Lost in the Bayou

by Cornell DeVille

  “That old man is so stupid,” he says. “Did I already tell you that? Well, it doesn’t matter. He’s a stupid old man anyway. Do you know what he told me, mule? No? You don’t? Well, I’m gonna tell you right now.”

  Conrad stops waving his arms and brings them together. “Hold on. I’m gonna tell you in a minute.” He tips the whiskey bottle toward the sky and drinks the last of it. When he’s finished, he tosses the bottle over his shoulder and it lands behind Beau with a hollow clink. Beau spooks a bit when he hears the sound, but he returns to his slow plod a moment later as Conrad reaches into the saddlebag and pulls out a fresh bottle.

  “Here’s what he said,” Conrad continues while unscrewing the lid and tossing it away. “He said, ‘I know where those children are hiding, Conrad.’ He said, ‘There’s a big cypress tree down there in that bayou with no limbs on it. It’s hollow, and there’s a hole on the far side.’ That’s what he said. Then he said, ‘They’re probably hiding right inside that tree.’ And that’s just where we’re going to go and find them.”

  I suddenly realize why Warner told him that story. He was leading Conrad toward the quicksand.

  Beau isn’t moving very fast, but he’s carrying Conrad further away a little at a time. He’s still quite close, and his voice carries clearly across the distance.

  “I just wish he had told me that before the two of them locked me in the cellar. Damned spoiled brats. Whatever they get serves them right after what they did to me.”

  My heart is pounding and my breathing is shallow as I watch him, hoping he doesn’t glance in our direction. I don’t know what I could do if he saw us now. There’s nothing to do but wait and be as quiet as possible until he passes. I rub Star’s neck and hope neither she nor Sunny decide to whinny at their old friend and stablemate. The seconds crawl by. It seems like hours as I watch him move slowly past. I’m anxious to leave, to put some distance between us as soon as possible. But I have to be patient until it’s safe to move on.

  I jump when a pair of noisy squirrels skitters down the trunk of the tree next to me. They dart in front of Star with an angry chatter and jump onto the low branches of another tree. Star snorts and backs up a bit as the squirrels leap from one limb to the next, moving further away as their argument continues. I glance toward Conrad while this is taking place, but he doesn’t turn around. He simply waves his arm and gets further away, still talking about the cypress tree.

  Eventually, Conrad’s voice fades and Beau’s braying sounds far enough away that it seems safe to move. I turn Star around in a big circle and guide her slowly back into the protection of the trees. I’m glad it’s summer. If it were fall, she and Sunny would be kicking up a lot more noise with their big hooves crunching on the fallen autumn leaves and dry branches. But the foliage is green and the ground still soft from the rain. We’re hardly making any more sound than mouse feet skittering across a kitchen floor on a cold winter’s eve.

  As we continue toward home, I glance over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure Conrad hasn’t seen us and turned around to follow. It’s a long ride, and I’m continually adjusting Andy’s position to keep him centered on the saddle so he doesn’t fall off. The stretchers are also making the trip better than I thought they would. I’m thankful that Fabien Laveau’s people made them as well as they did.

  I also appreciate Star much more than she realizes. She’s such a good horse, and she seems to understand even the slightest touch from my hands and feet. I’m exhausted by the time we reach the edge of the woods. My legs have gone numb, and my stomach is aching from hunger. My head is getting light, and I decide to eat the last of the bacon and the biscuit I was saving for Andy. He’s not going to wake up any time soon.

  Twilight is settling around the house when we finally arrive. Home! Home at last. The tears fill my eyes when I see the warm glow coming through the kitchen window, and I know that Mrs. Deffenbaugh and Warner are inside.

  Star and Sunny both head for the stable. Star seems confused at first when I turn her, but she does what I ask her to do. I finally rein her in at the veranda and holler at the entry door. “Warner! Warner! Come quick! Help me!”

  A moment later, my old friend bursts through the screen door and shuffles toward me as fast as his legs will carry him. “What’s happened?” he says, as his strong arms grab Andy and pull him off my saddle. In the darkness, he doesn’t notice the stretchers at first, but when he does, he shuffles toward them and stares down at the faces. “My God! You’ve found them! Are they alive?”

  He looks up at me with hope in his eyes. I nod as I get off Star’s back and tie both leads to the railing at the bottom of the porch steps.

  “Thank the Lord,” he whispers as he hurries toward me and heads up the steps. “Let me get Andy inside, and I’ll come back for them.”

  I run along behind, crying and babbling like a baby, telling Warner everything I can remember about Michel and our trip deep into the bayou and Fabien Laveau and the Voodoo spell and the snakes and how Conrad almost saw us on the way home.

  “Don’t worry about your uncle. We may have seen the last of him,” he says. He carries Andy to the dining room and lays him on the table. His old fingers tremble as he removes the bandage. Worry fills his face as he gently touches Andy’s forehead. “How long has he been like this?”

  “This is the second day,” I answer. The tears are flowing down my cheeks, and I can’t stop them.

  Warner is shaking his head. He shuffles out of the room as Mrs. Deffenbaugh rushes in. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “The boy’s been hurt,” Warner says as he passes her.

  Mrs. Deffenbaugh looks down at Andy while I stand there wondering what to do. I suddenly remember the Voodoo powder, and my hand darts to my pocket to make certain it’s still there. It is. I rush down the hall and toward the front door, hitting the screen with my hands and making it bang on the house as I run through the doorway. I’m heading down the veranda steps while Warner pulls the limousine out of the garage and toward the circle.

  “I’ll need your help, Miss Robin,” he yells at me as he jumps out of the car. “We have to get your parents into the back seats. Quickly now.”

  Everything is a blur as Warner and I carry Mom and Dad from the stretchers to the back seats of the limousine. There are two seats, facing each other. Warner is doing most of the work. He lays Mom on the rear seat and we hurry back to the stretcher to get Dad. A few moments later, we’re laying Dad across from her on the other seat.

  While Warner rushes back into the house to get Andy, I climb into the limousine and sit in the space between the two facing seats. After removing the leather pouch from my pocket, my fingers fumble with the knot for some time before I manage to untie the cord. When I finally get it open and pour a tiny amount of the powder onto my palm, it looks like white talcum. It’s finely ground and it has a strange smell, like a wet dog or that heavy aroma when someone is scalding the feathers off chickens.

  I place my hand in front of Mom’s face and blow gently. A cloud of powder explodes from my hand and floats toward Mom’s face. Some of it sticks to the moist yellow fluid that’s oozing from the gash, leaving a dry, white coating on it.

  Oh, God! I hope I’m doing this right.

  I wait for something to happen, but nothing does. Maybe it takes a while to work.

  I spin around to face Dad and repeat the process. After a few moments, there’s still no reaction from either of them, and I’m worrying that I’ve done everything wrong or waited too long to do anything. I get out of the car and close the back door just as Warner returns with Andy. He lays him in the front passenger’s seat, and Andy’s small body slumps like a bag of potatoes after Warner lets go of him. A moment later, Warner sits in the driver’s seat and puts the car in gear.

  Mrs. Deffenbaugh appears at the screen door and Warner yells at her as the car moves forward. “I’m taking them to the hospital. Get Miss Robin something to eat.”

  “No! Wait!” I yel
l as I run after him. “I’m going with you.”

  Warner either doesn’t hear me or he ignores my request to go with him. The car speeds up and heads down the driveway. The sound of the motor fades away as the car carrying my family disappears into the darkness.

  A voice deep inside tells me I’ll never see my parents or my brother alive again. Worry and despair at the thought of losing them fills my heart and builds like a volcano. When it erupts, my hands cover my eyes as I start sobbing uncontrollably. I try to tell myself they’ll be fine. They’ll be just fine. But I can’t quiet the voice in my head that’s whispering something different.

  Someone pulls my hand and leads me up the steps and into the house.

  Chapter Twenty

  A Knock at the Door

  The Sherwood Estate—Saturday morning

  The sun is warm on my face.

  We’re sitting on a red and white checkerboard blanket on the front terrace as a mockingbird sings his morning song in a distant tree. It’s Easter Sunday. The big magnolia is blooming, and the lemon fragrance of the blossoms floats on the morning air.

  Or is it the lemonade Dad is pouring into a small glass and handing to Andy?

  Everyone is smiling.

  The wispy pink lace ribbon on Mom’s white bonnet is dancing in the spring breeze as she hands me a bright blue egg. I hear a noise, and I watch as a tiny crack runs across the shell, leaving a jagged line behind.

  A silver claw pops out, and I drop the egg on the blanket. It explodes in a misty white cloud, and Conrad is standing there. He has the face of a shark, but I know it’s him. Somehow.

  His giant claw shoots out and the jaws close around Andy’s neck. Andy’s eyes roll back in his head until only the whites are visible.

  I scream, but no sound comes out of me.

  The sun flashes off the metal claw and into my eyes.

  It’s too bright.

  Too warm.

  I awaken with a start and open my eyes to see the sun shining through my window. My neck is sweating under my chin and my heart is racing. I look around and realize I’m safe in my own room. A wave of relief washes over me. It’s a wonderful feeling to be home again. There’s nothing like the familiarity and comfort of waking up in your own bed. Those are things you forget to appreciate until they’re gone. Kind of like parents. Or brothers.

  My bed is so comfortable and sleep tugs at me again. Pulling me toward a quiet place. Taking me away. The aroma of smoked bacon fills my nose as an image of Mrs. Deffenbaugh floats into my head. She’s standing in front of the stove, turning the crispy brown slices over in the big cast iron skillet. I can’t see them, but somehow I know there’s a batch of her fluffy buttermilk biscuits turning to a golden brown in the oven.

  Her face fades as Andy’s replaces it. We’re back in the shanty again. I see the horrible, bloody gash in his forehead. Time slips past. We’re home. Warner is carrying Andy out the front door and the screen door is slamming behind them. I see the empty and vacant look in Mom and Dad’s eyes as I blow the white powder into their faces. The car is speeding down the driveway, and my whole family is disappearing into the silent darkness of the summer night.

  Suddenly, I hear the sound of a braying mule, but there’s no vision in my head to go along with it. My breath rushes in and my eyelids snap open when I realize the sound I’m hearing can only belong to Beau Diddly.

  Oh, God! Conrad is back!

  I jump out of bed and hurry to the window. There’s no one outside, but it’s definitely Beau Diddly’s braying coming from the stable. I rush to my closet, grab a clean pair of jeans, and pull a T-shirt over my head. Before leaving my room, I look for my satchel to find the carving knife. I suddenly remember that I left it in the stable last night after putting Star and Sunny in their stalls. I can’t take a chance on going that far without something to protect myself in case Conrad is waiting for me. Unless I can find a weapon of some kind in my room, I’m a walking target with no defense against a man bent on killing me and my brother.

  Thank God Andy is safe with Warner.

  My excitement grows when I remember the rifle. Then it sinks again when I recall leaning it against the stable door, and leaving it there with my satchel, like an idiot. There has to be something else I can use, and I rack my brain, trying to think of what it could be.

  My baseball bat!

  That should work. I rush to my closet to get it, but before I open the door, I remember loaning it to Andy. And there’s no telling where he might have left it. I have to find something else. After two or three minutes of frantic searching, I examine the weapons I’ve collected: a ballpoint pen, a metal clothes hanger, and a hairbrush with a few strands of red hair tangled in the bristles. That’s not going to stop anything.

  Think, Robin!

  My hope returns when a familiar face pops into my head. Warner! Maybe he’s home now! He can defend me from Conrad. The thought of Warner boosts my spirit and gives me enough courage to unlock my door. When I open it, a feeling of relief washes over me when I discover the hallway is empty. So far, so good.

  The house appears deserted as I creep down the hallway, alert for any sounds or shadows. A moment later, I’m at the top of the curving staircase. I hurry down it and nearly jump out of my skin when one of the steps lets out a loud creak when my foot lands on it.

  I’m at the bottom now, standing in the foyer. “Warner?” I say in a voice too tiny for anyone to hear.

  There’s no reply.

  “Warner?” I say it a little louder this time. “Are you home?” There’s still no answer. He’s probably in the kitchen. That’s it. He’s probably drinking his coffee. Or maybe he’s feeding Beau Diddly. Either way, he couldn’t hear me from here. After a nervous dash, I make it to the kitchen. There’s no sign of Warner. His empty coffee cup isn’t sitting on the table at his usual place.

  When Mrs. Deffenbaugh removes another strip of bacon from the skillet and gives me a happy greeting over her shoulder, I don’t even take the time to smile back before hurrying to the cutlery drawer. The contents clatter when I jerk it open and pick out the biggest butcher knife I can find, then rush to the table to sit down. My clammy fingers sweat on the knife handle as I hold it on my lap. My nervous leg bounces.

  “Where’s Warner?” I ask, quickly changing chairs so I have a clear view of the doorway instead of sitting with my back to it.

  “He hasn’t come back yet, dear.”

  Apparently, she’s already adjusted her hearing aid. That’s a good thing.

  I hesitate before asking the next question, because I’m afraid of what her answer might be. But I have to know. Beau Diddly is in the stable, and Conrad could have ridden him back. A shiver runs through me when I ask, “What about Uncle Conrad?”

  “He’s hiding in the cellar,” she whispers as she places a platter of bacon in front of me. My breath rushes in. Then she giggles as she returns to the stove, and I realize she must be teasing.

  “He’s not hiding in the cellar, really. Is he?”

  “Oh, no, dear. He’s hiding in the attic,” she answers, as she places a plate of warm biscuits in front of me on the table. She wipes her hands on her apron and giggles when I look up at her. “That was just a joke,” she says. “He’s not anywhere. Well, that’s wrong. He’s somewhere, of course, but I have no idea where he might be. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

  Poor Mrs. Deffenbaugh. I love her, but she’s so clueless about what’s going on. I exhale a pent-up breath. “Has Warner called?”

  She sits across from me at the table and shakes her head. “No. I think our telephones are still broken. But I’m sure everyone is doing fine. So try not to worry.”

  I nod as I pick up a biscuit and pull it apart before sticking a couple of strips of bacon between the halves. My thoughts suddenly return to Andy. He should be sitting across from me, trying to beat me to the crispiest bacon slices. But he isn’t. As I stare at his empty chair a soft and fleeting image of his smiling face fills my h
ead. I drop the biscuit and sob into my hands.

  “There, now,” Mrs. Deffenbaugh says. “You just cry it out if you need to.”

  My crying doesn’t last too long. Anger shoves it aside and replaces it when Conrad’s face comes floating into my mind. My appetite is gone, and I pick up the fallen biscuit and bacon and place all of it back on the platter. The smooth handle of the butcher knife feels comforting when my hand wraps around it again. If it wasn’t for Conrad, none of this would have happened. Andy would be sitting across from me, eating his breakfast, reading the comics on the back of the cereal box, and smiling at me. Just like every other morning. Our uncle has changed all that. I hate him. I hate him so much I can hardly stand it.

  As my hatred of Conrad is churning around in my brain, I hear Beau Diddly’s bray. Why is Beau here? Fear tightens its grip on me, and I realize my fingers have gone numb from my death grip on the butcher knife. If Beau is here, Conrad may have ridden him back. But maybe not. Maybe Beau threw him off. Or maybe Conrad got so drunk he fell off and Beau came back on his own. And maybe Warner’s idea was right. Maybe our crazy uncle fell in the quicksand, and he won’t be coming back at all. Ever.

  Those thoughts fly out of my head and I nearly jump out of my chair when a loud knocking comes from the screen door at the entry. My nerves settle a bit when I realize Conrad wouldn’t knock. It must be someone else. Mrs. Deffenbaugh echoes my thought.

  “I wonder who that could be,” she whispers.

  We leave the kitchen and head down the long hallway. Before we arrive at the door, I see the dark blue uniforms through the screen, and I realize I’m still clutching the butcher knife. That’s probably not a good way to greet the police, so I set the knife on the hall table as I pass it.

  It suddenly dawns on me that they might be bringing terrible news. Maybe Warner ran off the road in the dark and all four of them were killed. Or maybe I didn’t do the Voodoo powder right, and Mom and Dad never woke up. Or Andy’s head injury was so bad he died before he got to the hospital.