Black Bayou Page 6

  "Now, have a seat. I promise not to hurt you. I do not bite unless asked to. There are times ... well, this is not a great time to talk about my love life, although I wouldn't be averse to hearing about yours. No, before you either one start another tirade at me, I want to reassure you that it is doubtful that this old monstrosity will give in to the hurricane, at least not down here. I had intended to have the two upstairs come down, but I knew she would refuse, so why wake them? Anything you would like to ask me?"

  "Yes,” replied Windy. “Several things actually, starting with your name. And what right do you have to waltz in here for a change of clothes?"

  "Fair enough. I know you are Windsong Clayton and Ellen Scarlett O'Hara Davis. Bet you were endlessly called Miss Ellen or Miss Scarlett, and you hated it. Am I right? Okay. My name is Hayward McGregor. I understand the Scarlett thing, because I hate to be called either Hay or Hayward. I heard enough “Hey, Hays” to last an eternity. Mac is preferable. And why do I waltz in here, as you put it? Well, because I have lived here off and on much of my life. It is all a long story. I would enjoy telling it sometime. With Mrs. Atwater and her tales, I am sure you have had enough stories to last a lifetime."

  Windy answered, “Not necessarily, Mr. McGregor. Listening to your voice can be no worse than listening to the storm."

  "Touché.” He laughed, and Ellen thought his laughter pleasant. Actually, she thought many things about him pleasant, but Windy would never understand, and Windy was her friend, not this McGregor person.

  "Miss Windy, the insult came through loud and clear. But I will tell you the story if you really want to hear it.” He looked from one to the other, waiting for their affirmatives. Windy nodded, and Ellen smiled. She liked his voice and strains of accents she could not identify.

  "I will tell you only what I know to be fact. Apparently, she told you about David's son Henry. What about her other children, the two daughters who were the only ones to survive after Daniel died? Unless you have any questions before I start...” He left the comment hanging just long enough for Windy to step in.

  "Actually, yes, I do. Why, during all the things she told us, did she never once mention law enforcement, only that they were so isolated no one cared? Surely, that can't be true."

  "That is one thing she did not make up. The isolation of this place, which during the past was accessible only by boat and barge. Roads were not build until the early 1950s, maybe later to some of the old plantations, like this one. The only visitors to these far-flung homes were other families who lived hereabouts, and those visits were at least a week long, ten days, or even more. Houses were large and often accommodated several families at a time. If there were too many people and not enough rooms, the young ladies and unmarried women shared the upstairs ballroom on cots like a dormitory. The young men slept in the barns or in the back of wagons. That happened so seldom that there was much to learn ... gossip for the ladies and planting, politics, slaves, etc. for the men."

  He ignored Windy's mumble, “gossip for women, naturally.” Her sarcasm was heavy.

  He continued. “These get-togethers were about the only times for young folk to meet, and many engagements were announced at the balls that took place the last night of the visits. On one such occasion in December, Miss Matilda Atwater and Mr. Zachary Phillips LaClare announced plans to be married the following summer. As the date approached, it became apparent that the engaged couple did not wait for their wedding night, so the date was moved up to April. None of the changes were done in person, the distance was so far, but rather by slaves on mules making trip after trip. Mrs. Atwater and Matilda were to meet Mr. LaClare in our little town of Cotton on the river.

  "When they arrived, he was not there. Matilda was sure he had jilted her because of her pregnancy and threw herself off the hotel balcony. His horse had tripped and broken a leg, and he had to hitch a ride into town on a wagon."

  Windy said, “Surely she would not try to kill herself over a jilting. Or even being pregnant. She must have not cared a bit for her child, selfish bitch."

  Ellen said, “Windy, don't be so hard on the woman. Even today, girls do themselves in if their guys don't want to marry them. They don't seem to care about their babies either. Life is not always storybook, happily-ever-after. That is also why there are so many abortions. We live in a sad world."

  Windy looked at her strangely, wondering if there was something about her friend she did not know. Now was not the time to find out, so she quietly asked Mac to continue.

  "Matilda was unsuccessful in ending her life, but she did end her existence, as she remained unconscious until her death two years later. Mrs. Atwater brought her home and delivered the child herself. Actually, there were two children. Twins seem to run in this family, as a second son came into the world a full day after the first. The twins were as different as they could be. She named one James LaClare Atwater. That is Mr. James."

  "But Mrs. Atwater told us there is no Mr. James. That he is a figment of Henry's imagination. Why would she tell us that?” Ellen demanded.

  "Hell, how should I know? Why she does what she does is beyond me. Now, do you want me to finish or not?” Neither young woman replied, so he continued as if he there had been no interruption.

  "James has dark hair and dark eyes, like his father. He is quick with a knife and has some scars to prove some others were quicker. He is stocky and taciturn, rarely speaks and when he does, it might not be best for ladies to listen. Most of his words are sarcastic or mean to inflict pain. He was and still is a mean cuss whose only soft spots are for his grandmother and Henry. Why Henry no one knows, but we are thankful for that. He is even cruel to his Aunt Glenda, but more about that in a few minutes.

  "The other is blond and blue eyed, as was his mother. He is lean as his brother is robust. Both have small birthmarks shaped like crescent moons on their butts, otherwise, no one would ever even consider them related. He grew up kind and gentle, or so most folks say.

  "When James was in his teens, he raped two daughters of a cracker family down the bayou a ways. This time the law stepped forward, but Mrs. Atwater had him taken to New Orleans to hide out. She gave the girls a couple hundred dollars each to shut them up, and she kept James funded. He used most of it to gamble and chase women, whether or not they wanted to be chased. In another such case, it was a different cracker family. Then another time, it was the daughter of a prominent southern family, and a few dollars to the family would not solve the problem that time. New Orleans can be a very staid city where their aristocratic families are concerned. He laughed about the rape, saying it was she who raped him. Her brothers sought him out, intending to avenge their sister's honor. In a fight with the two of them, he stabbed one in the throat and the other in the thigh. The throat wound was severe, but he survived. Grandmother was furious, so I went to bring him back home before he was jailed for assault.

  "I was amazed to see him when I finally found him in a brothel in the French Quarter. He was in the midst of a knife fight with a Cajun who looked to have been born with a knife in his teeth. There was no doubt in my mind that James was on the losing end of this fight, so I hit him over the head with a whiskey bottle, carried him outside, bought a carriage from a man who gave rides to tourists, and brought him home.

  "Once settled back down with his doting grandmother, he was no less mean and no less of a troublemaker. Finally, she sat him down and warned him that she was nearly broke and could no longer finance his lifestyle, nor pay his gambling debts or other expenses. James gallantly told his grandmother that she could stop worrying about money, as in the future he would take care of everything. I am not sure how he did it, but he kept his word, and Mrs. Atwater once again had money, however much it was.

  "No one knew where he got money, way out here?” Windy asked. “Seems to me that someone would have figured it out."

  "He was still heavily into gambling and not above breaking a leg or two for anyone with the money to pay him. His family simply ign
ored that aspect of life and just floated along, even after I asked Grandmother where he got his money. She just told me to mind my own business. Some things never change."

  Ellen stood, stretching like a cat. The storm had not lessened, and the sound of its destruction was clearly heard. Windy arose to fill their glasses, even offering some to Mac. They had been drinking steadily for over an hour, and no one felt any effects at all.

  Mac watched Ellen with his veiled eyes. She was like a cat, limber and muscular. His eyes went to the firm breasts, the full hips, the lazy eyes, and the full mouth. He wondered how it would feel to have those legs around his thighs, the breasts against his chest, the mouth to his. He felt himself hardening, amazed that just looking at her was enough, even at a time like this.

  "Am I right in assuming you are the other brother, the other twin?” Windy was demanding.

  "Yes, Miss Windy. However, in case you have not noticed, there must be far more important things to think about than that. Like your missing friends, the hurricane, this old house falling down around us, and things like creatures getting inside. Like a snake moving through the door.” So quickly, it was as if a cat had leaped, he was at the door. He held the snake down with his heel, watching as it tried to strike him. He moved ever so slightly, and his other foot came down on the undulating head. He then reached down between his feet and cut it in half with one quick movement with a knife that somehow appeared in his hand.

  It was all over as suddenly as it had started. He picked up the two halves and tossed them in the fire before turning to see Windy holding her friend close. Ellen was shaking and wordless as Windy whispered comforting words to her. Windy looked up at him and said, “She is afraid of snakes. Many people are, but somehow her fear is enough to send her in an almost catatonic state. Now, explain to me how that damn thing got in there, and was it dangerous?"

  "One of several poisonous ones we have in the South. Did you see the red, yellow, and black stripes? It was a cobra snake, very deadly, but fortunately with a stationary jaw so it cannot open as a rattler does with its hinged jaw. But it will bite nevertheless and seems to find places that work for it ... like the webs between fingers or toes and soft tissues anywhere."

  He moved to the couch where the two women were huddled, Ellen's eyes closed, head on Windy's bosom. He reached for Ellen and pulled her to him, against his chest. Windy looked surprised but did not object. He pushed Ellen's soft hair off her forehead and planted a gentle kiss there. He rubbed her cheek and then pressed the whiskey glass to her lips, tilting her head back so that some dribbled into her mouth. She cocked for a moment and then swallowed, as he knew she would. She began to sputter as her conscious mind took over again.

  Her body began to shake. Her eyes flew open, and she began to scream. Mac slid his hand over her mouth and began whispering in her ear. Windy could not hear what he was saying, but Ellen seemed to calm at his voice. He removed his hand from her mouth and bent to replace it with his lips, soft and reassuring. Slowly, Ellen began to return the kiss until he pulled away. “I think she will be fine now. In answer to your question of how it got in, probably from a broken window somewhere upstairs. They fall from trees or climb the sides of the porches trying to find shelter from the storm, just as humans ... and most all creatures ... do. I will go upstairs and check the two there and see if I can locate where it came in. Or if I can find any others. To be honest, I suspect there will be more before this is over. Be prepared for them and rodents and any other critter with ingenuity enough to make it inside."

  He walked around the room as he talked, looking under and inside furniture, rugs, even cabinets. It was obvious he was searching for more guests that were unwelcome. “I will shut the door behind me. Take this rug and put it against the crack under the door. That should help.” He deftly rolled a small throw rug and showed Windy how to lay it. “Be sure the roll faces into the room so little things can't burrow into the roll. I'll let you know when I return and you can pull it away. I won't be too long, but both of you get on the couch next to the fire and keep your feet and legs up."

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  Chapter 16

  It seemed like hours since he had left. When they heard voices, Ellen started to run for the door. “Wait. We don't know for sure who it is. More than one voice, hear?"

  Mac pounded on the door and waited until Ellen removed the rug before opening it. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head on his chest. They were all stunned by her action, except Mac, who somehow half-expected it. “Hey, sweet Ellen, things are going to be okay now. Look, Mrs. Atwater and Henry are with me. Let's get them inside and secure the door again.” He could not resist a little kiss or two on her face, and one quick one on her lips. Damn, he wanted to bed her right now, this minute.

  She moved away, taking Mrs. Atwater by the hand. “Come sit with us. It is warm in here."

  "Henry, go with Mac. You two can get us some more food, lots of water, and even a pot of tea.” Henry followed Mac as Mrs. Atwater had ordered, head down, never looking at either young woman. “Now, one of you put that rug back under the door. My, it is nice in here. Mac was right to wake us. One of the windows in my room burst just as we were leaving, and I understand we have some visitors. Do not worry, my dears, between Mac and Henry we will be perfectly safe. This old house has weathered storms worse than this and stood tall and strong."

  Windy bit her tongue to refrain from reminding the old lady that the house was in sound repair then, not falling down by itself as it was now.

  "Now, Ellen, I am a bit appalled at your attentions to Mac. Please explain yourself, as I do not think it to be proper or ladylike."

  Before Ellen said a word, Windy stepped in. “Mrs. Atwater, I will explain, if you please. Ellen is deathly afraid of snakes, and when one came in here, she went into semi-shock. After Mac killed it, he comforted her, so it is only natural that she sees him as some sort of savior."

  "I did not ask you for an explanation, Miss Windy. I asked Ellen. However, I will accept your explanation, as Glenda is petrified of snakes, too, and acts strangely when she sees one. She refuses to explain herself, so I suppose I will never know the reasons."

  They were seated when Mac and Henry returned. Mac explained the results of his search. He added, “I would normally suggest we move to the kitchen area where food and water is more easily available, but this room is closer to the restroom. I thought of bringing in a few chamber pots, but unless matters get worse, we will use the toilets. When anyone needs to go, I will accompany her to maintain a degree of safety from unwanted visitors. Any takers now?” No one replied, so he sat with another whiskey.

  "Mrs. Atwater, I understand you have been telling the ladies about the plantation, and while you were sleeping, I added to your tale. They want to know about Glenda now, but I think that is best for you to tell, if you even want to do so.” Henry look fearful and scared, even as he sat close to Mrs. Atwater, who patted his head as she would a pet dog or cat.

  "Do not worry about Henry. He knows the whole story anyway. So, where shall I begin? With Glenda, I suppose. When Matilda died, that left me only Glenda and my two grandsons ... and Henry. I assume Mac told you that story, correct?” They nodded, and she continued.

  "Glenda was in her late twenties, practically considered a spinster as she was unmarried. She was headstrong and liked to ride the land, like a man, on a horse instead of a carriage. And she rode astride her horse, not side-saddle as a lady should, for all my admonishments. Late one afternoon, she was heading home when three drunken slaves from a neighboring plantation were stumbling down the road and refused to let her pass. She struck one with her riding crop, marking his face with a bloody line. That angered the other two, who pulled her off her horse. The horse came home, but at the time, we had no idea where to find Glenda. Our slaves hunted everywhere. I sent riders to the five nearby plantations for assistance. It was well into the next morning before she was found."
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br />   "Mrs. Atwater, why do you call them ‘slaves?’ They were free people, weren't they?” asked Windy.

  "Girl, please do not interrupt unless you have an apropos question.” Mrs. Atwater's voice was strident and angry. “I will answer you, however. They were free according to the government, but they knew only what we told them. To us, they were slaves, and will always be slaves. Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?

  "Oh, yes, Glenda. She was unconscious and badly beaten. Her clothes were ripped away, exposing how badly she had been hurt. The three men, she told us later, had taken turns with her, covering her time and again, all the while drinking. When they finished with her, they tossed her in a bayou, but she managed to crawl out before she collapsed. She said she feared they would return far more than she feared snakes or alligators.

  "The area was in turmoil at the thought that any black man would dare harm a white woman, especially a lady of the manor. The plantation owners and their employees and slaves round up tracking dogs and finally found the three drunk and passed out in the next county. The lash mark on the face of one identified them, even though the other two claimed they were not with him. He said they were, so that settled that."

  * * * *

  That night, that same old woman had sat unmoving in the dark, once again alone on her old porch. She had her pipe and a deep dread of that which she somehow knew would happen now. Those three men were going to die, horribly, for what had been done. One was guilty, but the other two were not.

  She knew it. She knew that tonight the Devil would laugh and dance, that there were more than three souls to garner in his quest. After the three were no more, demon liquor and flashing, slashing knives would add to those the Devil would take with him this night as he walked the bayou hunting for souls.

  She shivered, knowing that her love for the Lord was her protection, but for those of her body she did not know. Lord, she prayed, protect them, too.