Lost in the Bayou

by Cornell DeVille

  It was a lot spookier after it got dark. Andy suggested we spend the night in the shanty and head home the following morning, and I agreed that was a good idea. We let the horses out of the paddock and led them down the hill to the small creek so they could get a good drink before we turned in. Our canteens weren’t empty, but we took the opportunity to top them off while we were there.

  I had brought our saddle blankets inside earlier, and I used them to make us a pallet on the dirt floor. With all the strange noises coming from outside the shanty, we both had trouble getting to sleep. The worst part was using the old makeshift privy outside, and I was glad we’d brought a lantern with us. Andy and I agreed that if we ever made another trip to the shanty, we needed to remember to bring some toilet paper.

  A shiver goes through me as I recall that trip. The spiders and snakes aren’t something I’d like to see again, but there were plenty of good hiding places. Besides, I’m older now, and I shouldn’t be such a baby and be so afraid of such things.

  Even though it’s scary and dangerous, the bayou may be the best place we can hide. After all, except for the spiders and snakes, it couldn’t be any more dangerous than staying here with an uncle who says he’s going to kill us. Or snip off our toes. At least in the bayou we’d have a chance.

  The more I consider it, the more I’m convinced that our odds of survival would be much better in the bayou. Although it isn’t the safest place in the world, the same danger exists for anyone who enters. Crazy Conrad could be bitten by a snake or eaten by an alligator just as easily as Andy or I could. It would give us a level playing field where age or size is no advantage. The bayou seems a lot safer right now than staying in the house.

  I make a decision.

  “We’re going to the bayou,” I whisper to Andy. When he doesn’t reply, I glance over at him and discover he’s fallen asleep. I drape my pink robe around his shoulders to keep him warm and let him rest while I continue my mental planning.

  A flash of lightning explodes outside my window, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The rain is coming down even harder now, and the wind is blowing it in sheets against the glass. Of all the nights we could have chosen to leave the comfort and warmth of home, this is probably the worst. But it’s only rain, after all, and we’re not going to melt.

  A slightly wicked smile crosses my face as I imagine how surprised and angry Conrad is going to be when he realizes we’ve outsmarted him. It might take a few days for him to give up his crazy game, but when he figures out he’s not going to find us, he’ll probably hop in that fancy car of his and leave, and we will have seen the last of him. Then our lives can return to normal—or at least as close to normal as they’ve been since our parents disappeared. Mom and Dad should be home by then anyway.

  It’s been a long day and a tiring one. I lean over and click my radio on. Brook Benton is singing “It’s Just a Matter of Time.” I close my eyes and listen to his soft and soothing voice mixing with the sound of the rain on my window. It relaxes me, and I decide to rest for a few minutes, just until the song is over. After that, I’ll wake Andy, and we’ll collect the things we need to take with us when we leave later tonight, after old Claw Hand falls asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Packing Up

  Tuesday morning

  IT SEEMS LIKE ONLY a few moments later when I open my eyes to see a bright light shining on my face. The first rays of the morning sun are coming over the horizon and through my window. I can tell it’s going to be another typically hot and humid summer day in Louisiana, unless we get another storm to cool things off.

  When I stretch my arms out, my hand hits Andy’s back, and I wonder why he’s sleeping in my bed. My radio is still on and Bobby Darin is singing about “Mack the Knife.” Suddenly the image of Conrad holding the carving knife against Andy’s chest pops into my head and it all comes rushing back with a shuddering jolt. My comfortable mood evaporates as panic grips me.

  Oh, no!

  “Andy! Andy! Wake up!” I twist the knob and turn off the radio.

  He rolls over and faces me. He’s blinking his eyes and a look of confusion fills his face. “What?”

  “Uncle Conrad! His stupid game starts this morning. Get up!”

  “Oh, crap! I forgot!” Andy’s expression changes quickly, and he jumps out of bed while I hurry to my walk-in closet. After closing the door and stepping out of my dress, I stuff my legs into yesterday’s jeans. As I’m changing, I recall Mrs. Deffenbaugh telling me that a young southern belle shouldn’t wear jeans. Ha! With these freckles and my curly red hair, I’m having serious doubts that this belle is ever going to ring.

  I pull my shirt over my head and whisper at the door. “Andy.”

  Andy’s voice whispers back from the other side. “What?”

  “Don’t unlock the bedroom door!”

  A moment later, I’m dressed and joining Andy at the door. We’re both listening, trying to determine if our crazy uncle is waiting on the other side. My mind imagines the worst: Opening the door and seeing him waiting there holding the carving knife in his hand, ready to shove it into my heart. Andy’s eyes are wide as I stare at him, and anticipation paints his face as we strain to hear any sound.

  “Do you hear anything?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head slowly and whispers, “Maybe Crazy Conrad has a hangover, and he’s sleeping in.”

  Instead of opening the door, I motion to him to follow me, and we hurry to my desk. I slide the notepad in front of me and pick up a pen.

  “We’ve got to get out of the house and get away from Conrad,” I whisper. “Do you remember what we were talking about last night?”

  Andy nods. “The bayou?”

  “Yeah. We need to figure out what to take with us so we can stay there a while.”

  “Toilet paper, for sure,” Andy says.

  “Definitely,” I agree and make a note. “What else?”

  “Well, we’re gonna need some food,” he says.

  “I’ll take care of that. What else?”

  Andy rubs his chin. “Boots?”

  “Good idea.” I write boots on the notepad.

  “Oil lantern,” Andy suggests. “And oil. And matches.”

  I’m writing Andy’s suggestions as fast as he makes them. “Get our canteens,” I say as I add that word to the list.

  “And a knife,” Andy says. “You can always use a knife.”

  I nod as I scribble the words. “Right. Can you think of anything else?”

  Andy has his thinking face on, but nothing new is coming out of his mouth.

  I tear the paper slowly from the pad so it doesn’t make much noise, and I hand it to Andy. “I’ll take care of the food and the knife when I get downstairs. Can you find all this other stuff?”

  Andy nods as he takes the paper from my hand, folds it in half, and stuffs it into his shirt pocket.

  I pull a pair of heavy white socks from my dresser and hurry across the room. I sit on my bed and slip a foot into one of the socks. When I get the other sock on, I head back to my desk, grab the pad, and scrawl a quick note:

  Warner—

  Uncle Conrad is going to kill us.

  —Robin

  I open the top drawer of the desk and drop it in. The drawer slides closed silently when I give it a push.

  “Just had another idea,” I say as I rush to my bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. I pull out a roll of gauze, some iodine, a roll of adhesive tape, a box of Band-aids, and a bottle of aspirin. I snatch the toilet paper from the holder before leaving the room. Back at my desk, I pick up the antiseptic ointment where Andy left it.

  “Why are you taking all that stuff?” Andy asks.

  I rush past him with my hands full and head back to my closet. “In case we get bit by a snake or cut ourselves or something. I don’t know. Don’t worry about it. Just be as quiet as possible when you’re getting the things on your list, and hurry.”

  I grab my big leather satchel off the shelf. I’
m thankful that it’s so large as I’m dropping everything into it. I pull a jean jacket off the hanger and stuff it inside before slinging the satchel over my shoulder. A moment later, I’m out of the closet and heading toward the door, motioning to Andy to follow.

  “After you find everything on the list, meet me in the stable,” I whisper. “Get Sunny and Star saddled if you get there before I do. And don’t forget the canteens. We’ll get water at the creek after we leave.”

  We stand by the door and listen. I can hear myself breathing, but there’s nothing but a heavy silence coming from the other side of the door. Andy’s probably right about Conrad sleeping off a hangover. I’m hoping that’s the case, but there’s no way to find out for sure without opening the door.

  I take a deep breath. “Ready?” I ask as I grab the key with shaky fingers.

  Andy gives me a nod.

  The lock clicks louder than expected when I turn the key. Before I open the door, we both whisper to each other at the same time. “Be careful.”

  My heart races as I twist the knob. I ease the door open a tiny crack and cringe when the creak of the hinge echoes down the hallway.

  Chapter Ten

  I’m Takin’ the Bacon

  THE HINGE SQUEAKS EVEN louder as I push the door open far enough to stick my head out and glance quickly up and down the hallway. It’s deserted—for now. I give Andy a gentle push through the doorway and follow him. I start to close the door. When it answers with another squeak, I decide to leave it open and not take a chance on the noise waking our uncle.

  We creep silently along the hallway in our sock feet toward the stairs. Once there, we descend the long staircase as fast as possible, light on our toes. When we reach the bottom, Andy veers off in one direction, his socks sliding on the slippery hardwood floor.

  I head in the other direction and hurry toward the kitchen, smelling the delicious aroma before I get there. When I arrive, Mrs. Deffenbaugh is standing in front of the stove, tending the bacon that’s sizzling nicely in the big cast iron skillet. Her hearing aid is sending out a low buzzing sound, telling me it’s turned on.

  “Good morning, Robin,” she says with a voice that’s much too loud.

  “Shhh,” I reply, putting my finger to my lips.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispers.

  I should have considered the likelihood of running into Mrs. Deffenbaugh. I’d forgotten that she’s usually up by this time, preparing breakfast. There isn’t time to carry on a lengthy conversation with her right now, and I certainly can’t tell her the truth about what’s going on and what Andy and I are about to do. I have to think fast and come up with a way to hurry this along and make everything seem natural. I move closer so she can hear me better.

  “We’re playing a little joke on Uncle Conrad,” I whisper back.

  Mrs. Deffenbaugh smiles as she starts removing the bacon from the skillet. “How fun for you. Your uncle is such a delightful gentleman. He’s so much better since he got out of the hospital.”

  “You mean when he hurt his hand?”

  She turns a slice of bacon over and heads her fork toward the next one, apparently oblivious to my question.

  “You mean for his hand?” I ask a bit louder.

  “No, no, no,” she replies. She touches her temple. “For his head.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The mental hospital your father sent him to after he lost his hand.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know about that,” I say.

  “Oh, yes,” she replies, nodding. “He’s so much better now. And he’s such a sweet man. And so generous. Did you see the gift he brought me?”

  She turns from the stove, and my eyes quickly scan the words printed on the front of her new apron. It seems appropriate: I’d tell you the recipe, but then I’d have to kill you.

  “Yeah,” I respond with a mock laugh. “He’s a real peach, isn’t he?”

  I decide to find out the rest of the Uncle Conrad story later. I hurry to the cabinet where we keep the keys and remove the one I need. Mrs. Deffenbaugh is paying attention to the bacon and doesn’t notice what I’m doing. I close the cabinet and join her at the stove.

  “I want you to listen carefully, Mrs. Deffenbaugh. Andy and I are going to play a game with Uncle Conrad today. It’s like hide and seek. We’re going to hide in the attic. But when you see him this morning, tell him we’re in the cellar. Okay?”

  She gives me a sweet smile and snaps her short, pudgy fingers as she removes the last strip of bacon from the skillet and places it on the paper towels. “Got it! You’re hiding in the attic.”

  “No!” I tell her as I stuff the key into the pocket of my jeans. “You tell him we’re in the cellar.” I roll up the paper towels and stuff the warm bacon into my satchel. “And I need to take this bacon for the picnic Andy and I are going to have later. Remember. You tell Uncle Conrad we’re in the cellar,” I repeat, pointing my finger toward the floor.

  “Right. You’re hiding in the cellar.” She nods as she points toward the floor, too, and then turns her attention back to the stove. “Now, what was I doing?” she says.

  “Bacon, Mrs. Deffenbaugh. You were getting ready to fry some more bacon,” I answer as I hurry to the refrigerator, grab a package of bacon, and hand it to her. “And I need to get some more food for the picnic Andy and I are having in the cellar later today.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s right,” she replies as she looks down at the package of bacon I’ve just handed her.

  I direct my attention to the fridge again. My eyes quickly scan the shelves. Not a lot to choose from. I remove what’s left of the roast and the biscuits from last night’s dinner and drop them into a small paper sack before placing it in my satchel.

  I’m still hurrying, thinking Conrad could appear in the kitchen doorway at any minute. At the same time, I’m trying to act like I would on any other morning. I don’t want her to get an inkling that something’s wrong. If she does, she’ll start asking questions—questions I can’t truthfully answer without putting her life in danger, too. And with her hearing as bad as it is, she won’t get it, and she’ll just keep asking questions. If that happens, I’ll never get out of here in time. I decide to head the conversation in another direction.

  “Where’s Warner?” I ask.

  “Warner? Oh, he went to the stable to feed that old mule of his,” she says as she slices open the bacon package.

  I continue searching the refrigerator and come up with a block of cheese and three apples, which I add to my food collection. The paper sack containing Conrad’s blueberries is in there, but I decide not to take them. I close the fridge and snatch a loaf of bread from the countertop as I cross the room.

  When I pass the cutlery drawer, I remember Andy suggesting a knife. I grab the handle and yank the drawer open. The contents echo with a metallic clatter. The butcher knives gleam up at me, nice and sharp, and I take the biggest one in the drawer.

  After pouring some ground coffee into a tin and placing the lid on it, I grab a small saucepan from the collection hanging above the center island and stuff it and the knife into the satchel along with the tin of coffee. The final item I grab is a small coffee cup. I’m hoping that’s everything we need, because my satchel is getting pretty full and pretty heavy.

  “Now don’t forget. We’re in the cellar.” I point to the floor again.

  “Got it,” she says as she copies my gesture before turning back to the skillet and tending her bacon. I can’t sling the satchel over my shoulder now because of the weight, so I just drag it along beside me as I hurry from the kitchen and toward the back door.

  The morning dew glistens like tiny diamonds on the grass when I get outside. I decide to spend the few seconds it takes to pull my socks off before running the hundred yards to the stable. I don’t like wet socks, and my feet will thank me after I get my boots on. Andy isn’t there when I arrive, but Warner is singing to his mule and scooping some oats from the bin into his feed trough.
/>   “Good morning, Miss Robin,” he says when he sees me.

  “Hi, Warner. How’s Beau Diddly doing today?” My chest is thumping like the hooves of a racehorse, and I keep glancing back at the house.

  “Oh, he’s about as fine as frog hair this morning,” he says as he rubs Beau’s ears while the big white mule chomps the grain. “Just gettin’ a little long in the tooth, like me.” Warner raises his bushy eyebrows as he glances down at my satchel. “My goodness, are you going on a long trip this morning?” he asks with a chuckle.

  “Sort of,” I reply. “Would you do something for me?” My voice sounds a bit pleading and childish, but the words have already come out and there’s no taking them back now.

  Warner drops the metal scoop back into the grain bin and looks down at me with a smile. “Whatever it is, consider it done, Miss Robin.”

  I pull the key to the cellar door from my pocket and hand it to him, trying to give him a convincing smile that hides my nervousness. “We’re playing a little trick on Uncle Conrad this morning. Watch him, and when he goes into the cellar, close the door and lock it. But don’t let him know it’s you.”

  Warner gives me a strange look as he stuffs the key into his pocket. “I’m not thinking Mister Conrad is going to be very pleased with that trick.”

  “Oh, he’ll think it’s funny,” I reply as I sit on the bench and pull my socks on. “But he’ll act like he’s mad. Just make him think that Andy and I did it. Tell him you’ll look for the key, but don’t let him out until supper time.”

  Warner removes his old hat and slaps at a wasp that’s interested in his face. “That’s a mighty long time to keep your uncle locked up in that cellar, Miss Robin. He’s likely to be as mad as a hornet and mighty hungry by then.”

  “Mrs. Deffenbaugh will take care of that later with a big supper, I’m sure.”

  He puts his hat back on and shakes his head, still giving me a strange look. “I don’t know about this idea. Your uncle made it pretty clear yesterday that he has a bit of a temper. He’s going to be mighty angry if I lock him in the cellar. There’s no telling what he might do. I don’t want him coming after me with that hooky hand of his.”