One Hundred Saints

by Yolanda Olson

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  ONE HUNDRED SAINTS

  First edition. April 9, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Yolanda Olson.

  Written by Yolanda Olson.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  One Hundred | Saints

  Prologue | (When We Were Young)

  The French Quarter

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  The Lower Ninth Ward

  Eight

  Nine

  Mardi Gras

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  The Bad Man

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Acknowledgments

  To my PAs, Brittany Reece, Linda Cotter, Julia Clare, and Beth Sterry for stepping in and handling things when I was trying to finish this one. You ladies rock so fucking hard and I love all four of you!

  My beta team for having self control while I tortured you guys with bits and pieces. You know you still love me!

  Just write. Creations thank you for the amazing cover design! You saved me when I couldn’t decide on what I needed and I appreciate it!

  One Hundred

  Saints

  Prologue

  (When We Were Young)

  “Hey Grimm!” I called out happily.

  The boy that couldn’t have been more than two years older than me, turned slightly to see who was greeting him. He moved away from the tree he had been thoughtfully leaning against and dug his hands into his pockets, a small smile curving the corners of his lips.

  “Hi Miss Emily,” he called back to me.

  “I told you not to call me that,” I chided, giving him a quick hug. “Emmie will do just fine, thank you very much.”

  He rested his cheek on the top of my head for a moment, before he nodded and pulled away. I liked Grimm for a lot of reasons, but I always felt like his hugs weren’t something he really wanted to give to anyone. Sometimes, his hugs reminded me of a robot that was trying to learn how to feel things; emotions, I guess.

  It was a hot, beautiful summer day so I knew I would find him fishing the Mississippi River over in Old Algiers. I also had a present for him, and I knew I would have to convince him to follow me home to be able to give it to him.

  He took my hand and moved to our favorite spot near that tree he loved so much, and sat down on the grass, pulling me down beside him. I reached down and smoothed out the bottom of my skirt, while he brought his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees, watching me.

  “You always wear fancy clothes, Emmie?” he asked curiously.

  “This? This isn’t fancy! It’s a secondhand buy from the thrift shop over on St. Charles Avenue,” I replied with a dismissive laugh.

  Grimm scoffed and turned his eyes back toward his fishing pole. I immediately felt bad because I was pretty sure that the only pants he owned in the entire world were the ones he wore every day. It made me wonder about his parents; if he had any, and if they even cared. He never liked to talk about himself, and would spend hours on end listening to me go on and on about Daddy, Mama, Mr. and Mrs. Rourke.

  That’s why today I was especially excited to see him; cause of the present I had for him.

  “When was the last time you ate something?” I asked, poking at his ribs.

  “The last time I caught a fish,” he replied with a shrug.

  I turned my eyes toward the river for a moment, trying to recall when that was. If it had been when I was with him, and it had to because I spent almost every day with him for the past three weeks, that meant it was two days ago.

  “Grimm Valot, why didn’t you tell me that yesterday?” I asked angrily. “I woulda took you home with me and Mrs. Rourke coulda made you supper!”

  He shook his head, but didn’t say anything. It was obvious that Grimm wasn’t going to make accepting my offer easy; he’d probably see it as an act of charity when it really wasn’t.

  “You wanna know something? You’re my very best friend in the world,” I admitted softly.

  “I don’t believe that for one moment, Emily Thibideaux. You must have better friends than me,” he said, picking up a pebble and tossing it at the water.

  “It’s true! You’re the only friend that listens when I talk. You make me feel better when I feel like crying, by just sitting here with me,” I insisted looking at him.

  He grunted and threw another pebble into the river. I sighed unhappily. I wanted him to feel better about himself by admitting he was my best friend and it only seemed to put him in a sour mood instead.

  “I have a present for you!” I said brightly. Grimm gave me a side glance and raised his eyebrows.

  “What is it?” he finally asked after staring at me for a moment.

  “You gotta come to my house so I can give it you,” I replied with a smile.

  He let out a laugh as he got to his feet and went to check his line. When he was sure that he hadn’t caught anything yet, he turned around and crossed his arms over his bare, dirty chest.

  “Emmie, you know good and well that your Pa isn’t gonna let me come into your house. Neither is your Ma. No matter how much you ask them, they won’t let me come in, and you know why? Because you come from a completely different place than I do. I see it, your Ma and Pa see it; you’re the only one that doesn’t see it,” he replied shaking his head vehemently.

  I hopped up, and walked over to where he was standing. I really wanted to push him into the river for being such a block head. I put one hand on my hip, and pointed a finger in his face.

  “Don’t you dare tell me what I see and don’t see, because if you knew, you wouldn’t want so badly to make me not want to be your friend anymore. You can’t get rid of me until I wanna go away, and I’m not going anywhere, so you can stop being mean to me and just come to my house tonight,” I shouted, stomping my foot on the soft grass.

  His eyes widened briefly, and then his shoulders slumped. He reached forward and pulled me into a tight hug so I wouldn’t be angry anymore.

  “Why are you so good to me, Emmie?” he asked into my hair.

  “Because someone has to show you what a good person you are. I love you, Grimm and I always will. I’ll never want or find another best friend like you,” I replied, gripping him tightly.

  “I love you too, Emmie. I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I do. You’re my best and only friend,” he said quietly.

  I pulled back and looked into his big blue eyes. It was the right time to make him promise to come to my house, which he finally did. I knew that Daddy and Mama would see what I saw; they would see something past the dirty boy, with the torn clothes, and the stern face.

  They’d see someone who was destined for great things and they would love him because I did. I told Grimm to meet me at my house around nine o’clock that night and to come through the gardens. I wanted to play him the song I wrote for him first; his present, then I would introduce my very best friend to my parents.

  I couldn’t wait to see what would come of it. Maybe they’d let us play in the garden together and maybe they’d have Mrs. Rourke make him supper.

  After all, what was the worst that could happen?

  The French Quarter

  One

  Daddy’s driver was slowly rounding the corner from the house my parents lived in. I hadn’t seen them in a couple of years, and they did
n’t know I was coming. I didn’t have anything against my parents, and they didn’t have anything against me; we just took a break from each other. Kind of like one of those volatile relationships where everyone needs a breather before regrouping.

  My daddy was a smart man; made his money in construction and was one of the first companies that offered to help rebuild the levees in the Lower Ninth Ward. They turned him away though; told him it was too dangerous for anyone to go out there.

  Mama was as good a woman as daddy was smart. She was a classic beauty and reminded me of a modern day Scarlett O’Hara with her curly brown hair, and her brown eyes looking as if she was lost in a daydream.

  I took after her in basic looks, though I was slightly larger then her. Slender but not slim, whereas Daddy was a tall man with reddish brown hair and big blue eyes. My brother looked like him so much so that they could have been twins if Daddy were younger.

  “We’re here, Miss Emmie,” the driver said, bringing the black sleek Rolls Royce to a stop.

  I leaned toward the window and glanced up at the two story structure and sighed, “Indeed we are.”

  I waited while he got out of the driver’s seat and walked around the side of the car to let me out.

  “It’s good to see you again,” he said, tipping his hat to me once I was standing next to him.

  I smiled at Mr. Rourke. He had been the family’s driver for as long as I could remember and he always had a kind word for everyone. He was an older man with the leatheriest skin I had ever seen in my life, but kind blue eyes, and a big heart.

  I reached up and put my arms around his shoulders, giving him a firm hug, before we pulled apart and he handed me my rolling bag. With a wave, I left him standing next to the car as I walked toward the front door of my parents’ home.

  Down the street I heard some children laughing as I raised my fist to knock on the door. A few moments later, they were running past me like they had a fire lit underneath them.

  I laughed and raised my hand to knock again when Mrs. Rourke pulled the door open slightly.

  “Hi!” I said brightly, with a big smile on my face.

  “Oh my goodness!” she said, rushing forward to sweep me up in her arms. “Miss Emmie, I can’t believe it’s really you!”

  She was pleasant older woman with a stocky body, shorter than me by a head, and a the same tight white bun I had always seen since childhood.

  “Your parents will be so happy to see you,” she exclaimed.

  I swallowed the nervous lump that had been rising in my throat and nodded. Maybe they would be and maybe they wouldn’t be; I wouldn’t know for sure until I actually stepped into the house. “Go on into the parlor and I’ll let them know you’re here.”

  “Thanks Maggie, I replied softly. I waited a few moments, glued to where I was, as I watched her head off to find Mama and Daddy. I bit my lip nervously and decided to finally walk down to the parlor, the wheels on my bag making a muffled rolling sound as I dragged it behind me down the carpeted hallway. I knew that if I left any tracks behind from it, that Maggie would take care of it and Mama would never know.

  It wasn’t a far walk from the front door of the house to the glass double doors of the parlor. A slight hesitation came over me as I put a hand on the brass handle and wondered if I should leave and call them. I could tell them that I had just arrived in town and that I wanted to come see them if they had the time for it.

  Maggie has probably already found them by now, I thought to myself, pulling open the right door. One step inside and I instantly smiled. The room looked as brand new as the day that Daddy had it added into the house. Just inside the doors and to the right was a large wicker chair that Mama had bought at one of the markets in town. It had been one of my favorite things in the entire house, and as I propped my bag against it, I was happy to see that she still had it.

  I glanced around the room quickly and let out a happy squeal when I saw that sitting in the far back, left hand corner of the room, was the beautiful grand piano that I had spent so many hot Louisiana summer nights playing. I went over and sat down on the bench, lifting the cover off of the ivory keys, and running my fingers gently across them. With a happy sigh, I thought of the last time Daddy had allowed me to play in this room alone. He had heard the sounds of a song that had just come to me; a hauntingly, beautiful melody he called it, something to light fires to and chase away the spirits. It was a song that had reminded me of my good friend, Grimm and I had snuck him into the parlor so I could play the tune for him. I think it was the only time I had ever seen him smile. Even when Daddy came in and angrily chased him out of the house and through the gardens, the smile never left his face I’d like to think.

  Grimm was a big reason I had come back to New Orleans. Honestly, he was the main reason I had come back. Ever since Hurricane Katrina had swept through and destroyed the Lower Ninth Ward, where he lived with his family, I always worried that they hadn’t made it; that he hadn’t made it.

  It would break my heart to find out he was dead, because he was my very best friend. Days spent sitting on the grass and watching him throw his line into the Mississippi River always made me happy. I would sit for hours and watch him fish and there were even times where even after the sun went down, we would sit behind the trees so no one could see us and just talk.

  I had never known Grimm to smile; not until that day he sat while I played that song for him. I sighed and glanced at the wicker chair again. The reason it was my favorite piece of furniture in the entire house was because that was the only place he had felt safe enough to sit. It put him within line of both sets of doors in case he needed to run, he had said.

  “Emily!” Daddy said happily as he entered the room.

  And I didn’t even get to play the entire song for him before you chased him away, I thought sadly as I got to my feet and walked over to him.

  “Hi Daddy,” I replied softly as we hugged each other. Mama entered the room a moment later with a big smile on her face.

  “Why didn’t tell us you were coming?” she asked, with a big smile and outstretched arms.

  “Hi Mama,” I said, letting her wrap me up in her arms for a tight hug. You didn’t stop him. You always followed him into rooms and you didn’t stop him from chasing away my friend, I thought pulling away from her.

  “Sit, sit, sit,” Daddy said, as he and Mama took their usual spots in the parlor. He sat in the huge leather chair by the fireplace and Mama sat in the maple colored rocking chair next to him. I went back to the piano bench and sat down, pulling one leg underneath myself, and wondered what to say. I hadn’t thought this far ahead yet.

  “How long has it been?” Mama asked me as she rested a hand on Daddy’s arm.

  “I don’t really know; maybe three or four years?” I replied, tilting my head to the left. “Four. It’s been four.”

  “And what brings you home?” Daddy asked curiously. “It’s not Mardi Gras, is it?”

  I rolled my eyes even though I didn’t mean to. I knew it was rude and disrespectful, but my parents were very religious and conservative and didn’t like the whole idea of Mardi Gras.

  “No Daddy,” I replied with a long suffering sigh. “I didn’t come to ‘indulge in the sin for twenty four hours and pray it away the next day.’” It was his favorite saying when it came to Mardi Gras, and I wanted him to make sure I hadn’t forgotten it.

  “I know you didn’t come just to see us, did you?” he asked curiously, glancing at Mama.

  “No Daddy,” I said softly.

  “So why are you here?” Mama pressed.

  At that point it was starting to feel like an interrogation instead of a small family reunion and I found myself wondering if I should have even bothered to stop in on them. But I wasn’t going to give up my reason to them for being here; not yet.

  “It better not be to see that boy,” Daddy warned in a stern voice.

  “He’s not a boy anymore, like I’m not a little girl! You can’t keep me from m
y friends, Daddy,” I shot back.

  Mama sighed loudly as Daddy got to his feet. I met her sigh as I stood up and went over to get my bag. Once Daddy stood up in anger, that meant any conversation he was having was over.

  “It was nice to see you,” he said, stepping out of the parlor and nodding toward the front door.

  I stopped in front of him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes and I felt a small sadness growing inside of me.

  “I love you, Daddy,” I said softly, before he turned on his heel and went back into the parlor.

  Two

  As soon as I told Daddy that I was looking for Grimm, he all but opened the door and shoved me out. I never really knew what he had against him or his family other than they were poor and we weren’t. It wasn’t fair and I hated that living a life of privilege was supposed to mean that everyone else was beneath me. I just never saw it like that.

  I was walking down the streets toward the markets, my bag rolling noisily behind me on the rubble, thinking some shopping therapy was needed. I would be able to buy some fresh fruits from the locals and help them feed their families that way. It would also give me a chance to ask questions about the Lower Ninth Quarter since I had no way of getting there. Parts of it were still sectioned off and no one was allowed to go there, but someone had to know something.

  When I heard the bustle and loud voices drifting toward me, I stopped walking and opened my bag to retrieve my wallet. I loved the markets in New Orleans, but the pickpockets were skilled and I had a fairly large amount of cash in it. Once I wrapped the strap firmly around my wrist, I zipped up my bag again and made my way toward the lively small area near the river. It was hotter there and the bugs were drifting toward everything from the river, but I was happily looking at the fresh fruits from the first stand I had wandered closest too.

  Mm. Pineapples, I thought, my stomach suddenly rumbling with hunger. The man that was behind the stand came over to me with a plastic bag. I asked him how much he was selling them for and he said they were two dollars each. I bought two and handed him a twenty dollar bill. He reached into his pocket to give me change, but one glance around his almost full stand and I waved it off.