by C. L. Bevill
Chapter Eight
Wednesday, December 17th
It is said that the number of magpies that one sees at a time can calculate one’s fortune. One for sorrow, two for luck, three for a wedding, fourth for death, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret not to be told, eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, and ten for a witch…
“Anna,” Gabriel repeated thoughtfully. “Anna.” She doesn’t look like an Anna. Isn’t an Anna tall and blonde and willowy? Not short with a cap of midnight hair that curled around that infuriatingly innocent face. With her full cheekbones that show off her delicately pointed face and frame that wonderful mouth. Those lush, full lips that have a hint of raspberries.
Aurore held out a Tupperware bowl full of something he tentatively identified as gumbo. There was a lingering scent of andouille and red pepper that made him recall that he hadn’t eaten for hours. On top of the bowl was something wrapped in foil. “Bread for the soup,” she qualified. “You should be thanking me.”
Gabriel took the bowl and the bread and put it on the galley table. Aurore had called aboard the Belle-Mere a few minutes before, hours after he had angrily squished away from his home, changed on board the Mere, and continued sanding the decks.
“I brought you something to eat, else you starve, non?” Aurore was tacitly amused. She knew Gabriel was teeming with questions that he was too proud to ask.
Instead he went back up on deck with the older woman following him and retrieved a gallon of deep-soaking marine stain out of his equipment box. Then he fumbled for a brush. Aurore scuffed her tennis shoes across the stripped deck and noticed that Gabriel’s hands were scraped and raw at the knuckles. He hadn’t been paying close enough attention to what he’d been doing. “I have stuff to eat,” he protested mildly, wondering if pork rinds and a box of ding-dongs counted.
“What, moon pies? A bag of Cheetos? What exactly were you going to feed that poor girl when she woke up?”
Gabriel’s lips tightened into a flat line.
Aurore hid a knowing smile. “So you want to know what her last name is?”
He didn’t say anything. So Aurore added, “St. Thais. Anna St. Thais.”
Digging through the equipment compartment for a screwdriver with which to open the can of stain, Gabriel said, “St. Thais? That’s not a family name.”
“No, it’s not,” Aurore agreed.
“Anh. Aurore,” Gabriel turned to face her. “Just tell me the rest of it.”
“She’s an orphan from El Paso. Grew up in orphanages and foster homes. She’s lived there her whole life. And…” Aurore paused as Gabriel opened his mouth to interrupt with a question that she already knew he was going to ask. “She doesn’t know who her mother and father are. Apparently some godless one left her on the steps of an orphanage.” She reverently crossed her breast. “The authorities never found out who she was. Weeks old, they looked for years.”
Gabriel shut the lid of the equipment compartment and sat down on top of it, a stunned look on his face. “She doesn’t know anything about herself? She doesn’t know anything about the family?”
“During the time she was kidnapped by le diable it was a blurred nightmare of drugged confusion. She said she heard voices in her head. She attributes those to the drugs. She assumed that we noticed something suspicious about the trucker and found her after he stopped to see about the fire on the back of his tractor-trailer.”
Closing his eyes, Gabriel let his chin dip. Not daring to open his mind up, he quickly opened them up again. “Then what are we to do? She must belong to one of the family? It’s happened before. Someone with an illegitimate pregnancy?”
“Ah cher,” Aurore softly stopped him. “We already know she is one of us. Of that, there is no doubt. But the elders need to decide to accept her or deny her.” Then she hesitated. “Anna was going to leave.”
Gabriel’s head came up again. “She can’t-” he bit it off with an aggravated snarl. He stood up and started hunting in the compartment again, busily trying to conceal his emotions. Tools rattled noisily in his search.
Aurore wished that his sister could be the one to tell him but Camille was busy with Anna. “Which is why you have to thank me.”
There was a brief hesitation in the rattling of tools. “I can’t ever find something when I want,” he muttered. “Why should I thank you, Aurore?”
“Because I convinced her to stay,” she said triumphantly. “She will call her friend in New Orleans and stay for a few weeks. She thinks that the eyes and the hair color are no coincidence and that her origin must be from here.”
The noise of metal against metal abruptly stopped. Gabriel emerged from the compartment with a large flathead screwdriver in one hand. “She’ll stay?”
“Le docteur has told her that she’s not well enough to travel for at least a week. An exaggeration but between your maman, your soeur, and I, we have said we will find her maman and papa, if only she’d stay until she was well enough to leave on her own two feet. Until after the New Year’s.” Aurore shrugged expressively. “The elders will get to meet with her, decide on her trustworthiness, and you can try to get to know her. Mr. Grabby Hands.” She tittered, raising one hand to cover her mouth.
“Thank you, Aurore,” Gabriel grated, his teeth grinding together. “I will endeavor to attempt to not scare her away again.”
“She had a butcher knife, you know,” Aurore mused, spreading her hands apart to show the exact length of the blade. “I think she might have gone for your manhood.”
“I have a lot of work to do,” he said quickly. “Sure you do too.”
The older woman shrugged again. “I always have work to do, Gabriel. Perhaps you can come to dinner tomorrow. We’re having courtbouillon and cornbread. Enough to feed an army.”
“I have a group coming tomorrow. Some rotary club from Dallas,” Gabriel demurred. “They usually stay late and drink enough beer to float a Louisianan governor’s ego.”
When it came to the girl, the boy is as dense as a stand of blackberries. Aurore turned to go, but said over her shoulder, “Anna will be there.” She didn’t need to look at Gabriel to know that she had gotten his undivided attention again.
“She’s not at the cabin?”
“She’s staying with Camille for a few days.”
There was silence, and then Gabriel bit out, “Good, I like my home to myself.”
Stepping on the gangplank, Aurore almost paused. Pauvre p’tites. She saw that she was leaving the Belle-Mere on the left side and checked herself. Her father, a fisherman from Terrebonne Parish, had often said that one should always board and depart a ship from the starboard side. Even in an inconvenient state. She shook her head and vowed to say an extra prayer at mass.
Gabriel stared at the deck of the Mere for a long time before he began working. The stain needed to set at least twelve hours before his charter could go prancing around the decks, and he knew it was going to be a close thing. On the positive side work could always clear his mind of things he didn’t wish to think about.
•
The doctor’s name was Michel Quenelle. He introduced himself to Anna when he showed up an hour later at Camille’s house. Camille and Cecily had bundled Anna up into the antique quilt, not listening to her stumbling protests. Camille had made a disgusted noise and Aurore had spent fifteen minutes convincing Anna that she needed to stay.
Camille had Anna over at her own house in minutes. Minutes after that, she was back in a nightgown and in a small but comfortable room, lying on a narrow bed, covered by the same quilt. In truth, Anna was grateful because sitting at the tiny kitchen table and talking about genealogical histories had worn her out quickly. Her hands were shaking and her eyes burned with fatigue. Still she protested, “But I already slept for days.”
“Not a real sleep,” Cecily had answered. “We’ve called le docteur. He said he’d come when he gets a chance.”
Camille had taken her mother back to work. Then Anna dozed. She h
eard children come into the house and their mother caution them to play quietly because they had a guest.
The doctor rapped softly on the bedroom door a few minutes later. A tall man in his forties he possessed the same traits that made them all clearly related, black hair and gold eyes. There the similarities stopped. He had a round cheerful face with pink cheeks and had a smiling disposition. He meticulously examined her and then sat back on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Everything seems to be as it should be.”
Anna took a breath. “I was afraid.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I think everyone knows that you were exactly that, chère.”
“The man who kidnapped me. He drugged me for hours, I think.” Hours in which he could have done anything to me. “Did you examine me…did he do anything to me?” Anna couldn’t prevent the tear that edged out of the corner of her eye, nor her teeth from clenching in helpless anticipation.
Michel patted her hand, keeping his eyes on hers. “No, mamselle. I don’t wish to be cruel, but he was waiting to get you to his…lair, if you would call it that.”
“I wouldn’t call it anything,” Anna said dully. The relief that she felt was stunted. “Thank God.”
“Rest is the best cure,” Michel pronounced. “And you should expect some distressful memories. But you can conquer your fear. You have much sympathy from the family here. They know it was no easy feat to survive being in the clutches of an unbalanced man.”
Anna didn’t want to talk about her fear, or the nightmares that she knew that she would be having in the days to come. So she changed the subject, “I thought all the Creoles lived in the southern parts of Louisiana. Your accent is so pleasing to the ear.”
“Cajuns, mamselle. Creoles are generally persons that are intermingled French, Spanish, and sometimes from the blacks who settled in Louisiana. Cajuns are a different thing altogether, and the truth is, we are neither. We have close ties to those who are descended from the Acadians who fled Nova Scotia centuries ago. Many of us have married into their families and the family spread, and the accent and some of the language along with it. But our home is here. Near the lake where the great catfish lives. You know the story of Goujon? Some have said that Goujon is our father and that we are his children’s children.” The doctor smiled down into Anna’s face.
Anna smiled back. “Goujon being what? A catfish?”
“A giant catfish that grew so big he had to create the lake so that he could continue to exist. A very smart fellow, this catfish. And very dangerous. If you hear a great splashing noise in the night, you might very well be listening to Goujon roaming through his kingdom.” Michel couldn’t help the curve of his lips as he related the story. “He is why the family has such an affinity for water. Some of us live near the gulf to ply our trade on the open sea. Many of prefer to stay near the fountainhead of our people. Some of us leave to pursue professions, like myself, but most return. Like yourself. You’ve been drawn here.”
“A strong affinity to water?” she repeated. Anna couldn’t help looking toward the window that was open and showed a thick stand of oak and pine and beyond that, the brilliant iridescent reflection of light upon blackened waters. “I’ve been dreaming about it. The lake. That lake.”
The doctor rose up. He gave her a last look. “Remember fear is only an emotion. Something we can control if we wish. You’ve nothing to fear from that man now.” Michel paused by the door. “Dreams are an indication of what our souls are trying to tell us. Perhaps you should listen to them, Anna.”
•
Anna slept through dinner and woke up in a darkened house. There was no digital clock to tell her the time. There was only a sliver of a waxing moon that spun little strands of yellow light inside the room. The rest of the house was quiet and still. A few minutes after she woke up she heard the cough of a child and then all was silent.
She pulled the quilt from her body and realized that the temperature hadn’t dropped, showing how peculiar southern weather could be in the wintertime. Anna pulled off the borrowed nightgown and jerked on jeans and T-shirt once more. She followed with her ragged Nikes. She paused to look out over the thick trees and the yellow light of the crescent moon bouncing off the mirror-like surface of the lake.
Hesitating, she glanced at the quilt. The same quilt from the man’s house. The man who had kissed her so knowingly. His name is Gabriel. He was Camille’s brother. If she looked closely she could see the likeness. Cecily was their mother and there was a familial resemblance there as well.
Anna hadn’t expected Gabriel’s reassuring presence in the dreams. Not after what he’d done. Perversely his was the calming influence there. His existence there was what made the fear spill away, and the image of Dan Cullen was banished into a smoggy exile of her dreams, where he could cause her no more unrelenting dread.
But the lake? The lake was always there, ever present, seemingly omnipotent. She could almost see the mythical creature that the doctor had mentioned, a giant who wandered purposely to find whatever he was seeking.
Anna dismissed her leather jacket and went out the bedroom door. She ignored the rest of the house, just as she had done in Gabriel’s small home, and went to the door closest to the lake. Passing through an empty darkened kitchen she paused beside the kitchen door. There was a small blue-lit nightlight in an electrical outlet. She opened the door. A small orange cat slipped into the door with a tiny meow of contentment and ran to its food bowl on the opposite side of the kitchen. The little cat ignored her as he ate.
Anna looked toward the lake again and shut the door behind her. When she came back inside she would let the cat out again.
The sliver of moon showed a worn path through the trees and brush going in the direction she desired. She listened to the night sounds as she went, her feet hardly making a noise on the ground. There was the soft hooting of an owl, seeking its midnight repast, and crickets called noisily to each other in the distance. There were a few persistent wintertime insects that danced along the tiny creek as it wound down to the same place she was heading. A warm breeze shuffled the pine needles above her head, and whispered along the oak branches full of Spanish moss.
Within moments Anna reached the edge of the lake and took in the magnificent sight. No less amazing in the night than in the day, it was ancient and feral, and called to something deep inside her. If she was any more superstitious than she already knew she was, she might have fallen for the doctor’s story. As it was Anna knew it was only a legend, brought up to distract her from thinking of the events that had brought her here.
If she closed her eyes, she might very well be the only person within a thousand miles of this spot. Well, the only person awake, she amended with a small smile. Anna took a deep breath and relaxed every inch of her body. Perhaps she could stand here for just a little while until she understood what was happening to her. Perhaps…
There was the rattle of brush behind her and she jumped. Anna turned, dismayed that someone had found her so quickly. A guilty thought shot through her mind and she couldn’t stop the errant wish. Gabriel?
The man stepped out of the intense black of a shade of trees. He was wide and broad, but after the shadows passed from his flesh Anna saw that it wasn’t Gabriel at all. He was almost a foot taller than Gabriel and twenty years older. Gray shot through the shaggy black hair, glowing from the yellow light that slithered down upon them. The same limited light showed the flecked gold of his resolute gaze. All for her.
“Leave this place,” he said, his voice full of granite-like grit.
Anna almost stepped backward into the water. She couldn’t help the waiver of fear that fluttered through her body, bringing on an immediate surge of resentment that Dan Cullen had caused her to be ever afraid. No longer sensible and able to protect her own well-being. She had been a woman who had fought off creeps before and she would be again. And she didn’t care if this man was almost a giant and twice as broad as a barn door. “Why should I?” she demanded and square
d her shoulders doggedly.
Solid gray eyebrows slowly met together in a frowning stare. He wore shabby pants that had unraveling cuffs near the tops of his boots. His coat barely covered his wide shoulders and showed darkened stains at the wrists. He seemed like a homeless man. But he had the eyes and Anna could see them as clearly as if it were daytime. “Because,” he rumbled deep in his chest. “You’ll be sucked down. Drowned in a place where you cain’t escape. It won’t be no giant catfish who wolfs your rotting flesh down, it’ll be stuck in a tomb of sandy soil, with all those others who done gone before you.”
“Who are you?” she whispered. The vivid image he spoke of reverberated in her mind, a picture of twisted limbs caught in a dirty trap of death.
“I’m Gautier,” he muttered. “But you got to leave. Child of Arette. You got to leave afore it’s too late. He dint know about you. But now…oh, little girl…the man in the truck might have been kinder to you.”
Anna bit off an exclamation of disgust. “God, what are you talking about? He’s a psychopath. He wouldn’t have been…kind to me.” She paused, suddenly realizing what name he’d said with no small amount of shock. “And how do you know about Arette?”
The big man faded into the shadows and left Anna alone, biting her lip in consternation, wavering as she thought about it. She knew the name he’d mentioned. She’d known it for about two weeks. It was part of the reason that had influenced her decision to join Jane in New Orleans. She’d found a yellowed piece of paper hidden in the binding of the bible. The very same bible that had been left in the same basket as she had been in when it had been dropped off on the steps of the orphanage. The paper was a carefully folded birth certificate. The father wasn’t listed. But the mother was Arette Tuelle. And more interesting, the birth location was listed as Baton Rouge, cinching Anna’s decision. Baton Rouge was only an hour and a half drive from New Orleans.