Nancy K. Duplechain - Dark Trilogy 01 - Dark Bayou (6 page)

As quietly as possible, I walked back towards the hallway. Before I closed the door, I looked back at Lyla. As soon as I did, a large white dove flew up to the window over the bed. I gasped. It violently flapped its wings as it looked down at Lyla from outside. Then it looked at me and angrily pecked at the glass before it flew away. Lyla didn’t wake. I stared at the window, waiting for it to come back, but it didn’t.

“It can’t get in here,” said Clothilde, startling me. I whipped around to see her standing at the top of the stairs.

“What can’t get in?” I asked, wondering how she could have seen the dove from where she stood.

“That bird. It can’t get in. I made sure of that.”

“You sure it can’t break the window or something?”

She chuckled. “I’m sure it could, but it won’t.” She saw the puzzled look on my face. “Just trust me. Go to bed now. Lyla will be fine. I’m going to bed, too.” She turned and started back down the stairs.

“Thought you said you were going to bed.”

“My room’s downstairs now.”

I was puzzled for a second then saw her walking stiffly. I remembered her weak knees, and thought it probably wore her out checking on Lyla for the last couple of weeks, climbing up and down the stairs.

“Good night, Leigh-Leigh.”

“Night, Maw-maw.”

I opened the door to my grandparents’ master bedroom. There were fresh sheets and blankets on the bed.
Too many blankets for this time of year
, I thought. I closed the door behind me and settled in for the night.

I slept, dreamless, for nearly thirteen hours.

***

When I woke up, it was already lunch time and I was incredibly thirsty. I got dressed and drug myself downstairs, intent on having more sweet tea. When I got to the kitchen, Lyla was sitting at the table, picking at the food in her plate. I was a little hungry when I was upstairs, but now seeing Lyla, I lost my appetite. This was the first time I’d seen her awake since I’d come back to Louisiana. I was nervous, unsure how she would react to me. Should I go up to her and hug her? Should I keep it short and casual? Should I let her be the one to talk first? I didn’t have to wait long for my answer. She looked over toward the stairs.

“Lyla,” I started.

But she got up from her seat and went out the front door without a word. My stomach sank. I figured this would happen, but there was a part of me that hoped she would be excited to see me. With a heavy sigh, I went to the fridge, brought out the pitcher and poured myself a glass of tea. The cold liquid shocked my throat, but it felt good. I chugged the whole glass and noticed that the mint leaves helped to wake me up a little.

I walked into the living room and noticed it hadn’t changed since I’d been gone. Above the sofa, a large painting of a silver fleur de lis against a navy blue background was the focal point. The polished mahogany floor peeked out from under a large area rug. A scent of lemon Pledge hung in the air, and I saw that the little wooden coffee table had been cleaned recently. Sitting in the center of the table was Clothilde’s antique candy dish that belonged to her grandmother. It was a tear-drop shaped Waterford Crystal bowl, and Clothilde swore that if David or I ever moved it from the center of the table, our hides would be red for a month. I didn’t have to lift the lid of the dish to know what kind of candy was in it. Since I was a baby, a constant supply of Tootsie Rolls occupied the hollow of the crystal.

I went out the front door. The heat and humidity were stifling, but it was beautiful out there, even with the overgrown weeds and the general unkempt appearance of the front yard. There was a large pond a couple of yards in front of the house. The shadows of the ancient oak trees cast themselves upon the water’s surface. My gaze ventured out toward the center of the pond and I suddenly remembered my dream about Lyla being out there, telling me to hurry up and join her because we would be safe there. But in the dream, the Dark Man chased us into the water. As I thought of that creepy, skeletal hand reaching around the corner of the door frame where I now stood, I shivered despite the heat.

I walked down the porch and around to the back yard. On my way to the back, I strolled down a dirt path that was covered with a latticed archway engulfed in honeysuckle. A Banana Spider sat lazily in her web, seemingly uninterested in the few bees that buzzed around the sweet buds. It reminded me of all the childhood summers David and I spent here. It was a wonderful time then, back when everyone was alive and happy.

When I got to the backyard, I looked for Lyla and Clothilde, but didn’t see either of them. I did see a huge garden, though. Tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, peppers and watermelon abound. On the far side of the property was a small grove of persimmon trees. Adjacent to that was an enormous fig tree, the very tree that got me into trouble when I was about six years old. I was such a tomboy, always climbing anything I could. The tree was a lot smaller then, but it seemed immense to me. I climbed to the very top once to pick some figs that David and I couldn’t reach. David, being the big brother he was, tried to stop me from going up that high. But I, being the stubborn little sister that I was, wanted to prove that I could do it. I had just grabbed the figs at the top and started my climb down when Clothilde caught me. She fussed for me to get out of the tree. Then she walked me over to a Chicken Tree that Hurricane Beverly took out a couple of years later. She had made me pick out my own switch, which was a very skinny branch, thicker and stiffer than a vine. Once I picked one out—the smallest I could find—she broke it off, removed the leaves, and then swatted me with it, like it was a little whip. This was quite common in our area of the country. I got switched plenty of times growing up, and I deserved it every single time.

I walked over to the garden and took in the slightly sweet aroma of fresh vegetables. I walked further down the garden and saw a variety of herbs, many of which I’d never seen in my life. I looked further, and I noticed various roots alongside the herbs. I could name a few, like turnip roots and some herbs like rosemary, but I didn’t have a clue about the rest. I heard some chickens clucking nearby. I walked past the garden and saw the old chicken coop. I couldn’t believe she still had chickens. It seemed a lot of work for someone of Clothilde’s age. I heard a rattling, clanging noise coming from the large shed near the garden. I went to the shed and saw Clothilde and Lyla inside. They didn’t see me, so I quietly watched from the doorway.

They looked like they were cooking, but nothing edible. I saw Clothilde tossing random herbs and roots into a large pot that was atop a small wooden stove. With one hand, Lyla handed her some of the ingredients of the mystery stew, and pinched her nose with the thumb and forefinger of her other hand. I got a whiff of what was cooking, and it was pungent. I covered my nose and mouth, but remained where I was.

Clothilde stopped stirring the pot and lowered the heat to simmer. She turned around and saw me. “About time you got up,” she said.

Lyla looked my way and then turned around, pretending to tend to the mystery stew, anything to avoid looking at me.

“What on Earth are you cooking?” I asked, still covering my mouth and nose.

“Don’t be so dramatic!” fussed Clothilde. “I’m making something to help Miss Ya. She’s not feeling good.” She walked past me and over to the chicken coop. I followed her, now removing my hand, relieved to get fresh air. Clothilde entered the coop, and I noticed that she had a small wooden spoon in her hand. She took the spoon and bent down. She then scraped some of the feces from the bottom of the coop. She went back to the shed and emptied the contents of her spoon into the pot without a second thought. My mouth was agape.

“What are you doing?!” I asked, nausea creeping up from the pit of my stomach.

“I told you! I’m making something for Miss Ya.”

“Is that some kind of salve?”

“No. It’s tea.”

“You’re making …
chicken poo tea
?” I hissed. Lyla started to giggle at this, but stopped herself when she remembered she was supposed to be mad at me.

“How else is Miss Ya supposed to get over her strep throat?”

“But … that’s disgusting.”

“It works!”

“Who cares if it works or not? Does she know what’s in it?”

“Of course! She’s been coming to me for years. Besides, I’m going to strain it. She’ll only drink the liquid.”

I shuddered. “Coming to you?”

Clodhilde nodded.

“Coming to you for what?”

“Whatever she needs help with.”

“What is it that you do, exactly, Maw-maw?”

She gave the pot a quick stir and banged the spoon to shake off the excess liquid. She put the lid on and kept it simmering. “Lyla, go finish your breakfast.”

“But I—” Lyla started, but Clothilde gave her
the look
. That
look
meant business. When her eyes stared you down, it was best to do what Clothilde wanted. Lyla sulked for a moment and then left the shed in a huff. I heard her footsteps crunch some old fallen leaves as she rounded the building. It sounded like they stopped short. I suspected that she was listening by the shed’s single dirty old window over the rusted sink. That’s what I would have done, anyway.

“There are things you don’t know yet,” said Clothilde. “If I tell you one thing, I’ll have to tell you everything, and you’re not ready for that yet.”

“Well, when do you think I’ll be ready?”

“I don’t know, Leigh-Leigh.”

“Leigh,” I mumbled.

“Eh?”

“Just Leigh,” I said meekly.

She nodded. “I keep forgetting you’re not a little girl anymore. But in some ways, you are. You and Lyla, y’all are just alike.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me. She won’t even look at me.”

“Give her time.”

I was silent. I wondered what it was that Clothilde wanted to tell me but couldn’t. I don’t know why, but I was sure it had something to do with the Dark Man. I was glad to avoid that conversation at all costs. I felt the pocket of my jeans vibrate. I reached in and pulled out my cell. It was Carrie. I looked up at Clothilde, and she nodded indicating that our conversation was through for the moment. I flipped open the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girlie!” said Carrie.

“Hey.”

“Glad you’re back.”

“How did you know I was back,” I asked, eyeing Clothilde suspiciously. She shrugged her shoulders.

“Word travels fast,” said Carrie.

“Yeah. Word does travel fast,” I agreed, loud enough for Clothilde to hear. I noticed her hiding a smile.

“So, I want you to come over in a few hours. I’m having a big crawfish boil. Bring Lyla and Clothilde. It’s going to start at four, but you can come anytime you like.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Care …” I started, but Clothilde gave me
the look
and I quickly changed my mind. “Well, okay. I’ll come.”

“Yay!” said, Carrie, and I pictured her doing the Happy Dance, something we made up a long time ago. “Hang on! I have to do the Happy Dance.” I heard her put the phone down and there was silence for a few seconds. I smiled big at this. “Okay!” she said when she came back to the phone. “I’ll see you whenever, but remember it starts at four.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

“Byeeee!”

We hung up.

“So, as I’m sure you know, Carrie invited me to a crawfish boil. She also invited you and Lyla.”

“I’m going to Miss Ya’s later to help her. But you can bring Lyla if she’ll go. If not, I’ll bring her with me to Miss Ya’s.”

“Okay. I’ll go ask her.”

I exited the shed and walked around toward the house. Lyla wasn’t outside. If she had been eavesdropping, she was doing a good job of hiding it. When I entered the kitchen, she was again picking at the food on her plate, though there was more of it eaten now. I took a deep breath and tried to sound cheerful.

“Carrie invited all of us to a crawfish boil this afternoon. You interested in going?”

Lyla got out of her chair and started to leave.

“Lyla, stop!” She obeyed, but didn’t look at me. I didn’t actually think she would stop, so I was a little lost, not knowing what to say next. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t spoken to me or even looked at me since I’ve been back.” She was silent. I walked around to look her in the eyes, but she turned away from me.