by Emery, Lynn
Sweet Mystery
Lynn Emery
All names, characters, stories, and incidents featured in this novel are imaginary. They are not inspired by any individual person, incidents or events known or unknown to the author. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is coincidental. Originally published in 1998. This is a reprint.
Copyright 1998 Margaret Emery Hubbard
Smashwords Edition
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Visit me on the web at:
www.lynnemery.com
Connect with me on:
Twitter: www.twitter.com/LEmeryWriter
Facebook: www.facebook.com/lynn.emery.author
Chapter 1
Rae stared ahead without really seeing the faded blue paint on the wall of the dressing room; one hand still on the phone that sat on the table with her combs and hot curler. Her brother’s voice, from far away, had delivered the news that had not surprised her: Lucien was dead.
“Look here, if you want, I’ll let Buddy know you’ve got to cancel.” Jamal, her drummer and best road partner, spoke in a voice full of compassion.
“We’ve just got one more song, man. It’ll take no time and Kevin can start packing the bus while we’re still on stage.” Wesley, one of the guitarists, rubbed his top lip.
Jamal turned on him with a scowl. “You one cold-blooded–”
“All I’m saying is we been on the road for four years, with finally a solid rep. You know how this business goes, man. We can’t get no name for not sticking through a job.” Wesley did not back down from his position. He considered himself the only true businessman among them, though Rae’s astute management had brought them this far.
“One song, Wes. Buddy isn’t going to object under the circumstances.” Jamal gave a grunt. “He’s got a heart.”
“Hey, I didn’t say Rae shouldn’t leave. Give me some credit. But –”
Rae held up a hand to cut off the argument. “I’m okay. And Wes is right, we got one more song and I’m going to do it,” she said, taking a deep breath before picking up a brush. Rae pulled it through her shoulder length hair, and then pulled back into a long braid that fell down her back.
Jamal gazed at her with concern in his eyes. “Rae, baby, you sure about this?”
She met his gaze and nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. Now go on both of you. I’m fine.” With one touch to her shoulder, Jamal followed Wesley out.
Rae looked down at the phone again. “I can do this.”
She said the words to test her voice again, to make sure it was steady, but also as reassurance that she had the strength to go on stage after that phone call. Singing a few notes, Rae cleared her throat.
As she walked to the stage of the combination dance hall and supper club called Buddy’s Blues Shack, Rae tried to conjure an image. None came until in a flash she realized she was humming a tune Lucien had taught her. On beautiful summer mornings while she trailed after him down at the river dock, he’d sung songs in his rich baritone. Songs about life; funny songs that made her laugh with delight. Lucien Dalcour was a mixed bag kind of man; good memories jumbled with the bad. For too many years the bad memories had ruled in Rae’s mind. Now she wouldn’t have another chance to talk with him about the good times.
“I know y’all done had a rockin’ good time tonight. We have been fortunate to have these fine performers with us, ain’t that right?” Buddy Rolston, a short round man the color of ebony, shouted to the crowded nightclub audience. They clapped and yelled their agreement. “Just wanna tell Rae and the guys you know you always welcome back to Oakland, California. Now give up some love for the Bon Temps Band!”
The crowd erupted into a welcoming clamor as the band took the stage. Rae went to the microphone, her guitar hung around her shoulders. Seeing a sea of faces watching her, she felt a wave of emotion. This was her life; one she’d carved out with sometimes ruthless determination. There were days when her music pulled her back from the deep valley of despair. How many times had she sworn to never leave the road until she was too old to move? Hundreds? Thousands? Yet, in a split second of looking out, she was tired of it all.
“This last song is about hard times. Something we all been through, I guess.” Rae’s voice was soft, pulling everyone into the mood with her. She could see heads nodding in affirmation. “But it’s also about having the guts to make it when everybody says you can’t, when folks say you’re no good.”
“That’s all right now!” Buddy called from his favorite place in the wings.
“Go on, babe,” Jamal said from his place at the drums.
“It was written by somebody who knew a lot about hard times. Bear with me ‘cause I haven’t sung it for a long time.”
Rae felt a rush of love for the band as they began the opening notes of the blues tune. Wes blinked at her with eyes shining, his hard businessman shell gone. He gave a slow bow of his head in a gesture of empathy and affection.
“So this is ‘Can’t Let It Get You Down’ by my father, Lucien Dalcour.” Rae closed her eyes. Lucien’s smiling face was there; a color snapshot.
*
“My baby,” Aletha murmured, gathering Rae into her plump arms. “You had something to eat?”
Rae stroked her mother’s cocoa brown face. Her skin was still supple, despite her fifty years. Trust Mama Letha to think of comfort food. “I’m not hungry right now, Mama. Thank you.”
“Come over here and give your Tante some sugar.”
Tante Ina, round and the color of caramel, did not wait for an answer before giving Rae a tight hug. Her father’s sister was her favorite aunt, a quintessential mother hen. “Get you a plate, cher.”
“No, really, just give me a cola.” Rae felt soothed at being fussed over by the two women.
All three greeted relatives and friends paying their respects in the rundown Acadian-style house, where Lucien and Aletha had raised three children. Aletha filled the house with delicious food she’d prepared at her home in New Iberia. Her second husband, George, had even accompanied her.
“Hey, baby girl. Don’t complain when there’s nothing left.” Andrew, with a lopsided grin so like their father’s, stuffed another mound of jambalaya into his mouth.
“Stop making a pig of yourself.” Neville, the eldest of the siblings, frowned at his younger brother in distaste. “Sheila, stop hitting your brother,” he barked, switching his attention to making one of his four children behave. Mumbling, he wandered off to separate the squabbling youngsters.
“Don’t mind him, Andrew. He’s just upset.” Neville’s wife, Trisha, tried to prevent hurt feelings.
Andrew gave a shrug. “I don’t mind Neville, Trish. Don’t know why he’s so down. He…”
Aletha placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Don’t start nothin’, Andrew.”
Tante Ina shook a finger at them. “Now y’all be nice.”
Neville had gone out of the back door and come back to the living room through the front. “No, let him say what he was going to say.”
“It’s not like you gotta get all respectful now Daddy is dead – all but denied the man the past ten years,” said Andrew, pushing the plate of food away as though full, “Living in your big, fine house on four acres with a stocked pond.”
“I work hard and I’m proud of it,” Neville shot back. “I want something better for my family.”
They a
ll fell silent, including a host of cousins nearby. After whispered comments, they withdrew from the gathering conflict and went out onto the front porch.
What Neville left unspoken was how they had suffered because of Lucien’s drinking and wild money schemes. The family never had enough. Lucien was a big, handsome man, the color of brown sugar. He could never really settle down to being a family man. For twenty-years, Aletha stayed with Lucien, but his wild rages finally drove her away. At the same time Rae left home to live on campus at college in Lafayette, Aletha left her first love.
Now, with all these old wounds being opened, Rae wanted to run again, the way she had eight years ago. Once they had all been so clear on how they felt about Lucien. Rae had seemed to side with Neville, yet deep down she felt gut-twisting turmoil about their father. Leaving Belle Rose to pursue a singing career had been her solution. Andrew’s response was to endlessly make excuses for Lucien while Neville soundly condemned all he represented.
“Oh right. That big, fine house we keep hearing about.” Andrew waved a hand in the air. “So what?”
“Don’t knock it. I mean, look at this place. And that tin box you live in isn’t much better.” Neville jerked a thumb in the direction down the road where Andrew lived in a small mobile home.
“Me an’ Daddy wasn’t owned by nobody though. When we got tired of work, we’d take off for fishin’. I’ll never forget it wasn’t but a few months ago we was down at Mulatto Bend–”
Neville cut him off – “Did more drinking than fishing, I’ll bet.”
“Shut up, Neville!” Rae stunned them all by shouting. “And Andrew, Daddy wasn’t perfect, so quit making him sound like some lovable father from television.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I gotta get out of here.”
“Now look what y’all done!” Tante Ina boxed Andrew’s ears. “Shame, Neville.” She glared at the tall man as though he were ten years old.
“Hey! That hurt, Tante.” Andrew wore a pout.
“He didn’t have no business sayin’–” Neville‘s voice went weak at the look of disapproval from both his aunt and his wife. “Sorry.”
Rae crossed the porch in long strides and jumped down to the ground. As the sunlight of early spring splashed the leaves and road, she started off toward the worn footpath down to Grande River. Usually, the splendor of a sunny day with blue skies in south Louisiana would comfort her, but not today.
“Raenette, wait for me,” her mother called out. Aletha caught up with her. She squinted up at the cloudless blue sky. “Wanted me some fresh air, too.”
Rae glanced at her sideways. “Sure you did.”
The two women were so different. Rae had been her father’s daughter from the moment she’d been born. Where Aletha was quiet and unassuming, Rae was brash. As a girl she’d resisted any effort to be babied, pushing out on her own. Aletha had many scares when she turned to find her little girl out in the bayous or on the river with children older than her, or alone.
Adolescence had been an especially turbulent time for mother and daughter. Rae was in constant rebellion, seemingly intent on establishing a reputation as ‘That wild Dalcour girl.’ Mother and daughter clashed frequently over Rae’s behavior; the drinking and sneaking to bars. Yet somehow the rift had not been with her mother. Aletha understood her daughter better than anyone knew. Now Rae sensed her mother needed to nurture her.
Aletha laughed. “All them Dalcours, Cavaliers and Ricards coming out the woodwork. Can’t turn around without stepping on one of ‘em.”
“Uh-huh.” Rae tried to smile, but could not summon up the energy. The angry words of her brothers kept buzzing in her head. They walked on until they reached a curve in the river. It went through the small town of Belle Rose.
As they stood on a grassy bank staring at bateau bobbing on gentle waves, Aletha looped her arm around Rae. “Your brothers still got to work out what they feel for their daddy. Takes boys longer, just like we fought more, remember?” Aletha gave her a tug.
“Thank goodness you never gave up. No telling where I’d be if you had. Daddy sure was no role model.” Rae was not bitter; just able to see Lucien clearly. “You did good with all of us, Mama. Andrew could have slipped down further if you hadn’t been there.”
“He still might, Raenette.” Aletha bit her bottom lip. “I’m scared he’s gonna decide to take up where his daddy left off. He’s still drinking too much. Old man Ventre love Andrew like he was his own boy, otherwise he would have fired him long ago.”
“He’s got to do it himself, Mama.”
“Andrew ain’t strong like Neville, or you, come to that. He’s beginning to talk just like Lucien about the old days.” Aletha let go of Rae to cross her arms. She seemed to feel a chill in spite of the warm weather.
Rae looked at her mother. “Daddy never gave up on that, did he? He might have stopped talking about it so much, but Pawpaw Vince was never far from his thoughts.”
“You know better than me,” said Aletha, raising an eyebrow at her. “When you came to visit two years ago when he had that mild heart attack, what did he tell you?”
“You know about that?” Rae was shocked. She had not mentioned their conversation to anyone, not even her close girlfriend, Marcelle.
“Lucien told me.” Aletha nodded at her. “Last few years he kept in touch – him and George even got on kinda good.” She laughed when Rae’s mouth fell open. “No reason why they shouldn’t.”
Rae shrugged. “Guess you’re right.”
In fact, George was like Lucien in some ways. Both men were quick to smile and forgive. George had the easygoing temperament of a man who was happy with himself. Maybe if life had been different for her father… Rae thought of her last talk with Lucien.
“But you got your own life. Don’t rake up the past. Nothing you can do about it after all this time anyway – fifty years.” Aletha gazed out at the river, and then down where it wound toward downtown Belle Rose.
“Maybe not.”
“He’s gone, baby. Ain’t one thing gonna make it right now.”
Rae did not know if her mother was talking about Lucien or Pawpaw Vincent. It did not matter. “I can’t turn my back on him this time, Mama.”
“You listen to me. It’s still folks who get plenty nasty just at the mention of your grandpére’s name. Especially them Joves. Toya is big in town, like her mama was.”
“Really? Toya always did like being a big fish in a little pond.” Rae felt a flash of rancor at the mention of her name.
“Take care of your daddy’s business and get on with your life. Neville won’t care if you sell the dance hall and Andrew won’t fuss when he sees he might get some money out of it.” Aletha’s voice took on an intense tone.
Rae looked at the rich green vegetation swaying in the river breeze. Yellow, red and blue wild flowers bloomed. Even on a weekday afternoon, people fished from the banks or in small boats. There was a rhythm to life in this rural parish that had never left her. She could not stand the thought of leaving it again.
“Mama, I’ve been wandering all around, trying to find myself. This is where I’ve been all along.” Rae waved to several folks in a passing boat. “I’m home now.”
*
“Cher! Come here and give me some sugar.” Marcelle stretched out her free arm. Her new baby girl was perched in the other as she sat in the rocking chair on her veranda.
“Hey now, you still producing little Browns, I see.” Rae laughed out loud from sheer joy at seeing her oldest and dearest friend.
The kissing and hugging went on for several minutes, before the two women shared remembrances and news in a rush, chattering at break-neck speed, as if to make up for the years they’d been apart. Soon, Marcelle’s other four children poured out of the house to see the newcomer. Four boys, all rough and tumble, competed to show off in front of Rae.
“Lord, Marcelle, these boys have grown.” Rae beamed at the smooth faces of cinnamon, all looking like their father.
“N
ow don’t pretend you remember these rascals. Truth is I get confused they all look so much like Freddie. This is Freddie Jr. He’s my big boy, just turned eleven. That’s Tremaine. He’s nine. Eric Paul quit that! Eric Paul is eight. And my sweet boy, Torrence, is five.”
“Come here, sweet things!” Rae gathered the boys to her. They were a squirming, dusty little crew, now very shy to be on formal display. “You’re right, girl. They all look like Freddie just spit ‘em out.” She pinched Torrence’s plump cheek.
“Uh-huh, got his mischief in ‘em too. Now y’all go play. And you better stay out Miss Pearl’s fig trees,” Marcelle yelled at the disappearing shirt-tails. “Lotta good that’s gonna do.” She lifted a shoulder. “Here now. Hold your godchild.”
“This one here is going to be beautiful like her mama,” said Rae. “Hello Felicia Lynette.”
Rae settled onto the swing with the infant cradled in her arms and stared down at the little brown face, smooth with sleep. Looking at the baby tugged at her heart in an unexpected way. Tiny Felicia Lynette smelled of baby lotion and formula. Rae gazed at the wood-frame house, which was brightly decorated. Marcelle managed to keep it neat after a fashion. But the toys of four active boys were scattered around the front yard.
Rae kissed the baby’s head. What did she have to show for her life? A modestly successful band, a couple of recordings on compact disc, which sold fairly well, but not much else. Had she been wrong to choose the path she’d taken?
“Girl, you doing so good. I’ve got both of your CDs. I envy you.” Marcelle sighed. She smoothed down the cotton dress over her still plump tummy.
Rae was startled out of her reverie. “What?”
“Mais, yeah – you’re living a carefree life, traveling all over, even to foreign countries. I spent my twenties either being pregnant or wiping baby butts.” Marcelle sighed again. “Sometimes I wonder what if I’d gone to New Orleans to study accounting, instead of getting married.”
Rae touched one of Felicia’s hands. “I was just sitting here thinking that you’ve made such a good life for yourself.”
“I love my babies. But I just wonder what if. You know?”
