Elita mulled over Virginia’s reference to the Sutton family. Royce’s father had relentlessly pushed him to be the future leader of the family oil business instead of being a doctor. Had Virginia experienced a similar fate while growing up? What had her father forced her to give up? Matt, maybe? How much had Royce known and kept hidden from her? Her memories and assumptions about her childhood began to collide and crumble like rain-soaked clay altars.
“When did you and Darwin get divorced?”
“We went to Mexico last March and got a quick divorce. That’s why I didn’t come to your mother’s funeral.”
“Did anyone besides Uncle Matt know?”
“Susan had known for months that Darwin and I planned to divorce. I told Royce and Cliff, but ask them to keep it a secret. At the time, we didn’t feel it was anyone else’s business except for . . . .”
“Except for who? Dorothea?”
Virginia rubbed her finger across her bottom lip. “Matt told your grandmother.”
Elita’s eyes widened. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table, and covered her face with her hands. She felt a flash of anger, followed by a gnaw of betrayal. The three people she loved most in the world had once again kept her in the dark. She wanted to scream or cry, but she did neither because somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew Virginia was right. It wasn’t Elita’s business. Anger and disappointment gave way to a wearied numbness. Secrets. She was so damn tired of secrets.
She looked up at Virginia. “Do Royce and Cliff know Susan is a Dupree?”
“Cliff doesn’t, but Royce has known for awhile.”
“How long is ‘awhile?’”
Virginia grabbed the back of the dining room chair. Her eyes blinked rapidly, but she remained silent.
Elita picked up the glasses, took them over to the sink and washed them.
“I know in high school, you and Royce were very close—”
“We were more than close,” Elita interrupted. “We loved each other. If he’d known she was my cousin back then, Royce would’ve told me. We told each other everything . . . then.”
Virginia motioned to the chair across from hers. “Let’s sit down.”
Experience had taught Elita that asking someone to sit down before you told them something meant bad news. Sheriff Glover had asked her and Madeline to sit before telling them he’d found Yancy drowned in Caddo Lake. The emergency room doctor had insisted she be seated before he explained that her mother had died in a car accident. What fool came up with this idea of having to be seated? Elita wondered. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen cabinet. “I’m fine where I am.”
“Royce was eleven when he overheard me and Matt discussing our daughter. He didn’t know you then.” Virginia fidgeted with the waist button of her turquoise fitted blazer. “He was confused by what he heard. We had no choice but to tell him the truth about our relationship and Susan’s paternity and trust he’d keep our secret.”
Elita’s arms fell slack by her side. “He’s known about Susan for years and never told me?”
“We explained how lives, especially Susan’s, would be devastated. It was an enormous burden to put on a child, but Royce had always been a serious and thoughtful young man.”
“Mama used to say ‘Royce was born grown’ because he seldom did anything on impulse. I used to tease him about it, and he’d say I was spontaneous enough for both of us.”
“And he was right,” Virginia said. “You could be a stubborn, impetuous child.”
Elita’s stomach clenched, resulting in a small gasp. Her immediate thoughts scrambled with memories of her younger self. She’d always admired Royce’s aunt, and now to hear that Virginia thought of her as a mulish, reckless little girl stunned her.
“You didn’t know me well enough to make that accusation.” Elita’s words came out harsher than she’d intended, sounding more like a dare than a reply.
Virginia pulled out the dining room chair and sat. “Personally, you’re right, but I knew you through discussing the situation with Matt and your parents.”
“My parents knew Uncle Matt was Susan’s real father? How?”
“Your mother introduced me to Matt. He and Yancy were best friends as well as brothers. We had to tell them.”
Elita’s legs trembled. She slipped into the chair opposite Virginia. “So even my parents didn’t trust me?” The words sounded foreign to her ears. They were a lie. Love and trust—the two cornerstones in her relationship with her parents. Their love? No, she couldn’t doubt their love even now. Their trust? Had it all been a delusion on her part? How could they have questioned her fidelity when she’d always trusted them without question?
An unwelcomed thought niggled its way into the light of her consciousness. Hadn’t she wondered for five years whether her father had committed suicide or drowned? How many Chicago nights had she spent crying into her pillow, beating the mattress with her fist as her mind railed against what it perceived as her father’s deliberate abandonment of his wife and daughter? Her family and Royce had lost their trust in her at times, but she couldn’t point her finger at them. No, not when she’d doubted her father’s strength, her uncle’s integrity, and Royce’s courage.
Was trust only a word meant to soothe anxieties and shore-up relationships with a false security until it was tested and found lacking? Was it an illusion? If so, was true love an illusion also?
Elita placed her elbows on the kitchen table, wrapped her hands around her head and massaged it in an effort to stop the tangled thoughts and emotions sparking her mind like an overloaded electric circuit box.
Virginia touched her arm. “Are you alright?”
Elita stood, but said nothing. She stared at the woman across from her, the woman whose confessions pulled at the threads that made up the tapestry of Elita’s life. Her self-confidence, her self-identity rested in large measure on both her treasured childhood memories and her faith in her family and Royce. Undermining her belief in these two foundational pillars made her feel like two legs of the three legged stool that represented her existence had been ripped from beneath her. The only leg left to stand on was determination and stubbornness, that mulish streak in her that seemed to delight no one except her grandma, and usually made her pick fight over flight. But it’s hard to stand your ground when it’s crumbling beneath you.
“Are you okay?” Virginia asked. “You look pale. Do you need a glass of water?”
“What I need is . . . I need to . . . to get the clothes off the line before it rains.”
“There’s not a cloud in the sky, Elita. We need to finish our discussion.”
Her chest tightened at the thought of more talk. “Summer storms come on fast in the Caddo.” Elita hurried toward the back porch. She needed air and lots of it.
CHAPTER 23
Elita removed the sheet from the clothesline, folded it, and placed it in the wicker basket with the mindless efficiency of a robot from the mid-60’s science fiction TV series, Lost in Space. She felt lost. Not in space, but in her mind, her memories, and in the confidence she’d always had in the people she loved. Truths she’d never questioned as a child were being reviewed through the logical prism of the educated young woman she’d become. The black or white certainties of her youth now blended into various shades of gray doubts.
Intellectually, she knew why her parents and Royce hadn’t told her about Susan being her cousin. They’d made a solemn promise not to tell anyone, and Elita would not have respected them if they’d broken their word. But logic couldn’t push out the trace of betrayal that lingered in her heart. As a child, she’d thought of herself as being tenacious and spontaneous. Could others have interpreted her actions as stubbornness and impulsiveness? A small moan escaped her lips as her mind answered. Yes!
Elita pulled a towel from the line and folded it in half. It slipped from her fingers into the dry dirt as a flood of puzzling memories cascaded over her, swamping her, drowning her in their revis
ions.
Mamaw often referred to the Suttons as thieves. Elita thought it was because of the oil. The first over-water drilling for oil in America occurred on Caddo Lake around 1911. Soon after, Royce’s grandfather started Sutton Oil by building drilling platforms on the lake to suck out the oil beneath the Caddo. Drilling brought explosions and oil spills, which killed men, marine and wildlife, and greatly impacted families who depended on the Caddo for food and their livelihood. She’d always thought her grandmother called the Suttons thieves because they took the oil and damaged the Caddo. But, she realized, she’d been wrong about that too.
The Suttons had stolen a Dupree girl child, thus denying Uncle Matt access to his daughter and depriving Mamaw contact with her granddaughter. Elita rubbed her throbbing temple. What gut-wrenching pain Mamaw, her parents, and Matt must have felt being unable to acknowledge Susan as a grandchild, niece, and daughter. In the Dupree clan, family was everything. Family came first. She imagined the fun times and silly girl talks she and Susan could’ve had while growing up.
She and Royce shared a cousin. Elita wondered if the bond between them would’ve been stronger had she known. Perhaps, she and Royce wouldn’t have lost contact after she moved to Chicago because of this blood tie. If Royce and her family had trusted her enough to tell her the truth about Susan, how would she have reacted? Could she have kept their secret?
Elita reluctantly admitted she’d had a tendency to view things as black or white, good or evil, true or false in her younger days. Looking back now, she silently admitted her limited world experience and naiveté about life outside the Caddo had nurtured her confidence and pride in her self-reliance. Her father had dubbed her his warrior girl. Back then, she’d believed she had to live up to that title. She’d wanted to right every wrong, champion every underdog, uncover every truth. No gray area existed in her teen world. The void between her perception of her world and the reality, prudence, and constraints of society was filled by Royce.
He’d been the one who talked her off the ledge when her quests for adventure became too dangerous. When she wanted to rip into his parents for lambasting his dream of being a doctor, he’d advised patience. Royce had been her anchor, the person who understood her. But he hadn’t told her the secret of Susan. Was it because he’d given his word? Maybe Royce hadn’t trusted her to keep an important secret or perhaps, he’d wanted to protect her from the agony of an injustice even a Caddo warrior girl couldn’t make right. It was his job to protect her, and sometimes that meant protecting her from herself.
Elita blinked back tears and picked up the towel. She folded it and placed it in the basket. Turning back to the clothesline, she found herself staring at the barrel chest of a man. Elita staggered backwards, tripping over the wicker basket.
The man grabbed her.
“Let go of me,” she yelled.
The man immediately released his hold on her and stepped back. “Didn’t want ya to fall down, Girl. Didn’t mean to hurt ya.”
Grabbing the clothesline pole for support, Elita waited for her breathing and racing heart to slow. “You didn’t, but you scared me half to death.”
“Didn’t mean to.” Jax Boudreaux kicked the remnants of a dried crawfish chimney with the toe of his worn leather boot.
“I know.” She patted his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. “Just make some noise when you’re approaching someone. Whistle, sing, or call out.”
“Can’t do that. Gotta be quiet in the Caddo. Quiet as a turtle.” He shook his head, kicked the dirt. “Can’t whistle, can’t sing. Jax has to be quiet so he can hear. Jax has to be quiet.”
His sudden foray into talking about himself in the third person startled her. Elita reached for his hand, but he snatched it away.
His eyes roved the shoreline and woods around Devin’s Cove. He flexed his fingers, curling and uncurling them.
A noted psychiatrist once showed Elita’s class a film on various medications used to treat anxiety disorders. One patient in the film sometimes referred to herself in the third person as Jax had done. The doctor explained it was the girl’s way of dealing with stressful situations.
Why would her simple suggestion about making noise cause Jax to be so anxious? Feeling her own rising concern, Elita glanced at the back porch hoping to see either Mamaw or Virginia, but she was on her own. Her eyes followed Jax’s as they both scanned the banks and woods. Nothing seemed out of place to her, but his knitted brows and clenched jaw indicated he didn’t share her conclusion.
“Why do you have to be quiet in the Caddo, Jax?”
“When I’m quiet, the Caddo talks to me. She tells me things if’n I listen.”
“What does she tell you?”
“Things. She tells me about things that are upsettin’ her.” He gave the crawfish chimney a final kick. “The Caddo don’t like the way some folks are mistreatin’ her.”
“How are they mistreating her?”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you mean the fishermen? The hunters? Are oilmen hurting her because they’re taking the oil from her bed?”
Jax tilted his head to one side. “The Caddo ain’t happy about that, but it’s gone on long enough that she’s used to it.”
“Has someone new upset her?”
He nodded.
“Who is disturbing the Caddo?”
Jax feverishly scanned the woods and banks again. He rubbed his arms as if a cold wind encircled him.
Jax’s nervous, paranoid behavior had become somewhat familiar to Elita over the past few months. But she sensed he was experiencing something more today. A fear she’d never seen before flickered in his eyes. Then she noticed something was missing. “Where’s your shotgun, Jax?”
“The loup-garou took it.”
She scratched her head. Not the loup-garou story again. “Did you leave a box for me with a gris-gris bag and a dime necklace in it?”
He shrugged.
“Did the bottle of graveyard dirt come from my mother’s grave?”
“She wer a good woman. She helped folks.”
“Yes she did, but why do you think I need her help now?”
Jax looked at the ground and muttered, “She wer a good woman.”
Elita closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, hoping it would dispel her frustration with Jax. He wanted to protect her in his own sweet way. But from what? Some real or imaginary danger? Maybe he’d calm down if she showed him that she was wearing the dime protection necklace. Elita pulled it from beneath her blouse and showed it to him. “Did you make this protection necklace for me?”
He smiled. “Where’s the gris gris bag?”
“The bag, the bottle of dirt and the rest is in the bottom drawer of my nightstand.”
His eyes widened. “Keep it with ya always. It’s more powerful that way.”
“Why did you come here today, Jax?”
“Do ya believe the Caddo talks to me?”
“If the Caddo talks to anyone, I bet it’s you.” She hoped that would satisfy him.
He leaned forward, eyebrows knitted together, his face as somber as a mortician’s frown. “The Caddo wants ya to go away.”
“Go away? I thought the Caddo was mad at me for leaving the first time. Now she wants me to ‘go away?’” Elita slipped the necklace back beneath her blouse. “This Caddo of yours doesn’t know what she wants.”
“You have to go away, Elita. Now! The Caddo told me so.”
“Why, Jax? Tell me why you and the Caddo want me to leave so badly.”
He stared at her a moment. “Just trust me and git out of here.”
“You have to tell me, Jax. Why do you want me to go away?”
“Yer ma, she wer a good woman. Gave me iced tea and four peach fried pies once. Peach is my favorite.”
“I know. You’ve told me that several times.”
“And I done told ya the loup-garou is watchin’ ya closer now. Yer ma wouldn’t want ya to stay and get took by the loup-garou. I’m tryin’ to hel
p, but ya don’t listen.”
Elita rubbed her hands across her face in an effort to hide her conflicting emotions from her would-be savior. The story of the loup-garou hunting her was getting old, but Jax believed it and there was no convincing him otherwise. He was genuinely worried about her. She thought it sweet. Totally unnecessary, but sweet.
“Since everyone wants me to leave, I’d better pack my bags. Tell the Caddo I’ll be going back to Chicago soon.”
Jax smiled.
The back screen door slammed. Elita turned expecting to see her grandmother, but Virginia walked out onto the back porch.
“Thought you went home,” Elita called.
“We didn’t finish our talk.” Virginia descended the steps and walked toward her.
She turned to explain to Jax that Virginia wouldn’t hurt him, but it was too late. He was halfway to the safety of the woods.
Elita gritted her teeth. How much worse could this day get? First, painful revelations made her reexamine her childhood memories and relationships. Then Jax tells her to leave before the loup-garou kidnaps her. And now, Virginia wants to finish their talk. Elita envied Jax’s ability to run away from everything. Chicago was looking better by the minute.
CHAPTER 24
Elita placed the basket of folded laundry on the picnic table and sat on the bench opposite Virginia. “I thought you’d left.”
“I borrowed your phone to make some calls. Some were long distance, but I’ll pay the charges.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Of course it is,” Virginia said. “A couple of them were Sutton Oil business calls, and I called the hospital in Shreveport, too.”
Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy Page 24