I parked on the street in front and walked up to the large iron gate which was already open. I shuddered, realizing that he was expecting me—it was starting to feel like some spooky movie. I quickly put the idea out of my head and walked up the long pathway to the front door. I took a deep breath and rang the bell.
It took a very long time for someone to answer. I was about ready to leave when I heard footsteps on the other side of the door. The footsteps stopped and I was sure someone was looking at me through the peephole, so I braced myself and forced a smile. The door opened and I half expected to see someone who more or less resembled Igor from the Frankenstein movies. I was pleasantly surprised to see a tall, good-looking older man in his late fifties standing before me. He was clean-shaven with green eyes and dark hair with wisps of silver in it.
“Yes?”
“Hi. I’m Leigh Benoit. My grandmother—”
“Oh yes. Clothilde’s granddaughter,” he said, studying me for a moment. “Come in.”
He held the door for me. I held my smile and entered into a large, open foyer with a grand staircase as the focal point in front of me. The staircase was wide and fanned out as it ascended to the second floor with a long hallway lined with stained glass windows. The banister was a rich mahogany that matched the walls of the foyer and hallway. I noticed several works of art hanging on the walls of the foyer, and something told me they weren’t prints. There were also a couple of potted palms on either side of the entrance. The floor was a marbled, black and white checker pattern with gold fleur-de-lis etched into the black tiles. I had expected to see the inside of Frankenstein’s castle with cobwebs and dust all over the place, but so far this house was immaculate.
I heard the door close behind me. I turned to face the man, still smiling. He, on the other hand, never showed any indication that he was happy to meet me, but instead stared at me with the most peculiar look, like I wasn’t what he expected.
“I’m Miles Knighten,” he said. I nodded in recognition. “How is your grandmother?” I noticed an accent in his voice. It sounded European—German maybe, but not thick at all, like he was perhaps second generation American.
“She’s fine. She’s back home in Abbeville.”
“How’s her health these days?”
“Pretty good. Her knees are a little weak, but she gets around just fine.”
He nodded. “Well, I suppose we should get started. Follow me.”
I followed him through the foyer, behind the staircase, through the kitchen and out the back door. There was a garden there, much bigger than Clothilde’s. This one had nothing I recognized, but they looked like roots and herbs. There was a long, stone path through the garden that continued to an enormous greenhouse before curving away toward a stone water fountain.
Miles led me to the fountain, which was very simple in design. It was a large circle and, in its center, a small spout of water to ripple the surface. The stone wall of the fountain was surrounded by a tight circle of plants that would probably bloom into lilies when spring came.
Beyond the lilies was a meticulous St. Augustine lawn that covered most of the yard. In the distance, about fifteen yards away, was a delightful gazebo draped in honeysuckle vines. It seemed as though this estate would be fit for a princess, rather than the subdued man before me.
He took a seat on the edge of the fountain. He motioned for me to do the same. “I want you to place your hands in the water,” he instructed.
I sat near him and placed my hands in the water, feeling a little foolish. “Is this part of a ritual?”
“What do you feel?”
Is this a trick question? “Um … water? Wetness?” I shrugged, unsure what he wanted me to say.
“Do you get any type of force from the water? Like a sort of powerful sensation of it coursing through you?”
“Uh, no. Sorry.”
He looked perplexed. “All right. Follow me.”
We took the path back toward the greenhouse but followed it to the back where there was an outdoor kitchen, similar to Clothilde’s, but far nicer. From the outside, it looked like a very small house.
We entered and walked into a room that at first appeared to be a large kitchen, but looked like a kitchen-laboratory hybrid. There were racks hanging from the ceiling containing dried herbs and vines, cascading over a big table with Bunsen burners. Lining the walls were shelves of organized, multi-colored bottles, not unlike the store room at Cee Cee’s shop, but these were nicer and cleaner. Bags of dried herbs were stocked on another shelf near the hallway.
Miles closed the door behind us. “What has Clothilde told you so far?” he asked.
“That we can naturally heal people and we use herbs and things to help treat patients. We can heal each other, but not ourselves.”
He nodded. “You were a doctor, she told me?”
“Not really. I kind of … quit before I finished my residency.”
He nodded again and it made me uncomfortable, like he was judging me. “Do I make you nervous?”
“What? No, no! Not at all,” I lied politely, wanting to crawl out of my skin.
“Okay, then. Let’s get started.”
He pulled out a pot with soil in it and placed it on the table. “Dig your hands into the soil.”
I hesitantly did as I was told. “Aren’t we kind of doing this backwards? Maybe we could have done the water after the soil,” I joked.
Miles did not show any signs of amusement. “Feel anything?”
“You mean like a powerful sensation?”
He nodded.
I wanted to answer, Yes, a powerful sensation of feeling stupid, but I shook my head.
Next, he lit one of the Bunsen burners and asked me to place my hands around the flame. I held them a couple of inches from the flame, but felt nothing other than heat—no powerful sensation. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling anything like you want me to.”
“I’m merely trying to figure out which element will help you best with your ability.”
“Element?”
“You know the four elements—earth, air, fire, water. As Traiteurs, we each use an element to aid us in healing. Your grandmother, for example, uses earth. That’s why she uses herbs and other ingredients from her garden so that she can make what she needs to help the sick. I, on the other hand, use water—holy water to be exact. My fountain is blessed. I bring a vial of water with me when I do my healing.”
“What are the big garden and green house for if you use water?”
“I had those made for Cee Cee and Ruby. They use many ingredients for their spells and potions.”
“So, what element am I?”
“Do you ever feel any kind of connection with the wind?”
“Not really.”
Miles sighed. “Then this will be difficult. If you don’t have an element to focus on, then you will have to just use your hands and the healing ability inside of you. It’ll be hard to bring it out. It will require a lot of training.”
Great, I heard that annoying, sarcastic part of myself say.
“Well then, I don’t see why we can’t just dive in. Would you like to ride with me to the convent, or would you prefer to follow in your car?”
“Why are we going to a convent?”
He motioned for me to follow him, and we headed back into his house. “I do my healing from the chapel of St. Geneviève’s convent between Mid City and City Park. The residents of the area know by word of mouth to go there if they’re sick.” He paused, picking up a black case, and grabbed his coat from the coat rack in the foyer. He held the front door open for me, added, “I think it would be better for you to follow me in your car. The convent is closer to Cee Cee’s than my house.”
As we neared City Park, I started to remember this area a little more. I recalled going to the Voodoo Music Festival there years ago with Carrie. The park covered about fifteen hundred acres of land south of Lake Pontchartrain and west of Bayou St. John. Within its boundaries, it contained
numerous beautiful, old live oaks with Spanish moss, lagoons, a golf course, an art museum, and sculpture and botanical gardens, among other attractions.
St. Geneviève’s convent certainly had its charm. Its exterior was made of gray stone with a small steeple and a magnificent bell tower that rose about twenty feet higher than the steeple. The compound took up an entire city block between St. Geneviève and Alexander streets along City Park Avenue.
The convent was across the street from the park’s southern border. We parked on the park side of the road and crossed at the intersection with St. Geneviève Street. As soon as we made it to the other side, we were approached by a middle-aged woman who was previously lounging on the sidewalk in front of the convent. She excitedly hurried to greet us and walked with us up the steps to the convent doors.
“Hey, Miles! You really early today.”
“Hello, Sarah. How are you?”
With her right hand, Sarah rubbed her left elbow through her tattered coat. “My joints are hurtin’ pretty bad today. You think you can fix ‘em up, Miles?”
He smiled pleasantly at her. “I don’t see why not. Why don’t you come back a little later? I have some things to take care of first, and then we’ll be ready to start.”
Sarah looked at me, perplexed at first, and then a note of realization hit her. “Hey! Is she gonna to help, too?” She grinned, revealing two missing bottom teeth.
Miles patted her on the back. “We hope so.” He pulled out a ten dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her. “Why don’t you go get some lunch and then come back later, okay?”
She grinned, looking down at the ground and, with one dirty shoe, kicked at a few pebbles nearby. “I ain’t taking your money, Miles. They fed me lunch already today. You go ahead and keep it. You might need it later.”
“Please, Sarah?” he coaxed her.
“Well … okay. But don’t offer me any next time, okay?”
“You got it.”
Sarah hesitantly took the money from Miles, and he and I went inside the convent as Sarah headed down the street.
The nuns were Dominican, in honor of St. Dominic, and they wore white. They varied greatly in age from twenties to seventies. We were greeted in the lobby by one nun who appeared to be in her mid fifties. Her hair was brunette with a few streaks of silver, her smile warm and welcoming. Around her waist was a woolen belt.
“Miles, is this Leigh? The young lady you were telling us about?”
Miles smiled at her. “Yes. Leigh, I’d like you to meet Sister Alice Martin. Alice, this is Leigh Benoit.”
Sister Alice shook my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Leigh.”
“You, too,” I said.
“I think we should show her around the convent first, and then we can get to work,” said Miles.
“Why don’t you go ahead and set up in the back. I’ll give Leigh a little tour.”
“Sounds good,” he said. He smiled at me for the first time since I met him. “You’ll be okay with Sister Alice.”
“Sure,” I said, returning the smile. He headed for the back of the convent with his black case.
“Right this way, Leigh,” said Sister Alice, leading me through the lobby and out into the courtyard in the center of the convent. It was lovely with a small reflecting pond and stone benches with a large oak tree in the middle of the yard. The convent itself formed a square shape with a Spanish-style covered walkway extending around the parameter of the courtyard.
Sister Alice talked as she led me across the courtyard. “We often use this area to visit with family and friends and for solo time to pray and be connected with nature. In the far northeast corner we have a little vegetable garden. That and the flowers and plants you see are all thanks to Sister Melanie. She has the green thumb here. I’m sure she’s here somewhere. Can’t miss her—a tiny, little blonde. She’s in her thirties, but when she’s wearing normal clothes, she’s constantly mistaken for a teenager.”
When we got to the other side, she stopped under the covered walkway in front of a set of thick, oak double doors. She opened them, revealing a hallway with fifteen doors.
“This is the dormitory. We each have our own rooms. Right now, there are only thirteen of us. Sadly, we recently lost Sister Margot to pneumonia. She was eighty-two and the best cook we had.” She smiled fondly at this. “And Sister Diane—she’s twenty-four—left a couple of months ago, saying she was being called to do mission work in Haiti. She was our resident photographer.”
“Couldn’t Miles help her?” I asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Sister Margot. Couldn’t Miles heal her pneumonia?”
Sister Alice seemed as though she sighed internally. “No. It was her time to go,” she said carefully.
She closed the oak doors and led me to the eastern side of the courtyard. Here, she opened the door and I was immediately taken with the smell of freshly-baked bread as we stepped into the kitchen. It was well equipped with a six-burner stove and large refrigerator. Despite the professional stove, there was also a brick oven embedded into one of the walls. There, a nun was pulling one of two loaves of bread from the oven. She carefully placed it on a cooling rack and then did the same with the other loaf.
“Sister Margot was a great cook, but Sister Adele is just as good, right Adele?”
The nun turned toward us with her oven mitts still over her hands and nodded, smiling, revealing a missing tooth at the bottom. She was perhaps in her seventies with wisps of white hair peeking from under her habit. Around her waist was a woolen belt like the one Sister Alice wore, but from Sister Adele’s belt hung a small wooden cross.
“Smells heavenly, Adele,” she said, smiling warmly. “This is Leigh Benoit. She’s with Miles. She’ll be training to do the Lord’s work tonight.”
“Very nice to meet you,” I told Sister Adele. She nodded in return.
“She is unable to speak. She’s never uttered a word, not even as a baby. Isn’t that right?” she asked her.
Sister Adele grinned.
“Miles offered to try to cure her once, but she refused. She wrote to us on a piece of paper, saying that it was God’s will that she be mute. She did not want to go against God.”
Sister Adele nodded, smiling proudly. I smiled back at her, nodding my recognition of her faith.
“I’ll just show Leigh around the dining room now. Right this way, Leigh.”
The dining hall had two large tables with enough room to seat fifteen at each table. Two enormous picture windows were embedded in the right-side wall. The light that poured in created one long glare on the smooth wooden floor of the hall.
After the dining room, Sister Alice led me back to the lobby and into the gift store in the next room over. Here, a visitor could purchase anything from Bibles and prayer beads to hand-crafted items, pottery and trinkets, all made by the Dominican Sisters of St. Geneviève’s. And, of course, donations were always welcomed.
“I forgot to show you, but we have an arts and crafts room on the other side of the courtyard,” she said. “These crafts sell out more than the other items in the store. They make great gifts.”
“They’re lovely,” I said, making a mental note to buy something for Clothilde.
She smiled warmly. “I think Miles will probably be ready now. Let’s go find him.”
Sister Alice led me out of the lobby and back into the courtyard. We took a right, following the covered pathway to a set of ornate double doors with blue stained glass windows that depicted a man with a halo surrounded by stars.
“That’s so beautiful,” I marveled.
“That’s St. Dominic. He’s the patron saint of astronomers. That’s why the stars are there.”
She opened the doors to reveal a small chapel with wooden pews and a navy blue carpet that led to a small altar. There was a door behind the altar. Judging from our location in the courtyard, I guessed that the door led to the bell tower.
Miles was behind the altar. He had a black cloth l
aid out with his vial of holy water resting on it. He smiled when he saw us. “Did you give her the grand tour?” he said.
“Just about,” she replied.
“You can open the doors now,” he said.
Sister Alice nodded and left the chapel.
“Come here, Leigh,” he said. I joined him behind the altar. “When the sisters start bringing in the people who need healing, we’ll take them one at a time. I’ll handle the first few, and then I want you to try, okay?”
I nodded, feeling my stomach knotting up. After a few minutes, Sister Alice returned with a line of people trailing behind. They ranged in ages from thirties to nineties, some with minor elements like a bad cold, to more serious conditions like psoriasis.
The first person I recognized as Sarah, the homeless woman from outside the convent. She ambled up to us, grinning, but a little shy around me. “You sure you don’t want your money back, Miles?” she asked. “I still got it.”
Miles smiled at her. “No. You can keep it, Sarah. Why don’t we get you fixed up now?”
She removed her coat, setting it carefully aside on one of the small pews, and then offered her elbow to Miles. “I think I slept on it wrong last night.”
Miles uncorked his small vial of holy water, turned it upside down while holding his index finger over the lip, and then turned it right side up. He cupped Sarah’s elbow with one hand and, with the other, he rubbed a drop of holy water onto the joint and said the Our Father prayer. I had heard Clothilde recite prayers in her healing sessions. She always said them in Cajun French. Miles recited them in English. She seemed to say the words with more reverence than he did, and it made me wonder if Miles believed them.
All was quiet for a moment. Miles had his eyes closed in concentration. Sarah eagerly fixated on her elbow in his palm. Her eyes darted to me every few seconds. I smiled politely at her. She seemed nervous to have me there, but returned the smile, revealing the same charming gap I remembered from earlier. The people in line craned their necks to see the miracle taking place a few feet in front of them.
The whole process lasted maybe a minute. After the prayer, Miles was perfectly still, eyes closed. I wondered what it was like, to feel that healing force. I recalled the time Lyla healed the dog that Lucas ran over with his truck. When I touched her hands, they were very hot. It was the same with Clothilde when she healed Lyla after the roof of Savoy’s cabin collapsed on us in Lake Martin. But I didn’t know what that power would feel like coming through me, from my core being. I didn’t know if I truly had it in me.
Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 02 - Dark Carnival Page 3
