LeOmi's Solitude

by Curtis, Gene

  LeOmi’s Solitude

  D. S. Curtis

  Copyright © 2011 D.S. Curtis [Smashwords Edition]

  Edited by Dianne Hills

  This book is dedicated to my loving family.

  “Don’t be afraid. God is with us--Mighty and terrible. The LORD thy God will send the hornet among them, until they that are left, and hide themselves from thee, be destroyed.”

  LeOmi’s Solitude

  Chapter 1

  Have I Got You Riled Up Yet

  Three years ago:

  Momma! Momma!

  LeOmi sat up, still fighting to pull herself away from those last few seconds of the dream. Her eyes were wide open but all she could see was the image of her mother as she walked down the sidewalk and the curls of her long beautiful black hair bouncing against the curve of her back. It was the same dream; a snatch-of-time, the re-living of a memory. She even heard the click-click-click of her mother’s spiked heels on the sidewalk as she walked away.

  Click-click-click.

  The night’s breeze blew the thin sheer curtains so that they pushed into the room. Cold air brushed her damp hair back from her face and arms. She waited for the sounds of footsteps—but there were none.

  “Good, I didn’t want you to come anyway, and I don’t care if you can hear me or not.”

  There had been a time when a nightmare would bring her mother running to comfort her. Not anymore, and her father certainly would not come to her.

  He’s too busy feeling sorry for himself.

  In the dark, her eyes focused on the glowing clock numbers. “3:15,” then she heard the click-click-click again.

  Parts of the dream were still so vivid in her mind. Was it a premonition of something evil?

  What a horrible dream.

  “Oh, I can’t remember all of it.” She picked up her pillow and threw it at the clock on the dresser. Some unseen force held the clock firm in its vigil. Even sticking her tongue at it did not make a bit of difference.

  Dreams are so stupid, “I hate them.” They just make me remember things that I would rather forget and make me want to do things that I can’t do.

  Click-click-click.

  That sound.

  She got up with the intention of closing the window—but now the cool breeze felt so wonderful.

  Click-click-click. Her eyes followed the sound.

  A branch from the large camellia bush swatted her mom’s old Volvo station wagon that was parked in the back yard.

  “You might as well sell that car. She’s not coming back. Not this time. You know what they say; the third time is a charm. This time, there is no way that she is coming back.”

  LeOmi picked up her hairbrush from her dresser and threw it at the bush, wedging it deep into the branches. Some of the flower petals fell to the ground.

  Why did you have to leave?

  I knew that it was going to happen. It was just a matter of time. Grand-Mère said that you have gypsy blood. I guess that means that I have gypsy blood too. Oh, why does it hurt so much?

  She has ruined everything. I can’t even stand at my favorite thinking spot anymore. She has taken that away too. Things that might have happened or that could have happened, that I hoped would happen.

  “But now—now things are different.”

  She turned to face away from the car and the path.

  “She doesn’t care about me anymore so I won’t care about her. I can’t let her or anybody else hurt me like that again.”

  The breeze blew again. It seemed to console her, it seemed to say—that’s right, it’s your choice, only you can make these things turn out the way you want them to.

  Is that what she was thinking when she left? Couldn’t she see how black and evil that man’s heart is?

  The breeze blew again.

  Click-click-click.

  The hairs on her arm stood up making goose bumps jump out all over her arms. She lifted her arm to watch them dance with the breeze. She stood and leaned out the window with a large stretch of her arms grabbing and reaching for the wind.

  When she settled back into the windowsill, she glanced over to the station wagon, towards the huge old oak tree. It swayed with such grace and beauty, its leaves flashing in the moonlight. She followed the wind’s invisible course past the steeple of the church towards the river. The moonlight glistened off the waves, from there she could envision the breeze soaring toward the bay and then down to the ocean. She could almost see the swirls that the wind made in the sand and the sea foam being lifted into the air.

  “Salt, water and sand, fun in the sun. Why would she leave this?” How many times had we gone down to the beach? She would say, “Pack up some towels and a book and lets go waste the day away.”

  “Waste.”

  Now I know the meaning of waste. She only wanted to pretend that she was someone else, living a different life in those books that she read.

  LeOmi laid her head against the windowsill and watched.

  On the other side of the church, down about four blocks, stood the Naval Hospital pointing thirteen stories straight up into the air. The Hospital was always busy and it had so many bright lights in and around it at night that you couldn’t even see the stars in the sky. There were always cars coming and going into and out of the parking lots and it seemed like there were always ambulance’s red lights flashing and bouncing off the buildings and the trees.

  Just past the church was the old hospital that was built during the Civil War. They say that it’s haunted. Ghostly women in long white confederacy style dresses and frilly hats supposedly walk back and forth on the front steps. At night, some say you can hear the moans of the Yankee prisoners coming from the basement, which is where the morgue is now.

  Norfolk Naval Base had been her dad’s home port for the last eight years and in all that time LeOmi had never seen or heard any of those things, but her sister Ruby had certainly tried her best to trick her, “LeOmi look, there is one of those ghosts.” She would run to the window and Ruby would say, “Oh, you just missed her.” She would try so hard to see the specter that she could almost be convinced that it was actually there—but she knew that it was just Ruby trying to scare her. That was a long time ago. Ruby had been gone away for six long years now. Her brother Jesse had been gone for eight years. He left when LeOmi was two. They didn’t spend much time here at home. They both usually tried to come home for Christmas and summer vacations, but that hardly ever happened. In two more years she would be old enough and that couldn’t be too soon. The Seventh Mountain was and is “the best.” There is none better. At least she hoped that she would still be accepted.

  They might think that I’m not good enough now. I’ll show them. I’ll do everything the best that I can. I’ll show them all.

  Click-click-click.

  “It’s your fault you know. I don’t care if you’re not listening. All of it is your fault. That’s why she left. Why couldn’t you keep her here?” LeOmi’s father has been employed as a Naval Chaplain for almost twenty years. He had met her mother in New Orleans just after he had joined the Navy. They had been married shortly after. Now at thirty-nine, her father was still a very handsome man; lean and tall with well kept blonde hair and deep blue eyes, totally opposite from that man that her mother had left with. Father was slim and light where that man is broad and everything about him is dark.

  “Are you weak, and he is strong? Is that what drew her to him?”

  Click-click-click.

  Grand-Mère says that I look just like her. “Un petit Yvonne.” Hair black as night and eyes like jewels—.

  “Are my eyes like jewels Grand-Mère? My hair like — oh, what do any of you know? If that is what I’m like then that is where I’ll start.” The scissors we
re just over on the desk. With no thought of the consequences and no sense of remorse LeOmi grabbed some of her hair and snip.

  With each cut she held the wad of hair out over the windowsill and released it—watching as it was caught by the breeze and carried away towards the water. Maybe it will make it to the beach.

  LeOmi grabbed another lock of hair. This time she cut all the way up towards her ear, and again another handful. It didn’t take long. When she was done her hair that once reached all the way down her back was crookedly cropped just below her ears. She hadn’t heard the door open and she didn’t know how long he had been there.

  “I should ask what you are doing, but I see.”

  LeOmi turned to her father and the scissors dropped to the floor.

  “What do you want...to tell me what to do? Well go away.” She ran over to the bed, jumped in and pulled the covers to her head.

  At that, her father turned and left from the doorway. She heard him yell as he walked toward his room. “Well since I can’t tell you what to do, I’ll send you to your precious Grand-Mère. Maybe you will pay heed to that wretched witch.”

  She heard his door slam and felt what she thought was the whole house rattle and shake. Her tears started flowing. She angrily wiped them from her cheeks with the back of her hands.

  The last thing that her mother had said to her was “You’re well on your way to growing up.”

  What did that mean—that I don’t need you anymore—or that you don’t need me anymore? I sure don’t feel grown-up.

  Click-click-click.

  “I won’t be like her. I will not be like her.” Angry sobs came out the window reaching the young woman who sat concealed high up in the old oak tree.

  The girl in the tree saw all of this and sadly she took out her notebook and jotted down some notes and silently stowed it away out of sight.

  * * *

  The next day, LeOmi was put on a bus. No lengthy good-byes, no kisses and hugs. Her father only handed her the old backpack that she always carried, a scarf that used to belong to her mother, and a one-way ticket to New Orleans.

  LeOmi turned and put her back to him; he turned and got back into his car. He hadn’t spoken to her at all since the night before. He was still sitting in the car when the bus left the parking lot. He didn’t lift his hand to wave goodbye; he just stared straight at her with those deep blue eyes. So she just turned her head and purposely stuck her nose up into the air.

  That will show him.

  In her backpack she had one of her mother’s old books: To Kill a Mockingbird, her toothbrush, comb, a couple of changes of clothes, her wallet, a few other odds and ends and her cell phone.

  A girl across the aisle smiled and handed LeOmi a tissue. “My Grandma used to call them crocodile tears. You know, like that Peter Pan story.”

  She moved back a few rows to sit across from where LeOmi sat, with her hand extended. “Hi. I’m Rachel. Are you okay?”

  The two girls were practically alone on the bus. “I don’t like traveling alone, do you?”

  LeOmi smiled with a slight nod.

  Rachael continued, “I am going to a little town just past New Orleans. I visit my great aunt a couple of times a year. If we sit across from each other, we can talk and pass the time.”

  Rachel chattered for a while and eventually the two began to talk. They ate lunch and dinner together during the regular stops at key cities and towns. Finally, they reached New Orleans.

  Grand-Mère’s maid, Hannah, was in the grand old Rolls. LeOmi nodded towards the car.

  “That’s my ride.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  Rachel walked over to the car with LeOmi. Hannah simply took out an envelope and said, “The return ticket is in the envelope with your payment.”

  Rachel smiled at LeOmi, shrugged and turned away to go into the bus station.

  LeOmi fought back the tears. She thought that Rachel might have been a genuine friend, someone who cared for her.

  More things to pile in that basket, the one that was labeled painful disappointments, something that her mother had taught her to do.

  They rode to the old house on Dorcus Avenue in silence.

  Her mother had grown up in this house. It took up a whole corner, three stories—huge. It must have been very grand in its day, but now it was just an old dusty place with unused and locked sections.

  Grand-Mère and Hannah’s life revolved around just a few rooms and LeOmi didn’t know how many rooms there were. Only once did the whole family visit and then not only did Grand-Mère forbid any wandering—but mother had also. Early in the morning was when Ruby and LeOmi had decided to sneak off and explore. The huge rooms that could not be locked had grand furniture and high ceilings, like those in old books—ballrooms and beautiful chandeliers in the hallways.

  LeOmi asked Ruby, “Why doesn’t she live in the whole house?”

  Hannah had startled LeOmi when she answered, “Because she cares not to Little Missy, and that’s that.”

  Hannah was an old woman even then. Almost as old as Grand-Mère, but she was still as agile as a woman half her age. She had no problem escorting Ruby and LeOmi back to her mother.

  Mother had warned LeOmi to avoid Hannah, “She is very faithful to your Grand-Mère; they both can be very evil when they want to be.”

  Hannah had just stood there with that same look that she would give Grand-Mère, like you might think that you can tell me to do something—but I won’t do it unless I want to. Standing there like she was, LeOmi thought she must have been very beautiful when she was young. Her hair was always swept back from her face and tightly knotted in the back of her head. She always wore those dangly ruby earrings, there was a broach to match—but she only wore that on special occasions. Now at the bus station, Hannah had that same look on her face and when the car stopped at the garage Hannah said, “I won’t be stuck with taking care of you, Little Missy. I have my duties and you will have yours. I am not your momma and I will not be responsible for you.” LeOmi noticed that Hannah wore the broach today. LeOmi turned to Hannah with fierce determination in her eyes but said nothing.

  As they entered the house, Grand-Mère was in her sitting area in her chair.

  Grand-Mère’s gray-black hair was fastidiously wound and pinned together on her head. Her hands neatly folded in her lap showed her lovely rings on her fine long and elegant fingers manicured to perfection. Her dress was of the old style but immaculately clean and well maintained.

  There was an elegant desk to her right and the beautiful tall, straight-backed chair that she sat in was reminiscent of a throne, French aristocracy incarnate.

  “So, you are now here.” There was the heavily annoyed tone to her voice.

  LeOmi stood in front of the most powerful personality she had ever encountered in her short life. From the previous visits, LeOmi had learned to not get in Grand-Mère’s way. She remembered her mother saying, “Stay out of her way and she will stay out of yours.”

  LeOmi’s response was to stand silently.

  “Very well, we will endure each other. Do not cause any unnecessary complications and you may remain. If I find you intolerable, I will send you back to that man who is your father.”

  LeOmi only inclined her head, lips pressed firmly together.

  “Hannah will show you where you may sleep. Is that thing on your back all of the luggage that you have come with?”

  LeOmi nodded.

  “So it is to be expected from your father.” Grand-Mère simply pursed her lips together, showing a remarkable family resemblance between the two.

  LeOmi waited for a comment about her hair, but there was none. Apparently she was to be ignored as much as possible.

  Hannah led LeOmi to a small room just off the kitchen. It had been cleaned and fresh linens were on the bed. There was no window.

  * * *

  About a week later, her father sent a trunk with her clothes and some papers showing that she was enrolled in t
he local school. He didn’t even bother to ask her, he didn’t even personally have her checked in. It was all done by correspondence through the US Postal service. It felt like he was distancing himself as far away from her as he could.

  I guess I remind everyone of her, so I’ll be ignored by all of them.

  * * *

  The next two years seemed to fly by. LeOmi attended the local school and stayed out of Grand-Mère’s way. One of the duties required of LeOmi was to attend dinner every night, eight p.m. dinner was a solemn occasion with Grand-Mère, dressing in southern fashion but LeOmi did not perform as lady-like as she should have and her hair remained defiantly short. She had even rebelliously white tipped her black hair and jelled it into spikes.

  There were no conversations. No discussion of classes. Pomp and circumstance was not something that was expected of her. After all, this was an inconvenience for Grand-Mère. At least that is what it felt like all the time.

  In her spare time, LeOmi could be found at the local gym studying Kendo and Kickboxing. She went from a skinny ten year old to a tall liquid young woman who could “take down” anyone who challenged her. LeOmi’s instructor, Henry, said that he had never seen anyone move with such grace and speed.

  Henry Ben Franklin, a retired West Point teacher/instructor took her under his wing. Part Cherokee Indian, he taught her things like archery and horseback riding, but his passion was sharp edged weapons of any kind. In the year that LeOmi studied under him, she learned more than she ever thought possible.

  His favorite saying was “Discipline is the human character through applications of principles.” Then he would say, “But you’re a girl, how would you understand that? …Did I get you riled up yet? You seem to focus better when you’re angry.”

  Henry got to know all his students, but during the summer months, when few people were in the gym and they had more one-on-one time, he asked her, “LeOmi, what do you want to be when you grow up?” A common enough question.