Child of the Storm (10 page)

She
heard her name called and saw that Odette was waving for her to catch up. They
passed under that blazing window and for a moment Celeste
’
s eyes were too dazzled to see. A young
messenger boy walked past them and looked squarely at Celeste before striding
away. He wore a sort of uniform with a flat cap, and she wondered if everyone
had to wear a uniform in New Orleans. Her eyes adjusted, and she saw a broad
street stretching from right to left, and another broad space lay out ahead of
them, all lined with tall buildings.

Odette
stood beside her, giving orders that something was to be brought along, and
quickly. She spoke in hushed but urgent words to three men, impressing them
with her authority and demanding nods that they understood.
People,
wagons, automobiles like she
’
d never seen before moved with a brisk
purpose.
Celeste
’
s heart raced.

Odette
sent the men away to do as they were bidden and turned back to Celeste. She
swept her arm from right to
left
, gesturing to the
street that ran across their path, its far side like a distant shore.
“
Canal Street,
”
she said,
then
pointed across the way, toward that other street that plowed right into the
first.
“
Basin Street.
”

Celeste
knew she
’
d need to sort it all out later. Maybe
sort it in her dreams. She looked up at Odette, reached up to tug her sleeve.
“
Is this heaven?
”
A church question,
but maybe safe enough to ask now.

Odette
looked at her and considered before answering. Sensible pride won out.
“
I like to think so.
”

Celeste
turned aside all the troubling and complicated notions this answer suggested.
Set them aside for another day when she was less tired and less hungry.
“
I
’
m hungry,
”
she said.

“
We
’
re going home,
”
Odette said. A nice carriage pulled up
before them.

“
Where
’
s home?
”

“
My home,
”
Odette said as she set Celeste in the
carriage without straining.
“
Your home too. At
least for now.
”

“
Till Papa comes home.
When will he be home?
”

“
When he can. When it
’
s over and he
’
s free to come home. I
’
ve sent word to him.
”
The carriage set off and its wheels
made a different sound rolling on these streets than the wagons back home made
on the softer roads there.

“
I can
’
t say when, child. The war is a big
thing and holds tight to men. We matter little to such big things as war. Such
things as storms.
”

The
sun hid behind the tall, upright buildings, and the streets swam with deep
shade that would marry up before long with the evening. Lights were already
burning in windows.
Electric lights, even and strong.
Some gas flames danced inside street lamps like captured spirits. People strode
home or lingered in doorways. She could see and smell it all, riding in a nice
carriage pulled by a grey horse.

She
picked out good food smells from among the other kind, and heard music;
followed the sound to an old man sitting under a gallery, picking out a tune on
his banjo while a friend sat beside him nodding in time. He held a brassy
instrument, but this was a conversation and he was just listening until it was
his turn to play.

It
wasn
’
t enough for these city buildings to
have a porch. Plenty of them had to have a second porch stacked above the one
below, and these high porches were railed around with intricate shaped iron like
her father learned to do before the war. She pointed these out to her aunt.

“
Fashioned a different
way than how your father did,
”
Odette explained.
“
His was wrought and these are cast in
iron. Maybe that
’
s what he
’
ll find himself doing
when he comes home, though most of these are very old now. Different ways for
different times.
”
She studied Celeste.
“
Does all of this frighten you, child?
”

“
Don
’
t know yet.
”

Block
after crowded block rolled by and they were still in the city. New Orleans just
rolled on and on. When the wagon stopped out front of one of those tall houses
with tall windows and stacked up porches, Odette climbed down and helped
Celeste down too.

“
This is your house?
”

“
It is.
”

Lights
were already burning inside and the curtained windows glowed. Maybe someone was
inside, but Odette had not children. No husband. That
’
s what Mama had told her
…

Odette
seemed to sense the question.
 
“
Only me in this house now. Me, and a
woman who helps me manage, and she goes home nights, so you can keep me company.
”
She turned the key and sent Celeste in
first.
“
More house than I need, but can
’
t send part of it away. Maybe you can
stir it up some while you
’
re here. Stir it up,
but go gently. The place doesn
’
t know much about
children.
”

They
were in a narrow room with a long staircase squeezed along one side, taking a
wood railing up with it to the floor above
—
a
railing like a fine picket fence capped with smooth wood. A woman, maybe her
mother
’
s age or so, stood at the far end of
the entry hall, framed by an open doorway and wiping her hands with a little
towel.

Odette
spoke to the woman.
“
Josephine, could you pull something
together for us to eat before you head home?
Something
suitable for a child, if we have anything like that.
You
’
d know better than I would.
”

“
I can do that ma
’
am.
”
Josephine
disappeared after glancing at Celeste with kind eyes.
Eyes
full of sadness, so she must have known about Celeste.

“
She
’
s prepared a room for you upstairs,
”
Odette explained.
“
I
’
ll be up there too.
Just down the hall.
”

Celeste
eyed the stairs.

“
You
’
re not accustomed to stairs. We can
make a bed for you down here if you
’
d rather.
”

“
No, I
’
ll be up there with you.
”

Odette
nodded approval.
“
Now you just take a seat over in that
chair and rest a bit until we eat. Or look around while I speak to Josephine.
”

Celeste
eyed the ornate cushioned chair with its feet like paws and patterned fabric
like nothing she
’
d ever seen her mother use, even for
paying work. She wanted to touch it more than she wanted to sit, but her eyes
tracked on past to the colorful rug on the floor and the fine curtains on the
window and the lamp on the wall, burning with its steady electric light. She
sank down to sit on the rug as her eyes still traveled. Her hand stroked the
soft weave of the rug like it was an animal
’
s fur coat. Footsteps
passed the house outside, and the deeper tones of Odette
’
s voice carried forward from the rooms
beyond Josephine
’
s door. Another sound made her
tip
her head about to locate it, but maybe it was all
around; an even pulsing sound like a heartbeat.
The heartbeat
of the house.
Maybe a house this grand needed a heartbeat all its own.
Away from the city, you just had horses and wagons and roads that might be dust
one day and mud the next, and graveyards only big enough to sit inside fences,
and woods deep enough to hold bears.
Simple houses with just
one porch or none at all, and burning candles or rope wicks to read or draw
pictures by.
But a city needs fire eating trains, trucks and boats, and
houses with beating hearts. And the streets are walked by folks, even boys,
wearing uniforms, boys no older than her, or by great aunts who aren
’
t afraid of anything and can scoop you
up out of sorrow and troubles.

She
left the rug alone and thought about her mother.
Thought
about the bear with her mother
’
s eyes and mother
’
s
voice.
Papa was heading home and it was quiet enough in Odette
’
s house to hear its heartbeat.

“
Celeste,
”
her aunt called from Josephine
’
s open door.

Celeste
jumped to attention like someone in uniform.

There
was a room of cool floors and walls, fitted with strangely shaped things, also
cool and white that she knew were for bathing and the like, but only because
Augustin had described them to her in letters.

“
Don
’
t go wandering outside in search of an
outhouse,
”
Odette told her.
“
Everything you
’
ll need is inside.
”

Celeste
stood on
tip-toes
, offering her hands to be washed in
the lavatory where soap sat off to the side and hot water flowed.
 
Odette dried off her clean hands with a
little towel and they followed the smell of food out into the hall and in to
yet another room. So many rooms, and she
’
d only seen part of
the house.
Rooms for everything.
A room for coming
inside and one for washing your hands, and one where you would eat and one
where you sleep. Maybe one for drawing and one for sewing and one for thinking
about what to do next
—
and you
’
d need to go to
another room once you decided what it was you needed to do.

Floors
creaked when you walked on them, just like at home, but there were rugs
wherever you walked. She touched the plastered walls and couldn
’
t decide what they were made of, smooth
and almost as cool as stone
;
painted or patterned. Her
eyes darted like feeding fish over all the strangeness.

Josephine
was standing at the fine, polished table with its feet like an animal
’
s. She was setting out plates and
utensils, filling the room with soft clear sounds like drips of rain on the
roof or a window pane, like when her mother would set the table at home, only
the little sounds were higher and cleaner here in Odette
’
s house. She turned away from the
thought. Josephine moved smoothly from one end of the table to the other as she
set and served, while Odette showed Celeste to a chair with two square and
buttoned pillows stacked on the seat to boost her up. Only two places were set.
One for her and one for her aunt.

“
You
’
ve eaten already?
”
Celeste asked Josephine as she
approached with milk in a glass pitcher.

“
Josephine is going
home to eat,
”
Odette explained, and took the pitcher
from Josephine.
“
I
’
ve kept her too long
as it is. Thank you Josephine. I can manage from here.
”

“
Good night, Miss
Odette.
”
Josephine took the opening to slip
away.

Though
the table was long, Odette sat close to Celeste on her right hand, ready to
assist, but also watching how Celeste managed her knife and fork.

“
You have large hands
for one so small,
’
she commented, noting Celeste
’
s dexterity.
“
Maybe that means you
’
ll be tall like your father.
”

Celeste
shrugged and kept eating since she hadn
’
t had much all day.
She swallowed, knowing she shouldn
’
t talk with a mouth
full of food.

“
This isn
’
t ham,
”
Celeste noted.

“
That
’
s roast beef.
”

“
From a cow.
”

“
Yes, from a cow. Don
’
t you like it?
”
Odette asked, but in a tone that
suggested it didn
’
t much matter if Celeste did or didn
’
t. It was there to be eaten.

“
I do,
”
Celeste said. She chewed thoroughly as
she gazed out across the landscape of the set table; dishes, the pitcher of
milk, a little shallow bowl with honey squeezed from the comb. It glistened
under the light from thin, white candles sitting on the table, even though
electric lights were burning overhead. She looked back to the candles and down
to her own plate again. Her fork hovered over the last few green beans before
spearing them all at one go.

“
It
’
s been a long hard day,
”
Odette said.

Celeste
set down her fork and leaned back against the chair, her eyes locked on the
table
’
s centerpiece without taking it in. She
had questions, somewhere in her head.
Lots of questions that
would have to wait.

Odette
was watching her, maybe waiting to see if Celeste would say anything.
“
Sleep is what you need. Could you sleep
if I tucked you into bed?
”

Celeste
managed a nod.

New
Orleans streetlight came in through the tall windows of her room, and a breeze
came in with it.
A big room with tall ceilings.
A bed
that was soft.
A breeze carrying the strange smells of a
strange place, like breath, now flowing in, now still.
She wondered
where her mama was; wondered where she
’
d been taken.

The
light in the room was different. The breeze that had breathed into the room was
now flowing out through the tall window to the high porch
—
only not a porch. Odette had called it
something else she couldn
’
t remember.
A porch of some other name where someone was waiting for her.
Someone dark, waiting for her.
Dark,
even with the even glow of city light shining.

Celeste
walked to the window. Stepped out onto the porch of some other name and touched
the
bear
’
s ear, like a
greeting.

“
You remember me?
”
asked the bear.