Echoes in the Bayou
By Ursula Dukes
For my friends Renee Drinkwater, Mari White and Julie Smith, thank you for listening and for showing me the true meaning of friendship. You shined a light in the darkness when I couldn't find my way.
Copyright © (2013) by Ursula Dukes
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, people, or places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the result of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people, either living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Montieu Plantation
Corinth Louisiana, June 1890
"Take her down to the marsh and make sure you watch her get swallowed you hear?" Amelia Montieu whispered to her house slave Leon. "You hear what I’m telling you boy?" She was stern, she had to be.
"Yes ma’am," he replied with his eyes down.
"Eyes on me Leon, I'm not on the floor am I?"
"No Ma’am, you not." Leon raised his head so that he could look her in the eye.
"Good that’s better, now get going and remember what I told you, if anybody asks, you’re just taking her for some air until she can walk on her own. She fainted here inside and I told you to take her for some air. Now go, and for the love of god don’t come back into this house until you’ve cleaned yourself up!"
She was breathing heavy now and placed a hand on her chest. "And you Mister John." She looked severely at her houseguest. "You see what you’re foolish antics have done? You’ve done killed my best house nigga. You know how long it’s going to take me to break in another one?" She swung a finger at her house guest. Amelia scolded him like a child who had just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Oh come on now chère, you know they like dogs, you just got to beat them into submission. Teach them a lesson," he said with a drunken smirk.
Amelia made a clicking sound with her teeth. "John DuPonte I declare, I just don’t know what I'm gonna do with you." She fanned herself. "I catch you messing around with anymore of my house niggas and you gonna find yourself out on your britches you hear me?"
John looked at her with a pout. "Oh you know I'm sorry Amelia, I don’t know what came over me. One minute I was having my way with her in the kitchen here and the next she’s fightin’ me, resistin’. I tried to keep her quiet and when that didn’t work… well you know the rest don’t you? No need in rehashing that. But boy I’ll tell you that girl had one hell of a grip, nearly tore my arm off in the struggle. I almost feel bad chère, what with having to break her pretty little neck like that," he sneered. "But it was her or I, you and I damn well know that it wasn’t going to be me."
He placed a tender kiss on her cheek. "Thanks Amelia, you and William always were there to get me out of a bind weren’t you?"
"Yes well let this be the last time please? And don’t you go telling Will Jr. about her neither, there’s no reason to stir up trouble. Poor dear will blame himself for one of his daddy’s house niggas running away while he’s in charge," she winked at him.
Amelia was well aware that her son was smitten with Celeste. There was nothing that went on inside of her house that she didn’t know about. At first she thought it was just a passing fancy, and that Will Jr. was just sowing his wild oats. When she got wind that he was falling for the house slave, Amelia had to put a stop to it.
She effectively threatened Leon, she told him that if he didn’t tell her about the goings on between her son and Celeste. She would have no choice but to tell her husband, the master of the house that while he was away, Leon had tried to have his way with her. Leon knew that if she did that, death would be certain but it wouldn’t come easy, nor would it be civilized.
So when the young slave reluctantly told her about the two lovers, she put her plan in motion. Her husband’s dear friend John DuPonte would be visiting with them for a few weeks, and she knew that once he set his eyes on Celeste, he would surely find her desirable, even more so if he was drunk. That night after supper, Amelia constantly called upon her; she needed Celeste to show herself as much as possible. Each time Celeste entered the dining room, Amelia could see the rising desire in John DuPonte’s eyes.
All Amelia had to do was keep the brandy flowing; she made sure that it flowed smooth and easy, right down John DuPonte’s throat. And when she saw that he was good and drunk, she summoned Celeste to help her get him into bed. She told her to take him up the back stairwell through the kitchen; she didn’t want them disturbing anyone. What she meant was she didn’t want her only son Will roused from his slumber by a drunken Mister DuPonte and the house slave who was helping him.
Celeste did as she was told and as she put her arm around his waist to help him up the stairs, his desire got the better of him and he threw her violently down onto the hard kitchen floor. A rough calloused hand was placed over her mouth silencing her from shouting out. The more she struggled, the more he seemed to get aroused and between heavy blows to her face and body, John DuPonte raped Celeste. Silent, heavy tears fell from her eyes as he violated her, and she hoped and prayed that he would finish soon, because the pain was unbearable. After several minutes he collected her limp body from the floor and forced her over a kitchen chair, he wasn’t finished yet. Celeste fought back with all her might, she was unable to scream. It didn’t take long for his thick hands to find their way around her neck; he was squeezing so hard, that he broke her trachea. And with each painful thrust, John DuPonte had squeezed the life out of her.
Amelia stood against the other side of the kitchen door waiting for him to finish, and when the struggle slowed and things got eerily quiet, she cautiously crept into the kitchen. There, lying beside the open pantry was Celeste’s partially nude body. John DuPonte had ripped her hand me down dress from top to waist and the dress hung shabbily against her lifeless body. Amelia couldn’t help but notice that the young woman’s beauty still did not escape her. And as she laid frozen in death, the green eyes that Amelia had always thought unnerving gazed upon her now with a look of extreme anguish. A sly smile crept along her aged face as she bent down to feel for a pulse. "It certainly looks to me as if you won’t be having anymore midnight rendezvous with my son, you nigga whore," she softly murmured.
Amelia pulled her shawl around her tighter. "Listen you better get yourself together and go on back to bed now you hear? William is returning tomorrow and I don’t want him to see his best friend down and disheveled, so you just go on now and get some rest. Everything will be alright by morning."
"I read you loud and clear Amelia, good thinking."
"I know, I know. Now off to bed with you," she smiled at him.
Leon did as he was told and he was glad that no one had stopped him on his way to the marshes. He walked deep into the bayou with Celeste’s dead body slung over his left shoulder.
When he was submerged deep inside the hundreds of acres within the plantation, Leon shook his head. "I'm real sorry ‘bout this Celeste," he said and laid her down on the thick, clumps of soggy dirt in the bayou. He was the only one who knew the bayou like the back of his hand, and he was sure that was why his master’s wife had chosen him to do the dastardly deed.
Leon and Celeste had been house slaves for Mister and Mrs. William Montieu since both were the age of eight. Now, in their late teens, the two thought themselves lucky to be working in the big house. Some thought holding such positions was mostly due to their fair complexions. Leon’s being because his mother had been raped by William Montieu, and although Celeste’s mother had suffered the same fate, Celeste was not her Master’s child. Her mother Zelia had been raped by one of Master Montieu’s business associate
s. It was during a drunken night of poker that her mother was offered up as a bet to one of his associates, that of which Master Montieu had lost.
But no matter what her complexion, Celeste had been far too fetching for her own good. Besides having been born with an extremely fair complexion, she had green eyes. Both were features that her mother had told her had it been a different time, would have gotten her far. But it was not a different time, they were slaves in the big house and her mother told her that no matter what her complexion or eye color, in the white man’s world, she would always be a nigger. "And no matter what," she told her. "Dont lets them break you; you always love yourself, no matter what."
Those were the last words that Celeste remembered hearing her mother tell her. She was eight years old when her mistress told her that her mother was gone and that it would do her no good to cry about it. She told her that she was almost nine years old and that it was high time she stop being just a companion to the children, Will and Marguerite Montieu. Amelia told her that she needed to start taking on more and more chores in the big house. That night, in the room behind the pantry that she and her mother shared, she sat quietly on the floor anxiously awaiting her mother’s return. She would sit there all night, and when morning shone through the small cracks in the wall, she came out. It wasn’t until another house slave told her that her mother was dead did she understand what the mistress had meant. Even at eight years old she understood the harshness of the Montieu house and had been given over to another house slave to oversee her care.
Before long Celeste was taking on all of the duties that her mistress had planned out for her. After all, she’d been following her mother around, watching and learning everything there was to know about being a house slave. At eight years old, she knew that she had been quite lucky; the master had taken a liking to her and despite his wife’s objections, Celeste was still allowed to be somewhat of a child and was often regarded as a plaything for the master’s two children. There was talk going around the big house that Master William held a strong affection for her mother Zelia, and when he found out that she had died, had taken pity on the child.
When her mother died and the time came for her to perform her daily duties, she was ready, she had to be. Even at the ripe old age of eight, she knew that if she didn’t, there would be hell to pay.
Eight years later she'd grown restless of the stale routine. Take care of breakfast for the Mistress, cook and clean up after the Mistress. At the age of sixteen, Celeste knew exactly what the Mistress wanted and needed without ever having to be told. Some of the other house slaves tried to watch over Celeste and they told her that even if the master could fight his carnal urge, surely his son would not and they were right. Since the two had practically grown up together in the big house, it was no surprise when they seemed to fall in love with one another. Whenever they could, the young lovers would find moments to steal, moments where they could be alone with one another.
And those moments were mostly late at night. Celeste thought it lucky that she was allowed to stay in the tiny back room that she once shared with her mother, and not outside in one of the slave quarters. Inside she was able to accommodate her Master and Mistress any time, day or night. But as the years grew, so did Will Jr.’s longing for her and before long they found themselves falling deeper and deeper in love.
And so they wouldn’t get caught, the two lovers came up with a secret sound, one that only they would understand. Together they had perfected the wail of the Loon bird and knew that when they heard that sound, it was safe to come out. But it had to be late at night, the later the better.
Even though there wasn’t much of anything the young couple could do, they made sure that what little time they had together was spent wrapped in each other’s arms, talking. They would talk about what it would be like if Celeste were free and they were allowed to court and eventually become man and wife. They talked of what it would feel like to be married and to have children. Will would often speak of the two of them running away together, up north and into Canada.
Almost always their dreamt up talk was interrupted by the sound of the rooster crowing, signaling the start of a new day. A new day where they would be forced to go about their daily duties and act as if neither one knew the other existed. At the end of his quick but warm embrace, Will would always look out at the blooming gardenias and whisper softly in her ear. "You’re my love, and my love for you will cease to exist, when those beautiful gardenias start blooming in the harshest of winter."
It always made her heart flutter when he would whisper that.
"I knows you hear me Celeste. And I knows that you forgives me."
Leon kept his eyes on her as she sunk down into the muddy, swampy abyss. He shed not a tear, for he knew that even though her body may have left the house, her soul did not, nor would it ever. Not until she avenged her death and was reunited with Will. Leon marked a large oak tree that was nearby; he marked it just in case anyone was to inquire as to where he had discarded the body. He pulled out a small knife and carved out an arrow pointing in the direction of where he laid the body along with her initials into the old tree, C. M.
Now during this time, some of the slave women practiced voodoo and for those who did not, Sinta was the one they went to. She was no ordinary clergy person; she was a field slave by day, voodoo priestess by night, and who when called upon served all of the slaves at Montieu Plantation. When Zelia came to her months after she’d been raped, she asked Sinta to give her a potion that would kill the unwanted child inside of her, but Sinta had refused to do it. Instead, she comforted her and after performing a cleansing ritual, told Zelia that she would give birth and that the child would be of the most loving and trusting nature. She would also possess a gift, Sinta told her. She informed her that the child would possess a great keenness for clairvoyance and that the strong intuition would be carried on throughout each and every one of the child’s many lives.
Most all of the slaves believed that they had lived more than one life, and that living the life of a slave meant that in a future existence, one was surely going to live the life of a king or queen. Some nights they would gather by the fire and sing Negro spirituals in which that life became reality, even if only for a short time.
After listening to what the priestess told her, Zelia decided to keep the baby. She knew that when the priestess would start to tremble and chant, that words of wisdom and truth were about to be spoken. If one was ailing, Sinta would help heal them. If one was love sick, Sinta would bring them peace and joy. And if one was murdered, Sinta would make sure that the life that was so violently taken was avenged, if not in this life, the next.
One night under cover of darkness, Sinta met with Celeste. She was a stunning, handsome woman with eyes as black as coal and skin as dark as the night. She wore a stained white turban on her head and a tan dress made out of what the mistress called, "negro cloth." Still, the shabby clothes could not hide her beauty. Although Celeste was chosen to work as a house slave, Sinta held no animosity towards the young girl. She treated Celeste like she would anyone else who had come to her for help, like a member of the family.
Ever since the Montieu’s house guest John DuPonte had begun making sexual advances towards her, Celeste began to get the feeling that her life was in danger. She didn’t dare tell Will, she couldn’t risk him confronting the man and ruining what the two of them shared. Plus, she was sure had she told him, Amelia would have forced her out of the house and into the fields. Almost all of the mistresses turned a blind eye when it came to their house slaves being raped and beaten. And they certainly had no problems shunning them from the house if a slave spoke up about it.
Upon hearing this, Sinta told the young woman that she could put a protection spell over her, but that it would be weakened if the evildoers soul was rotten to the core. She also told her that she could conjure up a spell that would certainly avenge her death should her life be taken away from her. "And make sure that whoever
done it, suffer a fate far worse than mines Sinta," Celeste said with pure hatred in her heart.
She had learned to read and write from years of listening and paying close attention to the teachings her mistress had taught her own children. Back when her mother was alive, she told her to never let on that she was able to read and write because that meant a whipping, or worse, death. So she kept quiet and went about her daily routine making sure she took extra care with her chores when mistress was in the same room teaching the children. On the nights that she wasn’t with Will Jr., she would go out into the slave quarters and teach the other slaves what she had already learned years before.
It was the middle of the night and Sinta woke up in a cold sweat. A piece of her felt like it had been ripped away and she knew that the piece was Celeste. She got up and using the tip of her walking stick, lifted up a section of rotted floor board and pulled out an old piece of cloth tied with twine. Inside the cloth was a lock of hair and a small piece of blood soaked cloth that had long since dried. Both had been given to her by Celeste many weeks before her death.
Sinta lit seven black candles and using some of the melted wax, slowly drew a circle around herself. Even though the night was thick with heat, a cold wind blew through the small shanty and ceased just as quickly as it had come. With the candles still lit, Sinta gathered up Celeste’s personal items and burned them in the fire. Her body began to quake, and as she spoke in tongues; she rolled the small pieces of animal bones around in her hands and slowly and melodically began to invoke the spell.
Just as the body of Celeste began to disappear into the swampy earth, Sinta‘s body went into complete spasms, the curse had been cast. Whomever had caused the death of Celeste would forever be condemned to a life of longevity but it would be full of misery, and extreme poverty. Everything around the plantation would shrivel up and die. Their children, and children’s children would grow up to never know what it felt like to love. The word and the feeling would forever be absent from their lives. A curse was placed upon the big house as well, nothing but selfishness and abhorrence shall come out of any womb that occupies the big house. The curse would be bound to all the generations, it could only be undone if and when someone came along, who sincerely understood exactly what needed to be done in order to set Celeste free.
Echoes in the Bayou Page 1