Whispers of the Bayou

by Mindy Starns Clark

  The meal was delicious, Louisiana seafood prepared to perfection. Even Tess enjoyed the shrimp and fish—two things I could never convince her to eat at home. Once I felt comfortable with the group, I broached the topics I had come there for, starting with the question of whether anyone was familiar with a placed called Colline d’Or. None of them had ever heard of it, at least not in Louisiana. One guy said that Colline d’Or translated to “Hills of Gold”—though apparently the only hills of any real significance around here were the man-made rises at highway overpasses. Perhaps there were hills in Nova Scotia, I thought, deciding that I would get a different, more detailed map and try there again.

  Next, I brought up the subject of Cajun myths. One by one, they each launched into their favorite chucotement du bayou, though when I asked if there was one about an angelus or a bell, no one could recall what it might be. Tess enjoyed the story of Le Pont du Nez Piqué, about a massive bridge that turned out not to be a bridge at all but the back of a gigantic alligator who would rest during the day but get up and roam the countryside at night. She laughed in delight as the man next to her told the tale, though I had to wonder if she would ever look at any bridge the same way again. Given my warning at the festival, I decided to hold back on showing the drawings I had made. I also didn’t want to arouse Livvy’s suspicions. She still thought I was simply asking all of these questions for the sake of genealogical research.

  Though I received no hard answers while there, about the best thing to come of the meal was a better understanding of the complexities of the Cajun mystique. Everyone at the table agreed that most people’s stereotypical idea of a “Cajun” was far too simplistic. Many Cajuns did live as trappers and shrimpers in rural carefree poverty, they said, but many also became scholars, poets, and well-paid professionals. Many Cajuns kept to themselves and spent their free time drinking and dancing, giving no thought to what the rest of the world thought of them, but others lived mainstreamed lives and worked hard to change the perception of a vastly unappreciated and underserved people group. They said that despite the differences, most Cajuns were extremely secure in their ethnicity, proud of their heritage, and filled with an uncommon zest for life. The more they talked, the more I began to feel something stirring inside my own heart, a sense of pride for that part of myself that I had never given much thought, my Cajun blood.

  I asked if there was any history of tattooing among the Cajun people, but they just looked at me quizzically and said no more so than in the general public.

  By the time the check came, my head was spinning from all I had learned. Grateful for their input, I insisted on picking up the tab. When they tried to fight me for it, Livvy just laughed and told them to let me have it, that I was an heiress now and could well afford a meal out. I smiled as I looked over the bill, thinking that the total cost for the entire group was less than dinner for four at the Plaza.

  “I may be an heiress,” I said to Livvy as I handed the waitress the check along with my credit card, “but I’m afraid the house I’ve inherited needs more work than I can afford.”

  “You should talk to my brother Aaron,” she replied. “He’s a carpenter and general fix-it man, and he’s staying with us for the summer. His rates are very reasonable.”

  “Oh, do, Miranda,” one of the others added. “Aaron’s great. He really knows his way around construction.”

  That sounded like a good idea, even if he just came over to give me an estimate of some of the more urgent repairs. I probably wouldn’t start on anything yet, but if we were eventually going to put the house on the market, there was certainly some work to be done first, however we ended up paying for it.

  Outside, Tess and I said our goodbyes and thank-yous to everyone except Livvy, who walked us to the car. On the way, she asked more about our life in New York and my work there. When she learned that I was an art restoration expert, she became very excited, saying she had some paintings that had been damaged in Katrina that she’d love to hear my opinion on. I wanted to take a pass, but considering how kind she had been to set up this lunch for me, I felt obligated and agreed to take a look if I had time while I was in town.

  “I’ll bring a couple of them over to Twin Oaks tonight,” she persisted, and for a moment I thought of Jimmy Smith and his insistence that I look at his stupid painting as well. Wouldn’t it be bizarre, I thought, if Livvy’s artwork also had the symbol painted into it?

  At least she seemed to know a bit about art and the restoration process. As she talked, I got the feeling that she had seen her share of masterpieces, particularly in her work with museums. It was fun to talk with someone who knew the trade. By the time we reached the car, gave some air kisses, and parted ways, I realized I was again smiling, just as I had last night. It had been a long time since I had made a new friend.

  Steering the Buick out of town, I drove along Serein Highway and slowed as we neared Twin Oaks, once again savoring the grandeur of the iron-and-stone entryway. I turned onto the driveway and proceeded up and around the bend, to where the house and grounds suddenly came into view past the stand of trees. What a sight! I could only imagine how my grandmother must have felt when she saw it for the first time, the beautiful, backwoods Cajun girl coming here to meet her fiance’s wealthy family. She must have been terribly intimidated.

  I parked around back, in the shade of a tree, and as we got out of the car I noticed Lisa out in the yard, ahead and to the right, walking toward a small gardening shed and then stepping inside. We strolled over to join her, reaching the building just as she emerged from the doorway with a shovel in her hand. She jumped when she saw us.

  “Sorry, we didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “That’s okay,” she replied, running a hand across her sweating brow. “What’s up?”

  She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, both smeared with dirt, and in her other hand she held a bottle of water. Strewn on the grass nearby were several more water bottles, all empty, and a smattering of lawn tools.

  “Are you digging a hole?” Tess asked, pointing to the shovel.

  “Nope, just doing a little gardening,” Lisa replied. Then to me she added, “Working the dirt is how I handle grief and stress.”

  Being a city girl, I didn’t know much about gardening, but it seemed an odd choice for the hottest part of the day.

  “Come on around the back of the canning shed. I’ll show you.”

  Rather than leading us to the area in the yard that had obviously at one point been the formal gardens, she simply led us around behind another outbuilding where the earth had been turned over in preparation to receive a flat of flowers that sat waiting nearby.

  “Willy always meant to plant something here,” Lisa explained, “so I figured I’d put in some impatiens in his honor.”

  “That’s nice,” I said, remembering how hard Lisa had worked to keep Willy alive, not to mention how deep her sobs had been once she realized he was gone. She must be feeling the loss quite strongly today.

  “It’s supposed to rain tonight,” she added, “which will be good for them.”

  “Can I dig a hole, Mommy?” Tess asked, greedily eyeing the shovel.

  “Not in that pretty dress,” I replied.

  “Okay,” she said and then she simply reached down, grabbed the hem, and pulled the dress off over her head. She handed it to me and reached for the shovel, wearing nothing but her panties and a white cotton undershirt.

  Lisa burst out laughing, and I had to admit that it was pretty funny. Glancing at my watch, I saw that Quinn could be here soon, so I decided we could stay outside for the time being and let Tess work off a little steam before starting the long drive to Houston.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, and then I took the dress to our bedroom and exchanged it in her suitcase for a shirt and shorts. Thinking better of my own white pants and expensive blouse, I made a quick change into jeans and a button-down shirt tied loosely over a white tank top.

  By the time I got back out
side, Lisa had put away all of the tools except for a small trowel, which Tess was now using to poke in the dirt. I made her pause to put on the clothes and then apologized to Lisa for interrupting her gardening.

  “It’s getting too hot to work right now anyway,” she said. “And we need to talk. I’m glad to take a break.”

  She gestured toward a shady spot on the lawn not far away. Together, she and I walked to it and sat on the grass, chatting softly as we watched Tess play in the dirt.

  “Oh yeah, I guess we need to do this,” Lisa said, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out a pack of matches and a folded piece of paper, which I quickly recognized as Willy’s scribblings from yesterday.

  “I forgot all about that,” I said, feeling terribly guilty that the promise we had made to burn it had completely slipped my mind.

  Lisa did that now, holding it up as she caught it on fire and finally letting it drop to the grass when the flames nearly reached her dark fingers. The fire sputtered out when there was only an ashy triangle left, but just to be safe Lisa doused it with a splash of her bottled water.

  After that she and I talked about all that Willy had said yesterday and all the questions that had been left unanswered by his death. I told her how I’d spent the time since, from our trip to the library to the boudin festival last night to our lunch with the Cajuns today. I showed her the drawing of Jimmy Smith, which she studied for a long time.

  “You took this around at the festival?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And not one person recognized him?”

  “Nope. Do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, Miranda, I don’t. But it’s a good idea. Can I keep this and maybe take it around later to some of the places Willy used to go? You know, like the bars, the hardware store, the barber shop…”

  I told her of the old Cajun man’s strange warning, but she said she’d only show it to people she knew and trusted.

  As Lisa talked I watched Tess, lost in her own imaginary little world, and from what I could tell she was now setting the stage for her own version of The Lion King. She was wandering back and forth between the dirt and a pile of sticks under a nearby tree, carefully choosing the ones that would best suit her purposes for building a lion’s den. She noticed me watching and waved, a stick in each hand.

  “Look, Mommy, I’m Scar!” she cried happily.

  “I see that,” I replied loudly, then under my breath to Lisa added, “though why she wants to be the evil villain in the story rather than the hero is beyond me.”

  Lisa smiled.

  “She’s precious, your daughter.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, agreeing wholeheartedly.

  I asked Lisa about her family and she told me about her husband, Junior, a mechanic who worked on an oil rig out in the Gulf of Mexico.

  “It’s an odd life,” she said, “three weeks on, three weeks off. I miss him so bad when he’s gone, but after he’s been back for a week I’m ready to get rid of him again!”

  We laughed. I thought about telling her about my own marriage woes but thought better of it. Between grieving for her uncle and trying to solve the mystery he’d left behind, she had enough problems already; surely she didn’t want to hear about mine.

  “Junior won’t be back for another ten days,” Lisa added, glancing shyly at me, “so I was wondering if maybe I could stick around here till then to see if I can figure this whole thing out.”

  “But how?” I asked miserably. “I don’t even know what step to take next.”

  Lisa shrugged.

  “I could talk to people, like I said, and maybe offer to help Deena by packing up Willy’s papers. There’s a chance he left something behind in some document or something that might clue us in.”

  “It’s worth a try,” I mused, suddenly feeling quite hopeless. “You’re welcome to stay if you want.”

  “Thanks. At least this way you can go back home and I’ll keep you posted from this end.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her that I wasn’t leaving just yet when my daughter let out a bloodcurdling scream. Stunned, I looked up to see her frantically clawing at her legs, jumping back and forth as though they were on fire. In an instant I was on my feet and flying across the yard, praying to God she hadn’t been bitten by a rabid animal or a poisonous snake, ready to kill with my bare hands whatever it was that had dared to hurt my child.

  EIGHTEEN

  Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides

  Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children.

  “I just don’t understand why you didn’t warn us,” I said angrily to Lisa as my child sat on Deena’s kitchen counter, whimpering. “I’m sorry. I thought everyone knew about fire ants,” Lisa replied. She was mixing a paste made of meat tenderizer, baking soda, and water while Deena searched the bathroom cabinets for Benadryl. I stroked Tess’s hair and spoke soothing words to her, trying not to wince at the welts that had raised up in about ten different places on her legs.

  “I don’t like fire ants,” Tess said through pitiful tears. “They hurt, Mommy.”

  “I know, baby,” I said, wishing I could take all the pain away.

  I was just grateful that the cause of her screams had been ants and not something horrible or maiming or deadly. Lisa brought over the bowl of paste and made a game of dabbing it onto each welt, slowly teasing the pout from Tess’s lips. Deena emerged from the back moments later with a half bottle of Benadryl, which she handed to me.

  “Thank you so much,” I told her. “She might need more again later, so if I can just keep the bottle, that would be great. I’ll pay you for it, of course.”

  “What kind of person do you think I am?” Deena asked, but before I could answer she said, “You can subtract ten percent because it’s partially used.”

  Not bothering to reply, I measured out a dose for Tess. She was just swallowing it down when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in!” Deena shouted, making the rest of us jump.

  The door slowly opened and then Nathan’s sister peeked her head inside.

  “Miranda?” she asked, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light. “Oh my gosh, is this whole joint really yours? It rocks!”

  My face burned with embarrassment as I invited her in and made the necessary introductions. Not only had Quinn’s greeting been inappropriate, but she had interrupted what was not one of my finest moments as a mother. At least Tess was instantly cheered at the sight of her aunt, the painful stings nearly forgotten in her excitement.

  Though it was hard to think of my daughter leaving, I didn’t have much time to spare either, so after dispensing with the introductions, I quickly cleaned Tess up and got her ready to go. Outside, we put Tess’s suitcase and carry-on into Quinn’s little hatchback, and I resisted the urge to lecture my young sister-in-law about safe driving as she prepared to hit the road. What could I say about safety anyway, considering that I had allowed my own child to be stung so badly in the yard less than an hour ago? In the backseat, Tess had a glazed look in her eyes, and I realized that the Benadryl was kicking in and she would probably conk out very soon. I told Quinn as much, saying in a way it was good because Tess might sleep halfway to Houston.

  For some reason, I got tears in my eyes as I told my daughter goodbye, which was strange considering that I frequently traveled for business and was used to our partings. I chalked it up to the emotion of the last few days. This hadn’t been an easy time for any of us, not at all.

  I gave Quinn the bottle of Benadryl and the leftover paste in a paper cup and told her to call me immediately if the bites started to look worse or if she noticed any sort of allergic reaction in Tess, such as shortness of breath or a runny nose.

  “No prob,” Quinn said, taking the proffered items and tucking them between two bags on the passenger seat. “I’ll keep an eye on her, but I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  Leaning into the backseat, I
double-checked Tess’s seat belt, fixed the pillows around her so she could comfortably go to sleep, and then hugged and kissed her again, holding my emotions in check as we said goodbye. I stood and waved until they disappeared from sight around the bend of the driveway, and then a sob burst from my lungs once the car was out of sight. Standing there, I let myself cry, not even sure which of my current traumas I was crying about. Probably all of them. Finally, I wiped my face and took a few breaths, forcing myself to calm down.

  As I turned back toward the house, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of apprehension. Though it would have been nice to have the house to myself, to fling it wide open and explore from top to bottom, to search out memories and feelings from my past without anyone else around to get in the way, a big part of me was glad that I wasn’t here alone. The two women who were currently serving as my housemates were also unwittingly my protection. As the preacher had said, though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves—and a cord of three strands could not easily be broken.

  Still, at the moment I didn’t want to have to make conversation or be with anyone else. When Lisa poked her head out the door to make sure that I was okay, I told her I thought I might take a little walk around the property and explore.

  “Good idea. If we’re gone when you get back, we’re just down the road at the funeral home.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t go into any of the outbuildings. They have some structural damage. And for goodness’ sake, watch out for fire ants.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  Taking her advice, I started my walk by returning to the place where Tess had been stung to see what a fire ant pile really looked like and make sure I didn’t land on one myself. Glancing up at the sky as I went, I realized that clouds were moving in. Lisa had said it was supposed to rain tonight, so maybe this was a good time to walk around anyway, before the grounds became muddy.