Witch Angel

by Trana Mae Simmons

  “Mister Jake be a’waitin’ for you, Miz Alaynia.”

  “Thank you, Netta,” Alaynia replied to the young maid in the doorway. “By the way, have you seen Jeannie lately? I stopped by her room and had coffee with her, but she didn’t come down for breakfast.”

  “She still be in her room,” Netta answered. “Told me not to bother her ‘til she told me it was all right to make up her bed.”

  Smiling secretly as she recalled the harness Jeannie had been braiding for Tiny earlier, Alaynia realized that Jeannie wasn’t taking any chances of the servants informing her brother of her new pet. Well, Shain would find out sooner or later, but she would let that be between brother and sister. She shoved the coin Shain had given her into a pocket of her dress and walked out of the manor house to greet Jake. Noticing his nice suit and his hair slicked back into a semblance of order, she grinned delightedly at him.

  “Why, Jake, don’t you look handsome today.”

  He shot her a shy smile and offered his hand to assist her into the buggy. “You didn’t think I’d squire my ravishing niece around in town wearing my work clothes, did you?” he asked as he helped her climb up to the seat. “That wouldn’t be proper at all, and I do know how to be a proper gentleman when it’s called for.”

  “Well, sir,” Alaynia drawled in a simper, “I’m just gonna be so proud to have such a fine escort.”

  Jake smiled with pleasure and took his place beside her. Jauntily, he lifted the long driver’s whip and tapped the buggy horse into motion. As they passed the edge of the manor house, Cole threw down a cigarette he’d been smoking and ground it beneath his boot before he strode from the veranda and mounted his horse. He fell in behind them, far enough back not to invite conversation.

  “Zeke took the wagon on back after Shain told us we could use the buggy,” Jake said to Alaynia as they drove away from Chenaie. “We’ll probably pass him in a second. I’ll have to do something to thank Shain for the use of his buggy. It’s a much more appropriate conveyance for me to transport my darling niece on her shopping trip. And the horse is a pleasure to handle, not like that addlepated mule Zeke thinks so much of.”

  “It’s ... uh ... very nice,” Alaynia managed, forcing herself not to grab the seat to hold herself steady as the wheels encountered a pothole and the seat bounced up and down. The springs beneath them screeched in protest, but Jake didn’t seem to notice. With a sigh, she thought of how comfortable traveling in her car had been.

  The wagon appeared up ahead. Jake kept their horse at a steady trot as they passed, and she waved at Zeke. The elderly man’s eyes widened, and he grabbed at a small pouch hanging around his neck, barely bobbing his head in answer.

  Jake snorted in disgust. “Superstitious fool,” he muttered.

  “Jake, why does Zeke seem so afraid of me? And what was that around his neck? I don’t remember seeing it yesterday.”

  “Probably some voodoo nonsense,” Jake said. “And don’t you worry yourself about Zeke. I’ve tried and tried to tell him that he’s a fool for believing—” Jake abruptly shut his mouth, then immediately began speaking on a different subject. “Say, have you given any thought to what sort of shopping you want to do? I’m afraid there’s not a whole lot of choice in St. Francisville, but if you stay around long enough, maybe we can go down to Baton Rouge—or even New Orleans.”

  “Jake, I’ve already had enough of a man telling me not to worry my pretty little female head over something he doesn’t think I should let bother me for one day! You backtrack right now and finish what you were saying about Zeke. Why is he afraid of me?”

  “Alaynia ...” Jake released a sigh of compliance when she glared at him in determination. “It’s just superstition,” he began. “But I’m sure you know how superstition can influence a person’s life. Why, my granny wouldn’t even leave the house for a week if a black cat crossed her path. And one day, when a bird got inside the house, she fainted and took to her bed for a month. She was sure someone close to her was going to die. I do believe she was a little disappointed when that didn’t happen.”

  “Jake!”

  “All right. All right.”

  Before he could continue, Cole urged his horse up to Jake’s side of the buggy, a dangerous glint in his brown eyes. “Jake, what the hell’s goin’ on with Zeke? Since when did he take to wearin’ a gris gris pouch? When I passed him, he was makin’ an evil eye sign.”

  Jake sighed and pulled the horse back into a walk. For a moment, he chewed at the side of his cheek, glancing back and forth from Alaynia to Cole. Alaynia sensed immediately that Zeke’s fear of her stemmed from her mode of arrival in their time period, and that Jake was trying to think of some explanation which wouldn’t reveal too much to Cole.

  Cole’s gaze centered on her and she quickly shifted her eyes away. When she still seemed to feel Cole’s burning stare, she slipped her hand into her dress pocket to finger the coin Shain had given her. Somehow it comforted her—something that had so recently been close to his body.

  Jake attempted a nonchalant shrug. “Zeke doesn’t answer to me, Cole. He’s my friend—not my hired help.”

  “Then you better presume a little on that friendship and tell him what sort of trouble he can get into practicin’ that voodoo nonsense in our parish,” Cole said in a grim voice. “Shain’s got enough problems on Chenaie right now. All he needs is someone spreadin’ that bullshit around.”

  “Watch your language, Dubose,” Jake interrupted. “My niece is a lady!”

  “‘Pologize, Alaynia,” Cole said. “Where’d Zeke get that gris gris, Jake?”

  “I really don’t know,” Jake admitted. “I tried to talk to him about it, but he clammed up.”

  Cole nodded to himself and reined his horse to the back of the buggy again. For a second, Alaynia wondered why he would choose to ride behind them in the dust stirred up by the horse’s hooves and buggy’s wheels, but Jake seemed to read her thoughts.

  “Cole’s a solitary person,” he said. “Been that way since I’ve known him—when I came here just before the war ended. A Yankee general ordered his plantation destroyed, and the troops killed his family when they tried to protect the manor house.”

  “I’ve read history books about General Sherman’s march to the sea over in Georgia,” Alaynia told him. “Sherman’s purpose was supposed to be to destroy the South’s rail lines and bridges, but he burned all those lovely houses, too. And the other night, Shain talked some about what had happened in Louisiana.”

  “It was as much emotional warfare as anything else,” Jake explained. “Sherman wanted to bring the South completely to its knees. The people down here already pretty well knew the war was lost—their agricultural society couldn’t compete against the industrial strength of the North. That bastard Sherman pounded home to them that they weren’t just losing all their men in battles—the families and homes were now part of the spoils of war.”

  “How did Chenaie escape destruction? Cole’s plantation must be nearby, since he and Shain appear to be friends who go back a long ways. Wouldn’t Chenaie have been in the troops’ path?”

  “You’ll have to ask Shain about that,” Jake said in a grim voice with a hint of evasiveness in it. “Yankee troops came through Alexandria, north of us, too. They destroyed everything except Kent House, which they left standing for some reason. Maybe it was just to remind the people what they used to have before the devastation.”

  “Jake, you’re hiding something from me again. Does it have to do with Zeke’s gris gris bag? And what do I have to do with that?”

  Jake pursed his lips in thought and stared out over the buggy horse’s broad back. Stifling her impatience, Alaynia allowed him a moment’s silence to think. There were strange happenings at Chenaie that she herself had experienced—not the least of which was her own mode of arrival at the beautiful plantation. She glanced down the road ahead of her. They’d already passed beyond the place where she had submitted to Shain and mounted the black horse
to ride back to Chenaie. She still saw no sign of any break in the underbrush lining the road, and the rutted dirt path crawled onward ahead of them. It was every bit as hot today as two days ago, although the buggy top gave them a little shade, yet she saw no heat waves on the landscape.

  Jake cleared his throat. “You have to remember, Alaynia, that Louisiana’s people have always been a superstitious lot. There’s all kinds of stories, and some of them I’m sure came from the integration of the very different cultures that settled the state. They brought their own stories with them, but not many of them had ever seen country like ours—land that’s below sea level, swamps, plains, and then hills farther north. The people here are Spanish, French, Creole, and Acadian, and more recently American and Negro. They don’t understand each other and probably never completely will. And suspicion breeds fear and distrust—and sometimes superstition.”

  “So Zeke’s afraid of me because I’m different?”

  “Yes, he doesn’t understand you. And he’s heard all his life about things like black magic and zombies—spells and incantations to protect people against other people.”

  “And Zeke won’t be the only one thinking that about me, if people find out where I’ve come from,” Alaynia mused. “That’s what Shain meant when he said it could be dangerous for me here.”

  Jake dropped one hand from the reins and reached over to pat her arm. “Now don’t you worry about Zeke causing you any problems like that. He’ll keep his mouth shut. I told him they’d cart him off and lock him up, if he spouted off about how you got here. Think he was a senile old man.”

  “Oh, that’s mean, Jake. He’ll never like me now!”

  Jake frowned. “Guess I didn’t think of that.”

  They rode on down the road for a few minutes before Jake’s troubled face brightened. “I know,” he said. “Fear and distrust come about because people don’t know each other well—like I was just saying. Now, if you and Zeke got to know each other better, maybe you could get to be friends.”

  “I don’t know how that can happen,” Alaynia grumbled. “Shain won’t let me step one foot off Chenaie without someone shadowing me. To get to know Zeke, I’d have to be allowed to visit your place now and then.”

  “What were you planning to do with Chenaie in the future?” Jake asked. “You had the deed to it with you when you arrived.”

  Jake frowned and nodded as Alaynia explained to him how she had come to inherit Chenaie. As she told him of her background and education—how she loved her restoration work—his excitement seemed to mount. Finally, he rubbed his hands together gleefully, while keeping his grip on the reins.

  “That’s it, then,” he said with a chortle. “And Shain can’t say one thing against it, because he’s been after me for years about that.”

  “And just what is that?” Alaynia asked with a lift of her eyebrows.

  “Why, my cabin, of course. Shain’s always sending someone over from Chenaie to fix it up, and I’ll have to admit it gets sort of chilly when we have a cold spell. At my age, I ought to have a proper house to live in, don’t you think, Alaynia?”

  “You want me to supervise the repair work on your cabin?”

  “Nope. I want you to supervise the building of the new house I want—complete with some pretty white columns on the front veranda and a nice garden to wander through, when I’m thinking about some problem with my inventions.”

  Alaynia’s exhilaration grew as he continued, “And inside I want nice furniture and drapes—pictures on the walls. Do you think you could do something about that washtub we have to bathe in, too? I do despise having to risk chilblains when I take my Saturday night bath in the cold part of the year.”

  “Do you really mean it, Jake?”

  “Uncle Jake,” he reminded her. “And I sure as shooting do mean it. We can get started on what you’ll need today. There’s shops in town where you can order the stuff you’ll have to have shipped in. And ...” He gave her a stern look. “Don’t you make the same mistake Shain has before—that just because I don’t live real fancy means I can’t afford to. Always wanted me an elegant house, but just never had the time to spend getting it done, because I’d rather work on my inventions.”

  “Do you think Zeke will like having a nice house to live in?” Alaynia asked worriedly. “Or will he resent me making changes?”

  Jake chuckled mirthfully. “You just make that cabin over into a kitchen house for Zeke, and he’ll be as happy as a pig eating slops. He loves to do his cooking, Zeke does. That’ll be something the two of you can work on together. He can tell you what he’d like to have, and you can fix it up for him.”

  For the rest of the short ride into town, Alaynia discussed the details of the manor house she could already visualize in her mind with Jake. There would be problems, of course. She was used to having readily available lumber, Sheetrock, and trim—and plumbing and electrical supplies. Somehow she would have to ignore the modern conveniences unattainable in this time, yet still make a comfortable house for Jake. She glowed with his faith in her, determined that she would outdo even his expectations. She could continue her search for the time warp, also, but in the meantime, she would have something productive to fill the other hours of the day.

  As they reached the edge of the town, she studied the houses they passed, disappointed at their plainness. Ahead of them, they gave way to the shops lining what must be the main street. The shops were small, also, wooden buildings stretching down either side of a dirt street. Cole rode up beside them and took his leave as soon as he and Jake set a time to meet for the ride back to Chenaie.

  Jake clucked to the buggy horse, and it trotted down the main street. “What’s wrong?” he asked Alaynia after a second.

  “Nothing,” Alaynia denied at first, then relented when Jake glowered at her. “Well, I expected a little more, I guess. I thought I might examine some of the houses here to get a few ideas about what you want built. But everything we passed coming into town was, well ...”

  “The houses you want to see are at the other end of town—with the Mississippi River past them,” Jake said. “‘Course, they aren’t as huge as some of the outlying plantation manor houses, but then, I don’t want something as large as Chenaie or Greenwood. We get time, I’ll drive by Greenwood or Rosedown on the way back—or we’ll visit them another day, so you can see their grandeur, which is what I’d like to have on a much smaller scale. And we can take a tour right now of the houses here in town before we leave the buggy at the stables, if you like.”

  “Please,” Alaynia murmured.

  Jake drove on down the street, and Alaynia avidly studied the people as they passed. Several women, some with small children, strolled the walkways, and she examined their clothing. Had she not known better, she would have thought she was visiting a recreation of an early Southern town, with the people in period dress. These women, though, wore clothing straight from their closets, and one little boy wore short pants—too young yet for the longer length of a young man.

  Jake waved and spoke to a couple of women, and Alaynia suddenly realized that the people were staring at her, not acknowledging her tentative smiles. Oh, God, she hoped Zeke hadn’t defied Jake and spread the story of how she had arrived. Gossip would already be spreading about her in this small town.

  “It’s not you,” Jake said when he noticed Alaynia’s trepidation and the way the townspeople shot her grim looks. “It’s the fact that you’re staying at Chenaie. A lot of people here are sore at Shain right now.”

  “Why?” Alaynia asked.

  “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, there’s a nice house coming up. Across from the church there.”

  Chapter 16

  Several hours later, Alaynia trudged tiredly beside Jake as they left the cafe after a delayed lunch. Her mind whirled with all she had accomplished—and the hundreds of things left to do.

  The shopkeepers had been eager to take Jake’s orders, though she groused to Jake about having to sta
y in the background as the men discussed the financial and shipping arrangements. The carpenter had been extremely excited when Jake first approached him, assuring Jake that he could gather a crew and get started immediately, as soon as he got the plans in his hands. But when Jake introduced Alaynia and informed the man that she would be directing the construction, the carpenter’s face fell. Still, Jake explained as they left the man’s house, there was little enough building going on since the war, and she should have no problems with the man. If she did, there was another carpenter in town just as good.

  The main problem Alaynia could see was having to draw up those plans on her own. She’d always contracted with a firm in Boston when making structural changes to one of the old houses, both because they had the computer software to expedite the job and because she wanted to be free to do the creative work, which she enjoyed much more. She hadn’t designed a complete house since college, but she darned sure was going to design one now. Amazingly, she felt a thrill of anticipation at doing what she once considered the drudge work. But then, she had never been given the responsibility for building a house that would be her own creation.

  Jake opened the door on a small shop and indicated for Alaynia to precede him inside. She glanced overhead, but couldn’t read the sign from her position.

  “It’s Madame Chantal Boudreaux’s place,” Jake said. When she looked at him with a puzzled frown, he chuckled and continued, “I forgot. You’re probably the only woman in West Feliciana Parish who doesn’t know who Madame Chantal is. She’s our resident couturiere, our dressmaker. Claims she’s from France, but the rumor is she used to run a brothel in New Orleans. No one will say that to her face, though, since no woman in her right mind would attend an important social occasion in the parish in anything but one of her gowns.”

  “She must be expensive,” Alaynia said.

  “You’re not supposed to be thinking about money today,” Jake reminded her.

  With a nod of compliance, Alaynia walked into the shop. No sense arguing with Jake about the cost of the clothing, since she could easily deduct that from her commission for designing and supervising the construction of the house. Lord, it felt good to have a job.