Child of the Storm (16 page)

“Guess this is where my family
lives now.” She stroked the edge of the quilt. “And where’s Celeste?” There was
no scrap of material that had been hers, but so many of them had stories that
touched on hers.

“On and on.”

Annie's
signature knock played on the door just before it opened.
A
formality, as if Celeste might have been up to something and deserved the
barest of warnings.

"Applicant
here," Annie said. "For the opening."

"And?"

"A
white guy."

"Jeannine's
white. One of your favorites."

"Seems
a little old for this position."

"How
old is too old?"

"Older
than me.
Younger than you.
Want to talk to him?"

"I
do." Celeste slipped out from behind the pinched in desk. "Where is
he? Out front?"

"On
the porch. A lot of customers inside." Annie left here, turning on her
heel.

The
man stood with hands clasped behind his back as he studied the shop through the
window. A precise pose and purposeful, but also relaxed, like someone at a
museum, trying to fathom why a painting has drawn them to it. His manner, to
her discerning eye, was neither local nor tourist. Tanned, but not like a
farmer or fisherman. His clothes, wrinkled but worn thoughtfully, seams aligned
and
shirt-tail
tucked. As she studied him, somehow
liking what she saw, he drew out an old pocket watch to check the time. She'd
never seen a watch of that sort except in a shop window on Royal Street.

"Short
on time?" she asked.

He
turned to look at her, and there was something in his expression. What was it?
A soft surprise, a flicker of recognition, embarrassment?

"Pardon
me?" He said. An accent she took to be English.

"You're
here about the job? Annie seemed to think you were and sent me out. I'm the
owner. Celeste Dubois." She offered her hand and he took it.
One neat quick step toward her.
A nice
grip, appropriately firm but not crushing.
A sensitive man, she thought.

"Jonathan
Hogue. What sort of job."

"I
thought you knew. Helping in the kitchen. Sort of a start at the ground floor
as they say. We usually get younger people to apply."

"Yes,
I see."
An awkward pause.
Trying to find words.
"Actually I wasn't here about a job. I just wandered here from the French
Quarter."

"Which
streets from the Quarter?"

"Chartres,
Elysian and Dauphine, I think. I didn't know the names but followed...what
looked familiar." He didn't pronounce Chartres like a local.

"That's
the way I come and go from the Quarter. Do you live here, or just
visiting?"

"Visiting.
My first time here."

"But
you said the way looked familiar."

"Yes.
Odd, isn't it?"

"A
bit odd. Not too odd for New Orleans. So you don't need the job?"

"You
wouldn
’
t want me in your kitchen.
”

“
Not a good cook?
”

“
English, so no ma
’
am I
’
m not.
”

“
How long will you be
in New Orleans?
”

“
Some few weeks or
months. I
’
ve no particular schedule.
”

They were an appropriate if unlikely
pair. He looked older than his years and she looked younger, which bridged the
eleven years between them.
To Celeste,
he was Jonathan. To Annie, he was simply Hogue. To George, he was
Mr
.
Hogue. To the youngest of the staff, he was The Watch Man, because of that
lovely timepiece he played with as he talked to Celeste.

He had money enough for shelter and bread,
and time enough for her.

Annie did not approve. It was an
association that was at odds with her ever failing attempts to match-make.

"You don't like Jonathan."
Celeste suggested.

"Not a matter of liking or not
liking him. Your father hasn't been gone long at all and you spent all your
free time with him, being a good daughter. He suffered with his time spent in
the war and the loss of your brother. Now he's gone. You did what you should
and need to let go and move on. This should be
your
time. You've never
had that. And now this man comes along that's all quiet, maybe scarred by
things he saw or did in the war."

"Someone like that needs company.
Don't you think?"

"He does, but maybe not so much of
yours."

"Someone more lively?
Maybe you or George?
Or someone white?"

Annie bowed up and she did it
impressively, as always. "You know that's not where I'm going."

"I know, and I apologize. But you
need to see that we don't all kick up our heels the same way.
Or so high and fast.
Some of us aren't put together that
way. We keep the quiet spots company. Not to say there aren't plenty, cut off
from life,
who
need a friendly outreaching hand or a
healthy shove. But that's not me, and it's not Jonathan."

Annie relented, hands raised in
surrender.

Celeste had the cramped office to
herself again.
What Annie
didn't understand was the deep waters. And the deep waters can run fast and
they can run cold. You can find things in those waters. Things you expect and
others you don't. Good and useful things like gifts. Hurtful things like
ghosts.

Jonathan was like her father in that he
bottled up his pain and covered his scars from view. He wanted the sun on his
face,
maybe to draw light down to those shaded corners of
his pained soul. Annie and George wouldn’t see that. Not many would since
Jonathan wouldn’t show it. Comfort or even a hope of healing might come from
friendship, and Celeste offered it freely, but there are things that gnaw and
will not stop for love or comfort. Those gnawing things must be dragged out or
sliced away. Burned by cleansing fire or drowned in cold brine.
The work of mysteries, mindful of vital connections.
That
was Aurore’s job. Celeste was no surgeon.

Jonathan was willing, even eager to go
;
a welcome if unexpected response, but not so surprising
that it slowed Celeste down. She sent him on a bike that had been her father’s.

Aurore would go where needed for the
sake of a cure. She was a preemptive healer for those under her care, assuming
they confided. On the afternoon following Hogue's consultation, she appeared at
Dubois' right at closing time, letting George know, and he let it slip to
Celeste. George was a loyal employee and Aurore knew that.
Celeste allowed her to settle in the
office while her back was turned tending to a distraction. Then she joined her
friend, taking the seat behind the desk.

"I don't want to know what you
discussed with Jonathan."

"I wouldn't."

"Well then."

"You enjoy his company."

"I do."

"Good."

"You came here just to approve my
friendship?"

"No. I came by to encourage
it."

"Why?"

"Because both of you deserve
better company than unpleasant ghosts."

A month of fine weather followed, free
of the ghost for Celeste and she hoped the same was true for Jonathan; whatever
manner of ghost might have ridden him. He’d taken simple lodging in a house
near the river in The Bywater. Close to Celeste rather than the heart of the
city or the docks where he had come ashore.

He came to know her schedule well
enough to anticipate when she would free up to join him, sitting on Dubois’
front porch for bread breaking and simple talk. She let him keep her father’s
bicycle and they explored the city clear up to Audubon Park. The last time she
had ventured that far afield had been with her father to see the new elephant
at the zoo, back when she was in her teens. He was accustomed to traveling
alone, but preferred company now.
Celeste’s company.

All well and good, but everything’s
connected and strands tug from far away, testing bonds that might resist
separating if only given the time to strengthen. When he arrived at her house
she was on her porch, watching the sun dip into the city, setting up for a fine
show of colors. He stopped on the street, waiting to see what his welcome would
be since he had never come by so late and unexpected.

“What is it Jonathon?” Had he looked
other than he did, she wouldn’t have asked but might have greeted him
differently. Something was wrong. She waved him up to take the other rocking
chair and he joined her there, a brown bag tucked under his arm.

“My father has died,” he said. “I
didn’t know he was ill, but we had not been close for years. He had wanted me
to join him in his business after the war, but it wasn’t something I could do.
My mother may have understood but…”

“And your mother?”

“She isn’t well.”

"She will need you there. The business may be something
you can take or leave, but family's different."

"I leave tomorrow. A train to New York and then a
ship."

"That would be a nice trip, under different circumstances."

"Better if I wasn't traveling alone."

She squeezed his hand. "What's that you have in the
bag."

"A bottle of wine.
Just a thank you
gift.
I hope it's good."

"I'm sure it is, though I may not be a good judge. My
father kept a bottle under the sink for personal occasions. Birthdays mostly.
We always joked it might go bad, as long as it sat there between
sessions."

"We could open it and see what you think."

"We could, but not just yet. Never drink on an empty
stomach; something I learned by a hard lesson when I was younger. I'll cook if
you help."

"I can do that."

"But first, we need to see what this sunset has to
offer. I was watching it develop while you were on your way here."

He relaxed into his chair and turned to watch the sky bleed
and blaze. Watched it in near silence with only the simplest of gestures or
mention of color until it was only an up lit sky vault, studded with early
stars.

She would wait until after they had prepared their meal
together, eaten it and tried the wine, which was the best she had ever tasted,
before telling him she couldn't follow him home. He had his duty and she had
hers. At least for a time, she told herself.

In the morning, she
rode in to the bakery and he rode to the station. George would collect the bike
another time. She asked Jonathan to write and remember. And she promised to do
the same.

Celeste
answered the early morning knock on her door and found Aurore standing on her
porch. She
’
d paid visits before, but never one
that was unannounced.

“
Thought I should come
check in to see how you are,
”
her friend said.
“
Losing your father and now Mr. Hogue.
”

Celeste
shrugged it off.
“
It was nice having Jonathan around. I
told him I would write.
”

Aurore
stood in the middle of the main room and took it in with a keen eye.
“
Doesn
’
t do any good to ask
you how you
’
re doing,
”
she said.
“
I
’
ve never seen someone
so lacking in complaints. But there are other sure ways of telling. Ways that
don
’
t require the spirit world.
”

The
room was in good order as it always was, apart from the few items on the table
that spoke of Celeste
’
s projects or readings. Celeste
likewise surveyed the room and then turned to Aurore.
“
I
’
m doing well enough,
”
she said.
“
Still getting accustomed to being on my
own, but I
’
m adjusting.
”
She pulled out a chair at the table
for her friend and one for herself.

“
You
’
re starting a new chapter in your life,
”
Aurore said as she settled in.
“
I
’
ve seen a lot of
folks start such a chapter. Most need help. Some take it, others don
’
t.
”

“
I appreciate that.
And you
’
ve always been there for me.
”

“
That goes both ways.
But you
’
ve lost all your family now, or lost
the ones closest to you. Now your Mr. Hogue is gone as well. That takes a lot
of good out of your life, even if you have the memories to keep.
”

“
Those I have,
”
Celeste agreed.

“
It
’
s tough being alone. But sometimes it
’
s better to be alone than to keep bad
company.
”

Celeste
looked perplexed.

“
I
’
m talking about the ghost,
”
Aurore added.
“
She stayed away while you had Mr. Hogue?
Has she appeared now he
’
s gone?
”

“
Promptly. But that
’
s her way.
”

“
I hate to hear that.
”

“
So you have a cure?
”
Celeste smiled at Aurore.
A friendly sort of challenge.

“
I suggest you put her
away, and I
’
d like to get to doing that sooner
rather than later. We
’
ve got a full Saturday and a Sunday
before us. What plans have you got that can
’
t be changed?
”

“
None at all, I guess
—
since it seems that
’
s the answer you need. Where do we
start?
”

“
We need a box. A
smallish one, about so big.
”
Aurore indicated
something about a hand span wide and two spans long.
“
What have you got around here like
that?
”

Celeste
got up and poked around in cabinets until she came up with a cardboard box of
about the size requested, but Aurore waved it off.

“
A candy box?
No that won
’
t do at all.
Too flimsy.
What
else do you have?
”

More
searching uncovered a tin box a little larger than the first. It was empty, and
Celeste gave it a ringing thump with one finger as she set it before her
friend.
“
That one
’
s sturdy enough. Held
some decent cookies once.
”
She pointed to the
colorful picture on the lid.

“
Candy and cookies? I
’
d never have guessed sweets ever passed
your lips, thin as you are. But no, this one won
’
t do either. It
’
s strong enough, but so thin. Cold thin
metal won
’
t do. Try again.
”

After
a longer search, full of soft mutterings, Celeste returned to the table with
another box of wood; a very simple, unpainted box, its sides and lid showing
the signs of much handling. She set it on the table in front of herself and
stroked the lid with her long fingers.

“
My father made this
for my mother back at our old home. Fashioned the wood and the hinges too. It
’
s what she kept her needle and thread
in for all those years. This and the quilt were all that came out of the old
house.
”

“
You didn
’
t take it for your own,
”
Aurore said.

“
No. It
’
s a nice old box, but mine is more to
my liking
—
as a sewing box. Still,
”
she slid the box over to Aurore,
“
its sturdy and the right size. What
memories it held, I
’
ve stored elsewhere.
”

“
And it
’
s already charged with a bit of power
from family,
”
Aurore said.
“
That makes this a fine choice for a
Spirit Box, assuming you
’
re willing to let it
serve as such.
”

“
Is this Voodoo?
”

“
After a fashion.
Sometimes I have my own methods. But sounds like you have a problem with using
the box for something that might be Voodoo.
”

“
Not really. Just
curious.
”
Celeste rested against the back of the
chair.
“
How does a Spirit Box work?
”

“
For this box to work,
you
’
ll need to find something that reminds
you of the ghost. Something tangible.
Maybe more than one
thing.
I
’
ll leave that to you.
”

“
Like what sort of
thing?
”

“
That
’
s for you to say, not me. Once you find
what you mean to put in the box, then you have to put it inside the right way.
Can
’
t just slap it in there and call it a
day. You have to make a ritual of it.
”

“
A ritual?
”

“
You know what a
ritual is. Take a good long time, be serious, solemn
—
you know, make a proper fuss of it, so
it knows you mean business
—
so
you
know you mean business. You take this object, and you put it inside
this box and bind it closed with whatever you have that
’
s sturdy
—
like
a good rope or even a belt. But the binding is something you have to do, and
you
’
ll provide a powerful amount of the
magic by doing it. Once the object is safely bound away in the box, your ghost
shouldn
’
t trouble you again.
”

“
Well, that sounds
straight forward enough, only there isn
’
t anything around the
house that reminds me of the Ghost. Anything like that would have found its way
into the trash.
”

“
I didn
’
t expect you would find it here.
”

“
Where then?
”

“
I
’
m planning a little trip over near
Lafayette to see family.
”

“
That
’
s near where I grew up,
”
Celeste said.
“
Haven
’
t been back since I
was nine. When were you planning to go?
”

Aurore
tipped her head toward the front of the house.
“
My car is loaded up
out front and ready. How long would it take to pack a few things and take to
the road with me? We could run by your old home, just to take a look
…
maybe pick up a little memento or two.
”

“
Well, it
’
s been a long, long time since I
’
ve seen the place where I was born and
grew up. True, my old home was knocked down in the storm and is probably hauled
away by now, but even so, you feel a pull to see the places you knew as a
child.
”
She thought of Sandrine and John
Stone.
“
Maybe some people left behind.
”

“
Then get a move on. I
like the open road best in the morning.
”
Celeste rose and
went into her room to pack. Aurore called after her.
“
And if you don
’
t like the wind in your hair, bring a
head scarf. I prefer to drive with the top down.
”