by Sable Hunter
Glory smiled. “I agree. I’m especially excited that you hooked me up with Sweet Gene.” She giggled. “I think making snow cones is one of my callings in life, especially red ones.”
“I didn’t really intend for you to seek out a job with Gene, I just wanted you to know people in the neighborhood in case you needed something and I’m not around. Gene is different, but he’s good people.”
“No, I think it’s perfect,” Glory protested. “I’ve always wanted to meet someone from Australia. Gene’s accent just gives me shivers.”
Lily winked. “He is good looking, but he’s gay.”
“No!” Glory acted comically shocked. “I couldn’t tell, that pink suit he wears is so classic.”
“Well, it is a job you can do sitting down. And it’s only a few hours in the afternoon. You need to take it easy.”
“I love it, I just keep wanting to eat up the profits.”
“I have another idea too. For a few hours a day, why don’t you work for me?”
“Work for you?” Glory pressed a hand to her errant heart. She felt better today, but Glory just wasn’t sure about her stamina. “You don’t need help, do you?”
“I used to have someone, she finished college and moved to New York to work in a gallery there. Since Tara left, I’ve been keeping my own hours, closing the shop when I wanted to leave.”
Glory worried the edge of her napkin, folding and refolding a corner. “I don’t know anything about art, Lily. I think I’d do better flipping burgers somewhere.”
Lily folded her arms. “You don’t need to be standing on your feet flipping burgers. When I found you at that grocery store in Franklin, you were pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf. I can teach you what you need to know. Plus, I think I’ll be able to get you on my insurance plan.”
Glory’s eyes widened. “No, that’s too much, Lily. Insurance would be so costly.” She wiped the sugar off her lips with a napkin. “I’ve already located the free clinic. This is a big, nice one. They even have an OBGYN. I have an appointment next week.”
“Let me worry about the cost. I’ve been thinking about this, Glory. You need to seek out a specialist, someone who has gone through this with a woman in your condition.”
Glory swallowed her milk wrong and coughed out her laughter in a hiccup. When she could talk, she asked. “Do you think such a doctor exists?”
“I think we should find out.” Lily took another bite, then licked her fingertips. “Do you want to call T-Rex and tell him where you are?”
“No!” Glory tensed at the thought. “I don’t want to bother him. Not until…”
“Stop it!” Lily cautioned.
“I won’t go into it, I’m writing it all down for you.” Glory was telling the truth, she’d started making a will the night before.
Lily took a sip of coffee. “I would be suitably shocked, but I have one of those last will and testament thingys too.” She leaned nearer to Glory. “The closer I get to death, the more I change it. I just wrote my sister out of my will last month.”
“What did she do?” Glory asked bug-eyed with milk on her upper lip.
“She keeps telling me I’m having hallucinations, that I shouldn’t be free to just walk around.” Wadding up her napkin, she chunked it on the table between them. “Why, she’d probably insist you were a figment of my imagination.” At Glory’s disbelieving look, Lily continued, her voice full of consternation. “Right? I told her that if I was going to hallucinate something, it would be a handsome guy I could fuck at night.”
Glory’s mouth dropped, then she laughed, looking around to see if anyone was listening. No one was. “You don’t have hallucinations.”
“No, I don’t. I think it’s just her way of trying to get control of my gallery.”
“How awful. I know how it feels when people try to push you to do something you don’t want to do. My new doctor and the one I left in Baton Rouge, they both recommended I terminate my pregnancy. I’m not going to agree to that under any circumstance.”
Lily rose, picking up her purse and placing it over her shoulder. Coming around to Glory, she picked up a long lock of hair and tugged on it. “We’ll find someone who’ll help you get through this. I won’t have you giving up, Glory. Neither one of us are dead yet, let’s just decide to live and tell death to take a hike.”
Glory laughed. “I like that plan.”
“Come on, I want to go by Central Market and pick up a muffaletta for our lunch.”
“Okay.” She dug in her purse. “I want to pay my half.”
“Nope, this bout of indigestion is on me. You cooked last night.”
Knowing her friend wasn’t going to budge, Glory didn’t argue. “Okay, I think I’ll walk around Jackson Square and then go pray at St Louis Cathedral. Meet you there?”
“Perfect.” Lily kissed Glory on the cheek. “I have a couple of other stops to make. I’ll see you in about a half hour.”
As Lily walked away, Glory’s eyes followed her. “She doesn’t realize how pretty she is.”
“Hey, lady, want a song?”
Turning around, she saw a young black man with a guitar. Knowing how it felt to need money, she dug in her purse for a couple of dollars. Now that she was gainfully employed, she could afford to be generous. “Yea, sure.”
“What would you like?” He grinned at her, a gold crown winking in the winter sunlight.
“House of the Rising Sun is one of my favorites.”
“Ah, a woman with good taste.” Noticing she looked a bit peaked, the guy pulled his folding chair around to sit in. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
“Thanks, I’m pregnant,” she offered the information for two reasons – one, she’d rather admit something normal like having a baby rather than making the excuse that she had some dread disease and two – she loved to say it. I’m pregnant. Yes, she was going to be a mother and she was proud of it.
“Ah, congratulations!” He gave her a celebratory smile, then serenaded her with the beautiful haunting song she loved so well. The minor key touched her heart and brought a tear to her eye. As the young man sang, her gaze roved around. She’d read a lot about New Orleans and seen pictures of the city all her life, but to be here – to feel it, to smell it, to be able to touch the centuries old buildings and stroll the streets where pirates and slaves had walked side by side with plantation owners and royalty. It was spectacular.
When the lilting melody was over, Glory thanked him and moved on. Strolling around the wrought iron fence forming the park that held the large white statue of Andrew Jackson sitting astride a horse, she marveled at the different things one could buy – everything from colorful paintings on salvaged wood or ancient ceramic shingles, knitted fingerless gloves, fragrant honeycomb candles, or personalized gris-gris bags. She walked slowly, taking it all in, full enough to be able to withstand the temptation of pralines and homemade ice cream.
Making her way around the square, she saw the huge ornate, white Catholic church ahead, its proud tall steeples and spires standing out starkly against the hazy wintry sky. Her spirit soared, it had been awhile since she’d been to a service or went to confession. But those rituals weren’t her goal today, she just wanted to go in, light a candle and offer up a prayer for T-Rex and her baby.
It took both hands to push open the heavy door and when she stepped into the dim interior, she was met with familiar smells of incense and burning wax. Moving down the aisle, she kept her eye on the statue of the Lord, framed by the beautiful stained glass. When she arrived at the end, Glory crossed herself, lit a candle, then knelt to pray. “Please Lord, I need your help to protect my baby. I want nothing more than for him or her to be healthy. I also pray for the baby’s father. Change his heart, O God, let love grow in his heart for this child.”
When she was finished, Glory rose, glancing around to see others who had come in to offer up thanksgiving or pleas for aid. Not wanting to intrude, she kept her eyes down on the black and white squares,
putting one foot ahead of the other. Her breathing was shallow and she could feel dampness on her forehead, any exertion seemed to drain her energy. Needing to rest, she sat down on the very back bench and shut her eyes. In a few moments, Glory’s eyes popped open as she felt the seat she was sitting on give with additional weight. Turning her head, she saw an ancient little lady settling down with a heavy sigh.
Glory didn’t know whether to say anything or not, she didn’t want to disturb someone’s worship. The decision was taken out of her hands when the whisper of a crackly little voice broke the silence. “Peaceful, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered dutifully.
“How are you today?”
“Better now that I’ve been here.”
“Good.” She let out a long sigh.
Glory could sense the old lady had something else to say. Her skin was dark and cracked like a raisin and she smelled like cinnamon. “Is there something wrong?”
“My name is Martha Dyer, everybody calls me Ma.” She clasped her old hands together, the skin on her palms so dry they crackled. “I’m embarrassed to admit, but I can’t read. I got a Christmas card from my granddaughter and there’s a note. My neighbor usually reads things to me, but she’s gone to her niece’s house for the holidays.”
“I’ll be glad to read it for you and my name is Glory Bee Hudson.”
“What a beautiful name,” the old lady marveled as she pulled the envelope holding the card from her purse. “I appreciate this so much.”
Glory took the card, her mind going instantly to the notes and cards that she and T-Rex exchanged. He might not know it, but she had saved every one of the notes, no matter how insignificant. She left the jacket and the phone he’d bought her, they cost money. But she’d brought the notes written in his own bold handwriting, they were her most precious possession.
“Okay, let’s see what it has to say.”
“Gayle is my only granddaughter. I have two grandsons, but they aren’t much good at letter writing. They text and do that mail on the computer and I don’t know how to use those fancy things.”
“All right, here goes,” Glory said as she opened the bright red card.
Dear Granny
I hope you are well. I am wishing you a wonderful holiday season. You are my favorite person in the whole world. I have a surprise for you. I’m coming to see you on Christmas Eve. I hope you’ll make your famous tea cakes for me, I have missed them and you so much. I need to come see you, I really need to talk to you and for you to help me decide what to do with my life. I hope this is okay.
I love you, Granny.
Your granddaughter, Gayle.
“Oh, my!” She clapped her hands together. “I’m so happy. Thank you, thank you.” She hugged Glory’s neck. I knew when I saw you that you wouldn’t mind helping a crazy old lady like me.”
“Not at all, I’m glad to do it.” Glory was touched. “I never knew either of my grandmothers. I’m jealous of Gayle.”
“Oh, you poor child. Let me do something for you.”
“I don’t need anything,” Glory protested.
“Come outside. I have a table set up at the end of Pirate’s Alley. I’ll read the cards for you and won’t charge you a dime.”
“A table? Cards?” Glory wasn’t sure what Ma Dyer was saying. “You don’t need to do anything for me.”
Ma bustled outside, Glory following. “Well, it’s up to you. You might not approve of this sort of thing. Don’t think I’m a bad sort, I’m a believer and I love the church. I was just born with this gift and I try to use it for good.”
“Oh, no, I have no problem with fortune telling.” Glory didn’t really know what else to call it. “If you want to do this for me, I’ll be glad to hear what you have to say.”
Walking behind Ma, Glory felt apprehensive. She might not want to know what the old lady saw in her future.
“This is powerful land we’re standing on, you know. This historic church is two hundred fifteen years old. Many duels were fought in the large garden behind it.” Passing a gas lamp post, she grasped the old iron fence, scarred and pitted by the centuries of weather it had withstood. “The smoke of past fires lingers – murder, betrayal, planning and plotting. The blood of both patriots and treasonous cowards has soaked into this ground.”
Glory shivered, but didn’t respond, it didn’t seem that Ma expected a response. Her gait was slow and labored, as she leaned heavily on a cane. Glory didn’t mind, she wasn’t moving very fast herself.
“There are spirits here too. Folks from years gone by who lived and died with such intense passion that their souls refuse to remain hidden in the fog of the past.”
“Why do they call this Pirates Alley?” Glory couldn’t help but ask as they moved down the roughly paved surface. Uneven stones made her watch her step and she worried about Ma Dyer. A recent rain had left the city damp and the scent of lush vegetation filled the air, every surface was covered with moisture.
“This spot was a traditional meeting place of Jean Lafitte, his brother Pierre, and others who considered themselves privateers, not pirates.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A privateer provided service to a country at war and agreed to only attack the ships of that country’s enemies. Their payment was the booty they confiscated. Lafitte was a titled privateer of Grand Colombia, which had declared independence from Spain. Lafitte and his band of Baratarian pirates controlled the black market in New Orleans, selling their smuggled goods here in Pirates Alley. They’d actually display their goods in the garden here, behind the fence. The locals could walk down this pathway to shop, goods and payment could be passed through the fence, giving birth to the phrase ‘fencing stolen goods’.”
“Seriously?” Glory laughed. “I hope they made generous donations to the church for the use of their property.”
“I’m sure they did,” Ma Dyer said dryly. “Pirates Alley is also the place where Lafitte met Andrew Jackson to form their unlikely partnership to fight the British together at the Battle of New Orleans. This victory turned the pirates into patriots and Lafitte was honored with parties and balls all over the city. They also received pardons for their crimes and were granted U.S. citizenship.”
“You know your history well.” Glory felt inadequate. “I’ve never been the best student in the world.”
“I wasn’t either,” Ma Dyer confessed. “Not that I didn’t want to learn, the doctors tell me now that I have dyslexia. Of course, I’m too old to worry about it now.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Glory murmured, hoping they’d come to their destination soon. How pitiful that she had less stamina than this elderly woman. “I’m a firm believer that we should never give up on our dreams.”
“Well, let’s see if your dreams are going to come true,” Ma Dyer pointed to a table set up underneath a big oak. The table was draped with a purple cloth and decorated with candles held in glass jars painted with images of Catholic saints.
Glory gratefully took a chair, trying to catch her breath without being obvious about it. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. Does one really want to know one’s destiny?”
Ma Dyer gave her a wink. “Don’t be afraid. A young girl like you has many years of joy to come.”
“You’re not psychic, are you?” Glory giggled.
“Who knows? But I can read the cards.” Ma eased into her seat and the chair protested her considerable weight. Glory hugged herself, wondering if taking a glimpse into the mirror of the future was a good idea.
“Smile. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
Glory relaxed a bit, letting out a small laugh. “I’m fine.” After all, what was there to be afraid of? What will be, will be. This might be all in fun, anyway. Just a game. Ma Dyer would probably tell her she was about to meet a tall, dark, handsome man – which, in her case had already happened.
“Shall we begin?”
“Okay,” Glory agreed, albeit hesitantly. “
What do I do?” Her eyes watched, fascinated, as Ma Dyer shuffled some oversize cards. Her seemingly frail arthritic hands moved with surprising dexterity. Glory could see the cards were brightly colored, covered with intriguing images that moved faster than she could comprehend.
Laying down the deck of cards, she tapped them. “Cover the deck with both your hands and concentrate on your life and what’s in your heart.
Glory did as she was told, crossing her hands over the mysterious stack. Closing her eyes, she let images of her life flow through her mind. With those images came much emotion, a tear rolled down her cheek.
“All right.” Ma shuffled them once more, then placed them back down. “Now cut them.”
She did so. A chilly breeze swept down the alley, making frissons bloom on her skin, she chafed her arms, realizing she needed to buy a jacket before the mild Louisiana winter took hold.
“Now, let’s see what we have.”
Glory watched as the cards were laid out in a cross pattern. Three crosses. “The past, the present, the future.” She swallowed waiting for a verdict.
Ma Dyer frowned and Glory’s breath hitched in her throat. “What is it?”
The ebony skinned woman tapped the middle card in the first cross. “You had a rough childhood, my dear.” Glory tensed. “An illness, a life-threatening illness.”
Glory’s eyes widened. “You see that in the cards? Which one?” She stared at the likenesses of watercolor swords, cups, wands, and pentacles with wonder.
With a smile, she shook her head. “You beat it, a disease of the blood.”
“Yes,” Glory confirmed, a trembling beginning in her limbs. This was impossible.
Ma Dyer’s face clouded. “But the drug that cured you of one disease sentenced you to another.”
“Yes.” Glory felt panic rising. Every cell in her body was telling her to get up and run.
“You were alone.” The tone was brusque, condemning.
“Yes.”
“You have a sister.”
Glory’s gaze locked onto Ma’s, her mind spinning with questions. “I do. Lexi. But how could you know?”