You Are Always on My Mind

by Sable Hunter

  Revel stared down into the murky waters, his mind elsewhere. He was curious what Harley and Beau’s coming would bring. She and Beau had visited less than a month before when he’d discovered two Civil war rifles in an antique chifferobe he’d picked up at an estate sale in Church Point. The owners had been grandchildren of the deceased who couldn’t be bothered to fly to Louisiana from New York to oversee the sale. So, everything had been sold ‘as is’. This unwise decision on their part had benefited Revel. Although he didn’t collect vintage firearms, Beau LeBlanc did, and he’d been glad to come check them out and pay Revel top dollar for them. While they’d been at Wildwood, he’d been pleased to show them around, even presenting Harley with a few Louisiana iris bulbs he’d dug from the backyard. The purple flowers had multiplied to such an extent, he’d had to divide them and share them with neighbors and friends so the ones left behind would have room to spread their roots and grow. He couldn’t help but sigh as he walked through the garden, Harper had loved the flowers. Filled with Southern favorites such as foxglove, belladonna, lilies of the valley and Sweet Williams, she had loved to bring fresh bouquets into the house. He’d cautioned her that many of them were poisonous—so many beautiful things were, sadly.

  A grin broke Revel’s face when he saw his line was full. There was at least a dozen catfish hooked, some weighing several pounds. They’d be eating well today! From years of experience, it didn’t take him long to dress and filet them for frying. After he’d stored the fish in Yeti coolers, iced down and packed for later, he took care of a few other chores, waiting for his company to arrive. Behind Wildwood, Revel had kept Clotille’s tradition alive by keeping a few chickens in a nice coop so there would always be fresh eggs. So, he fed the hens some grain and freshened their water, being certain there were no surprises waiting for him in the nests when he stuck his hand inside. There was nothing worse than reaching for an egg and pulling out a chicken snake.

  About mid-morning, he stopped for coffee. There was nothing better than a dark chicory brew to keep his eyes open and his tail bushy. Revel was sitting on the porch with his feet propped up on the railing when Beau and Harley drove up in Harley’s Hummer. The first time he’d seen the dainty woman driving the big military vehicle, he’d laughed…until he discovered she was ex-special ops, as decorated a war hero as he and Patrick. She’d left the service to open Sirocco, a group who contracted their services out to the federal and state governments and to private companies when tragedy struck and situations arose where a bomb needed to be defused by people who knew how to do it. And she did—very well. To Beau’s relief, she had semi-retired, leaving her right-hand man Waco Rainwater in charge. “Get out and stay awhile!” Revel yelled, heading into the house so he could greet them with a cup of coffee.

  On his return, he found big Beau LeBlanc lounging in one of his rockers and his wife sitting primly by his side. “How you been, friend?” Beau stuck out his hand and Revel shook it after handing Harley her cup first.

  “Just the way you like it, cher.” He smiled at her. Looking at her husband, he handed him his also. “I’m okay. Been working hard around this place.”

  “I can see that.” Beau surveyed the area, standing up to check out the roof and the new railings Revel had installed. “Everything looks good.”

  “Make sure you take this when you go.” He sat the cooler close to them. “It’s full of catfish. Now what brings you two this far south?” Not that he wasn’t glad to see them, but Revel couldn’t help but be curious.

  “Thank you.” Beau pulled the cooler closer to him. “Rick Gentry, my employee at Firepower Munitions is getting married and we’re giving him a charivarie. He’s marrying a pretty woman from Metarie. The ceremony is in New Iberia, but we’ll be following them to a pretty cabin down near Avery Island to give them a proper…” Beau seemed at a loss for words.

  “It’s a reason to get together and drink. You know what a charivarie is, Revel.” Harley pushed a long lock of her husband’s black mane over his shoulder.

  “You mean where people stand outside a honeymoon couple’s bedroom door and beat on pots and pans with wooden spoons?” He was shocked. “Surely not in this day and age.”

  Beau roared with laughter. “Well, we won’t do it long, just enough to worry them. Then we’ll retire to a fishing camp nearby and crack open a keg or two. There’s a crawfish boil this afternoon, we’ll have a good time. A Louisiana style bachelor party.”

  “Sounds like it.” Revel wished one day he would have cause for a get-together like that.

  “Oh, by the way.” Beau drained his coffee cup and set it on the banister. “I wanted to tell you that Rick sold your rifles for a tidy profit to an old fella down near Thibodaux. He couldn’t pay what we asked, but what he gave us for a trade-in was pure gold.”

  “What was that?” Revel asked as he half-sat, half-leaned on the top rail of the banister.

  “A 38 Colt Revolver carried by Theodore Roosevelt up San Juan Hill.”

  Revel was duly impressed. “Why in the world would he be willing to give that up?”

  Beau leaned over and whispered, “Because it was stolen.” He threw back his head and laughed. His jubilation caused Revel and Harley to smile. The Cajun’s natural joie de vivre was contagious. “But the reward was huge.” Beau stretched his arms out and laughed some more.

  “The best part,” Harley laid a small hand on Revel’s arm, “was when I touched it. I got a good glimpse into a part of Roosevelt’s life that I knew nothing about.”

  Revel knew Harley could pick up psychic impressions from objects. To say he was intrigued was putting it mildly. “What did you see? Sex secrets?”

  “No, unfortunately not.” Harley shook her head with a smile. “It was his daughter, Alice, she’s who I connected to. The woman was as ‘rough and ready’ as her famous father. She drank, smoked, gambled, was rather promiscuous, and carried…a big snake.” Harley enjoyed watching Revel’s eyes widen at her small joke, referencing Roosevelt’s own policy of ‘walk softly and carry a big stick’. “When she and her father had to move out after President Taft won the election, Alice buried a voodoo doll representing Nellie Taft in the front lawn of the White House skewered with pins. I could tell you more, but rest assured, the vibes I got from that gun about Alice opened my eyes. I’ve been reading everything I can find written about her ever since.”

  “You amaze me,” Revel admitted to Harley. “I don’t understand how you do what you do, but I respect it.”

  “Good.” Harley reached over to touch Revel’s hand, “because I have to tell you something. When I was planting the iris tubers you gave me, I got a distinct impression of Harper.”

  Revel went stock still, his face going blank with tension. “What do you mean?”

  Beau came to sit by Harley. “It’s not bad, Revel. Don’t scare him, honey.”

  “No, it’s not bad.” She glanced at her husband, then at his friend. “I didn’t mean to give you that impression.” At his worried look, Harley leaned toward him. “When you were in the hospital in Austin after you were shot, when Beau and the others brought you back from Mexico…”

  “Yes?” Revel was getting frustrated. “What happened?”

  “You thought you dreamed Harper came to you.” She paused, giving him a brilliant smile. “She did come to you, she kissed you, she told you she would always love you. It wasn’t a dream.”

  * * *

  What Harley told him gave Revel hope. And this changed his world. While he’d always held out hope that Harper would one day come home, now he knew he had to go on the offensive. Revel determined he would turn heaven and earth upside down to find her. In fact, he had an idea—he wasn’t only going to call Vance and put him back on the job—Revel was going to appeal to a higher power…several of them.

  Pushing aside his excitement so he could function, Revel gathered his keys and the other Yeti cooler of catfish before he headed for his truck. Today was Saturday, no work today. Although Revel was
lucky. He actually enjoyed what he did for a living. After he and Patrick had decided not to reenlist, they’d taken their time to decide what their next step should be. For a while, Patrick had considered starting his own security firm. He’d talked to Revel about it, but after he’d been shot in Mexico, Revel was more inclined to do something that wouldn’t require being armed or wearing a Kevlar vest.

  Looking back, the initial idea had been his. Living where they did, the swamp and the bayous were all around—a constant reminder of the importance of their environment. Since Katrina, the deterioration of the wetlands had become a forefront issue. While in the service, they’d received specialized training—and not just in how to shoot or blow things up. Civil engineering had also played a big role in their day-to-day activities. Once the notion had hit him, Revel hadn’t been able to let it go. The Marine Corp of Engineers seemed like a logical next step. After checking to see if they qualified, Revel and Patrick had determined the fit was almost perfect. Only a few classes stood between them and having a good job, at home, doing something that was needed and meaningful. The wetlands that protected Louisiana from massive storms was disappearing at a rate of a football field an hour, which boggled Revel’s mind. So, their job was to come up with answers and that took travel, research and a helluva imagination. He had hopes, though. Together, he and Patrick had helped formulate some plans and time would tell whether or not the impact would be worthwhile.

  Right now, however, he had more pressing matters than diverting rivers and hauling mountains of sand. Walking to his jeep, he counted his blessings. And he had them – his health, his friends and this house he was working to transform into a haven for the love of his life. He felt right at home with the gumbo mud squeezing up between his toes. The wind blew through the trees, sweeping a sleepy aroma of jasmine and honeysuckle softly into his face. Ducking his head, he dodged a low-hanging limb. The ancient live oak tree had branches over fifty feet long with Spanish moss hanging almost to the ground.

  Opening the door, he climbed in. Maybe when he went to St. Martinsville, he’d stop and wash some of the mud away. At least enough so people could tell the vehicle was red instead of brown. Starting the engine, he took off. The quaint narrow lane leading to the highway was lined with mossy trees and dark deep swamps, the brown water at times lapped at the edges of the road.

  Despite having the windows open, he turned on the A/C. Instead of cooling off the land, the thick shadows cast by the canopy of leaves overhead held in the heat that rose from the earth. After driving a few miles, he emerged from the trees into a sea of sugar cane about ten feet tall, lining either side of the road as far as his eye could see. Years had passed, but time had done nothing to distance him from the memories of living and working in the fields, the heat of the burn, the sweat of the labor.

  Shaking his head to dispel the images, he turned into the driveway of the local Catholic Church. Revel was ready to call in the big guns. With a chuckle, he wondered if God minded being referred to as a ‘big gun’. Bounding up the concrete steps, he pushed open the door of the sanctuary and entered the dim interior. The windows were stained glass, casting colored shadows on the pews. Fragrant incense filled the air and at the front, an altar sat with a table beside it filled with candles. A candelabra stood center stage, beneath the cross of Calvary. Revel’s steps slowed out of respect. “Father Broussard?” he called.

  Coming to the edge of the carpet in the center aisle, he stopped and waited, listening. Finally he heard the shuffling of feet. “I hear you, I was out back checking my bees.”

  A padre who made honey. Fitting, the rotund little man did bear a slight resemblance to Winnie the Pooh. Revel smiled, despite his disquiet. “Sorry to disturb you.”

  “Ah, you didn’t.” He fanned himself. “I’d much rather see to the needs of one of my flock. What can I do for you, son?”

  “I came to light a candle and pray.” Revel felt awkward. It had been a while since he’d come to church.

  “Certainly,” the priest murmured, folding his hands and resting them on his pot-belly, “I would love to help you. What are we praying for? Can I guess?”

  Of course he could. “I’m sure you can.” Revel took a votive candle and held it up to the larger one whose flame flickered powerfully as if fueled by the Holy Spirit itself. “I want to ask God to bring Harper home.”

  The priest nodded solemnly. He waited until Revel replaced the candle, then he bowed his head. “Let us pray.” As the padre offered a supplication prayer, Revel let his mind wander. He could picture himself and Harper standing at the altar, their union being blessed for all eternity. She would be a vision in white and he would be the happiest man in the world. As the priest’s words faded, so did his fantasy.

  A few minutes later, Revel was out the door and back in his jeep. His next stop would surprise some people who lived elsewhere, but no one in South Louisiana would bat an eye. Most of the people he knew went to Mass in the mornings and made mojo bags in the afternoon. So without further ado, Revel left the church and headed deeper into the swamp. Usually Nana Fontenot loved visitors. He hoped she’d be glad to see him.

  As soon as he turned off the main road, he felt the change in the atmosphere. Life deep in the Atchafalaya Basin is a whole different reality, unaffected by the outside world. Cypress water-oaks of a vast swamp sprawled over several hundred square miles. Any man could disappear in a heartbeat in a Louisiana swamp. Revel’s eyes moved from side to side, keeping watch. Floating just below the surface of the calm water about twenty feet out was an alligator, his eyes and the tip of his snout barely broke the surface. He noted the distance from the eyes to the end of his nose was about two feet making the gator at least eight feet long. Just a baby, Revel grinned. Here alligators grew to sixteen feet, a rougaroux hid behind every bush and voodoo was practiced around campfires by people who knew things the rest of the world tried to pretend didn’t exist.

  When he neared her little cabin, Revel had to get out and walk. The path narrowed too much for the jeep to continue. With careful steps, he headed through a maze of yaupon and cypress knees. Water lilies graced the dark green waters. A slim black snake swam by, leaving an S-shaped ripple behind it. As he came nearer, the sounds that seemed to surround him fell off. It became quiet, as if everything around him had stopped to listen.

  Her little cottage was built on posts and piers over the waters of Bayou Teche. A wooden walk led from the shore to the square cabin. There were many believers in gris-gris and wangas out in the swamp, but Revel was fairly sure that visitors brave enough to cross Nana’s threshold were few. This was his first trip in daylight, so he took the opportunity to note the many plants and herbs sitting in pots on the porch. A bottle tree stood in the yard to the right, a testimony to who she was and what she believed. Seeing the small tree with blue glass bottles covering the ends of every limb made him shiver a bit. He’d grown up seeing those things in many yards and when he learned they were believed to trap spirits, he’d never looked at them the same way again.

  “Well, don’t stand there gawking, get in this house, Revel Lee Jones.” Initially, the voice seemed frail. But after it had resonated through his bones, Revel understood just how strong this woman could be.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, obediently, bowing his head to enter the door painted unmistakably ‘haint’ blue, a color between a grey and a turquoise that was supposed to repel whatever spirits the bottle tree didn’t catch. Revel didn’t know how much of all this he believed, but he respected it—and today he needed it.

  “Come in and sit.”

  Once his eyes adjusted to the dimness, they met hers. Nana Fontenot was ancient, how old he didn’t know. Her skin was ebony, her eyes the color of currants. She wore what looked like a red robe that might have come in a Vanity Fair box. Revel looked down at her feet, expecting to see bath slippers, instead she wore cowboy boots. “Thanks for having me.”

  Going to her stove, she took an old-fashioned drip coffee pot off
a burner and poured him a cup of java so dark he imagined it would cut through rust. She didn’t offer him any sugar or cream and he didn’t ask. Instead, he took a sip, winced, then broached the subject that bore upon his mind. “I want your help in getting Harper Summers to come home.”

  Giving him a tolerant look, she toddled to a slim wooden cabinet in a corner of the room filled with drawers. Mumbling under her breath, she began removing items.

  “Can I help you carry something?” Revel offered, standing to his feet. He couldn’t help glancing around with curiosity. From his vantage point, he could see a table that was set up like an altar with some tall candles, a statue that appeared to be a woman in a robe with a half-moon behind her, a dried chicken foot and some assorted leaves and rocks.

  Nana didn’t answer. Instead, she returned with her arms full of items and asked, “Is your leg still bothering you?”

  Lying to this woman never crossed his mind. “Yes, it throbs at night and if I’ve been on it very long.”

  The old woman laughed, a gold tooth shining bright. “Mine do too. And I didn’t take no bullet.” Sitting down across from him, she placed a red candle in a holder, then handed Revel the candle and a sharp kitchen knife. “Carve Harper’s name in the candle, long-wise.”

  This was Revel’s first time to commission Nana’s help, but he didn’t hesitate. He began to trace letters into the wax with the sharp point as she spread out a red cotton bag and several herbs. “Can I ask you something?” he asked, trying to take his mind off the worry in his heart. Just the act of forming the letters that made up her name was momentous. What if she was hurt? Or…

  “Quit imagining things,” Nana Fontenot fussed. “I can hear your thoughts as clear as a bell.” Standing, she returned to the cabinet, fetching a small bottle of oil from a drawer near the floor. “High John the Conqueror.” She waved the glass container in the air. “Most powerful accelerant there is.” After checking his progress, she sat down. “Ask.”