Under the Bayou Moon

by Valerie Fraser Luesse

  Florence brought the children crayons, slates, and paper and pencils for their schoolwork. Today was the first day they had tried it out. So far none of the Taylors had come down to ask questions. Ellie didn’t even know if they had listened in. She would just need un tas de patience, as Tante Dodo would say—a lot of patience.

  FORTY-FOUR

  ON SATURDAY MORNING, Raphe, Heywood, Doc, Emmett, and Leo arrived at the parish jail, where Brother Lester was being held without bail. As much trouble as he had caused in Bernadette, the men in town agreed that a preacher deserved the benefit of the doubt.

  Inside the jailhouse, they were met by the lone deputy on duty. He was an old friend of Emmett’s, and while the senator had ordered no visitors, the deputy said he would allow them to talk with Brother Lester through the bars of his cell, provided they agree to swiftly slip out the back door if they heard anybody else come in.

  Raphe had never cared for Brother Lester and his constant interference in matters that were not his concern—things he didn’t even understand. Still, there was something about the way the swift hand of so-called justice was moving that made him uneasy. The fires, the senator’s son, the sudden appearance of this Luetrell from the oil fields—something about it didn’t add up.

  Inside his cell, Brother Lester looked small and alone. He was sitting on a cot, his black jacket and necktie folded neatly on the other end, his wide-brimmed black hat resting on top of them. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His legs were crossed, his arms folded in his lap, his head bowed. Raphe and the other men looked at each other, wondering if he might be praying.

  Finally, Doc cleared his throat and Brother Lester looked up. When he spoke, the fire was gone from his voice. “Are you my accusers? ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.’”

  “We’re not your accusers,” Doc said. “We’ve come to seek the truth.”

  “You’ll not find it in this place,” Brother Lester said.

  Doc stepped closer to the preacher’s cell. “You have to admit, Brother Lester, you’ve been mighty vocal about your opposition to the Catholic church.”

  “And you preached against the white alligator—which, if you really got a interest in the truth, don’t nobody in Bernadette worship,” Leo added.

  Brother Lester looked confused. “I was told differently.”

  “You were misled,” Doc said. “Hanging that alligator on their door doesn’t mean any more to Cajun people than hanging a picture on the wall. I’m afraid you’re the one who’s been bearing false witness against your neighbors. Now about those fires and the senator’s son—”

  “‘Thou shalt not kill!’” Some of Brother Lester’s old ferocity crept back into his voice. “I have harmed no man. To do so would be an abomination.”

  “What about the fires?” Leo asked.

  “‘Thou shalt not steal!’” Brother Lester answered. “To burn a man’s house is to take it from him. It’s stealing. I would not commit such a sin against God.”

  Now Emmett had more questions. “The only thing damaged from my store the night of the fires was the white alligators. Why? You did turn over my display that time.”

  “Like the tables of the money changers,” Brother Lester countered. “I believed I saw evil in your community. I had to act. I had to make you see. But I destroyed nothing.”

  “That’s true,” Emmett said. “You made a big mess, but you didn’t destroy anything.”

  “Brother Lester,” Doc said, “Freeman Richard’s been carving those alligators for a good while now. What made you suddenly decide they were graven images?”

  The preacher stood up and came to the door of his cell, as if he needed a closer look at the men in order to see the truth. “The senator, of course. He believes in my ministry. He persuades the lost to come to my tent services and supports our crusade with his tithes and offerings. He told me himself he had seen an ugly scourge of alligator worship rising in the bayou. I was honored that he trusted me to vanquish such an abomination.”

  “But it’s not true,” Raphe spoke up. “It’s never been true.”

  Brother Lester looked disturbed. “It must be true. Otherwise—”

  “Otherwise, you’ve been wrong about us,” Raphe said.

  Heywood stepped up to the cell door beside Raphe. “Otherwise, the senator is a liar. Otherwise, he used you to turn half of Louisiana against decent Cajun families—decent Christian families.”

  The preacher was shaking his head and running his hands through his hair. “But why? I don’t understand. He seemed so devoted to the Word, so committed to my ministry.”

  Doc reached through the bars to put his hand on Brother Lester’s shoulder. “I’m afraid he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You’re not the first to be fooled, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

  “Why involve me, though?” Brother Lester pressed on. “Why involve my ministry?”

  “We suspect the senator’s after oil rights in the bayou and would do just about anything to get them,” Doc said. “He lied to you so you’d help him turn everybody else against the Cajun families who own those rights—isolate them—and then he tried to use that alligator hunt to pit them against each other. He wants their property, plain and simple. And he doesn’t care how he gets it.”

  Brother Lester turned away, sat down on his cot, and put his head in his hands. When he finally looked up at them, he said, “I have followed a false prophet. I have led others astray.”

  “You just trusted the wrong person,” Heywood said. “Everybody’s done it at least once.”

  Doc tried to reassure the distraught preacher. “You may have been wrong in what you taught them about Cajuns, but you never led anybody away from God. That’s the important thing.”

  “Thank you for that, brother,” the preacher said. “I just don’t understand why I’m here. If I did the senator’s bidding, why does he want me here?”

  “To hide who really set the fires—and their connection to him,” Doc explained. “You ever run across a mean sort named Luetrell?”

  Brother Lester thought about it and shook his head. “No.”

  “Well, if you ever do, run like h—that is, get away from him quick as you can,” Heywood said.

  “What happens now?” Brother Lester asked.

  “We’ll do what we can to find Luetrell and clear your name,” Doc said. “But it won’t be easy. I don’t think I have to tell you that.”

  “No, you don’t. But there is something you can tell me: Why would you help one who persecuted you?”

  “Because we’re supposed to,” Doc answered. “But while we’re on the subject of persecution, before you go around calling Catholics idol worshipers, don’t you think you ought to have a sit-down with Father Tim and find out what he actually believes?”

  “But he bows down to statues—worships their images,” Brother Lester argued.

  “No,” Raphe said. “No, he doesn’t. And neither do we. Why would you say something like that without making sure it’s true? You can’t just accuse people—” He was too frustrated to finish.

  “Anybody you want us to contact?” Doc asked.

  “Yes, if you would be so kind,” Brother Lester said. “My wife. I’ll give you her number in Lafayette. Please tell her I’m alright. Please tell her—tell her we shall meet again by and by.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  ELLIE AWOKE BEFORE DAYLIGHT. She didn’t need to turn over to know that Raphe’s side of the bed was empty. She could sense it. And she smiled, knowing exactly where he was.

  The cabin was cool this early in the morning. Ellie swathed herself in Mama Jean’s wrap and went onto the front porch, where Raphe was sipping his coffee and looking out at the darkened bayou.

  He smiled and handed her cup to her. “What took you so long?” He put his free arm around her.

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “I guess I’m getting old and slow.”

  For a while they stood s
ilently together, listening to the bayou slowly wake up as hints of light began breaking through the darkness above.

  “Raphe, remember when you first told me about the hurricane?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said that you can lose your life or save it just by choosing where to be when the sun rises. I think that’s true some days more than others. And I can’t help thinking this is one of those days.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s Heywood’s birthday coming tomorrow—knowing what he thinks might happen. And the fires and who set them and the preacher in jail—it all has to stop somewhere. Or lead somewhere. Doesn’t it?”

  “Oui, Juliet. It does.” Raphe set their coffee cups down and wrapped his arms around her. They held each other silently, listening to the fading nocturnal calls.

  “Is that a new owl?” Ellie asked. “It sounds different from the one we usually hear.” A familiar hoo floated across the water. “That one right there.”

  “Maybe he found a mate,” Raphe said.

  “I hope so. Sounded lonesome with just the one.”

  Raphe kissed the top of her head. “Don’t tell me you’re taking on the hurts of owls.”

  She smiled up at him. “I can’t help myself.”

  “Neither can I.” Raphe smiled, picked Ellie up, and gave her a lingering kiss. He carried her back inside as the owls kept calling and the sun kept rising and the night met the first light of day.

  AT CHALMETTE’S, Raphe and Heywood said goodbye to Ellie and Gabby, who were on their way to Leta’s beauty shop in a show of support from all the women in town. They followed the other men to benches out back at Chalmette’s, stopping to pour themselves some coffee from a steaming fresh pot on a table by the back door.

  Of course, le conseil was there. Leo waved to Raphe and Heywood as they came outside. They sat down on a long bench with Leo and his brother, Andre. The brothers’ alligator-hunting cousins Binkie, Clifton, and Clayton were seated nearby. The five of them had their own elaborate system of winks, glances, and hand signals to communicate what they thought of any given proceeding. This morning’s discussion had already begun.

  “What worries me is the way that preacher feels about the white alligator,” Lawyer Richard was saying. “My boy carves ’em—everybody knows Freeman been doin’ that for a long time now. What if this Brother Lester was to take it in his mind to hurt my chile?”

  “I don’t think you gotta worry about that, Lawyer,” Raphe assured him. “We went to see Brother Lester last weekend. I don’t think he’d ever hurt anybody. And I believe we finally got through to him about that alligator-worshiping nonsense.”

  Lawyer didn’t seem convinced. “Hope you’re right, Raphe. Ain’t fair for a ten-year-old boy to be goin’ ’round feelin’ scared in his own community on accounta some crazy firebug preacher.”

  Doc spoke up. “Well, that brings us to something else. We don’t think he set the fires either.”

  “What you talkin’ about, Doc?” Virgil asked.

  “He’s a preacher. And while he might be completely misguided about us, I believe he’s sincere in his conviction. In his mind, setting fire to a man’s house is the same as stealing it, which he says he’d never do because it violates the Commandments. Same with killing another human being. That’s a line he won’t cross.”

  Skeeter LeJeune joined the debate. “Don’t nobody else around here hate the Catholic church, though, Doc. What about that fire?”

  “I don’t profess to have all the answers, Skeeter,” Doc said. “And I don’t know what to tell you about the church fire. But he said he didn’t do it, and I believe him because he’s a man who will do what he thinks is right, no matter what. If he had burned down the church, I think he’d be proclaiming it from his jail cell.”

  Raphe sided with Doc. “Y’all know I never thought much o’ Brother Lester. He almost had me believing I needed to give up Remy. But when you talk to him straight on—I’m not saying I’d want to fish with him, but I don’t think he’s a liar.”

  “Neither do I,” Heywood said.

  “Me neither,” Leo agreed.

  “Where’s that leave us?” Virgil wanted to know.

  “Bein’ mighty careful,” Leo answered. “If Brother Lester didn’t set those fires and didn’t have nothing to do with the Strahan boy’s disappearance, then whoever did—prob’ly that Luetrell fella—is still on the loose. And here’s somethin’ else: The preacher told us it was the senator convinced him we was all bowin’ down to the white alligator.”

  “What for?” Binkie asked.

  Leo took a sip of his coffee. “I reckon to stir up trouble. Maybe distract us while he looked for oil in the bayou?”

  “You think there’s any danger to our families?” Skeeter asked.

  “Yes,” Heywood said. “Luetrell is dangerous. And somehow he’s tangled up in all o’ this. He’s the reason I still say the senator’s alligator hunt is rigged. And he’s the reason everybody needs to be on their guard till we know he’s gone.”

  Binkie got up and walked over to the coffeepot, topping off his cup with a hot splash as he made a case for the hunt. “Speakin’ o’ the alligator, that’s a cool fortune to wave on by. And it ain’t just that money—it’s all the other money a hunter could bring in once word gets ’round that he’s killed L’esprit Blanc. Ever’body from shoemakers in New Orleans to cafés up and down the river would want you huntin’ for ’em.”

  “I know, Binkie,” Heywood said. “I can’t imagine killing that alligator myself, but then I don’t have kids to feed and I don’t make my living on the bayou. I wouldn’t fault you for going after it if I thought you’d actually see any o’ that money, but I’m telling you, if Luetrell’s tied up in it, you won’t. And if he’s working for the senator—well, that’s a pretty dangerous pair, what with one man’s power, the other man’s spite, and not a ounce o’ conscience between ’em.”

  Doc joined Binkie at the coffee table. “Heywood’s right. My personal opinion is that the hunt was intended to set us all against each other—have us fighting over the alligator and all that money. Long as we don’t give in to that, Binkie, I think every man here ought to do as he sees fit. We can’t tell you whether to hunt or not. We just want you to go into it clearheaded so you know what you’re in for—so you don’t get tempted to do things you normally wouldn’t because you’re blinded by the thought of all that money, which we don’t think any of us will ever see. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” Binkie agreed.

  Just then three men no one recognized stepped out of the store and into their circle. They were wearing jeans and cowboy boots. Two had on Western hats while the third wore a straw fedora. All of them were tall and muscular, with scruffy beards and tanned skin.

  “Those three look rough as Luetrell,” Heywood whispered to Raphe.

  “Mornin’.” The man in the fedora held up a fifty-dollar bill and a photograph. “Lookin’ for this man. Gig Luetrell. You seen him?”

  “You all work for the sheriff?” Doc asked.

  “No,” the man said. “You seen Luetrell?”

  Doc shook his head.

  “Anybody else?”

  No one answered. And no one looked in Heywood’s direction.

  “We’ll be around,” the man said. “You see him, you find us.” The three men turned and walked back into the store.

  Emmett stepped around the corner and watched them, then reported back to the others. “Looks like they pullin’ a boat to the landin’.”

  “’Preciate y’all keepin’ quiet,” Heywood said. “Don’t believe I care to get mixed up with those three.”

  Leo got up and poured himself some more coffee. “We’ll handle our business ourselves, same as always. Let’s all have us another cup. By then, it oughta be late enough for a beer, and I could use one.”

  REMY AND FOOTSIE STOOD on the sandy creek bank taking turns throwing their pocketknives at X’s in the dirt. They had drawn
a series of them—a big one just a few feet away, a smaller one about five feet away, and the smallest nearly ten feet away. Remy took aim, threw the knife, and hit the smallest X dead center.

  “Dadgum it, Remy!” Footsie exclaimed. “I ain’t never seen nobody throw a knife like you. I bet I got brothers way older’n you can’t hit that target.”

  “Thanks,” Remy said with a smile.

  “How you get so good?”

  “Mr. Heywood taught me. I never seen nobody could throw like him. I practice a lot when I’m by myself.”

  “You got the steadiest hand I ever done seen! Will you show me how you take ahold o’ yo’ knife?”

  “Sure,” Remy said. “First you lay it on your palm like this . . .”

  FORTY-SIX

  ELLIE SPOONED A BIG DOLLOP of chocolate icing onto the three-layer cake she had baked for Heywood. He was spending this afternoon with Gabby but told her he wanted to come over and help Remy make short work of any leftover frosting. He was uncharacteristically late for food, which Ellie attributed to Gabby’s charms.

  Raphe had held Remy off as long as he could, but the call of the river on a Saturday afternoon proved overpowering, and Remy just wouldn’t give up. With Heywood surely on his way, Ellie persuaded Raphe it would be perfectly safe to take Remy out in the pirogue for a couple of hours while she baked.

  As the icing cascaded over the sides of her cake, she heard the distinctive sound of the Whirlygig coming into the slough. Ellie had always thought there was something joyful about the chugging noise made by Heywood’s boat. Or maybe the joy came from knowing she and Raphe were about to spend some time with their friend.