by Greg Hall
The passenger train down the Texas and New Orleans (T&NO) rail line came every day around eight in the morning. It traveled from New Orleans and to Alexandria. It was used mostly by travelers from the two major cities, but they stopped in each town if someone was heading that way. There weren't too many people who traveled between the towns. Those that did were mostly line workers or farmers who would travel for the day's work then head back the following day.
When Morrow was first added to the steam locomotive’s route, the children would all rush out from their homes and gather on the platform to watch the majestic mammoth come to a stop. Even Henri came out for the first few weeks. It was a majestic beast screeching to a halt in their small town. The evocative smell of the train mixed with the wild roses along the east side of Holy Trinity.
Henri has never traveled farther west beyond Morrow. It was something he always wanted to do, but never in terms of tracking a killer. It eased his mind a little, if it meant that he could put a stop to such heinous crimes.
When the horn cried out a mile from the station, the piercing sound caused Henri to falter in his steps. The horn emphasized the danger he was about to embark on, and everything about the scenario was becoming real. It made sense in his head, but now that he was making his way to the train, glaring anxiety was climbing to the surface. All eyes were on him, so he knew he couldn’t just turn around and leave. And where would that leave Betsy? If he wasn’t willing to help her, she would have no one. Except Modeste, of course, but Henri only worried that she would continue to poison Betsy’s mind.
Each step felt heavier and heavier as he continued on to the platform. The train was still a few miles out, and it would be a while until it came to a full stop in front, but Henri wanted to get there early in hopes of calming his nerves before boarding.
“Slow down,” a voice called out from behind him.
The sound of the cane tapping the ground with each haggard step gave away who it was. There was a prejudice he had toward the witch, but he tried to hide it. Betsy was right, he was supposed to be better.
He'd made a promise to Betsy not to use that term, but it was the perfect word to describe her. In his mind, it was a better word than some used.
“I’m going to Maringouin.”
“Why?”
“To see if what you said was true.”
“Isn’t that what Randy is for?” Modeste said, trying to keep up. “Can you slow down for a moment?”
Although he didn’t want to, Henri finally stopped in his tracks. He let Modeste step in front of him as if she was trying to block his path.
“You’re going after it?”
“Someone has to,” Henri said. Finally, the full weight of his decision hit him. He could feel each beat of his heart. His anxiety continued to grow and he wanted to turn around and retreat into the safety of the Holy Trinity. He could close the door and hope that the world outside would just forget about him, but Henri knew he wouldn’t. “He will kill more.”
“I need to sit down,” Henri said as he stumbled back. There was a lingering dizziness that caused Henri to want to shake it from his head.
Modeste reached out to him and grabbed him, dropping her cane. She held onto him, and they both swayed back and forth for a moment. It was almost as though her mirrored movement was stealing the anxiousness from Henri.
Henri felt calm after a few seconds.
Modeste dropped her hands and started to lose balance, and began to fall back. Henri reached out and grabbed her arm. With his other hand, he reached out and grabbed her fallen cane.
“What did you do to me?” Henri asked. His anxiety had been replaced with growing anger. Henri was a calm man who rarely lost his temper.
Betsy approached in the distance, just the sight of her calmed Henri. Henri knew that after everything she had been through, an angered outburst was the last thing she needed from him.
Now all Henri could do was avert his eyes from the both of them. He thought back to his and Randy’s conversation, and the sheriff’s refusal to take action. The thought of any person’s life being taken away and not being investigated was heartbreaking, but to base that negligence solely on their skin color was abhorrent.
Henri noticed that some of his community had begun to group and watch him. Even Randy was staring over from the Boyds’ front porch.
“No,” Henri finally muttered. “That’s why I’m going to Maringouin. I need to know if this has happened before. To see if there is any way to stop this from happening to more innocent people. ”
Betsy wrapped her arms around Henri. The pressure was so tight that Henri choked on the remaining air in his lungs.
“Thank you,” Betsy said as she buried her head into Henri’s chest.
“I can not promise you anything, Betsy,” Henri said, in between staggered gasps. “Okay. I need to breathe again.” He pulled himself free from the hug. He enjoyed the embrace, but he noticed the judging eyes from the growing crowd. Henri could feel the intolerance radiating off of them.
“I have to go,” Henri said. The horn blew out in the distance, and Henri wanted to be on the platform when it arrived.
“I’m coming with you,” Modeste said.
Her words caused Henri’s heart to miss a beat. It was an odd sensation, but Henri paid more attention to Modeste’s statement. It was even more bizarre. He didn’t think about having a travel companion, let alone a known witch.
“What?”
“You can’t do this on your own.”
“I don’t need your help,” Henri protested.
“You don’t know anything about that for which you are searching. You need my guidance to find the bloodsucker.”
“I will not continue this conversation. I will not listen to more talk about false beings,” Henri said, realizing that his voice was louder than anticipated. A moment of embarrassment flushed over him; he felt eyes from a growing crowd. He felt his face glow red, but he made sure to keep his eyes low.
He wasn’t worried about his parishioners as much as he was concerned about Betsy’s opinion. He worried that with him leaving, everything he built to bring the community might break with his departure. She had nowhere else to go. The black community didn’t want to give her a place to stay, worried that the killer might come for her next. No one in the white community would think to take in someone like Betsy. Modeste was an option, but Henri didn’t want Betsy to be inundated with more hogwash with the recent storytellings.
He didn’t know what he was going to do with her when he came back, but for now, his quarters seemed to be the best option.
‘Betsy, while I’m away, I want you to take care of my garden. It’s not much to do, but it will help. I promise”
“You don’t know the first thing about hunting a killer, either,” Modeste cut in before Henri could finish speaking with Betsy.
“And you do?” he said, taking the bait.
“I have hunted many things in this world. Things you don’t believe exist. Things I wish didn’t exist,” Modeste said, then took a step closer as if to emphasize, “Father, you don’t know the first thing about what you’re about to hunt.”
“I’m not hunting. I’m going to collect information and build a case myself. Once I have enough evidence, I can bring it to people who can help.”
“Please?” Betsy whispered from his side. Her hands clasped together. “Take Modeste with you.”
As much as Henri wanted, he couldn’t believe that Betsy spoke to God. He didn’t think she was a liar. He thought that she believed she talked to God, but he couldn’t tell whether it was a dream or hallucination from trauma.
“Fine. Let’s go,” Henri finally said to Modeste. Words he might regret soon enough.
6
The last mile that the train had to travel to stop at the platform felt like hours for Modeste and Henri as they stood in silence.
Modeste had only been on a train once in her lifetime. She refused to ride after black folks were forced i
nto less desirable train cars, segregated from the whites. She relied heavily on the horse and carriage when she needed to travel, and she loved every moment of it. When she worked with Marie Laveau, they rode in a stagecoach together. It was easier to get around, and they were able to reach towns that weren’t down a rail line.
As she waited for the train, she thought there was something special about being guided by such a majestic beast. When it finally rolled to a stop in front of the platform, Modeste couldn’t help but think about how small and insignificant she was in comparison to something as colossal as the train.
The steam venting blasted into the sky, sending off waves of heat that instantly brought sweat to her forehead. She took a step back in hopes of catching some cooler air. Instead, she was hit with more humidity.
“Are you okay?” Henri asked, breaking the awkward silence that had lingered between.
The conductor jumped down from the locomotive and immediately locked his eyes on Modeste. This was common when Modeste ventured out from her home. She heard the term ‘witch’ or ‘demon’ whispered behind her back. Modeste was unsure how the names came to be, whether it was the gowns she wore, the gold loop earrings, or the metal band on her wrist.
Then there were the derogatory terms, the names and insults hurled at her just because of her skin. Those hurt far worse since terms like witch and demon were based on things people didn’t understand, but the other was an enmity she never understood.
Henri stepped to the first car and stepped onto the ladder. Modeste didn’t follow. She looked toward the last car.
“You coming?” Henri asked.
“She ain’t going in there,” the conductor called out.
“It’s okay, Henri. We’ll meet up in Maringouin,” Modeste said, defeatedly.
Modeste knew better than to cause a fuss. She didn’t hesitate to make her way to the last car. Her cane tapped the steel platform rhythmically with each step. She could feel eyes from passengers on each train car that she passed. She avoided meeting their gaze at all costs. She felt shame, even though she had no reason to be ashamed. If only they knew she could potentially save them from a monster.
The last car was in better shape than she expected, painted dark maroon to differentiate between it and the other emerald cars. A sign hung above the door, but it had weathered away, but she assumed it once contained a message to welcome ‘her kind.’
The train car was empty. Modeste was expecting to be at least a couple of other passengers, someone she could speak with. She approached the door and noticed that it was sealed so that she couldn’t enter the next car.
“Are you taking a seat?’ a familiar voice said from her right.
Modeste turned with surprise to Henri standing at the door.
“What are you doing back here?”
“No sense in us riding separately,”’ Henri said as he took the first booth. It creaked under his weight.
Modeste stood with bewilderment. The man she judged was turning out to be different than she expected.
Modeste immediately felt more at ease. She had picked up a flyer about the Southern Pacific Railway, even though she was already well-traveled in Louisiana. When Marie Laveau had taken her under her wing, they would traverse the landscape seeking out clients. They would load the cart, take the horses, and head across the state for new clients and individuals in need.
Marie Laveau was well known across Louisiana. She considered herself a healer and herbalist who traveled the roads as if she owned them. She was known among white elites to be able to cure any ailment. Some were fearful of her, but others, like Modeste, were in awe of what she could do. There were many things that Modeste witnessed that she’d once thought was impossible. Things their God, the Conjurer, would do and it was incredible what the conjurer was capable of doing.
At first, like any new experience, Modeste created reasonable explanations for the things she witnessed. She had seen paralyzed individuals walk again; other’s close to death one day to fully recovered the next.
Before meeting Marie, Modeste didn’t consider herself much of a believer. Her mother followed Christianity that had been forced onto her by her master.. Modeste tried to believe what her mother believed, but after her mother died of consumption, Modeste gave up on religion.
It wasn’t long after her mother’s death that Marie found Modeste lingering around New Orleans, swiping food from wherever she could. Modeste had just reached her twelfth birthday, when she tried to sneak bread from Marie’s saddle pouch. To this day, Modeste couldn’t explain how she was caught. Seconds earlier, she watched Marie disappear into a pub. Now, her hand was on Modeste’s. Their eyes locked, neither looked away. One slip of Marie’s grip and Modeste was ready to run. Except Marie’s grip never loosened.
It didn’t take much convincing for Modeste to join Marie on her travels. She was promised food and a place to sleep. Plus, the promise of traveling around Louisiana was intriguing to her. All Marie wanted in return was someone who could collect herbs and roots. Marie wasn’t getting any younger, and no matter how you ask the Conjurer, there was no escaping death, so Marie needed a more youthful soul to help collect needed items.
With one of their first clients, Modeste witnessed the unexplainable. A man in his late thirties was plagued with a fever. His eyes had turned black, and he spoke in different tongues. Modeste overheard family members mention ‘soul sucker’ and ‘demon,’ but Marie assured them there was no such thing. Marie assured the family that it was a loa trying to pass through into the living. Some families of loa play with the living and try to pass from the spirit world to ours.
Modeste watched as the blackthorn and rowan roots she had collected were sprinkled onto the man’s body. Marie moved with grace as the fire danced around her, casting shadows throughout the makeshift tent. The man cried in sounds of agony and torment, but when Marie finished speaking, the man fell silent.
Afterward, Marie and Modeste sat in silence. Modeste desperately wanted to ask about a loa. She wanted to know more. She was hooked.
“Ask away,” Marie said. She didn’t move. Her focus remained on the fire in front of her. For a moment, Modeste thought Marie and the flickering flames were conjoined.
“You called it a loa. What is that?” Modeste asked. Even though Marie always welcomed questions from her young protege, Modeste felt odd asking this particular one.
Marie never broke focus from the consuming flames; she just began to speak, “There are things in this world that only the Conjurer can protect us from. Most people don’;t believe that they exist, but you will see that they do. No matter how much proof, they still won’t believe.”
She lowered the flyer just enough to be able to see Henri sitting across from her. She could see his mind working hard. His eyebrows were furrowed and would bounce up and down as if he were having a full-blown discussion with himself.
“What are you expecting to find in Maringouin?” Modeste asked.
“I need to know if you’re right. I need to know if this has happened in the other towns.”
“And what happens when you learn the truth?”
Modeste waited for an answer that never came. Instead, Henri just turned and looked out the window. She watched him for a moment. She saw a pain in his eyes.
“Bloodsucker?” Henri muttered.
“What?”
“You called the killer a bloodsucker. What does that mean?”
“How else do you think he removed the blood?” Modeste asked.
“At some point, you’re going to have to realize that although it’s done inhumane things, this ‘monster’ you speak of is a human.” reasoned Henri.
“At some point, you will see the monster for what it is,” Modeste shot back.
A silence fell between the pair. No matter his beliefs, Modeste wasn’t going to allow it to undermine her beliefs. She had seen monsters first hand; she had seen what the horrors they leave behind.
“How can you believe such things?
Henri asked.
“I believe in what I can see and touch. I’ve seen what crawls from the depths of one’s nightmares. Torment, pain. All things these monsters leave behind.”
The look on Henri’s face was the same that Modeste had seen so many times before; disbelief. She didn’t expect anything else. All she knew was that if this were the path they were supposed to be on, Henri would learn the truth soon enough.
“You don’t believe that God spoke to Betsy?”
“I believe that God doesn’t reveal His plan,” Henri said, but there was more lingering behind his words. Modeste waited for him to continue.
“Then, why did you come?”
“I guess because more people are going to die, and I can’t sit idly by.”
“Your God does work in mysterious ways. Whether it’s a message in the sand or words spoken right to Betsy. Who knows who will be a vessel for his voice.”
“If we’re going to continue with this, maybe we should set our beliefs aside. Even though I’m a reformist, and there are many white folks who disagree with my practices, I don’t want to know about the dark magic that you conjure,” Henri said as he rested his head back against the window.
“Is that what you think I do?”
“I said, I don’t want to know what you do.”
“When I was looking for places to live, Morrow struck me as the place to be. You know why?” Modeste asked.
“No.”
“I heard Father Henri Joffre was the progressive leader of Saint Landry’s Holy Trinity. I heard how he opened the door to his entire community. Word traveled far and wide about you.”
“I am progressive when it comes to those in need. However, I don’t need to hear tales from the occult.”
“Occult? Where do you get your terms?”
“From now on, we should only speak about the killer. No need to share anything else.”
“Yes, master,” Modeste shot back.
They still had a few more hours until the train reached Maringouin, but all Modeste could think about was how much more time they would be stuck together.