Sweet Mystery

Sweet Mystery

Lynn Emery

All names, characters, stories, and incidents
featured in this novel are imaginary. They are not inspired by any
individual person, incidents or events known or unknown to the
author. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is
coincidental. Originally published in 1998. This is a reprint.

Copyright 1998 Margaret Emery Hubbard

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1

Rae stared ahead without really seeing the
faded blue paint on the wall of the dressing room; one hand still
on the phone that sat on the table with her combs and hot curler.
Her brother’s voice, from far away, had delivered the news that had
not surprised her: Lucien was dead.

“Look here, if you want, I’ll let Buddy know
you’ve got to cancel.” Jamal, her drummer and best road partner,
spoke in a voice full of compassion.

“We’ve just got one more song, man. It’ll
take no time and Kevin can start packing the bus while we’re still
on stage.” Wesley, one of the guitarists, rubbed his top lip.

Jamal turned on him with a scowl. “You one
cold-blooded–”

“All I’m saying is we been on the road for
four years, with finally a solid rep. You know how this business
goes, man. We can’t get no name for not sticking through a job.”
Wesley did not back down from his position. He considered himself
the only true businessman among them, though Rae’s astute
management had brought them this far.

“One song, Wes. Buddy isn’t going to object
under the circumstances.” Jamal gave a grunt. “He’s got a
heart.”

“Hey, I didn’t say Rae shouldn’t leave. Give
me some credit. But –”

Rae held up a hand to cut off the argument.
“I’m okay. And Wes is right, we got one more song and I’m going to
do it,” she said, taking a deep breath before picking up a brush.
Rae pulled it through her shoulder length hair, and then pulled
back into a long braid that fell down her back.

Jamal gazed at her with concern in his eyes.
“Rae, baby, you sure about this?”

She met his gaze and nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.
Now go on both of you. I’m fine.” With one touch to her shoulder,
Jamal followed Wesley out.

Rae looked down at the phone again. “I can do
this.”

She said the words to test her voice again,
to make sure it was steady, but also as reassurance that she had
the strength to go on stage after that phone call. Singing a few
notes, Rae cleared her throat.

As she walked to the stage of the combination
dance hall and supper club called Buddy’s Blues Shack, Rae tried to
conjure an image. None came until in a flash she realized she was
humming a tune Lucien had taught her. On beautiful summer mornings
while she trailed after him down at the river dock, he’d sung songs
in his rich baritone. Songs about life; funny songs that made her
laugh with delight. Lucien Dalcour was a mixed bag kind of man;
good memories jumbled with the bad. For too many years the bad
memories had ruled in Rae’s mind. Now she wouldn’t have another
chance to talk with him about the good times.

“I know y’all done had a rockin’ good time
tonight. We have been fortunate to have these fine performers with
us, ain’t that right?” Buddy Rolston, a short round man the color
of ebony, shouted to the crowded nightclub audience. They clapped
and yelled their agreement. “Just wanna tell Rae and the guys you
know you always welcome back to Oakland, California. Now give up
some love for the Bon Temps Band!”

The crowd erupted into a welcoming clamor as
the band took the stage. Rae went to the microphone, her guitar
hung around her shoulders. Seeing a sea of faces watching her, she
felt a wave of emotion. This was her life; one she’d carved out
with sometimes ruthless determination. There were days when her
music pulled her back from the deep valley of despair. How many
times had she sworn to never leave the road until she was too old
to move? Hundreds? Thousands? Yet, in a split second of looking
out, she was tired of it all.

“This last song is about hard times.
Something we all been through, I guess.” Rae’s voice was soft,
pulling everyone into the mood with her. She could see heads
nodding in affirmation. “But it’s also about having the guts to
make it when everybody says you can’t, when folks say you’re no
good.”

“That’s all right now!” Buddy called from his
favorite place in the wings.

“Go on, babe,” Jamal said from his place at
the drums.

“It was written by somebody who knew a lot
about hard times. Bear with me ‘cause I haven’t sung it for a long
time.”

Rae felt a rush of love for the band as they
began the opening notes of the blues tune. Wes blinked at her with
eyes shining, his hard businessman shell gone. He gave a slow bow
of his head in a gesture of empathy and affection.

“So this is ‘Can’t Let It Get You Down’ by my
father, Lucien Dalcour.” Rae closed her eyes. Lucien’s smiling face
was there; a color snapshot.

* * *

“My baby,” Aletha murmured, gathering Rae
into her plump arms. “You had something to eat?”

Rae stroked her mother’s cocoa brown face.
Her skin was still supple, despite her fifty years. Trust Mama
Letha to think of comfort food. “I’m not hungry right now, Mama.
Thank you.”

“Come over here and give your Tante some
sugar.”

Tante Ina, round and the color of caramel,
did not wait for an answer before giving Rae a tight hug. Her
father’s sister was her favorite aunt, a quintessential mother hen.
“Get you a plate, cher.”

“No, really, just give me a cola.” Rae felt
soothed at being fussed over by the two women.

All three greeted relatives and friends
paying their respects in the rundown Acadian-style house, where
Lucien and Aletha had raised three children. Aletha filled the
house with delicious food she’d prepared at her home in New Iberia.
Her second husband, George, had even accompanied her.

“Hey, baby girl. Don’t complain when there’s
nothing left.” Andrew, with a lopsided grin so like their father’s,
stuffed another mound of jambalaya into his mouth.

“Stop making a pig of yourself.” Neville, the
eldest of the siblings, frowned at his younger brother in distaste.
“Sheila, stop hitting your brother,” he barked, switching his
attention to making one of his four children behave. Mumbling, he
wandered off to separate the squabbling youngsters.

“Don’t mind him, Andrew. He’s just upset.”
Neville’s wife, Trisha, tried to prevent hurt feelings.

Andrew gave a shrug. “I don’t mind Neville,
Trish. Don’t know why he’s so down. He...”

Aletha placed a hand on her son’s shoulder.
“Don’t start nothin’, Andrew.”

Tante Ina shook a finger at them. “Now y’all
be nice.”

Neville had gone out of the back door and
come back to the living room through the front. “No, let him say
what he was going to say.”

“It’s not like you gotta get all respectful
now Daddy is dead – all but denied the man the past ten years,”
said Andrew, pushing the plate of food away as though full, “Living
in your big, fine house on four acres with a stocked pond.”

“I work hard and I’m proud of it,” Neville
shot back. “I want something better for my family.”

They all fell silent, including a host of
cousins nearby. After whispered comments, they withdrew from the
gathering conflict and went out onto the front porch.

What Neville left unspoken was how they had
suffered because of Lucien’s drinking and wild money schemes. The
family never had enough. Lucien was a big, handsome man, the color
of brown sugar. He could never really settle down to being a family
man. For twenty-years, Aletha stayed with Lucien, but his wild
rages finally drove her away. At the same time Rae left home to
live on campus at college in Lafayette, Aletha left her first
love.

Now, with all these old wounds being opened,
Rae wanted to run again, the way she had eight years ago. Once they
had all been so clear on how they felt about Lucien. Rae had seemed
to side with Neville, yet deep down she felt gut-twisting turmoil
about their father. Leaving Belle Rose to pursue a singing career
had been her solution. Andrew’s response was to endlessly make
excuses for Lucien while Neville soundly condemned all he
represented.

“Oh right. That big, fine house we keep
hearing about.” Andrew waved a hand in the air. “So what?”

“Don’t knock it. I mean, look at this place.
And that tin box you live in isn’t much better.” Neville jerked a
thumb in the direction down the road where Andrew lived in a small
mobile home.

“Me an’ Daddy wasn’t owned by nobody though.
When we got tired of work, we’d take off for fishin’. I’ll never
forget it wasn’t but a few months ago we was down at Mulatto
Bend–”

Neville cut him off – “Did more drinking than
fishing, I’ll bet.”

“Shut up, Neville!” Rae stunned them all by
shouting. “And Andrew, Daddy wasn’t perfect, so quit making him
sound like some lovable father from television.” She rubbed a hand
over her face. “I gotta get out of here.”

“Now look what y’all done!” Tante Ina boxed
Andrew’s ears. “Shame, Neville.” She glared at the tall man as
though he were ten years old.

“Hey! That hurt, Tante.” Andrew wore a
pout.

“He didn’t have no business sayin’–”
Neville‘s voice went weak at the look of disapproval from both his
aunt and his wife. “Sorry.”

Rae crossed the porch in long strides and
jumped down to the ground. As the sunlight of early spring splashed
the leaves and road, she started off toward the worn footpath down
to Grande River. Usually, the splendor of a sunny day with blue
skies in south Louisiana would comfort her, but not today.

“Raenette, wait for me,” her mother called
out. Aletha caught up with her. She squinted up at the cloudless
blue sky. “Wanted me some fresh air, too.”

Rae glanced at her sideways. “Sure you
did.”

The two women were so different. Rae had been
her father’s daughter from the moment she’d been born. Where Aletha
was quiet and unassuming, Rae was brash. As a girl she’d resisted
any effort to be babied, pushing out on her own. Aletha had many
scares when she turned to find her little girl out in the bayous or
on the river with children older than her, or alone.

Adolescence had been an especially turbulent
time for mother and daughter. Rae was in constant rebellion,
seemingly intent on establishing a reputation as ‘That wild Dalcour
girl.’ Mother and daughter clashed frequently over Rae’s behavior;
the drinking and sneaking to bars. Yet somehow the rift had not
been with her mother. Aletha understood her daughter better than
anyone knew. Now Rae sensed her mother needed to nurture her.

Aletha laughed. “All them Dalcours, Cavaliers
and Ricards coming out the woodwork. Can’t turn around without
stepping on one of ‘em.”

“Uh-huh.” Rae tried to smile, but could not
summon up the energy. The angry words of her brothers kept buzzing
in her head. They walked on until they reached a curve in the
river. It went through the small town of Belle Rose.

As they stood on a grassy bank staring at
bateau bobbing on gentle waves, Aletha looped her arm around Rae.
“Your brothers still got to work out what they feel for their
daddy. Takes boys longer, just like we fought more, remember?”
Aletha gave her a tug.

“Thank goodness you never gave up. No telling
where I’d be if you had. Daddy sure was no role model.” Rae was not
bitter; just able to see Lucien clearly. “You did good with all of
us, Mama. Andrew could have slipped down further if you hadn’t been
there.”

“He still might, Raenette.” Aletha bit her
bottom lip. “I’m scared he’s gonna decide to take up where his
daddy left off. He’s still drinking too much. Old man Ventre love
Andrew like he was his own boy, otherwise he would have fired him
long ago.”

“He’s got to do it himself, Mama.”

“Andrew ain’t strong like Neville, or you,
come to that. He’s beginning to talk just like Lucien about the old
days.” Aletha let go of Rae to cross her arms. She seemed to feel a
chill in spite of the warm weather.