Sandra Hill - [Jinx]

by Pearl Jinx

  Finley nodded.

  “We snaked a light through the crack and could see a large opening on the other side,” Caleb explained. “The light wasn’t powerful enough for us to gauge size or anything.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to just blow that wall out?” LeDeux wanted to know.

  Caleb and Finley both laughed.

  “Easier maybe, but not the best thing if Mark and Abbie are going to open the cavern up to tourist trade,” Caleb said.

  “That’s not to say that you won’t want to blow that crack into an actual corridor, even if only big enough to crawl through,” Finley elaborated, “but you really should try draining first. You’ll have a better picture of what to do then.”

  “How long will the drainage take?” Mark wanted to know.

  He and Finley both shrugged.

  “As little as a day, or as much as three days, would be my guess,” Caleb said.

  “Right,” Finley agreed. “It will depend on pumping pressure, elevation of the tubing, thickness of the water once it gets down to the mud and silt base, size of the chamber on the other side. Actually, a slow drainage will be best all around.”

  “Man, this project was supposed to be a quickie,” LeDeux remarked. “And now it’s turned into a real mother—” He glanced toward the three women, then self-corrected midsentence, “—a real complex project.”

  “You can say that again,” Caleb agreed.

  “Okay, everyone, we have a late lunch spread out for you on the patio,” Abbie announced.

  It was only then that Caleb realized that Claire was nowhere to be seen. Had she gone home for more meetings related to the sale of her cabin? Or in to State College to meet with some of her colleagues about the latest developments with the cavern? But wasn’t it odd that she hadn’t informed him, especially since her “semi-fiancé” was here working with them?

  Caleb got that prickly sensation in the back of his neck then. The one that had warned him of an impending attack in Kabul. The one he’d always relied on to choose the right path in a black op through enemy territory. The one that had caused him to reconfigure a HALO drop over an al-Qaeda hideout in Bora-Bora. The one he’d experienced just before Hurricane Katrina. The one that detoured him away from a St. Louis babe, who later filed a false paternity suit against a buddy of his.

  Something bad was about to happen, unless he was careful.

  That was just peachy . . .

  Claire, Abbie, Tante Lulu, and Lizzie were sitting on the patio, sipping cold drinks and chatting as they waited for Caleb and Del and the rest of the crew to come back with the latest report on the cavern.

  “Jah, sad it is the way they treat him. An’ he jist keeps takin’ it and takin’ it.”

  Claire’s mind had been wandering when she caught the tail end of Lizzie’s remarks. “Are you talking about Jonas?” It had to be Jonas, a pacifist, if they were referring to someone “taking it and taking it” in a turn-the-cheek manner.

  “No, Caleb,” Lizzie replied, “though Jonas is the same way.”

  “She was answering my question,” Abbie elaborated. “I wanted to know what happened at the meetings between Caleb and his family yesterday morning and then with his father at the church meeting in the afternoon. Caleb gave us the gist of the meetings, but just bare bones. I sense that something bad happened, personally.”

  “Hah! How much worse could it be than a mommy and daddy refusin’ ta talk ta a child fer seventeen years? Didja know they cain’t even eat at the same table with those boys, like they’s lepers or somethin’?”

  “I think . . . ,” Lizzie said, then stopped herself.

  All eyes turned to her.

  “I think deep down, he’d never admit it, but Caleb expected Mam and Dat to be sorry for what they done and welcome him home. Jonas wouldn’t expect anythin’ ’cause he’s been livin’ with it here at home all these years.”

  “And they’re not sorry?” Abbie asked.

  Lizzie shook her head. “They can’t be sorry unless they denounce the Ordnung and all the Amish beliefs.”

  “So? Why don’t they do that?” Good ol’ Tante Lulu, blunt as usual.

  “Because they’d be shunned themselves and banned from talkin’ to all my brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces who’re still in the church,” Lizzie explained. “I’m not defendin’ them, but it is our way.” She hesitated, then added, “I saw Jonas and Caleb out on the porch huggin’ each other yesterday after Caleb stayed to talk with Mam. They both had tears in their eyes, and I ain’t never seen a grown man weep.”

  Claire’s heart about broke at that news.

  They all remained silent for a long moment, pondering what Lizzie had said.

  “In other words, they choose to shun Caleb and Jonas, rather than the dozens of others,” Claire concluded.

  Lizzie nodded. “That, and them bein’ set in their ways.”

  “How about you, Lizzie? Aren’t you breaking the Bann?” Abbie wanted to know.

  “Jah, I am, but as long as I claim Rumspringa rights, I can get away with it.”

  “Not for much longer, though, I suspect,” Claire said.

  Lizzie nodded again.

  “What will you do then?” Claire asked, though she already knew the answer.

  “I’m gone,” Lizzie said emphatically. “Not just because of my music, either. I ain’t gonna shun Caleb and Jonas anymore. It ain’t right.”

  “Too bad we cain’t convince yer mommy and daddy of the same thing.” Tante Lulu glanced over at Claire meaningfully as she spoke.

  “What?” Claire wondered. “Oh, no. You shouldn’t interfere. It’s none of our business, really. Why are you staring at me like that? Oh, good Lord, you think I should do it?”

  “Ya got a better way with words,” Tante Lulu said. “Besides, they think I’m a kook.”

  Which you are.

  “They’re not gonna listen to you,” Lizzie told her, as if she really expected that Claire would engage in such a foolhardy mission.

  “They will iffen she’s diplomatic-like, iffen ya know what I mean. Doan go callin’ ’em lunkheads or nothin’, fer behavin’ like . . . well, lunkheads. Okay, iffen yer gonna be a fraidy cat, I’ll go with ya. Mebbe I’ll take one of those Peachy Praline Cobbler Cakes with me ta break the ice. Nothin’ like food to soften a body up. Hey, I made a joke. Peachy cake fer the Peachey family. Ha, ha, ha.”

  This is not funny.

  “You’ll be sorry if ya go today,” Lizzie warned. “It’s cannin’ day. Mam’ll be choppin’ cabbage and onions and cucumbers fer chow-chow. I try to stay away on cannin’ day.”

  “I love cannin’,” Tante Lulu said.

  “Nobody loves canning,” Claire declared. “It’s work.”

  “I likes work,” the old lady insisted, rubbing her hands together with glee. “Mebbe I’ll bring some of my Cajun spices. Ain’t nothin’ like Loo-zee-anna chow-chow with a dash of Cajun lightning. Thass Tabasco sauce.”

  Abbie giggled. “God, I love having you all here. I haven’t had so much fun since my husband Stanley died.”

  “Hah! Wait till tonight.” Tante Lulu winked at Abbie.

  Abbie blushed.

  Those two were up to something. And it wasn’t a peace mission to an Amish community.

  She was the weirdest mediator they’d ever met . . .

  Tante Lulu loved being a buttinsky.

  It wasn’t an age thing, either. From the time she was a young woman, she’d meddled in the affairs of her family and those close to her. It probably started when her niece Adèle married that horrid Valcour LeDeux, father to her great-nephews Luc, Remy, René, and Tee-John and her great-niece Charmaine, and a slew of other, illegitimate, kids. She’d been the anchor in their lives, and her meddling had saved them at times from their alcoholic father. Now it was a habit.

  “Best ya hurry up. I gots to pee,” she told Claire, who was driving them both into Sinking Valley.

  “We already stopped twice. Hold it, or else pe
e your pants.”

  “Ya doan have to snap.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that I’m more and more convinced this is a bad idea. It’s meddling.”

  “Ya say that like meddlin’s a bad thing. I brought a present fer Rebekah. It’s black. So I think it’ll be all right.”

  “What is it?” Claire asked, then noted the imprint on the box she pulled out of her handbag. “Oh, no! Victoria’s Secret?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “When did you go to Victoria’s Secret?”

  “I didn’t. It was a gift from Amos, but it’s not my size.”

  Claire looked at her with shock.

  “What? Ya doan think older folks has sexual urges?”

  Claire groaned. She did that a lot.

  “Anyways. It’s a black lace bra and panties. Remember how I tol’ Rebekah she needs ta work on her husband usin’ her female charms? This should do the trick. And it’s black, Amish-like. Okay not Amish-like, but the color is. And besides, no one’s gonna see what she has under that plain dress of hers, lessen she hangs ’em on the line.”

  “Here we are,” Claire said, turning onto the farm lane. She seemed glad to change the subject.

  Mebbe I should buy some lingerie for Claire, too, iffen she’s gonna be so uptight. A thong would be good. That would loosen her up fer sure. Might jump-start Caleb, too. I should call Charmaine. She knows about slutty . . . uh, sexy undies, bein’ a bimbo like she is.

  “Luckily, there are no vehicles or buggies, which must mean there’s no company. Or, if we’re lucky, no one is at home.”

  Yep, Claire was definitely changing the subject. And definitely uptight.

  “By the way, Caleb’s hope chest was delivered this mornin’. I’m not sure I can get a bride quilt made in time fer the weddin’. Oooh, oooh, I know what. Mebbe I kin get one from Mrs. Peachey. Yep, I bet she’d like ta give her son a weddin’ quilt. We could call it a guilt quilt. Ha, ha, ha.”

  “You have got to stop this wedding business. I know you mean well, but Caleb and I are just . . . friends.”

  “Is that what they call it now? You got more hickeys than an albino with a heat rash.”

  That turned her face about purple and shut her up good.

  “Listen, honey, even with all the problems they been havin’, this project is gonna be over soon. A week or two at the mos’. Ya doan have all the time in the world before Caleb skedaddles off ta his next treasure hunt. Hitch that boy ta the halter, girl, afore he runs off ta greener pastures.”

  “If it was meant to be, it will be.”

  “Are ya looney, girl? This ain’t no Doris Day movie. Que Sera, Sera, my hiney! Since when does love sit around on its behind waitin’ fer fate ta take care of business? Sometimes ya just gotta give the love bug a push.”

  “Caleb is not in love. There is not going to be a wedding. And that’s that.”

  “Who ya tryin’ ta convince? Me or you?”

  “You’re hopeless!” Claire threw her hands up with frustration.

  People did that a lot around her. She wagged a forefinger at Claire. “Nothin’ in life is hopeless, girl, and doan ya fergit it. Remember St. Jude.”

  A short time later they were sitting at the Peachey kitchen table chopping vegetables, much to Rebekah’s dismay. It wasn’t that she didn’t welcome them, sort of, in a suspicious way, but their offer to help with her domestic chores threw her off balance. That and the black panty and bra set.

  The pristine kitchen smelled of raw vegetables boiling in a pungent broth of vinegar, sugar, celery salt, and turmeric. On another burner was a smaller pot, to which Cajun spices and Tabasco sauce had been added, though Rebekah was skeptical of the results. It was about a hundred and twenty-five degrees in the room, owing to the summer heat and the hot stove. They were all sweating like pigs, but that didn’t bother her. She was used to hot temperatures.

  “You and yer mister are invited ta the party,” Tante Lulu said. “Actually, the rest of yer family is invited, too, but I figger you and yer hubby will be the only ones interested, fer now.”

  “What party?”

  “A week from Saturday. At the B & B. We’s havin’ a combination birthday party fer my nephew Tee-John. He’s gonna be twenty-four, bless his rascal heart. And a reunion celebration fer Caleb and Jonas. Plus, we wants ta honor Mark Franklin fer his service ta his country. He lost his arm in Af-ganny-stan, dontcha know?”

  “You should come,” Claire spoke up, and it was about time. Claire had lost her voice after Tante Lulu made that innocent little remark about her hickeys.

  Golly gee, wouldn’t I love to have a hickey or two at my age? Wonder if Amos could pucker up enough ta give me one. Lordy, wouldn’t the gals back at Our Lady of the Bayou Church swallow their false teeth iffen they saw that.

  “Your sons have missed you,” Claire continued. “Your appearance would mean so much to them.”

  “We couldn’t!” Rebekah put both hands to her face. “Samuel would never approve. The church frowns on English parties, especially if shunned folks are gonna be there.”

  “Those shunned folks are your sons, Rebekah, and it’s about time you realized that.” Claire stood angrily, confronting Rebekah.

  Uh-oh! Now the you-know-what is gonna hit the fan. Tante Lulu sat back and waited with anticipation for what would surely come next.

  Rebekah began to cry.

  But Claire was on a rip now. “That’s great. Go ahead and cry. But have you considered how often your sons have cried over this? Have you ever, ever considered their feelings? What kind of mother are you?”

  “What’s goin’ on here?” Samuel Peachey stepped into the kitchen. By the looks and smell of his clothes, he’d been out mucking the horse stalls. Tante Lulu was old enough to recall the smell of animal poop from the days when horsepower meant more than the size of a car’s engine.

  “It’s nothin’, Samuel.” Rebekah was wiping her eyes with the edge of her apron. “Tante Lulu and Claire jist came ta visit.” Her eyes pleaded with them not to rile her husband.

  Well, phooey to that! “We came ta invite ya ta the party.”

  Samuel ignored the invitation and glared at her and Claire. “You made my wife cry. I think ya should leave.”

  “Dontcha even wanna know why we’re here?”

  “No.”

  Claire stood and took her elbow, trying to get her to stand, too. “Let’s go,” she murmured.

  “Chicken,” she murmured back. “We’s here ta be mediators.”

  Claire groaned and sat back down.

  “We don’t need no mediators,” Samuel said, holding the screen door open for them.

  Hah! He could glare all he wanted. She’d been glared at by meaner cusses than him. “Yesiree, ya do. Come on in and sit a spell.”

  “Leave!” he said coldly.

  Through the doorway, Tante Lulu saw a bunch of chickens scoot by, including one strange one that was bobbing its head and bouncing up and down like it was having a fit. Or maybe it was mad chicken disease. “Uh, I think yer chickens are flyin’ the coop,” she pointed out.

  He turned and threw his arms out with dismay. “Himmel! I musta left it unlatched when I came runnin’ here.”

  Rebekah, equally distressed, ran around the table and out the door to help her husband round up the chickens.

  Tante Lulu stood and yelled out the door, “Doan fergit. Next Saturday. Seven o’clock. At the B & B. Dress casual.” She turned to Claire, then laughed. “How does an Amish person know casual from formal? Ha, ha, ha.”

  Soon the only thing that could be heard was chickens squawking, and Samuel and Rebekah begging, “Here, chickee. Here, chickee.” As if any right-minded chicken would fall for that!

  “Well, that went well, dontcha think?” she remarked to Claire then. “I gotta go pee before we leave.”

  Chapter 14

  Kissing a frog was never so much fun . . .

  They were finishing up a late lunch when Caleb noticed Claire coming around the corn
er.

  He didn’t know who looked stranger. Tante Lulu with pink hair topped with a blue-and-white polka-dotted bow, blue jeans, and a T-shirt that said, “I Love Richard Simmons.” Or Claire, who was wearing a red wet suit.

  “New fashion statement?” he asked Claire when she got closer.

  “Can I go down with you?”

  “You want to go down on me?” He smirked. “Do you need to ask?”

  She smacked him on the arm. “C’mon. I’m an experienced diver. I know I’m not certified for cave diving, but you would be there to help, and we wouldn’t be going into any tight passages. Besides, there’s not much that can be done in the cavern till you start pumping, so I wouldn’t be interfering with work. Take me down with you. Please.”

  He nodded.

  “Can I go down, too?” Tante Lulu came up behind them.

  “No!” he said.

  “Ya doan hafta yell.”

  “Sorry. The idea of you cave diving just scared the snot out of me.”

  “I doan see why. If Claire is gonna do it, why cain’t I?”

  “Maybe because you’ve got about fifty years on her.”

  “I do not! I’m only . . . sixty-five.”

  “Tante Lulu!” her nephew said, having overheard the conversation. “That is a big fib.”

  “Well, ya shouldn’t be commentin’ on a woman’s age iffen ya doan want her ta lie.” With that, she flounced away toward the house, her brain already jumping to another subject, as evidenced by her asking Abbie, “Hey, Abbie, is there any of that gumbo left from yesterday? I didn’t eat anythin’ since breakfast. Not even chow-chow.”

  “What does she mean about chow-chow?” he asked Claire.

  Claire’s face turned as red as her wet suit. “I have no idea.”

  “Why are you grinning?” he asked LeDeux. “Is there something I should know?”

  “I have no idea,” LeDeux repeated Claire’s words.

  They both looked like they shared some secret.

  “Will you spot us if I take Claire down for a quick look-see?” he asked the still-grinning Cajun.

  “Sure. Let me go see if my aunt is okay. She forgets ta take her blood pressure pills. And by the way, ya better lock up the diving equipment tonight, or you might find a surprise down in the cavern tomorrow morning. And I don’t mean vandalism.”