The Devil in Canaan Parish (27 page)

I shook my head, hoping that by doing so I could shake out the words that he was saying to me, but I knew that they were true.
 
I thought again about the little mulatto baby in Sally’s arms.

“It was all fine and good until tonight,” Boyle continued.
 
“Then I guess Gabe forgot our agreement.” He rubbed his jaw and for the first time I saw that his face was swollen and he was getting what looked like a black eye.

“I don’t take too kindly to being hit by stupid colored boys.” He said.
 
“That son of a bitch crossed a line. He knew what he done, too.
 
That’s why he ran away, but it didn’t take me too long to find him. I figured he’d be running back to get his lady love, and when I went to your house and saw that they were both gone, I came after them.
 
They got all the way to the bridge, too. Dumb shit didn’t even have a car.
 
That Cajun girl was riding on the handle bars of his bike.”

With that, Boyle walked over and began pulling a mangled bicycle from beneath the back fender of his cruiser.

“Hey, Palmer, wanna give me a hand here?
 
This bike’s done a number on my car.”

I recoiled again, in horror.
 
The realization of what had happened was slowly entering my brain.

Boyle glanced up at me and then sighed in disgust, “Oh come on now, you don’t really CARE about those two do you? I mean it’s just a nigger boy and a coon-ass girl.
 
Two pieces of trash that needed to be cleaned off the street as far as I’m concerned.”

“What did you do?” I whispered, unable to find my voice.

“What did I do?” Boyle hooted again, turning toward me. “Well, ain’t it obvious Palmer? I stopped the son of a bitch! He put up a good fight, but he didn’t say too much once he was under my car.”
 
He chuckled again, enjoying the joke he’d made.

“Threw him over the bridge just like his daddy.
 
And good riddance!
 
Last thing we need is another no-good nigger in this world.”

I looked over the side of the bridge, tears beginning to well up in my eyes.
 
I thought about Gabe’s laughing face.
 
All the dreams that he had to make a better life for himself and his mother.
 
How smart and kind he was.

“Wh – what about the girl?” I stammered.

“Oh now, that was sad, that was,” he said, sarcasm lacing his voice.
 
“She was screaming and all, after her lover boy went over the side. Talking that Cajun gibberish they speak. I didn’t want her carrying on like that, so I offered to drive her somewhere.
 
Hell, wherever those swamp rats live, you never can tell. She just stared at me, you know, crying.”

He gazed out into space again, remembering what had happened.

“Well then, she did the damnedest thing, Palmer.
 
She got up on the side of the bridge, and she jumped after him!”

The weight of what he said slammed into me like a freight train.
 
It knocked the breath out of me.
 
I bent over and grabbed my knees, sucking in deep breaths of air, fighting back my urge to vomit.

“Hey, you alright, there Palmer?” Boyle asked.
 
“Ah, what the hell.
 
There’s plenty more cheap Cajun pussy where she came from.”

Boyle shook his head again, then shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his car and started trying to pull the bicycle out from under it again.
 
I started to shake from head to toe with rage. I struggled to pull myself upright, and then stalked back toward my car, pulling open the door and leaning over to the passenger seat.
 
My mind filled with a vision of Melee sitting there the first night I’d brought her home, soaking wet, water pouring off her hair, her tiny hands clasped white and frail in her lap.
 
She turned toward me as if to speak, opened her mouth and black water spilled from it. I cried out in fear and shut my eyes.
 
When I opened them, the vision had vanished.
 
I leaned across the seat and opened the glove compartment, pulling out the metal strong box.

I sat back up with the strong box on my lap and stared out through my windshield.
 
The rain was still pouring down, and the headlights cut through the fog, shining on Boyle as he dragged Gabriel’s mutilated bicycle over to the side of the bridge. I fumbled with the gun, checking again that it was loaded, feeling its icy cold weight in my hands.
 
Boyle was lifting the bike up to the side, I could see his neck muscles flexing with the strain. I slipped out of my car again, holding the gun out in front of me and walking toward him.

“Oh, there you are, Palmer.” He panted, “Give me a hand, would ya?” He glanced over at me and saw the gun in my hand. Confusion spread across his face for a moment, and then he broke out into peals of laughter.

“Hoo hoo!
 
Palmer,
 
you are a funny son of a bitch, ain’t ya?
 
What the hell do you think you’re doing there?
 
You’re not in the army anymore.”

I shuddered for a moment, fighting through my fear.
 
I hated him for how weak I felt.

“Boyle, I’ve done a lot of things I regret in my life, but killing you will not be one of them.”

“Kill me?
 
Please, Palmer,
 
pull the other one.” He let go of the bike, which was perched on the ledge of the bridge and took a step backward.
 
I walked closer to him, pointing the gun directly in his face.

“Just a minute, now Palmer.
 
Calm down.
 
Damn, boy you are as nervous as a school girl!”
 
He leaned against the side for a moment, squinting up at me.
 

“Go to hell.” I snapped, but still wasn’t able to pull the trigger.

“Alright, fine then, Palmer.
 
Kill me.
 
I guess you got reason enough to.
 
Guess you can make up whatever kind of story you like about it.
 
Course, you’ll probably end up in Angola before the year’s out, but that ought not to bother you, right Palmer?
 
I mean, you know what prison’s like, don’t you?”

I wavered for a moment, the thought of prison filled me with terror and dread. I knew that I would have to kill myself before that happened.
 
Boyle saw my hesitation and continued.

“OR,” he said, “you and I can make a little agreement here.
 
You ain’t gonna say nothing and I ain’t gonna.
 
What happened here was a sad little tragedy.
 
Two young lovers got swept off the bridge on a rickety ol’ bike.
 
Won’t be too many folks searching for them anyway.
 
Then I’ll go back to my house and you go back to yours.”

I shook my head and took another step forward, “No deal.”

“Come on now, Palmer, let’s think this through here. Hell, I promise I won’t touch Annie Johnson again if it’ll make you feel better, and you know I won’t tell anybody about that little dead bastard baby back at your place.”

I froze instantly. This was not something that I had counted on. Boyle took another step toward me, growing in confidence.

“See, I think you might be able to come out of this real nicely, there Palmer.
 
You need to go home and do a little clean up of course.
 
Get rid of that baby and make up some story for Sally.
 
Hell, that girl’s mind is gone anyhow.
 
Eventually she’ll get over it, and if she don’t, well, you’ll have her put in a nice asylum and have that place and all her inheritance to yourself.”

I stood wavering for a moment, and then dropped my arm, grief overwhelming me. I sank to my knees, disgusted at all I had done, through my action and inaction and at my inability to make any of it right. I dropped the gun and clamped my arms against my stomach. A second later I felt Boyle next to me. He picked up the gun and chucked it into the Bayou.
 
Then he shoved Gabe’s bike over the side and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Go home, Palmer,” mumbled Boyle. “Hurry up.
 
They’ll all be out of church soon.” The Sheriff got into his cruiser and drove away.

Chapter Nineteen

Today was my birthday.
 
I didn’t tell anyone, but when I woke up this morning, I lay for a moment, thinking about it. Bram was already gone to work, and I heard Sally rummaging around in the kitchen, making something for me to eat.
 
At any moment she would come back into the bedroom and force something into me. I relished the brief moments like these when I could just be alone and think.

I was looking forward to the evening.
 
Sally and Bram would be gone to the Good Friday services for hours, and Gabriel had promised to come and get me.
 
He said he had a surprise for me, but he promised that we would do something fun for my birthday.
 
It would be another brief moment of joy and excitement for me in what had been months of dull monotony.

It was a cloudy morning.
 
I could tell by the way the light in the room was muffled. Marraine always called me her ‘
tite ouaouaron
’ – little frog – because I was born in the middle of a rainstorm. Most of my birthdays had been rainy days.

I thought for a moment about my own little frog, the one who danced and hopped and kicked inside me.
 
I put my hand on my belly and waited for him. Normally he woke me up with his antics, but this morning he had been still and quiet. Too quiet.

“Morning, sunshine!” Sally crooned, bursting into the room with a serving tray. “How are we this morning?”
 
She placed the tray on the bedside table and handed me a cup of orange juice. I sat up slowly in bed and took a sip of the juice. Sally busied herself about the room, opening the curtains and pulling out fresh clothes for me to wear.

After I had nibbled an acceptable amount I got up and, taking the dress that Sally had laid out for me, headed to the bathroom.
 
Sally had drawn a bath for me and I pulled off my nightgown and stepped inside. The water was warm and soothing.
 
I slipped down under the surface, just the top of my huge belly remaining out of the water.
 
I sat very still, holding my breath, hearing nothing under the water except for the sound of my own heart.
 

The pain started as an ache in my lower back. I sat up slowly, placing my hands on my stomach and bending forward.
 
The next moment, the pain was shooting up my spine and radiating into my lower abdomen. I felt my stomach harden, and I pulled my knees up, trying to stifle the gasps that racked through me. Gripping the side of the tub, I tried to stand up, but the pain pushed me back again.

“Everything alright in there?” I heard Sally calling.

“Y- yes ma’am,” I choked out.
 
I knew I only had a few more moments before she would be knocking at the door.

I struggled again to stand up, and as I did, another wave of pain ripped through me. I cried out in earnest this time.
 
I looked down and saw blood flowing from me, down my legs, staining the water with cloudy red.
 
The next instant, Sally had thrown the door open, shock and horror on her face.

“Oh, Jesus!” she screamed.
 
“Oh no, Lord, Jesus!”
 
She ran over to me, grabbing me under the arms and helping me to step out of the tub.

“I, I’m sorry. .” I stammered.
 

“Shh, shh, now, don’t speak,” she soothed,
 
wrapping a towel around me.
 
“Can you walk?” she asked.

“I think so.”

I leaned my head against Sally’s shoulder and together we limped toward the bedroom.
 
When I reached the foot of the bed, another wave of pain shot through me and I toppled forward,
 
gripping the quilt in my hands.

“Oh my God!” Sally yelled.
 
“Melee, can you get into the bed, honey?
 
Oh God, Oh God.”
 
She was panting in her effort to lift me up. I managed to help her pull me up and then rolled into the bed.

The next few hours passed in a blur.
 
I drifted in and out of consciousness, moving from blinding pain, to frightening dreams.
 
At one point, I sat up in bed, screaming,

“Marraine!
 
Viens!
 
Marraine! J’ai besoin de toi!”

Sally was next to me, shushing me and rubbing a cool cloth across my forehead.

“Miss Sally,” I whispered, settling back against the pillow.
 
“You have to call someone.
 
Please, call a doctor.”

Sally pursed her lips and shook her head.
 
“I can’t honey, now you know that.
 
No one can see you have this baby, you understand, don’t you, sugar?”

“Miss Sally, I’m so sorry.
 
I don’t think the baby made it.”
 

“Don’t say that!” she snapped.
 
“I won’t hear that.
 
You will not say that again!”
 
She got up suddenly and left the room, slamming the door.

I was alone for another hour, tossing and turning.
 
I felt as though I was burning alive.
 
My sweat soaked the sheets.
 
Sally finally returned and gasped when she saw me.
 

“Oh God, honey,” she said.
 
“I’m sorry I left.
 
I had to go and get some things.”
 
She was holding a bowl with some linens, scissors, string and various other supplies.
 
I tried to sit up again and when I did saw that I was lying in blood.
 
Blood soaked the sheets and the quilts.