Elita sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Legend said that to protect against the loup-garou, a person should lay thirteen small objects such as pennies or beans by your doors. The werewolf is not too bright and cannot count higher than twelve. When he comes to the thirteenth object, he gets so confused that he has to start over. The loup-garou will be there counting all night until the dawn when he must flee before the sun rises.
“Who thinks you need protection, Baby Girl?”
“Jax Boudreaux claims that the loup-garou is watching me?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why Jax thinks—”
“Why is the loup-garou stalking you?” Pearl didn’t’ try to hide her growing impatience.
“There is no such thing as a loup-garou, Mamaw. You know that.”
“Don’t tell me what I know and don’t know.”
She couldn’t tell if her grandma was worried or angry. Elita started to pick up the pennies.
Pearl grabbed her granddaughter’s arm. “Leave them be.”
Elita started to protest, to argue what was perfectly apparent to a young educated woman like herself—there were no such things as werewolves, shape-shifters, Santa Claus, or the loup-garou—but she stopped herself. Like deep-seated prejudices, long-held superstitions that have been rooted into a person for decades cannot be easily dismissed. As far as her grandmother was concerned, logic would not explain away generations of folklore.
After checking the front door and finding another line of thirteen pennies, Pearl handed the small jar of dirt back to Elita. “Put that in the gris-gris bag and keep it with you at all times.”
“Mamaw, you know how Jax is and I don’t believe in—”
“You don’t believe in much of nothin’ now that you’ve lived in the big city and got some fancy education. I know Jax Boudreaux and have known others with his misery. I also know God gives folks like Jax a special gift, a second sense. They can see things we can’t.” She stopped to make the sign of the cross. “Believe or don’t believe. That’s up to you. But wear that dime necklace and keep the bag with you because I told you to, Baby Girl.” Pearl cocked her left brow. “That’s a good enough reason, ain’t it?”
Elita slipped the cord around her neck. Such a small sacrifice to make for a grandmother she loved so much, especially when Mamaw seemed so disappointed in her at this moment.
Pearl headed into the house. “You’d better get ready for your company now. He’ll be here this afternoon.”
“Company? What company?”
“Didn’t I tell you that architect friend of yours called?”
“Keith called? When? He’s working in Italy.”
“Not any more. He called a few days ago to give us his condolences about Madeline. Said he’d thought the world of her and was sorry to hear she’d passed.” Pearl smoothed back a lock of white hair. “He sounds like a real nice fellow. Smart, respectful, and—”
“And not a Sutton. I get it, Mamaw, but why didn’t you tell me he called?”
“If you’d stay home sometimes instead of running off to party with those damn Suttons and getting yourself arrested, you might keep up with what’s happening around here.”
“What did you mean about him coming here this afternoon?”
“He said he’d like to see you, but he had to fly to San Antonio to check out a building his company was hired to remodel.” Pearl poured herself a cup of coffee. “He’s flyin’ home today, and I might have suggested he stop over for a visit.”
“Might have suggested?”
“He’ll be here in time for supper. I told him he could stay in one of your uncle’s cabins, so you’d best get one ready for company.”
Elita crossed her arms. “You should’ve asked me first.”
“What’s done is done. Make sure you give him plenty of towels, and don’t forget to keep that gris-gris bag with you.”
Elita stared at Pearl. Part of her wanted to defy her grandmother. For a moment, she seriously thought about picking up the gris-gris bag and throwing it into the trashcan to spite Pearl for interfering in her life. But just as Pearl could not throw off the chains of superstition when it came to the loup-garou, neither could Elita disregard the rule of respect for one’s elders, a rule ingrained in her since birth. For good or bad, both women were hostages of their pasts.
She snatched the gris-gris bag off the table, tucked the jar of dirt into the bag, and stomped across the front porch, letting the bang of the screen door signal her increasing frustration with everything and everyone, including herself.
* * *
The next morning, Elita listened intently as Keith described the new house he was planning on building. For three years he’d been trying to buy two acres of lakefront property located thirty minutes north of Chicago. The property owners had finally accepted his offer, and he’d brought the blueprints for his dream house with him to show Elita.
She sat across from him on one of the camp’s picnic tables and watched as he smoothed out the edges of the blueprint with great care. She had forgotten how gentle he could be, how excited he got when talking about a new design, and how appealing his slightly-crooked, but thoroughly charming smiles could be.
Keith had a naturally sunny disposition and always saw the possible instead of the improbable. Normally, when she was around him, she’d find her mind filled with happy possibilities too, but today she dreaded the prospect that he might ask her for more than just her opinions on room sizes and wall colors.
He pointed to a room on the blueprint. "I can't decide whether to make this a screened porch or a sun porch. What do you think, Elita? Which would you prefer?"
She shrugged. "A screened porch would cost less to build, but you could use a sun porch spring through fall.”
“I could use it in winter too if I heat it.” He leaned over the table and placed a quick peck on her forehead. “Thanks, a sun room it shall be. Now, what about this half-bath? Should I add a shower and move it closer to the garage entrance?”
“Why ask me?”
“I want a woman’s perspective.”
“Your mother and sister would be happy to give you their ideas.”
“No doubt, but I want your thoughts.” He took her hand. “What would you want in this house if you were living here?”
Elita pulled her hand away. "I told you last night I've been seeing Royce again."
"You also told me that you were going back to Chicago. I took that to mean you're breaking up with him."
“I’m going back to sell the house and finish college. I don't know what I'll do after that. Maybe I'll get a job there or maybe, I'll come home to Louisiana."
"So you still consider Louisiana your home?"
The muscles between her shoulder blades tightened. Keith had asked the one question she had avoided asking herself. This was the land of her birth, the land of her ancestors, and the land where those she loved most in the world still lived. So why didn't she feel that sense of belonging that she had felt while growing up on the banks of the Caddo?
Her first year in Chicago had been rough. She’d been moody and miserable waiting for Royce to visit and hoping her mother would realize they belonged back in the Caddo. But while he wrote letters and sometimes telephoned, Royce never came to visit. He never came to take her home, and her mother never spoke of moving back to the Caddo. Her disappointment and anger led her to rebel. She ignored teachers, refused to make friends, and challenged anyone who made fun of her accent, clothes, or heritage. If her mother saw how miserable Elita was, then surely Mama would move back home to the Caddo.
She got in trouble at school for fighting a girl who’d called her a dumb swamp bitch. After the principal suspended her for three days, Elita knew her mother would finally realize they needed to move back to the Caddo. But instead of having an epiphany about moving home, Madeline cried, and said that for the first time in her life, she was ashamed of her daughter. Her mother’s words burned like a hot knife
plunged into Elita's heart. After that day, Elita knew she wouldn’t be going home to the Caddo or to Royce.
Elita vowed to make her mother proud of her again. She became a model student and graduated high school with a solid A- average. After entering college, she was accepted into the pharmacy program at the University of Chicago. She made her mother proud of her again. Elita also opened her heart to friends and laughter and for a time, she opened her heart to Keith.
She felt a tug on her sleeve.
"Did you hear my question?"Keith asked. "Do you think of Louisiana as your home?”
"I don't know. I thought that if I spent some time here, I could find some answers to the questions that have haunted me for the last five years."
“What questions?”
Before she could answer, a car turned into the driveway and stopped about forty feet from them. The driver didn't it out.
"Nice car," Keith said.
"It's Royce's birthday gift from his mother." Elita took two steps toward the car. "Are you going to get out?”
He got out, walked over to the couple. “I’m Royce Sutton." The two men shook hands.
“I'm Keith Foster, a friend of Elita's from Chicago. She’s told me a lot about you.”
Royce glanced at Elita. “She told me a few things about you, too.”
“All good, I hope.”
“She said you were an architect, worked in Italy, and you asked her to marry you.”
“Guess that covers it.”
“Keith was in Texas looking over a remodeling job,” Elita said. “He stopped by on his way home to express his condolences about my mother’s death.”
“That’s usually done with cards or flowers, isn’t it?” Royce asked.
“I’m building a new house and I wanted to get Elita’s input on the layout.” Keith motioned for Royce to look at his blueprints. “I was thinking about putting a screened porch here, but Elita thinks a sun porch would be better, so I’m changing it.”
“Did she have any suggestions about the master bedroom?” Royce asked.
Keith laughed. “We haven’t got that far yet.”
Royce’s right hand balled into a fist. “She thinks I should paint my bedroom a sage green.”
Elita needed to take control before the conversation escalated into a war of words over which man knew her best. “Did you need something specifically, Royce, or are you just visiting?”
“I have a gift for you, but since you have company, I’ll come back later.” He turned to Keith. “When did you say you’d be leaving?”
“I didn’t say.” Keith rolled up his blueprints. “Elita, I promised that nice grandmother of yours, I’d show her my plans.”
Royce snickered. “I’ve never heard anyone describe Pearl as nice.”
“She’s nice to me,” Keith said, “but then, Pearl likes me.”
“Well, in this matter, I consider myself the lucky one. If she likes you then—”
“Stop it, dammit. Both of you. Stop it right now.” Elita pointed at the house. “Keith, please go show your plans to Mamaw. I need to talk to Royce.”
Keith nodded. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Royce. To finally be able to put a face with a name.”
“Right back at you, fellow.”
Elita waited until Keith and her grandmother went into the house. “What do you want, Royce? And did you have to be so damn rude?”
“Rude? I think rude is telling me you’re going back to Chicago and conveniently omitting the fact that you were going back with him.”
“I’m not going back with him.” She started to tell Royce that she hadn’t been the one to invite Keith to Devin’s Cove, but stopped. He’d been so tight-lipped about his past, refusing to tell her why he quit medical school. Why should she indulge his curiosity about her past or present relationship with Keith? She could be as stubborn as Royce anytime.
“What’s this gift you spoke of?” she asked.
“It’s in the car.” He went to the car, retrieved a piece of paper. “I’m going on a business trip tomorrow and wanted to give you this before I left.” He handed her the paper. “You deserve this for everything Mother put you through all these years.”
Elita read the document, a transfer of title form for the Mercedes. It’d been transferred from Dorothea to Royce. Now, he’d signed the title over to her.
“You just need to have your signature notarized and mail it to—”
“I don’t want your car.” She shoved the paper at him.
Royce refused to take the title back. “You said your car had been totaled in your mother’s accident. You’ll need a good car.”
“Even if I wanted it, I couldn’t afford repair bills for a Mercedes.”
“There’s a full factory warranty.” He took a booklet out of the glove compartment, offered it to her, but she refused it. “If you don’t like it, sell it and buy something else. I’m leaving tomorrow and before I go, I’m giving you this damn car.”
“Like hell you are.” Elita folded the form into a paper airplane and sailed it through the open car window. It landed on the passenger seat. Could I have done anything more childish?
Royce pointed at a blue Chrysler Imperial parked beside one of the cabins. “Did Keith offer to give you his car?”
“It’s his rental car. I’m able to buy my own car when I’m ready. I don’t need anything from the Suttons, especially Dorothea!” Her words sounded harsher than she’d intended. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, it’s just that—”
“”I understand perfectly.” Royce got in the Mercedes, started the engine. “Don’t worry, Miss Dupree, no Sutton will ever bother you again.” He spun out of the driveway before she could stop him.
Even after the dust kicked up by Royce’s speedy retreat settled, Elita didn’t move. She stood there, encapsulated by her stubborn pride and the gnawing chill of rising regret.
* * *
Elita eased back on the engine throttle to slow her uncle’s boat as she came around the east end of Duck Island. In spite of a full moon, she didn’t feel comfortable being out alone on Caddo Lake after midnight. But Royce was leaving and she didn’t know when he’d return. Tonight might be her last chance to see him before she left for Chicago.
She headed across open water toward Royce’s house on Buccaneer’s Branch. Elita looked at the inlet cove on Duck Island’s southern bank. Two large cabin cruisers anchored there. She swung the spotlight Uncle Matt recently installed toward the inlet. The boats cut their lights.
At first, Elita thought she’d interrupted someone’s night fishing, but then recalled why Duck Island and the cove had been special to her. Probably another couple using the island as a secret spot for their private trysts. The idea of other lovers using a place she’d always thought of as belonging only to her and Royce pricked her heart. She flipped off the spotlight, opened the throttle more and headed across the lake.
A couple hundred yards from her turnoff into Buccaneer’s Branch, Elita noticed lights out of her peripheral vision. She looked back. One of the large boats headed across the lake along her same path. Her spotlight must’ve scared the lovers into parting.
She didn’t give much thought to the boat behind her until it turned its spotlight on her. Elita glanced back. The light blinded her and she pushed open the throttle for maximum speed. Her scalp tingled and her pulse quickened as her boat rushed across the lake.
The larger boat closed the distance between them. She glanced back again. The cabin cruiser drew near enough for her to make out two figures. One person held something long and slender. A fishing rod? No, too short, but the right length for a rifle. I really pissed these people off. Elita tucked her elbows in, bent forward, and made her body as small a target as possible.
Her uncle’s boat could not outrun the superior craft. But then, it didn’t have to. All she had to do was make it to Buccaneer’s Branch. All she needed to do was make it to Royce. A few more yards and she saw a two-foot tall sign nailed to the
trunk of a large cypress tree. Thirteen orange reflectors arranged to form a capital E.
“Thank you, Royce!” she shouted above the engine noises as she slowed for her turn into Buccaneer’s Branch. Years earlier, on her second night trip to visit Royce, she’d missed the entrance due to a dense fog. When she didn’t arrive, Royce searched for Elita until he found her two miles away. He made the sign and nailed it to the tree the next day so she’d always know where to find him.
Royce’s neighbor’s house stood diagonally across the channel from his home. They had a doozy of a party going on. She maneuvered her boat next to their dock. No need to worry Royce, yet. The cruiser turned into the middle of the Branch, stopped, idled its engines. The two tall figures were definitely men. One kept his hands on the wheel, while his partner held the rifle.
Elita wondered if the men might’ve mistaken her for her uncle. She was driving Matt’s boat, wearing his slicker and cap. She pulled off the jacket and cap, shook out her hair.
A couple of the party guests shouted across the water. “Come help us celebrate.” The woman waggled a bottle in each hand. “We’ve got champagne!”
Elita waved at the couple as if they were best friends. “Why the celebration?”
“We sold our house!” the woman shouted.
The cruiser’s engine revved up. The strangers backed their boat out of Buccaneer’s Branch and headed across Caddo Lake at full speed.
Elita watched the cruiser disappear into the darkness, wondering if her pursuers left because they realized she wasn’t Matt, or if the swarm of partiers scared them away. What business would they have with her uncle this late at night? Images of the marijuana plants she’d found on Tadpole Island dogged her mind.
“Are you coming?” The party couple yelled in unison.
She pushed her boat away from their dock and pointed at Royce’s house. “Thanks anyway and congratulations.”
CHAPTER 18
Elita stood on Royce’s dock listening to the music blaring from the party house. Amplified by murky Caddo waters, the strains of Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising” boomed across the bayou. The verse warning against going out tonight, lest you lose your life repeated in her head. She rubbed the dime necklace and gazed at the full moon. Anxiety roiled her stomach as she pondered the wisdom of her surprise visit. There was still time to head back to Devin’s Cove, but the thought of running into the guys on the cruiser worried her. Besides, she couldn’t leave until she knew Royce was okay, until she knew they were okay.
Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy Page 19