Brigitte's Cross (The Olivia Chronicles)

by Angelic Rodgers

  Later, as they nestled together and she heard Lisa’s breathing deepen, she felt herself drifting off to sleep. She would deal with the aftermath tomorrow, but for now, she felt as close to happy as she had in a long time.

  The dream returned; again, she was in the house, walking in on Wren and Alex. This time, though, Alex is alive, and she’s a willing partner to Wren. As she stands in the doorway, fascinated, Wren makes eye contact with her, her mouth still fixed on Alex’s neck. Alex turned her face toward Liz and extended her hand, reaching for her. Liz moved closer, taking Alex’s hand, sinking to her knees next to her. Wren raises her head, her mouth rosy from feeding, and her low laughter is almost a growl.

  Alex smiles and sits up just enough to shift from Wren to Liz, wrapping her arms around Liz’s neck and kissing her, first softly then harder. She moves her mouth and presses Liz’s mouth to her neck, the tiny wound from Wren’s feeding still glistening and moist. As she puts her mouth to it, the sound of Wren’s laughter changes. It is no longer the sinister, growling laugh from before. Now it is the sound of Olivia laughing, and Liz feels hands in her hair. She’s so thirsty, so hungry, but she lifts her chin to look behind her.

  She woke to find it was Lisa she held close to her, and Olivia was standing on the other side of the room. She wanted to scream, but was powerless in her shock. Surely this is part of the dream; I must still be sleeping.

  “You’re very much awake, my dear.” Olivia moved out of the shadows and came to Liz’s side of the bed. She moved Lisa from Liz’s arms, tucking her back under the covers. Lisa moved like a small child woken up to be taken to bed. She complied without waking and soon looked peaceful and content. Liz pulled the sheet over herself, still in shock and trying to snap out of it.

  “I know you. You’re Alex’s old professor, the one she was helping when Wren killed her.”

  “Oh, you know me beyond that. You’ve always known me, haven’t you?” She smiled, her teeth dazzling in the moonlight that shone through the curtains. She brushed the hair out of Liz’s face. “I’m here to help you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Vivienne stood up from her chair where she had been sitting and reading when the phone rang. She knew who it was from the first ring; only her grandmother used the land line number. She insisted that cell phones were ridiculous and led to insincere discussions because people were too likely to be distracted when they were in the grocery store or driving down the street.

  On the first ring, Vivienne started at the sound. She stared at the phone through the second and third rings. She picked up.

  “Hello, Grandmother.”

  “Hello. I am glad I caught you. I would like to see you this Saturday for dinner. It has been too long since the three of us have had time together, and confession would probably do you some good.”

  Vivienne closed her eyes and held her breath.

  “I expect to see you at the Vigil Mass and don’t see any reason you can’t just return home with me and your brother.”

  Saturday came too quickly for Vivienne. She had been attending Mass inconsistently and often when she did go, she chose a different church so as to avoid her grandmother.

  As she walked toward St. Louis Cathedral, she realized it had been ages since her last confession. She knew her grandmother was going to this later Mass because she had been to confession before the service. She wondered what the old woman confessed to. Surely she kept her revelations in a mode appropriate for the priest. Vivienne didn’t have any confessions to make, but she knew her grandmother would ask her if she had been.

  Her grandmother and Christophe were seated together in their usual spot. As Vivienne genuflected upon entering, her grandmother turned to face her from across the church. It was as if Vivienne had shouted out to her and she knew her grand-daughter had entered. Her gaze didn’t falter for a second. She smiled as Vivienne moved toward the empty spot in the pew beside her.

  Marie was dressed in a conservative skirt and jacket. An appropriate hat completed the ensemble. Even though few women wore hats to Mass, Marie insisted. Her hair was also carefully styled with the tiny braids all gathered into a large bun at the nape of her neck. Vivienne’s own braids hung free, which she knew would not be acceptable to her grandmother.

  Vivienne sat down and her grandmother patted her on her knee. She held her rosary in her hand, and Vivienne knew that she had been praying the Rosary as she waited for Mass to start. Marie tucked them into her pocketbook.

  “I am so glad to see you. Christophe has lately taken a page from your book and it seems as if it has been years since I’ve had the two of you for the afternoon.”

  Christophe winked at Vivienne. “Oh, it hasn’t been that long. We’ve both just been busy.”

  Mass began and Vivienne was relieved to have the respite from making conversation. Afterward, she and Christophe went to go pull the car around while their grandmother made small talk with some of her older friends who were not as likely as she was to be at daily morning services.

  “So, she got to you, too. You know she’s gearing up for something, right?” Christophe lit a cigarette as they walked.

  “I know. On today of all days she just has to make sure we’re all together. It would be different if she would just directly say that she doesn’t want to be alone on the anniversary of Maman’s suicide.” Vivienne shook her head. “I guess it’s too much to ask that she be direct.”

  Christophe walked and smoked. When they got to the car, he turned to his sister. “I know you still don’t know what to believe about what Maman told you in the letter. Will you please believe me when I say that it is true?”

  “How can I believe it? On one level I feel great fear of her, but I have a hard time distinguishing if that is normal fear a granddaughter has when their grandmother is so overbearing or if there is really something to fear. Christophe, I know more about Voodoo than anyone in our family, and what Maman suggested is something I’ve never heard of.”

  He unlocked the car. “We will talk more later. All I can tell you is that there are some things that aren’t documented. Let’s go pick her up and deal with whatever she has planned as her memorial supper.”

  Marie was still occupied talking to one of her clients. The two women said their good byes as Christophe pulled the car close to the sidewalk on St. Ann Street. Vivienne hopped out of the front seat, helping her grandmother in. She slid into the back seat behind her.

  The ride to the family home was short and fairly quiet. Both Christophe and Vivienne sensed that Marie was working the silence. They both knew she would wait until things seemed calm and comfortable before she broached anything. She was nothing if not dramatic.

  The house was quite large, with quarters in a former carriage house in the back that Christophe had claimed. They had belonged to his mother, and they allowed him enough privacy that he’d not minded living there. Vivienne wondered how he could stand living with their grandmother always so close, but she also knew that Christophe as a male was given far more leeway that she ever would have been able to hope for. She knew too, that it was nice for her brother to keep an eye on the property and his grandmother while living there for free. Her grandmother did not do hair and make charms for the money; she had far more money than most of her clients. She did her work out of love for the power and influence. That was one trait that Vivienne admired in her, and the love of their shared religion was what kept them connected after her mother’s death.

  Marie’s intensity, though, was also one of the sources of fear for Vivienne. No matter how much she had studied, no matter how many papers she wrote, her grandmother was still more serious or authentic somehow as a Mambo.

  On occasions where Marie had guests for dinner, one of her devotees would come cook for her and clean house. Marie offered no formal training, but she did mentor young women from time to time in return for such favors. Tonight, she had asked young Marguerite to cook for the family. Marguerite had been to earlier mass so she could accomm
odate the request, and as the family walked in the freshly cleaned house to the smell of chicken braised in red wine, Vivienne wondered what lesson her grandmother had promised the girl in return for her work tonight. Marguerite came rushing to the front door as they came in, helping Marie out of her coat and hat, and offering to take Vivienne’s coat as well. Marguerite and Christophe once had a dalliance; Vivienne knew this because her grandmother had been happy about the possibility of Marguerite becoming family. Tonight, though, it was clear that Christophe had no interest. He walked past her toward the wet bar in the dining room as if he didn’t realize she was there. Vivienne could see the hurt look on Marguerite’s face, but the girl covered it quickly.

  The dull pop of the cork beckoned to Vivienne who was very ready for a glass of wine. “I was just starting on the salads,” Marguerite said, as she fluttered past. “It will just be a few more minutes on the chicken and I’ll be right there.”

  The dining table was already set, three place settings hugging one end of the heavy 19th century Mahogany dining table. Vivienne wondered when the last time was that the table had been let out to its full size and both leaves added to it, and then she realized it was likely for her mother’s funeral when everyone converged on Marie’s with covered hot dishes and plates of deviled eggs.

  Everything here reminded her of her mother and haunted her by making her think of the letter and the story her mother told her.

  Christophe handed out glasses of wine. As he did, he said, “Should we raise a toast to Maman’s memory?”

  Marie let out a bitter laugh, but raised her glass. Vivienne silently thanked her brother for being the one to bring it up; she hoped it defused Marie a bit. It didn’t.

  “I am glad you remembered what today is. It is important that we consider the obligations she left all of us with.”

  Vivienne took a large mouthful of wine and raised her eyebrows in Christophe’s direction. She decided not to take the bait. Thankfully, Marguerite came into the room with a large salad bowl in one hand and a steaming bowl of fragrant rice in the other. Shortly after she had set the rice down she appeared again, this time with oven mitts on her hands as she carefully brought in the steaming hot casserole dish to the trivet in the center of the table. She retreated to the kitchen, and the family sat down to eat. Once the plates were passed and filled, everyone was silent as they started eating.

  “Vivi, it is time you started taking a larger interest in my client base. You’ve been spending too much time showing off with your museum work. It is time you did more actual practice.”

  “What do you know about what work I do? And why does it concern you if I’m doing ritual work?”

  Marie smiled. “Oh, word does get around. I am sure you think that the work I do is unworthy of your attention, but I assure you it is not. My clients want to know that they will have someone to continue to work with their families when I am no longer able to. Your mother should have been the one to do that, and you would serve after her. Do not resent me for your mother’s choice.”

  Vivienne sat quietly for a moment before responding. “Choice? According to her, she had no real choice.” She knew she was opening the door to revealing that her mother had told her daughter of the overbearing nature of Marie. But, she reasoned, the only way to find out if her mother was completely delusional was to address the issue with her grandmother. “She left me a letter.”

  Marie’s eyes flashed with anger. “You never mentioned this before. What did she tell you? You know she was not stable; if she were, she would not have been so foolish as to do what she did.”

  Vivienne realized she had the upper hand. Marie rarely showed emotion; the evident irritation indicated to Vivienne that she’d struck a nerve. Now, to play her hand right to find out if it was just hurt feelings that she didn’t know of the letter until now or if the anger was because the letter revealed the truth.

  “Yes. It was the one thing she left me.” Vivienne stood up and went into the kitchen. Marguerite was obviously listening to the discussion. She tried to hide it by pretending to have just been near the doorway as Vivienne walked in.

  “Oh! I was just coming out to see if everything is ok with the dinner or if anyone needs anything.”

  Vivienne nodded. “Thank you, Marguerite. The food is lovely.” She grabbed a clean glass from the cupboard and filled it from the faucet. “You should eat with us; all the better to take part in the conversation. Perhaps you could take my place in my grandmother’s plans.”

  Marguerite blushed. “I could never join the table. I am barely worthy to serve you.”

  “Nonsense.” Vivienne wondered how long it would take for her grandmother to follow her. “I don’t understand why you put up with being treated like a servant. It’s worse than servitude, really. To do this out of devotion to her—I don’t understand it.”

  Marguerite was flustered. She toyed with the dishes in the sink. Vivienne could sense she wanted to say something, but she also sensed fear coming off of her. She was about to ask her about it when Marie crossed the threshold of the kitchen. “I would think you would come back to the table, Vivi, and let Marguerite alone. Her loyalty to me is not your concern.” Marie had regained her composure, at least for the time being. Vivienne realized that she had nothing to gain by trying to shift the focus to Marguerite. She didn’t respond to her grandmother, but instead she simply walked past her and returned to her seat. Christophe was no longer at the table.

  She could hear the murmurs in the kitchen and soon she heard the back door open and close quietly. Christophe’s wine glass was still half full. She topped it off and waited.

  Marie returned to the dining room, sitting in Christophe’s vacant seat so that she and Vivienne were facing each other across the table. “I sent your brother on his way for the evening. We need to talk. I’ve also sent Marguerite home. Why are you so stubborn?”

  Vivienne actually laughed a little. “I’m stubborn? Ok. Fine. I’m not really interested in arguing. She wrote me a letter of warning.”

  “Warning? Of what? You and she both have a birthright that people like Marguerite can only dream of. There’s no need to warn someone of such a great gift.”

  Vivienne nodded. “So, tell me your version of the story.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Christophe could see the silhouettes of the two women in the dining room, and he wondered how much the old woman would be willing to tell. Marguerite had followed him to his quarters, but he had turned her away. Their small romance was long over by the time he met Olivia, and now he had no interest or use for her. In the beginning, he’d tried to discover his grandmother’s secrets from her, but he soon realized that she knew less than he or Vivienne did about Marie’s plans or the process she used.

  It wasn’t long before he heard the kitchen door slam again and his sister was at his door. He’d left it unlocked, and she didn’t knock before she slid inside. He could tell she was furious. He was glad; fury and anger were all he could think of as possible ways to move beyond the childhood fear of their grandmother.

  He poured each of them a shot of bourbon and handed one to her. She was pacing back and forth, refusing to sit, but she took the rocks glass from him and took a swig.

  “So, what happened after I left, Vivi?”

  “Nothing, really. She’s too stubborn to actually tell me much of anything. I asked for her side of the story and she started negotiating. So, we worked out a deal. I’m to start meeting her clients and working with her a few days a week. I’ll start taking her around, so you’ll be off from driving duty on those days.” She finally sat down. “It wouldn’t be so awful if I didn’t feel she was trying to pimp me out. Get married, have babies, take my clients. You should count yourself lucky.”

  He smiled. “Oh, I realize I’m lucky in that regard. It’s the trade off, I guess; I don’t get all of the good attention, but at least I don’t have to pay for it later.” He grabbed the bottle and poured them each another shot. “Why don
’t you stay here tonight? I’ll take the couch. Neither of us should drive, and you probably don’t want to be alone tonight of all nights. I know I don’t.”

  “Thanks, Chris. Let’s celebrate her together. The bitter old woman can stay over there.” She slid her feet out of her shoes and propped them up on the coffee table.

  Christophe had kept the lower part of the carriage house as their mother had left it for the most part. The lower floor was open and on one end was the small kitchenette area and the living room space was on the other. The screen that their mother used to create the illusion of a wall between the two spaces was still there, partially hiding the small counter, stove, and sink. The couch was situated across from the front windows that looked out into the courtyard that separated the carriage house from the main house. Their mother’s writing desk was on the wall opposite the kitchenette. Other than a few items—Christophe’s laptop on the desk, his coat and boots near the door—the room looked much like it did when Vivienne last visited their mother.

  “I’m not sure how you can live here, Christophe. It’s not just the proximity to grandmother, but living in this house. It feels haunted by her and by our childhood to me.”

  Christophe shook his head. “I find it comforting. Had she done the deed here, I would probably feel differently.”

  Rosalie was supposed to go out with Marie that day to make house calls, but they argued that morning. Rosalie then refused to go. Vivienne only knew this from Christophe who had been there to take Marie on her calls when Rosalie refused. Vivienne had asked him to tell her the story so many times. She asked him again. “Chris, tell me the story again. I keep hoping by hearing it, I will understand it on some level.”

  Christophe nodded. “I know the feeling. Sometimes I think telling it will help me understand it, too.”