by Tina DeSalvo
“I don’t know. There aren’t very many years’ difference between the two women. If one of those little girls is Martine, then it is definitely not the first wife. She died during childbirth.” Jewell got up again, opened the drawer to her small desk, and took out the original Bienvenu family bible. She opened the page to the family tree and handed it to Beau. She zoomed out to see the full painting. “I think François and his brother look to be in their seventies. They're older men here. Grandfathers.”
“Both men have gray hair, wrinkles.” Beau pointed to the group of people standing off in the background behind Emile. “Do you think those are Emile’s children and grandchildren?”
Jewell counted heads. “If you count the ones in silhouette in the background near the table on his side, there are fifteen people, not counting the servants putting food on the table.” Beau turned a few pages until he found Emile’s family tree. “He had nine children. I think that number is probably too low, considering they would’ve been adults with children of their own.”
“Maybe that was all who could show up for the painting that day.”
Beau looked at her and nodded. “We can’t correlate Martine’s age based on the others in the painting, especially since they are all in silhouette.”
“What I feel comfortable concluding is that the two little girls in the photo are both wearing identical dresses with the initial M on them. And they’re holding hands with a young woman. Last, if they have been painted to correlate with their true ages and sizes, I conclude that the girls are the same size and age. I’d guess around two or a little older if they are petite.”
Beau pointed to the bible entry for Aguste François. “François, Martine’s grandfather, died just before she turned four.” He lifted her hand and began to play with her fingers. “Who is that other little girl in the painting?”
Jewell looked at him. Was he starting to think that Martine was Mimi’s Twinnie? If she was, how were they related? Sisters, friends, cousins? And was Beau prepared to believe it?
“We need to get the midwife’s birth book, Beau,” Jewell said, closing her computer. “That could hold the answer to the mystery of who that other little girl in the painting is.”
He nodded twice. “Tomorrow, if we’re lucky, the traiteur will have it for us to examine.”
She glanced at the computer monitor and sucked in a breath. “Mon Dieu.”
He leaned in over her shoulder, his breath whispering over her hair. “What is it, chère?”
“I hadn’t noticed it earlier, Beau. I was so focused on the people in the painting, I didn’t really look at the plantation.” She looked at him. “Do you see it?”
He shook his head. “No. what?”
“The cistern. There’s a cistern near the house. Here.” She pointed to what looked like a cypress cistern off to the side of the plantation. “Remember when we first came to Sugar Mill, Mimi asked you what you did with her cistern. Here it is.”
“Yes, indeed. It sure as hell is there.”
It took Jewell and Beau thirty-five minutes to ride down the bayou Thursday morning to get to the traiteur’s home to continue their investigation on Twinnie. During their drive, she reflected on how in the short time they had known each other, Beau had learned much of her intimate feelings. He’d seen her in her most vulnerable time with her grand-mère in the quiet darkness of the night as she held her. He’d seen her heartfelt tears as she cried with the ache and fears of losing Mimi. It was uncomfortable to have someone know that much about her personally when she’d guarded it her entire life. Yet, there was also a feeling of peace and safety having Beau know about it, too.
She tucked away her thoughts and after a steep climb up sturdy treated lumber stairs, they were finally inside the beige trailer on stilts located along the bayou’s edge. Eleanor and Teal graciously offered them a steaming cup of fresh-brewed coffee as they sat comfortably at the table in the pleasant smelling kitchen where Teal was mixing a batch of her signature fleur-de-lis embossed lavender soap.
“I understand your family treated six generations of Bienvenus,” Jewell asked, excited to interview Eleanor.
“Our family is very proud to have worked for Beau’s family,” Teal said, with a flirtatious grin. She was in her late twenties and didn’t hide her interest in Cane’s most eligible bachelor. In fact, Jewell had seen her unbutton the top three buttons on her blouse when they had arrived. She’d bet the observant attorney had noticed it too.
Jewell ignored the tossing of her long dark hair and come-hither looks as she explained to the ladies what she was looking for. She didn’t say why.
“Nothing was written down or recorded until almost 1930,” Teal said, speaking for her frail aunt, as she poured the floral but sophisticated scented liquid into the soap molds.
Jewell glanced at Eleanor, who she ascertained must have been hard of hearing based on the volume of the introductions when they arrived. Eleanor also appeared to be very sleepy. She seemed to nod in and out of sleep from her rocking chair near the table. Or, she pretended to. When she was awake, her black eyes darted between Jewell, Beau and her pretty niece.
“All information, potions and traditions have been passed down orally, right, Auntie?” Eleanor didn’t respond with a gesture or word. Teal continued. “Healers in our family, most families of that time, didn't learn to write until around the mid-thirties. The traiteurs left any written accounts of babies born or family health issues to the people to whom it mattered the most.”
Jewell thought about what Teal said. Oral traditions were how they taught the next generation. Did they also pass on stories of the people they helped? If they did, the older woman had to have heard stories from her mother or aunts when she was a young girl.
“Madame,” Jewell said, speaking loudly and addressing the older woman in French. She stopped rocking and looked at her.
“Oui.”
“Do you remember hearing of twins being born to any Bienvenu descendants of Aguste Bienvenu?” Jewell asked, knowing that Beau had told her there had never been any twins in the family and that the bible didn’t have any recorded. Still, she had to confirm that was true.
She started to rock again. Teal looked at Jewell, her expression questioning. “What did you ask her?” She obviously didn’t understand French.
Jewell didn’t answer. She continued to address the older, woman. “They would’ve been born around the same time you were.”
Eleanor reached into an ashtray on a side table and retrieved an antique cypress carved pipe. She took a moment to light the tobacco in the bowl. It smelled light and sweet. “The first time I remember going to the plantation was with my momma,” she said speaking Cajun French. Her voice was a gravelly smoker’s voice. “We brought herbs for the missus to make a tea to help carry her baby to term. I went before, but I was too young to remember.”
“Were there twin girls living at the plantation when you went there?”
“Mais, no.” She puffed her pipe. “Only the baby boy. Benjamin.” Ben’s grandfather. The old woman looked deep into Jewell’s eyes. “Momma said the missus was going to have a baby girl. She did.”
“Tante Izzy?”
She nodded, puffed on her pipe.
“Did your momma speak of any other girl babies born there before then or the woman who died in childbirth?” Jewell persisted.
She shook her head. “I know the first wife died, but momma didn’t tell me. I just always knew it. Momma didn’t speak the names of the ones she helped. It’s not our tradition. We speak only of the prayers and herbs as we teach the next generation.”
Jewell tried a few more times, but the woman didn’t say anything more.
After saying their goodbyes, they left with Ruby and Tante Izzy’s requested body butters. When they descended to the bottom two steps, Teal called out to them to wait. She raced down the stairs, her loose wavy hair flying prettily behind her. When she reached them, she pressed a small white paper bag into Beau’s hands.
“This is for you. It’s a special shaving cream I created. It leaves your cheeks as smooth as a baby’s behind.” She kissed him on the cheek, blushed. “Call me sometime.”
“Thank you, Teal.” He smiled his I’m a lady-killer smile and Jewell all but heard Teal’s heart sigh.
As they walked away Jewell shook her head. “You’re shameless.”
“What? What did I do?” He held out his hands in surrender.
“Oh, you know very well what you did.” She laughed.
“So, what’s next?” Beau asked as they drove north, heading back toward Cane. It was an overcast morning with light showers, but the day didn’t look like it would be a total wash.
“The movie crew will start arriving tomorrow night or the next morning,” she said, disappointed that the traiteur and her niece hadn't been able to add anything new to the information she already had. “They’ll be setting up their tents and work areas so they can begin work on Monday. I need to go to New Orleans to organize my warehouse so I have enough room when the inventory from the barn is brought over.” She turned the air conditioning vent so it wouldn’t blow on her face. She preferred fresh outside air, especially this time of year. She rolled down her window a couple of inches, not wanting to let the light rain into the car. “Do you mind?”
He turned off the air conditioner. “Of course not. It looks like the rain is stopping.” He rolled down his window fully; air flowed through the clean black SUV that had been provided by the insurance company. The air smelled fresh from the cleansing rain, with the undercurrent of the heavy sweet scent of the freshly cut sugarcane mixed in. She thought of Mimi talking about the smell of the cane on their first day at Sugar Mill. She now understood the distinctive fragrance she spoke of.
“You’re wearing your bug repellent again,” he said, grinning in the sexy way he did that made her insides turn to mush. Apparently, he had powers to zoom in on her special fragrance and not notice the scent of the cut cane.
“You never know when the mosquitoes will come out in South Louisiana.”
“Come on, chère. Be straight with me.” He grinned again and she knew she’d tell or do anything he asked. “It’s hocus-pocus New Orleans voodoo stuff, right? It has to be. It absolutely drives me insane. Better than anything I smelled in the traiteur’s trailer or at the mall.” He inhaled deeply and faked a shiver. “It lingers when you leave a room.” He took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “Your scent was on my pillows.” He groaned. “The dreams I had about you, last night…”
“It’s natural amber oil,” she blurted out, fanning herself with her hand, feeling hot and flushed. “Geez, Beau. I’ve worn it for years and no one has said it affected them like that.”
“This rich, warm, exotic aroma is amber?”
“Yes. A totally natural amber oil that I have blended with a few other natural essential oils... And, oddly, as good as it smells, bugs hate it. In my line of work that's important.”
“I still say there’s hocus-pocus voodoo with it.” He laughed. “Hey, what do you say we skip tailgating. Make it a power workday. Take care of business. Let’s go to the warehouse right now.”
She needed to go to the warehouse, but she hadn’t planned to go with Beau. Why did the idea of him coming into her workspace feel so scary? It felt like she was exposing herself in some way. Hadn’t she already done that by letting him see her weaker moments with Mimi? To him, her warehouse was just a building, a workplace. He wouldn’t know it was where she spent hours crafting her dreams.
Ridiculous.
“I’ll call Ruby to make sure that it’s okay for her to watch Mimi for a few more hours. I hate to impose.”
She made the call and was assured that Mimi was enjoying herself. “You know, while we’re in New Orleans,” Jewell said as she disconnected the phone with Ruby. “I think we should swing by the Monastery of St. Teresa.” She folded her arms over her chest, leaned her head back against the soft, expensive leather seat. “Ruby said Mimi’s been talking a lot about the nuns making her and Twinnie clip their fingernails really short and keeping them exceptionally clean.”
“Do you think her manicure today sparked a memory?”
Jewell shook her head. “I don’t know. I just think we need to follow any thread we have, even if it doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“You doing okay?” he asked, gently gathering her ponytail and letting it slide through his fingers.
She inhaled deeply. Her heart felt heavy. Her body, too. Grief was so physical. Painful. “Not really.” A tear slipped onto her cheek. “Having Mimi leave me like this is hard. I want to be at her side now, but…I feel I have to still try to see if I can find Twinnie for her before it's too late. If it isn’t already.” She wiped the tears with the heel of her hands. “I guess there can’t be any easy way to deal with losing someone you love.”
He ran his fingers gently over her cheek, and Jewell rested her face in his palm for a moment, drawing strength from his nearness. It was odd that he was offering her comfort now, when just the night before he’d stepped away from her. What had changed? After a moment she sat upright again, and he returned his hand to the steering wheel. “I want to find Twinnie for her, to give her something when she has one of those windows of awareness.”
“I want that for you and her too.”
The wind from the open window lifted and played with his hair and laid it back down neatly in place. “Will you be able to accept it if that doesn’t happen?”
“I won’t have a choice, will I?” She closed her eyes, turned her body until she was curled sideways, facing him on the seat.
“I guess not.” He didn’t say anything for a few moments. “You’re a brave lady.”
“I’m so tired. My body aches.”
“Rest.” He pulled down the armrest between them and patted it. She rested her head on it. He stroked her hair, massaged her neck. Her breathing was steady, but she wasn’t sleeping. The silent tears burned her cheeks and kept her awake.
“Beau.” She didn’t move as she spoke.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for being supportive. I know you have your family and practice to take care of.” She thought of her attorney who had handed her case off to his law clerk because he was so busy. She knew Beau would never do that. “I hope you still don’t have any doubts about me harming your family. I promise you, I’d never do anything to harm them…or you.”
“I know that, Boots.” He twirled her ponytail around his finger. “I guess I’ve known it since I saw you holding those stained baby clothes in the plantation attic. Someone who cared so damn much for old pieces of musty clothes, thin from age and wear from people who lived hundreds of years before she was born, had to have different priorities than I was worried she’d have.”
***
An hour and a half later, they stood just inside the thick, weathered oak side door of the St. Teresa monastery in a small receiving room. The space was actually more of a walk-through, large enough to fit only an old church pew and umbrella stand. It was obvious the Carmelite cloistered nuns’ French Quarter monastery hadn’t been designed to receive visitors.
“We’ve been here for twenty minutes, and I have yet to see a live person. Or nun,” Beau said, finding the hard pew too low for his long legs. He finally gave up on getting comfortable and stood.
“They’re probably trying to find the sisters who are allowed to have contact with people from the outside world,” Jewell explained. “The nuns still live a cloistered life here, but there are a few nuns who are allowed to leave the grounds and interact with people to conduct business so they can maintain their monastic life.” She smiled as he began to pace. “They still use that revolving door I pointed out to you at the front of the building, so the nuns can receive goods or deliver them without being seen.”
Beau took two steps forward, reached a wall and turned to take two steps back. “This place smells old. Moldy.”
“What historic F
rench Quarter building doesn’t?” Jewell smiled.
“Could use paint on the walls. A little sanding. The plaster is peeling.” He studied it a moment. “Maybe Ben, Big John and I could do that sometime.” He shrugged and shook his head like he was surprised his thoughts had gone in that direction.
“Y’all could. I’ve seen your house. You’ve got skills.” She pointed to the ancient stained glass skylight depicting Jesus with the children gathered around him. “Look at the details in that. Magnificent, isn't it?” She smiled. “I taught a class for a few semesters on the influences of the Catholic church on art, architecture and traditions in south Louisiana. We visited a few religious edifices, including this cloistered monastery. It was founded around 1878.”
“Did you say your great-grand-mère and your Mimi lived here? That doesn’t make sense.”
Jewell laughed at how big and out of place he looked in the tight quarters. “It really doesn’t. But Mimi said she and her mother lived here when the nuns rescued them. They were destitute. No husband to help support them. Her mother was in demand for her skills as a seamstress. According to Mimi, her talent was exceptional. She and Mimi were brought to live with the nuns until they could get on their feet. They helped with the ecclesiastical embroidery and the making of church vestments as repayment for their room and board.”
“Living with the cloistered nuns…raising your child here…” He stopped pacing and looked up at the stained glass. “I don’t know. Something feels off. Even creepy.”
“Ah, could be that you’re sensing what that room right there was used for.” She pointed to the plain, unadorned door less than six feet from where he stood.
“What about it?”
“That’s the room where New Orleans’s Catholic exorcisms were conducted.”
He made the sign of the cross. “You’re kidding, right?”
She laughed. “Nope. Would a historian joke about something like that?”