The Time of the Fireflies

by Kimberley Griffiths Little

  She nodded slowly, sadly. “I tried to save Miz Anna, and I was devastated when I couldn’t.” She shook her head like she wanted to shake away the horrific memories. “But we rebuilt the house and raised our own girls there. The place was smaller, of course, much smaller, but I put in the same-style staircase with a banister. Didn’t get the big wraparound porch like in the old days, but our little porch was good enough for sitting on hot evenings with a glass of lemonade and a book.”

  “And then you lost — I mean Gwen —”

  Her eyes went distant as she gazed off across the kitchen as though seeing the past all over again on the other side of the room. “Yes, my oldest daughter, your aunt Gwen, was drowned on our very own bridge during a lightning storm.” My grandmother reached over to stroke my face and I tugged away, not wanting her to look at the hateful scar. “We almost lost you in nearly the same way. I couldn’t believe it. Like history repeating itself.”

  History repeating itself. Why did that phrase sock me in the gut? But I wished she wouldn’t talk about my accident. Some days, I wished I could disappear into a hole.

  Grandma Kat took my chin in her gentle fingers and forced me to turn my eyes toward her. “No, you look at me, Larissa Renaud. I know that living with the accident and the scar hasn’t been easy this past year. But that scar will fade.”

  “No, it won’t!” I was surprised at how loud I said the words.

  She grasped both my hands and wouldn’t let go. “Believe what I’m telling you, darling girl.” Then Grandma Kat quickly rolled up both of her long sleeves and I saw her strange skin, the shocking white patches, and ugly flaps of skin that didn’t quite lay right. She pulled down her collar and I could see burn scars along her neckline and throat, too.

  “But at least your face is okay!” I cried out. My cheeks heated up at how petty my words sounded when she was so badly burned her whole life. “This scar is the first thing everybody sees. I’m ugly and I always will be.”

  “That scar will fade,” Grandma Kat went on, ignoring my outburst. “It’s not as large and ugly as you think. You’re allowing it to be bigger and take over your life, Larissa Renaud. You are a better person than that. So many people love you, Larissa. And that scar doesn’t make a bit of difference in their love and affection. You can’t shut your mamma out or your friends here in Bayou Bridge.”

  “But Mamma drives me crazy about it!”

  “Whooeee, she drives me crazy about it, too! But, Larissa, you’ve got to understand that losing Gwen hurt your mamma bad. Every time she looks at you, she remembers the sister she adored, dying on that bridge. She doesn’t say it or show it, but she’s terrified she’s going to lose you.”

  “She shouldn’t be. I ain’t goin’ nowhere! Unless it’s to get away from her!”

  My grandmother gave me a grin, and I felt my lips tug upward.

  “Scars inside and outside both fade with time. That’s one of the harsh aspects of time — and the beauty of time, too. You’ve got to believe that. Just like we’ve got to believe that your mamma is out there somewhere. She’s just waiting for us to find her.” Grandma Kat leaned back, staring hard at the ceiling. “So what is Maddie doing that’s so darn important she left the house last night without taking a single practical item with her — except that doll?”

  “The doll,” I whispered. The doll that was always everywhere — until now.

  “My grandmother Anna gave me that doll before I got married. She said she wanted it to stay a family heirloom. Anna Marie has been well taken care of. Although,” Grandma Kat added, “she’s not the sort of doll you play with, is she?”

  “Have you ever noticed —” I stopped and licked my lips. “That the doll was always around whenever a family tragedy happened?”

  “Of course the doll was around. Why wouldn’t she be? A family possession is always in the house. Especially when it’s passed from one generation to another.”

  “But,” I said slowly, “something horrible happened every single generation.”

  My grandmother poured more tea and blew on it. “Every family has tragedies. It just seems like ours has had more than its share.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, it was officially twenty-four hours since Mamma had gone missing. Sheriff Granger organized a search party, recruiting volunteers from all over town. Dozens of people showed up within an hour, ready to spread out and search. I was standing at the store window as folks showed up with flashlights and water bottles, wearing hiking boots. I had no idea so many people cared about our family.

  After talking to my grandmother, I knew I needed to organize my own search party. A party of one — me. Because finally, after hours of wracking my brain, I was pretty sure I knew where Mamma had gone. And I was going to find her and bring her home. Along with the doll.

  The girl on the telephone had told me that the doll had a clue. So finding the doll was almost as important as finding Mamma. I was the one who could find Mamma faster than anybody. Because I was going to search places nobody else would think of looking in first.

  While Daddy was outside with Sheriff Granger dividing the neighbors and townsfolk into small groups and giving instructions, I sneaked out onto the porch to make my way to the river. Before I could get down the first step, Alyson Granger showed up. A girl who couldn’t seem to leave me alone.

  What are you doing following me?” I said, trying to push past her.

  “I’m not following you. I came to be part of the search party. I even brought our dog, Beau. Daddy told me to.”

  She had a German shepherd on a leash. A beautiful dog with black and brown markings and a star on its forehead. I put my hands behind my back so I wouldn’t pet it even though I was dying to. I’d always wanted a dog, but my parents said it was impossible. Too many breakable things in the antique store. And furniture wouldn’t sell with dog drool on it.

  “He’s trained, too,” Alyson added. “At the police academy in Lafayette. Daddy got him from a friend of his when Beau retired. Isn’t that funny, a dog retiring? But he’s the best dog ever. And really good at finding things — and people.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said, taking a step backward so Beau couldn’t start licking my face.

  Alyson became very chatty. “So where are you going to start? Which group have you been assigned to?”

  “Um, I haven’t. Yet. I, um, gotta do something first. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll wait here on your porch,” Alyson said, reaching down to stroke Beau’s head.

  I scurried back inside the store, then ducked out the back door and ran around the side of the house. I had to get away from Alyson. She’d ruin all my plans.

  Skirting the backyard of the neighboring house, I was out of sight within a minute and running headlong toward the river road.

  It was getting on to early evening. A crazy time for starting a search party because it was going to be dark soon, but it was the perfect time for me because of the fireflies.

  The day had been hotter and muggier than usual. My shirt stuck to my skin. My hair clung like glue to my neck. And my fingers felt slimy with sweat. Even the gold heart necklace was sticking to the folds of my neck.

  I flew down the road, kicking up dust, and I was at the broken bridge in ten minutes flat. Throwing a glance behind me, I gazed across the moving water and swallowed hard. It still freaked me out to cross the bridge, even as the fireflies swarmed up over the elephant ears. Like they were happy to see me, like they wanted to see me. What if the magic disappeared and I crashed into the river and drowned this time like Gwen? Or tore up my face permanently and became a hideous monster?

  I sucked in a gulp of air, wiping my hands on my shorts, and stepped out along the planks, allowing the fireflies to swirl me up in their column of light and carry me to safety. As soon as I reached the opposite bank and jumped onto the dirt path, I heard a shout.

  There was Alyson standing on the far side of the bridge, right where the planks had crashed
into the water from the lightning storm, their jagged nails lying underwater, waiting for a victim. “Larissa, what are you doing?” she yelled. “Where you going?”

  I stopped, frozen. Then, pretending I hadn’t seen her, I darted up the path toward the empty house in the cypress grove.

  “Larissa!” Alyson screamed, but her voice grew faint as I ran.

  I clenched my jaw when I got to the end of the path, and then groaned. I was hoping it would be the mildewed house my mamma had been raised in, the house that was rebuilt after the fire. I’d had the gut feeling I’d find my mother hiding out in Gwen’s old bedroom with the doll. Instead, the majestic Normand Mansion rose before me under a perfect blue sky.

  I’d time slipped again.

  Wedging myself into the woods, I followed the curve of the meadow to the back of the house, looking for the family or gardeners.

  Not a sign of life, and eerily quiet under the hot sun.

  “So where is everybody?” Guess I’d picked a bad day. But how did I know what was a bad day or a good day — or what I was supposed to be doing here anyway?

  I shook my head, gnats flying into my mouth and eyes. Swatting them away, I spotted movement down by the barns and sheds. I drew closer, careful not to make any noise.

  Three women were crossing the lawns toward the barn. No, not three women. Two women and a girl. Dulcie and Miz Beatrice. But who was the other adult?

  The trees grew thicker on the far side of the island. Water sparkled through the branches where the Bayou Teche twisted and turned just like a snake. Fortunately, I could stay hidden more easily at the rear of the house.

  The women hurried, their backs hunched over, furtive-like. What was going on?

  Darting through the trees, I found myself behind the row of old slave shacks. Most houses from the pre–Civil War days still had slave shacks on the property. Decrepit square boxes with four walls and three or four steps up to the front door, beaten by sun and rain and barely standing.

  When this was a huge, working plantation, there were probably lots of these houses lined up along the bayou side of the island. The occupants would have had the river for washing and some privacy from the main house.

  Now there were only about six shacks left, silent and dark. None of the windows had glass. Most front doors were off their hinges, creaking in the light breeze.

  Miz Beatrice and Dulcie and the strange older woman hurried up the steps of one of the slave shacks. I crept closer, keeping my head down. Underneath the window ledge, I heard the murmur of voices.

  “You sure Miz Normand don’t know I’m here?” said an unfamiliar woman’s voice.

  “’Course she don’t know, Aunt Delphine,” said Miz Beatrice. “Although it’s my afternoon off, and I can visit my great-aunt if I want to. But I’m not a fool,” she added. “Except I keep gettin’ taken for a fool by that Miss Anna. She’s got a black heart.”

  “Now, now,” Aunt Delphine said. “Remember your Christian manners. She’s a little girl and black hearts take time to develop.”

  “You’re kinder than I am, dear aunt,” Miz Beatrice admitted. “Every nice thing Dulcie does for that girl goes unnoticed or un-thanked, and some days I want to give her a piece of my mind.”

  “Sometimes little rich girls don’t know how blessed they truly is,” Aunt Delphine said. “They take life and privilege for granted. That’s all they’ve known. Servants are there to take care of them, not be their best friend,” she added wisely but sadly.

  Miz Beatrice sniffed. “Dulcie, show her the doll.”

  The doll? I stifled a gasp and tried not to move.

  “Here, Aunt Delphine,” Dulcie said timidly. “Mister Edgar gave her to me, and I wanted to show you how marvelous she is.”

  “Mister Edgar gave her to you?” Aunt Delphine said in her soft, older voice. “I’ve heard that man is generous to family and servant alike. She is mighty pretty, Dulcie girl. I’ll bet you be lovin’ on this doll every single day!” The woman gave a low whistle. “Real porcelain and decked out like a princess.”

  I heard rustling as if the woman was fingering the petticoats and ribbons. But why bring the doll out here to show it off?

  Miz Beatrice spoke up again. “I’m sure the doll was very expensive. It was a gift, too — but Dulcie ain’t seen her since the minute Mister Edgar gave it to her all wrapped up in a white box.”

  “What happened then?” Aunt Delphine asked. “I don’t understand what you talkin’ about.”

  “Soon as Dulcie unwrapped the box and everybody oohed and aahed, Miss Anna says she wants to hold her. Then she wants to see all the doll’s fine clothes. Then she wants to put her with the rest of her doll collection. Said Dulcie could visit any time she’d like, but that it was better if she was with the rest of the dolls so she didn’t get dirty or lost. As if my Dulcie don’t know how to appreciate fine things!”

  “Now, now,” Aunt Delphine said calmly. “So you’re saying Miss Anna basically took Dulcie’s gift from her?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s right,” Dulcie added in a fierce whisper. I pictured the servant girl in her work dress, boots on her feet, hair tied under a cap. The doll was the only thing of value she’d ever received in her whole life. “She horned in and snapped her out of my arms within five minutes, easy as you please!”

  Miz Beatrice spoke again. “The doll has been locked up in a cabinet twenty-four hours of the day ever since. Does Dulcie ever get to take her out or hold her — never! Miss Anna says Dulcie can have her when she leaves service or gets married, but that may never happen. It ain’t right to take her gift, and I’ll bet my last quarter Miss Anna Normand forgets her promise.”

  “Oh, dear me,” Aunt Delphine said. “I’m so sorry, darlin’ Dulcie.”

  “Every time I clean Miss Anna’s room I ask permission to look at her.” Dulcie’s voice cracked, and I winced at the pain in her voice. “I ask to take her out of the case — even for just five minutes — and she’s always got an excuse. She’s busy. Or my hands are too dirty even though I scrub ’em ten times a day.”

  “So how’d you get the doll out of the cabinet to show her to me?” Aunt Delphine asked.

  “Miz Julianna and Miss Anna are out for the day shopping in New Iberia,” Dulcie said.

  Her mother added, “We ain’t got much time, and you gotta get back to your boat before they come home.”

  “And you need to get this doll back into the locked cabinet before anybody suspects anything,” the older woman said.

  “Do you have any idea what this doll is worth and if we could ever afford to have your relatives ship us one?” Miz Beatrice asked. “I’ve been saving my nickels for years and thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

  I chewed on my fingernails as I listened to them. So Aunt Delphine was originally from the Caribbean islands?

  “Let me see her,” Aunt Delphine said. “Mister Edgar said he’d bought her when he was traveling in the islands?”

  “That’s right,” Dulcie told her.

  I heard more rustling and then the elderly Delphine whistled. “Good Lord, do you know where she comes from?”

  “We just said the islands,” Miz Beatrice said with a hint of impatience.

  “My dear niece, look at this mark on the bottom of her left foot! That’s the stamp of the doll makers from the Island of the Dolls.”

  “That’s right!” Dulcie repeated. “Mister Edgar said she’d come from the Island of the Dolls. What does that mean?”

  My ears strained to hear as their voices grew more secretive.

  “The Island of the Dolls has the most exciting and dangerous dolls in the world,” Aunt Delphine went on in a hushed tone.

  “Why are they dangerous?” Miz Beatrice asked apprehensively.

  Aunt Delphine said, “She’s certainly a beauty, right down to the pearls in her ringlets and her perfectly molded toes. But when the doll has a certified stamp from the Island of the Dolls, it means she’s most likely got a spirit inside. A powerful
spirit.”

  Dulcie piped up. “What does that mean?”

  “If the spirit is a good one, the doll can bring luck and a good life to its owner. If not — well — let’s just say anything could happen. Dolls from that island have been known to do crazy things to their evil owners. If you believe the stories, of course.”

  “Of course,” Miz Beatrice said drily.

  Her aunt clucked her tongue. “I’m just telling you what I know, child!”

  “Maybe you don’t want to own this doll,” Dulcie’s mother told her.

  “Not necessarily,” Aunt Delphine said. “For someone with a good heart, like our Dulcie, the doll could bring some schooling or a good man down the road. Now that Miss Anna took her — well, let’s just say that I hate to see what happens to the girl. If she don’t give her back. That’s all I’m sayin’. Blessings and good fortune need to be shared and passed around. That’s why kindness is so powerful. I hate curses and avoid them like the plague, but only time will tell what kind of a spirit this doll got when she was created. She’s special, all right. But those island dolls can be tricky, too.”

  There was shocked silence from Dulcie and her mother. Crawling outside the little shack in the twilight, I peeked through a crack in the doorway. I was glad I was wearing my sneakers that didn’t make any noise. I just had to see what they were doing.

  There was barely enough light shining through the two inches of space to make out the three female figures. Aunt Delphine was tiny, shorter than Dulcie, with dark skin and fine features. I could see the whites of her eyes and the diamond pattern on her dress. Black boots neatly tied up, a collar of tatted thread around her neck.

  Aunt Delphine gently brought the doll to her bosom, inspecting her perfect porcelain face. “Mister Edgar chose well. This doll is powerful. She’s got a strong spirit. I can tell from her eyes. Them eyes practically watch you talking, don’t they?” She chuckled thoughtfully. “She has a soul with a strong will. The doll can make things happen. And if the owner of the doll — the original owner — has been thwarted, there’s no telling what could happen.”