Child of the Storm (28 page)

“
Falling star, Falling star,

Fall on me
,
Fall on me

Fall
down once,
Fall
down twice,

Make
me shine, Make me shine
.
”

By
the time morning light had trickled down over the roofs of the city and pooled
in the old courtyard behind the Library and through the tall windows there,
Celeste
’
s eyes were open and the book lay
closed in her lap. She rose from the chair, stiff, and took the Book of Odette
out to the entry hall where she would remember to take it and one other she had
picked out for Jonathan Hogue, leaving all the others behind.

When
George arrived, he had his wife and daughters with him, and Nathan too
—
agreeable to helping only because he
wanted to see inside the house. George
’
s eldest little
daughter charged straight up the stairs because they presented a challenge.
Having claimed the top tread as her own, she sat on the landing and looked down
at Celeste.

“
You like it up there?
”
Celeste asked her.

The
child nodded, not budging a bit when Nathan strode up, two risers at a time to
see what he was up against with the big dresser upstairs. He edged past her.
Celeste heard him whistle a moment later.

Celeste
took George aside.
“
Before you let yourself or Nathan
damage yourself moving that thing down, I
’
ve got a suggestion.
”

It
would be two days before she would visit Aurore and confessed her decision on
the disposition of Odette
’
s house. Aurore set
the glass of ice tea on the little table next to Celeste
’
s chair on the front porch, and took
her own seat.
“
Not many people would give up living in
a nicer house than the one they have, just to put someone who works for them
closer to the business. That
’
s especially generous
when your own house flooded and Odette
’
s didn
’
t.
”

Celeste
had come clean with Aurore, telling her everything
—
the inheritance and her decision to put
George in Odette
’
s house rather than take it herself. No
point in having an advisor if you don
’
t give her all the
facts. Well, everything except about her bear
—
her
spirit guide, and she felt a bit guilty over that, given Aurore
’
s calling, but some things are better
kept private. She ignored the suggestion that her own choice in the matter of
living arrangements was questionable.
“
Remind me to serve
you something special next time you come to visit at my little house. Makes me
feel almost heartless just serving you water as I normally do.
”

“
Of course, it
’
s not about being close to work at all,
”
Aurore continued.
“
This is about staying in your own home
where you feel your power lies. Am I right?
”

“
Maybe just a little
bit,
”
Celeste admitted.

“
I can tell you
’
ve still got it in mind to tackle a
storm and keep from having to clean that house again.
”

Celeste
raised her eyebrows again, signaling that was precisely what she had in mind,
and wondering just what the problem might be with that.

“
Well, I wouldn
’
t be much of a Voodoo Queen if I didn
’
t put some stock in a gift like yours.
And exorcising an aggressive old ghost during the peak of the storm
…”
She thrust out her open hands as if
giving someone a shove.
“
She was standing in
your way.
”

“
Shouldn
’
t have allowed her that hold for so
long.
”

Celeste
’
s family only lived in memories. All of
them gone from this branch, all but a scattering of once-thought-to-be-cousins
she wasn
’
t close to. Still, like the quilt,
memories of her family lingered in the fabric of the city itself
—
her home, set smack in the way of
storms and set too low for its own good. She felt a responsibility to it, and
all those she knew well or didn
’
t know at all,
because she
’
d been born with a special way of
seeing and sensing, and had built on that by intention and hard work.

As
a child, she had imagined having a reaching web like that of the spider in her
yard
—
a web of sensitivity that would let her
stretch out far and wide to listen to the wind and rain, and maybe to speak
back to it. She
’
d managed that, sufficient to fashion a
cloud and conjure up a breath of wind.
All well and good, but
not enough to shift a storm.
 
Aurore took an added interest in her efforts and helped wherever she
could, drawing on her own resources.

When
Celeste felt the need to listen into what the waters had to say, Aurore took
her up to the shore of the Lake; a spot where Celeste could stand in the
shallows, not quite up to her waist, and feel what the water could tell her.
Not just that bit of water within reach of her outstretched fingers or her
toes, but out and out, as far as her understanding of water would allow her to
reach
—
beyond the Lake, beyond the
Chandeleur
Sound to the Gulf. Deep into the Gulf where
currents whispered of flows and changes farther away. In time, all the way out
into the dark Atlantic where the hurricanes might be born in the later months
of the breeding season. She listened to those whispers, learned their subtle
language, all the while measuring them for intentions, comparing what she
gathered to what Betsy and Mr. Cooper had taught her.

As
far off as she reached, she also felt the movements near at hand of the tiny
fish around her ankles and the silent darting of the dragonflies as they
hunted, and maybe kept the mosquitoes at bay. She listened to the great and
distant voices, but also heard those smaller ones near at hand, because they were
all linked together.

Aurore
sat on the shore near the car and watched her friend stand for the better part
of a morning, shaded by a broad hat, since it was the water she needed to hear
from. Beside Aurore sat a young woman, her apprentice, brought along to learn
as Aurore had learned in the company of her own mother.

“
We deal in the
mysteries,
”
she whispered to the young woman.
“
Mysteries great and small, immortal and
so very mortal. Anyone passing by and looking out there might only see a skinny
woman standing in the water, maybe a bit touched by the heat or some malady of
the mind. But I
’
ll tell you this. No one I
’
ve ever met in life or learning has
such a force inside as she has. There
’
s no telling what she
might manage, and all unsung.
”

Most
evenings, that question Aurore asked before the fall of Betsy would come to
mind. What if she were to set a hurricane onto others that hadn
’
t been in its original path? If such a
day came again, she
’
d have a true sense of what words she
could use, and worry then about whether to open her mouth or keep her peace.
Four years would pass before she
’
d need to worry in
earnest.

The
‘
60s had been turbulent. Lots of
turmoil, lots of change
—
an
admission of rights set in the books, at long last.
Lots of
learning too, and good times with good folk near at hand.
But turbulent times.
So when 1969 rolled in, Celeste felt a
bit more worn than she was accustomed to feeling. Part of that had to do with
her age, she told herself. Coming up on sixty, and though she felt fit and saw
no reason to give up doing what she loved, there was a little something inside,
some whispering voice that wasn
’
t the bear
’
s, saying she needed to remember she
couldn
’
t go on like this forever; that her
days were as numbered as anyone
’
s.

Sometimes
her dreams let these tired and anxious feelings shine through.
          
Summer
came on and the Gulf warmed, and hurricane season came around again, Celeste
was sensitive to its coming, and dreamed a dream like no other before.

Chug-chug-chug-sputter-chug.

A familiar sound.
She had dozed, and the sound stirred
her out of lesser sleep. Her eyes were dazzled. Her hands were gripping metal;
the bright edge of the boat she was riding in, right at the front where she had
been charged with keeping watch.

When
she looked up, she wished she hadn
’
t, but she couldn
’
t look away. What she first took to be
a flat and soupy marsh pricked with stumps and the naked trunks of drowned
trees wasn
’
t that at all. It was a littered lake,
fouled with every sort of debris. And there were bodies. Not the imagined lone
and ghostly face sliding past below the water
’
s surface, but bodies
floating so great in number and thickly packed together that a dog or even a
small child might have walked far across them, provided they had their sea legs
on them. People of all sort and stages of life were mixed together, rich and
poor, old and young, black and white.
All dead and all
together.

“
That
’
s how it goes,
”
said a voice from behind her in the
boat.

Celeste
turned. The man seated at the back of the
flat bottomed
boat appeared curiously un-distressed by the sight of all the dead about him,
though he was not oblivious to them either. He was dressed in black; nicely and
formally dressed given the circumstances, though one trouser leg was rolled up
as if he had been testing the waters, and one lens of his dark glasses was
missing.
 
Not much harm to have
taken from such a catastrophe as this. He looked mysterious and amused. At his
feet huddled a little group of very young children; mere babies most of them,
and she assumed he had plucked them out of the flood. All were alive and well,
if wet.

She
thought first of Neighbor, but a field was his venue, not a boat on water, and
not surrounded by a sea of the dead.
“
Who are you,
”
Celeste asked. It was the obvious
place to start.

“
Let
’
s just say I
’
m your
Guide
through this,
”
he said, laughing.

“
And where is this
place. It
’
s dreadful.
”

“
Strikes me as
peaceful,
”
he said.
“
But how is it you don
’
t recognize it? It
’
s New Orleans.
”

Celeste
almost choked.
“
This can
’
t be New Orleans!
”

“
And why not?
”

But
Celeste couldn
’
t say why not, and didn
’
t.

“
It was bound to
happen sometime,
”
he continued.
“
Just too big a thing to ask of myst
è
res, year on year on year, to keep it
from being swallowed up by a hungry storm. Year on year the gunner of god takes
aim, and some years his aim
’
s not so good; some
years it
’
s better. Looks to me like this time he
had his sights
Dead
on.
”
He nodded at the sea
of bodies.
“
All those lost souls need rounding up
and sending off to where they should be.
”

“
What about all their
poor bodies,
”
Celeste asked. She braved another look
out across the choked waters.

“
That
’
s for the Living to sort out, and a
mighty big task it looks to be.
”
His one visible eye
twinkled at her.
“
Let
’
s say you had a bull
knock down your door and turn your house inside out. Maybe that bull sticks you
through and through with his horns until
you
’
re
inside out. Last thing you might think is
,
why didn
’
t I have a bull proof door instead of
one only fit to keep out a goat
!
”
He cackled and snorted as if it was
the height of humor.

“
Feet of clay.
”

He
clapped his hands together.
“
Feet of clay indeed!
And a head or more too short! The gunner gets his aim right and, voila! Round
shot straight down the parade route and through the back door
”
He stuck his toe over the edge and
tapped one of the bodies, which bobbed like an apple.
“
Pomme
de Mere,
”
he mused.
“
But look on the bright side. Someone
saved some money, though I can
’
t say I saw any of
it. No one made a proper offering to me! You don
’
t happen to have
anything to eat on you? I hear you are a baker of high repute
—
though where you
’
ll bake now, I can
’
t imagine. Fuel looks a bit wet. The
flour ruined.
”

“
Who
’
ll clean up the bodies indeed?
”
he added.
“
Who
’
s left to take care
of these little lost ones?
”
He patted the heads
of the children nearest him.
“
Who
’
ll be there for
you
Miss Dubois
now that Miss Aurore and George and Annie and all the others are dead and gone?
”
He pointed near and far as he spoke.
Pointing at those he named
—
those
she
’
d lost.
“
These babies aren
’
t dead and neither are you Miss Dubois.
Fond as I am of you all, my business is elsewhere and this is where you get
off.
”

The
boat bumped against something. Celeste turned to see the roof of her own home
peaking out of the water though no other roofs could be seen.

“
Out you get,
”
said the man in black.

“
How will we get to
land?
”

One
by one he gently picked up each child and passed it over the side onto the roof
of her porch.

“
Another problem for
the Living. Maybe you could get the Sovereign of the Sea to find a safe passage
for you now that this is sea again. Or is it lake? Not sure it matters to him,
but it might. Goodbye Miss Dubois. I expect I
’
ll see you again
someday, but no time soon, officially!
”

Celeste
woke, but the dream remained and she didn
’
t have long to wait
for its significance. The hurricane season arrived and Celeste, and probably
everyone else in the city
who
had any sense, kept an
ear tuned to the weather reports. Three years had passed since Betsy and
nothing had come after them, so maybe it would remain somebody else
’
s turn for another year at least. But
the Gulf attracts storms like a harbor attracts ships.

She
listened in on the winds
’
travelers
tales, and did the same with the waters. A voice called out again from the far
away desert and stirred the winds over the warm ocean. She sensed the
convergence of flows
—
the birth of a hurricane.

They
were three storms into the season when the name Camille came out of the hat,
and Celeste went to see her friend for insight.

“
An amazing dream,
”
said Aurore.
“
Given what
’
s out there.
”

Celeste
sat in one of her friend
’
s comfortable and
elegant parlor chairs and watched Aurore scratch her index finger with the nail
of her thumb. There was no itch there. It was a nervous thing. One of those
little tell tale signs a person gives when they are anxious, even when all
other signs are hidden. Enough days had passed for news of Camille to be out,
so her dream felt significant enough to mention.
“
A very strange dream.
”

“
The man in the boat
was no ordinary man,
”
said Aurore.
“
Not a man at all.
”

“
I thought as much.
”

“
Did you recognize
him? Gh
é
d
é
N
é
bo
,
”
said Aurore.
“
By your description of his looks and
behavior, that
’
s who I
’
d say it was. I told
you about him years ago. Do you recall?
”

“
Guess I must have.
”

“
Yes, that would be it
most likely.
”
But her friend was still scratching at
her finger with her thumb. Seemed she wasn
’
t so sure.

“
A myst
è
re,
”
Celeste said.
“
A lord of death, or some such thing.
”

“
Yes, one of a few.
”

“
He said it
’
s up to the Living to keep that sort of
thing from happening. At least to give it a good try and not just hope for the
best.
”
Celeste said no more and waited.

“
Do you think you can
move this storm?
”
Aurore said after a bit more
scratching.

“
I mean to try.
”