Lilly’s eyebrows rose as she gave the nurse an incredulous look.
“You are lucky, you have a talent. You are young, beautiful and smart. It won’t take long to build a good life for yourself, sans Alex the asshole.”
Lilly sat back in her chair, blown away by Trudy’s assessment. Her head shook in vigorous denial. “I’m not lucky; I’m scared to death. I want to hide and make sure Alex can’t find me. If he finds me, he will kill me.”
“Do you believe he has it in him to commit murder? What would he gain by murdering you?”
Lilly thought for a moment, “He may not actually kill me, but he will make me wish I was dead.”
Trudy straightened her back and looked into Lilly’s eyes, “Okay,” she said in a matter of fact tone. Holding up three fingers on her left hand, she tapped each finger as she counted the steps to freedom: Get a place to live, get a job, and hire a divorce lawyer.”
“Wherever I live, Alex will find me.”
Shaking her head, no, the nurse explained, “Don’t be so sure. If I were you, I would go to the French Quarter. Rent is cheap and the people living in the Quarter know how to be discreet. If you don’t want Alex to find you, don’t use your real name.”
“What? Don’t use my real name?”
“Right. How much time have you spent in the French Quarter?”
Lilly looked up to the ceiling again, trying to locate a memory, something normal she and Alex had done. “We went down to the French Quarter once or twice before we were married. After the wedding, he told me I was not to go to the French Quarter by myself. He said it dangerous. There were muggings and murders.”
Trudy smiled, “That’s good, the French Quarter won’t be the first place he looks.” Leaning across the table, Trudy spoke sotto voce, “The French Quarter conceals a subterranean world. You can become someone else. Use a pseudonym for a while, nobody cares. Pay your rent in cash. Most of the businesses owners will pay you in cash. Don’t get involved with the strip clubs! That is an area of the subterranean world you don’t want to visit.”
Lilly grimaced, and entwined her fingers tightly on the table in front of her.
Trudy gave Lilly’s hands a gentle squeeze. “Relax, take a deep breath, let your shoulders relax down from your ears.”
Lilly followed her instructions and felt a little better.
“You will be fine. Get a place to live, get a divorce, get back to playing your flute. Pursue the life you want to live. Focus on the things that bring you joy. You can create a life that makes you happy to be alive. New opportunities lay ahead. Stay calm, keep your wits about you, new opportunities will present themselves.”
A spark ignited in Lilly’s heart. Maybe there was a way out of the mess she had made of her life. This ER nurse made it sound simple, three steps to freedom. Trudy stood up, “I have to get back to work, Lilly. Remember, you have a lot going for you.”
“Thanks so much for talking with me, Trudy.” Lilly watched her walk away in awe. Her hands tingled, and an unusual thought entered her mind, ‘I may have met an angel.’
With a new sense of resolve, Lilly looked around and grabbed the abandoned newspaper on the table next to her. Studying the classified section, she dug a pen from her bag and circled several places for rent in the French Quarter. She folded the newspaper, put it under her arm, picked up her bag of possessions and headed for the ladies’ room. ‘It is time to get out of my pajamas, get dressed and find myself an apartment.’
PART II
Panthea’s Pantry
“Bound in a hollow of space and time, only those truly in need, without harm in their hearts, could find their way to
its Sanctuary.”
~ Cate Morgan, from Brighid’s Cross
Chapter 5
Sanctuary
Lilly stepped out of a taxi in front of 106 Rue Dumaine in the French Quarter. According to the newspaper, the apartment was available immediately. The rent was $35 a month. She stood shuffling her feet on the uneven bricks of the banquette for a minute, took a deep breath and pushed the buzzer with resolve. A gravelly voice startled her as it spoke through the metal grate in the door. “You here to see the apartment?” Lilly nodded. The door opened on rusty hinges.
A whiff of body odor and a corpulent belly covered by a grease-stained T-shirt assaulted several of her senses before she looked up at the man’s face. His smile did not reach his eyes as he turned and signaled Lilly to follow him. They walked down a narrow brick alley which opened into a courtyard filled with bags of stinky garbage on one side and motorcycle parts on the other.
“The apartment’s right up there,” the man said, pointing to the second floor. This is a historic building. The apartment is an old slave quarter. You can take a look. I’ve got a bad knee, can’t make those stairs. I’ll wait down here.”
Lilly took the key and walked up the worn wooden stairs. Her heart sank when she walked into the tiny apartment. The stench of cat urine was overwhelming. Whoever had lived here previously had a cat, possibly many cats. The floor, covered with a muddy looking brown rug, creaked as she walked through the apartment. The walls were covered with dark paneling except for the bedroom which was painted Pepto-Bismol pink. Her stomach heaved, she shuddered walked swiftly down the stairs and returned the key. “It’s not exactly what I’m looking for, but thanks.”
“Okay, if you change your mind, come back. It may be available for a couple of days.”
Out on the sidewalk, Lilly looked up and down Rue Dumaine. She took the folded newspaper from under her arm and checked the classifieds. The next apartment she had circled was at 607 Rue Saint Ann. She wasn’t sure how to get to Rue Saint Ann. I’m not going to find it standing here she thought and began to walk. She had walked a block or two when the sound of a ship’s horn told her the Mississippi River was straight ahead. Arriving at the corner of Dumaine and Rue Bourbon, she stopped to take in the unexpected scene. The sidewalks were filled with young men sporting full beards, long braids or halos of black hair. The women shown like butterflies, colorful skirts swishing around knee high boots and shoulders covered by silky, fringed shawls dancing in the breeze.
Lilly smiled and her heart lept, ‘this is where the hippies live,’ she thought. She gave silent thanks to nurse Trudy as she stepped into an alternate world where freedom was celebrated.
Turning onto Bourbon Street, she passed a young woman sitting on the steps of an old shotgun house. She took a few steps past her, stopped and turned back. “Do you know how to get to Rue Saint Ann?”
The young woman nodded, “I do. Where are you going on St. Ann?” Lilly looked at the newspaper, “607 Rue Saint Ann.” The young woman smiled and gave Lilly brief directions “The French Quarter is laid out in a grid so it is easy to get around and find what you need. “607 is in the middle of the block close to the Square. You can’t miss it.”
Lilly easily found 607 Rue Saint Ann located one-half block from Jackson Square. She was surprised to find it was a shop, Panthea’s Pantry. She opened one of the tall narrow French doors, stepped inside and stopped in her tracks.
The strong, pungent scent of herbs filled the air of Panthea’s Pantry transporting Lilly to childhood summers in her Aunt Pearl’s country kitchen. Lilly, recalled happy childhood days spent in her Aunt’s century-old home. Built of heart-pine, the house nestled in the forest near the banks of the Abita River. Lilly had sensed the magic in the nooks and crannies of the old house and flourished under the gentle care of her Aunt.
Those same olfactory stimulants floating through the air of Panthea’s Pantry worked a bit of magic on Lilly’s taught muscles and anxious mind. Her shoulders relaxed as she took a moment to cherish childhood memories of summer mornings swaying gently on the porch swing, dashes into the cool Abita River in the heat of the day and late afternoon with Aunt Pearl in the garden, harvesting ripe vegetables and snipping herbs.
The year Lilly turned ten the unthinkable happened, her father disappeared while fi
shing in the Dark Bayou. Aunt Pearl was the only person who understood the depths of Lilly’s grief. She was the only one who could console her as she shared the grief of losing her youngest brother, Lilly’s dad, Avery. When summer vacation and holidays came around, Lilly fled to the sanctuary of Aunt Pearl’s arms. The scent of herbs filling the old house assured safety and acceptance, love, understanding, and guidance. The year Lilly turned sixteen, Aunt Pearl disappeared.
~
A pointed, “Can I help you find something?” interrupted Lilly’s memories. Glancing at the woman with curly salt and pepper hair, Lilly realized it was not the first time the woman had spoken. Her round, black eyes sparkled and crinkled around the edges as she smiled at Lilly.
“No, I mean yes, I am, uh, looking for, I mean do you have an apartment for rent?
The curly haired woman smiled. “Yes, I do. Number 4 is available,” she said as she rummaged through a cigar box full of keys. Picking out two keys she explained, “I am expecting a client any minute and my assistant is not here. Can you go up and take a look at the apartment by yourself, ma chere? It’s number 4 upstairs on the right. The one with the green ribbon is the key to the gate, and the other key opens the apartment.”
Lilly took the keys and stood still, unsure of which way to go. The woman saw her hesitation, “Oh mais non, you have no idea where it is. Go out the front door, take a right and open the wooden gate, go down the carriageway into the courtyard and up the stairs on the right.”
Lilly closed her hand over the keys, nodded understanding, opened one of the tall French doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The gate was a wooden door cut into a larger, taller wooden gate. An intricate circle of wrought iron decorated the center of the door, allowing a peak into the courtyard beyond. Lilly opened the door in the gate slowly, peeked in then walked through the high vaulted carriageway and stopped under the curved arch at the end.
Water sparkled in the morning sun and splashed down a three-tiered cast iron fountain. Banana trees, turning brown in the December chill, rustled slightly as a breeze found its way into the courtyard. Delicate cast iron stairways spiraled up to the second floor.
A tiny smile lifted the corners of Lilly’s mouth for a moment. She turned and ran up the spiral stairs. The front door of apartment 4 faced the gallery and mirrored the front door at the opposite end. Two apartment doors lined up in between and faced out into the courtyard. The same pattern repeated on the opposite side of the courtyard. The connecting section, at the far end, was different. There were two apartment doors downstairs and a wrought iron balcony on the second floor, accessible from the inside by tall French doors.
Turning back to Number 4, Lilly opened the heavy oak door. She stood in the center of the sitting room and exhaled a huge whoosh of air. Her shoulders softened, and her stomach uncoiled as her eyes took in the room. An overstuffed sofa, sturdy coffee table, old wooden rocking chair, empty bookcase and an end table with a bright yellow lamp, created an inviting living space. Sunlight filtered through the narrow transom window over the front door. An intercom was installed next to the door. Lilly put her hand on the buttons of the intercom, ‘No one can come in unless I buzz them in. Perfect.’
The late morning sun poured through the large window in the bedroom. Looking out, Lilly could see a corner of the courtyard and nearby rooftops. Making sure the window was inaccessible to any outside intruders, she sighed in relief and plopped onto the double bed. The mattress was perfect, but the springs were squeaky.
Across from the bed, stood an antique mahogany dresser with a beveled mirror mounted on top. A bedside table with a reading lamp completed the furnishings. ‘It’s a good thing I don’t have many clothes,’ she thought, opening the tiny bedroom closet.
The bathroom was classic black and white tile with a claw footed tub, a shower head, and a pedestal sink. A round window with frosted glass opened outward on a hinge. A narrow closet in the corner was perfect for towels and toiletries.
What a delightful surprise to find the kitchen when she opened the folding doors of a closet in the hallway. There was a two-burner stove, a half-sized sink, and a refrigerator under the tiny counter. Shelves lined the back wall filled with a collection of mismatched plates, cups, glasses, pots, and pans, all stacked neatly.
The apartment was cozy. The natural light from the transom window over the front door, the round window in the bathroom and the large window in the bedroom, provided enough light to make it cheerful. Sitting in the rocking chair for a few minutes and imagining herself living in the apartment, her fingers tingled as they moved over the smooth wood of the old rocking chair. “Yes, this is it,” she declared out loud.
Running down the stairs and up the carriageway, she burst into Panthea’s Pantry surprising a different woman behind the counter. This woman had long gray braids and a pointy nose.
“Can I help you?”
“I want to rent the apartment upstairs, Number 4.”
“Oh, the apartments are Jolene’s domain. She is with a client right now. Can you wait?”
“Yes, of course, I can,” Lilly said breathlessly.
“Wonderful, make yourself at home. Have a look around, if you need anything, my name’s Sabine.” She smiled and Lilly noticed her severe face, with its long pointy nose transformed, revealing a gentle soul whose eyes shown with friendliness.
Lilly wandered over to shelves lined with jars filled with a variety of herbs. She read the names of the herbs and tried to remember their uses. She found Basil on the shelf. Aunt Pearl always had at least half dozen basil plants in her garden. Lilly loved the smell and taste of it. She and her Aunt spent hours harvesting and drying the herbs. As they worked together, Lilly learned the healing properties and the more esoteric uses of the herbs.
Lilly’s lips parted as she closed her eyes and remembered a rainy summer afternoon in her Aunt’s kitchen. They were making basil pesto. She could still smell the delicious aroma as her Aunt explained one of the healing properties of basil.
“When a person finds themselves at a crossroad in life,” Aunt Pearl explained, “Basil will help with the anxiety and doubt accompanying their arrival. Decisions, sometimes hard decisions, must be made at the crossroad. Basil will stimulate the spiritual energy of trust. Smelling basil, putting it on the tongue and savoring it, activates the revival of zest and enthusiasm for life, easing doubt and fear.”
Lilly took the jar of basil from the shelf, opened it, stuck her nose in and inhaled deeply. She slipped a tiny bit on her tongue, willing the magic of the basil to ease her recent arrival at the crossroads. Next a jar of nettles drew her attention. She remembered Aunt Pearl suggesting it to a client. Her Aunt assured the stern looking woman the herb would ease her digestive upset, then once the woman was gone, Lilly heard Aunt Pearl mutter, “The nettle will also hold your tongue. You are going to have a harder time spreading your lies and gossip.”
Lilly smiled and blinked back tears. The herbs and spices brought memories of Aunt Pearl to the forefront of her mind. She wiped the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and allowed memories of Aunt Pearl to come.
Before her years with Alex, Lilly saw clouds of color surrounding all living things. The colors were something she took for granted. Her father and Aunt Pearl shared her ability. They often discussed the meaning of the colors, shapes and energy they saw. In her mind’s eye, Lilly could see the bright pink light glowing around Aunt Pearl. Wisps of bright yellow and emerald green swirled through the pink encircling her head, hands, and heart. She was a joy to be near.
Lilly pressed her lips together, swallowed the lump in her throat and continued to explore Panthea’s Pantry. She stood in front of a shelf lined with a variety of round cast iron pots. ‘These would be perfect for gumbo,’ she thought.
As she approached a shelf of cookbooks, the curly haired lady came back into the shop. A man wearing a white silk shirt, gold vest and baggy brown pants accompanied her. “Mac, ma chere, it is a
lways a pleasure to see you,” she said as the man gave her a hug.
Stepping away from the embrace, Mac said, “It is always wonderful to see you. Your psychic gifts never cease to amaze me. I am in town this week, and I will be here Friday night for the full moon celebration.”
Jolene smiled and said, “C’est bien! When we are finished here, we’ll walk to Bourbon Street to hear your music.”
“Splendid,” the gentleman drawled. Rings flashed on his fingers as he placed a top hat on his head and sauntered out the door.
Squelching a desire to ask, “Who was that?” Lilly turned to the ladies behind the counter.
Jolene plopped down on the stool next to Sabine, “It is always a pleasure to see Mac, but I’m afraid I have over booked myself for readings today. With Yule approaching, I need to be opening crates of new inventory and stocking the shelves.
Sabine cleared her throat, “Jolene there is someone here to see you about the apartment.”
“Oh, mon oui,” she said looking up at Lilly. “Did you like it?”
“I love it!” Lilly exclaimed.
“C’est, bien, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone express such a sentiment over the little place. I am glad you love it. It must be yours.”
“When can I move in?”
“Do you have the first month’s rent?”
“How much is it? The newspaper didn’t say.” Lilly quaked inside, hoping the rent was something her money supply from Alex’s socks would cover for a few months.
“The rent is fifty dollars a month.”
Lilly’s eyes widened, wondering if she had heard her right. “Fifty dollars a month?”
“Yes, fifty dollars. That includes water and electricity. Do you think you can pay that amount each month?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I can,” Lilly said. She dug around in her garbage bag and slipped a fifty-dollar bill from Alex’s sock.
“My name is Jolene, and I suppose if you’re going to be living here, I’ll need to know your name.” Lilly almost blurted her name, but quickly recalled Trudy’s advice to adopt an alias. Seeing her hesitation, Jolene spoke quietly, “It’s okay, we can get to that later.”
Jewel of Inanna (Perils of a Pagan Priestess Book 1) Page 3