Black Bayou Page 12

  When Mac arrived at the hospital, he found her room and felt an agony as he looked at the tubes and machines hooked up to her. He kissed her face and hand, and then simply sat with her until they ran him out. The helicopter crew was leaving the building for another emergency as Mac stood outside the entrance, waiting for he knew not what. He offered to buy them a beer and was told they would welcome “one only, we are working tomorrow.” A noisy redneck bar was across the wide boulevard from the hospital, and they settled in with their ‘brews’ and chatted. Mostly Mac thanked them repeatedly.

  "You are pretty smitten with that little gal, seems to me,” one said.

  "I have to confess, I think I love her. Never felt like this before about any other woman."

  They all laughed and slapped him on the back, bolstering his hopes. The pilot mentioned seeing an old lady down by the river and the bullhorn incident.

  "Say, was she wearing a long dress with a long apron over it?"

  "Looked like that to me,” replied the pilot. “Couldn't figure what anyone would be doing out there. Just swamp and jungle. Hope she didn't get hurt with all those gators and such around.” Mac did not reply but was glad when they finished their beers and said goodnight.

  He ordered another one for himself and sat pondering why Glenda, his aunt, would be doing something like that. He did not finish his drink, left it, and returned to the hospital waiting room. Officer Moffett came in right behind him.

  "Been looking for you, Mr. Atwater. My captain sent me to tell you that the Atlanta Police were able to locate the woman's family, and they are on their way. Should be here in the morning."

  Mac thanked him, then curled up in a chair to wait ... to wait for her parents and try to explain what had happened to their daughter. How could he explain, when he was not sure himself?

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  Chapter 30

  A softhearted nurse let him back in Ellen's room long before visiting hours, so he was sitting by her bed, holding her limp hand when they arrived. Mrs. Davis was an older, no less beautiful replica of her daughter, but with white streaks in her hair. Her face was etched with worry lines, her eyes were swollen, and her clothes were wrinkled from the long trip. She ignored him, rushing to hug her daughter, kissing her, cuddling her, as her eyes filled with tears. Mr. Davis was tall, white-headed, dignified. He moved forward to shake Mac's hand and introduce himself.

  Behind him, moving arrogantly into the room, was a rumpled man a good foot shorter than Mr. Davis. “This is Stephan Beauregard, Ellen's fiancé.” Mac took the extended hand that was soft and perfectly manicured. He hated the man on sight. The word fiancé caused his stomach to turn. The idea of this man touching Ellen, kissing Ellen, filled him with anger so deep he wanted to lash out, beating him to a pulp.

  Mac's rage built even further when the man asked pompously, “Do you suppose you could explain this?” His hand waved in Ellen's direction. “It was my understanding that the girls were coming down to this godforsaken place with the idea of having some fun. What kind of fun did they think they could find in the swamp? Anyway, explain yourself."

  "Explain myself? Well, Mr. Beauregard, you explain yourself. Who in the hell do you think you are, and if you were so important in her life, how could you let Ellen out of your sight? So, back off, Jackson. Any questions, you can ask the police."

  "I resent your tone, Mr. Atwater, and your words. I asked you a question, and I demand a calm answer, none of your sarcasm.” Mac ignored him until Beauregard grabbed his arm. Mac turned slowly, cocked his fist, and hit the other man in his soft stomach so hard, he doubled over, sputtering.

  Beauregard started babbling, “I am going to press charges. Did you see that? He assaulted me. I want him in jail...."

  Mr. Davis looked at him and said between his clenched teeth, “Oh, shut up, Stephan. You had it coming."

  Mac turned back to the bed, kissed Ellen gently, and looked at her before saying, “Goodbye, baby.” He nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Davis and left the room.

  Once outside, he found a wall and began beating it with his fists until the pain made him stop. His knuckles were bleeding. He sat on a bench, put his face in his hands, and cried for the first time in his adult life.

  * * * *

  After he returned to Cotton and paid for the use of the horse, he slept in Ellen's room at the hotel, paid the bill, then looked in Glenda's room to find her gone. He crossed to the café to talk to Alma. She gave him a big hug with his coffee. “Mac, what can I do? How can I help? Ellen is my soul mate, even if we just met."

  "Thanks, but there really isn't anything we can do. Her parents will take Ellen back to Atlanta, and hopefully the doctors there can help her. God, Alma, I love that woman, but the best thing for her is my staying out of her life.

  "She lost two good friends, maybe three, as no one has seen Eartha Black. I want to get back to the Plantation and see if Granny is okay. Have you seen Glenda? I am hiring Fletcher to take me back there today, and if she wants to come with me, she can."

  "Mac, I don't know how to ask you this, but don't you think she has been acting strange while she has been in town? Disappearing every morning, reappearing late afternoon. I asked her in passing conversation about it, but she pointedly changed the subject and has not been back in since then."

  "Guess I really never thought much about it. My mind has been so full of Ellen. But, yes, you are right. It is strange. Anyway, if you see her, tell her by tomorrow or the day after, the roads should be passable, but the river will be too high for her to ford with her car for at least another week, I would guess. I will be back in town as soon as I can cross.” He gave Alma a quick hug and left to find Fletcher on the pier with his airboat, waiting.

  Mac told Fletcher about the missing woman and asked if he could do some searching as they moved against the current, heading for Black Bayou. Fletcher was no talker, so they simply rode in comfortable silence. Several times, they slowed to look at something that seemed out of place or unusual, but with current from the rains, there were many things washed up on the banks. But fortunately nothing unexpected.

  He looked most carefully at the rundown Woodward place but saw no sign of life. He was not sure what he'd expected, but it was not there. He shrugged but decided when he had time, he would return and check out the place, for his own satisfaction. He would have been surprised to know that five pairs of eyes watched him as he passed. He would have been even more surprised to see that two of the faces looking at him were faces he knew. One of those faces he would never see again ... alive.

  Mac paid the man and hurried from the riverbank to the house. Henry had done some work, clearing off the verandah and branches close to the house. He was in the kitchen when Mac knocked, not wanting to startle him by just going in. “Oh, Mr. Mac, I be so glad ter see ya. Come, Mrs. Atwater be in the parlor with ‘er tea.” He looked puzzled for a moment. “Where be Miss Ellen?"

  "Just a minute, Henry. I will explain it to you both. First, has Miss Eartha returned?” No. “Is James here?” No. “Have you seen him?” No. “Have you seen anyone but my grandmother?” No. “Okay, Henry. Let's go see Granny."

  In the parlor, Mrs. Atwater sat in her favorite chair, a book in her lap and her teapot and cup on the side table. “Mac? Where have you been? It is most inconsiderate for you to leave me here alone for so long. Really, I am ashamed of your inattention."

  "Calm down, Grandmother, and let me explain."

  When he had finished the story, Mrs. Atwater merely looked at him and then said, “Well, I am sorry for the girl, but we need to get on with our own lives, Mac, and I need Glenda home! First, you need to find James and started patching the roof and fixing the house back up. It appears that our Bed and Breakfast clientele will not be coming until the work is done, and I need the money."

  Mac was not surprised at the cavalier attitude she had regarding Ellen, as the old woman was devoid of compassion for anyone not in her family, and even then, he wondered if she c
ared for family either, except when she needed them. His thoughts returned to the night of passion he had shared with Ellen, forcing him to bite his tongue, forcing him not to say that the girl might have been his wife. Instead he said, “Grandmother, there is no reason for you to have guests. James and I can support you and Glenda, so forget that. Now, as to rebuilding this old place, as much as you don't want to hear it ... it is not worth rebuilding. A match is a good solution..."

  "I will not hear one more word on the subject! Do you hear me? Not one more word. Henry, take me up to my room."

  Mac spent the day picking up and patching a bit. For the most part, he was going to leave it just as it is, knowing that it was only a matter of time until his grandmother met her maker, be it up or down, he was never sure. Sometimes she was as sweet as an angel, while other times there was no doubt she was the Devil's spawn. That night, he slept in the bed he had shared with Ellen, smelling her scent on the pillow and the reminders of their lovemaking on the sheets. He decided it was morbid to want it to stay that way forever but did nothing about it.

  The next morning, he took his horse from the barn and set out toward the Woodward place. He told himself it was to exercise the animal, but the truth was far different: he wanted to see what might have caught Ellen's attention. He rode slowly and quietly along the river, letting its sounds cover any he made. As he neared, he stopped to watch a group of small deer grazing near the downed barn and remembered his comment to Ellen about what she saw. A long black snake slithered through the grass ... more thoughts of Ellen. An old bucket bobbed along in the slow moving water, reminding him of the cruel bailing song he sang to her, knowing her arms and hands were already pained. A tangled piece of clothing lay on the bank, reminding him of her dead friends. But for the grace of God, it might have been Ellen. Ellen, Ellen, whom he loved. Ellen's eyes seeing nothing.

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  PART 2

  Chapter 31

  When Glenda answered the door a week before the hurricane, the man who looked back at her looked through her own eyes. She knew without being told that he was one of her sons. The rest of his features were so much like his father, Alexander, which she felt as if a ghost appeared. She opened the door, stepped outside into the shadows on the front verandah, and sat in the old rocker. She pointed to another chair on the verandah, and he sat. It was nearly dark and very warm, inviting the mosquitoes to dine on their skin, but neither one seemed to notice.

  Finally, she broke the silence. “How did you find me? Why are you here and what do you want?"

  He did not answer for several minutes. “Now, Mother, why should a son not want to see his saintly dam and her equally saintly mother? Why, what could I possibly want or need from you, after all these years?"

  "Listen to me, whatever your name is, there is nothing here for you. Never has been, never will be. I think it best that you forget you found me and go back to wherever you came from.” She rose as if to leave but found herself back in her rocker, thanks to a hard push by her son.

  "Mother dear, aren't you even going to ask which son I am, Josh or Jeb? Guess it doesn't matter either way to you, does it? You got shed of us once, and you want to be shed of us again. Well, not so easy this time. We plan to leave and never come back if our little scheme works, and you are going to help us make sure it works. Your part will be small: you just need to be sure all four of your kids have food and a place to stay for a week or so.

  "Daddy, burning in hell where he deserves, told us stories ... many stories, about your life before and after he married you. In his own demented way, before he drank himself to death, it appears that once he truly loved you, even after you spread for those black men.

  "No point in denying it, because we know your own mother had them killed to protect your sullied reputation by claiming it was rape. Daddy said it wasn't rape, and he didn't care. That you were so pretty and so sexy, he just wanted you any way he could, even if it meant marrying you to get you into his bed. For years, he wondered if you liked what they did better than what he did, because you stopped being a good roll just a few months after you were knocked up. Like you wondered if maybe it would be another black baby instead of his. Was there a chance, Mama? Daddy was sure there was, but he stuck it out. Happy to have two sons, white sons. Then he saw you in the barn with that randy black boy from your mama's slave quarters.

  "You was bent over with your dress up around your waist, your ass in the air, moaning under that long black cock. The sight was more than he could bear, remember, Mama? How he came at you both with a pitchfork and how you begged for him not to kill you? So he let you go and left you that night. He never did tell us what he did with the black man, except that he cut off his cock and shoved it down his throat while he bled to death on the barn floor full of pitchfork holes. Tell me, Mama, what happened after that?"

  Glenda did not answer but sat in the dark thinking of the past and what he'd said. He didn't know of the child who came nine months later, the child who never drew a breath and whose destiny was a watery grave. Mrs. Atwater took care of everything, as she had her whole life. Finally, she asked in a quiet voice, “How did you find me? Tell me what you want me to do. What is your plan?"

  "We found you thanks to our sister. She called us when she was sure this was the right place, and sure enough, it was. She had really done her homework to figure out which old plantation you would be at. You and Granny helped us a lot, being you have a B & B here. There is a lot of money to be made in a B & B, but not the way you two think. But more about that later. For now, you will start bring food for us over to the other ‘family’ home. Woodward Plantation is barely decent enough for snakes and rats, so we will fit in real well. Once a day should be fine, but remember there will be four of us, all your darling little ‘chilluns,’ so bring plenty because we are big eaters. Oh yes, your sweet stepson is there and can hardly wait to meet his ‘mommy,’ too."

  "What has this Eartha person to do with me, or you for that matter?"

  "Remember that little black girl when you were living with Dad? You played with her like she was a doll, only one you could dress and comb and brush until you were tired of her, and then push away like so much trash when you lost interest. That, dear Mother, is Eartha, now coming home to visit Mom and Granny. She popped into this world just after her twin who was dead at birth. She is your other bastard, and Dad swore to your mother never to tell you. ‘Pears to me that your momma ain't no better a mother than you were.

  "Eartha is the one who made the reservations for her group to spend a week here, basking in the sun, swimming in the pool, and whatever else college women do. It might be a good idea for you two to pretend not to know one another. Time will tell the importance of that. So, no more questions for now. We will see you tomorrow morning with food for the boys. Your guests will be here in a couple days, so that will give you time to adjust to the new responsibilities in your pathetic life."

  With that, he was gone, leaving her in the dark with her own unforgiving memories.

  When the young women arrived two days later, Glenda had come to grips with what she must do. She had no problem sneaking off to take food to her sons, leaving it at the house in the abandoned kitchen. None of them were there when she was, so it was probably intentional to avoid her. Greeting the guests was no problem for her because she refused to believe the tall black woman was the same child she had groomed and fed years ago, and the grown child showed no recognition either. Soon they would all be gone, and things would be back to normal again.

  But things got harder for her when the hurricane hit while she was in town. There was no way she could get back home, and it became difficult to get supplies out to the Woodward place, as she thought of it, never as her own place. There were only two places in town to buy groceries, and even getting food to go at the three restaurants was making people take note of her activities.

  It was also a long walk, taking all day to get there and back. Her two boys and her st
epson agreed to meet her halfway every day at noon to get what she had for them. She tried to convince them that every other day would be better, but they took a perverse pleasure in refusing. She thought of simply not showing up, but way down deep, she was afraid of them. Afraid of what they might do.

  When she came back into town one day, her two sons followed her. As she turned into the hotel, they went on to the Mudbug on the road out the opposite way. She became incensed the more she thought of it ... they could walk to town but insisted she meet them halfway. With her anger feeding her, her fears diminished some, then altogether as she saw them at a distance, forcing that Ellen girl inside with them. There was no doubt in her mind what kind of men her sons had become, and she was sure no good would come to the young woman in their hands. When she stepped inside the tavern and told them to release Ellen, there was something in her tone that neither Josh nor Jebbie had heard before in their meetings with her, and they had no doubts she meant what she said.

  After she sent Ellen outside, she turned to her sons. “Now, you two listen and listen good. I am an old woman, and I refuse to be your pack mule anymore. Here, you can have all the money I have, and from now on, you can get your own supplies. Do you understand? And the minute the roads are passable again, you had better be on your way. It appears you three are hiding from someone or something, so unless you plan to kill me to shut me up, be gone, or I will tell the state police that there are trespassers in my house."

  With that, she turned to leave the hovel as their voices followed her. “Maybe we should just kill the old bitch,” said Jebbie. “Maybe Daniel would like to do it, as he hates her more than we do. Or maybe we can convince our dear big sister to do it."