Black Bayou Read online

  He lifted her, pushing her clothes away, to sit on a table by the door. She felt him slide into her and move until she was clutching him, holding him close, pushing her breasts into his bare chest. Their climax was quick and explosive, leaving each of them holding the other for support.

  They kissed and murmured to one another, basking in the aftermath of their experience, when that hated voice came across the room. “Well done, Mac. It looked to me like your gal knows all the right moves. You are a lucky man. Think you might want to share with me, being we are brothers? Ellen, honey, I am ready if you are. Looks like old Mac is drained.” He walked toward them, rubbing the front of his jeans.

  "You bastard!” Mac tried to reach him, but his pants were still down around his feet. He tripped, falling forward so that his butt was clearly visible. There was the crescent moon.

  For some reason, unknown to any of them, Ellen began to laugh. She slid off the table, casually pulled on her clothes, then moved to where Mac lay looking at her in amazement. She offered him her hand and helped him up. He pulled up his pants, watching her button his shirt as if it was an everyday occurrence.

  She looked at James and shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint you, you insufferable creep, but I would as soon mate with an alligator as you. Next time, Mac, I guess we will have to find a place with a lock to keep the vermin out.” With that, she left the men gawking after her as she moved back to the bathroom under the stairs.

  When she came out, the entry was empty. She returned to the kitchen to find only Mac, Mrs. Atwater and Henry. “Anyone hungry? I could eat a horse."

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  Chapter 23

  The storm stopped sometime before midnight. They all slept in the kitchen on furniture the men dragged in from other rooms. It was warm and even cozy. When first light dawned, they were up. The skies were clear, and the air was humid enough to cut as steam rose from the trees, the grounds, everything. It was all part of life in the Deep South.

  Henry had coffee and tea ready and his boots and slicker on even before Mrs. Atwater could tell him what she wanted him to do. He nodded at Ellen and Mac and disappeared out the back door, only to return within a couple minutes with his huge hands full of eggs.

  "Da ol’ chicken house got no roof, but hens is still there. Look funny all wet and mad, like wet hens.” He laughed heartily at his joke before leaving to do whatever he deemed most important.

  Even Mrs. Atwater enjoyed his joke, smiling after him like an indulgent parent. “Now, Mac, what are you going to do first?"

  "Upstairs first to see if anything can be salvaged. Need to get everything out of the parlor before it is completely ruined. I will move what I can into the dining room. Soon as the water recedes a bit, I will take you two ladies to town and get you settled in at the hotel."

  The explosion from his grandmother was even louder than he had expected. “I will not go to town to any hotel. This is my home, and I am staying here, Hayward McGregor Atwater, so get that through your empty head this very minute. You can take the girl to town and see if you can find Glenda and get her back here where she belongs.” Mrs. Atwater's face was pale and puffy, but her resolve was clearly etched in the lines of her old face.

  Mac laughed. “Mrs. Atwater. Grandmother, your reaction was just as I expected. Now listen—"

  "Now, you listen! I will not have you or anyone else tell me what I can or cannot do. Do you understand? What you can and will do is find your shiftless brother and Henry and get that damn tree out of my parlor. Now, get to it! And girl, make us some tea. We shall have it in the parlor so that I can oversee the progress of the tree removal. And bring a couple shawls from the coat rack in the hall, as it will be a bit chilly in there until they get the hole closed."

  The tree removal took most of the morning, and the rest of the day was filled with boarding up the damage. As the sun set, Mac returned from his walk to the bayou and the stream where it had overflowed its banks and washed away the road. “Bayou is down about six inches or so, stream is still a river. No getting out that way. And where the hell did James go? I want to use his boat to get to town and see if the gals are there."

  Henry mumbled something with his head down. “Speak up, Henry,” ordered Mrs. Atwater. “What did you say?"

  He kept his head down but spoke louder. “Mr. James dun leave a bit ago, in hims little boat. Said to say he be back in a few days."

  "Damn his cursed soul.” Mac was so furious he could hardly speak.

  "Now, Mac, no cursing. It will do no good. It is so like James to leave when he is needed. You shouldn't be surprised. Now, Henry, it is time for supper. Let's you and I go to the kitchen and see what we can find that is filling and easy."

  Mac was surprised at his grandmother leaving them alone together as he and Ellen moved together for a solid embrace first, and then deep kisses. “God, Ellen, I would like to take you right here, right now."

  "Me too, you, but I think that will have to wait. At least until your grandmother is asleep. Then maybe we can sneak upstairs and see if we can find a dry bed. I would like to make love, not have sex. Nothing wrong with that, but tonight I want everything. Including a shower. Maybe even with you.” She kissed him again and then took his hand to lead him to the kitchen and a warm meal.

  At the table, they decided to try to find a route open to get them into town. Henry and Mrs. Atwater would stay at the plantation. She would direct him as to what to save and what to put outside to burn after it dried. Everyone was tired and had full stomachs. As soon as the old woman was fast asleep on her little couch, Mac took Ellen's hand and, with a lantern, they slowly climbed the stairs.

  The room that had been Eartha's was still dry, so they moved both his things and hers into it. As they had no water yet, and no power to run the well, they went back down and out to the verandah where the water barrels had filled with fresh, clean water. He pulled an old tub from under the porch and filled it from a barrel with a bucket. From his pocket, he took a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo to add to the pile of dry towels from inside. Slowly, they undressed one another. He lifted her in his arms, kissing every inch he could reach, and then stood her in the tub.

  The bucket of water he dumped over her head was chilly, but at the same time, refreshing. His mouth found the nipples that had hardened in the chill and his hands began to wash her hair and body until she was making tiny moaning sounds. His hand slid lower and caressed her until she cried out, hanging onto him for support.

  It was her turn. She liked drenching him and listening to his swearing as he called her names that changed to love words as her hands began to lather him, first his head, then down his body. They stood together in the tub as he closed his eyes and felt her hands, then her mouth, bringing him to an incredible climax. They sat together in the small tub, knees touching, and talked as lovers do. Another bucket of water, fresh and cold again, drenched each in turn. They wrapped towels around themselves and returned to the room upstairs.

  This night was theirs. Ellen had never experienced the feelings that Mac brought out of her and for her. Unbidden, she whispered, “I love you,” as they rocked together and smiled as he repeated them to her.

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  Chapter 24

  When Ellen awoke, she found Mac's pillow cold. She dressed quickly and ran down the stairs with a smile the size of a watermelon on her pretty face. She found Mrs. Atwater in her parlor with a cup of tea and a crust of toast on her saucer. “Good morning. It is a beautiful day. How did you sleep, ma'am?"

  "Well, not as well as you did, by the look of you. Mac tells me he will be back to fetch you in a few minutes, so get something to eat. In addition, pack some sandwiches and things, because it might take you all day to get to town and get back here. In addition, do not forget the bottles of water. Until I started having houseguests, I had never heard of bottled water. Now, everyone wants it, as if faucet water is something to shun. Go now.” She made a shooing motion with her hand,
and Ellen skipped off merrily to the kitchen, so full of love that she was sure nothing would daunt her happiness.

  However, that happiness did not last more than an hour. They were in an old canoe with Mac poling them along, stopping now and then to behead critters that tried to climb in with them. The water was high, and the normal homes for these animals were underwater. She was still proud of herself ... a snake or two headed their direction, but she did not panic, simply told Mac, and he picked up the machete he had brought and sent them on their way.

  "Ellen, honey, in case you did not notice, this old boat has a few leaks. That is what the pail is for ... to bail it out. I can't help you and navigate at the same time, so now you are the official Second Mate and First Class Bailer."

  The water was filthy with dead things and algae and gave off an odor that was sickening. Soon both she and her clothes smelled like sewers. “Mac, are we getting close? We have to be. It has been three hours. I am hungry, and I know you are, too. But my hands are too grungy to even open the sandwiches, let alone hold one to eat it."

  "Ellen, I warned you at supper last night that this would be no picnic, and you assured me you would be fine. So fine now means to bail. And to answer your question, no ... we are nowhere near town yet.” His voice was curt and businesslike, as if they were just nodding acquaintances.

  Well, so much for the honeymoon. Apparently over before it began, she thought.

  In her spoiled selfishness, she did not even notice that his hands had broken blisters from the hard, tedious job of keeping the canoe in the moving channel. He stopped momentarily to wrap one of them with his handkerchief before she realized his job was far harder than hers, and he had not complained.

  "Oh, Mac, I am so sorry. I didn't realize your hands..."

  He ignored her, then pointed to the shell of an old plantation house set back from the water much like his at Black Bayou. “That is the old Woodward plantation. Just about gone now. Been vacant for years. Once was a thriving place, as many of the old homesteads were. Between the wars, the freeing of the slaves needed to run them, and cotton and sugar prices going down with trade from the Caribbean countries, most were wiped out. Carpetbaggers came, bought the property for next to nothing, then found they had no one to do the work. Anyway, this is where Glenda lived for a few years."

  Ellen nodded and kept bailing, but her eyes were on the ruins. It had been a three-story house, like the one on Black Bayou, but the roof was now gone, all the balconies and most of the exterior stairways as well. Old curtains, torn and ragged, waved in the broken windows. It still had a shabby grandeur mixed with a look of sadness and foreboding. She shivered, and then something caught her eye. “Mac, I'm sure I saw someone there. He, or she, I could not tell which, was standing on the right of the old porch but darted to hide when he spotted us."

  "Maybe a deer. More likely a transient or one of the water people looking for something to salvage. There are many who live deep in the bayous from here to the Mississippi River. Happens all the time, but there is not much left there even to steal. Some of the rooms are still in semi-good condition, at least before this hurricane. I come over here couple times a year to check it out for Glenda, although she wants no part of it. Legally, she and her husband own it, but no one knows where he is or if he is dead or alive. Same with the children."

  "Mac, I know the difference between a deer and a person. This was no deer.” Her voice reflected her feelings of anger that he would consider her so stupid.

  "Well, excuuuuuuuuse me, madam. I did not mean to imply you did not know the difference. But stop gawking and start bailing faster. My feet are getting wet, Ellen.” He started to sing, “a bailing we will go, a bailing we will go.” In that moment, she decided she really hated him.

  * * * *

  Ellen had been right. Someone had seen them. Someone who feared being sighted. Someone who had much to hide. Someone who must wait to flee. Someone frightened to stay but more frightened to leave. Someone who hated the place, but someone with no choice. Someone whose life was in the balance over a chasm with no bottom, a chasm self-built.

  Before they reached town four hours later, many eyes had watched their progress.

  One pair belonged to an old lady with a pipe who sat in a rocker on the porch of her ramshackle cabin hidden in the foliage of the swamp. As she watched them pass, she shook her white head, knowing that the Devil was not done yet. He had more souls to take. She knew the Devil too had watched them pass. She closed her eyes and began praying to the Lord to stop this horror!

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  Chapter 25

  Ellen had never been so glad to see dry land and people as she was when they finally rounded a bend, and the tiny town of Cotton came into view ... what was left of it. Many buildings were just piles of boards, many had no roofs, and some were simply gone, leaving only a foundation. But some were still standing. They had no electricity, but she could hear generators, so they probably had some lights and water.

  She and Mac had hardly spoken since his attempt at humor with his bailing song. She refused the sandwiches he offered but did drink the bottled water. Her stomach was grumbling, but all she wanted was a place to wash. A shower would be wonderful, even a bath. That brought vivid memories of their bath together the night before, but now all she wanted was to get away from him and his crazy family. She wanted her friends found, she missed her family and she wanted to go home.

  He grounded the canoe and offered her his hand to help her out, but she ignored it, stepping out on the opposite side. “Honey, I know you are mad at me, but can't we talk at least?” he asked.

  "The only thing I want to hear from you is that the hotel has a bed and a place for me to shower. Beyond that, the only other thing would be your saying ‘goodbye.’”

  She started walking away, toward the building she was sure was the hotel, when he grabbed her arm and spun her around into his arms. He lowered his mouth to hers, but she kept her lips tightly closed and tried to push him away. He held her tight, looking into her face, then released her abruptly. “If that is what you want, then fine. I will get you a room, and then you are on your own. And don't figure on crawling back to me, because you have made your decision, and I will abide by it."

  He left her standing as he strode to the hotel. By the time she caught up with him, he was inside and tossed a key to her. “Room 11, top of the stairs. If I find out anything about your friends, I will leave a message here. Goodbye.” With that, he turned and disappeared out the door.

  Well, to hell with him, she thought. To the untidy old woman behind the desk, she asked, “Do you have a phone I can use? I need to call my parents. Collect, of course."

  The old woman cackled and showed a mouth missing most of her teeth. Her clothes were stained with food and unknown other things, and her hair was stringy and uncombed. She pointed to the antique wall phone behind her. “Well, Missy, if'n it was aworkin', you could use it, but it ain't. And probably won't be for a couple weeks, if'n then."

  "A telegraph office, then? Is there one in town?"

  "Sure ain't. Mail truck may come sometime this week, maybe driver can help. He be my nephew, lookin’ for a wife. Hard workin’ and might take a shinin’ to you."

  Ellen pictured the nephew and felt nauseated. “Have you seen anyone new in town? I am missing my three friends. We have been staying at the Black Bayou Plantation, and they disappeared during the storm. One is blonde and little, another is tall and black, and the other is medium with a long black braid—she is an Indian."

  "Ain't seed any new folk and nobody like dat."

  She was not surprised and decided a shower would improve her spirits, so she went upstairs to her room. It was cleaner than she had expected, but everything there had a musty smell, including the towels. The wall above the bed had a picture of a barn and pasture, marred and cracked. The toilet and sink were yellowed and stained. The shower was even worse, with mold in all the corners. She did not want to think abo
ut the bed. She showered, rinsed out her clothes as best she could, and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She never knew the door opened a crack, and eyes took in her naked body lying on the sheets as the breeze softly moved the screened window open over her head. Mac needed to see her one last time.

  The sun broke through the clouds, immediately turning the air to liquid. At least that was how it felt to Ellen as the sunlight drenched her body. She took another shower and dressed in the damp, not quite clean, clothes. Her stomach rumbled and cramped with hunger. She dug into her jeans pocket and found a couple crumpled dollar bills and some change, $3.71 in total.

  She was contemplating her situation when she reached the bottom of the stairs. The old woman behind the desk called out to her. “Say, missy, you be a-plannin’ ter stay agin tonight? Need to know ter make up da bed er not?” She realized the woman had not said “change the sheets,” making her wonder if the sheets she'd slept last night had been used before her, maybe several times.

  Then the question really sunk in. She had no idea where she would stay or how she would survive on $3.71. “I guess not, as I don't have any money, but I do have enough for a cup of coffee. Where is the dining room?"

  The question caused the uncouth woman to double over in laughter. “Dinin’ room? You think dis is some fancy big-city hotel? Ain't got no dinin’ room. Effie's Café is one block down, and Bayou's Best opens fer meal n booze at four. Mudbugs is down da road apiece, but it be a bit rough for a lady like yourself, with swamp folk most, especially the bartender, Del Marks. Him and his family own the place."

  Ellen felt her face redden with embarrassment. She knew a faux pas when she made one, and that had been a beauty. Hoping to change the subject, she asked, “What does Mudbugs mean?"