Lost in the Bayou

by Cornell DeVille

  As darkness settles around us, Andy finds a lantern in the cypress box at the front of the pirogue, along with some matches. The wind and rain are dealing him a fit, and he has to use several matches before he manages to get the lantern lit. But he finally does, and it helps light the way as we continue down the creek. Within an hour or so, Andy tells me that the oil is nearly gone and he needs to turn the wick down to conserve what’s left. It’s not nearly as bright now, but it’s still lighting our way. Barely. The wind grows stronger, but since it’s mostly behind us, that’s a good thing because it helps push us along and allows me to rest a bit.

  At last, the pirogue glides past the old cypress tree that Warner told us about, and a few minutes later, we’re at the spot where we left with Michel. It was only yesterday, but it seems so long ago. We’ve covered such a great distance since then.

  But we’ve come back with Mom and Dad. Hopefully everything will return to normal again before long, if Fabien Laveau’s Voodoo powder works and brings them out of the trance. And I hope I do it right, when the time comes. Andy is saying something, but I can barely hear him because of the noise of the rain.

  “What did you say?” I yell back at him.

  “I think we should wake Mom and Dad before we get home,” he repeats as he wipes the rain from his face.

  “Why would we want to do that?”

  “Because. What if we get home and Conrad is there? He would stop us. He would either take the Voodoo powder away from us or just kill us. And if he kills us, then Mom and Dad would never come out of the trance.”

  “I don’t think we should wake them up yet,” I say. “We’ve still got the rifle. If Conrad is at the house, you can hold the rifle on him while I blow the powder in their faces. Then Dad can take care of him after he wakes up.”

  “But Dad’s got a broken arm,” Andy replies.

  “I know that. But Conrad wouldn’t do anything if Dad was awake. At least I don’t think he would. Anyway, you’ve got the rifle. That should stop him.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Andy is nodding. “I keep forgetting about the rifle. That’s a good idea.” Even though the wind is driving the rain in sheets, the old shanty comes into view at the top of the hill. A strange feeling rushes through me when I see it. That shanty is nothing but a dilapidated shack, but I’m so happy to see it I could cry. It’s like we’ve come home, and I’m so thankful we made it back without getting lost.

  I’m miserable from the rain and worn out from pushing the boat along. The blisters started growing on my palms shortly after we left the village. They burst somewhere along the way, and they’ve been stinging ever since. Andy hasn’t complained once, but he looks as tired and as miserable as I feel. I remember the antiseptic ointment in my satchel and make a mental note to use it on my hands when we get to the shanty.

  Andy hops out of the boat and onto the soggy bank, and his boots make a sucking sound as they sink into the mud. He has a rope from the bow, and he ties it to a tree limb that’s close enough to reach. I find another rope in the stern and pull the boat as close to shore as possible before tying the rope to a low-hanging limb.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s get Mom and Dad to the shanty and out of this storm.”

  It takes us a while, and it’s a bit of a balancing act, especially with the wind and the worn and slippery wet wood of the pirogue. Despite the difficulty, Andy and I finally manage to lift the stretcher Mom is lying on and get it out of the boat. Before heading up the hill toward the shanty, I grab the lantern and slip the handle over my wrist. There’s not much light coming from it, but it’s better than nothing.

  The ground is muddy and slick from the rain, and the going isn’t easy, but after a few minutes we’ve made it up the hill. Star greets me with her hello whinny as we arrive. When we enter the shanty, the lantern’s oil runs out and we’re standing in darkness as the sound of the rain beats against the roof. We manage to feel our way and place the stretcher on the floor in the middle of the room.

  I find my satchel and pull out the matchbox. My hands are wet, and I don’t get the first one lit, but before long our own lantern is providing a warm and welcome glow and chasing the darkness into the corners.

  My breath rushes in when I look down at Mom. She looks so pitiful lying there, like she’s here but she’s really not. Her blond hair is framing her face with wet ringlets. Her forehead is hot when I wipe the water from it, being careful not to touch the ragged gash. It looks infected, and there’s something thick and yellow trying to ooze out of it. Andy is standing beside me, holding the saddle blanket we left here. He hands it to me. I pull the soaked, gray blanket off of her and replace it with the dry one.

  We take the lantern and leave Mom alone in the darkness just long enough to return to the boat and bring Dad back, along with the other saddle blanket. Within a few minutes, we have placed him on the floor beside her. Andy pulls the saddle blanket over to cover Dad as well while I place the lantern on the shelf above the fireplace.

  A moment later, Andy is beside me, putting some of the dry branches into the hearth. “I’ll light a fire. That should help get things dried out before too long,” he says.

  I wring the water from our soaked saddle blanket and the gray one from the village before spreading them out in front of the fireplace. “At least the roof doesn’t leak,” I say. “We can be thankful for that.”

  The dry branches crackle in the fireplace as the sound of the wind grows louder outside. “So what are we going to do now?” Andy asks as he sits beside me in front of the fireplace.

  “I was thinking about that. It’s a good thing Sunny and Star are still here. I’m glad they didn’t jump the paddock fence and head for home while we were gone.”

  “Yeah,” Andy replies. “Me, too. But we were only gone one day. It seems a lot longer than that. So what were you thinking about?”

  I wipe the water trickles from my neck and run my fingers through my kinky curls, trying to shake the water from them. “I was thinking about how we’re going to get home.”

  “And what did you come up with?”

  “There’s a bunch of rope in the bottom of the pirogue,” I reply.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So, we can tie it to the stretchers and pull them behind the horses.”

  Andy runs his hand through his wet hair. He has his thinking face on. “Yeah. That might work. If we had something to cut the rope with.”

  “I’ve got Mrs. Deffenbaugh’s butcher knife in my satchel. We can cut it to the right lengths and then tie the stretchers to the back of the saddles. It’ll take four pieces, and I think there’s enough rope to do it.”

  Andy is nodding. “Yeah. Then we can drag the stretchers behind the horses.”

  “Right,” I reply.

  “That might work. But we’ll have to go pretty slow.”

  “If we start really early, we’ll be home by dark. Then we can use the Voodoo powder, and Warner can take Mom and Dad to the hospital in Dad’s car. Or maybe he’ll have the phone fixed by the time we get home and we can call an ambulance to come and get them.”

  Andy is shaking his head with a serious expression on his face. “What if Conrad’s there when we get home?”

  “I already told you. You shoot him.”

  Andy’s serious expression changes to a smile. “Oh, yeah.” Suddenly, his smile fades. “Oh, crap!” he whispers, glancing nervously around the room as he stands up.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The rifle! I left it in the boat.”

  He rushes toward the door. The wind blows the rain in when he opens it. A moment later, he’s outside and closing the door behind him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nearly Dead

  The Bayou—Friday morning

  I’M SO WORRIED ABOUT Andy. After he left to get the rifle, I kept waiting, thinking he would be back any minute. But he didn’t come back. I finally decided to go look for him, and it took me a while to find him in the dark. Especially with the gusty
wind and the driving rain.

  That was last night, and he still hasn’t woken up. He has a huge gash in his head, and I’m not sure how much blood he lost before I found him and carried him back to the shanty. He’d made it to the boat and gotten the rifle, like he set out to do, but his feet must have slipped out from under him on his way back up the hill. His face was lying on a jagged rock, and that’s what split his head open and knocked him out. He was still clutching the rifle, bless his heart. I freaked out when I saw him, and I thought he was dead at first. But he wasn’t. I’m just glad a big gator didn’t find him before I did. I would have died if that had happened.

  It doesn’t seem like things can get much worse unless the shanty catches on fire or Conrad finds us. And honestly, I have no idea how we’re going to get out of here now. After I found Andy and carried him back to the shanty, the storm got worse. The wind started gusting like a hurricane, and a big bolt of lightning hit one of the cypress trees near the shanty. I guess that’s what spooked the horses. They’ve jumped the paddock fence and run off to who knows where.

  The storm has passed now, and the rain has stopped, but Sunny and Star haven’t returned. I don’t know if they will or not. But now, it’s all up to me to figure out what to do in order to get everyone home safe and sound. I don’t know if I can do it alone. I really could use Andy’s help, but he can’t do anything in his present condition.

  It’s my fault that he’s hurt. I should’ve gone back and gotten the rifle. Or we should’ve stayed home instead of running away from Conrad. But if we’d done that, we wouldn’t have found Mom and Dad. And I still don’t know if they’re going to be all right. It’s like my whole family is dying right before my eyes and there’s nothing I can do to save them.

  I’ve considered using the Voodoo powder to wake up Mom and Dad. I’m thinking they could help me figure out what to do. But Fabien Laveau said they would be in great pain when they wake up, and I don’t have anything but aspirin here, and that’s not going to be enough to take their pain away. So I’d better not use the powder yet. To make things worse, he also said they couldn’t sleep much longer or they might not wake up at all. So I’m not sure what I should do. And I’m so tired right now I don’t know if I would even have the strength to do it, even if I knew what it was.

  After I got Andy’s head to stop bleeding, I made a makeshift bandage with the gauze and tape I brought from my bathroom at home. It doesn’t look great, but it’s the best I can do. At least it keeps the flying and crawling insects out of his wound, so maybe it won’t get infected. But he needs better medical attention than I’m able to give him in this bug-infested swamp. There’s hardly any color left in his face. When I look at him lying there, it reminds me of the time when he was only four years old and he got into the Devil’s Cherry bush. He must have thought they were blueberries, and he was eating them when Mom caught him. I still remember the hysterical sound of her scream when she yelled at Dad to come and help her.

  We nearly lost Andy that day. But we got him to the hospital in time, and they pumped his stomach before enough of the poison got into his system to kill him. Right after that, Dad dug up the bush and threw it in the woods. I was surprised when I saw it early the next spring, covered with its little purple blossoms. The roots had grabbed hold of the ground, and it had survived. I guess some things are too evil to die.

  I wish Mom was awake. Although, if she were, I’m sure she would be in pain from the gash in her head. It looks worse this morning, and there’s a strange smell coming from it now. I can’t see Dad’s arm because the people in the village tied some canvas around it so it’s all covered up. I wish Warner were here. Or even Mrs. Deffenbaugh. I just wish there was someone to watch over them so I could sleep for a few minutes. Just a few minutes.

  I know all three of them are going to die unless I get them out of here soon.

  We really can’t stay here much longer anyway. The food is all gone now, except for a slice of bacon and one hard biscuit that I’ve been saving for Andy when he wakes up. There are a few of the crawfish left that the women from the village gave us, but they’re not smelling too good now. I’m afraid they’ve spoiled, and I don’t want to take a chance with them. If I get sick, none of us are going to make it home.

  The oil for the lantern ran out during the night, and it’s going to be dark in here once the sun sets. But that won’t be for quite a while yet. I’m yawning again, but I need to stay awake and figure out what I should do.

  If our uncle is still at the house, it would be too dangerous to go back. But we can’t stay here. No. Staying here isn’t the right thing to do. I have to get us all home, somehow. I just need to figure out how to do it. And I can’t think of any way right now, without the horses. I just want to sleep. I can’t stop yawning. My eyelids are so heavy I can’t keep them open. I lie down to rest for just a few minutes.

  A noise outside awakens me. I grab the rifle with a shaking hand and creep forward, keeping my finger on the trigger. Before opening the door, I hear the sound of Star’s unmistakable whinny. When I pull the door open, she’s standing right in front of me, nodding her big head and giving me her version of a smile.

  Thank God!

  Sunny is there, too, grazing just a few yards away. I grab Star’s lead and pull her inside the shanty, not wanting to take any chance of her running off again. After closing the door, I wrap my arms around Star’s neck and start sobbing uncontrollably. I try to think about what I need to do. It’s hard to think now.

  My heart is beating a million miles an hour as I try to concentrate. Pack everything. Yes. I need to pack so we can leave. I look around the shanty. The lantern. We don’t need that. It’s still early in the day, and we should be home by nightfall, so the lantern can stay here. It has no oil left anyway.

  My thinking is clearing up. I stuff the small amount of remaining food into my satchel, just in case Andy wakes up along the way. If he doesn’t, I’ll eat it. I’ll need food to keep me going.

  After pulling the top blanket off Andy and folding it up, I place it on Star’s back. She glances back at me when I place her saddle on top of the blanket and cinch it up. The strap of my satchel goes over the saddle horn, along with our canteens. There’s still plenty of water left in them. The next item is the rifle. Can’t forget that. After tying it onto the saddle, I try to come up with a way to get Andy on the horse. I’ll figure that out in a few minutes.

  I open the door and lead Star outside. A low branch on a small tree seems sturdy enough when I test it, and I tie her lead to it with a double knot. A quick trip back inside, and I’m out the door again carrying Sunny’s saddle blanket and his saddle. A few minutes later, Sunny is saddled up with his lead tied to the same branch as Star’s. I make a fast run down the hill to the pirogue and get the rope.

  My blisters start leaking again when I use the kitchen knife to cut the rope into the right lengths. The stretchers holding Mom and Dad are heavy for one person, but I finally drag them to the door and outside the shanty. I’m working fast now, and it doesn’t take long to get the ropes tied from the stretchers to the saddles. It should work if we don’t go too fast.

  I’m thankful Andy is so small when I lift him onto Sunny’s saddle and lay him across it. After I look at what I’ve done, I decide I don’t like Andy in that position. I’m so tired, but I have to move him. I carry him to Star and lay him in front of my saddle. It just seems safer. I don’t want him falling off and getting hurt any worse than he already is.

  I untie Star’s lead from the branch and swing myself into the saddle. I’ve got Sunny’s lead untied from the branch a moment later and tied securely to my saddle horn. I put my free hand on Andy’s back just in case, and I urge Star forward. When she feels the weight of the stretcher behind her, she pulls harder and we start moving along the soggy marsh. Within a few seconds, we’re heading away from the shanty. It’s slow going, but we finally make our way over the soft soil and onto solid ground.

  As the sun
moves across the sky, we leave the bayou behind and cover the remaining distance until we reach the woods. The trees surround us, and the afternoon sun shines through them in soft shafts of filtered light. Andy is still motionless in front of me except for the rocking caused by Star’s walk. I check on him every so often, putting my hand on his back to make sure he’s still breathing. Mom and Dad seem to be making the journey all right each time I turn around to look at them. They look like they’re sleeping, but they could be falling deeper into the Voodoo trance. I keep remembering Fabien Laveau’s warning about not letting them sleep too long.

  The chattering of squirrels and the sweet music of birdsong fill the forest. As we ride through a densely wooded area, another sound reaches my ears. The braying of a mule comes through the trees.

  “Beau?” I say to myself. “Yes! Conrad has left, and Warner is coming to get us,” I tell my brother, although I know he can’t hear me. I urge Star toward the edge of the thicket so I can yell to Warner.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Voodoo to Do

  WE’RE AT THE EDGE of the clearing when I spot the mule just a few yards off. Star comes to a stop as I rein her in. Something’s wrong. It’s Beau Diddly all right, but it’s not Warner riding him.

  Oh, God! It’s Conrad.

  He must have figured out by now that we’ve left the house, and he’s heading toward the bayou to find us. I have a terrible suspicion that he might have tortured Warner into telling him where we went, and I pray that’s not the case. Warner’s too old to be mistreated like that.

  Conrad waves his arms, as if he’s conducting an orchestra, and he’s talking, either to Beau or to himself. Beau Diddly clomps along, nodding his old head, and braying in reply every few steps. At this short distance, I can see that Conrad’s clothes are wrinkled. His hair is messed up, and he has a scraggly beard sprouting on his face. His real hand is holding a glass bottle containing a small amount of amber liquid—whiskey, of course—and there isn’t much left. His claw is just moving back and forth in the air, reflecting the sun each time the angle is right. He appears to be pretty well looped. His voice is loud and angry, and it carries across the distance.