by Greg Hall
Henri never used such an angry tone, but he couldn’t remember the last time he was so angry. Actually, he could. It involved Michael. He had his fists clenched, unsure how to use them, but they acted more like a physical representation of his anger.
“I thought I told you to leave…” Michael started but changed his stature. He straightened his back, and something in the way his face twisted revealed a lingering darkness underneath. “What did you expect?”
“A proper burial. You didn’t put their bodies more than a foot below the earth,[RM1] ” Henri said, calming down. As he spoke, he felt his fists loosen.
“You care for the negroes, don’t you?”
“They weren’t even buried deep enough that the animals wouldn’t find them…” Henri said, then thought about it for a moment. “But that’s probably what you wanted.”
“I’m not completely heartless, Henri,” Michael said. He turned and found the first pew and sat down.
Nausea rushed back to Henri, worse than before, but at least this time, his stomach was empty. He reached out to the first pew he could and sat down.
“I sometimes wonder how the two of us came from the same parish.” Henri said with despair.
Michael shook his head and let out an exaggerated laugh. “You’re still mad about that black boy?”
“Eli.”
“Eli? You knew his name,” Michael said, not appearing shocked. “Of course you did. Look, Henri, for if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”
Henri nodded, remembering the passage. They were the words he reflected on over the years. Henri spent many nights trying to understand forgiveness. As much as he tried to forgive everyone involved, he would start his day with the same thought in his head.
“Are you asking for forgiveness?” Henri finally said with a timid voice.
“Should I? Because besides the blame you’re placing on me, I don’t feel there is anything to forgive.”
“Do you think Eli would forgive you?” Henri asked.
“It’s not like we can ask him,” Michael said bluntly.
Henri was disgusted with the comment. Comments like those are the reasons he felt disconnected from the brotherhood. Michael was always the worst for it, and when called out for his inappropriate remarks, he would claim them as a joke and tossed blame on the individuals who didn’t understand his humor.
“He was only ten years old,” Henri said, thinking back to the boy in the bayou. He repeated Eli’s name over and over again in his head. Nobody, except Henri and Eli’s mother, repeated the boy’s name. He was simply forgotten. That thought alone was enough to bring tears to Henri’s eyes.
“Taken from this earth too young. That is something we can both agree on,” Michael said. He stared at Henri then sat down next to him. “In some ways, it’s better,” Michael said, breaking the moment of silence.
“How do you figure that?” Henri said, confused.
“Who knows? Otherwise, he could have been buried out back under a foot of dirt.”
Henri shook his head. The last few years of Henri questioning his faith and it all began with Eli’s death. No matter his early studies with the brotherhood, he could never understand the death of a child. He couldn’t accept that a child had to suffer.
How both of them could share similar beliefs felt alien to Henri. He wondered how it was possible that they could share the same God.
“You’re going to find who did this?” Michael asked.
“I’m already deep into it.”
“And what happens when you find him? What are you going to do then?”
It was something that had been bothering Henri since the moment he had boarded the train. It was one thing to have Betsy tell him that God said he could stop the killer, but he didn’t know what he could do when the time came. Part of him hoped that the killer would simply stop; the other part of him knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“I guess I’ll figure it out when it happens.”
“What are you doing, Henri?” Michael said, letting out a laugh. “Why are you trying to understand them? Traveling across the state, putting your life on the line, for what?”
“God spoke to one of my parishioners,” Henri said.
As much as he wanted to believe Betsy spoke with God, the more he saw on his travels, the less he thought it could be possible. He didn’t want to think that God would allow something so horrific to take place. Henri’s doubt was stronger than ever. He realized that he would prefer a world with no God, rather than a world with a God that allows these horrendous things to happen.
“Really? What did he say?”
“Said I was the only one who could stop the killer,” Henri responded.
“And who was the parishioner?” Michael asked without a beat.
“Her family was murdered by the killer.”
“Ah, so she sought out the only person she trusted. A priest.”
Henri caught the hint in Michael’s tone, implying that Betsy was lying.
Henri went to stand. He had enough of what Michael was saying. He needed to get back to Modeste and Sarah Jane. He worried the longer he left them alone, the worse it would be for them.
“Has He ever spoken to you?” Michael asked, seeming intrigued.
“Who?”
“The Lord. Have you ever heard His voice?”
“Can’t say I ever have.”
“Me neither,” Michael said, “kind of makes you wonder if anyone is actually listening.”
And for the first time, Henri could say he agreed with Michael. This idea had been consuming his thoughts ever since Eli died. He didn’t even need to talk with God; all he wanted was a sign to know what he was doing was the right thing. Right now, he only had Betsy’s word and had yet to hear anything from the Lord himself.
“Do you have any shovels?” Henri asked.
“Really? You’re going to bury the bodies?” Michael asked, but Henri didn’t respond. “Yeah. There should be a few out in the shed. ”
Henri briskly walked toward the entryway, burdened by their conversation. He received nothing from it, other than learning that Michael questioned his faith too. But no closure. If anything, it only solidified his lingering faith.
“Since the train comes tomorrow. I take it you’re staying the night?” Michael called out.
“Don’t worry; we’ll be gone in the morning.”
“Good.”
He thought about whether everything he had done in the name of his faith until this point had been for waste. There were so many things he could have changed. If he had just made an effort, Eli might still be alive, and Henri’s thoughts wouldn’t be plagued by the boy’s lifeless body floating in the bayou.
12
Henri had never dug so much in his life. The graves were usually six feet deep, but he knew that his five foot eight frames wouldn’t have been able to climb out of the hole. He was already close to four feet (his guess) and was worried about pulling himself free. He knew Modeste couldn’t offer much help. Even—even if she could use some hocus pocus magic to help lift him out.
The chopped up bodies were stuffed in bags sitting beside the opening. Henri had wrapped each body, as best he could. If he had a stronger stomach, he would have put each victim, or at least tried, back together. Nothing he had ever done in his modest life could have trained him for what he had seen over the last few days.
The evil in the world was getting the best of him. Anguished over the devastation he had witnessed. Victims that didn’t deserve their fate. He felt disillusioned with his faith. Heartbroken over a life dedicated that he was questioning.
Henri threw the rusted shovel onto the ground above, placed his elbows on the edge of the hole, and tried to lift himself out. It was more of a struggle than anticipated. He tried to use his legs to help kick up enough force. There was nothing he could use to step on
. When he finally pulled himself up, he peered back down into the hole to view all the dirt he had kicked back in. It was fine. The hole was deep enough to give them a proper burial.
He caught his breath and watched Modeste scouring the ground for God knows what. They left Sarah Jane inside the victim’s house to rest while Modeste collected items to help heal the poor girl. Henri decided to leave the girl alone instead of having her see the bags of body parts outside the back door.
Henri still didn’t believe that Modeste could actually help, but there were no other options in Melville. On his way back from Michael’s, He tried asking around for a physician, but no was even willing to speak to him. He heard a few whispers about being the one with the witch. He didn’t correct them because, in reality, he felt the same way.
Tim mentioned that the Melville physician had traveled to New Orleans for supplies and was expected back in a few days. Henri hoped that Modeste could keep Sarah Jane alive until the physician came back to Melville.
Because of Modeste’s bizarre, almost blasphemous practices, Henri was surprised that she believed in God. Indeed, it wasn’t the same God he believed in. It was a funny thought, one minute, he questions God’s existence, and the next, he is offended that someone he vehemently disagrees with could believe in the same God.
Henri placed the remaining pieces into the grave. Finally, he took the arm that the dog had chomped on, and placed it with the rest of the body parts. He made the sign of the cross and whispered a prayer to himself. He wished he knew if his God was listening, or at least lending his ear for this moment. This family didn’t deserve their fate, nor did they deserve to be buried in such a shallow grave.
“May you rest in the arms of the Lord who formed you from the dust of the Earth. May the holy angel—”
“And all the saints…” Modeste said but stopped when she noticed Henri had stopped. “Why did you stop?”
“You know this prayer?”
“Why does it surprise you?”
“And you believe in God?”
“Most believe in some form of God. Some even follow an idea of a God,” Modeste said. She took her cane and approached the grave. “We should finish the prayer.”
Henri was stunned. There was so much to this woman he didn’t understand. She was right; the prayer should be finished.
Henri began his prayer. “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me.”
Modeste began reciting the rest with Henri. “Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
At this point, Henri had almost forgotten he was still saying the prayer. His entire focus was on the woman who was standing beside him. She was a stranger, and although he had an idea of what she was, now that she stood reciting the same prayer he said many times before, he realized he knew nothing about her.
Now, he didn’t know what to think.
Henri had to push these thoughts from his head. He had a job to do. He wanted to make sure the bodies were entirely covered so no dog or wild animal would dig them up again. He packed the remaining dirt on top of the grave and took a moment of rest beside Modeste on the felled tree.
“You and the priest don’t get along?”
“You could say that.”
“I know what it’s like,’ Modeste said with a playful grin. Henri didn’t bother to respond. He knew she was trying to lighten the mood, but he wasn’t ready. “Want to talk about it?” Modeste added
“It’s a long story,” Henri said, clearly not wanting to talk about it. He still had nightmares from what happened in New Orleans. They came less and less as time went on, but Henri figured it was because so much time had passed since Eli’s death. Now, these same nightmares would come flooding back after his run-in with Michael.
“We’ve got time. We ain't got nowhere to go.,” Modeste responded.
Henri slumped down against the felled tree. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He couldn’t remember the last time he worked so hard. Digging was not easy, and with the humidity, it was the last thing he wanted to do.
“You gonna tell me?” Modeste asked again, taking residence beside Henri. She couldn’t sit, so she remained leaning against the tree.
Henri took a breath and considered his options. He wanted to forget the events from New Orleans. The years he spent in Morrow had helped. The peace and tranquility of his community were enough to help ease his soul. Until he came face to face with Michael, all those horrid memories he had suppressed rose right back to the top.
After a thoughtful pause, He began to speak. He told Modeste about his brotherhood at Saint Landry’s Parish. He had already finished his seminary education and was waiting upon his ordination. The brotherhood had large numbers throughout New Orleans, and individual parishes were hard to come by. As populations were increasing in the surrounding towns, Saint Landry’s congregation continued to build more and more.
He told her about one day in particular when a young boy named Eli entered their church. He pleaded with the brotherhood to help deal with two older boys who were threatening him. Having no other family other than his mother, he sought help from Saint Landry’s in hopes he could find aid.
He didn’t find it.
Henri told Modeste how he was told to leave, how Eli was told that a “black boy” wasn’t welcomed to enter their church. Henri knew that his fellow brother’s were wrong, and even with the boy standing in front of him, he chose inaction. He knew he was outnumbered in the brotherhood, and if he spoke out, he would be removed from the parish.
Henri noticed that throughout the entire story, Modeste seemed unphased by it. It was as if he was telling her a story she had heard a hundred times before. He even noticed her attention seemed to be wavering between what he was telling her and the labrador dog who found the bodies. It had been waiting patiently in hopes of carrying another part away from the scene.
“I asked him if he had his own place of worship,” Henri said, raising his voice, in hopes to capture her attention.
“I bet he did. Bet those two boys giving him a problem went to the same church,” Modeste replied apathetically.
Her response solidified Henri’s opinion that she had heard similar stories many times before.
“Yes. They were part of their church's choir,” Henri said. His focus turned toward the dog and wondered why it was waiting around. Did it want to eat the limbs? Does it like to eat human flesh? Henri realized that as he traveled, what he had seen began to take a toll on his thought process. He began to wonder where his line of questioning was heading.
“So the boy who needed help couldn’t find it in your house of God?” Modeste asked.
Henri let out a laugh. It wasn’t funny. It was in response to her accurate conclusion. “It was what he said once he left our parish that stuck with me. He said, ‘God is supposed to take care of everyone.’ And you know what? He was absolutely right.” and all Henri could think about how the poor boy couldn’t enter his house of God and receive help. He himself was a servant to God and even he didn’t step in to help.
Henri raised himself from the tree and approached the wrapped body parts. He grabbed the torsos and threw them in first. With each thud, nausea rushed back to Henri. It was starting to be a familiar feeling for him. He tried to dissociate that they were once living beings with hopes and dreams. These remaining bundles of flesh were now just things he had to dispose of. Each one he tossed in, his hand recognized precisely the part he was touching.
“Was that it?” Modeste asked, almost sounding annoyed that Henri left his perch to mo
ve the body parts instead of finishing the story.
“Basically.”
“What happened with the boy?”
Henri stopped for a moment. He glanced back at Modeste. He wanted to tell her but figured she already knew the outcome.
He thought back to the days that led up to finding Eli. After a few nights of drinking, he hoped the liquid courage would guide him into the streets and search for Eli. He thought about bringing the child back and protecting him while waiting for a better solution. Some idea where he could hide the poor child from the bullies. He thought about how Eli’s body washed up in the bayou and how he wished it wasn’t true.
He thought about how he hit the bottle harder. Looking, hoping for answers at the bottom. How that single moment made Henri question every life choice until that moment. How could he believe in allowing the death of such a young boy after he sought out help.
Henri quieted his brain, and finally admitted, “He was found a few days later, floating in the bayou,” There was no surprise from Modeste.
Henri threw the remaining pieces into the open grave. After he was done filling the hole, it was time for another rest.
He told Modeste how there was no investigation. He wanted to tell her about how the Sheriff refused to do a proper investigation, but the words choked in his throat. He did tell Modeste about how Eli’s mother asked for help from a few of a few neighbors and friends, but no one came forward with any information. Henri told Modeste how he met with the brotherhood to discuss what happened, but they all refused to acknowledge any wrongdoing. Henri tried to convey that there was guilt in their inaction, but they shrugged off any fault.
Not long after, Henri requested a transfer. He wanted to be somewhere far enough away. A place where he could reflect. A place where he could waste time in retrospect.
As Henri collected the shovels, he felt a little better telling the story aloud. Besides the brotherhood, he had never told anyone what had happened in New Orleans or why he came to Morrow.
Tim stumbled out the back door of the house. He appeared frightened and quite shaken. His eyes were down cast from either of them. “Y’all need to get in here,” he said.