the baby is Landry’s baby…your own blood, Emeline. It’s a baby.”
Upstairs, Candy Lynn screamed again.
Emeline looked angry enough to spit.
“Can you hear that, Frank Theriot? That screaming? I want to scream every day, the same way, but oh no, Emeline Thibideaux Terrabonne Theriot is a lady and doesn’t scream and go on and make such a scene. Lord, forbid. It doesn’t matter that I clawed and scratched and married my way to my proper station….” She bit back fury. Dance class, tea class, sewing class, French, art, and every other class she had taken danced about her head. Had she not learned the way to speak perfectly, to serve as a proper hostess at dinners and parties, to dance, to chair charities, and charm men? Had she not embodied and personified the Old South each and every day to reach her success ever since she was a small child?
Emeline had worked to have her place in New Orleans society, married the right men (mourned one for three years before she could return to society and wasn’t that the dullest time ever), and run her home with an iron, but very soft-skinned hand? What a slap in her face it was that Candy Lynn waltzed into a perfect life.
Abagail peeked into the room, fearful of Emeline’s wrath, “Ma’am…Miss Emeline, the baby is comin’ now.”
Frank walked into the living room and saw his daughter and three sons playing a card game: Marie, Jules, Remy, and Beau and cousin Nita. Trish’s friend was reading a novel on the sofa; that was Sadie. He nodded to them and went up the stairs, followed by Emeline and Trish.
In the wide hallway, Landry paced and looked alarmed as Abagail went back inside the room with Candy Lynn. He was left out and on edge.
“Mister Frank, the water is coming up fast. I guess it’ll be right up to the front door before long,” Toby said, with worry lines on his forehead. He was watching over the house and came upstairs with his report.
“We certainly have a problem, then,” Frank admitted. He couldn’t forget Emeline’s words.
“I’ll go keep watch,” Toby shrugged, feeling ignored, “but this isn’t good at all. The water is way up in the yard.”
“Landry, Abagail said the baby is coming,” Frank said.
“Yeah. About time,” Landry said, brushing hair off his face. He carried a glass of rum and fruit juice in one hand and was already tipsy. In New Orleans, hurricanes were drinks made of rum, fruit juice, and grenadine and were credited to tavern owner, Pat O’Brien who concocted the mixture and poured them into clean hurricane lamps to serve. A hurricane drink is sweet and refreshing, and it’s easy to consume a lot without feeling the effects until later.
Outside, the wind howled, and debris smacked the house in fury. Branches flew at the shuttered windows, battering them, and shingles flew away in the maelstrom. Hurricane Harrison was there in all its ferocity. The river flooded as rain fell in sheets, and the wind, at 110 miles per hour, blew water over levees. Lake Pontchartrain overflowed. The Ninth Ward and all of those who stayed with their homes and pets were swept away in oily, muddy floodwaters, brackish, nasty water that rose and rose.
This is what Toby had wanted to tell Frank, his employer. He wanted to say they were in danger and the water was rising and his kinfolks, down in the Ninth were likely dead now and the storm that raged outside was far bigger than the storm that raged inside.
Outside the Theriot home, the little river, or creek, rose, and Pontchartrain poured into the exclusive area where huge homes sat, taking cars and outbuildings, ripping away parts of the houses and tossing old trees like kindling. Thumps and crashes punctuated the drama in the house. All around, inside and outside, a cacophony filled the air.
Inside the room, Candy Lynn shrieked as an old oak broke in half; the bottom of the tree sank into the waters and mud beside it. The top flew away in the wind, crashed into a neighboring home, and opened up the third story as if a can opener had been used. Luckily, the owners had evacuated.
Frank cracked the door to look in at the birthing process. Emeline and Trish stood back, rolled their eyes, and soothed Landry.
Abagail encouraged and rubbed Candy Lynn’s stomach with her firm, gnarled hands, “You is almost there, Miss Candy.” Abagail moved to crouch at the side of the bed and called out, “That’s right…you got it now, Miss…you’re having a fine baby….”
Frank sighed. Abagail had been with him since he was a child, and she could sooth any scrape with ointment and some kind words, knew how to heal heartache with prayers and love, and always showed strength. She was an odd lady, tending to carry a Bible along with a dried chicken foot and a handful of herbs, but whatever her methods, he didn’t care; she was a healer.
Abagail reached down, Candy Lynn screamed again, and the baby slid into
Abagail’s hands.
Outside, the wind began to die down, and the constant howling ended. The eye of the storm was moving over them, and they would have quiet for a while. It didn’t escape old Abagail that the baby was born just as the eye moved overhead; there were meanings and omens in everything, she knew.
Abagail loved babies, and she loved Mister Frank as if he were her own son and brother to Toby, but Mister Frank was Theriot blood. Landry was Terrebonne blood. As open and welcoming as she tried to be, Abagail knew for a fact that the Audettes were the sorriest, lowest trash in the swamp and that the bloodline was just foul as could be; the new woman Amadee Audette married had a bloodline almost as debauched.
Terrebonne blood and Audette blood were a very bad mix, Abagail knew. All her life, boys and girls and mamas and daddies came to her for wisdom in marriage, asking about bloodlines and combining them, and she had never steered anyone wrong. Her tea grounds never lied. And this was a bad mix. Anything mixed with Audette blood was cursed.
Frank closed the door again, “Landry, Abagail will call you soon so you can see the baby. You have a fine daughter or son, now.”
“It’s over? Can I go in?
Frank patted Landry, “Wait for Abagail. She’s got to wash the baby and tend to Candy Lynn first. She’ll call you soon; Candy Lynn will want to present your baby with a smile of her face when she’s all settled.”
Inside the room, Abagail cleared the baby’s mouth and nose and gently washed her in a basin of warm water, fragrant with herbs. The baby relaxed, and Abagail held her gently as she sponged lavender scented water over the child. She wrapped the baby in a clean blanket and set her aside in a little cradle.
Candy Lynn was tired and sore, but she had a breeder’s hips and pelvis, and despite the screams, which were natural, she had an easy birthing and was strong. She was a natural for birthing babies, and Abaga
il decided Candy Lynn was the easiest labor she had ever attended. During the years, Abagail had been midwife for many births.
Abagail washed Candy Lynn off, and she was able to move about so Abagail could change the bed and slip a nightgown onto Candy Lynn so she looked ‘proper’ as Miss Emeline would demand. Abagail brushed Candy Lynn’s sweaty short hair back and clipped barrettes to her bangs.
“I feel better. Thank you, Abagail, for helping me,” Candy Lynn said as she snuggled into the pillows and glowed with health. Her pallor was fading fast, and Abagail set her up to recover from the birth with pads and panties. After tucking the sheet and a blanket about Candy Lynn’s chest and making sure the new mother looked as appropriate as possible, Abagail went to call the new father.
“Your baby is here, Mister Landry. Come meet the new child,” Abagail called. She bent and picked up the little sleeping bundle to hand to the new mother so she could bond with the child and nurse her. Miss Emeline had bottles and such, but a momma’s milk was best for a baby, and Abagail would do what she could to get the baby to breastfeed. Miss Candy Lynn was full of milk and would provide well for the baby.
Landry swayed as he entered the room; his eyes were a little red, and he was unsteady, but he smiled at his wife who held a little wrapped baby. He was glad to see that Candy Lynn looked so pretty, albeit tired, after such a grueling experience.
Frank watched his stepson with distaste, disappointed that the boy was drunk.
Abagail’s eyes were dark and concerned. Maybe, she was worried about Landry being drunk. Maybe Candy Lynn or the baby was not all right, but Frank thought they looked like a pretty postcard, clean and pink against the brilliant white sheets and blue blanket.
Emeline and Trish came into the room, but Trish stayed at the door way as she should. Emeline took Landry’s arm and steadied him as they walked over to the bed. Emeline looked as if she were walking to the guillotine and was obviously making up some snarky remark to ruin the mood.
“We’ve a little girl, Landry. I wanna call her Julia Rose,” Candy Lynn said, “I think that’s a pretty name, and my momma’s momma was named Rosie, yanno.”
“Julia Rose?” Emeline scrunched her nose a little with distaste.
“Ummm. Okay, that’s a good enough name,” Landry stammered.
Emeline figured she could suggest a more proper name later, something like Beatrice Adelaide or Bernadette Urilla.
Landry leaned over, and Candy Lynn pulled back the pink, soft blanket a little to show off the newborn’s beautiful face. Candy Lynn was so proud of her baby and so in love with this new child that she thought her heart would burst with happiness and pride. Landry would be so excited to see such a pretty baby.
Abagail watched closely, her body wound tight like a tigress about to leap.
The baby was perfect with tiny seashell ears and a button nose. Her tiny fingers were perfect, and her skin was smooth….
“That niggrah baby isn’t mine.” Landry recoiled violently, stumbling backwards. He had a horrified look on his face and clutched at his belly as if in pain. He looked at Candy Lynn with confusion. It was like a joke gone very badly.
Abagail crossed the room to hover over the mother and child.
Emeline, with a perplexed frown, looked at little Julia Rose. She recoiled almost as violently, “What have you done? On my, dear God.”
“Wha…?” Candy Lynn didn’t understand.
“You whore. You had a mixed baby? And married my son to hide it that you have been messing about with the coloreds? My, God Almighty.” She took Landry’s arm and backed away, “I only thought I had suffered all these months with you; I tried; God knows I tried, and this is how you repay me? Did you laugh behind my back at your little deception?”
Candy Lynn’s face went from radiant and glowing happiness to confusion. She looked at Julia Rose again. Maybe the baby looked slightly exotic. The baby’s sparse black hair was coarse, and perhaps Julia Rose had a darker skin tone, but this was their baby. What were Landry and Emeline saying about her baby?
“How dare you take advantage of my son when you were pregnant with some niggrah child,” Emeline was red with fury, and she screamed the accusation.
“A…a what?” Candy Lynn was flummoxed. Had everyone gone stark raving mad? What did they mean?
“That baby isn’t…white,” Emeline yelled, pointing.
Candy Lynn looked into her daughter’s face and didn’t quite know what to think. The only thing of any value Candy Lynn had when she met Landry was her virginity she gave to him. The little baby didn’t look a lot like Landry or her, but she was a beautiful baby, “This is mine and Landry’s baby. I ain’t been with no body but him, so it’s his own baby.”
“No. That is not my baby. Only way you could have a black baby is if you were with a black man. You fooled me.”
Fooled you? I have not….”
“Yes, you have.”
“Landry, this is silly. You know I love you and….”
“That is not my child. You are a whore, Candy Lynn, and as soon as this storm is done, you and your black child can get the hell out,” Landry took his glass and threw it against the wall so it shattered everywhere; rum and fruit juice ran down the wallpaper. “I was an ignorant fool and didn’t listen when I should have, but that doesn’t mean any of us deserved this kind of trickery.”
Candy Lynn jerked as her uterus contracted, and blood soaked the pad, “I never….” she trailed off. No one was listening.
Emeline and Landry walked away, with Trish following them. Trish spared Candy Lynn a satisfied glance.
Frank stood in the same place in the room just as when he had come in and was still watched Abagail, wondering how this had happened and what would become of everyone, “She’s…she is a lovely baby,” he said to Candy Lynn, watching her tears spilling down her cheeks. There was no recourse. It was done, and Candy Lynn knew it; her heart was torn to shreds, and her eyes were wide with shock. She went pale.
Emeline had the arsenal she needed and would throw the mother and child out with no hesitation; Landry and Trish would turn their backs and never waste a second thinking about the birth. Landry would move on to find a proper wife and raise a proper family. Back to the swamp, Candy Lynn would go.
“Mister Frank, ” Abagail began and trailed off.
“My goodness this storm was loud,” Frank said absently, “did you listen to the wind howling like it wanted to tear everyone and everything away. And the rain, it’s not washing everything clean; it’s soiling all it touches, making a soup of toxins,” he tried to erase the harsh words Emeline and Landry had spoken. How could anyone talk that way in front of a good woman like Abagail, he didn’t know. He had never looked down upon anyone based on skin color.
“Mister Frank, I best check on the gumbo I’ma cookin’. It ought to be about done. I mixed the roux and the vegetables just right and the chicken and seasoning; gonna add the filet gumbo now…a big mix, and you never know what might come out of such a mix, but it’s always mighty fine,” Abagail told him.
Frank nodded. He knew what Abagail was saying in her own way. She meant the baby might have a convoluted heritage, but she was beautiful and wonderful and how could anyone judge a little baby? He felt as if his life had been cut in half as well, and where he stood, he didn’t know. It was as if the wind and rain carried him as well, battering and tearing.
Abagail slipped out of the room with Frank following.
Downstairs, his children had been informed loudly of the situation, and they looked as lost and confused as Frank felt.
“Is Candy Lynn okay?” Marie asked.
Frank nodded.
“And the baby?”
He nodded again.
“Landry came down yelling that the baby was…mixed. Is she mixed?”
Frank shrugged, “Maybe. Maybe not. How does one know when a baby is just born? Can’t even see her eyes yet, but Momma and Landry say….”
“She’s black. So that isn’
t my baby. Candy Lynn fooled around.”
Marie spun around on the sofa and frowned, “You don’t know that for sure. Maybe she was unknowingly pregnant already or….”
Landry’s temper blazed, “She said she was a virgin and acted like one. I call that deceptive…and it means…she…did it…with…a black boy,” Landry yelled the last words as if he spat away venom.
Nita, Marie’s cousin, waved casually, “Get a paternity test, and then you’ll know. Why stress when we are in the middle of a hurricane?”
Frank thought the girl was far wiser with her statement than anyone else.
“Terrabonnes and Thibideauxs never had to get…paternity tests,” Emeline said sternly, gripping the arms of her chair with white knuckles, “we never behaved like trash having to prove heritage.”
“And you can bet a few illegitimate children passed by,” Nita growled back, refusing to look away. She glared back at Emeline furiously, “but blood isn’t the end-all of everything. As long as we don’t get blown away, it’s really not the end of the world.”
“You have no idea where my world ends,” Emeline said, almost threateningly.
“Ladies….” Frank interrupted. Remy and Beau, both as good of sons as any man could pray for, looked ready to stand up and defend Nita and Marie. None of Frank’s children cared for Trish and Landry.
In a chair sat Landry, sipping a fresh glass of rum and juice, glaring and muttering under his breath. Emeline got up and fluttered around him, patting and then ranting about Candy Lynn, saying she knew it was a mistake and asking how they would recover. She claimed she knew all along it was a mistake to marry a low-life Audette from the bayou. Landry and Emeline were on stage, bemoaning the birth and declaring this to be a catastrophe while Frank’s own children watched, bewildered.
Frank didn’t know how to fix the situation, so he went through the motions.
Marie and Nita went upstairs, saying they would care for Candy Lynn and the baby and clean up the mess Landry made while Abagail finished the meal and had a break. Marie glared at Emeline. Nita whispered to Marie, and they nodded, smirking.
