by Lynn Shurr
“Every time we win big, I get air time with you guys.” Joe held up a picture of Cassie that was curled and limp with sweat. “I carried this with me all through the game. We need to find this young lady and bring her home. If anyone out there sees Cassie Thomas, call the Ste. Jeanne Parish sheriff’s office with the information or contact the Sinners organization at this number immediately.” Joe rattled off the phone number of the home office. In successive games, the number aired on the screen. The network said they would do it whether the Sinners won or not, but the Sinners did not lose.
The Sinners ruled all the way up to the Super Bowl. They restored the tradition of Super Bowl games being one-sided blowouts. Their defense held their rivals to one touchdown and a field goal. Riley carried for two scores, Deets for one and Ancient Andy couldn’t seem to miss an extra point. Safely ahead, Joe tossed the ball to slow, but strong and reliable Asa Dobbs who took it home using the same play they’d worked against the Saints in the last game of the year. The Rev did his interception thing twice and ran one all the way for a sixty-two yard touchdown. The final score, 35-10.
With Nell tucked to his side and a beaming six-month old Deanie held in the crook of his very valuable arm, Joe Dean used most of his post-game MVP time to plead for the return of Cassie Thomas. At the last moment, he remembered.
“Oh, I want to give credit to Coach Buck and a great, great team. I also want to dedicate this win to St. Jude who sent me my wife, my son and hopefully, many children to come. Go Jude!” He raised his left arm and punched the air over Nell’s head.
The bemused reporter responded as best he could. “That was the always interesting Joe Dean Billodeaux, this year’s Super Bowl MVP. Let’s see what Coach Marty Buck has to say about his team winning two consecutive Super Bowls out of three. Are the Sinners becoming a football dynasty?” He motioned for a cut to Coach Buck.
The Super Bowl public relations people considered all this emphasis on a missing girl a downer for the festivities, but Joe had steadfastly refused to participate in all the pre-game press conferences and publicity events unless he could have a few minutes for his cause. Since Billodeaux was what the crowds wanted, he got his time, even managing to put Cassie’s parents on the air as well. Mrs. Thomas cried and begged Cassie to phone home. Her daughter did not call.
The first crumb on the trail leading to Cassie and Bijou came not from an informant, the private detective Joe Dean had hired, or the sheriff’s department, but from Eenie’s sharp-eyed girls. They claimed to have seen the ponies, Boo and Buttercup, at a street fair in Jeanerette.
“Save them from that cruel man,” Eenie’s daughters begged.
Joe called for a deputy and they went racing in a squad car to check out the situation. At the carnival, Boo and Buttercup stood looking as tired and fly-specked as the rest of the rides. Boo, head down and eyes half closed and leaner than before, stood tethered to a rope ring. Buttercup trudged around the enclosure with a small, blonde child on her back. The little girl beat the sharp heels of her patent leather Mary Janes against the small mare’s shaggy flanks. “Make him go faster!” she demanded of the carnie who held the lead rope.
“This hoss don’t go no faster,” the man told his customer. The ash from a cigarette held in one corner of his mouth dropped on the girl’s frilly dress as he answered.
As the threesome turned a corner, the operator caught sight of Joe Dean and the deputy. Joe curled back Boo’s lip and showed a tattoo to the officer.
“Oh shit, we got trouble.” The carnie rubbed his bristled chin with a grubby hand. “Knew it was too fucking good to be true.”
The mama, mortally offended by his language, huffed with enough force to move Buttercup’s mane. As soon as they reached the opening in the ring, she snatched her little darling from the shabby saddle, set her down and hustled away.
The old man tied the pony and sank down on a bale of hay placed just out of Boo’s reach. He sighed as if life was about to deal him another low blow and ground out his cigarette in the dirt. “What can I do you for, officer?”
“Mr. Billodeaux says these are his horses.”
“That’d be right. Joel Beam Billodeaux. Says so on the papers I got back in my trailer. I checked his license before I give him the three hundred dollars. We traded his ponies for mine plus the money. Said he needed cash, that’s why he was willing. These two are younger and in better shape than the ones I had.”
“Bijou,” said Joe. “Was he traveling with a young girl?”
“Had a wife, he said, but I don’t figure they was married. She had a big ole ring like a man would wear on her finger, but it weren’t no wedding band.”
“Thin, redheaded, freckles?”
“Brown hair, not all that thin, but not a fatty. Didn’t notice no freckles. You know how women cover things up. Runaway?”
“Yes.”
The carnie shrugged. “I ran away when I was fourteen. Look at me now. You gonna take my ponies?”
The deputy nodded. “Stolen from the real owner here.”
“Can’t earn a living without my ponies.”
“Do you know where they might have gone?”
“No idea,” the pony ride man said, looking away.
Joe Dean held out a check. He let the carnie study the amount before drawing it back. “That would get you some new horses. It’s a reward for information.”
“Those two traveled with the carnival for a month or so. We teamed up for the pony rides and split the take. Had another horse, real fine animal the girl exercised every morning. He was too jumpy to give rides. A paint with blue eyes. They kept him out of sight when we worked a fair. Stolen, too?”
Joe Dean nodded.
“Anyways, they had a fancy double cab truck where they slept. Two of ’em left when we got up around Many. I think Joel said they had family around there.”
“Aunt Flo and Uncle Hal. I’ll throw in another hundred if you load up these ponies and follow us back to my place by Chapelle.”
The carnie nodded. “Got nothing left to lose.”
The private detective questioned Joe Dean’s aunt and uncle at their fishing camp on Toledo Bend. He drove up in a plain car and walked around the cabin a while before knocking. Lamott Sanders was polite and discrete. Joe Dean Billodeaux paid him well to go easy on the old couple, but he would get the truth from them. He gave them a card and asked if he could come in as if he were selling life insurance, not tracking a crook and a runaway. In fact, he had sold life insurance after getting out of the military, but much preferred his current job. He maintained his brush cut and the bearing of a retired sergeant.
The old lady made coffee. The old man showed Sanders his collection of antique fishing lures. When the chitchat concluded, Lamott said he noticed they kept horses.
“No, no horses,” Uncle Hal said. “A horse can eat you out of house and home.”
“Lots of old manure around considering.” Lamott gave them a friendly smile. “Grass and brush is all chewed back, too. Looks like a big truck and trailer were parked out back. Left grooves in your yard.”
“We had visitors. Some relations with a mobile home,” Flo said.
“Well, you know a young girl went missing with your son. They stole a truck, some horses, a trailer. Joe Dean Billodeaux is one of the most reasonable men I’ve ever met. He could have sent the sheriff here to question you, but he’s not interested in arresting anyone. He just wants the girl home with her family. You must have seen the Super Bowl and how her mama was crying.”
Hal and Flo exchanged looks. “Yes, we saw the Super Bowl. We’re real proud of Joe Dean.”
“If the girl is still alive, do you know where we could find her?”
“Of course, she’s alive. Our son wouldn’t hurt a hair on Cassie’s head. They’re in love and want to be together. They were going to Texas to get married. Cassie is going to be a famous barrel racer one of these days and Bijou is going to be her agent. Joe Dean is rich. Like you said, he doesn’t care abo
ut losing a truck and a horse.”
“So they stayed here a while?”
“Left two weeks ago. For Texas. To get married,” Flo emphasized. “As soon as possible.”
Lamott Sanders swore he checked with every Justice of the Peace in the Great State. Not one recognized the pictures he showed. None of the names in their records indicted a Thomas-Billodeaux union. He tried Las Vegas and Reno and came up dry.
TWENTY-EIGHT
February, the short month, progressed at a more rapid rate than usual, it seemed to Nell. Nadine and Ann squabbled over who would get to keep Deanie in March while she and Joe stayed in Phoenix for what Emily kept calling the Grand Insemination. Finally, the grandmothers compromised on two weeks each with Nadine taking the first shift since she wanted to be free to organize a novena the nine days before the embryos were implanted to ensure a healthy birth.
Father Ardoin was uncertain a novena should be used for that purpose. Nearly two centuries ago, God had provided a miracle child for the aging Madame LeBlanc. Her descendants, one of them the famous baseball player, Smokey LeBlanc, still lived in Chapelle. Joe and Nell were young and could wait for the Lord to act in a more natural manner, he suggested.
“No, they can’t, Father. Nell’s sister, she says now or never, and we gonna use every one of those little frozen babies, ain’t we, Joe Dean?” his mama asked, having dragged Joe, Nell and all her daughters with her to plead her cause.
“Every last one, even if we end up with a dozen kids. I swore a holy oath to St. Jude and the Blessed Virgin.” Joe crossed himself. Nell nodded weakly.
Allie came on forcefully. “Now isn’t this just another kind of miracle, Father?”
“Well, I suppose you could look at it that way, but…” Father Ardoin scratched his thinning hair. Caught up as he was in the history of his church and the romantic days of its past rather than in the thorny problems of modern dogma, he was known for allowing more slack than some priests.
“I’m sure Nell will let all the children be raised Catholic,” Eenie persisted.
“I, ah, well, maybe,” Nell managed to get out.
“I may be married to an unreliable drunk, but he gave me my children, Father. My kids are why I get up in the morning. What if Joe should get his neck broken playing football like that Connor Riley, but end up dead or paralyzed? This could be Nell’s only chance,” Lizzie asserted.
“We should trust in the Lord to…”
“And if you don’t let us have the novena in the church, we’ll do it at home. Maybe the traiteur will help us,” Izzy threatened.
Father Ardoin’s resistance crumbled as if he had been tackled by the entire Sinners’ line. Never would he give way for some mumbo-jumbo herb healer. He booked the dates and times for the devotional services.
As the Billodeaux mob left his office, he overheard Nadine tell Izzy, “Good idea about that traiteur. I think Madame Leleux is pushin’ a hundred and don’t go out no more, but her granddaughter, she got the power. We can stop off on the way home and invite her. Maybe get Nell one of her special potions for havin’ children. I hear they work almost as good as a novena.”
Father Ardoin shook his head and sighed.
The entire caravan of trucks, vans, and sedans belonging to the Billodeauxs left the church and made the short trip to a humble white frame house on a nearby side street. The vehicles took up half the block’s parking. The slamming of many heavy doors disturbed the peace of the neighborhood. Female in-laws escorted Nell up the cracked front walk to a sagging porch barely strong enough to hold up a wheelchair ramp of more recent vintage.
Joe Dean, bringing up the rear, stopped in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary sheltered from the weather by a half a bathtub buried in the ground and painted sky blue on the inside. The marigolds of autumn had been uprooted and replaced by purple and yellow pansies planted in a neat semi-circle around the Virgin’s feet. Whitewashed rocks set off the flowers from the rest of the yard. Joe leaned down and put a roll of bills under one of the rocks. He believed in paying up front for good fortune. Giving a dazzling smile to the middle-aged lady who welcomed the women, Joe sauntered in behind the group.
The essence of freshly baked oatmeal cookies filled the little house. Joe could see several dozen cooling on brown paper torn from grocery bags on the kitchen counters. His stomach rumbled. Mama had made them all go to early Mass on an empty stomach to get God on their side before tackling Father Ardoin.
Pleasantly plain and dumpy in her flowered dress, Madame Leleux’s fifty-year-old granddaughter showed them to seats on the worn sofa. She pulled chairs from the kitchen to accommodate the overflow and with a wink to Joe, set down a platter of warm cookies on the coffee table with its varnish worn thin in spots.
“I put a big pot of coffee on a while ago. Granny and me, we knew there would be lots of hungry company today.”
“But we just decided to come a few minutes ago,” Izzy said.
Giving an enigmatic smile worthy of the Mona Lisa, the granddaughter left the room to get the coffee tray and reappeared as neatly as a magician a moment later with the exactly nine cups and spoons, a pitcher of sweetened condensed milk and a matching sugar bowl hand-painted with lush pink roses.
“Oh so pretty,” Nadine complimented, examining the sugar bowl.
“I paint ceramics and sell them in the shops around town. The tourists love my magnolia blossoms, you know.” The traiteur settled in a comfortable chair with a bag of crochet work hanging from the padded arm and picked up a cookie to enjoy.
Nell raised her eyebrows at Joe who straddled one of the kitchen chairs. She appeared to be sending him a message saying, “If these ladies are so prescient, why don’t they buy lottery tickets or play the horses instead of painting china and selling potions?”
“Oh, that wouldn’t be allowed, you see. I’d lose the sight just like that if I used my power for gain.” The traiteur snapped her fingers and oatmeal cookie crumbs went flying.
From the back of the house, a rusty voice called out. “Rosemarie, come see.”
“Granny. I don’t know if she’s up to seeing so many, but I’ll ask. Please, help yourselves.”
Rosemarie disappeared down a short dark hall. The click of a wheelchair being positioned reached the guests. “Raise up all you can, Granny.”
Joe Dean popped his second cookie into his mouth and went to help. A few minutes later, he pushed the wheelchair out into the living room. Madame Leleux, dressed in a nightgown and what sagging flesh remained on her aged bones, joined the party. One palsied hand sought Joe’s on the handles of her chair. “You have un bon coeur, Joe Dean Billodeaux.”
She adjusted an afghan of yellow, blue, and white daisies across her lap, and tugged down the long sleeves of her flannel gown. Two small feet covered with heavy athletic socks peeked out from under its hem. “I get so cold, you know. Come, just the happy couple in the room for a reading.”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, Madame. We come for a fertility potion like the one you give me twenty-seven years ago. Rosemarie can get it for us,” Nadine Billodeaux shouted into traiteur’s old ears.
“I said I was cold, Nadine, not deaf. I will see them, Joe Dean and his bride.”
Joe stared at his mother.
“What, you think I was gonna take a chance on having more girls wit’ your daddy pining for a boy? How many kids was I gonna have tryin’?” Nadine took a slurp of her coffee and motioned to the sewing room where Madame Leleux dispensed her charms and her prophecies. “Go on, Nell, go on. Don’t keep Madame waitin’. Go, go.”
Joe pushed Madame to her place at the small, scarred table with the worn spots where many a sweating palm had rested. Her little brown bottles of potions identified by colored ribbons, red, purple, blue, yellow, deep rose, green, lavender and white, sat on the shelves behind her. Holy cards, pinned up two and three thick, covered the remaining walls. Red glass votive candleholders overflowed with the waxy drippings of countless years. When Nell seemed relu
ctant, Joe Dean thrust out his hand. Madame Leleux slapped it away.
“I give your fortune before you went off to college. Beaucoup femme, beaucoup pousse-pousse, so much women and money no man deserves, but God give it to you. Use it right from now on.”
Joe Dean smiled sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to Nell. “My friends and me, we came over here the day after graduation. Boy, were they ever jealous. Lots of women, lots of cash, she told me.”
“That certainly came true,” Nell answered tersely.
“Come, cher heart, your hand.” Madame Leleux beckoned. The elderly woman cocked her head. Two dark eyes set in her wrinkles like the raisins in the oatmeal cookies searched the lines of Nell’s palm. For being always cold, her old hand, trembling gently against Nell’s, gave off a surge of comforting heat. “All will go well for you.”
“That’s it? I thought we were supposed to find out about having a family.”
“You will have a family, maybe this way, maybe that way, maybe all ways. You don’t need my potion.” Madame rested her eyes a moment. “St. Jude has you in his care.” She tapped on a nearby holy card. “And the Blessed Mother.”
“Maybe just for insurance.” Joe Dean reached out for a bottle with blue ribbons. “I left some of my pousse-pousse out under the rock.”
“Put it up, Joe Dean. Last person drank all of my elixir had seven with two sets of twins, one after another.” The oldest of the traiteurs gave a cracked laughed that would have been witchy if it weren’t so warm. “Here, cher, just a drop or two if you want, but like I said, you taken care of already.” She pressed a tiny bottle with soft rose ribbons into Nell’s palm. “Take me back to my room, Joe Dean. I need rest.”