Always & Forever: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 1) (33 page)

Cleo stepped out into the yard and took a deep breath of the
cooler air. She filled Louella’s water jug, swatting at mosquitoes the whole
time. As she turned to cover the twenty feet to the cookhouse, she smelled the
ripe odors of whiskey, man, and dog.

“You sposed to be out here, gal?” LeBrec said.

The dog’s low growl froze Cleo’s steps. She touched the
folding razor in her pocket, the one she had taken from Monsieur Emile’s
drawer. He would have wanted her to have it, she’d reasoned, now that he could
not protect her.

“I’m fetching water for Louella,” she said. The edge of
defiance in her voice was stronger than her fear.

“I might like me some of what you got there.” LeBrec, and
the dog, stepped toward her. “You probably as cool and sweet as that water,
ain’t you.”

“Don’t come any closer, Monsieur,” Cleo said. She pulled the
razor from her pocket and hoped he’d see a glint of light on the blade.

“You little bitch,” LeBrec said and lurched toward her.

A candle held high at the cookhouse door lit the tableau of
Cleo at the ready, Lebrec swaying in his drunkenness, the dog holding its head
low.

“
Bonsoir
, Monsieur,” Louella said. Her tone was calm,
but it hinted at deadly assurance. “Maybe I give you a cup for some of dat cool
water.”

In the candlelight, LeBrec considered Louella’s bulk, half a
hand taller than he was and forty pounds heavier. “Keep your damn water,” he
slurred. The dog growled once and followed its master into the darkness.

“Come on in here, sugar,” Louella said to Cleo. “Let’s us
make dat lemonade.”

An hour later, Cleo headed back to the house, Louella
walking her half way and then watching her climb the gallery steps in the light
from the new moon. In the house, Cleo saw Madame’s lamp glow under the doorway
to the office. She tapped on the door to see if Madame wanted anything, but
there was no answer.

Cleo opened the door, assuming Madame had fallen asleep over
her ledgers. She would be stiff and cantankerous in the morning if Cleo didn’t
get her into the bed. For a moment, Cleo admired Madame’s silvery hair in the
lamp’s glow, but then her awkward posture registered. The slump of her body was
rigid, not relaxed in sleep.

“Madame?”

A muted cry came from deep in Madame’s throat and Cleo
rushed to her. Madame’s face pulled down on the left side, that eye nearly
closed.

“Madame, what’s happened?”

Madame Emmeline fixed Cleo with her one good eye in fearful
appeal. A whimper escaped her twisted mouth, and Cleo grabbed her arms to
steady her.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll be back.” Cleo ran from the room
and at the top of the stairs began calling “Louella, Louella!”

At the third cry, Louella appeared at her door with the
candle in hand. Cleo called her again, and the big woman came running. She
thundered up the stairs and ran to the only room in the house that wasn’t dark.

Cleo knelt at Madame’s chair. “She can’t talk, Louella. Look
at her face.”

“Lor’ amighty! I seen dis afore. You go get Mam’zelle, den
we put Madame in de bed.”

Cleo ran to the bedroom and pulled aside the stifling
mosquito netting. “Josie,” she said. Josie slept in a sleeveless shift, and
when Cleo shook her she felt the sheen of sweat on Josie’s skin. “Josie, wake
up.”

Josie sat up, startled. “What is it?”

“Grand-mère’s had a stroke.”

The two hurried back to the office where Louella was
unbuttoning Madame’s neckline. “Grand-mère?” Josie cried. When she saw her
mouth pulled down on one side, her eye drooping, Josie drew back.

“Let’s get her in de bed, fust ting,” Louella said.

Josie’s trembling roused Cleo. “Can you turn the bed down?”
she said to Josie, hoping something to do would calm her.

Cleo and Louella pulled the hot dress off Madame and carried
her into the bed. She whimpered when they lay her down, and she raised her
right hand toward Josie.

“I’m here, Grand-mère,” Josie said.

Cleo watched Madame struggle to speak, but the sounds were
garbled. The hand pointed vaguely to the back of the house, and the three women
could not understand. “Do you want water?” Josie asked and rushed to fill a
glass from the ewer.

Madame’s voice raised in frustration. She didn’t want water.

“Cleo, go get Ursaline,” Josie said. “And rouse Elbow John.
If he starts now, he might find Dr. Benet at home first thing in the morning.”
In a lower voice, she added, “And the priest.”

Cleo, forgetful of the menace waiting for her in the dark,
turned for the door, but Louella stopped her. “I’ll do dat,” she said to Cleo.
To Josie, she said, “Cleo don’ know where Ursaline be in de new quarters. And
Cleo gots to bring you paper fo’ Elbow John’s pass.”

“Just hurry,” Josie said. “And tell him not to take the
mule. Tell him to take Beau; he’ll be faster.” She squeezed out a cloth from
the basin and bathed Grand-mère’s face with it.

Cleo came back to the room with paper and pen. “You write
it,” Josie said.

Elbow John appeared at the doorway, the sleep still in his
eyes. Cleo handed him the permit to leave the plantation and urged him to
hurry.

When Louella returned with Ursaline, the midwife, Josie
moved from her perch on the side of Grand-mère’s bed. “Can you help her?”

Ursaline leaned over Madame and peered into her good eye.
Madame stared back at her. “I hep her, I do dat. I gon’ need hot water for de
herbs.”

Louella left them to stir the embers in her cook fire. Ursaline
brought forth from a burlap bag a rattle decorated with feathers. She began to
chant and shake the rattle over Madame’s body. Cleo looked wide-eyed at the
voudon
priestess. She’d heard the talk all her life about Ursaline’s powers, but she’d
never witnessed the magic herself.

“What are you doing?” Josie demanded. “Stop it. We won’t
have that superstitious nonsense in this house.”

Ursaline looked at Josie with hooded eyes. In the dim light,
Cleo thought of a copperhead, full of secret venom.

“I thought you would have medicine, some herbs to help her,”
Josie said. “Take your things and get out of here.”

Ursaline nodded her head toward Madame. “You ask your
Grand-mère, Mam’zelle. She don’ send me ‘way. She know de power of de Loa.”

Madame’s good hand moved toward Ursaline in a come-here
gesture. Cleo had had no idea Madame knew of Ursaline’s dark powers. The woman
who never passed a
benitier
on a door jamb without dipping a finger into
the holy water and crossing herself, the woman who said her rosary morning and
night, who sent money to the Church every quarter -- this woman would allow
voudon
over her injured body?

Cleo touched Josie’s arm. “It’s only feathers and herbs,
Josie. What can it hurt?”

Josie crossed her arms, her mouth tight.

“It’s what Madame wants,” Cleo said.

Josie marched from the room. Cleo nodded to Ursaline to
continue. Over the next hour, Cleo stood aside and watched the
voudon
rites of healing as Josie paced the gallery outside the bedroom.

The old woman tied a
gris gris
, a red flannel bag of
herbs, around Madame’s neck. Then she held a small dried alligator head in her
palm for Madame to see. She placed it in Madame’s good hand, and Cleo leaned
forward to see her grasp it tightly. The
Ju Ju
would keep evil away
while Madame’s
ti bon ange
was vulnerable.

Madame’s eyes slowly closed as Ursaline rummaged in her
burlap bag. She pulled out a smaller bag of corn meal and began to sprinkle a
pattern on the floor. Cleo crossed herself, but continued to watch Ursaline’s
hands deftly create the
veve
for Ghede, a benevolent Loa powerful in
healing. A coffin with a star above it flanked both sides of a large cross on a
three tiered pedestal. X’s and arcs adorned the cross.

Ursaline spoke to the Loa as she worked. Cleo’s beloved
Grammy Tulia had believed in
voudon
, but Cleo herself had been raised
along side Josie as a Catholic. She said a silent prayer to Blessed Mother Mary
-- please ask God to forgive her for allowing this paganism in the house. She
promised she would say ten rosaries in atonement, then wondered if that would
be enough. She would confess to the priest when he came, and he could tell her
the appropriate punishment.

Ursaline finished her ministrations and pulled the
drawstring on her burlap bag. She looked at Cleo expectantly.

Cleo took one of the candles back into the office and opened
the drawer where the household purse was kept. She chose a coin, and then
returned to the bedroom to press it in Ursaline’s palm.

When the old woman left, Cleo opened the bedroom door onto
the front gallery where Josie had paced for the last hour. “She’s gone,” Cleo
said.

Josie came into the room and paused as if she thought she
could feel the
voudon
in the air. She crossed herself.

“You see. Madame is asleep. No harm is done, Josie.”

Josie arranged the mosquito bar around the bed. “I’ll stay
with her,” she said to Cleo. Josie climbed under the netting and lay down
beside her grandmother on the big bed. She held the crippled hand in both of
her own.

Cleo began to blow out the candles. “Leave one burning,
please,” Josie said.

In the morning, Louella brought strong tea for Madame. Josie
tried holding the cup for her, but Grand-mère couldn’t manage to drink that
way. Josie reached for a spoon and fed her the sweet black tea a little at a
time. When Josie offered her a spoonful of cornmeal mush, Grand-mère pushed it
away roughly and spilled it on the bedding. Tears came to Josie’s eyes, but she
didn’t let her grandmother see them.

Late in the morning, Josie heard Dr. Benet’s carriage in the
front alley. She left Cleo sitting with Grand-mère and ran down stairs to greet
him. His clothes were rumpled and dusty, and the red of his eyes showed he
hadn’t slept, but he held an arm out for Josie and hugged her close.

“How is she, my dear?” he said.

“She can’t talk, Dr. Benet. I don’t think she can walk,
either. Her left side seems frozen, from her face to her feet.”

“Let me see her, Josephine. Then we’ll talk.”

Josie led him to the bedroom. “Grand-mère, Dr. Benet is
here.”

“Emmeline, my dear friend,” he said as he advanced to the
bed. “You are laid low, Josephine tells me.”

Emmeline held up her good hand to the doctor, and he took it
warmly. “Let me see how you are,” he said.

Dr. Benet walked around to the other side of the bed to set
his medical bag on the table. When he saw the cornmeal
veve
on the
floor, he stopped.

“You’ve had the
voudon
in here?” He looked accusingly
at Josephine. He angrily smeared the drawing with his boot and then spied the
gris
gris
around Emmeline’s neck. He fetched his scalpel from his bag and cut
the string, marched to the gallery doors and threw the flannel bag into the
yard.

Josie saw a furtive movement of Grand-mère’s good hand. She
had shoved the dried baby alligator head under her hip where Dr. Benet wouldn’t
see it. Cleo quickly arranged the bed clothes to help her hide it. Josie stared
at her grandmother, this pious Catholic woman, as if she didn’t know her, but
Grand-mère’s silent appeal moved her. She said nothing to the doctor.

Dr. Benet calmed himself. He sat on the bed next to his old
friend and took her good hand in his. He felt of the pulse in her neck and
examined the droopy eye. He squeezed her frozen left hand and said, “Can you
move these fingers, Emmeline?”

She grimaced with effort, but there was no movement. Dr. Benet
held her ankle through the covers. “And your foot? Can you move it?” She could
not.

He felt the lack of tension in the sagging muscles of her
face. “Do you feel my hand on your cheek, Emmeline?”

She answered with a garbled sound. Yes, then.

To Josie, he said, “Has she eaten anything?”

“No, not yet. She’s had some tea,” Josie said.

“I’m going to bleed her now, and later we’ll see if she’ll
take some broth.”

Cleo had a basin ready in expectation he would open Madame’s
vein. After a quick swipe of the blade against his pants leg to clean it, Dr.
Benet nicked the blue line on the inside of Grand-mère’s elbow.

As the ribbon of red flowed into the basin, Josie put a hand
out to the wall to steady herself. The coppery scent of blood, the dark red
pool under Maman in the moment she died -- all those smells and images came
back to her, and she thought she would be sick.

“Josephine, go in the other room, child,” Dr. Benet said. “I
will come to you when I’m done here.” The doctor checked the color in Cleo’s
face as well, but she was focused on Madame, a cool cloth at the ready. A born
nurse, this one, he thought.

When he’d given Cleo a sedative to spoon into Madame’s
mouth, he left his patient in good hands. In the parlor he found Josie fanning
herself, still pale, with beads of sweat over her lip. She had taken the deaths
of the previous summer hard, and now this. The cares of adulthood would wait no
longer for Josephine Tassin.

“Your grandmother has had a stroke. As you said, her left
side is paralyzed.”

“But she’ll get over it, won’t she?”

Dr. Benet sat down heavily. “Josephine, sometimes a stroke
patient improves amazingly. The brain heals itself and the paralysis lifts.
Other times, there is little change. We shall have to wait and see.”

“It’s because of the crash,” Josie said. “She was upset
about the crash.”

“No doubt the shock affected her. But Emmeline is a strong
woman. Strong of will and mind. I believe we may hope for a degree of
recuperation.”

The sounds of crockery and flatware on the dining table reached
them. “Ah, I smell dinner,” the doctor said.