The Devil in Canaan Parish (14 page)

The Landry property at one time stretched for miles -- nearly all of Canaan parish -- covered in thousands of acres of cane.
 
People sometimes called it “Cane parish,” and it was the promised land of sugar, the richest of all cash crops.
 
But it was brutal work for the slaves, and after the civil war and emancipation, the freed people left the cane fields in a mass Exodus, and over two hundred years of miserable, grinding, sixteen-hour days in oppressive heat came to an end.
 
Without the hands to perform the labor, the Landry’s cane fields were sold off and the plantation life became a memory: some sweet and some bitter. The remaining few acres of cane were more or less symbolic now, a souvenir of the plantation’s past life.

I turned the car up the private lane that led to the main house – the Grande Maison – as it was called.
 
It was more palace than house, and at one time it must have been breathtaking.
 
The driveway leading to it was lined with live oaks, centuries old, their thick branches dipping down to the ground, as if they were respectfully greeting us with a low bow.
 
Rounding the corner, the Grande Maison rose majestically, its enormous Greek columns standing like silent sentinels, watching our approach.
 

I never got used to the sheer opulence of the place.
 
It hinted at a depth of wealth that I could not fathom. The remaining slave shacks that crumbled in a long row behind the house were a reminder of how that wealth was achieved. For Sally, on the other hand, it was simply her grandparents’ house.
 
She did not seem to know or care about the plantation’s history.
 
For her, the tumble-down shacks were her play houses growing up.
 
She and her sisters and cousins would play tag and hide and seek, chasing each other in and out of them, oblivious to the ghosts of families that laughed and loved, toiled and suffered, lived and died here.

I parked the car in the yard among dozens of others.
 
Sally’s mother Alice was one of seven children, each now having their own children and grandchildren.
 
Family gatherings at the Landry plantation were huge.
 
I was nearly knocked over by a crowd of giggling, running children, all dressed in their Sunday church clothes, racing each other across the freshly cut grass.
 
Sally smiled wistfully at them, and then turned and trotted toward the house, eager, I assumed, to get away from me as quickly as possible and join the protective circle of her own.

I spent the afternoon as I always did – mechanically greeting those I knew and trying hard to remember everyone’s names and occupations.
 
Had I already asked this one about their new baby?
 
Did that one buy a car last month?
 
The mimosas that flowed like water did not help me.
 
I concentrated on filling my mouth as much as possible with the food served for brunch:
 
poached eggs with hollandaise, hot buttermilk biscuits, crepes, grits, spicy sausage, ham and sometimes oysters.
 
The more I ate, the more likely I was to have a mouthful of food, and the better to shrug and smile and avoid conversations.

Sally made her rounds, her laughter pealing like silver bells and echoing in the great hall.
 
When I’d had more than I could stand of food, champagne and polite conversation, I went searching for my wife.
 
I saw her across the hall, again in quiet conversation with Blanchard, her head leaning close to his, her mouth puckered in a pout that she must have perfected as a little girl.
 
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. I watched as he inhaled the scent of her hair, closed his eyes and kissed her forehead.
 
Sally noticed me, and instantly moved a quick step away from him. Turning to find the source of the interruption, he glared at me with narrowed eyes.

“Ready to go, Sally?” I grinned, knowing how annoyed Blanchard must be with me at that moment.

“What?” protested Blanchard.
 
“You can’t be wanting to leave so soon.”

“Yes, in fact I do,” I insisted.
 
“I’m quite tired and I’d like to get a nap in before the day’s out, to tell you the truth.”

I saw Sally bite her lip, her cheeks flushing at my lack of couth.
 
I relished the thought that I was embarrassing her.
 

“I’ll wait for you in the car,” I announced, giving her a little tap on her behind for good measure, and smiled as the redness in her cheeks deepened.
 

It wasn’t long before Sally joined me, her mouth drawn in a tight line.
 
I knew she was furious and too humiliated to stay.
 
I didn’t care.
 
I didn’t even open the door for her.
 
She stood waiting for a moment outside the car, and then sighed and let herself in as I adjusted the volume of the radio.
 
We rode home as we always did – in complete silence.

As soon as we reached the house, Sally jumped from the car, slamming the door as hard as she could, and stalked off to the house.
 
I took my time, strolling around the garage, thinking I might smoke a cigarette before going in.
 
I was surprised to find Melee and Gabriel behind the garage.
 
Melee was smiling, leaning against the wall, and Gabriel stood next to her, holding his bike at his side.

“Gabe,” I stammered, confused, “didn’t expect to see you here today, don’t you ever take a day off?”
 
The friendliness in my voice was forced.
 
There was something a little too familiar about the way he was smiling at Melee.

“Oh, no sir, I mean yes sir,” Gabriel stuttered, surprised to see me.

Melee giggled, not at all disturbed by my presence and clearly comfortable with Gabriel.

“I was just . . . in the neighborhood . . . and thought I’d stop by to say hello,” he continued, staring at his feet and rubbing his neck.

“Well, now, that’d be a first.” I said in a low voice.
 
In the five years Gabriel had worked for me, he’d never been around on a Sunday.

“I’d best be getting home,” he said, throwing his leg over the bicycle.
 
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Bram.
 
Goodbye Miss Melee,” he kicked the bike into motion and was gone.

Melee watched him go, and then turned and gave me a smile.
 
It instantly washed away any misgivings I had.
 
Her smile was intoxicating, affecting me far more than the mimosas I had consumed earlier in the day.
 

“Did you have a nice day off?” I asked, and instantly felt like an idiot.

“Yes, it was fine,” she smiled again, seeming amused by my question and obvious embarrassment.
 
There was something different in the way that she looked at me.
 
She was more easy and relaxed, as if she was becoming more comfortable here.
 

I was racking my brain for another bit of small talk that I could throw her way to keep a conversation going, but I couldn’t find any words.
 
Instead I just stood there, staring at her with my mouth open. She waited patiently for me to speak, and then gave up.

“Well, Mr. Bram, I think I’ll go in now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, sure,” I stuttered, again feeling ridiculous.
 

I watched her go inside, and then cursed myself.
 
Why were my hands shaking?
 
Why was it so difficult to talk to her?
 
I knew the answer before I asked myself.
 
It was because I didn’t want to talk to her.
 
I wanted to hold her – to pull her near me and breathe in the scent of her, bury my face in her dark hair, feel the warmth of her body pressed tightly to mine, unbutton her blouse and free her soft breasts, crush my mouth against her and taste her. The thoughts came faster and faster, my fantasy growing more real and unsettling, and my desire becoming more unbearable by the second.
 
I leaned back against the garage, trying to calm myself, and caught a faint whiff of her that remained.
 
I was feeling something I never had before.
 
It was a passion that I thought was lost to me, and that I would never experience.
 
It was both agony and rapture, bliss and torture.
 
It was more moving than any religious experience. It was the feeling that whatever happened from now until the end of my life, I would never be the same, and I would always find myself pulled toward her, revolving around her like the moth to the light.
 

I spent most of the evening outside, smoking cigarettes, straightening the tool shed, anything I could do to distract myself and delay going in.
 
Sally never came out to find me.
 
I guessed that she had taken valium again and was in a deep sleep.
 
The light in our bedroom turned off shortly after dark.
 
Once I was sure that she had turned in, I crept my way into the house.

It was almost painful to put myself into the bed with Sally.
 
I could feel the chill radiating from her body.
 
It made me shudder.
 
Even in sleep I could sense the tension and anger she was keeping. I could feel how she was perched on the edge of the bed, as far away from me as possible.
 
I followed suit, covering myself with the sheet and turning away from her, I clung to the edge of the bed, gritted my teeth, and screwed my eyes shut, hoping sleep would come quickly.

At that moment, I heard a creaking in the ceiling above me.
 
Melee was walking around in her room.
 
I listened to the sound of her feet shuffling across the floor, and thought I might have heard her sigh.
 
I felt my body relaxing as I thought of her, and drifted back into my fantasies.
 
I fell asleep thinking about Melee and I lying together between a row of sugar cane, the shade of the tall green stalks protecting us from the summer heat, the coolness of the earth beneath us and Melee’s sighs ringing in my ears.

Chapter Ten

Monday morning dawned, and I woke to a feeling of anticipation.
 
Melee had only been with us for a little more than two days, and already so much had changed.
 
I found myself whistling as I washed and shaved, listening to the bacon sizzle in the kitchen and knowing that I would see her in only a few minutes.
 
Sally had already dressed and gone outside to work in her garden.
 
The French doors from our room to the private back porch were open, and I could feel a breeze flowing through as I dressed.
 
It was cooler, less humid than the weekend had been, strange for the end of July.
 
As I stood in front of the mirror adjusting my tie, I heard mumbled voices from outside.
 
It was Sally and what sounded like two men speaking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
 
I hurried to finish dressing and see who it was, when there came a loud rap at the back door.
 
Who would be knocking this early and why wouldn’t Sally have let them in?

I was fumbling to buckle my belt when I heard the kitchen door open.
 
Melee must have answered it.

“Melee Mouton?” boomed a man’s voice.

“Yes.” I barely heard her response.

“You’re under arrest for theft. You have the right to remain silent. . .”

I felt the blood rush from my face as I clambered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
 
Sheriff Boyle was placing Melee in handcuffs while reading her rights.
 
She turned and stared at me, her face full of panic and shock.

“What’s this all about?” I shouted.

“Good morning, Bram,” said Blanchard, stepping into the kitchen behind Boyle.
 
“Don’t worry now, we just have a little matter that we need to talk to your employee about.”

“A little matter?
 
You’re arresting her!” I shouted again. The smug expression on Blanchard’s face was infuriating.
 

“Like I said, this doesn’t concern you,” Blanchard continued, “we have reason to believe that Ms. Mouton’s been involved in a robbery and we need to take her in for questioning.”

“The hell you do!” I growled back.
 
I could feel my face turning red, the anger and panic making my stomach churn.
 
I was shaking, my hands clenching into fists, trying to hold myself back from pushing the Sheriff away from Melee.
 
Suddenly he looked up at me with a forced smile.

“Bram, you better back off, now!” he warned, patting his holster.
 
“This don’t involve you and you should just stay out of it.”

I stood helpless, watching Boyle lead Melee out by her elbow, her arms pulled behind her back in handcuffs, her head lowered in humiliation.
 
She was wearing the ridiculous maid’s uniform that Sally had insisted on.
 
It was much too big for her tiny frame and made her look like a little girl.
 

Boyle led Melee out to his car and put her in the back seat.
 
Blanchard tipped his hat at Sally, who was kneeling down on the ground, pulling weeds.
 
She glanced up at him quickly and nodded, then returned to her work. Blanchard shot me another smug glance, and I seethed as a slight smile spread on the corner of his lips.
 
He let himself in the passenger’s side and then Boyle tore off toward town.

I watched them go, and then stood trembling in fury at the top of the steps.
 
It took me a moment to realize how strange it was that Sally was so calm -- too calm.