“Tonton Abbé, talk to me. Are you all right?” she said, shaking the intoxicated priest. His eyes were dazed, and he looked delirious. He began to mumble something incoherent in Latin. Was it the Hail Mary? The Apostle’s Creed? The Lord’s Prayer?
Her mother affixed her lorgnettes and observed Tonton Abbé with a quizzical look. “Good God,” she said, wrinkling her brow, “what’s the matter with Pierre? I hope he hasn’t been hitting the bottle again.”
“It sounds like he’s saying mass,” said Georges, raising an eyebrow.
Emilie shook his shoulders. “Wake up, Tonton Abbé!” When she realized the priest was in a catatonic state, she was filled with an overwhelming feeling of dread.
“I think Monsieur l’Abbé has had a bit too much to drink,” said Lucien.
Emilie ignored his comment as she attempted to resuscitate her cousin with some bitters, but nothing worked. Abbé Morel was slipping away before her eyes.
“I’ve never seen Pierre so sick before,” said Mme Dujon, looking worried. “It looks like he caught something serious, like malaria or yellow fever.”
“I heard he fell back on the bottle while he was in Carriacou,” said Georges. “The archbishop wrote to me about it. That’s why they sent him back here.”
“That’s not true!” said Emilie with indignation. “Abbé Morel doesn’t drink. I don’t believe a word you’re saying. It’s a terrible lie!”
“Don’t worry; he’ll be fine,” said Georges, leaning over to give Abbé Morel a light tap on the shoulder. “He just needs to sleep it off. Let the servants put him to bed. By morning he’ll be back to his old self.”
Abbé Morel opened his eyes and gazed at Emilie as if for the first time. The color returned to his cheeks, and he had a gleam in his eye. He loosened his priestly collar and inched closer to Emilie. Slipping an arm over her shoulder, he tried to kiss her, but she squirmed out of his grip. But that just served to increase Abbé Morel’s ardor. He clung to her with unchecked affection. And then, to Emilie’s horror, he put his lips on hers, and it took all her strength to wriggle out of his grip. Across the table, she saw Lucien’s expression change to one of shock. Emilie’s discomfort grew as Abbé Morel kissed and caressed her with unchecked affection.
“Tonton Abbé, stop!” she cried.
“What the devil is going on?” said Lucien with outrage. Apparently he had never seen a priest kissing a young lady before.
“I’ve never seen him like this before,” said Mme Dujon, bewildered. “I almost can’t believe it.”
“What the devil was in that drink?” said Georges.
Emilie tried to get away from Abbé Morel, but that only made him cling to her tighter.
“Papa, please do something,” said Emilie. By now she was squirming in the priest’s grip. “Something’s wrong with Tonton Abbé. He needs a doctor!”
“There’s nothing the matter with me,” said Abbé Morel. “I’m perfectly fine. Never felt better in my life. Come closer, my dear. I want you near me.”
Abbé Morel pressed his lips to Emilie’s, causing her to cry out and wriggle out of his grasp again. Mme Dujon peered at her cousin through her lorgnettes, her face turning white with shock.
“Good Lord,” said her mother. “What happened to him?”
“Papa, please make him stop,” said Emilie. She glanced over at Lucien, but he was watching the spectacle like a bettor at a cockfight. His ire dimmed somewhat when he realized his rival had completely lost his senses. He laughed at the absurdity of the situation, but Emilie didn’t find the matter the least bit funny.
“Emilie, my darling, I think your whole family has gone insane,” said Lucien. “But I’m starting to feel at home. In fact, I find your family most amusing.”
Two servants came and managed to drag Abbé Morel upstairs to the spare bedroom. Emilie attempted to fix her ruined coiffure, but her mood was utterly spoiled. She was furious at the disastrous outcome.
“Please forgive Abbé Morel,” said Georges. “He can’t be held responsible for his behavior. I think his new job at the prison is proving too much for him. He must be suffering from overexertion and found his only comfort in the bottle.”
“I think he just got a little overexcited,” said Emilie.
“A little overexcited is an understatement,” said Lucien. “He almost makes me want to become a priest.” Everyone laughed, and the matter was soon forgotten. By the time Lucien left that evening, Emilie was so overwrought, her stomach was in knots. She had failed in her mission and had been on the receiving end of all sorts of strange looks from Lucien and the servants. The evening had been a complete disaster. She was running out of time, running out of money, and running out of patience. Her wedding date was drawing near, and there seemed to be no way out.
Chapter 19
Tuesday, April 29
Emilie tossed and turned the entire night. She was riddled with guilt over the terrible fiasco she had caused and dreaded the idea that her marriage to Lucien was almost a certainty. She felt as if she had fallen into a black hole from which she would never escape. His arrogant, conceited personality was anathema to her. The thought of spending a lifetime with him caused her to double over with pain. Even sleep was not an escape; her dreams were full of torment. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Even the droning of the insects outside didn’t bring her peace. She racked her brains for hours trying to understand why Abbé Morel had acted so strangely. It was almost as if the potion had done the opposite of what the Grand Zamy had promised. It looked to her as if the potion had made the priest fall in love with her. It seemed too illogical to be impossible. Yet the more she thought about it, the more logical it seemed. Yes, that’s what happened! The potion caused Tonton Abbé to fall in love with her. It was a far-fetched notion, but it seemed like the only logical explanation. And if this was true, how could she explain this to her parents? Or worse, how could she explain it to Abbé Morel? Would he be forced to leave the priesthood? Had she inadvertently ruined his career? The fear and worry kept her in a state of unremitting anxiety the entire night.
The next morning she went to Abbé Morel’s room and was relieved to see that he was alert and awake. He lay in bed in a peaceful state, although by the bags under his eyes, it looked as though he hadn’t slept much. His face was pallid, but he looked renewed at the sight of her. As soon as she stuck her head in, he perked up and asked her to sit down beside him. It pained her to see him in a love that would remain forever unrequited.
Abbé Morel grasped her hand. “Emilie, it’s not easy for me to say this, but it’s time I did. I want you to know how much I love you. You have always been the light of my life. I feel as though we are kindred spirits.” He pulled her head down on his chest, where she heard the thumping of his heart. “And now I see that with the passing of time, my love for you has only grown. It’s much deeper now than anything I could have imagined. I feel almost reborn inside. Tell me, Emilie, do you feel the same way?”
Emilie lifted her head and stared into his eyes. It was all too obvious that Abbé Morel was hopelessly in love with her. She was sure the drug was responsible. The stunning revelation filled her with new purpose. She had to find a cure for his malady, but until then, she had to tread carefully with his tender feelings. It was the least she owed her beloved cousin.
“Of course I love you, Tonton Abbé. But what did you mean when you said you felt reborn?”
“It’s hard to explain. I feel. . . different.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“It’s just an odd feeling.”
“And you love me?” she said.
“More than I ever thought possible,” he said with childlike eyes. “Tell me, do you perhaps love me too?”
“Tonton Abbé, it’s not easy for me to say this, but I believe you’ve been drugged. That’s why you feel feverish and out of sorts. I’m going to ride down to Saint-Pierre to fetch you some medicine to cure you. Please stay here and await my return. I’ll be back as s
oon as possible.”
She tried to leave, but the priest grabbed her hand and pulled her down on the bed.
“Don’t leave me, Emilie,” he said. “Not just yet. I can’t bear the thought of parting from you. I need you near me at all times. I feel as if I’ve reached the end of my life, and I want you close in case something happens. I no longer fear death. My love for you will continue long after I’m gone . . .”
Squirming out of his clutches, Emilie dipped a washcloth into some water and rubbed it on his forehead.
“You’re not going to die, Tonton Abbé. You only have a mild fever. I promise you it will soon go away. Perhaps it’s a touch of dengue fever. I have to go now, but I’ll be back soon. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be cured. I promise you.”
Emilie kissed Abbé Morel’s forehead and hurried out to the stable. As much as she hated to do it, she had to solicit a cure from the Grand Zamy. There was no other way around it. Since voodoo had caused the malady, the only cure would be through voodoo. She instructed the groom to hitch Balthazar to a carriage, and without another word, she headed down to Saint-Pierre. When she reached rue Longchamps, she dismounted and tied the horse to a hitching post, and then she hurried to number 25 for what she hoped was the last time.
As usual there were no customers in the herbal shop. She had the oddest feeling M. Jacquet was waiting just for her. When she opened the door, he was sitting at his ledger deep in concentration, but as soon as she stepped over the threshold, he rose to his feet.
“Bonjour, mam’selle, it is so nice to see you. Can I help you today?”
Emilie rushed to his side. “M. Jacquet, there’s been an accident. Something terrible happened. I need your help.”
“An accident?” He looked puzzled.
“Due to an unfortunate mishap, I fed the herbal potion to the wrong patient. But the strange thing is the powder had the opposite effect.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you,” said the Grand Zamy.
“Instead of giving the potion to my fiancé, I gave it to my cousin, but the strangest thing is the medicine seems to have had the opposite effect. I’m afraid my cousin has fallen madly in love with me. I need an antidote urgently.”
The Grand Zamy scratched his chin. “Let’s start at the beginning. If I understand you correctly, you say the medicine I gave you was inadvertently administered to the wrong patient? Not the young man whose name you gave me?”
“That is correct,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes. “And it had the opposite effect, you say?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“That is indeed unfortunate but not unheard of.” The Grand Zamy rubbed his chin. “And where is the unfortunate patient now?”
“He’s resting in bed. But there’s something else. The patient, you see, is a priest.”
The Grand Zamy’s eyebrows shot up. “A priest?” He looked incredulous for a moment and then erupted in house-shaking laughter. He laughed so hard his whole body convulsed. Emilie’s knees quivered, and she felt queasy. She was terrified someone would catch her in the voodoo shop. She broke out in a sweat as her mind raced.
The Grand Zamy sat down and began leafing through an ancient volume. When he came to a certain page, he marked the passage with a long, yellow fingernail and said, “I see what happened. It’s an unusual occurrence, but I think I’ve found a solution. When an herbal remedy is misapplied, it sometimes has the unfortunate side effect of producing the opposite result. When this happens, we give the recipient an appropriate antidote.”
Emilie’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, it’s written right here in Latin. I’m afraid the language is too esoteric for those untrained in the art of the herbalist.”
“Can you prepare an antidote?” she said, breathless.
A huge grin broke out on his face. “Of course I can! For you, mam’selle, it would be a pleasure, but I’m afraid it will cost you a considerable sum.”
Emilie froze. “How much?”
“Fifty francs.”
Emilie gasped. “Fifty francs?”
The Grand Zamy tented his hands. “To increase the effectiveness of the potion, we add certain rare and costly ingredients to appease the spirits, such as dried orchids, wasp stingers, ground lizard bones, and rum that has been buried in a graveyard for thirty years.”
Emilie felt faint. The price he was asking was exorbitant. How could she possibly afford it? That was almost all the money she had. Her gaze shifted to a makeshift altar in the corner, where a white candle was burning beside a crucifix, a vial of oil, a statue of a saint, and a carved African deity, while a human skull grinned at her, as if mocking her. How had she sunk so low? What would Sister Marie think of her now? She thought of poor Abbé Morel, and it sickened her that the quimboiseur was using her predicament to extort money out of her, but what choice did she have?
She gazed at him in dull horror. “But, monsieur, fifty francs . . .”
The Grand Zamy gave her a piercing stare. “This potion is twice as powerful as the last one, mam’selle. You should expect to see immediate results. It comes with a money-back guarantee in case the patient experiences a sudden . . . relapse. But I don’t foresee any complications. However, if you don’t pay me, the priest will suffer the full consequences, and that would certainly bring, shall we say, divine retribution . . .?”
Emilie’s mouth went dry, and her stomach lurched. Fifty francs was an exorbitant sum, but since she had no other choice, she opened up her purse, extracted the money, and placed it in his hand.
After locking the money in a safe, the Grand Zamy went to the shelf and took down a handful of bottles. He took them to his worktable and proceeded to mix them in a bowl and then emptied the concoction into a vial, which he handed to her.
“Here you are, mam’selle.”
“Are you certain it will work?” she asked.
“No need to worry. After I recite the special incantations, your problem will be solved. Go and may the spirits guide you.”
Emilie stepped out of the shop, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. She hurried through the crowd and in her haste, bumped into a man, the force of the jolt knocking her off-balance. When she regained her footing she shielded her eyes against the sun and was shocked to see it was none other than Lieutenant Rémy.
“Pardon me . . . oh, Lieutenant Rémy, what a surprise,” she said. “How nice to see you again.”
“Good day, mademoiselle,” he said, doffing his pith helmet. “This is certainly an unexpected pleasure.”
“I wanted to thank you again for saving my life,” she said, slightly flustered.
“Think nothing of it,” he said. “It was good target practice. What brings you to Saint-Pierre today?”
“Oh, nothing, I was just . . .”
“I saw you exiting that shop over there.” Rémy motioned to the herbal shop. “What is that place? I’ve noticed it before.”
She felt her cheeks turning crimson. “It’s an herbal shop owned by a native healer. They say he’s quite good.”
“A native healer? Not a doctor of medicine?”
She stuttered. “Oh, everyone uses him. They say he can cure almost anything.”
“I hope you’re all right,” he said. “But are you sure his cures are safe? Sometimes these native healers are charlatans. Something about that place gives me an odd feeling.” He walked over to the store and peered in through the window. “Who is that dapper looking gentleman with the waistcoat and gold watch chain?”
“That’s the owner, M. Jacquet. He’s the best herbalist in Martinique. He has quite a reputation.”
Rémy furrowed his brow. “Forgive me for saying this, but I hope you’re not in some kind of trouble.”
“I’m perfectly fine. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve heard that only the most desperate people go to these native healers.”
“Ah, yes . . . actually the medicine isn’t for me. It’s for a
friend of mine.”
A worried look crossed Rémy’s face. “A friend of yours? I guess I’ll have to take you at your word. Are you certain that man is reputable?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “At least I believe he is.” She watched as Rémy assumed a serious countenance, and his voice became somber.
“I’ve heard stories about these healers who take advantage of people’s naiveté to extort huge sums of money from them. Perhaps you should go to a regular doctor, one who doesn’t deal in native quackery.”
Emilie tried to appear calm, but she felt a sudden tightness in her chest.
Rémy continued, “Please don’t think me nosy, mademoiselle, but I have some experience in these matters. My only concern is for your safety. You’re young and innocent, and some of these charlatans can be quite sinister.”
Deciding to drop her guard, Emilie moved in closer and said, “Lieutenant, I believe your instincts are correct. I think I may have made a terrible mistake, but it’s too late to back out now. Can I tell you something in strictest confidence?”
“I give you my word as a gentleman.”
Emilie sighed. “The truth is, I’m in a bit of a fix. Can we talk someplace private? I wouldn’t want anyone to overhear our conversation.”
Just across the street was a café called Aux Enfants de la Patrie.
“Come with me, mademoiselle,” said Rémy. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
Taking her hand in his, Rémy led Emilie across the street.
Chapter 20
When they entered the restaurant, Emilie was relieved there was no one there she knew. Luckily there were only a few merchants, sailors, and laborers seated around wooden tables laden with bottles of rum and steaming plates of fried seafood and cassava bread. Other customers were seated around rickety tables playing dominoes or cards. Emilie felt vaguely uncomfortable but decided to go along since Lieutenant Rémy was doing everything possible to make her feel comfortable.
They found a quiet corner table on the second floor, where Rémy ordered a bottle of wine and two plates of seafood, dorade grillée and Creole rice. A breeze blew in from the window. Looking outside, they had an unobstructed view of the harbor, where a dozen schooners rocked gently in the breeze. Laughter and chatter from the marketplace filtered into the restaurant; no doubt the people were oblivious to the fact that five miles away, Mount Pelée was belching out a cloud of black smoke that was blowing toward the city, sprinkling ashes and cinders along the way.
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