Forget Me Never

by Sable Hunter

  “My Lord! I can’t wait to see what tonight brings! I just wish we had brought my large, macho, hunky husband along.”

  “We’ll be okay.” They parked underneath a weeping willow and walked carefully to the ornate wrought iron gates. Saint Michael’s in St Martinville was a typical South Louisiana cemetery – spooky at night. Ciara set out through the maze of mausoleums as if on a scavenger hunt for squirrel and mice. Not once had she ever shown any interest where Patrick was laid to rest. Savannah had often wondered about that. Down through the ages, there were true accounts of dogs who had guarded the graves of their masters for years. Yet, Ciara stared down the driveway for hours a day just like she expected him to drive back up at any moment.

  Savannah could have made the trek in the black dark. She had walked it often enough.

  “This is beautiful, Savannah. I love the bench and the flowers. How did you get these Forget Me Not’s to bloom so late in the year?”

  “I grow them from seed in the green house and I keep new plants coming in all during the year. There are only a few months in the dead of winter that we don’t have green plants.” For just a moment she stood there and stared at the ornate sarcophagus with the carved lettering that broke her heart every time she saw it.

  Patrick Heath O’Rourke

  Beloved Fiancé and Grandson

  You Will Never Be Forgotten

  Paddy was with him now; the old man had died in his sleep a few months after she had lost Patrick.

  Savannah sank to the bench and Harley joined her. “How are we going to do this?” she whispered.

  “You can talk in your normal voice,” Savannah teased.

  “Yea, but – uh – they are listening to us. Aren’t they?”

  “I hope so. To tell you the truth, I’m nervous.”

  “Why are you nervous?” Harley rubbed Savannah’s shoulder.

  “I’ve done this before, but so much hinges on what happens tonight.” She was so close to crying. Desperately, Savannah tried to hold it together. “Before, I just wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to know he still existed somewhere. Now, I’m hoping I won’t hear his voice, because I hope he’s still alive out there.”

  Harley looked around nervously. “It’s getting dark, Savannah. Don’t you think we ought to get started?”

  “Yea, okay.” She turned on the Frank’s box and walked to the edge of Patrick’s grave. Ciara wandered up and flopped down at her feet, hassling happily. “Patrick, Darling, I love you. Did you send me an email? Are you here?”

  Static from the box caused them to both jump. Then silence. They waited a few more minutes until, finally – a one word response broke through the silence like an explosion. “Stephanie!”

  Stephanie?

  “Dang!” Harley grabbed her arm. “I almost jumped out of my skin!” Her friend bent over at the waist and tried to breathe. “Who’s Stephanie? Should you be jealous?”

  Before she could react or comment, a whole phrase sounded out, one that shook Savannah to her very core. “There is no Patrick here.”

  “O, my God, Savannah!” Harley clutched her arm. “I didn’t know if this would work or not, but I’m convinced now. What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know,” tears were welling in Savannah’s eyes. “Let’s get out of here. I’m not in the right frame of mind to continue this.” But before she left, Savannah didn’t ignore her protocol. “Thank you for telling me. If your name is Stephanie, it’s nice to meet you. I will come back and talk to you again, I promise.” Turning off the box, she put it back in her bag.

  Harley handed her a flashliht. For just a moment they stood and looked at Patrick’s grave. “What about Patrick? Does this mean he’s alive?”

  Savannah had to give Harley credit, she didn’t hold back. She forced Savannah to think. “Maybe – I’ve also considered that his spirit stayed where he died. There’s so much we don’t know about life after death and what’s possible. Actually, it’s just a guessing game. Let’s go.”

  Carefully they made their way through the cemetery, letting the narrow beams of light illuminate the way. Abruptly Harley stopped walking, “Damn, look at that.” She aimed her light at the name plate on a grave just two down from Patrick’s. The name on it read Stephanie Corley and she had only been dead for a few months.

  Savannah walked up and placed her hand on the side of the mausoleum. “Stephanie, I’ll be back and if there’s a message you need to give someone, I’ll help you, I promise.”

  *****

  “Come on, I’ll feed you.” Savannah put her bag down and headed for the kitchen. “We both need to eat.” Ciara stood next to her as she doled out a good portion of gourmet, organic dog food. A grilled cheese sandwich sounded good. She would add some ham for the baby. Protein was important. Going through the motions almost automatically, she fixed herself a plate of food and sat down to eat. What had happened tonight? And what did it mean? Forcing down the food, she realized how tired she was. Perhaps everything would make sense in the morning.

  Making her way to the bedroom, she shed her clothes and went to take a shower.

  “Grrumph,” Ciara rumbled as she fell over on the bath mat.

  “Are you tired?” She adjusted the shower spray and shed her clothes. A tiny baby bump reminded her that soon it wouldn’t be just the two of them – it would be three. “I’ve got to get a handle on this and make plans.” For three years she had dwelt on her loss of Patrick and trying to come to terms with the grief. She had also sought to fulfill her promise to him and to make their child a reality. Now, she had to build a life for her and her child. There was a nursery to furnish and decisions to make on child care. Thinking about it all made her a bit scared. Single parenthood was going to be a daunting task.

  Routines had been a comfort to her. At times she could get lost in them and forget how lonely she was. “Gracious, I need a new hair style, Ciara. What do you think?” Her hair was too long. It hung past her waist and took forever to dry. Patrick had loved it, though. He used to say that it was a good handle. God, she could still remember how he would wrap it around his fist and hold her steady as he took her from behind. What that man didn’t know about sex wasn’t worth knowing.

  Putting her hair on top of her head, she proceeded to clean her face, brush her teeth and put on moisturizer. Funny, she didn’t look any different. Plain old Savannah Doucet still stared back at her. Who would have ever known that she had been loved by such a man as Patrick? Sometimes, she didn’t believe it herself. That magical time of her life seemed like a faraway dream. Stepping over the dog, she walked into the shower and shut the glass door behind her. Oh yeah, this shower had seen some erotic action. Holding her face up to the spray, she enjoyed the slight sting. It made her feel alive. What she wouldn’t give to be held again, to be touched – to be loved and possessed by her lover. Closing her eyes, she pretended. Patrick was standing behind her and he was running his hands up and down her arms. She leaned back into him as he kissed her neck. “God, Baby, I’ve missed you, so.”

  Her dream lover was perfect. She laid her head back on his shoulder as he fondled and lifted her tits, rubbing the nipples, making them hard between his fingers. “Oh, that feels so good. More, please more,” she demanded. Spreading her legs in anticipation, she waited – ah, there it was – just what she needed. His hand parted her folds and began to caress. Savannah stood on tiptoe and rode his hand. “Please Patrick – I need you.” Fingers swirled around her clit while others pulled at her nipple. “Baby!” she cried as pleasure coursed through her. “Patrick!” The orgasm was good, but not what she needed. Savannah needed Patrick. Fantasies fell short and her hands on her body were a poor substitute for his.

  At least maybe she could sleep. The orgasm had lessened some of the tension in her body. Drying off with a towel around Ciara was always a game. It started out with playful snaps and tussles and ended up with a full fledge tug of war. “Hey! You’re feeling good, aren’t you?” Naked, she padded into her ro
om and found a t-shirt to wear to bed. A buzzing from her purse startled both her and the dog. Making a dive for it, she wondered if it was Harley or Tammany or one of the other girls. They were the only ones who ever called – except Revel. He checked oh her regularly. Not taking time to check the caller ID, she just answered. “Hello?” Static. “Hello?”

  “Savannah?”

  She would have recognized his voice anywhere. After all, she had heard it often enough in her dreams. “Patrick?” she whispered hoarsely. She strained to hear more. “Patrick, Honey – where are you?”

  “Savannah, Baby. It’s been so long. I’m coming home, Savannah. Am I welcome?”

  “Yes, of course. I want you home.” The connection was so poor. “Patrick can you hear me? Where are you?” She was almost shouting. “Answer me,” she pleased. And there was nothing. The line went dead. Pulling the phone away from her ear, she stared at it. Was this real? Was she going crazy?

  Chapter Nine

  Savannah was completely unnerved by the email and the phone call. The only thing she could think to do was call Revel. And she would. And he would come to see her. She had no doubt of that. Revel had been so attentive and so faithful. Since she had become pregnant, he had proposed three times. There were even flowers sitting on her hall table and the card next to them said, “Marry me. You don’t have to do this alone.”

  The first time he had asked her to marry him; she had just sat at him and stared. He loved her because he loved Patrick, she knew that. But marry her? “I know you don’t have insurance, and you’ve used all of Patrick’s money and your money trying to get pregnant. Let me take care of you. Patrick charged me with the task of caring for the most precious thing in his world – and I take that seriously.”

  “But you don’t love me,” she had protested.

  “I do love you, as a friend,” he had qualified. “The woman who owns my heart doesn’t want me. I don’t know if she ever will. So for now, let me take care of you and Patrick’s baby.”

  He had almost persuaded her, but she couldn’t do it. She loved Patrick – for always and forever and she could never wear someone else’s name – not even to make it easier on herself. But she did need to talk to him.

  Today, however, she had something else to take care of. She was going to Carville. Carville was located on the banks of the Mississippi about sixteen miles south of Baton Rouge. Through the years she had read countless accounts of those who had lived their lives behind the gates of the only leper colony in the continental United States.

  It had begun in 1894 when a New Orleans physician and several Sisters of Charity had smuggled a few patients with leprosy down the river on a coal barge to the rundown Indian Camp Plantation. Local residents would have been vehemently opposed to the idea, but the nuns had purchased the property and spread the word that they had plans to start an ostrich farm.

  When they had climbed ashore, they found the main house falling down and home to snakes and rats and weeds. It was in no shape to house patients, so they and the staff lived in former slave quarters until extensive repairs could be completed. The Daughters of Charity stayed on and devoted their lives to care for people with a disease so misunderstood and feared that nobody knew the cause, how to treat it or if there would ever be a cure. And they did this for y a hundred dollars a year.

  In 1916, Congress passed a law that put Carville under the US Public Health Department, but the Daughters of Charity stayed on. Savannah couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life her mother and father had there – and today, perhaps she would find out. So many possible stories had come to mind. Were they dead? Were they buried there? Did she have any living relatives? Lord, she even wondered what her last name was. Savannah, she had been told, was given to her by her mother. But Doucet had been chosen arbitrarily by her first foster parent when she was only weeks old.

  She had made up stories in her mind about how they had lived, what they ate, what they had looked like and how much they had missed her after she had been given away. Not too long ago she had found out something that had given her pause. She had known that marriages between patients had been discouraged, but still it happened. And she knew that children born to these patients had to be placed in foster care. What she hadn’t known was that it could have been possible for her to visit her parents. Some children, even though they were in orphanages or foster care, were allowed to come on Sundays and visit through the fence. So why hadn’t she been allowed to do that? Something else had kept them apart – unless they just hadn’t wanted her, but Savannah had rejected that idea. She wanted to be wanted – even by parents she would never meet. Patrick had wanted her and for that she would always be thankful.

  For over a hundred years, it was the place of last resort and little hope for those that suffered with the disease. Things were different now, after the drugs had been perfected that would hold the disease at bay, the hospital was closed and the patients were taken care of in Baton Rouge. Those who didn’t want to leave the only home they had ever known were allowed to remain and live out the remainder of their days beneath the massive oaks.

  When she drove through the gates, she was met by a soldier. Savannah had to give him her driver’s license and be cleared to enter. The Coast Guard owned the property now and ran a military type school for at-risk youngsters. All of the buildings were still there and being used – it was really an impressive place with beautiful grounds. There was a power plant that had met all of their needs. All of the staff had lived in small cypress cottages and the hospital and treatment center had been large and filled with light due to the many windows and open hallways. She had been surprised to find out that there had been a rec hall, a ballroom, a post office and a movie theatre. There had even been a golf course, a lake for fishing and boating, a swimming pool – everything they needed to be happy. This had been their world. Several of the nuns chose to be buried here at Carville where they had lived – and the cemetery was one place she fully intended to visit before her visit was over.

  Once she had been cleared to enter, Savannah bypassed the museum and drove around until she found the cemetery. Her penchant for ghost-hunting made her more sensitive to the eternal resting places of people, so she always at least drove by to give them a nod of greeting. Behind the cemetery she spotted the Armadillo building and everything she had read about it drew her near. Over the years many of the patients had volunteered to be guinea pigs in hope that a cure could be found. But it had been the lowly armadillo that had given the most to the cause. The building’s exterior has the texture and the appearance of the armadillo shell and pays homage to one of the four other creatures in the world who can contract the dreaded disease of leprosy. Much research was done on the animal and she knew that a special section in the museum was dedicated to the armored mammal.

  Carville Leprosarium sat on the Great River Road surrounded by centuries-old live oaks dripping with Spanish moss and resurrection fern. Savannah was entranced. This is where she began. As she walked up to the museum, she was assaulted by a symphony of feelings – sorrow, hope and a haunting sense of fate walking beside her. Something was about to happen – she didn’t know if it was about Patrick or her parents, but she could feel the winds of destiny blowing.

  Knocking, she waited. It seemed like forever before a tall thin woman with light brown hair stood before her. This was the person who had held the secrets of her life in the palm of her hand? A curiosity and anxiety unlike any she had experienced before almost caused her to lose her southern gentility. “Come in, Miss Doucet. I’m Barbara Hodges. How are you?”

  “I am well, just hunting answers. Do you think you can help me?”

  “Your lawyer has contacted me, and I think I have good news for you.” A rush of relief made Savannah weak-kneed. “Let me show you around; then, we’ll talk.” She wanted to demand answers right off, but Mrs. Hodges clearly intended for her to get the full dose of information. The waiting was torture. Inside the museum was a bit depressing. Ever
y square inch was filled with memorabilia. Items that would have been of no interest to anyone were saved and marveled at simply because they had belonged to a leper. Baseball bats, sewing machines, shoes – the array of items was endless. There was a special section devoted to the armadillo, just like she had read and a room arranged to depict how a patient had lived. Another room was dedicated to the Daughters of Charity. But what got to Savannah the most was the simple things – the toys, the shoes, the clothes – they spoke of the real people who had spent their days behind these walls.

  She stopped to read the account of the 1937 World Series game found recorded in the diary of one of the Sisters. According to her, the patients had gathered around the radio to enjoy the play-by-play account. It was a time when they could put aside their aches and pains and worries and be somewhat normal. Toward the end of the game, the jovial voice of the announcer had come across the airwaves, “You know the umpire – he’s the leper of the game. Everybody despises him, but nobody touches him.” Sister Hillary’s faithful recording told how their faces had fallen and all of the joy had gone out of the occasion. They had turned off the radio and silently left the room.