I sat back up with the strong box on my lap and stared out through my windshield. The rain was still pouring down, and the headlights cut through the fog, shining on Boyle as he dragged Gabriel’s mutilated bicycle over to the side of the bridge. I fumbled with the gun, checking again that it was loaded, feeling its icy cold weight in my hands. Boyle was lifting the bike up to the side, I could see his neck muscles flexing with the strain. I slipped out of my car again, holding the gun out in front of me and walking toward him.
“Oh, there you are, Palmer.” He panted, “Give me a hand, would ya?” He glanced over at me and saw the gun in my hand. Confusion spread across his face for a moment, and then he broke out into peals of laughter.
“Hoo hoo! Palmer, you are a funny son of a bitch, ain’t ya? What the hell do you think you’re doing there? You’re not in the army anymore.”
I shuddered for a moment, fighting through my fear. I hated him for how weak I felt.
“Boyle, I’ve done a lot of things I regret in my life, but killing you will not be one of them.”
“Kill me? Please, Palmer, pull the other one.” He let go of the bike, which was perched on the ledge of the bridge and took a step backward. I walked closer to him, pointing the gun directly in his face.
“Just a minute, now Palmer. Calm down. Damn, boy you are as nervous as a school girl!” He leaned against the side for a moment, squinting up at me.
“Go to hell.” I snapped, but still wasn’t able to pull the trigger.
“Alright, fine then, Palmer. Kill me. I guess you got reason enough to. Guess you can make up whatever kind of story you like about it. Course, you’ll probably end up in Angola before the year’s out, but that ought not to bother you, right Palmer? I mean, you know what prison’s like, don’t you?”
I wavered for a moment, the thought of prison filled me with terror and dread. I knew that I would have to kill myself before that happened. Boyle saw my hesitation and continued.
“OR,” he said, “you and I can make a little agreement here. You ain’t gonna say nothing and I ain’t gonna. What happened here was a sad little tragedy. Two young lovers got swept off the bridge on a rickety ol’ bike. Won’t be too many folks searching for them anyway. Then I’ll go back to my house and you go back to yours.”
I shook my head and took another step forward, “No deal.”
“Come on now, Palmer, let’s think this through here. Hell, I promise I won’t touch Annie Johnson again if it’ll make you feel better, and you know I won’t tell anybody about that little dead bastard baby back at your place.”
I froze instantly. This was not something that I had counted on. Boyle took another step toward me, growing in confidence.
“See, I think you might be able to come out of this real nicely, there Palmer. You need to go home and do a little clean up of course. Get rid of that baby and make up some story for Sally. Hell, that girl’s mind is gone anyhow. Eventually she’ll get over it, and if she don’t, well, you’ll have her put in a nice asylum and have that place and all her inheritance to yourself.”
I stood wavering for a moment, and then dropped my arm, grief overwhelming me. I sank to my knees, disgusted at all I had done, through my action and inaction and at my inability to make any of it right. I dropped the gun and clamped my arms against my stomach. A second later I felt Boyle next to me. He picked up the gun and chucked it into the Bayou. Then he shoved Gabe’s bike over the side and wiped his hands on his pants.
“Go home, Palmer,” mumbled Boyle. “Hurry up. They’ll all be out of church soon.” The Sheriff got into his cruiser and drove away.
Chapter Nineteen
Today was my birthday. I didn’t tell anyone, but when I woke up this morning, I lay for a moment, thinking about it. Bram was already gone to work, and I heard Sally rummaging around in the kitchen, making something for me to eat. At any moment she would come back into the bedroom and force something into me. I relished the brief moments like these when I could just be alone and think.
I was looking forward to the evening. Sally and Bram would be gone to the Good Friday services for hours, and Gabriel had promised to come and get me. He said he had a surprise for me, but he promised that we would do something fun for my birthday. It would be another brief moment of joy and excitement for me in what had been months of dull monotony.
It was a cloudy morning. I could tell by the way the light in the room was muffled. Marraine always called me her ‘tite ouaouaron’ – little frog – because I was born in the middle of a rainstorm. Most of my birthdays had been rainy days.
I thought for a moment about my own little frog, the one who danced and hopped and kicked inside me. I put my hand on my belly and waited for him. Normally he woke me up with his antics, but this morning he had been still and quiet. Too quiet.
“Morning, sunshine!” Sally crooned, bursting into the room with a serving tray. “How are we this morning?” She placed the tray on the bedside table and handed me a cup of orange juice. I sat up slowly in bed and took a sip of the juice. Sally busied herself about the room, opening the curtains and pulling out fresh clothes for me to wear.
After I had nibbled an acceptable amount I got up and, taking the dress that Sally had laid out for me, headed to the bathroom. Sally had drawn a bath for me and I pulled off my nightgown and stepped inside. The water was warm and soothing. I slipped down under the surface, just the top of my huge belly remaining out of the water. I sat very still, holding my breath, hearing nothing under the water except for the sound of my own heart.
The pain started as an ache in my lower back. I sat up slowly, placing my hands on my stomach and bending forward. The next moment, the pain was shooting up my spine and radiating into my lower abdomen. I felt my stomach harden, and I pulled my knees up, trying to stifle the gasps that racked through me. Gripping the side of the tub, I tried to stand up, but the pain pushed me back again.
“Everything alright in there?” I heard Sally calling.
“Y- yes ma’am,” I choked out. I knew I only had a few more moments before she would be knocking at the door.
I struggled again to stand up, and as I did, another wave of pain ripped through me. I cried out in earnest this time. I looked down and saw blood flowing from me, down my legs, staining the water with cloudy red. The next instant, Sally had thrown the door open, shock and horror on her face.
“Oh, Jesus!” she screamed. “Oh no, Lord, Jesus!” She ran over to me, grabbing me under the arms and helping me to step out of the tub.
“I, I’m sorry. .” I stammered.
“Shh, shh, now, don’t speak,” she soothed, wrapping a towel around me. “Can you walk?” she asked.
“I think so.”
I leaned my head against Sally’s shoulder and together we limped toward the bedroom. When I reached the foot of the bed, another wave of pain shot through me and I toppled forward, gripping the quilt in my hands.
“Oh my God!” Sally yelled. “Melee, can you get into the bed, honey? Oh God, Oh God.” She was panting in her effort to lift me up. I managed to help her pull me up and then rolled into the bed.
The next few hours passed in a blur. I drifted in and out of consciousness, moving from blinding pain, to frightening dreams. At one point, I sat up in bed, screaming,
“Marraine! Viens! Marraine! J’ai besoin de toi!”
Sally was next to me, shushing me and rubbing a cool cloth across my forehead.
“Miss Sally,” I whispered, settling back against the pillow. “You have to call someone. Please, call a doctor.”
Sally pursed her lips and shook her head. “I can’t honey, now you know that. No one can see you have this baby, you understand, don’t you, sugar?”
“Miss Sally, I’m so sorry. I don’t think the baby made it.”
“Don’t say that!” she snapped. “I won’t hear that. You will not say that again!” She got up suddenly and left the room, slamming the door.
I
was alone for another hour, tossing and turning. I felt as though I was burning alive. My sweat soaked the sheets. Sally finally returned and gasped when she saw me.
“Oh God, honey,” she said. “I’m sorry I left. I had to go and get some things.” She was holding a bowl with some linens, scissors, string and various other supplies. I tried to sit up again and when I did saw that I was lying in blood. Blood soaked the sheets and the quilts.
Sally seemed to notice it, and muttered,
“Got to get you up out of here, now. My parents are coming and I can’t have you in here like this. Got to get you upstairs.”
She put her arms around me and started to drag me out of the bed. The pain was excruciating now. I gasped with each step. Sally’s jaw was clenched and she held me in an iron grip as she half pulled, half dragged me out of the bedroom, across the kitchen, up the stairs, through the attic, and finally into the small bedroom where I had stayed when I first came to live at the Palmers.
By the time we reached it, I was crying in pain. Sally threw me on the bed, and pulled me backward. She had laced sheets through the head of the bed, and she placed my hands in them, threading them around my wrists like handcuffs. I saw by the expression on her face that she no longer had any concern for my welfare. Her only concern was for the baby inside me.
After she had tied me down, she placed a gag into my mouth and then stroked my cheek.
“Shh, shh,” she whispered, “try not to cry out so, ok honey? My parents are coming in a minute to get me for church. I need to go downstairs and clean up a little and tell them that I’m not feeling well – that I’ve got a headache and they need to go without me. Now, you just try to be quiet, and I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
She kissed me on the cheek. Then she took one last peek around the room, closed and locked the door.
I bit down on the wadded cloth in my mouth and allowed myself to scream, grateful for the way the sound was muffled. I thought about Marraine, the many times that I had been with her when she went to aid the women in labor. There had been pain, of course, but Marraine had soothed them, bringing them tonics and teas to ease the pain, rubbing their backs, massaging them, singing to them. They called her an angel, and she was. I wanted so much to see her again, to feel her cool hand on my head and know that everything would be ok.
An hour or so later, Sally returned, a bowl of hot water in her arms. She was humming a strange tune. She barely looked at me.
“Are you ready to come out, my love?” she crooned to the unborn baby. “Momma’s ready for you.”
She kneeled at the foot of the bed and pulled out her rosary. Slowly and methodically, she began reciting the Our Father.
Our Father, who art in heaven,
“M-Miss S-Sally!” I gasped, “help me!”
Hallowed be thy name
“Please, Miss Sally, please, I don’t know what to do!”
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,
“Miss Sally, I beg you, please get someone to help me!”
Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses,
I lost consciousness then. I became aware only of the pain. I felt myself screaming, though I made no sound. Somewhere in the distance, I could still hear Sally’s voice.
For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, now and forever, Amen.
Finally the pain subsided. I don’t know how much time passed. I felt as though I were floating above the bed, and when I looked down, I saw myself there, leaning lifeless against the pillows, my legs askew and Sally kneeling at the foot of the bed, her rosary pressed against her lips which were moving rapidly in silent prayer. I gradually came back to myself, and when I opened my eyes, Sally was rising to her feet, her rosary beads clutched in her hands, her eyes wide with wonder. I glanced down at my legs and saw pools of blood and there in between, a tiny shriveled baby. The baby was not moving. It was not making the cries that it should be making. It was too tiny to be born, I knew. It was not its time.
“It’s a girl!” Sally squealed, picking up the tiny thing and wrapping it in a towel. She wiped the blood from its head and kissed it, then she began dancing from foot to foot, singing a song low and softly.
“Thank you, Melee,” she said, her voice quiet and firm. “You can go now.”
She turned her back to me and stared out the window. I had been ready for this. I’d known for a while that as soon as the baby was born, Sally would no longer need me and I’d be free to go. I pulled myself together, weak and shivering. I tried to stand up, but swayed unsteadily on my feet. Where would I go now? There was still no answer for me. There still did not seem to be a place of safety and comfort waiting for me anywhere.
“Melee!” I heard a voice shouting from below. “Melee!” It was Gabriel. My angel.
“Gabriel!” I called back. “I’m up here!”
I heard feet running through the kitchen, and then bounding up the kitchen stairs. In another moment he arrived at the door, his eyes bright. The smile faded from his lips and I watched as he took in the scene, his eyes flitting from me, to the bed, to Sally and back to me. I held my arms out to him, and he bounded over to my side, pulling me close to him.
“Melee, you alright honey? What happened? What happened?”
“Please,” I choked, “please, get me out of here.”
Gabriel didn’t answer. He picked me up in his strong arms and strode out of the room. He brought me downstairs and into the bathroom.
“Can you walk a little?” he asked, “Can I leave you here for a minute? I’m going to get your things together.”
I nodded. I could feel the strength returning to me, now that the pain was gone. I washed off the blood as best as I could, and wrapped myself in a dry towel. Gabriel returned in a moment, bringing me clothes to put on. He already had my little carpet bagged packed up for me. I stumbled out of the bathroom, and he grabbed my hand.
“Melee, I have to leave. Now.” I saw fear and anger in his eyes. “Honey, you don’t have to go with me, but if you want to, you sure can.”
I didn’t answer. I just put my arms around his neck, pulling his lips to mine. We kissed for a long moment, and then he picked me up and carried me outside. He put me on the handlebars of his bike, placing my little bag in my lap and climbing on. The next minute we were pedaling on our way out of town.
The rain was pounding down. Soaking me through. I could barely see in front of us. Gabriel put his chin on my shoulder. I heard him gasping with the effort of pushing his bike through the mud and pools of rainwater. We rode that way for a long time, not speaking, nothing but the sound of the rain and Gabe’s ragged breath in my ear. I was grateful that the entire town would be at church tonight. I was grateful for the rain and the darkness to cover us as we made our escape.
We reached the bridge over Bayou Teche and Gabriel started the steep climb. We slowed down more and more and I could tell that Gabe was really struggling now to push the both of us up.
“Gabe,” I said, “Let me walk!”
“No, Melee, it’s ok, I can get us up there!”
“Gabe,” I argued, “please, I can walk now. I’m ok. Really I am.” He stopped the bike and I climbed down. He gave me a grateful smile and the two of us began walking slowly up and over the bridge.
I didn’t hear the car coming. I guess the sound of the rain drowned it out. All I know is that we were almost to the middle of the bridge when suddenly we were both blinded by headlights. Gabriel stopped and turned around, his face angry and defiant. The car stopped, its headlights still shining on us and then someone stepped out of the driver’s side.
I instantly recognized the silhouette. Though I could not see his face, I saw the dark shape of his body and knew it from a thousand nightmares both waking and asleep. It was the Vieux Diable. This time, though, he spoke.
“Evening, Gabriel. Well, now, where do you think you’re going?”
“T
hat – that ain’t your business, Sheriff!” Gabriel shouted. He put out his arm and pushed me behind him.
“Well now, Gabe, I’m afraid you made it my business earlier this evening, didn’t you?” The Sheriff was slowly walking around the car door and heading toward us, his hand perched on his gun holster.
“And what have we here?” he continued, “a little companion to join you? How sweet.”
“She ain’t got nothin’ to do with this!” said Gabriel.
“I say she has!” hissed the Sheriff, “I just come from Sally Palmer’s place and I seen what’s been left there. I say she has a lot of explaining to do.”
Gabriel threw a panicked look in my direction. “Run, Melee!” he urged me, “RUN!”
I didn’t wait for him to say it again, I turned, grabbing my carpet bag and took off over the bridge. I thought that Gabriel was right behind me with the bicycle.
“GET BACK HERE!” I heard the Sheriff scream, and then I heard the slam of a car door, the roar of an engine and the screech of tires peeling out on wet road. When I turned back to see if Gabriel were behind me, I saw the Sheriff’s cruiser slamming into the bicycle, Gabriel’s body was flung forward to the ground.
“NO!” I screamed, dropping my bag and running back to Gabriel. Blood was pouring from his head where it had smacked the pavement. He did not move though I called and called him, my head buried in his chest. I felt something pushing me aside. I looked up and saw the Sheriff bending over us. His face was hard and fierce. He picked Gabriel up off the ground and flung him over his shoulder. For an instant I thought the Sheriff was going to help us, but then I watched as he walked carefully over to the side of the bridge and, without pausing, threw Gabriel’s body over the ledge and into the Bayou Teche.
The Devil in Canaan Parish Page 19
