The Time of the Fireflies

by Kimberley Griffiths Little

  “Alligators?” I said with a gulp.

  “They’ll stay on the far side of the bayou,” Alyson assured me. “But they’re easy to spot at night with their red eyes.”

  “Your mamma okay with this?” I’d figured we’d have to flat-out lie to her or sneak away.

  Alyson made a face. “She argued with me and I told her it was a matter of life and death — that you had to see Miz Mirage or your mamma might get sick. I told her we couldn’t call her up — we had to see her in person.”

  “Thank you, Alyson,” I said, grateful once again.

  “Well, my mamma said we got one hour and then she’ll send out the Search and Rescue team if we’re not back. I got my cell phone, in case of trouble. If we didn’t have a phone, she’d say no for sure. She’s got Miz Mirage’s phone number, too. I go frogging with my daddy all the time, so she knows I know how to row at night and I know where I’m going.”

  “Never knew you were a tomboy. Or a daddy’s girl.”

  Alyson made another funny face as she pushed the boat into the water. It slipped along the bank, and I got into the front so she could steer from behind. I obeyed her commands, rowing first on the right, then the left. The water was glassy, not a ripple of a breeze, and we cut through it quickly. The giant trees stood motionless along the shorelines. Frozen black silhouettes without a breath of wind. Hot and still as a painting.

  The woods grew denser as we left the edge of town. The trees thickened, their branches touching overhead. Sawed-off cypress stumps rose out of the low-water areas. We passed a beaver dam and there were rustlings in the brush.

  “Mice. Rabbits,” Alyson said.

  “What about snakes?”

  “Keep one eye on the trees overhead. They don’t bother us unless we mess with their territory. Now, if we were frog hunting, that’d be a different story. We’d be closer to the banks.”

  The buzzing of cicadas was thunderous at night and razor sharp. Frogs belched like they’d eaten too many flies, and the crickets were singing so loud I could hardly form a thought. “It’s like the trees are alive,” I said as I pushed my oar through the water.

  “It is,” Alyson said, and I heard the grin in her voice. The next moment, she said, “Hey, we’re here.”

  We came around a thicket of tupelo, and bumped against the bank of a small inlet. Elephant ears burst in profusion along the bank. The glow of yellow lights spilled through a window just ahead. My heart galloped into high gear.

  Dropping the oar under my wooden seat, I jumped out first, toes sinking into soft, damp earth. Alyson tossed me the rope and I tied it around the creaking dock piling.

  As we walked to the front door, Alyson grabbed my arm, and I could tell she was nervous. I’d been here several times to have a sleepover with Shelby Jayne. I knew Miz Allemond but Alyson didn’t, and the stories about traiteurs never really went away.

  “Sorry,” she said, dropping my arm and lifting her head.

  “It’s okay,” I told her.

  “Maybe I should just wait in the boat. The moonlight makes it so light you can practically see everything. Plus it’s hot — and stuff.”

  I knew she was making up excuses, but before I could respond, the front door opened.

  “Thought I heard voices,” Miz Mirage said. The lightbulb behind her burned bright, and her hair was a halo of wild black curls.

  Alyson’s hand crept toward mine again, clutching it in a death grip.

  “Come on in, girls,” Miz Mirage said before I could open my mouth.

  The door swung wide, and I pulled Alyson over a split plank on the porch. I could see the whites of Alyson’s eyes gazing around the house: the wood stove spilling over with ashes from the winter, drying Spanish moss on racks, and a live owl sitting on top of the bookshelves blinking its yellow eyes. The smell of something spicy and wonderful filled the air.

  Miz Mirage was as beautiful and mysterious as ever. Her thick black hair was tangled and windblown like she’d been outside all day in the garden or fishing, but she was smiling as she pulled us into the kitchen.

  “What do I owe the pleasure of an evening visit from one of my favorite people, Larissa?” she asked. “I apologize for the mess. Shelby Jayne will kill me if I don’t get this place cleaned up by the time she returns from her grandmother Phoebe’s. It’s easy to let my projects take over the house — and to forget my chores.”

  She waved a hand toward the sink filled with dishes from at least three days. The counters were cluttered with all sorts of odds and ends and stacks of mail, vases of wildflowers, and boxes and groceries. “I’ve been tending some pets for a few folks. Plus working on a new shrimp recipe. More paprika, that’s the secret. Plus I’ve been growing some new varieties of peppers and onions.”

  “Smells good,” I said, nervous to be here without Shelby.

  “Sit down. Both of you. You’re Sheriff Granger’s daughter, ain’t you?” she said to Alyson, who whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  In two seconds we were at the kitchen table with bowls of steaming shrimp gumbo, a basket of homemade bread, and spoons.

  Gingerly, I dipped my spoon and blew on the thick, hot stew.

  “Here’s some cold milk, too.” Miz Mirage sat at the table and studied us while we tried to eat. After a few minutes, Miz Mirage shook her head, earrings chiming against her neck. “You surely got me curious, Larissa Renaud. What you got in that backpack?”

  “I — well — this is going to sound really strange —” I started.

  “I’ve heard lots of peculiar things in my time. Probably most of it much more peculiar than what you got in there.”

  “Okay.” I unzipped the backpack, bringing out the bulky blanket. When I folded it back, revealing the beautiful porcelain doll, Miz Mirage sucked in a breath.

  No sooner had I stood Anna Marie up on the tablecloth, her silks and ribbons pooling out around her, than Miz Mirage’s telephone rang.

  “Ah!” I practically jumped to the ceiling.

  Snatching up the receiver, Miz Mirage said hello, and then glanced over at us. “Yes, they are,” she said. “Yes. Oh, dear. I see. Of course. Yes, I’ll do that myself.” She hung up and turned to face us. “That was your mamma, Alyson. Checking to make sure you arrived safely. But also to tell Larissa that she needs to get home fast as she can. Your grandmother called from the hospital.”

  My stomach started to hurt. “It’s my mamma, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Larissa, I’m afraid so. Your grandmother is on her way back home to get you. She says you need to go to the hospital in New Orleans with her.”

  The scar on my face seemed to catch fire. I touched the long white ridge and jerked back like I’d been burned. “Mamma’s bad off, isn’t she? Are she and the baby going to die?” I started shaking. I was cold and hot all at once and my stomach turned nauseous. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

  “No, you aren’t!” snapped Miz Mirage. “Breathe, Larissa. Slow breaths.” With flying fingers, she fixed me a drink of something white and chalky. “Drink this,” she said, rubbing my back. “Take some deep breaths. Slow and steady. Good girl. You’re gonna be fine.”

  “Is the baby already born? What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know a lot of details, but the baby was born early and she’s not well. Your mamma is very, very sick, and they’re worried about both of them. They had to take her into emergency surgery. I’m so sorry, darling girl.”

  “No,” I whispered, holding my hands to my burning face. I was going to lose both my mamma and my sister in one fell swoop.

  “Now, Larissa Renaud,” Miz Mirage said fiercely. “Tell me what is wrong with that dreadful doll!”

  When my eyes dropped to the table, a shock wave ran through me. The glass of medicine fell from my hand and shattered on the floor.

  Anna Marie’s blue eyes had turned a fiery red. Her mouth was curved into a wicked smile. She was staring at all of us, her eyes flickering back and forth.

  “This doll ain�
�t got a happy soul inside,” Miz Mirage said evenly. “Where did you get her?”

  I shuddered with cold and sweat and fear. “Our antique store. She’s been in my family for a century.”

  “When did she first come to your family?”

  “In — in, um, 1912.”

  “Good Lord Almighty.” Miz Mirage sank onto a kitchen stool, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Who created her? Who bought her?”

  “Uncle Edgar, my great-great-grandmother Anna Normand’s uncle. He got her from the Island of the Dolls in the Caribbean.”

  “Well, Uncle Edgar Normand was a fool! Don’t he know nothing?”

  “Um, wouldn’t he be dead by now?” Alyson asked, glancing between me and Miz Mirage. “You’re all talking like he’s still alive.”

  Nobody answered her as we all stared at each other.

  Mirage straightened. “He was probably an ignorant fool and didn’t do it on purpose. Got caught up in the island magic. But those doll makers, they liked to fiddle with souls and magic.” Miz Mirage eyed me. “So you mean to tell me you’re related to the old Normand family?”

  I nodded, unable to speak. The room was still spinning, but my stomach was settling.

  Mirage shook her head like she was shaking out cobwebs. “Okay, right, I already knew that. Because of Gwen.” Her voice turned tender. “I’m just putting it all together. I used to visit them out on the island practically every day when I was a girl, although it’s not the original plantation house. For some reason it was rebuilt, long before I was born, but I can’t remember why now.”

  “There was a fire,” I whispered, and then I went on to tell her about Miss Anna dying in the fire in her wheelchair, her whole life of bad luck and losing the plantation and her only child, Daphne. Then I told her about my grandmother Kat’s burns.

  “A family curse brought on by a doll infused with a soul and mind of her own,” Mirage said thoughtfully. “Both you and Gwen, too …” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes grew misty.

  Alyson’s jaw was practically on the floor. “Should I call my mamma to come get us?”

  Miz Mirage gave her a quick hug around the shoulders. “No, you’re both gonna be fine.” She turned back to inspect the doll. “I know your grandma Kat, of course. She was Gwen’s mamma, and Gwen was my best friend. I know this doll, too, but I’ve never seen her like this. The soul that came to life has grown stronger. Good Lord, it’s been how many generations now?” She counted on her fingers. “Five generations suffering tragedy after tragedy.” Her voice broke, and she walked to the sink, staring through the curtains into the backyard as moonlight fell and lit up the blue bottle tree. “Even you, Larissa, falling into the bayou. How strange and coincidental is that? And now Maddie and the baby,” she added, her voice low. “Gwen’s little sister ran away to escape the tragedy and pain, but she took the source with her. All this time, the curse has been in her possession.”

  I tried not to cry, but tears were burning so hot I thought my eyeballs would catch on fire. “Mamma and the baby are in a bad way, aren’t they? The curse is still going! The doll is going to kill them, too!”

  Miz Mirage pressed a hand to her eyes as though struggling to stay calm. “I’m not going to lie to you, Larissa. Yes, they are in a bad way. Your daddy and grandma thought you ought to be there to be able to say — I mean, when — your mamma comes out of surgery.” Tears fell from her face and she wiped them away. Coming closer, she took my hand and squeezed it hard.

  “Was it a girl for sure? Do I have a little sister?”

  “You sure do, honey. Miz Kat said she’s beautiful. Just like you. Your daddy named her Emilie.”

  The lump in my throat swelled. “I’m not beautiful at all. This scar makes me ugly, and I always will be. That doll did this to me, too.”

  “Well, you ought to know better than that, Miss Larissa. Beauty ain’t skin deep and never was. Most folks don’t even notice that tiny scar, or if they do, it soon disappears when they get to know the real person Larissa Renaud is. Only person who sees it all big and ugly and hateful is you, darling girl.”

  “And my mamma,” I said slowly.

  “Your mamma is like I used to be. Heartbroken over Gwen. She’s letting it eat away at her heart. But that might be the doll as well, working its hateful curse on her.”

  “We’ve got to stop the curse!” I cried, jumping to my feet. “But how am I going to do that in the next few minutes? Mamma might be dying right this second!” Impulsively, I smacked the doll across the table. I wanted to tear her hair out strand by strand. Etch scars into the perfect, beautiful, porcelain face.

  Miz Mirage grabbed me and held me tight. “Ssh, ssh, everything will be all right. You gotta believe it, my girl.” She stroked my hair, smelling like garlic and cinnamon and pet owl. Then she knelt down and dried my tears with her fingers. “That’s where we are in luck, Larissa. This doll don’t need a curse undone. That poor soul caught inside her needs healing. And you are gonna help me do just that right now.”

  “You mean, I can save Mamma and my baby sister?”

  “Absolutely, sweet girl. Now let’s get to work. No time to lose.” Mirage opened up her cupboards and brought out a wooden box. She sat in her chair, setting down the box and lifting the lid.

  “I heard about the healing spell you did for Livie Mouton,” I said.

  “You know Livie’s family?”

  “Well, she’s a year older than me, but I know her mamma woke up last summer after a terrible coma. She recently had a painting in an art show.”

  Miz Mirage’s gaze made me feel warm and loved. She reached out to stroke my face, brushing back my hair. “This doll isn’t sick, but there’s jealousy and envy and hate inside of her. We’re going to heal that and bring out a healthy spirit as well as love.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Alyson was still quiet as a mouse. Her eyes bugged out of their sockets, but she didn’t say a word.

  “I’ve got some healing oils to start with, Larissa. Lavender and cinnamon and frankincense.” She brought out a small ceramic cup and a tiny silver spoon. “Gently stir these together.”

  Miz Mirage poured three drops of each oil into the creamy white cup and I stirred them together, smelling the strong woodsy frankincense, the perfumed cinnamon, the flowers of a lavender bush. The aroma was powerful and calming and sweet as quiet thickened in the kitchen.

  “Look at the doll,” Alyson blurted out.

  I jumped when she said that, but when I gazed down at Anna Marie, her eyes were no longer twitching and red, but the icy blue of her gaze was still intense and eerie.

  “Now rub this concoction on the doll’s arms and neck and throat,” Miz Mirage said.

  Tentatively, I touched the beautiful porcelain skin. She was cold, too, but her neck and face were on fire. I snatched my hand back. “She’s burning up hot!”

  “That’s good,” Mirage assured me. “The soul — whatever it is inside her — is gathering itself, getting ready to fly off.”

  I finished putting the healing oils onto Anna Marie, and I felt myself getting calmer and stronger and more peaceful, too. I started talking to the doll as though she could hear me. “Everything is going to be fine. You don’t have to be angry any longer. You don’t have to inflict hateful curses on my family. Miss Anna was wrong to take you, wrong to steal you, and wrong to treat Dulcie so badly. You are supposed to bring joy and happiness, not inflict pain and suffering and death. And … and you’re supposed to be returned to your rightful owner.” I let out a surprised gasp. “I never meant to say that!”

  “You’re doing splendidly, Larissa,” Miz Mirage said. “You’re saying what is meant to be said after a hundred years.”

  “The words just spilled out, but how can I return her to her rightful owner? That’s impossible. Dulcie is long gone, and who knows where her descendants might be? Maybe halfway across the country.”

  Anna Marie’s eyes widened as though she could hear me. Then
she snapped them shut, almost as though she was asleep. Her brow furrowed, angry and tight and frustrated.

  “Keep going, Larissa,” Miz Mirage said softly. “You know what to do.”

  I chewed on my lips, touching each perfect finger on the doll’s hands, caressing her glossy yellow curls. It was weird, but I knew I had to talk to her like she could hear me. Like she was alive. Because in so many ways, she was alive. “To the soul inside you from the Island of the Dolls. Return to your ancestors. You are no longer bound by this doll’s body, by this world and its pain and suffering. Go in peace and love. Go back home.”

  Nothing happened. I could tell that nothing was happening. “What else should I say?” I asked Miz Mirage. “I don’t know what else to do!”

  “Dig deep into your heart, Larissa. Don’t be afraid, I’m right here,” she added, squeezing my hand across the table.

  I swallowed past the knot in my throat, the worry over Mamma so sick in the hospital. Tried to choke back the fear that I’d never see my new sister; that she was too little and too sick, and she’d die before I could ever hold her. I thought about how I hated the doll and the soul trapped inside it, cursing my family. I hated the fact that I was scarred for the rest of my life. Every time I gazed in the mirrors at home, I wanted to throw them across the room. Just like my yearning to shatter the doll.

  A new thought grew inside my mind. The doll knew I hated her. She knew I wanted to destroy her. That’s why the curse wouldn’t leave, why it was sitting inside the beautiful porcelain body. Behind those hateful, cold, blue eyes.

  I took a deep breath and let it out, tears stinging the back of my throat. Instead of all the hate and anger I had inside of me, I tried to think about everything Grandma Kat had told me about letting go. About not letting the scar determine who I was for the rest of my life. To not become a scared, ugly girl hiding from the world. Tears ran down my face as I held Anna Marie in my lap, cradling her in my arms. Alyson smiled over at me, tears filling her own eyes as she watched me cry. I didn’t want to be the scarred, angry girl in town anymore. Or the ugly daughter hiding away in my bedroom at home. I wanted to be loved for who I was, unconditionally. And suddenly, I knew what I had to say.