There was no answer.
“Maw Maw!” Still no answer. “Back yard,” I said, already heading toward the back door. He ran out with me, and we scanned the garden and the grove of persimmon trees, but no one was there. I took off running for the shed and Lucas followed. As soon as we rounded the corner of the shed, I saw them. All three were carefully collecting eggs in the chicken coop. They stopped, alarmed when they saw us, out of breath, with desperation tattooed across our faces. Clothilde went back to her eggs.
“Y’all are back early.” She spoke with ease, and it seemed to calm the children, who continued their chore.
“Is everyone okay?” I asked, trying to gain composure.
“I’m going to make some egg salad in a bit if you want to help me.”
“Uh-huh. Okay. That sounds good.” I was still trying to pull it together.
“You having fun, Jon?” Lucas asked, sounding like there was nothing at all wrong. He was such a better poker face than I was, and I was jealous of that.
“Yep!” he replied, carefully cupping one egg with two hands as he gently placed it in the basket Lyla held.
“Lucas, are you ready to take the children?” asked Clothilde.
“I think Lyla should stick with us today,” I insisted.
“It’s okay. I can handle it,” he said. I looked at him and he smiled and nodded, comforting.
I mouthed the words, “Are you sure?” He nodded again.
“I won’t let anything happen to her,” he whispered.
“Eh?” said Clothilde.
“Yes, ma’am. Lyla? Jon? Y’all ready?”
“Yes, Daddy!” said Jon.
“Okay,” said Lyla, moping. Clothilde noticed the tone of her voice.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I wanted to help you make the egg salad.”
Clothilde chuckled. “Your nannan will help me with that. But you can help me make a cake tomorrow.”
Lyla perked up. “What kind of cake?”
“Strawberry.”
“Yay!” With that, Lyla carefully handed me the basket of eggs. “I got window seat!” she yelled as she took off with Jonathan to wait by Lucas’ truck.
Lucas gave me a look of encouragement, and I felt a little more at ease, but not much. “What time would you like her back tonight, Miss Clothilde?”
“Six thirty is fine with me, if it’s fine with you.”
“All right. I’ll see y’all again at six thirty.”
“And stay for supper tonight, Lucas,” she added.
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled at her and then at me. He disappeared around the corner, heading for his truck.
“You can go put those eggs in the ice box for now.”
“Hmm?” I said, not paying attention. I was too busy worrying a hole in my brain over what horrible accident could possibly await Lyla. But in all honesty, I believed she was safer with Lucas than she was with me.
“The eggs! Put them in the ice box.” She was back to being the ornery old lady I’ve come to know and loathe.
“Yes, ma’am,” I echoed Lucas.
“Here,” she said, handing me her basket. “Put those in, too. When you’re done, we have to go.”
“Go where?”
“Where I was planning on taking you today. We just soon go now and get it over with. I just have to make a quick call before we go.” She slowly headed back to the house. Her knees looked weaker than ever, and it looked like she was pushing herself again. I caught up to her.
“Don’t you think you should rest today?” I asked.
“Don’t tell me what I should do!”
“I was just thinking of you!” I snapped. She was taken aback.
“Well, I don’t need to rest,” she said, softer this time. “Things need to be done.”
* * *
“This is it,” said Clothilde.
I pulled up to a small house that looked like it was old sixty years ago. Now it was certified ancient. I stopped the car on the grassy driveway and took in the overgrown shrubs and weeds that overpowered the house. There were several Chicken Trees on either side of the one-story structure, the long branches seeming to clutch its frame like bony fingers grasping a secret treasure.
“This is it?” I asked, and Clothilde noticed the sarcasm in my voice.
“Yes! This is it!” She opened the door. It took her a couple of tries to get out of the seat, but she managed. She got out, closed the door and hobbled towards the once-white front steps which were stained green from the overcrowding weeds. With a heavy sigh, I followed her.
She knocked on the door, and it seemed an eternity before someone came to open it. When it did open, I saw a small, elderly black man, barely taller than Clothilde. Much to my surprise, he was wearing standard priest’s clerics. His collar was loose, the top button undone, and he reeked of alcohol. It took me a second, but I remembered him as the priest at David’s and Michelle’s funeral. He looked at Clothilde and grinned from ear to ear.
“Comment ça va, chère?!” he said to her.
“Ça va bien,” she replied.
He looked at me for a moment, confused and a little suspicious.
“You remember my little granddaughter, Leigh-Leigh,” was what I thought she said in French. The man’s face lit up, and he clapped his hands together.
“Leigh-Leigh!” he said, and reached out to hug me. Before I could react to this stranger, he had me in a full embrace. I held my breath and was grateful when he released the hug.
“It’s actually just ‘Leigh,” I said as I exhaled.
“Leigh-Leigh, you remember Father Ben Olivier, don’t you?” said Clothilde. I politely smiled at Father Ben and shrugged my shoulders.
“Aw, she’s not going to remember me,” he said, still smiling. “Leigh, you were just a tee tiny little girl when I saw you last. I gave you your first communion. Y’all come in,” he offered, as he held the door for us. Clothilde went right in. I followed, but didn’t want to.
The living room was littered with old books and dust. The yellowed pages of the leather-bound tomes gave off a musty odor. Behind the odor was the smell of stale alcohol and mildew. There was a sofa in the middle of the room. The stuffing was coming out in several places and it had huge, dark stains on it. The coffee table in front of the sofa had cracked glass and one of the wooden legs was taped back together where it had clearly broken. There were quite a few cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. I could see the kitchen from the living room. There were old, dusty dishes stacked in the rusted sink. And I swore I could make out rat droppings on the counter. There was no way anyone lived here.
“Y’all sit,” said Ben. Clothilde sat without another thought. I, on the other hand, thought long and hard about sitting on that sofa.
“Leigh! Sit!” ordered Clothilde. To avoid a lecture later, I did as I was told, but was glad I had on a pair of jeans. Ben sat on an equally-unappealing leather recliner on the other side of the coffee table.
“So,” I began, “Do you live here?” Ben laughed loudly, and I even saw Clothilde crack a smile at that. They both exchanged a brief conversation in French and laughed again. From what I could gather, he was saying something like, “Who the hell would live here?”
“I live in the rectory at St. John’s,” he assured me.
“Oh,” I said, feeling foolish. “Then, who’s this house for?” Ben’s smile faded and he looked at Clothilde for approval. She nodded.
“It belonged to Clovis Gautreaux but he’s dead now. He was a friend of ours.” When Ben said “friend,” he paused for a slight second, as if trying to decide if Clovis was indeed a friend. “He left us this house when he died.”
“Why did he leave you and Maw-Maw his house?”
“Because we needed it.” Ben read the puzzled look on my face. “See, this place is so far out of the way that we could meet here in secret.” My eyes widened.
“Are you and my Maw-Maw …?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish sayin
g what I was thinking. The very idea made me shudder. Ben laughed harder at this and now even Clothilde was laughing, and blushing, too, I noticed. I blushed, but didn’t care because I wanted to get to the bottom of this.
“No! No!” said Ben. “Your Maw-Maw Clothilde and Miss Cee Cee and me have this, uh … little club.”
“Miss Cee Cee?” I asked, remembering the name, but not the face.
“Cee Cee Baptiste,” said Clothilde. “You remember her. We used to visit when you and David were little.”
As soon as she said that, I heard heavy footsteps on the porch, and the door suddenly swung open. A large, dark-skinned Creole woman, wearing flip flops, a colorful flowing dress and big hoop earrings, entered and closed the door behind her. She carried a large, gaudy purse with Elvis Presley’s picture on it, surrounded by rhinestones.
“Hey, y’all!” she said, with a big grin. “Sorry I’m late. Y’all wouldn’t believe the traffic on Ten! And they gave me a speeding ticket on the Basin. Can you believe that?! They said I was speeding.”
“What did you tell them?” asked Ben.
“I told him—it was a man—that of course I was speeding! I was in a hurry! That’s my second ticket this month, can you believe—” She noticed me and looked me up and down. She squinted and looked at Clothilde. “I know that ain’t Leigh-Leigh! Come here, girl! Give Miss Cee Cee a hug!” She spread her arms out wide. I just sat there.
“Leigh!” said Clothilde, glaring at me. I slowly got up and walked over to Miss Cee Cee.
“I haven’t gone by ‘Leigh-Leigh’ since I was—”
Before I could finish, she squeezed me as hard as she could. The breath was knocked out of me, but before it was, I could smell a very sweet spicy smell. I didn’t care if these people knew me, I didn’t know them, and I was becoming quite annoyed with Clothilde for making me hug strangers. Miss Cee Cee let me go, and I returned to my seat on the sofa. She sat next to me, but Clothilde and I had to scoot down to allow her room.
“Now, Leigh-Leigh—well, Leigh, you say you go by now—anyway, I know you probably don’t remember me, but you and your momma and brother and maw-maw used to visit me every time y’all came to N’Awlins.”
I vaguely remembered the cobbled-stoned streets of the French Quarter and an apartment over some kind of voodoo store. I remembered tacky fleur-de-lis wallpaper in the bathroom. “I kind of remember,” I said.
She placed her Elvis purse gently on the coffee table and unzipped it. She reached in and pulled out a silver flask. She opened it, took a swig and then handed it to Clothilde who did the same. Aside from her rum cakes, I had never seen Clothilde drink. Clothilde passed the flask to Ben who took a swig and then put the cap back on before setting it down on the table. I felt like I slipped into another dimension and was entering the Twilight Zone. “Um, not to be rude or anything, but what are we all doing here?” I asked. Cee Cee and Ben looked to Clothilde.
“I wanted y’all here because I think we’re running out of time,” said Clothilde.
“What you mean? We still have plenty of time,” said Cee Cee.
“Things have changed. That’s why I brought Leigh-Leigh here.” Clothilde hesitated. “She’s seen him.” Ben and Cee Cee shot a worried look at each other. “And she’s not the only one. Lucas’ boy has seen him, and I can’t be sure, but I think he’s gotten close to Lyla,” she continued. Cee Cee made the sign of the cross. Ben reached for the flask, and I noticed his hand was slightly shaking. He took a big sip and placed it back on the table.
“This about that Dark Man?” I asked.
“Yes, child,” said Cee Cee with much sympathy in her voice. I looked at each of them. All of them looked very worried. Clothilde looked haggard, like she was about to perform an impossible task.
“What exactly is it that you guys do here?” They were quiet.
“How well do you know your European history, Leigh?” asked Ben at last. “Particularly your French and German history?”
“Not very well,” I answered. “I probably know more American history than anything I guess.” Clothilde rolled her eyes and reached for the flask. I ignored her obvious sign that she was annoyed with me for not knowing my French heritage. I stayed focused on Ben.
“That’s okay. Do you ever recall hearing about Charlemagne and the Matter of France?” he asked.
“I know Charlemagne was a king.”
“That’s right. He was the King of the Franks from 786 A.D. until he died. The Realm of the Franks, during the Carolingian Dynasty, founded France and Germany. Yes, Charlemagne was a great king!” He said this with much pride in his voice. “He and his twelve peers valiantly fought against the Moors. The twelve peers were his retainers, or knights, as they put it in medieval literature. They were holy knights, battling darkness in the name of light. Their story was legendary.
“Over the centuries, the stories have been re-worked and an air of magic infused with the excitement of battle. In some tales, Charlemagne’s best friend and knight, Roland, had a magical horse that could change size to a gigantic beast in battle.” Ben laughed softly now. I was extremely lost. I didn’t know what any of this had to do with why we were here, but I let him continue.
“Some of the facts in the legend were twisted and changed as it passed from country to country, each new nation borrowing from the story to fasten into their own legend. Eventually, the Matter of Britain became the most popular re-telling of Charlemagne’s adventures. The Matter of Britain focused on King Arthur, you see. But it all started with Charlemagne and his twelve knights.
“Anyway, over the centuries, people began to shrug off the magical components of Charlemagne’s epic story as fiction. It’s true that some of the stories, like the one about the horse, were exaggerated. But the magic was actually based on fact. You see, Charlemagne and Roland and the rest of the knights weren’t just fighting the Moors. They were also battling Les Foncés.” I furrowed my brows. “The Dark Ones,” he translated for me.
“The Dark Ones?” I asked, doubting. Ben nodded and, in the corner of my eye, I noticed Cee Cee reach for the flask again.
Ben continued. “The Dark Ones were evil beings, causing destruction everywhere they went. They were very powerful. It was as though they were fueled by the coals of Hell. The Frankish citizens couldn’t stop them. That’s when Charlemagne and his peers stepped in. They had … special abilities, bestowed upon them specifically to deal with The Dark Ones. Each knight had a specific function—a power if you will. For instance, Roland’s power was that he had great strength. He could lift a mighty boulder over his head and crush it onto the side of a mountain. The knight, Oliver, could foresee the future. Ansies—he could perform magical spells. As for Charlemagne, he could heal his knights, his friends, with the touch of his hand.”
He stopped now, letting me take it all in. I just shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“Baby, the descendants of Charlemagne and his holy knights spread out over France and Germany,” said Cee Cee, gently placing her hand on mine. “They have a long lineage. A direct blood line that continues to this day. And those in the blood line share the same powers—not to mention same responsibilities—as their ancestors.” She paused, studying my confused face.
I slowly looked at each of them. They stared at me, waiting for me to grasp the meaning of what they were telling me. It suddenly dawned on me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I opened them again and looked at them as if they were standing on a street corner, naked and playing tambourines.
Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 01 - Dark Bayou Page 10