A Twisted Ladder (73 page)

HAHNVILLE, 1927

P
ATRICE WALKED ALONGSIDE THE
twins as Chloe led them through the woods. Guy and Gilbert were almost as tall as Patrice now though they were two years younger. Marie-Rose was not present. She was back in the nursery where she’d been ailing since the day Maman had sent her into the bramble to find out what happened to Papa. Patrice had done what she could but she hadn’t been able to bring Marie-Rose back. Her sister would have to find her own way. It could take days. Or longer. In the meantime, Marie-Rose lay strapped to her bed, lest her physical body try to wander the way Papa used to.

Papa, at least, would not be wandering anymore. Patrice felt her throat tighten.

She looked over her shoulder. Behind the children, two field workers took up the rear of the small procession. One of them, a hunter from Terrefleurs named Ramsey, carried a shotgun with the barrel resting on his shoulder. He’d been born deaf and could read lips if you spoke very slowly. You didn’t even have to make a sound, so long as you didn’t say anything too complex: come to supper, time for work. But Ramsey couldn’t really carry a whole conversation. Mostly, he was a loner and spent his time hunting along the bayou, bringing back his catch to share at the kitchen house. No wife, no children. He accompanied Maman for many secret tasks.

The other worker was someone Patrice did not know very well. He had once lived at Locoul, but had been working for Chloe in the bayous. Fishing, Patrice supposed. He made her very uneasy. Perhaps because of his appearance. He had an ugly scar; an X crisscrossing his throat. And one of his eyes was red as though half-covered in a splotch of blood that never dried, and never blinked away.

Patrice slowed and mouthed to Ramsey,
Where are you going?

She had actually wanted to ask him “do you know where
we
are going,” and whether he knew why Chloe was leading them into the woods, but she didn’t think she could communicate all of that.

As it was, Ramsey just shrugged. He cast his gaze away so that if Patrice tried to say anything to him again, he wouldn’t even see it. The twins kept stride ahead with their long, gangly legs snapping through the woodland. She could see the outline of Gilbert’s slingshot through his shirt. He wouldn’t have dared to tote it along openly, but Patrice knew he was loath to go anywhere without it.

The worker with the blood eye leaned toward Patrice and whispered, “We are going to the bayou.”

Patrice shot him a look. She hadn’t wanted her mother to hear. But her curiosity was now piqued.

“I can tell that much on my own, thank you,” she whispered, and then: “You can read lips?”

“No. It was easy to guess what you asked. I am Ferrar.”

“Patrice.”

She neither curtseyed nor offered her hand. Maman was now a fair distance ahead.

Patrice asked, her voice low, “How is it that you know Maman?”

To her surprise, Ferrar grinned at her with genuine warmth. “We go way back, your maman and me. I work for her now. Carry the hooch from the pirates. Least I used to.”

“Pirates!”

Guy and Gilbert turned to look over their shoulders, and Patrice bit her lip. It seemed Maman hadn’t heard, though.

Ferrar said, “They make rum and whiskey in the islands, where no one’ll find them, and bring them to the bayous. I know those places real good. Cocodrie, Bayou Black, Big Hellhole Lake.”

Patrice was vaguely aware of her mother’s New Orleans operations, that she was selling alcohol, but she had no idea that her enterprise was so far-reaching. “I never heard of any of those areas you mention.”

“Lafitte? Bayou Bouillon?”

“I’ve heard of Lafitte.”

“In Bayou Bouillon the water likes to boil. And you can hide real easy in Bayou Black. They ain’t nothin but places to disappear. I don’t do it no more, though. As of yesterday.”

“Why not?”

Ferrar nodded toward Chloe, who was now so far ahead that she was just the occasional flash of fabric through the woods. Only Ramsey kept pace with her, and Patrice kept her eyes on him instead. The twins had fallen back as well and were now listening to Ferrar with interest.

Ferrar said, “Your mother don’t want me workin for her no more. Says I got a flaw.”

Patrice eyed him sideways, noting his scar and his blood-shined eye.

He caught her looking and put his hand to his eye. “I don’t think she meant this flaw.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t . . .” But she was. She shrugged.

Ferrar said, “Doctor said it was supposed to go away in two weeks. But that was fifteen years ago. ’Fore you’s even born. My mama says it ain’t gonna ever go away cuz it’s a mark from your mother, Miss Chloe. I owe her a life.”

“A life?”

Ferrar nodded. “She saved mine when I was just a
piti
. Stuck me in the throat when I couldn’t breathe. That’s why I ran the bootlegging for her in the islands and all the lakes and streams. Wouldn’t’ve done it otherwise.”

Guy said, “I wanna be the new pirate if you ain’t doin it no more!”

“Me too!” said Gilbert.

“Shush!”

But it was too late. Chloe had paused and was already turning back. She cut hands at Ramsey and he stopped walking. He shifted the shotgun to his other shoulder.

“You!” Chloe said as she approached, pointing at Ferrar. “Wait here!
Ici!
”

She grabbed Patrice by the arm and thrust her forward into the woods. Patrice didn’t dare look over her shoulder at Ferrar. Chloe signaled Ramsey, and he resumed walking again.

Chloe was pinching Patrice’s arm. “I have told you not to fraternize!”

“
Oui madame
.”

“You disobey me again and again!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know . . .”

“You know. If you watch my intent you know exactly how to act.”

Patrice bit her lip, afraid to say anything lest her mother’s temper escalate.

Chloe said, “That boy, he is bad. These years, I put him to work in the water where he would stay far away. But he is too flawed! I should have let him suffocate years ago. I was young and did not understand.”

Patrice gasped. “How could you say such a thing?”

She looked over her shoulder. Ferrar was obediently waiting a distance back, leaning against a mulberry. She couldn’t tell whether he’d heard Chloe’s words. Despite the ugliness of his appearance, he seemed such a gentle soul. Why had Maman brought him along, only to make him wait in the woods?

Chloe grabbed Patrice by the chin and made her look at her. Patrice stumbled, and had to clutch her mother’s wrists to keep from falling. Ramsey and the twins stopped.

“Allez!”
Chloe shouted at them.

Ramsey lowered his head and continued on through the woods. The twins stole worried glances at Patrice, but they followed after Ramsey.

Chloe whispered, still gripping her daughter by the chin, “You silly and stupid. He is making a fool of you, that boy. He will turn your line to rot.”

Chloe released her. Patrice put her hands to her burning face. She didn’t dare turn to see whether Ferrar had been watching.

How long before she was old enough to leave home? With Papa gone, the children were now fully at the mercy of their mother. Even if Patrice could leave now—go off to boarding school abroad or enter a convent—she didn’t dare leave her sister and brothers behind. Already, look what had happened to Marie-Rose. She wondered if she could ever travel far enough to escape the river devils. Rosie was now attached. That horrible grinning woman. One day Patrice would become part of a pair, too, mother had promised. Maybe years from now, or maybe tomorrow. Or maybe today.

Patrice saw a glimmer ahead and realized they’d reached the bayou. A remote corner of it, far away from the fishing and swimming holes where the plantationers spent their scant idle hours. Patrice realized that was the reason for coming here. This cove was the farthest point from Terrefleurs and any of the neighboring plantations; and they were sure to be alone, out of sight, out of earshot. It made Patrice nervous.

She reached a searching thread into her mother, and found the intent: exercises. But not exactly pigeon games. They were far away from the garden and the
pigeonnier
.

Patrice wondered about the new exercises, but she couldn’t bear to keep seeking inside her mother’s intent. So much hatred there. That hatred found its way into Patrice’s own heart, too. Hatred for Chloe. Yes, she would call her Chloe from now on, not Maman. Chloe was nothing a mother should be. The trees stretched higher, blacker, and formed thorns.

For some reason, this acknowledgment of hating her mother caused her to raise her head. She walked taller.

Ramsey and the twins were waiting by the bayou’s edge. And to Patrice’s eyes, the cove existed inside the briar. But for once she didn’t fear it. She realized that her hatred was a powerful tool to bring to the world of thorns. Chloe reached the bank and turned. As Patrice approached, she gathered up the black feeling that had formed in her breast and streamed it toward her mother. Chloe’s eyes opened wider for just a moment. She must have felt it.

Chloe gestured toward Ramsey’s gun. He loaded it with shot.

Patrice joined her brothers and folded her hands, waiting to learn the new exercise.

THE CHILDREN’S EYES WERE
closed. Easier to see this way. Even with her lids sealed, Patrice could see the cove, the bramble, the truth of light and shadows, and, most importantly, the unseen. The full spectrum of senses. Patrice, the twins, Ramsey, and Chloe were all standing on the banks facing the woods, their backs to the bayou.

They began with a simple exercise of intent. Chloe directed them to seek inside of her, which they did. Patrice found that their mother wanted them to use the pigeon exercise on Ramsey. Patrice joined with her brothers to implant the suggestion according to their mother’s will. Patrice knew that her mother was not strong enough to move Ramsey on her own. Patrice was. But her mother didn’t know just how strong she’d become. Let her believe that it took the three children to join together in order to move a grown man.

Under the influence of the children, Ramsey laid his shotgun against a tree and then knelt on the sandy bank. Chloe took a kerchief from her pocket and blindfolded him. And then Patrice and her brothers followed through with the next directive that they found inside Chloe: causing Ramsey to rise to his feet and take up the shotgun once again. He stepped back into line next to Patrice and faced the woods.

Patrice realized then that they had become so efficient that they did not even have to concentrate. The children controlled Ramsey without conscious thought of their own. Chloe was effectively manipulating Ramsey by proxy, magnifying her intent through the lens of her children. As much as she hated her mother, Patrice felt excited by the ease of it.

She continued to relay her mother’s intent alongside her brothers, eyes closed, sight more vibrant than ever. She felt the presence of river devils. Male, female, small and large. They were drawn by the cluster of children, the race of humans that could conduct them into the physical world, and accelerate their purpose. And then Patrice realized that Marie-Rose was there too, standing between herself and Ramsey. The silver-eyed river devil hovered behind Rosie, hands wrapped around her waist. Patrice opened her eyes and the two faded to colored shadows. Ramsey was standing there, deaf and blindfolded.

She closed her eyes again and could see Marie-Rose and the river devil looking just as solid as the rest of them. Patrice reached out and squeezed her sister’s hand.

A rabbit appeared at the woods. It paused at the tree line before stepping out toward the banks. Patrice knew that she had called it. She saw a second rabbit, and then a third. All four children calling them forth.

Something stirred inside of Patrice. In the briar, the inhibitions receded, and base intentions came forth. Primal feelings. A hunter’s lust. The quick movements of the rabbits excited her. She wanted to grab one of them. She wanted to feel it go still in her grasp. And yet . . .

And then Ramsey, acting on the implanted suggestion of the children, shot the first rabbit. He could see nothing, but the children guided him with their minds. The rabbit fell.

Patrice felt a mixture of horror and elation. Marie-Rose tightened her grip in Patrice’s hand. Patrice knew her sister was thinking the same thing as she: The tale of
Compère Lapin
, the little brown rabbit who lived in the briar patch. A second shot rang out, and a second rabbit fell. The others jumped but did not run away.

“Take their fear,” Chloe said.

Patrice concentrated on suppressing the fear reaction in the rabbits. She found it in a tiny corridor inside their heads.

Ramsey reloaded. Continued to shoot them down one by one. He shot and reloaded in a continuous motion like the machination of a clock. But the rabbits kept coming forth. They emerged from the trees in obedience to the suggestion, and they waited to be shot.

Patrice stopped calling them.

Chloe said, “Do you see how powerful you are? No one can do these things but you. That is why you have power. The hunter and the rabbits are one in the same. No more than pigeons, both of them, and they must do as you wish. . . .”