by Sable Hunter
Strings of white lights in the trees lit up the area. This was a big place for just two people to live. Even though it was open to the public by day, the owners had chosen not to make it into a bed and breakfast. People came and went, but it wasn’t the same as having more family about. He knew Grandpa was lonely, that’s why he was dating Izzy and Gertrude’s aunt. Yuck! Bounding up the steps of the gazebo, he walked up on his grandfather with his arms around the woman! Crap! “Excuse me,” he stammered. Weren’t they too old for stuff like this?
Selma Smith backed up and giggled. “Hello, Patrick. My, don’t you look nice tonight. How old are you now?”
“Thank you, Ma’am. I was thirteen last month.”
“What can I do for you, Boy?” Grandpa was an ex-Marine or as he would say ‘once a marine, always a marine’. Patrick intended to join the Corp, too.
“Izzy and Gertrude want to look in the old slave well to see if they can see the faces of their future husbands.” Patrick put just as much disgust into the words as he could muster.
Selma giggled again, “Maybe I should go look. What do you say, Paddy?”
Paddy? He might be named for his grandfather, but he didn’t ever want to be called ‘Paddy’.
“After the kids get through, we’ll walk over there together, Shug,” Grandpa placed his arm around Ms. Smith and hugged her.
“So, it’s okay?” Patrick was about to barf.
“Yes, it will be all right. Just be careful moving that old concrete cover, its heavy.”
“Yes, sir,” he was just about to make his escape when Selma stopped him with more chit-chat.
“I understand you’re a pretty good little artist. Your grandfather tells me you won a prize at school the other day for a picture you drew.”
Hell! Did everybody know about that? “It was just a picture of a horse, Ms. Smith.” Great, everybody would think he was some sissy painter. That was all he needed.
“PATRICK!!!” It was Gertrude. For the first time, Patrick was happy to hear her voice. Anything to get away from these two old lovebirds.
“Coming! Excuse me.” He jumped down and struck a trot to join the girls down by the mill pond. “Let’s go. I got places to be and people to see. Wasting time with you girls is not my idea of fun.”
It wasn’t far to the well. An old wooden structure covered the entire curb and opening. The whole thing had seen better days. “Who do you think we’ll see?” Izzy asked with giggly trepidation.
“If you see anybody, he’ll be scrambling to get out of that well and away from you,” he grumbled as he struggled with the big stone disc. Patrick was a big boy for his age, but this was heavy! With a great heave, he pushed it off to one side and stood by taking deep breaths.
Gertrude pulled a flashlight out of her front dress pocket. “Here goes nothing,” she stepped closer, shone the light down into the water and peered down into the dark depths.
“Scoot over, what do you see?” The two girls got into a little pushing struggle.
“Move, Izzy! If we’re both standing here, how will we know which guy belongs to who?”
Patrick almost snickered. The foolish girls were talking like they were actually gonna see something. He thought the whole thing was stupid.
“I don’t see anything,” Gertrude whined.
“Me either, but give it time,” Izzy was more optimistic.
Behind them, Patrick waited with hands on hips. “Maybe it’s not working because nobody will want to marry you.”
“Shut-up, Patrick.”
“Yes, you hush. You’re gonna be our cousin; you have to be nice to us.”
That shut him up. Just the thought of having to see these two all the time was enough to render him speechless.
“Look! The water’s acting funny. It’s like something is coming to the surface.”
“I can’t look. I’m scared,” Izzy grabbed Gertrude and pulled her away. “This whole place is haunted. Aunt Selma said so.”
“Good Lord, give me that light. There’s nothing in that well but water. You two are nuts.” Patrick took the light and stepped up to see for himself. Gazing down into the darkness, he was surprised to see the water was churning. He kept the high beam on the black water and waited. “It must be a pocket of gas.” Soon it all went still and it became as clear as glass. Patrick looked closer, straining to see. What was that? “What in the world?” Patrick whispered. It was a face. He stared. It was a woman! A beautiful woman. She smiled and Patrick felt funny – warm and happy.
“Do you see anything, Patrick?”
Patrick didn’t answer. Instead he shook his head disbelievingly, trying to clear his vision. Closing his eyes he counted to five, and then he looked again. The image was still there. Was it real? She had long dark hair, dark eyes and the prettiest smile he had ever seen.
“Come on, Patrick, let’s go. You’re right, this is waste of time.”
For a few more seconds, he gazed. It was as if they had made eye contact. With an artist’s eye, Patrick committed her face to memory. When he got back to his room, he would draw her.
“What are you doing?” Izzy tugged at his belt loop. “We’re ready to go and we don’t want to walk by those creepy cabins by ourselves.”
“All right,” he knew he had to let her go. He didn’t want to. Patrick didn’t understand what had happened. He didn’t know who she was; he only knew that it felt like they had connected, somehow. It was strange, but he had never felt more loved or at peace than when he was staring into her eyes. Hell, it had to be some kind of hallucination. There was one thing for sure, though. He would never, ever forget her. If he had his wish, she would be his destiny.
Chapter One
2010 – The Year the New Orleans Saints Won the Super Bowl
“I’ll be back, Grandad, I promise.” He hugged the old man. “Don’t forget me, okay?”
“I won’t,” Paddy O’Rourke wiped a tear from his eyes. “I’ll look at your picture every day. And you won’t forget me, will you?”
“Never gonna happen,” Patrick promised. He hated Alzheimer’s. It was stealing his grandfather’s mind bit by bit.
“You’ll bring me more genealogical information to work with?” Since his short term memory began to fade, Paddy tended to focus more and more on the past. Tracing their family had become an obsession with him.
“I’m headed to the Acadian Memorial right now. The next time I come I’ll have you a whole new batch of stuff to go through.” He didn’t really have time, but he would do it anyway. It was important. God, he hated to head back overseas. Paddy needed him now. He had managed to get some emergency leave to arrange for him to be admitted to the home, but now he had to head back to the Middle East and dodge bullets and sidestep IED’s.
“Okay, I look forward to it. I want to write something in my journal about each one. That way, they won’t be lost in time. I don’t think anybody should be forgotten.” A sad look clouded over the old man’s face. “To not be remembered is the saddest thing in the world.”
As a Marine Special Ops, Patrick’s future was highly uncertain. Sometimes he had this crazy dream at night where he was lost and alone. He would wake up in a cold sweat sure that nobody was looking for him and that no one even remembered that he existed. It was a horrible feeling. Dreams were just dreams, and he knew that, but he couldn’t forget the night before his parents had perished in that Amtrax accident; he had dreamed of two trains colliding – just like in those old movies when two people would kiss and they would compare the impact to two old steam engines barreling together.
Hell, he was ready for some good dreams to come true. “I don’t want to be forgotten either, Pop.” Paddy was the only family he had. There was no one else. His parents were gone, he had no brothers or sisters and he had never been fortunate enough to find Destiny. Destiny. Now, that was a dream. Destiny was the name Patrick christened the vision of beauty he had seen in the dark waters of the old slave well. Oh, he knew she had just been a figment of
his over-active imagination, sort of like a day-dream. But she had become real to him. And it was Destiny that he fantasized about when the nights grew long and he wanted to come home. If any of his dreams were going to come true, he voted for this one.
*****
Savannah smiled. Some days it just paid to get up in the morning. Today was one of those days. For a few moments, she enjoyed the view and indulged in a harmless bit of day-dreaming. Now, that was a man. ‘Oh, you are delicious,’ she thought. He had to be an excellent lover. Images of tangled sheets filled her mind; she had no problem imagining him on top of her, holding her hands above her h His big body would cover hers, while his hard cock thrust between her thighs. Soon, her body was fully on board with her fantasy. God, she was turned on. Her nipples were hard and swollen. And if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a damp spot on her cotton panties – right between her legs. The object of her lust stood oblivious as she ogled him. She let her eyes slide up his strong legs, past a tight ass to shoulders that looked broad enough to hang onto through any storm. “Turn around, Baby,” she whispered. “Let Savannah see how sexy you are.”
As if he could hear her, the man-candy began to move. “Merciful Heavens,” she breathed. He was gorgeous! His dark blonde hair was cut in typical military fashion, but she would have given a crisp twenty to ruffle it a little bit. Bright blue eyes with flecks of gold met hers for one split second before they moved on to check out a tall redhead who was also giving him the eye. Savannah wasn’t surprised, she expected to be dismissed. It was all right, she had come to terms with her lot in life a long time ago. Still, she enjoyed looking and imagining what it would be like to be noticed by a man like him. He was probably as nice as he was handsome.
Savannah sighed. Fate hadn’t been kind to her. Even if she had been born in a normal family, her looks were nothing to brag about. But what she was lacking in beauty, she was sure she could make up for in erotic enthusiasm if ever given a chance. Maybe. At least she’d love to try. Oh well, that wasn’t going to happen. Dang, her body was humming like a live wire.
“Ms. Doucet? Savannah?”
“What?” Savannah jumped as the sound of a male voice intruded into her private risqué reverie. Trying to be nonchalant, she crossed her arms over her breasts attempting to cover up the evidence of her arousal.
“I’ve brought the group from the university for their tour.”
“Oh, hello,” she bit the inside of her lip and forced herself to be cordial. “How nice to see you, Professor March.” Savannah found it almost impossible to lie, but she did. It wasn’t nice to see him.
“Shall I stay and help you? Perhaps afterwards we could go somewhere – uh – more private? I’d like to take you over to Evangeline Park for a picnic.” His oily tone spoke volumes.
If she had turned him down once, she had turned him down a half dozen times. Fred March was not a nice man. She was beginning to feel like he would love to pressure her into dating him. Her boss said he had called the Culture Center and asked about her job qualifications. He seemed like the type that would do a little arm twisting to get what he wanted. “No Professor, thank you. I believe I can handle it and I have plans for lunch,” she scrambled for an excuse, “with that soldier over there.” She pointed at the oblivious Marine who was still deep in his own thoughts.
“Oh, really,” he had the audacity to look and sound skeptical which just peeved Savannah off. Yeah, it was a lie. But she could have a date with the soldier if she wanted one – maybe. All right . . . probably not. But it was a nice thought.
Either way, she refused to have anything more to do with Professor March. “If you’ll just wait over there, I’ll take them around and return them to you shortly. You can accompany them out into the Meditation Gardens if you’d like.”
“Very well, Miss Doucet.” A flash of anger in his eyes almost took her breath away. The man had a temper. How frustrating! Even under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t want to date this man, but her circumstances were as far from normal as you can get.
Savannah didn’t date anyone – ever. There was just no use. As soon as anyone found out about her past, they turned their back on her. If she told Professor March now, he would back away also. But she didn’t want to do that. It hurt to have to confess the circumstances of her birth and watch people’s face change from friendly to appalled. The couple of times she had attempted to begin a friendship with a man had been disastrous. Either she felt compelled to level with him about Carville or he found out from someone else. The end result was the same. So Savannah was condemned to a solitary life where she touched no one and no one touched her.
Would she ever escape Carville? Did she need to? Since Savannah had grown up and chosen to study history and sociology, she had delved deeply into the history of Hansen’s disease and the travesties that had been handed down to its unlucky victims. In fact through her work at the Culture Center, she had worked on several papers to educate the public on the history of the leprosarium and what had happened to its residents. Her efforts were partly selfish; she had hoped to solve her own mystery. But that hadn’t happened. Not yet, anyway. But she had petitioned for an interview with the former Director and she had every intention of using her official capacity to get access to the patient records.
Giving the soldier one last wistful glance, she checked the students in and began her presentation. “As we look around, I want you to note how familiar the names of the refugees will be to you. Lisa, I saw on the register that your last name is Hebert.” She pronounced it the Cajun way – ‘a-bear’. “If you’ve never seen your family crest, look for it. The sidewalks in the Meditation Gardens are covered with mosaic coats of arms and Hebert is one of them.”
Several area colleges sent their history classes over for field trips to learn about the Acadian deportation. This particular group was made up mostly of sorority girls who were preoccupied with frivolous conversation. Hopefully once they listened to the audio tour, the dramatic sth; shea culture’s determination to rekindle itself would capture their imaginations.
Savannah truly enjoyed her work. It was her dream to open people’s eyes to the richness of their past. “Let’s go check out the mural first,” she instructed them as they congregated near the door awaiting her instructions. Leading them to the display, she began her lecture. “Measuring twelve by thirty feet, this mural was painted by Robert Dafford. It portrays the arrival of the Acadians to Louisiana. The figures represent actual documented refugees. Many of the models for the characters in the painting were direct descendants of those whom they portrayed.”
A chorus of girlish giggles almost caused Savannah to forget her next point. She seemed to be losing the attention of the female class members. Their eyes were riveted on Savannah’s marine who was now standing at the Wall of Names. He was checking his notes and seemed totally unaware of their whispers and glances. “Ladies, listen to me, please. We don’t want to disturb the other guests.” Savannah did her best to draw the girls back into her lecture. For the most part she was successful as she related to them the tale of the Acadian people who were the first European settlers in North America. It always amazed her to relate that the Cajuns had arrived fifteen years before the British landed at Plymouth Rock.
Walking the group to the back of the memorial, she pointed out the deportation cross and told them the horrors of the Acadian Holocaust when a whole race of people were forced to leave their homes and relocate just because the British feared anyone who spoke French would be treasonous. “One of the saddest aspects of all of this was that families were separated. The men and boys were called to the church meeting place, then forced aboard ships and their wives and daughters were placed on other ships. There was no guarantee that they were going to the same place or would ever even see one another again.” Every time she told this part of the story, she thought of her own tragedy. A misunderstood disease had robbed her of her mother and left her an unwanted orphan. Life was full of unfairness.
; Savannah cleared her throat, put the sad thoughts behind her and continued. “This is the inspiration for the tale of Evangeline. When you leave, be sure and walk through the park along the banks of Bayou Teche and see the great oak where legend says Evangeline was reunited with her long lost lover, Gabriel.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem was an inspiration for many Cajun people. It had become ingrained in their history and now, many didn’t realize it wasn’t fact, but loosely based on the sad lives of another couple, Emmeline Labiche and Louis Arceneaux.
Another bout of feminine groaning and sighing forced Savannah to glance at the soldier whose very presence was playing havoc with her presentation. Oh well, there were some things you just couldn’t fight and one of them was animal magnetism. At least she could get the group outside before they created a scene. Giving them over to Professor March with instructions to visit the eternal flame in the garden, she decided to see who else might need her attention. Glancing arund, she couldn’t help but let her eyes wander to the Wall of Names where Gorgeous was still working away. Lord, she was as bad as the girls.