Yancy stood over his wife, tears streaming down his face. She reached up and he placed her baby in her arms for what would be the last time. Madeleine bent over her son’s still form, wrapping her arms around him as if trying to shield him from everything and everyone. A mournful cry came from deep inside of her, a cry that made Elita tremble and the dogs whine.
Elita waited for her father to say the words that would undo what her eyes were seeing. Her daddy had a special knack for explaining things. He always knew exactly what to say to ease her pain or make sense out of the worst folly. But he didn’t speak. He looked at Elita, and she let loose a cry of her own because her daddy’s eyes were as dead as Ricky’s.
Two months later, when the sheriff informed the family that her father had drowned in Moccasin Bayou, Elita knew it wasn’t true. For all intents and purposes, Yancy Dupree died in Devin’s Cove on May 18, 1965, the day Ricky-Tick fell from that damn tree. To Elita, it seemed like everyone in her family died some that day.
Mamaw Pearl stopped rocking, grabbed her hickory cane, and eased her five-foot-two frame out of the chair with a grace that belied her seventy years. “I’m gonna have a glass of milk and cornbread and then lie down for a spell.”
“Do you think Uncle Matt would mind if I borrowed his car?” Elita asked.
“Didn’t he say you could use it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then why are you askin’?” Pearl brushed back a wisp of white hair and headed inside.
“Just wanted to be sure.” Elita joined her grandmother in the kitchen.
“This isn’t the city, Baby Girl. Here, we say what we mean and mean what we say.”
Elita crumbled a piece of cornbread left over from their noon meal into a tall jelly glass. “Do you want buttermilk or whole milk?”
“Sweet milk of course.” Pearl sat down at the pine trestle table built by Elita’s grandfather as his wedding present for his young bride. “Since when did you start callin’ it whole milk?”
“They call it whole milk in Chicago.” She filled the glass with sweet milk and set it and a spoon in front of her grandmother.
“Well, you’re not in Chicago now.” Pearl took a bite, wiped her mouth with the handkerchief she kept in the pocket of her cotton dress. “Where’re you runnin’ off to?”
“I’ve got a hankering for a malt. You want me to bring you one?”
Mamaw cleared her throat. “You’ve got a hankering to see Royce Sutton. It’s been a week and he hasn’t even called. That should tell you something.” She jabbed at the cornbread until it was totally saturated with milk. “You don’t want to go running after that boy.”
“I didn’t say anything about going by the Sutton’s house.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’ve got a souvenir spoon for Nettie. She collects them.” Nettie had been the Sutton’s cook and housekeeper for over four decades. “I thought I’d drop it off on my way into town.”
“After all these years, you still have the fever for that Sutton boy. Won’t you ever learn? Those aren’t our kind of people.” Over the top of her glasses, Pearl glared at her granddaughter.
“Dorothea Sutton believes bayou folk ain’t worth the dirt on the bottom of her fancy shoes. Money, power, and social standin’ are the only qualities she admires.” Pearl leaned back in her chair. “She hates you most because you encouraged her eldest boy to be a doctor, instead of taking over the oil company his grandpa started sixty years ago.”
“I just want to check on an old friend. Royce isn’t a snob like his momma.”
“He’s not the same boy you remember, Baby Girl. If he was, he’d have called or at least sent you a sympathy card.”
Elita didn’t answer. Her grandmother had made a good point.
Pearl finished her snack, rinsed out her glass, and plucked Matt’s car keys out of the carnival-glass candy dish sitting on the sideboard. “We both know you won’t be satisfied until you set eyes on him for yourself, so go.” She tossed Elita the keys.
“I won’t be gone long,” she said, trying to control the eagerness in her voice.
Pearl headed for her bedroom. “If I had a nickel for every time you made that promise and broke it, I’d be as rich as Dorothea Sutton.”
* * *
Elita drove past Sutton Manor three times before stopping. Even then, she parked across the street instead of pulling into the driveway of the two-story red brick colonial with white columned posts. She started up the walk to the front porch, but stopped halfway. No cars lined the driveway, but they could be in the garage, she reasoned. What if Dorothea answered the door?
Her mouth went dry, and she debated the merits of getting that malt instead of paying a surprise visit to Sutton Manor. But Elita Pearl Dupree had never been one to tuck tail and run. She went around back and knocked on the kitchen door.
Nettie opened the door; her face broke into a wide smile. She pulled Elita into her skinny arms. “Let me get a good look at ya,” Nettie took a couple of steps back. “Good gracious, child, you done growed up and blossomed into a woman as pretty as Miss Madeline.” She motioned for Elita to sit down. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard she’d passed.”
Despite being a wonderful cook and the mother of seven children, Nettie was a small woman—barely five feet tall, 115 pounds at most, with skin the color of light brown sugar. Her hair had more gray in it now than it did black. She’d married at fourteen and had gone to work for Royce’s grandmother that same year, 1928.
“I saw you and your husband at the cemetery, Nettie, but I didn’t get a chance to speak to you. I thought you'd come by Mamaw Pearl’s afterwards.”
“My Alvin figured you had enough bodies buzzing around. You didn’t need two more.”
“Thank you for the chicken and dumplings.”
She smiled. “I made them special for you. I remembered they were your favorite.”
“I figured as much.” Elita pushed a small gift bag across the table. “This is for you.”
Nettie opened the sack, pulled out the spoon, inspected it. “You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble on my account.”
“It wasn’t any trouble. You still collect spoons, don’t you?”
“Sure do. What kind of bird is this on the handle?”
“It’s a cardinal, the state bird of Illinois.”
“My Alvin made me a new spoon rack.” Nettie slipped the spoon into the pocket of her pale blue uniform. “I know just where I’ll put this.”
“When did you start wearing a uniform, Nettie?”
“Miss Dorothea came up with the idea about three years ago. I guess she didn’t want her guests thinking I was a member of the family.”
They laughed, as they had so many times in the past at Dorothea’s schemes to set herself and her family above everyone else in Caddo Parish.
Nettie set a bowl of fresh-made dirty rice in front of Elita. “So tell me about yourself. How’s life in the big city?”
Between bites, Elita gave Nettie a brief rundown. “Mama worked for a dentist until her death. I take classes at the university and work as a lab tech at the hospital pharmacy on weekends.”
“I’m happy to hear you’re going on with your schoolin’. What’cha studyin’ to be?”
“A pharmacist.”
Nettie fisted one hand on her slender hip. “I ain’t ever met a lady pharmacist before.”
Elita smiled. “I’ve still have a year to go.”
“What about a beau? A girl as pretty as you must have a fellow.”
“I dated an architect for a year, but we broke up a few months ago.”
Nettie poured cornbread batter into a cast iron skillet. “Things like that happen sometimes. Just look at Mr. Royce.”
Elita sat up straight. “What about Royce? He wrote that he planned to marry some Senator’s daughter. I heard later that the wedding was cancelled. What happened?”
Nettie opened the oven, pushed the skillet inside. “The young lady called th
e wedding off and ran off to Egypt with her professor. Something about digging up old bones. Didn’t Mr. Royce tell you?”
“I figured his future wife wouldn’t appreciate my writing to her fiancé, so I stopped.” Elita rose and walked over to the sink. “How did Royce take his wedding being cancelled?”
“He took it a lot better than Miss Dorothea did.”
“I bet. A Senator’s daughter sounds like the kind of girl Dorothea would pick for him.” She washed the bowl, placed it in the dish rack to dry. “I thought he’d come to Mama’s funeral. Cliff came, but I haven’t seen or heard from Royce.”
“He’s been on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico for the past two weeks. He flew back to Lake Charles last night and called home this morning. I told him about Miss Madeline’s passing. He was sick at heart about it and mad because his mother didn’t phone him about the funeral.”
“Dorothea Sutton would sleep on a bed of nails before she’d tell him I’m back.”
“He’ll be home this evening.” Nettie smiled. “Wait until he gets a look at you.”
Elita blushed. “Mamaw Pearl said he’s changed. He must have if he agreed to work for Sutton Oil.”
“He ain’t been the same man since he came back from Vietnam.”
“Vietnam?” Elita’s pulse quickened. “No one told me. When did this happen?”
Cliff Sutton eased into the room, leaned against the doorframe. “He joined the Army after he dropped out of medical school. Big brother came back a hero. A genuine hero with medals and everything.”
“Medals?” A rush of dread zoomed through her. “Royce is okay, isn’t he?”
“Relax, Elita,” Cliff said. “You know we Suttons never let anyone get the best of us.”
She sighed with relief and silently ordered her racing heart to slow.
Holding out open arms, Cliff sauntered over to the table. “Don’t I get a hug?”
Elita wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. He squeezed her a little too tight. “You can let go now, Cliff.”
“Don’t want to.”
“Clifford Wayne Sutton, you let go of Miss Elita this minute and mind your manners.” Nettie popped him on the rear end with her dishtowel.
He let go instantly. “Damn, that hurt.”
“Don’t you cuss in my kitchen or I’ll get you again.”
Cliff slid his arm around her shoulders. “Why are you being mean to me, Nettie? You know you’re my best girl.”
She chuckled, pushed him away. “Don’t try to work your charms on me today, young man.”
Charming was the right word to describe Cliff Sutton. With his dark blond hair and midnight blue eyes, he’d enticed many gals from Caddo Parish and neighboring Texas counties into the back seat of his car. He liked a good time and never took anything too seriously—the exact opposite of Royce. Separated in age by only a year, the two brothers had little in common except for their good looks, last name, and a mutual disdain for their father.
“Why did he join the Army?” Elita asked. “What happened in Vietnam that changed him?”
“Who knows? Royce won’t talk about it. Walks out of the room whenever the news comes on.” Cliff opened the icebox, took out a jug of orange juice. “Maybe he’ll talk to you, Elita. As I recall, you two were real close.”
Subtlety had never been one of Cliff’s attributes. Royce and Elita had shared an intimate relationship before she’d moved to Chicago. Cliff had caught them together once at the Sutton’s lake house. Luckily, Royce knew of several incidents involving his younger brother, incidents Cliff desperately wanted to keep from his parents. In the end, they all agreed to mind their own business and keep their mouths shut.
Cliff started to drink out of the carton, but Nettie slapped his arm and handed him a glass. “Mr. Royce is entitled to his privacy. He’ll talk when he’s ready.”
“Is Matt home?” Cliff asked. “I’m supposed to entertain three fellows from our Houston office. They want to go fishing in the morning.”
“Uncle Matt and Luther Boudreaux are gone to a fishing tournament at Toledo Bend Dam. He’ll be back late tonight, so I doubt he’ll want to spend tomorrow with a group of Texas businessmen.”
“How about you?” he asked. “You still know your way around the lake, don’t you?”
Nettie checked her cornbread. “She hasn’t been out in the Caddo for years. You can’t expect her to remember that tangle of bayous and sloughs.”
“I hope I remember,” Elita said. “I’m going to Moccasin Bayou this afternoon.”
“You’re not going out there by yourself, are you?” Nettie asked. “Not this late in the day.”
“I’ve gone out in the Caddo alone hundreds of times before.”
“Nettie’s right,” Cliff said. “It’s too dangerous for you to go out by yourself the first time after being gone so long. Why don’t you come with me? I’m going to take the guys from Houston to see the sights of Shreveport tonight.”
“You mean you’re going to take them to the bars and honky-tonks,” Nettie said. “Miss Elita don’t want no part of that mess.”
Cliff laughed. “The girl I remember was game for most anything.”
Nettie shot him a warning glance. “Mind your manners, young man.”
“Your friends won’t feel like fishing tomorrow if they party all night,” Elita said.
He shrugged. “They can go fishing the next time they visit. I don’t like to use any guide except your uncle.”
Now it was Elita’s turn to laugh. “You’re not still afraid of the Caddo are you?”
“I’m particular about who I go into those bayous with. It’s too easy to get turned around.”
Elita stood “Speaking of bayous, I’d best be going.”
“I have a bad feeling about you going out there alone, child. Mr. Royce will be home soon. Wait for him.”
“Listen to Nettie,” Cliff said with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “There have been a lot of strangers passing through here lately. Hippies mostly, camping at the lake, protesting the war, giving that stupid peace sign to everyone.” He finished his juice and set his glass in the sink. “Wait for Royce. I’m sure he’d be happy to take you. The two of you alone on our cabin cruiser, anchored in some backwater bayou. It’d be just like old times.”
Elita grinned. “If this was like old times, Cliff Sutton, I’d be knocking that silly smirk off your face by now.”
He raised both hands in mock defeat. “Say no more. I’m out of here.” He kissed Nettie on her forehead and blew Elita a kiss as he left.
Elita gave Nettie a goodbye hug. “It was good seeing you again.”
“I’ll tell Mr. Royce you want him to take you to Moccasin Bayou when he can.”
“Don’t tell him that. Just say I stopped by to give you a spoon for your collection.”
Nettie frowned, “Are you sure that’s all you want him to know?”
“That’s enough,” Elita called as she closed the door behind her.
It’d been over four years since she’d talked to Royce, but if he wanted to see her half as bad as she wanted to see him, he’d track her down.
CHAPTER 2
Nettie was right about it being late in the day to head for Moccasin Bayou. Even so, Elita went. To save time, she cut through Rat Snake Slough. The brush on both sides proved to be denser than she’d remembered. But was Elita Pearl Dupree going to let a thicket worthy of Brer Rabbit stop her? Once she got it in her head to do something, she couldn’t concentrate on anything else until she completed the task. Her late father claimed Elita inherited her mulish behavior from his mother. Mamaw Pearl would deny it to high heavens, all the while grinning as if she’d won a blue ribbon at the county fair.
Elita whacked at the overgrowth with the pirogue’s paddle. Uncle Matt had taken his larger aluminum boat with motor to the fishing tournament at the new Toledo Bend Reservoir. That left her with her Grandpa John’s pirogue, a Cajun canoe, to use. She didn’t mind, except the cypress pi
rogue had paddles instead of a motor to push it along.
She rowed the pirogue deeper into the slough. A limb brushed her face. Just because there was water here, it didn’t mean the dang bog was navigable. Elita backed out of Rat Snake Slough and headed across open water to a slip of land she hoped was Tadpole Island.
After paddling the pirogue into the shallows, Elita jumped out, secured her ride, and headed toward a large clearing. She found a worn tree stump to sit on while studying her homemade map and tried to reassure herself that she wasn’t lost. Maybe it had been five years since she’d been here, but she’d spent her first seventeen years on the Caddo. Mathematical probability was in her favor.
“What’cha doin’ here, Girl?”
Her insides froze. She rose slowly, bringing her gaze to rest on a stringy-haired stranger standing fifteen feet away at the edge of the clearing.
He stood about six feet two, roughly eight inches taller than Elita. A barrel chest, thick waist, and wide hips rested on tapering legs that looked like they should snap in two under the weight of the body they supported. The stranger’s arms appeared too short for the rest of him, as if God had made them for someone else, but stuck them on this fellow at the last minute. No chin to speak of, his woolly dark eyebrows combined to crawl across his forehead. The man’s hands were massive, or at least they looked that way to Elita. That could’ve been because of the shotgun they caressed.
His navy blue tee shirt and rolled-up jeans were stained, but not dirty. An oval white patch containing a silhouette of a dog decorated his black cap. His clean-shaven, round face served as a pale canvas to black eyes that turned down at the corners.
“Why you messin’ around here?” he asked again.
“I was headed for Moccasin Bayou, but took a wrong turn someplace.”
He eyed her up and down before resting the shotgun in his left arm like a mother cradling her child. “Sorry about ya ma.” He shifted the shotgun to his other arm. “How’d she die?”
“A car accident.” Elita took two steps toward the man. “Jax Boudreaux, is that you?”
Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy Page 2