Whispers of the Bayou (15 page)

“Oh sure, we’re fine. I wonder if I could run to the rest room real quick first, though. I need to speak with Willy for a second anyway, so lemme do that and then I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.”

Charles told Tess he’d return in a minute, and then he hopped up from the swing, bounded down the steps, and walked briskly around the corner. As he went, I studied Lisa, wondering what kind of person she was and what this was going to be like to share some bizarre secret with her, something that Willy said only she and I could ever know.

Lisa made no motions to leave but instead remained there, hands on her lower back, stretching. I wondered if she got claustrophobic sometimes, spending all day in that sick room, enjoying the outside scenery through the glass. I knew I couldn’t do her job. I was happy that I worked with tools, not people.

“Does Willy seem okay?” I asked Lisa once Charles was gone.

“He’s good. When I left he was busy writing away.”

“Thank goodness.”

Lisa climbed up the steps and stretched again and smiled down at Tess.

“So what’s your daughter’s name?” she asked.

“This is Tess,” I said of my semi-hypnotized child. “She’s five.”

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Tess said, popping out of her lulled state.

I glanced at my watch and realized we had never eaten lunch—and it was nearly two o’clock. Considering the emotions running through my mind today, it didn’t surprise me that I wasn’t hungry, but how had I managed to neglect my child? So much for all of that mother-daughter
bonding we’d shared on the plane; if I couldn’t meet her basic needs, what good was I?

“I’ve got an apple and some crackers in my carry-on bag,” I said to Tess. “Why don’t we go around back and see if the car’s open?”

“I want
real
food, Mommy. I want macaroni and cheese.”

I started to reason with her, but Lisa intervened.

“We don’t have any macaroni and cheese, but we can sure do better than crackers,” she said. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen and see what we can dig up? Maybe a sandwich? Miranda, how about you?”

“I, uh, I’m not hungry, thanks. But a sandwich for Tess would be great. Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

“Imposition? It’s Southern necessity! How could we bring you here and not even offer you food or drink?”

She smiled, her teeth pretty and white in her dark face. Somehow, out here in the hot afternoon sunshine away from her dying uncle, she seem younger, less burdened.

“Come on, sweetie, let’s go to the kitchen,” Lisa said to Tess. “Miranda, since you’re not eating, maybe you could go sit with Willy and come get me when he’s finished writing.”

“Is that mean lady going to be in the kitchen?” Tess asked, and I could feel my face flush.

“She might be,” Lisa answered with a smile. “But I’ll protect you. She doesn’t dare mess with me.”

Tess slid off of the swing and hesitantly walked toward Lisa. Together, the three of us went back around the way we had come. When we reached Willy’s room and opened the door, we were hit with a blast of cold air, like stepping from an oven into a freezer. When we were back inside, Willy and Charles were talking, the pen clutched in Willy’s hand, the notebook resting facedown on his chest. Charles was standing at the head of the bed, his back to us, but at the sound of Tess’s voice, he turned around, his grim expression quickly changing to a smile.

“Mister Charlie!” Tess cried, as if she were meeting a long-lost friend. I wasn’t proud of it, but from somewhere deep inside I felt a surge of jealousy.
After ten minutes apart, she greeted him with as much enthusiasm as I got from her at the end of a long day.

“Hey, Miss Tessie Wessie,” Charles replied. “Too hot out there for you?”

Lisa explained that they were just passing through on their way to the kitchen to put together a late lunch.

Tess was tugging on my pants, and I glanced down to see her little hand cupped beside her mouth.

“I don’t like this room, Mommy, it smells bad,” she said in her classic stage whisper.

Feeling a flush heat my face, I was about to reply when Lisa spoke.

“Let’s keep going, hon. Do you like ham? I think we have some ham for a sandwich. And if it’s okay with Mom, maybe we’ll introduce you to sweet tea.”

“Tea?” I asked doubtfully, thinking of the caffeine rush that might plague us the rest of the afternoon.

“She’s a little young for tea,” Charles corrected before I could reply, “but I bet they got some lemonade. I could use a glass of that myself. Willy, will you be okay here for a minute?”

“I’m staying with him,” I said.

“Okay,
cher,
see y’all in a bit then.”

Lisa, Charles, and Tess left the room together to head back up the long, hot hallway to the kitchen. Alone with Willy, I took my seat and focused on breathing through my mouth, the smell of sickness and death nearly palpable.

“Your
pischouette
is a beauty,” Willy said.

“Thank you.”

“You named her Cass, I see. How nice.”

“No, Tess, not Cass,” I replied, wondering if it was our accents—or lack thereof—that kept confusing people. “Short for Tessera, which is an artist’s term. My husband is an architect, so his pet name for her is T-square. It’s their little private joke.” I was babbling out of sheer nervous energy. Hating the sound of my own voice, I forced myself to shut up. “But don’t let me bother you. You keep writing.”

In the silence that followed I looked around the room and finally allowed my eyes to meet Willy’s. I thought he would be writing again, but instead he was just gazing at me.

“It ain’t jus’ your face…your hair…your height,” he told me. “It’s the way you carry yourself…something about the gestures you use…”

His voice trailed off, but when he saw my confusion, he added, “Your
mamere.
Everything about you remind me of Ya Ya.”

“Ya Ya?”

“Sorry, I mean Miz Portia. Your grandmother. Ya Ya’s short for Portia. When you grow up like we done…crawfishing together in the canals… poling through the swamps…it’s hard to let go of the old nicknames. She were like a sister to me. Once she married your
papere
and became a lady…we all had to call her Miz Portia in public. But when it was just the two of us…it was always Ya Ya. She was a fine woman, her.”

I stared at Willy in wonder, realizing that was probably the most I had ever been told about my grandmother in one sitting! I knew I had Cajun blood in me and that it had come from my paternal grandmother, but in a million years I hadn’t pictured her crawfishing or poling or anything like that. Somehow, my image of her centered around fancy dresses and tea services and impeccable manners.

“If she grew up in the swamps, how did she end up here?” I asked, gesturing at the grandeur that surrounded us.

“Love. Beauty. Your
papere
caught sight o’ her one day…and that was it. He was gone…” Willy chuckled, cleared this throat, and then shook his head self-consciously. “But you don’t want to hear an old man reminisce.”

“Oh, please,” I urged. “Go on. If you feel up to it.”

It was probably more important to keep him pressing toward the ultimate goal. But as he relaxed against the pillow, his eyes retreating to some distant time, I couldn’t help but wish he would just talk to me forever, filling in all the blanks of my life.

“I was young…had just started working for…the Fairmonts when my mama she die…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Now Mister Xavier…he knew I didn’t have no time…to take the bus all de way home…and I didn’t have no car…So he droved me hisself all the way to Bayou Teche…so I could bury my mama. When we gots there, Ya Ya was on the swing…out in the yard waiting for me to get there…not a day more than eighteen…the mos’ beautiful woman in Iberia Parish, her. When I see her, all I see is a sister…but Mister Xavier, he took one look at her…and he say…‘Willy, I don’ know…who dat girl is…but if she taken…I gonna kill myself.’ ”

Willy laughed, which stirred up another cough, a deep one. I stood, wondering if I should go get Lisa, but he waved me back down and after a moment seemed to recover. Remembering her actions from before, I pulled some tissues from the table and held them out to him, glad when he took them from me and held them to his own mouth rather than make me do it for him.

“Please go on,” I said, knowing he needed to keep writing the oath but also wanting to hear more about my grandparents.

“The res’ is history…Mister Xavier, he decide to stick around…for the whole weekend…took him a room at a motel in town…and spent every minute…pretending to help with the funeral arrangements…but really he was jus’ trying to…charm Ya Ya.”

I leaned forward, listening to his labored breathing, willing him to keep talking,
keep telling,
like a thirsty man praying for a faucet to flow.

“He was older than her, and people talk…thought she married him for…for his money…but I knew de truf. I seen her fall…in love wit’ him too. She love him for real. She love him so much eventually she give up…everyting…her home…her fambly…her ways. She tell ‘Ya Ya’ goodbye to become ‘Miz Portia Saultier Fairmont’…lady of the manor. I tell you what…goin’ from the swamps to this big fancy house…she had a lot to learn, her.”

“How did she do it?” I asked. “Did she go to charm school or something?”

“Nah. The things that are harder to learn, she already had those inside a her…the grace…the posture. So Mister Xavier, he ask his mama to take his new bride…under her wing. Old Missus Fairmont, she the one teach Ya Ya…how to be a real lady. After while, if you didn’t know Ya Ya’s
past…you would never guess she ain’t growed up dat way. Thas’ how much she become a proper lady.”

“Wow.”

“Only when they was alone…or when she was wit’ me or de kids…did she turn back into…who she really were. Sometime Mister Xavier, he ax me…to take them in the boat…down the bayou, out to the swamps…Them was the bes’ times, yeah…just relaxing on the water, the whole family and me…fishing…poling. Your daddy and his brother…they was jus’ boys…they loved them days…they adored their mama. Them times was when…she really let herself…smile…feel so happy…jus’ like when we…was growing up together.”

“I’m confused,” I said softly. “My grandmother was your sister?”

“By blood, jus’ cousins. Distant cousins at dat. But she was raised over to my mama and them…so in de heart…we was brother and sister…from day one.”

He smiled, his old eyes twinkling.

“I done cried at that wedding…almos’ as much as the mother of the bride. I was jus’ so happy…two of de best peoples I know…joining together in matrimony. Not to mention…now I wouldn’t feel so…far from home. ’Cause part of home…was now gonna be here with me.”

“That’s a lovely story,” I said, feeling suddenly guilty at the thought of Lisa returning to find that her uncle hadn’t written another word.

“That’s why there’s two swings out front…I give ’em the one on the gallery as my…wedding present. Then Mister Xavier, he say…put me a rope swing…up in the pecan tree. He used to watch Ya Ya…out the window…playing wit the boys on that swing…and remembering how they met.”

His eyes filled with tears. “I miss ’em both, so much…”

I had no comfort for this dying man, no words that I could say to make him feel better.

“At least I’ll be seeing ’em soon…” he added, trying to cheer himself up. “They both be waitin’ for me at the pearly gates, I jus’ bet. They probably got my fishin’ pole already done hooked and baited for me!”

He smiled at the thought of it, the happiest I had seen him since we
met. But then the smiled faded from his lips and features, as if a shadow was passing over his face.

“What is it?” I asked.

“In heaven…all is revealed,” he said simply. “That means they already know…the whole truth…of what I done. I had a good reason.” He was quiet for a moment and then added, “But maybe…they won’ be waiting at them…pearly gates…after all.”

Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence.

As if sensing the urgency of the situation, Willy remembered the pen in his hand. Grabbing the pad without another word, he wrote furiously, pausing every minute or so to rest his hands and close his eyes.