Death Brings a Shadow

by Rosemary Simpson

“I want to go back to Queen Lula’s,” Prudence said. “It’s not far out of the way, and I told the housekeeper at Seapoint not to hold luncheon for us.”

  “Don’t expect a warm welcome.”

  “She was getting ready to cast some sort of spell on that doll she wrapped in the palmetto leaf when we arrived,” Prudence said. “We interrupted her.”

  “She won’t tell you what the spell is or who she’s casting it for.”

  “I’m more interested in what she has to say about Uncle Ethan.” Prudence had a gnawing sense that the dead man about whom she knew next to nothing was important to Eleanor’s story, though she didn’t yet understand how that could be.

  Women stayed in the parlor when men retreated to the library where the master of the house and his male guests smoked their cigars and drank their whiskey, so she hadn’t seen the portraits Geoffrey described. But she could picture them in her mind’s eye. Two earnest young men with that appealing blend of blond good looks and serious mien that would be unfailingly attractive to women. Lawrence and Teddy looked very much like a younger Elijah, which meant they also resembled their uncle.

  “I wonder where Lawrence was this morning,” Prudence said.

  “I asked,” Geoffrey volunteered. “Elijah didn’t seem to think it was important. He said Lawrence and Teddy would have certainly been there to greet us had they known we were coming.”

  “But he didn’t tell you where either of them had gone?”

  “No, but I got the feeling he was covering for them. I saw Elijah glance out the window while we were talking.” Geoffrey reined his horse to a halt. “I didn’t make anything of it at the time, Prudence, but I heard someone ride out while we were in the library. I didn’t catch a glimpse of the rider, but it had to have been either Teddy or Lawrence. I think the brothers must have seen us arrive at Wildacre, and for reasons of their own, decided to avoid us.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose not. Perhaps Lawrence dislikes my company as much as I can’t tolerate his.”

  “And Teddy?”

  “Teddy gets through life by not confronting issues he can’t resolve. He probably heard about your encounter with Minda in the chapel and chose not to make himself available to answer the questions he knows you want to ask. You can never forget that he’s a Bennett, Prudence. First, last, and always. His instinct will be to protect the family name.”

  “You’ll be glad to leave here, won’t you, Geoffrey?” Prudence asked.

  “Yes, I will. I won’t pretend otherwise, though I never expected to go without finding out how and why Eleanor died. But I’m beginning to think we’ll never know, and perhaps it’s better if we don’t. Queen Lula may be right about that.”

  Prudence urged her horse forward. She didn’t want to argue again, so she said nothing. She understood his feelings of frustration because she shared them, but unlike Geoffrey, she wasn’t weighed down by a past she’d forsworn and abandoned. She didn’t feel guilty. Which might be why every time she sensed herself on the verge of giving up, she decided to try again.

  The dappled gray was skittish, shying at the deep shadows along the track they were following, snorting and tossing its head in the patches of blinding sunlight. The horse needed a good run, Prudence decided, and so did she. Despair and disappointment had cobwebbed her mind and threatened to crush her spirit. She put heels to her mount’s flanks and shot off down the winding path, head lowered to avoid the low-hanging live oak branches. She heard Geoffrey give a startled exclamation behind her, then the pounding of his horse’s hooves. He, too, needed a good run to let out the pent-up emotions he’d been suppressing.

  Trees flashed by like the blurred images of a kaleidoscope, gray-green draperies of Spanish moss waving in the breeze of their passage. Speed is liberating, Prudence thought, crouched down over the gray’s outstretched neck, face only inches from the coarse hair of its thick mane. This wasn’t at all like riding in Central Park where formal equestrian etiquette was as rigid as parlor behavior on Fifth Avenue. The Bennetts and their beautiful but decaying old mansion faded from her conscious mind as she concentrated on keeping her seat and holding firmly on to the reins. Despite the thrill of the ride, she couldn’t afford to let the horse have its head; if it stumbled in the loose sand she’d go flying. Broken bones. Perhaps worse.

  Something flashed across the path in front of her, a form that skittered from one thicket of trees to another, then slipped and fell, rolling over and over like a child’s awkwardly thrown ball. The gray slid to a stop on splayed-out front legs, then reared on its hindquarters, letting out an ear-splitting, high-pitched neigh that echoed through the woods. Seconds later Geoffrey was out of his saddle beside her, strong hands capturing the plunging horse’s bridle, gentling it as Prudence loosened the reins and slid from the saddle.

  “Easy there,” he crooned over and over with hypnotic persuasion and reassurance, soothing the frightened animal, asserting control. “Easy there.”

  Prudence knelt beside a bundle of tousled hair and disarranged skirts, listening for the sound of breathing before she reached out to touch the crumpled form. A moan and then a convulsive shudder reassured her.

  Bruised and badly shaken but apparently not seriously injured, Minda looked up at her through a waterfall of black hair, lips moving soundlessly as she struggled to sit up, dark eyes flashing panic. She’ll bolt as soon as she’s able, Prudence thought, touching the girl as firmly and reassuringly as Geoffrey did the horses. “No bones broken,” she murmured. “You may hurt a bit, but I don’t think any serious harm was done.”

  She helped the girl to her feet, brushing sand from her dress while keeping tight hold of one arm. “We met this morning in the chapel at Seapoint,” she said, seeing recognition register on Minda’s face, feeling the trembling of her body ease as she regained her feet and her balance.

  “Yes, miss,” the girl whispered, her eyes darting to where Geoffrey stood with the still-nervous horses. “I didn’t mean to cause no trouble.”

  “Why did you run out across the track like that?” Prudence asked, not letting go of Minda’s arm.

  “I didn’t know who it was,” the girl said.

  “Did you think someone was chasing you?”

  “Didn’t know what to think, miss.”

  “I saw you a little while ago at Wildacre,” Prudence told her, loosening her hold as she felt the muscles of Minda’s arm begin to relax. Whatever had spooked her was no longer a threat.

  “Yes, miss. You was sitting on the veranda with Miss Aurora Lee and Miss Maggie Jane,” Minda acknowledged, her eyes skittering from Prudence’s feet to Geoffrey and back again.

  “Was that your father working in the garden?” Prudence asked.

  A smile chased itself across Minda’s lips. “That Limus. He used to be head gardener when they was a passel of ’em working the grounds. He the onliest one left now.”

  “He’s the one who sent you to Seapoint with the roses for Miss Eleanor,” Prudence guessed.

  “Yes, miss. Limus don’t see so good no more. He do the best he can, but he scared Mister Bennett order him off the place if he find out he goin’ blind.”

  “Surely not after all this time?”

  Minda’s silence told her that Elijah Bennett had no room in his heart for ex-slaves grown too old and feeble to put in a full day’s work.

  “Where were you going?” Prudence asked as the girl shook down her skirts and reached with her one free hand to smooth her hair.

  “Queen Lula’s,” she answered slowly, reluctantly.

  “That was your spell she was getting ready to cast when Mr. Hunter and I interrupted her this morning.” Prudence sensed Geoffrey’s focused alertness, and knew she was right.

  “I didn’t ask for no harm to come to nobody,” Minda said, her voice trembling with the fear of being accused of something for which she’d be punished. “Just needed a little time is all.”

  “Time for what?” Prudence pressed. “To get a
way from the island?”

  “I cain’t leave my momma.” Minda’s head came up defiantly. “She sick. Need someone to take care of her.”

  “Then what?”

  Minda’s face closed down stubbornly. “Queen Lula don’t like folks talkin’ ’bout what she do for ’em.” She pulled her arm out of Prudence’s grasp. “Best be on my way.”

  “We’ll walk with you,” Prudence said, starting off down the path beside a limping Minda. “I’d like to make sure you get there all right.” She glanced behind her to see Geoffrey following with both horses, his eyes watchful and observant. Nothing would get through the live oaks in their direction without his seeing it.

  He nodded when she raised a questioning eyebrow. Yes, he’d seen and noted Minda’s remarkable resemblance to Eleanor. His agile brain was scrutinizing what few facts they had, winnowing through contradictions to sift out plausible explanations. He had read the girl’s fear and was keeping his distance from her, letting Prudence take the lead.

  “What’s wrong with your mother?” Prudence asked quietly as they walked along. She was doing all she could not to keep glancing at the girl whose brilliant black hair and sun-kissed skin so much reminded her of the dead Eleanor, trying to picture the exact shape and size of the small cleft in her late friend’s chin. Somewhere in the extensive Seapoint library there had to be a book that explained the doppelgänger theory. She’d search for it as soon as they got back. And enlist Geoffrey’s help, she decided. No more going it on her own, no more arguing. They were a partnership, despite differences of temperament and background. It was time to surmount obstacles instead of letting them block progress.

  She kept up a casual conversation as they walked through the live oaks, more to continue to calm and reassure Minda than in hopes of finding out anything new. The girl answered in monosyllables, reticent but unable or afraid not to reply.

  They weren’t far from Queen Lula’s clearing.

  * * *

  The bodies hung from the huge live oak that shaded the cabin from the fierce island sun.

  Queen Lula and her black cat, side by side, their necks stretched by roughly woven hemp rope, their limbs motionless and elongated in the shadows of the tree branches.

  Not a bird called, not an insect chittered.

  The silence was profound and absolute.

  Minda fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands.

  Prudence stood as if struck by the curse of Lot’s wife, deathly pale and unable to move.

  The horses stirred restlessly as they scented death.

  Would it never cease? Geoffrey wondered.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Cut them down,” Prudence implored. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the bodies, nor could she close her eyes against the horror of their stillness. “Please, Geoffrey.”

  He stood for a moment beneath the branches of the live oak, staring upward, registering the spot where Queen Lula’s struggles had caused the rope to rub against the gray bark. “Don’t look,” he cautioned Prudence, unsheathing a long knife from his saddle, carrying a wooden kitchen chair from Queen Lula’s porch out into the yard. If it had been a crime scene anywhere else, he wouldn’t have disturbed it, but this was Bradford Island, Georgia.

  He lowered Queen Lula’s body to the ground as gently as he could and laid the black cat alongside her.

  Prudence knelt next to Minda, cradling the girl’s body in her arms. When the sobbing eased and the trembling lessened, she dipped a ladle of drinking water from the covered bucket that sat beside the door of Queen Lula’s cabin. After Minda had drunk her fill, Prudence soaked her handkerchief in the remaining cool liquid. Minda pressed it against her red, swollen eyes.

  “I’m better now, miss.” Minda wiped her cheeks and folded the handkerchief neatly before handing it back to Prudence. “I seen lynchin’ before, but it don’t never get easier to bear.”

  “You shouldn’t ever have to see something like this,” Prudence said. She could accept the idea of lawful execution, but not this vicious, wanton taking of a life.

  “Did Queen Lula have family on the island?” Geoffrey asked. He covered the bodies with a coverlet taken from the dead woman’s bed.

  “Not a one,” Minda answered, getting awkwardly to her feet.

  “Then I think we’ll need to get word to Preacher Solomon. Can you do that for us, Minda?”

  “Yessir, I can.” She glanced toward the featureless mound lying in the shade of the live oak. “She said she’d have my spell ready when I got back.”

  “There wasn’t time,” Prudence said gently. “I looked in her basket when I brought the water. The doll she was going to use is still wrapped in palmetto leaves. It hadn’t been touched.”

  “She said it might not do no good even if she did cast me that spell,” Minda said. “Might be too late. I guess she was right.”

  “Can you tell us what it was you were asking for?” Prudence asked.

  “No, ma’am. Not if you don’t already know.” Minda met and held Prudence’s eyes. She sighed and then turned toward the path that led from the clearing into the forest and Preacher Solomon’s church.

  “What did she mean, Geoffrey? Not if I didn’t already know.” Prudence watched Minda disappear into the trees.

  “I think we’d better search through Queen Lula’s cabin while we have the chance,” he said, not answering her question.

  “Don’t we need to examine the body?”

  “She was lynched. Strung up still conscious judging from the marks on the tree branch. I didn’t see signs of any other brutality when I cut her down. This wasn’t anger or a revenge killing. Someone wanted her out of the way, pure and simple. You heard what Minda said. She’s seen other hangings. Whoever did this sent a message to every soul on the island. Keep your mouths shut or you too will end up dangling from a tree.” Geoffrey slammed one fist against the porch railing, then shook drops of blood from his skinned knuckles.

  Prudence thought he looked more desolate and despairing than she had ever imagined he could be. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, reaching out to touch him.

  “This is my country and these are my people,” he said. “I’ve spent my whole adult life trying to live them down, trying to prove that I could be better than what I came from.”

  “You put it and them behind you,” Prudence said. “Over and over again. I don’t know what more could be asked of you. What more you could ask of yourself.”

  It wasn’t enough, Prudence realized. No matter how often she tried to assuage Geoffrey’s guilt for customs and practices he’d had no part establishing or maintaining, the weight of them remained squarely on his shoulders. If you didn’t know him well, you might dismiss the shadows that darkened his eyes and deepened the lines on his face, but to Prudence they were easily read. She wondered how she could ever have allowed herself to become angry with this honorable man who only asked that he be allowed to keep her safe.

  “We need to search the cabin,” he repeated.

  “What are we hoping to find?” Prudence asked, stepping onto the porch. He hadn’t turned away from the comfort she was offering him, but neither had he accepted it.

  “Anything that will tell us the identities of her white customers.”

  “I didn’t realize—”

  “They usually wait until they’re sure no one will see them going into a voodoo woman’s cabin,” he told her, “but you can be sure they came.”

  “But there aren’t any whites on the island except the Bennett family.”

  “I’m talking about mainlanders. If Queen Lula was the only juju woman in the area, they would have found some way to get to her. Southerners are a superstitious lot, Prudence. They read their futures in a randomly opened Bible and the stones in a bowl of peas. I’d laugh if I didn’t know how seriously they take signs and portents.” He winced as Prudence poured a ladle of cool water over his injured hand. “Thank you.”

  She wasn’t sure whether he meant for the water or the
consolation he’d refused to accept, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that counted was that there be no more strained silences between them.

  * * *

  Queen Lula’s cabin was almost a duplicate of Aunt Jessa’s. One room with a fireplace for cooking and cold nights, a rope bed, a crudely crafted table and two chairs. Shelves had been built against the walls for supplies, hooks pounded into the wood for clothing and tools. A rag rug provided warmth for bare feet and a spot of color for the eyes. And everywhere they looked were tin cans filled with plants. Herbs spilling their leaves onto the floorboards, seedlings straining to grow large enough to be put into the ground, wild things whose flowers neither Prudence nor Geoffrey recognized. Bundles of dried grasses waited to be woven into baskets or dolls, crushed heaps of dark berries drained their juices through coarse cloth, and swags of dried leaves of all types hung from the ceiling.

  “She was the real thing,” Prudence breathed. She drank in Queen Lula’s small kingdom with a mixture of curiosity and admiration, newly awakened to an understanding of what Geoffrey had tried to tell her about the odd customs of New Orleans that had spread far beyond the city’s boundaries.

  “We’re looking for anything in which she might have written down her spells or the names of clients. She was literate, Prudence.”

  “How can you be sure she knew how to read and write?”

  “When I sent for her to come to Seapoint, I wrote a note explaining what had happened. The boy who delivered it saw her open it. He said she sent him outside to wait until she got her basket ready for him to carry. But he peeked in through the window. She was holding something in her hand and muttering over it. Like Preacher Solomon praying the Bible, was how he described it. It had to have been her book of spells.”

  “Did he see where she put it?”

  “No. He didn’t want to be caught spying.”

  “I wish we knew what kind of spell Minda asked for.” Prudence shook out Queen Lula’s bed sheets, pinched their hems, then carefully folded them and laid them on the mattress she’d already examined.

  “There are two good possibilities,” Geoffrey said. “A blinding spell or a changeling spell.”