Lost in the Bayou

by Cornell DeVille

  “I know,” I reply. “But he won’t. Just don’t let him know it’s you. Sometime this morning he’s going to go down into the cellar to look for Andy and me. When he does, you lock the cellar door. Make him think it’s us that’s locked him in. And tell him we’ve taken the key and you’re going to try to find us so you can let him out. He’ll believe you, especially if he’s been drinking again.”

  Warner scratches his head through his hat and puts his thinking face on. My nervousness is increasing with each second, never knowing when the kitchen door might fly open and Uncle Conrad might head toward the stable and find us. We need to leave as quickly as possible in order to get to the bayou and the shanty before dark. Warner is the only one who can help us now by keeping Conrad locked up until we can escape from him.

  “Please, Warner,” I whisper. “It’s important.”

  Warner’s face is wearing a more concerned expression now. “These old bones are talking to me, Miss Robin.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “Well, they’re telling me there’s more to what’s going on here than you’re lettin’ on.”

  The tears are starting to come now, but I blink them back. I don’t want Warner to see me cry. He would just ask more questions, and we don’t have time for that. I feel a tear escaping from my eye and I lower my head so Warner can’t see it.

  My words almost get stuck in my throat when I answer. “I left you a note explaining everything. It’s in the top drawer of my desk. In my bedroom. The left side. Don’t tell Uncle Conrad you saw us this morning. You haven’t seen us since last night, and you don’t know where we are. If he asks where the horses are, tell him we got rid of them after Mom and Dad disappeared. He may not stay long when he can’t find us. I’m hoping he’ll give up and leave in a day or two. When he does, hop on Beau Diddly and come and get us.”

  Before Warner can reply, Andy rushes into the stable with his arms loaded and drops everything at my feet. “I’ll get the horses saddled,” he says.

  “I’ll help,” Warner says as he follows Andy toward the stalls.

  I sit back down on the bench, step into my boots and start lacing them up. When I’ve got them tied, I turn my attention to the rest of the items Andy has collected. After I stuff the box of wooden matches into my satchel, I realize there’s not much room for anything else.

  A few minutes later, Andy is running toward me, leading the horses. Warner is following him. I grab Star’s lead and hook my satchel and the canteens on her saddle horn. Andy and I stow the items he’s brought into our saddlebags. I notice there’s plenty of oil in the lantern when I hook the metal loop over my saddle horn. We’re working fast, and it isn’t long before I’m stepping into the stirrup and swinging my leg over Star’s wide back. Andy is settling into Sunny’s saddle at the same time.

  I turn to Warner. “Promise you won’t mention this to a living soul, Warner, but we’ll be in the bayou, at the old shanty.”

  He nods, and from his expression, it’s obvious that he’s still quite concerned. “You two be careful in that bayou. It’s a dangerous place. Be aware of what’s going on around you. That crazy Frenchman is still living down there, the last I heard. Stay away from him if you see him. And don’t worry. When your uncle leaves, I’ll hop on Beau Diddly and come looking for you.” He hands me a burlap bag. “Here’s some oats for the horses. Tie it on your saddle horn with this twine. Should be enough for a few days. They can always graze if they get hungry. But hold off a minute before you light out of here. I’ve got something for you that may come in handy.”

  Warner shuffles to the back of the stable while I tie the bag on my saddle. The hinges creak when he opens the door on an old wooden cabinet. A moment later, he’s heading toward us carrying a rifle. He hands me a box of cartridges before tying the rifle to a leather strap on Andy’s saddle.

  “It’s your daddy’s varmint gun,” he says. “It’ll stop a gator if you hit him in the head. It’s not loaded, but keep the safety on anyway. It’s that little lever by the trigger.”

  Andy rubs the oiled stock of the rifle as I stuff the box of cartridges into my saddlebag.

  “One more thing,” Warner says as he tightens Star’s cinch with a quick tug. “Once you get into the bayou, the creek forks and goes around either side of an island. In the center of that island is a tall, old cypress tree with no branches. It’s the tallest tree in the bayou. You steer clear of it. There’s quicksand in that area. You hear what I’m saying?”

  I smile and give Warner a nod of understanding as I shoot another glance out the stable doorway and toward the house. My nerves are wound as tight as last night’s patent leather shoes when Andy and I exit the stable and head across the field.

  A touch of sadness fills me as I think about what we’re doing. It may be a long time before we come home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Something Follows Us

  The Bayou—Tuesday evening

  STAR IS STRONG AND STEADY as we ride to the top of the rise. When we reach the crest, I turn in my saddle to look back at the house. There’s no sign of Conrad, but Warner is still standing at the stable door, as if watching over us for as long as he can before we disappear over the hill.

  I breathe a sigh of sadness and relief as we head down the other side. Sadness because we’re leaving Warner behind to deal with Conrad. Our uncle is much younger and much stronger than Warner, and that worries me. Especially if he figures out that Warner locked him in the cellar. The relief I feel is because Conrad hasn’t seen us leave, which may help to protect Warner in some small way. A moment later, the sadness moves aside as a new flash of anger burns through me that Conrad is forcing us to do this.

  The ground is still wet from last night’s storm, so the horses aren’t kicking up a dust cloud that would be easily visible from the house. I’m happy about that, and hopefully, if he doesn’t know where we’ve gone, we’ve seen our uncle for the last time. Mom and Dad should be home in the next couple of days, and when Warner tells them what he was planning, they’ll send him on his way—if he hasn’t already given up and left.

  “Let’s hurry,” I say to Andy.

  We both encourage our horses with a couple of quick heel jabs, and they speed up. Before long, we’ve entered the woods and stopped by the stream. The trees are filled with birds, and they’re brightening the crisp morning air with their sweet song. A light breeze is moving the tree leaves as the dappled shade dances across the ground. It’s peaceful, and I feel safer in these woods than I did in our own house.

  The horses take a long drink while Andy and I fill our canteens with the cool water. “Did you get any food?” Andy asks before taking a drink.

  “Yeah,” I answer as I screw the lid on my canteen and hook the strap over my saddle horn. “Are you hungry?”

  “Kind of,” he replies, wiping the water dribbles from his chin. “Crazy Conrad didn’t give me much food last night.”

  “I saw that piddling amount of roast he gave you. Do you want to eat now?”

  Andy shakes his head. “No. We need to hurry if we’re going to get to the bayou before dark. I’d like to be in the shanty before the gators start prowling.”

  “Me, too.” I reach into my satchel and pull out an apple. “Munch on this while we ride.” I toss the apple to him, and he catches it. “We can stop in a little while and have a sandwich.”

  “Thanks,” he replies before taking a big bite.

  I pull another apple out of the satchel and bite into it. It’s sweet and juicy, and I know Star would love it. I’m not that hungry, so I give her the rest of it. She munches on it and makes some low, happy sounds as I swing my leg over her back and into the stirrup.

  We head on. A few hours pass as we continue deeper into the woods and away from the house and our crazy uncle. My nerves have settled a bit, but I keep looking behind us just to make certain we’re not being followed. The further we go, the more relieved I feel.

  Around noon, the cool morning ai
r has turned hot and humid. We’ve put some time and some miles behind us, and my stomach is starting to grumble. I point to a small clearing just ahead. “Let’s head over there and take a break.”

  After jumping off Star, I pull the roast beef and the loaf of bread out of my satchel before Andy leads her and Sunny to a grassy area a few yards away where they can graze a bit. When he comes back, I hand him a sandwich, and we sit on a fallen tree trunk and eat. The beef is a bit dry, but it still has the good flavor that Mrs. Deffenbaugh’s roasts always have, and it’s filling the emptiness in my stomach.

  Andy has a faraway look in his eyes as he chews his food.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” I say.

  He looks at me as his eyes focus. “Do you think he’ll follow us?”

  “How could he?” I reply. “He doesn’t know where we went.”

  “The ground was wet and muddy when we left the stable. We left tracks.”

  My heart sinks when I realize he’s right. “Oh, no! I didn’t think of that.” My mind is racing. “No, wait. He can’t follow us. There aren’t any more horses.”

  “There’s Beau Diddly,” Andy says.

  He’s right. Warner is very particular about letting anyone ride his mule, but he wouldn’t be able to stop Conrad if he made his mind up to take him and follow us. “But Warner’s going to lock him in the cellar today,” I reply. “And he’s not going to let him out until suppertime. And maybe he won’t even think to look for our tracks anyway. He might think we’re still hiding in the house somewhere and not even get an idea to check outside. And when he doesn’t find us, he may even give up and leave in a day or two.”

  Andy shrugs as he takes another bite of his sandwich. “Maybe so. I mean, maybe he won’t think to look outside. At least, not at first.” He shakes his head slowly. “But I don’t think he’ll give up, Robin. Didn’t you see the look in his eyes last night?”

  When he mentions it, I recall the hatred that was burning in Conrad’s eyes as we sat at the dinner table. “You may be right. But if he can’t find us, he might leave.”

  He shrugs. “He might. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Well, it’s July. It can always rain again and wash the tracks away.”

  Andy doesn’t reply, and we finish our meal in silence, each of us with our own thoughts. After washing everything down with a couple of swigs of water from our canteens, we’re ready to go on.

  It’s a long ride, and the sun is almost setting when Andy and I come to the edge of the bayou. The trail we’ve ridden along has disappeared now. The vegetation has crept in and covered it. The woods slowly change, and we enter a new area that’s much less friendly than the one we’ve been in up to this point. The ground is soft and soggy in places, and we have to be careful so the horses don’t lose their footing. The smell of decay is everywhere, and a chorus of strange sounds becomes louder and more frequent the further we go. Star seems jittery all at once. She’s usually calm and steady in any situation, and her skittishness is making me more nervous than I already am.

  The environment has changed drastically. The air is alive now, and the noises seem to be coming from every direction. Chirping. Croaking. The flutter of wings and the sound of unseen things slithering through the wetness that surrounds us now. I’m sure some of the slithering is snakes moving around in the darkness. I hope they’re moving in the other direction. I’m trying to be brave, but I catch myself jumping at each new sound and wondering what type of slimy creature it belongs to. Andy looks wary, too.

  The Spanish moss hangs from the tree limbs like death shrouds. I’m jumpy, and I’m making my own sounds each time we pass under a low branch and a sticky spider web tickles my face or something skitters through my hair. My shoulders are hunched up, for fear that something will fall from a tree limb and slither inside my collar and down my back. Things are crawling on my arms, but I never see them, and I’m beginning to wonder if they’re only in my mind. I don’t think so, but imagination is a powerful thing.

  The hum of flies surrounds us. Buzzing gnats swarm around my face, and my hand continually swats at the dark and living cloud as it moves along with us. Star is having a time with it, too. She’s swishing her tail continually to swat the biting flies, and she shakes her head to dislodge the gnats that are attracted to her eyes and nostrils. Andy seems oblivious to it all, and he continues on his steady course.

  The sun disappears below the horizon and the last light eventually fades as the sky changes from gold to gray. Twilight settles around us and the fog floats in. It’s as if the horses are walking on a cloud. The air is wet and muggy, and it becomes even thicker as we continue.

  Darkness falls, bringing more sounds with it. The temperature is dropping as we ride on. The flies have left, but the mosquitoes have replaced them. I swat at a sting on my neck, but the insect has already drunk his fill of my blood and moved on. My arms feel damp and clammy now, and I’m starting to shiver. I open the satchel, remove my jacket, and stuff my arms into the sleeves.

  “Aren’t you getting cold?” I ask Andy.

  Before he can reply, the darkness is shattered by a loud commotion directly ahead of us. Branches snap. Sunny dances sideways with a loud whinny. It spooks Star. She rears. My heart flutters at a million miles an hour. I hang on, and try to settle her nerves with a few gentle pats and some soothing words.

  The noise continues as the unseen intruder lumbers noisily though the vegetation ahead of us. We wait. The sound gets further away and eventually ends with a loud splash.

  “What was that?” I whisper.

  “Gator,” Andy replies. He turns his horse to the right and jabs his heels in. “I think the shanty’s this way. Come on.”

  I hope he knows where he’s going, because I certainly don’t. I follow obediently behind him, up a slight slope. To my left, the moon is breaking through the gray clouds now and frosting the landscape with a pale silver glow. It lights our way somewhat, but it makes the moss-covered limbs of the trees look like grotesque arms in ragged sleeves, beckoning, as our shadows dance along beside us. I’m glad Andy is with me. I’m useless with directions, and I appreciate his company more than he knows.

  After another mile or so, there’s still no sign of the shanty. Suddenly Andy reins his horse to a stop and glances behind us. “Did you hear that?” he whispers.

  I glance in the direction Andy’s staring, my eyes searching the darkness for anything unusual. “What?” I ask. “Did I hear what?”

  “Shhh!” he whispers, still staring behind us.

  “What?” I whisper back.

  “Someone’s following us. I’ve heard something behind us a couple of times now.” Andy unties the leather strap and hands me the rifle. “Go ahead and load it, just in case.”

  The metal barrel is cold and moist with condensation when I grab it and set the rifle across my saddle. My hands tremble as I open the ammunition box and remove a cartridge. I look for the little door of the loading chamber that Dad showed me last summer, but it’s hard to find in the dim light. There it is. It opens when I push the first cartridge in, and clicks shut behind it. The rest of them slide in easily, one at a time, six in all. “Okay. It’s loaded.” I check to make sure the safety is on before handing the rifle back to Andy.

  “Keep your ears open,” Andy says, laying the rifle across his saddle.

  I start listening carefully, and now every sound seems suspicious. I can hear the gurgling of the creek running along the left side of our path. There are sounds coming from unseen things in the tree branches overhead. And the skitter of feet or claws belonging to other unknown things that are moving around in the dark vegetation surrounding us.

  A little further ahead I see the tall, limbless cypress Warner mentioned. It has an eerie glow in the moonlight. A large bird is perched on the very top, a dark silhouette against the gray sky, keeping watch over the quicksand below. We continue parallel to the creek for another ten minutes or so. Memories come flashing back when I see the
old wooden shanty looming dead ahead of us at the top of the hill.

  A few more yards and we’re there. I’m so relieved that we made it, and so proud of Andy for getting us here. After unhooking the lantern’s metal loop from my saddle horn, I dismount. Andy starts removing Sunny’s saddle as I lift my satchel from the horn. It seems so much heavier than it did when I hooked it on earlier, but I manage to get it off without too much difficulty.

  Once I have it on the ground, I feel around inside, and my fingers locate the matchbox within a few seconds. A moment later, the crackle of the match and smell of sulfur fill the air as a golden glow dances in the tree limbs. I touch the flame to the lantern’s wick and blow out the match before setting the lantern on the ground next to Star.

  Andy’s beside me, grabbing my hand when I start to uncinch Star’s saddle. “I’ll get it,” he says. “You go on inside.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “You want me to leave the lantern?”

  Andy shakes his head. “No. I can do this in the dark. I’ll put both of them in the paddock and come inside when I’m done.”

  “Bring the saddle blankets,” I reply as I pick up my satchel and the lantern and start walking toward the shanty.

  My heart is thumping like a drum when I get to the door. I can’t help but smile when I see our name, Sherwood, still there and looking just the way it did the day Andy carved it. I move forward and give the door a gentle push before stepping back, not certain what might come running, or flying, toward me from the darkness on the other side. I move cautiously through the doorway, holding the lantern out in front of me. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust. When they do, I’m surprised that the shanty appears pretty much like it did after Andy and I cleaned it out the last time we were here—except for some new mouse droppings and spider webs.

  Amazingly, the glass in the small window next to the door is still intact, but it’s so old and dirty that it’s almost opaque and nearly impossible to see through. The floor is hard-packed dirt, just as I remember it. The small stone fireplace on the far side still appears operable, and the one rough-hewn wooden shelf is still nailed to the wall right above it. Thankfully, I don’t see any spiders or snakes needing to be evicted. Even though it seems to be in better shape than I remember, our new home is a dramatic change from the luxurious mansion we’re used to living in. But it’s the only shelter we have at the moment, and as Mom always says, we’ll learn to make do with what we’ve been given.