Emmie read his thoughts immediately. “Few weeks ago a man come by here driving a big black diesel pickup. Didn’t get gas. Came in and asked me where a good antique shop or trading post was that bought artifacts. Said he found something. I asked to see it but he wouldn’t show me. I told him about Gabriel’s place. He was in a hurry and nervous. I watched him go. I saw a girl in the truck with him. She looked younger. Blonde. Not from around here, neither of them. Can tell just by looking. I get all kinds stopping in. I can tell when someone’s up to no good, too. Eyes move around too fast. His were.”
“That helps. A lot,” the chief said. “Thanks.”
“I don’t see how,” Emmie replied. “Wish I could give you more.”
“I’ve got a blonde girl and a black diesel pickup truck. More than I had before,” he said gratefully.
“Wait! I remember something else I saw! His license plate! It said DANCE4U. I thought that was so strange.” Emmie crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side, extremely pleased with herself.
“Mon Dieu!” Chief Boudreaux answered enthusiastically. “You really are something. Now I got something solid. Did you hear that?” he said, turning to look at Pete and Nelle both of whom were gaping at Emmie.
“It’s a good thing we came back here, Chief,” Nelle said, awed at her detail of information. “I didn’t know you were stopping by here again.”
“I didn’t really plan it,” the chief said. “It was kind of last minute. Felt like I needed to.”
Emmie was smiling at him. “You see. I brought you good luck. You should wear it, especially in your line of work. I do,” she said, showing him the alligator tooth necklace that lay hidden under her loose shirt.
Pete’s eyes widen. He thought of “the three’s.” Emmie, Gabriel, and the chief. They all had the alligator tooth charm. “Say. Emmie. Tell me something. Gabriel told us the girl bought an old voodoo doll. Why would she do that?”
Emmie shook her head and rubbed her hands down her hips. “Umm, umm. Not for good, I can tell you that. Supposed to let you talk to the dead, or make someone dead, make a bad thing go away. It’s not for good luck. It’s for bringing bad luck. A curse charm. For maybe desperate people. I found one my grandmamma had hidden away for years at the bottom of her closet wrapped in an old hat. She had married a man who beat her. Over nothing. He was a raging drunk. He went fishing one day and fell into quicksand. The bayou took him. Left his hat on top of where he went down. She was glad and kept that hat. After she told me the story, she wrapped the hat and the doll in a white pillowcase and we buried it in that same bayou. She lived very happy without him for a long, long time.”
Emmie had a way of mesmerizing with her story telling. She seemed at once wise and primitive and utterly captivating, a fascinating nymph who lived her life in a very different world.
Beau was caught, hook, line, and sinker and had no desire for release.
Nelle had a new sense of lightness as she climbed into the back seat of the patrol car for the next leg of their journey home. Her treasure had been recovered. The vessel was intact. She was eager to see it back in its rightful place at the Ouachita Valley Nature Preserve and Community Center and she began considering how best to make sure that Chief Boudreaux got the credit he deserved for doing his exemplary police work. She knew that her grandfather and Pete’s grandfather would have been proud and pleased to know the righting of this wrong and she was thrilled to have been involved in the entire experience. Fat Cash Pawn, Emmeline, and New Orleans were new memories likely to last.
However, the chief’s characterization of New Orleans, depicting it as a place of dreams, of dashed dreams and unrealized hopes and of what comes next, bothered her and began to gnaw at her buoyancy. Images of her mother’s face and wavy brunette hair kept flashing before her. Where is she. Are you okay? Nelle breathed heavily, tightly closing her eyes to banish the visions. Her lightness vanished.
Chief Boudreaux, while extremely happy to recover the stolen vessel, stayed focused on two outstanding matters: who did it and Emmeline. He had slipped the alligator tooth charm around his neck and inside his shirt while visiting the bathroom so no one would see, but was not at all surprised when Emmeline placed her hand on his shirt as she said goodbye, looking up at him, standing close, lightly passing her fingers over the hidden charm. He wanted to kiss her as she stepped back and gave him a gaze that sent a shock wave through his body. What has she done to me, he thought in confused enchantment. He opened his mouth to speak, to say goodbye, but could not form the words. His chest lifted as he took in air and Emmie gave him a sweet nod as he slid into the car and grasped the steering wheel.
He started the engine and backed up, slowly turning the car toward the exit road. In his one last look at Emmeline through the rear view mirror, he saw her iridescent body glistening with ruby wings as she stood in front of the Pegasus sign. He thought she might take flight. Must be the mist, he reasoned, as he drove into the late afternoon patchy fog that had descended on the day.
Pete couldn’t help thinking about the voodoo doll and the power that Emmie obviously attributed to it – for malevolence and for retribution. The story she told about her grandmother using one for protection and defense against a vicious husband seemed more a reckoning than evil. And Gabriel’s comment on his helper Curtis suggesting that the young blonde woman bought a doll to manipulate the man she was with intrigued him, even if it had been said in jest. Amid these thoughts, his mind kept jumping back to the jubilee race and the sick horses, which baffled him and left him with a jumble of emotions. Pete believed in the reality of unknowable forces, knew them firsthand, but for him the realm of black magic was foreign and improbable. He was tired and eager to get home to his pony Hot Shot and the farm. He scooted down low in the front seat, rested his head back, and folded his hands together on his lap. He decided it was too much to think about right now, and closed his eyes.
“Nelle. Nelle,” Pete said quietly, waking her gently from her deep sleep. “Home now. We’re here.”
Nelle’s eyes fluttered opened. Her dreams had taken her back to her birthplace in Japan where their housemaid Michiko sung her to sleep every night with lullabies as she cradled her in her arms. She often found herself humming those tunes in time of upset or stress and marveled how even in adulthood they still calmed her. “Where?” she asked, not quite awake, a bit disoriented as her eyes began to focus on the inside of the patrol car. Evening dusk was a deep steely gray with just enough dim light to see. She had slept all the way back from the truck stop.
“Home. You’re home. Come on. I’ll help you in,” Pete offered, climbing out of the front seat and opening the back door.
“Thanks for coming, Nelle,” Chief Boudreaux said. “I hope we didn’t wear you out. I’ll get that jar back to where it belongs. Just leave it in the seat there. I’ve got paper work to do on it before I take it over the center.”
She thanked the chief as Pete helped her out of the car and walked her to the door pressing his hand on the back of her waist. The kitchen light had been left on since early morning and gave the garage apartment an inviting soft glow. “You want me to come in?” He didn’t want to leave her tonight.
“No. No. Get yourself home. I’m fine,” she said, moving close, giving him a sweet kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Go take care of the farm.”
“Okay. Goodnight,” he replied, stroking under her chin affectionately. “That was some trip wasn’t it. Felt like we were gone a week. That’s like no place I’ve ever been. Or want to go back to.”
She nodded in agreement, happy to be home as she stepped inside, inhaling the familiar smell of coffee from early this morning that still hung the air. Her small tidy place was an antidote to the over stimulation of Fat Cash Pawn and the mysteriously unsettling ambience of Emmie’s truck stop. She felt comfortable back in her own territory again, until she spotted the shiny postcard atop a small pile of mail on the kitchen table that Christine must have brought to her while she
was away for the day. A brilliant red cardinal with a black face was perched on the branch of a flowering cherry tree. She knew instantly who it was from.
Nelle rubbed the cardinal’s wing and absorbed the picture and all that it was meant to convey. The message said simply I Love You All in her mother’s flowery script, written large, taking up the space. It was postmarked Bowling Green, Kentucky. She turned off the kitchen light and headed up the narrow staircase clutching the postcard to her heart. The small window beside her bed framed the first evening stars as dusk faded into nighttime. She propped her elbows on the windowsill and cradled her head in her hands. Intoxicating aromas of honeysuckle and gardenia sweetened the night air. Nelle breathed in the potent delicious scents for an elixir to quench her longing.
A crescent moon hung low on the horizon. Nelle smiled remembering the silly rhyme her mother would often recite to her at bedtime. She closed her eyes for an instant and saw a cow swinging on the crescent moon. Her mother’s voice rang clear and loving.
Hey, Diddle Diddle,
The cat and the fiddle.
The cow jumped over the moon.
The little dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
I love you, too, Momma. She pressed the postcard next to her heart and turned on her beside lamp. Her treasure box, granddad’s old cigar box, lay hidden under her bed, positioned on the floor about where her head rested on her pillow. A source of comfort and connection to all she held dear from childhood to adulthood, it was worth nothing but priceless to her.
She sat on her bed and held the box in her lap, dusting off the top with a slide of her palm. Her mother’s postcards lay on top of the note she had left for Nelle the day she departed. In her attempt to explain why she had to leave, she forgave Nelle for telling her grandfather about her infidelity. Worried by her absence, Nelle had simply gone looking for her. The discovery of her mother naked in a stranger’s arms was a shattering blow to her teenage psyche and she sought refuge from the shock in her grandfather. Nelle still regretted telling him. No matter what he said and how she tried to rationalize, it had left her feeling responsible for the breakup of her imperfect family.
The postcards helped. Nelle understood more as she grew into her own womanhood. Her father’s illness had torn them all, but her mother had suffered the most, which was an impossible thing to know when you were but a child yourself.
Four cards. Now five. Nelle took them out one by one, searching for meaning as she studied the images. None were signed. The first card showed a huge primate footprint hardened in mud in a remote wooded scene. This was her mother’s allusion to Nelle’s own excited discovery as a child in Texas. Postmarked, Ozark, Arkansas, the space was blank except for the addressee, but Nelle knew the message she was imparting was their shared sense of adventure.
Her second card, postmarked Georgetown, Washington, D.C., was the poignant picture of Arlington National Cemetery with endless lines of white headstones, each one adorned by small American flags that commemorated Memorial Day. The photograph captured tens of thousands flags planted in the long rows and wide fields of hallowed ground. Her mother’s message on the back was Boys gone. Carry on. Nelle knew she referred to Vietnam as much as World War II. And she believed that her mother also meant that war had taken Terry from her, if not in body in spirit. A sacrifice too dear to bear. She recalled the mesmerizing stories her mother used to tell of when she was a girl working at Western Union in Washington, D.C., during World War II. It was where she had married her father and represented the happiest years of her life. Her mother had lived in a female only boarding house as an independent young woman straight out of high school bravely determined to find her place in the world. She was not as old as Nelle was now, full of wit, grit, and a taste for adventure. Life hit her hard, full on. Nelle missed her every day.
Her third card was a lovely trellis of red roses, always her mother’s favorite and a reminder of the bouquets delivered that harked back to good celebrations and happier times. Her note on this card, postmarked Framingham, Massachusetts, said My children bloom. Framingham was her childhood home. The fourth card pictured a pasture of magnificent black horses grazing in tall grass, postmarked Bowling Green, Kentucky. Written small in the center was her message: Beauty and freedom. Her mother shared Nelle’s affinity for horses. The cardinal card, the most recent, with her note I Love You All, was postmarked Bowling Green, Kentucky, again.
Nelle exhaled heavily and placed the postcards back in her cigar box. She slid the box under her bed, lay down, bone-weary and spent. Depleted and drained, she did not attempt to pull down the bedspread. She wiggled her toes and managed to push off her shoes, sweeping them onto the floor with her foot. Still in her clothes, she spread her arms out on the bed and closed her eyes. She instantly descended into a deep and dark well of slumber, down into the healing salvation of sleep.
Momma tucked two quarters in her shorts pocket and patted her head as she hoisted herself up on her bicycle seat. Lucky Strikes and Life Magazine. “Can you remember that for me?” Nelle repeated it twice. “Yes! I’m six, Momma!”
“Good my grown up girl. Now go. Be nice to our friend Mr. Martinez. And be careful on the road.”
Nelle peddled past willow trees and scrub brush that hugged the edge of the meandering creek and leaned her bike against the dilapidated porch of the Lampasas General Store. She entered boldly and announced her mission: “Lucky Strokes and Life Maybelline!”
Old Mr. Martinez lowered his chin and looked at her over the top of his glasses. She placed her coins on his counter. The cigarette pack fit snugly in her pocket. Outside, she rolled up the large glossy magazine and stuck it under her arm before she mounted her bicycle. The slick pages fell to the ground, the cover coming loose. She dismounted and rolled it up again. Her peddling was unsteady as she rode one armed using the other to press the magazine against her body to hold it in place. It fell out again, and again. Pages flew off and she chased them, running to retrieve the pages, hopelessly losing them to the breezes that tossed them with tumbleweeds. She didn’t want to let her mother down and teared at her failure.
Suddenly her mother’s voice rang out, urgent and loud. Nelle turned to see her a passenger in her father’s car, window rolled down, traveling slowly on the dusty road. “Nelle! Nelle! Let it go! Get in darling. Come home.”
The chief kept the headlights on until Pete was inside the trailer and flipped on a light. Pete stood in shadow against the dim light and raised his hand in thanks. Beau winked the lights goodnight and slowly drove away.
Hot Shot and his goat companion Mr. Bill waited eagerly by the fence, not for food but for Pete’s appearance, anticipating his company even though it was nightfall. Mingo was far more independent and rested contentedly in the pasture. But Hot Shot and Mr. Bill were not accustomed to long stretches of time without him and Pete believed they worried like children. He was eager to see them, too, and responded to the calling of Hot Shot’s neighing and Mr. Bill’s insistent bleating.
“I’m coming! Hold on!” he yelled back cheerfully, relieved to enter his world again after the hustle, vulgarity, and other-worldliness of New Orleans. It was as if he had returned from a different realm, fascinated by the extraordinary experience but mostly grateful to return home again.
Sprinting outside to the gate, he entered the field with twinkling stars and the slice of crescent moon the only light. Hot Shot nudged his chest as Pete stroked his neck, and laid his forehead on the pony’s muzzle. Hot Shot whinnied sweetly. Mr. Bill bleated softly as he stepped in close and rubbed his head against Pete’s jeans.
The three stayed together until the moon rose higher and the night air grew cooler. With the haunting, soothing hoot of a great horned owl mixing with the chorus of croaking frogs and chirping crickets, Pete felt relaxed and tired from his long day. He wondered what his grandfather would have to say about voodoo, big city living, and alligator tooth charms as he w
alked back to the trailer.
The dim light from inside illuminated the old sign above the screen door that his Papaw had painted years before when Pete was just a child. CLOUD NINE was more than an address. It was a reminder, and Pete got its message tonight. He smiled as he looked up and paused at the faded sign, hand painted in uneven letters on a weathered board.
Wise man. Thank you, Papaw. He nodded to the night, entered his home, and went to sleep thinking about Nelle.
Chief Boudreaux pulled in to his driveway and sat in his patrol car for a long time in the darkness. He didn’t want to enter his house yet, which to him appeared unexpectedly lonely after the journey to New Orleans and the captivating encounter with Emmeline. He wished he had thought to leave a light on. He leaned his head back and stared at the black night, remembering his short tenure in the bustling city as a young man full of swagger and big dreams. It was there he learned that dreams were not enough, swagger brought trouble, and truth required an honest look in the mirror. Accepting guidance and help from others had never been his strong suit, until that summer he got thrown in jail. It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. Now here he was: Chief of Police, Beau Boudreaux. Not too bad, he thought as he ran his fingers through his hair. And I still sound damn good in the shower.
He had a lot to think about and much work to do. Emmie had given him important information on the truck and the license plate. He would make phone calls in the morning to begin the investigation. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel with thoughts racing about crucial details and leads. His mind wandered to the paperwork, reporting and follow up required and the need to return the vessel to the community center. His chest suddenly raised in weariness after his eventful day and long ride. Expelling a deep breath, he felt the smooth alligator tooth next to his chest and smiled. He missed Emmie.
The Road to Home Page 12