The Witch of Bourbon Street

by Suzanne Palmieri

  I wished so hard just then that I could give her a hug.

  Bee’s face grew long and sad. “Sister Rose … I wonder what happened to her? In the end, she was my best keeper.”

  “They locked you in?”

  “I don’t know if it was to keep me safe or to keep others away from my illness, but yes, they locked me in. And then, in time, I died.”

  “You died?” Dida … thinks Jack.

  “I did. But not because I was sleeping for a long time, there is no magic as strong as that. It was because I caught ill from being in the water so long. It got into my lungs. The sisters buried me right here. It was the most beautiful thing. My father’s lawyer, he came to the little funeral, and Sister Rose gave him that key that she’d made. She was crying, mon Dieu, so sad. Then I found my soul attached to that key, in Albert’s hand as he made his way back onto Saint Sabine Isle, so broken and torn by the storm, like all of us. He tossed the key into the Gulf. I like to think that I am, perhaps, a mermaid.”

  Jack doesn’t know what to say or do. He can feel the weight of her lonesomeness deep in his heart.

  “Look, who’s that?” asks Bee.

  Jack sees Millie running against the wind, holding a shawl around her, her wild hair blowing every which way.

  “That’s Millie, she’s the one who put me up there.” He points to the little dark window nailed shut on the top floor.

  “Looks like she’s come to get you! Lucky, lucky boy. Let’s see!”

  Jack and Bee follow Millie up the stairs. She’s crying and talking to herself. She even laughs a few times.

  “Damn spell book, damn lies, damn witches! Please … please … please…”

  She reaches a small bookcase, moves it aside, and then turns the knob. Back and forth and back again. The door holds fast.

  “How is it locked? There was no key. Was there a latch?” Millie falls to her knees and feels inside the keyhole, then looks inside.

  “It was open, the door was open. And I shut it … and there must be, oh … God, a spring lock?”

  Setting down her lantern, she sits on the top of the marble staircase.

  “Well, Millie, seems to me you got two options. Go back to Thirteen Bourbon and tell them what you’ve done, which includes stealing Jack, and a host of other things that are most unpleasant. Or you can leave. And quick.”

  She stands up, running a hand through her thick hair. “But if I leave, how can I be sure they’ll find him in time? Oh, puh-lease, this is Danny and Frances we’re talking about. They have everything they need. They’ll figure it out. And Danny’ll hatchet down that damn door.”

  Millie runs back down the stairs and out into the storm.

  Jack and Bee watch her walk backward toward Bourbon. She gives a strange little salute and then … she was gone.

  “Mon Dieu, she’s leaving you here!”

  “You got left here, too, remember?”

  “Yes, Jack. And I am still here. There is no happy ending. Not yet.”

  They sit down together on the marble tomb of the Lost Girl of August, their chins resting in their palms, both wondering what to do next.

  Time is strange and full of errors in the in-between. Soon, or perhaps much later, Jack looks up to see, through the rain that touched everything but them, tiny lights bouncing toward them.

  “Bee? Are those the feux follets? I don’t want to be caught up like that.”

  “Don’t be such an idiot, Jack. Those aren’t feux follets, those are lanterns. And I think … oh Jack, I think those are your parents.…

  “It’s time to wake up, Jack. It’s time,” she says, walking away from him.

  Jack is filled with a sudden, wrenching ache.

  “Don’t leave me, Bee,”

  “Oh, Jack. Don’t you see? Leaving is just another way to say moving on. We can never be afraid of moving on. I’ve been afraid, but you brought the brave back to me. Thank you.”

  “Wait! Bee!” yells Jack, reaching out for Belinda B’Lovely Sorrow. “Let me fix your bow.”

  29

  Missing Pieces

  Frances

  The missing pages from the Journals of Albert Monroe:

  “Help us,” Sister Vesta cried out again, beginning to fall forward.

  I rescued the child from her arms, and Sister Vesta fell against my body. Limp like a rag doll. “Mr. Solace, can you help me?” I shouted to the man who tends bar.

  “Of course, sir,” he said, and when he rounded the corner: “Oh, my dear, sweet Lord,” as he picked up Vesta. We brought them both to the lounge, and I ran for blankets. Mr. Solace shooed out the late drinkers from the bar and went to make something hot for them to drink.

  “Albert, we can’t stay here. We need to keep her safe. Take me to the convent. The Ursuline Convent, a few blocks down. I swear, I wasn’t going to involve you. I thought I could make it there, but after all the miles I walked, I could barely make it here.”

  She was feverish and stuttering.

  Mr. Solace brought warm tea.

  “The child, she wakes continually but can’t seem to come out from the deep sleep she is in. She’s under some sort of spell, I swear it. I told you, I’ve read their books, studied their ways. This is Rosella’s doing. Please, for the love of God, take us to the Ursulines.”

  That’s when I noticed that Vesta was wearing her nun’s attire.

  I wrapped Vesta up in a blanket and carried her, while Mr. Solace followed with Belinda.

  “Tell them we need sanctuary,” she implored as I climbed the steps, fighting back the rain, wondering how on earth she could have walked so far, so fast, in such conditions.

  Two nuns answered the door, holding lanterns.

  “She needs sanctuary for herself, this child, and their souls. Can you help us?”

  They ushered us in, but when we tried to place them in the beds the sisters led us to, Vesta leaned forward from my arms, whispering in the ear of one of the nuns.

  Understanding crossed her face, and she nodded, motioning for us all to follow.

  We climbed what seemed like endless flights of steps, and then, on the very top floor of the building, they opened a small door.

  It was a beautiful space, with beds covered in fine lace linens. We placed Vesta and Belinda down, watching as the nuns rang a bell and deftly got to work with basins of hot water and fresh, warm nightdresses.

  “You must leave now, sir,” said the sister to whom Vesta had whispered. “My name is Sister Rose and you can rest knowing you have left these two lost souls in God’s loving arms.”

  “Will I be able to visit with her?”

  She looked toward Vesta, who nodded.

  “When she is well enough, we will send word.”

  The doors shut behind us, and all I could do was wait.

  I tried to be patient, distracting myself by helping where I could with cleanup from the storm.

  Finally, two days after we left them, Mr. Solace found a note slipped under the front door when he opened the bar.

  Mr. Monroe,

  Vesta is quite ill with fever. She will see you now. Come when you can, we fear there isn’t much time.

  Sister Rose

  When I arrived, Sister Rose led me to the downstairs infirmary. Vesta was lying in a bed, very still, among victims of the storm.

  “Where is the child?” I asked.

  “We will not speak of her, Mr. Monroe. You did not find her. She does not exist,” said Sister Rose sternly.

  As I began to protest, Vesta called out to me weakly.

  “Albert?”

  I went and sat by her, holding her hand.

  “It seems you will get your confession after all, Albert.” She smiled faintly.

  “Just rest, Vesta. You need say nothing. I do not doubt your innocence. I never did.”

  “Then you are wrong. Listen, so that we may keep her safe.…

  “When I first arrived at the Sorrow Estate, Egg, cher bébé Egg, was in so much pain. Every little thing
bruised or broke him. Every cut bled him until he could not draw air. He was loved, so loved, but he was also a very sick little boy. And his crying. Oh God, it still haunts me how he cried.

  “I tried everything to ease his pain. But nothing seemed to work.

  “I’d met Rosella and she seemed very kind during those first days. She pulled me aside in the kitchen and told me to go see her mother, Patrice, who lived deep in the bayou.”

  “‘But Helene was adamant that I only use standard healing practices,’ I said, surprised.

  “‘Sister Vesta, Helene is not well herself, deluded and worn thin. Egg is suffering. My mother can give you something to help. Why not try? For Egg? C’est bon?’

  “The next day I took my basket and told Helene I would be going to the market in Tivoli Proper. Leon took me across the bayou. When I found Patrice, she gave me a small bag of powder.

  “‘This will end his suffering, ma chère. He is bayou born and bred. He need a bayou cure.’

  “I swear, Albert, it did not cross my mind, not for one second, that it was anything more than a folk remedy. I followed her instructions and gave it to him mixed inside warm milk.

  “He did not wake up the next morning.”

  “But Vesta, you could not have…”

  She brought her finger to her lips to hush me.

  “The grieving was terrible, as you can imagine, and then, everyone seemed to get ill. I noticed after some time that Helene’s hair was thinning and her teeth were soft. I noticed that all the girls, except Belinda, suffered from terrible stomach pains. I thought perhaps it was an allergy. I know, I would laugh at myself if I could. But so much was being written in the medical books about allergies. I wrote to my sister-nurses in Baltimore and they told me that a new article had been written about the curative effects of honey. Indigenous honey. I spoke with Edmond, and he agreed to pay for the hives and the equipment. He insisted Rosella, who knew more about nature than I, help with the placement of the hives. Soon, our honey was being given to them with breakfast and lunch.

  “But much to my dismay, they all seemed to grow even more ill.

  “Six months after Egg died, SuzyNell eloped. Her absence sparked only more grieving. Rosella, Edmond, and Helene had a terrible argument about it. Helene was convinced it was Rosella’s doing. That she wanted to steal all her children away. And I was so ashamed, because Edmond called her crazy—only I knew the truth. Because Rosella had taken Egg’s life, through my hands.

  “Then, it all unraveled.

  “I was the one who sent them out to play croquet, knowing Mae was in a sad and sorry state. She was angry at the world, missing SuzyNell, and she took it out on the croquet ball with her mallet. And that ball, a metal one, part of a set from France, hit Edwina in the head, in the temple. She was killed instantly. I told Mae no one had to know. When asked, I said we didn’t know how Edwina got hit with the ball. But Mae was so full of guilt. She could barely look at Helene. And each time Helene reached for her, she ran. I should have let Mae confess, it was an accident, after all. Because shortly after, filled with guilt, Mae walked into Sorrow Bay and got caught up in the current beyond the lighthouse. Edmond didn’t even wait for Mae’s funeral. You found him, did you not, hanging in his study at Thirteen Bourbon?”

  A chill ran through me as I nodded, remembering.

  “After, the twins succumbed to the illness I was trying to cure in the first place, and Helene followed Edmond to the noose. I’d gone to get Rosella because Helene insisted. When we arrived, Helene was hanging from the live oak on the front lawn, her face illuminated by a bonfire she’d set next to her. When Leon finally put out the fire, we realized Helene had her last moment of defiance. She’d set fire to the portrait of Serafina Sorrow.”

  Vesta leaned back, closing her eyes.

  “This was a cursed coincidence, Vesta. None of this is your fault.”

  “Albert, I was the one who listened to Rosella about where to put the hives. And do you know where they were? Next to wild oleander. The honey I was feeding them to make them well was poisoning them. I killed them all. I was complicit—” Her voice broke.

  “You did no such thing.”

  “Albert, there is one more sin on my conscience, one more thing you must help do. I must save at least one of them.”

  Vesta’s face was damp with sweat, and her eyes had grown dazed.

  “Anything,” I said.

  “Keep Belinda hidden. Tell no one. Not SuzyNell. No one. Rosella put a curse on her, some kind of fever dream. I’m sure she intends to kill her as well. Or worse. I found her in the lighthouse, Albert. You see …

  “At first, I tried to be brave, staying all alone in my little cottage. But then, when the last candle burned out, I ran against the wind to the estate. Soon, though, the wind blew the windows out from the back gallery, and I looked and saw the reflection of rain on the windows of the lighthouse. I didn’t want to die. And it seemed the safest place. The waters were raging, but something in me knew I had to get there. I let the current take me. The tiny island had not yet been swallowed up. So, relieved, I went in, and tried to wait out the storm. But not long after, I saw the water begin to pour into the foundation, and as that water rose up, I floated up with it. And when I got close to the ceiling, there was a small round handle. And when I pulled it, climbing up into the cramped top of that strange little house, there she was, Belinda. Sleeping.

  “I broke a window, waiting for the waters to rise higher, and then put my arms around her waist and swam, as slow and steady as I could, against the storm. And I prayed, Albert. I prayed, and I do believe, for the first time in too long, God listened.

  “When I was back on estate grounds, I saw Rosella struggling against the terrible confused currents at the mouth of Sorrow Bay. She was in a small boat, screaming into the wind, like a madwoman. ‘Give her back to me!’ she yelled above the dying winds. ‘Give her back! She is mine.…’

  “So I ran, Albert. I ran with this girl in my arms. And I steadied my own boat, and too afraid to take to the roads, I ran through the swamps. I fell, so many times. Finally, I gave up and went to the road. That is when God found me again. Leon was driving his horse through the rain. We’d hit the eye of the storm and he was trying to get to New Orleans.

  “He lifted Belinda in the carriage, and I said, ‘If you ever loved them, you will not speak of this. If you want to live, you will not speak of this.’

  “I made him drop us off many blocks from you, Albert. And had you bring us here. I trusted the sisters and was sure they would know what to do. And now you must leave her. Leave me. Leave all of this.”

  “Vesta, we must make this known. Bring Rosella to justice.”

  “She will have her day. Before God. Sister Rose is caring for Belinda now and for as long as she stays cursed by that terrible woman. It will be your job to help me keep this quiet until we know Belinda is safe. Do you understand, Albert? I know you do. I see you taking notes in your head. You will document this; it’s in your nature. Hide it, hide this, Albert. That way, someday, the world can know the truth, when they are ready to listen. That way, Rosella will be known for the villain that she is. And by then, we will all be gone in the arms of God. You will keep everything quiet; I see it in your eyes, Albert. You finally understand.”

  And so I hide this account, as she asked, in the hopes that the truth it reveals will help others see the truth as well,

  Sincerely,

  Albert Monroe.

  * * *

  “He’s in the convent,” I said. “Not two blocks away.”

  “Let’s go,” said Danny.

  “Wait, let me tell her, I want to tell her,” I said, quietly opening the door to my room. I leaned in and went to Sippie, kissing her forehead. “We found him, love. Safe, just like you said. I’ll go get him right now. When you wake up from wherever you are, you know that I’ll be right back, that I’m never leaving you again.”

  I came back out. “You ready?” I asked Danny. Th
en I saw the crowbar in his hands. The one we kept to prop open the windows in the atrium in the summer. I smiled.

  “I am,” he said.

  Danny held his crowbar, and I held a lantern. Out in the storm, he walked and I ran beside him, two steps for each of his long strides.

  “Wait,” I said, a strange feeling washing over me.

  “What?”

  I turned around and looked up the street. Millie was standing there, watching us.

  “Give him back to me!” I yelled, echoing the pages I’d just read.

  “I don’t have him, Frankie. But you know where he is. Just go get him. Leave me alone.” Millie looked sadder than I’d ever seen her.

  “What do you want to do?” asked Danny.

  “You go on, I don’t see him with her. I’ll be right there.”

  “No police around, Gypsy. You gonna be okay?”

  “She won’t hurt me. Soon she’ll be gone, and I won’t see her again. And, I might never really know why she did all this. I need to know. I’ll be right there, promise.”

  Danny pressed forward into the wind. I turned around, heading straight for her.

  “Millie!!”

  She looked up, unmoving. But when I got within half a block of her, she yelled, “You just stay right there, Frankie. I’m leaving. You don’t have to bother with me. You figured it all out like I knew you would, and Jack is fine. In a few minutes you’ll have everything you ever wanted.”

  “But I won’t have you.”

  I thought she’d yell back something terrible. But she didn’t, she just stood there, like she didn’t know what to do at all. Suddenly I knew we’d arrived at that moment in time when the future would crack open and set multiple paths.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I don’t know if I really know the answer to that. Or maybe it’s real simple. Maybe it’s ‘Why not?’”

  “I don’t believe that. This is what you do, try to evil your way out of everything,” I shouted, exasperated.

  “Maybe you just think I’m a better person than I really am. Maybe I wanted to be a mother, a wife, a daughter … or maybe I was just sick of taking care of you, of worrying about you. Or maybe I was scared I didn’t have to worry anymore. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter anymore, I’m leavin’.”