Cat Dubois' Odyssey to Enchantment

by BoJenn

  “He forgives me?”, Mrs. Davis asked.

  “Yes, yes, he never thought you were to blame and he hoped you were alright,” Catherine related.

  “Please, tell him that I love him. Please. I’m so sorry.” Daniel’s mother’s tears were coming again. “Why do I have to leave before seeing him, I don’t know why?”

  Her tremendous sadness was tough for Cat. She stretched over a bit to gently hug the grieving mother. Within minutes, Mrs. Davis closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  Cat kissed her forehead. It was time to leave; she had been there more than an hour. She slipped out of the bedroom, and Grace hurried her to the Jeep.

  “Goodbye, Miss Dubois,” Grace said as she turned to leave.

  “Thank you for your help. I needed that as much as she did.” Cat gently shut the car door. Even though Glory Town was so small, Grace and Cat’s path likely wouldn’t cross for a long time, if ever. She paused to think how grateful she was for Grace’s safe passage for her, for the courageous and ingenious thinking of all the women who helped. They, too, could be judgmental in their own ways, at times, but they recognized that Mrs. Davis needed closure about Daniel, and they did exactly what their Lord through Ernestine had asked them to do, without a second thought.

  That evening Daniel’s mother drifted into a coma from which she never awakened. Her funeral was on a bright sunny day.

  Cat made her way to the church, and sat in the back. She went for Daniel’s sake. She went for the sake of his devoted mother, Mrs. Rebecca Palmer-Davis. She also attended the graveside ceremony, standing a good distance from the others, but not too far from the “colored ladies” as she respectfully thought of them so much moreso than before, and certainly moreso than the other white folks. It was late summer or early fall, and the year was 1980.

  As it was, Reverend Davis suddenly died of a heart attack less than two months later.

  Cat knew he died of heartbreak, too, drinking himself into the grave by self-medicating from the pain of it all. Daniel’s leaving, combined with his wife’s sad and painful death, finally overwhelmed him. It was more than he could bear. He was buried on a cold rainy day in the first part of winter.

  Daniel did not attend either of his parents’ funerals. Had he known of his mother’s illness, he would have jumped over the moon and fought off dragons to be near her in her last days.

  But, he wouldn’t hear of their deaths until later, when a couple from Glory Town happened to be where he was moonlighting as a bartender in a strip joint three counties away.

  They came for fun. Just to sin a little. You know, get away from Glory Town. As they sipped their drinks and talked to Daniel as if he was their best friend, and as if nothing had happened, they told him, nonchalantly, that his mother died in late summer and his father, two months later.

  They drank and laughed their night of escape away from Glory Town, and Daniel pretended to laugh with them. Secretly, inside, he ached. He thought of both of parents. Nothing was settled in this lifetime; nothing was forgiven; nothing was better, but worse, with the news that came as if the drunk couple told him about having a tooth extracted—nothing more.

  Daniel dried the last high ball glass for the night, and locked the door to the bar. He went back to his hole in the wall. He drank a scotch by himself, wishing that life had been less painful. He asked hard questions to a God that seemed removed from him: “Are we merely puppets for you to pull our strings? Is there no happiness or love on this god forsaken planet? Why? What is this all about? Am I a horrible person? Perhaps you should kill me! Let me die! I don’t want to be here. Mama! I love you! Father, if I could, I would hate you, but God won’t let me. See, I know about God’s love! I learned that! But, not from you. I learned it from my mother. Thank you, Mama. I love you!”

  That night, on his flea-ridden cot, Daniel held his gun cocked. Several times, he place the barrel to his head. He didn’t do it. He just fell sound asleep.

  In his deep slumber, he had a dream. It was vivid in every way; and, in it, a strange woman came to him and sat there with him all night. He asked her, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  She answered, “I’m here because someone prayed for you.” The woman spoke with an old English accent.

  “Who?” He looked at the woman in his dream. She was wearing an old green velvet dress.

  “Someone who loves you very much…Catherine; you call her Cat. She prays for you every night. When you see her, tell her that, one day, I will visit her.”

  The strange dream never left Daniel. And, he did deliver the message to Cat the next time he saw her. Although the dream was vague, and all the time in the world could have passed, he would never forget the old English woman who got him through that night, the old woman dressed in a green velvet dress.

  A more traumatic blow befell Cat, within a year after Daniel’s mother and father died.

  A winter more bitter than the last took both of her own parents. They had been to a neighboring town to pick up supplies to hunker down in preparation for an ice storm headed their way, but the storm had moved fast.

  They had called as they were leaving the store, and Cat had pleaded with them to stay at the motel, just nine miles away on the lowland before hitting the winding mountain path; but they insisted on coming home to be there, safe with their daughter.

  Like many others before them, her father saw the ice on the curve before the bridge and slowed; but once they hit the suspension, the ice was black as the night and he lost control. They were gone in an instant.

  Catherine would so sadly become the heir of the Dubois Manor in Glory Town.

  Daniel traveled back to Glory Town when he heard of the Dubois’ deaths. It was the winter of 1981. He walked to the old manor. There he stayed with Cat for a week. No one knew he’d visited, except perhaps one man—a suspicious watcher—who wasn’t sure it was Daniel, but knew that someone was up there with her; and, being nosey enough, assumed it must have been him.

  Daniel didn’t attend the double funeral. In fact, he never set foot in the perimeter of Glory Town. The Dubois Manor was as close as he would come.

  And, the curious watcher didn’t make a big deal out of his assumptions either. Maybe it was just out of respect for Mr. and Mrs. Dubois, because if he had made even one comment, it would have become like a tidal wave in Glory Town. The townspeople had nothing better to do, and gossiping about Cat had been their favorite pastime for years now. She was the mysterious woman who never married, but was still gorgeous, despite the degradation and misery they caused with glaring eyes and whispers. And, she bore unusual healing talents, and the strangest crystal blue eyes. They said her eyes could capture souls, so they faced their fears of her with rumors and jeering laughter and cruel gossiping.

  This was one of the reasons Cat stayed away from them as much as possible. Cat knew this about herself, that her eyes were like crystals—that she could mesmerize people, sometimes. She used this on occasion—for her eyes could throw invisible daggers of sinister emotion. Once in a while, when things were just too out of hand, when she really needed, she used her visual knives to intimidate the gossip queens.

  When Daniel arrived at the manor, Cat made a warm cozy bed for him and prepared fine meals. Two more times after her parents’ funeral, Daniel came to stay with her. He became complacent about life— a vagrant; and he eventually moved closer to Glory Town, living on the streets of a nearby town. He had not found his self-worth…yet.

  The next year, mid-winter, and with shoes so worn he was almost barefooted, he came wandering to Cat’s back door. He didn’t want to be seen, but he would chop wood and stay in the warmth of her kindness. She ministered to his broken heart. He would never stay longer than a week, although she always offered him a home for life, if he so wanted.

  But Daniel would visit the manor, and then leave again. Perhaps, it was the sadness of never being able to see his mother or father ever again that was just too painful to be near Glory Town for long.
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  One day, Daniel walked away wearing new shoes, purchased by Cat at the town market. He had a little money in his pocket and refused any further handouts from Cat. But, he always did what he could for her, in return for her generosity. He had pride, after all.

  He chopped her wood, so she would have plenty for winter. He fixed her barn doors, and the garage door, as well. He painted the trim of the manor’s windows. The weeds were pulled out of the flower beds.

  On the fifth day, he gathered his few belongings in his leather shoulder bag. Cat watched him pack through the crack in the door of his bedroom. It was time. She knew he was going, just like he said. He fixed everything in five days. She went downstairs and made a fresh pot of coffee.

  He stood tall at her kitchen threshold, without speaking.

  Breaking the silence Cat said, “You don’t have to go. This is your home. That is your room. I need your help. I can’t run this place by myself; you see that. We both need each other.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. It’s good to know I have a place that is mine. But, right now, there is a world I have to explore.” He paused, “And you, Cat, you need to find someone. A man who will love you and take care of you. You and I love each other. But, it’s not the love you deserve. Find a man to love you. There is a whole world outside of this place.” He smiled tenderly. His eyes told her this was the way it was going to be.

  “You’re a beautiful woman. To wait for me is wasting your life. I can’t love you the way you should be loved.”

  “I see,” she replied. Though, she didn’t see at all. She handed him two hundred dollars. “This is your payment for fixing everything.”

  “No, I stayed here. I owe you.” Daniel handed her the money back.

  “No, Daniel, this time, I insist. This is for the wood you chopped; for fixing the fences, the barn door, the garage door and the painting. I couldn’t have done this. I know this isn’t enough, but please; it’s all I can afford now.” She wasn’t going to let him walk away this time without making her best effort to pay him.

  “Cat, I can’t. You gave me food, water, a bath, a bed, meals, wine and, best of all, the love of a lifelong friendship. So, no, no, I cannot accept. It’s my gift to you.”

  “Oh, yes, you will. I insist.” Cat puts the money in his shirt pocket. “There. And, there it will stay.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes. “It’s time,” he said. “The weather is cool and crisp, and the sun is brilliant.” Daniel’s face bore a manly expression. He had grown up. He was a man. He passed the test—the right of passage; he knew what he was doing, Cat didn’t have to worry any longer.

  Daniel was an honest gypsy. He went from town to town fixing things, staying at farmhouses or in barns in exchange for a bed, food and a bath; and, he was known as far as he could walk for repairing broken fences the right way—the old way, where they last for years even through many harsh winters. Sometimes the fences looked beyond repair, but Daniel could mend or rebuild even those if he was allowed.

  As he leaned down and picked up his satchel, and started toward the door, Cat had to ask, “What about love Daniel? You never mention love or a special person. Do you have a special someone?”

  “No. No one special person.” The sun caught his eye as he had moved into the light from the window. He shewn like an angel—iridescent, glowing with an internal peace. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing he just wouldn’t go.

  He took the opportunity to slip the two hundred dollars on the counter as he opened the door, walked down the steps, and proceeded on the walkway toward the front yard.

  Cat chased him. “Daniel, please. Please, don’t go.” Softly, she begged.

  “I have to Cat. It’s time. And, oh, yes, I almost forgot to tell you.” He looked into her eyes and said, “One day you will have a visitor.” He predicted Cat’s future, knowing, without a doubt, it would come to pass. “The visit will be very important to you.”

  Cat thought he was talking about a man— a man she would, one day, fall in love with. “That doesn’t interest me,” she firmly stated.

  His eyes caught hers for a solitary moment before she could look away in belligerence. It was as if they told each other a story. A story they knew so well. It was a lifetime in a glance. “But, not this lifetime,” so she thought. “Could it be another place in time? No…”, she reasoned, “…no such thing.”

  “Until you send word that you have met your visitor, I love you; I have to go. You are going to be fine.” He turned the corner to the front of the house, and stepped onto the road wearing his new leather shoes.

  A car was coming and he put his thumb out to hitch a ride. The car stopped for him. Daniel looked one more time at her as he got in, and he waved goodbye.

  She waved back until the car disappeared around the mountain curve, and the majestic stand of red cedars was all that looked back at her. She wondered if she would ever see him again. “Would he always be a gypsy? Will he be safe? God help him, please.” Cat always kept the night oil burning for him. She hoped he would return. For now, Daniel was gone, once again—maybe forever.

  She wiped the tears off her cheeks many times that afternoon.

  Brandy and Reminiscing

  For many years this was her story— a nightly ritual of drinking brandy by the cozy fire in fall and winter, and white wine while sitting on the back porch in spring and summer—all by herself, day after day, evening, and nights for several years.

  Was she an alcoholic? It didn’t matter. She was alone. No one watched over her, except the ghosts. They passed no judgements. In the alcohol-induced states she saw them better. They communicated with her during those hours. By day, in her sober state, she had no memories of apparitions or visitors, alive or dead—no memories. She chose to block out anything sad or strange, by day. But, nighttime almost always came with the ghosts.

  Cat, looked back into the snifter of brandy again, while she lounged on her green velvet couch like Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra. She was wore a long tunic on her medium-sized frame. She was pleasantly buxom and well-rounded. More than likely, she was a familiar fantasy to men who watched her. Her lips were full and naturally dark-pink.

  Her eyes took on the surroundings and scenery. Sometimes they were crystal-blue, turquoise, gray and purple. She had no control over that, and others feared her eyes. They were pensive. They read the air, the situation, and anyone who was in opposition to her. It was not a phenomenon conjured or wished for; no, it was a natural trait. Sometimes she hated the gift. It separated her from people. They were always scared of her. She knew it, and didn’t like the negative emotions, but her gift of perception and the telltale of her eyes were a part of who she is. It’s just a matter of fact.

  The brandy and the lonesome nights brought old memories forward. Cat relived them almost nightly. Rare was the night they were not her abiding company.

  She stood and blew the candle out, as usual. Right there, on the green velvet couch, she fell asleep. Sometimes in summer she slept on the cool floor there. The den was where she felt the most comfortable. It was the one place in her home where, at times, she felt alive with those she loved and who were now departed in one way or another. Death or distance, it didn’t matter, the den is where Cat saw them again and again.

  This is why she stayed in the den sleeping, most often. This is where her visions, dreams and ghosts visited her. These beings were her company, her companions, and her only friends. Of course, she wanted and needed to be near them.

  Leaving the den to sleep in her own room made her feel lonely, isolated, and cold—separated from her only social contact, albeit spirit interactions.

  Her memories of Daniel haunted her for years. In his last visit, Daniel’s mention of a visitor who would come someday seemed like a wild prediction, a hopeful dream spoken from his own guilt. “Trying to cheer me up. That’s Daniel,” she said to herself. She dismissed his prophecy. She thought of Daniel as if he were, perpetually, a mere boy. She imagined he still b
elieved that life held magic and, in the end, everything would turn out perfectly, just as it should. She chuckled as she laid her head down for sleep to take over. “Did it Daniel? Did life turn out perfectly?”, she thought as she drifted off.

  The thoughts of him were overwhelming, sometimes. But, those memories that had flooded her mind for as long as she could remember simply ceased in a single night—that night. In the days that followed, she still wondered what became of him, but she had strangely acquired a sense of trust that he was somewhere, still alive, and perhaps, one day, they would meet again. She hoped so.

  As she sank into her sleep, a young boy appeared—the one she caught in flashes peering at her from within snifter glasses of brandy, or from cracks in the frames of doors. She didn’t know him or why he visited. But, there he was again—hiding between the door frame, peeking out.

  “Come here. Show yourself. Who are you?”, she said aloud, waking herself.

  He disappeared again. This time, the sound of the boy’s pattering feet resounded from down the hall. She cocked her head, pondering his appearance, but as usual, she let his vision and image run away.

  She kind of half-smiled, thinking, “He will be back. He always watches.” She had a weird sense of peace about his familiar presence.

  All was fine as sleep had come to capture her soul. She didn’t resist the opportunity to ride the waves of rest. She jumped on a nice wave and was just sweeping off into a blissful state when, just as she suspected, the apparition of the boy, now clear, showed him in a hazy beige robe, standing over her, just watching. But, he had a sad expression on his face. He held an old black ragged cloth dog in his right hand, at his side. The one small light she left on in her room flickered.

  The Power of Thought and Tongue

  One fine day in 1983, two years after her mother and father died, Cat walked in front of the only clothing store in Glory Town—the one beside the outdoor market. The four gossip queens of Glory Town sat together there, so dignified in their cotton, springtime, Villager dresses with white-laced collars and matching hats.