The Devil in Canaan Parish

by Jackie Shemwell

Sally made her rounds, her laughter pealing like silver bells and echoing in the great hall. When I’d had more than I could stand of food, champagne and polite conversation, I went searching for my wife. I saw her across the hall, again in quiet conversation with Blanchard, her head leaning close to his, her mouth puckered in a pout that she must have perfected as a little girl. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. I watched as he inhaled the scent of her hair, closed his eyes and kissed her forehead. Sally noticed me, and instantly moved a quick step away from him. Turning to find the source of the interruption, he glared at me with narrowed eyes.

  “Ready to go, Sally?” I grinned, knowing how annoyed Blanchard must be with me at that moment.

  “What?” protested Blanchard. “You can’t be wanting to leave so soon.”

  “Yes, in fact I do,” I insisted. “I’m quite tired and I’d like to get a nap in before the day’s out, to tell you the truth.”

  I saw Sally bite her lip, her cheeks flushing at my lack of couth. I relished the thought that I was embarrassing her.

  “I’ll wait for you in the car,” I announced, giving her a little tap on her behind for good measure, and smiled as the redness in her cheeks deepened.

  It wasn’t long before Sally joined me, her mouth drawn in a tight line. I knew she was furious and too humiliated to stay. I didn’t care. I didn’t even open the door for her. She stood waiting for a moment outside the car, and then sighed and let herself in as I adjusted the volume of the radio. We rode home as we always did – in complete silence.

  As soon as we reached the house, Sally jumped from the car, slamming the door as hard as she could, and stalked off to the house. I took my time, strolling around the garage, thinking I might smoke a cigarette before going in. I was surprised to find Melee and Gabriel behind the garage. Melee was smiling, leaning against the wall, and Gabriel stood next to her, holding his bike at his side.

  “Gabe,” I stammered, confused, “didn’t expect to see you here today, don’t you ever take a day off?” The friendliness in my voice was forced. There was something a little too familiar about the way he was smiling at Melee.

  “Oh, no sir, I mean yes sir,” Gabriel stuttered, surprised to see me.

  Melee giggled, not at all disturbed by my presence and clearly comfortable with Gabriel.

  “I was just . . . in the neighborhood . . . and thought I’d stop by to say hello,” he continued, staring at his feet and rubbing his neck.

  “Well, now, that’d be a first.” I said in a low voice. In the five years Gabriel had worked for me, he’d never been around on a Sunday.

  “I’d best be getting home,” he said, throwing his leg over the bicycle. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Bram. Goodbye Miss Melee,” he kicked the bike into motion and was gone.

  Melee watched him go, and then turned and gave me a smile. It instantly washed away any misgivings I had. Her smile was intoxicating, affecting me far more than the mimosas I had consumed earlier in the day.

  “Did you have a nice day off?” I asked, and instantly felt like an idiot.

  “Yes, it was fine,” she smiled again, seeming amused by my question and obvious embarrassment. There was something different in the way that she looked at me. She was more easy and relaxed, as if she was becoming more comfortable here.

  I was racking my brain for another bit of small talk that I could throw her way to keep a conversation going, but I couldn’t find any words. Instead I just stood there, staring at her with my mouth open. She waited patiently for me to speak, and then gave up.

  “Well, Mr. Bram, I think I’ll go in now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure, sure,” I stuttered, again feeling ridiculous.

  I watched her go inside, and then cursed myself. Why were my hands shaking? Why was it so difficult to talk to her? I knew the answer before I asked myself. It was because I didn’t want to talk to her. I wanted to hold her – to pull her near me and breathe in the scent of her, bury my face in her dark hair, feel the warmth of her body pressed tightly to mine, unbutton her blouse and free her soft breasts, crush my mouth against her and taste her. The thoughts came faster and faster, my fantasy growing more real and unsettling, and my desire becoming more unbearable by the second. I leaned back against the garage, trying to calm myself, and caught a faint whiff of her that remained. I was feeling something I never had before. It was a passion that I thought was lost to me, and that I would never experience. It was both agony and rapture, bliss and torture. It was more moving than any religious experience. It was the feeling that whatever happened from now until the end of my life, I would never be the same, and I would always find myself pulled toward her, revolving around her like the moth to the light.

  I spent most of the evening outside, smoking cigarettes, straightening the tool shed, anything I could do to distract myself and delay going in. Sally never came out to find me. I guessed that she had taken valium again and was in a deep sleep. The light in our bedroom turned off shortly after dark. Once I was sure that she had turned in, I crept my way into the house.

  It was almost painful to put myself into the bed with Sally. I could feel the chill radiating from her body. It made me shudder. Even in sleep I could sense the tension and anger she was keeping. I could feel how she was perched on the edge of the bed, as far away from me as possible. I followed suit, covering myself with the sheet and turning away from her, I clung to the edge of the bed, gritted my teeth, and screwed my eyes shut, hoping sleep would come quickly.

  At that moment, I heard a creaking in the ceiling above me. Melee was walking around in her room. I listened to the sound of her feet shuffling across the floor, and thought I might have heard her sigh. I felt my body relaxing as I thought of her, and drifted back into my fantasies. I fell asleep thinking about Melee and I lying together between a row of sugar cane, the shade of the tall green stalks protecting us from the summer heat, the coolness of the earth beneath us and Melee’s sighs ringing in my ears.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday morning dawned, and I woke to a feeling of anticipation. Melee had only been with us for a little more than two days, and already so much had changed. I found myself whistling as I washed and shaved, listening to the bacon sizzle in the kitchen and knowing that I would see her in only a few minutes. Sally had already dressed and gone outside to work in her garden. The French doors from our room to the private back porch were open, and I could feel a breeze flowing through as I dressed. It was cooler, less humid than the weekend had been, strange for the end of July. As I stood in front of the mirror adjusting my tie, I heard mumbled voices from outside. It was Sally and what sounded like two men speaking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I hurried to finish dressing and see who it was, when there came a loud rap at the back door. Who would be knocking this early and why wouldn’t Sally have let them in?

  I was fumbling to buckle my belt when I heard the kitchen door open. Melee must have answered it.

  “Melee Mouton?” boomed a man’s voice.

  “Yes.” I barely heard her response.

  “You’re under arrest for theft. You have the right to remain silent. . .”

  I felt the blood rush from my face as I clambered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Sheriff Boyle was placing Melee in handcuffs while reading her rights. She turned and stared at me, her face full of panic and shock.

  “What’s this all about?” I shouted.

  “Good morning, Bram,” said Blanchard, stepping into the kitchen behind Boyle. “Don’t worry now, we just have a little matter that we need to talk to your employee about.”

  “A little matter? You’re arresting her!” I shouted again. The smug expression on Blanchard’s face was infuriating.

  “Like I said, this doesn’t concern you,” Blanchard continued, “we have reason to believe that Ms. Mouton’s been involved in a robbery and we need to take her in for questioning.”

  “The hell you do!” I growled back. I co
uld feel my face turning red, the anger and panic making my stomach churn. I was shaking, my hands clenching into fists, trying to hold myself back from pushing the Sheriff away from Melee. Suddenly he looked up at me with a forced smile.

  “Bram, you better back off, now!” he warned, patting his holster. “This don’t involve you and you should just stay out of it.”

  I stood helpless, watching Boyle lead Melee out by her elbow, her arms pulled behind her back in handcuffs, her head lowered in humiliation. She was wearing the ridiculous maid’s uniform that Sally had insisted on. It was much too big for her tiny frame and made her look like a little girl.

  Boyle led Melee out to his car and put her in the back seat. Blanchard tipped his hat at Sally, who was kneeling down on the ground, pulling weeds. She glanced up at him quickly and nodded, then returned to her work. Blanchard shot me another smug glance, and I seethed as a slight smile spread on the corner of his lips. He let himself in the passenger’s side and then Boyle tore off toward town.

  I watched them go, and then stood trembling in fury at the top of the steps. It took me a moment to realize how strange it was that Sally was so calm -- too calm.

  “You knew about this, didn’t you!” I hissed through my teeth.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sally answered, clearly trying to avoid meeting my eyes.

  “Like hell!” I growled. At that moment a cannon went off inside me. Everything after that happened very fast. With three quick leaps I bounded down the steps and grabbed a fist full of Sally’s hair. She screamed and then covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Goddammit, Sally, this time you’ve gone too far!” I bellowed.

  I pulled her by the hair back up the steps, through the kitchen and into our bedroom and threw her down on the floor next to the bed. She was panting, trying desperately to keep from screaming again, to keep the neighbors from hearing us.

  “Bram, what are you doing?!” she gasped. She looked up at me with tears streaking her face, the mascara running down in rivers toward her mouth. I honestly couldn’t answer her question. I had never struck Sally -- never even raised my voice to her -- but at that moment I wasn’t in control of my body. It was controlling me.

  I walked around the room, shutting the windows and pulling the curtains closed. I shut and locked the French doors, and then I returned to Sally. I slapped her hard across the face and then picked her up and threw her face down on the bed. Now she was really sobbing. I jerked her arm up behind her and placed my knee on her back, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

  “You just couldn’t stand not having your way, could you?” I spit. “Could you?!”

  She whimpered unintelligibly into the quilt.

  “Had to get your old boyfriend involved, huh? It isn’t enough that you’ve made me miserable in every way possible, is it, Sally? Now you have to try to humiliate me in front of those two goons. What did you do? What did you tell them to make them come here?” I was shouting again.

  She didn’t answer. Instead she began wailing, her cries muffled by the quilt. I threw her onto her back and straddled her. Pulling her arms above her head, I screamed into her face.

  “Answer me!”

  Sally was really frightened now. Her eyes stared at me in horror.

  “I, I told them I thought Melee had stolen that necklace from M- Meyer’s,” she stuttered.

  I stared at her, my mouth opening, trying to process what she had said.

  “What? Why?” I yelled. “How could you?!”

  “Sh-she had a s-silver necklace on,” she choked out, “it was like what Warren had described.”

  “So you decided to turn her in, did you?” I glared at her. “Went to Daddy and pouted about it. Asked good ol’ Blanchard if he could come riding in his shiny armor and rescue you, huh? God, you make me sick!” I pushed myself off her and walked a few steps back from the bed.

  “You’d better be wrong, Sally,” I snarled, “because if anything happens to that girl, I will slap that pout off your face – permanently!”

  I marched over to my dresser and grabbed the car keys. Sally sat up on the bed, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

  “Wh-where are you going?” she whimpered.

  “To town, Sally. To see what I can do about this mess you’ve made. I’m leaving and you’re staying right here, you hear me? You stay right here in this room and don’t you step foot out of it! If I find out you’ve left this room, or called your momma, you will be sorry!” I was yelling at the top of my lungs, shot one last glance at Sally’s tear-streaked face, and then slammed the door behind me. The force rattled the walls. I sailed through the kitchen out the back door, jumped into my car and was on the road to town in less than a minute.

  As I drove, my feelings flashed between rage and terror. The panic seemed to be boiling through my veins, burning my lungs, raging through my head. The blood pounded in my ears, drowning out the sound of my car’s engine as I roared into town. I slowed down as I neared the main square, and pulled my car in behind the Sheriff’s cruiser, parked across the street from the drugstore, in front of Meyer’s Jewelers. I jumped out of my car, and stood panting for a moment, trying to regain my composure before I entered the store. It was still early – not even nine o’clock yet. Meyer’s would not open until ten, but Blanchard and the Sheriff were inside, talking to Ira. I pulled out my handkerchief from my pocket and wiped the sweat that was pouring off my head and down the back of my neck, then I pushed the door open and walked in.

  “Bram! Welcome!” beamed Ira. I was surprised to see him so cheerful. “Please, join us, we were just talking to your lovely new house guest.”

  Ira, always kind and warm, seemed angelic, a halo of white hair floated above his balding head. He was standing behind the display case, his elbows propped up on the glass countertop. He peered at me through the round spectacles perched at the end of his nose. To his right stood Blanchard, leaning against the counter with his left elbow. On the opposite stood Melee, her head still slightly bowed. Boyle had removed her handcuffs, but was still holding her elbow. Seeing him standing so near her made my stomach lurch again.

  Blanchard eyed me with distaste. “Well, Bram, true to form, you continue to meddle in things that don’t concern you. I declare, I don’t think I’ve seen a man so interested in the domestic help in all my life,” he snickered and Boyle smiled, shaking his head.

  I froze in my steps. Could Blanchard read me that well? I hoped that he did not have a deeper meaning behind his comment. Ira perceived my uneasiness and, always the good host, attempted to make me comfortable.

  “Do come in, Bram,” he smiled. “Now gentlemen,” he turned to Blanchard, “what can I do for you this morning?”

  Blanchard cleared his throat and straightened up to his full height, taking the posture he usually had in front of the jury in court.

  “Ira, we believe that we may have caught the person who took that necklace from here on Friday night,”

  “Oh?” responded Ira. He also stood up straight, folding his hands in front of him.

  “Show him the necklace,” prompted Boyle, giving Melee a nudge with his elbow.

  Melee slowly turned her face toward me. I could see the fear rising. Her eyes were tearing up and she was struggling to stay calm. She reached up behind her neck with shaking hands and slowly unclasped the silver chain around her neck. Holding the pendant gently in one hand and the chain in the other, she placed the necklace on the counter.

  Ira hummed. “Interesting.” He pulled his magnifying glass from a drawer and bent over to examine the necklace more closely. After a few long minutes, he stood back up, a wide smile on his face.

  “It’s a beautiful necklace, that’s for certain, but it isn’t the one that was stolen from here.”

  Blanchard and Boyle both stiffened with surprise. I felt my knees begin to give way from relief.

  “Are you sure about that Ira?” accused Boyle, “It
is St. Anne on there, right?”

  “Yes, yes indeed,” agreed Ira. “But the necklace that was stolen was platinum. This is sterling silver. Lovely and durable, but not platinum. Also the inscription. The pendant that was stolen had ‘St. Anne, Pray for Us,’ written in English. This has an inscription in French. I’m afraid I don’t speak French so I’m not sure what it says,” he smiled again, and then handed the necklace back to Melee.

  “Where did you get such a pretty necklace?” Ira asked Melee. She was fumbling again with the clasp, trying to place the necklace back around her neck.

  “My mother,” answered Melee, her head raising just a little, “when she died.”

  “Well that was a beautiful gift,” said Ira. He smiled kindly at her and then turned to Blanchard.

  “So, Mr. Blanchard, I’m afraid we have not yet caught the thief. Perhaps we should let Bram take the girl home now. I’m sure she’s had a difficult morning.”

  Blanchard scowled over Melee’s head at Boyle, and then squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Alright,” he sighed. “Sorry to trouble you this morning, Miss Melee, you’re free to go.”

  Melee nodded and then walked toward me. I held the door open for her, and tossed a glare back at Blanchard and Boyle.

  “I’d appreciate it if you refrain from invading my home again, gentlemen,” I grumbled. “Ira, thank you kindly.” I gave him a quick smile and then followed Melee out.

  She walked like a ghost, floating along and staring vacantly. I began to worry, wondering what she was thinking. Would she leave now? I would not blame her. I hurried to open the car door for her and helped her inside. She averted her eyes from me as she slipped into the front seat, folding her hands in her lap and bowing her head.

  I started up the car, and then began a slow drive out of town. Melee was silent. I was screaming in my head, wondering what I could say to comfort her. I didn’t want to drive back to my house, thinking that seeing Sally would just upset Melee more, but I didn’t exactly know where to go, so I drove East, crossing over the Bayou Teche bridge and heading out on the winding road toward New Orleans. After about twenty minutes of driving, the landscape turned marshy, murky swamp water stretching out on either side of the road. The Cypress trees laden with Spanish moss shaded the car from the sun’s glare. We drove on the raised road over the swamp and then emerged into rice country. I pulled off the road onto a gravel drive and parked under a massive oak tree. A squirrel chattered overhead.