A Twisted Ladder (56 page)

Rose made herself into a little brown bunny, quick and silent, and hopped out. Today being Saturday, no boat would be coming to take them down the bayou to school. She didn’t even have to do pigeon exercises. Tatie thought them un-Christian and so she only made them do those when mother was around.

Rose scampered into her mother’s parlor and snuck the key from her dressing table, then hurried to the rolltop desk in the great room. She stopped and listened, standing poised and still like a rabbit, prepared to bolt if anyone were to approach.

The house was quiet. The boys were probably out catching frogs, and Maman was, as usual, in New Orleans.

Maman was secretive, more so than Papa. Rose delighted in following and spying on Papa, because he always did such strange things. He, too, loved to spy. He spied on the workers, and Rose spied on him. He also walked with spirits in the woods. Though Rose could not see the spirits, she knew that Papa could, and he spoke to them, too. Rose always wondered what the spirits told him. She sometimes did very wicked things—like tie the twins’ school shoes together even though they were always late for the morning boat—just to see if the spirits would tattle to Papa. So far they had not. Instead, Papa largely ignored her. She was a little brown bunny, blending in with her background, invisible to all but the most careful observers.

She closed her eyes and begged the spirits to watch over Papa, and to trust her with their secrets. She hoped they would tell her when there might be a pirate ship passing on the river, or perhaps buried treasure somewhere on Terrefleurs. She was very good at keeping secrets.

Tatie Bernadette would beat her good if she found out she tried to contact the other world. Tatie would think it was like praying, and she mustn’t pray to anyone but Lord Jesus. But Rose knew that Maman prayed to all kinds. Not that Rose spied on her, too. Maman didn’t come home much and when she did, Rose usually kept out of sight. She had spied on her only once, but had to stop because she was afraid that Maman would stew her in a pot and feed her to the whole plantation if she caught her.

Rose slipped the key into the oblong brass lock in the desk and turned it carefully until she felt, rather than heard, the latch release. She eased up the rounded wooden top to reveal the many drawers and pigeonholes inside, where Maman kept ledger books and personal letters bound with ribbon.

Rose moved the bundle out of the way, careful to remember its original placement. She pressed her hand to the center pigeonhole and pushed a wooden peg through the other side, and pulled out the molding that hid the secret compartment.

She peered into the dark niche and saw a tiny flask of hooch. Nothing else.

She heaved a sigh of disgust. Ever since she had witnessed her father placing the flask in the secret compartment years ago, Rose had been checking to see if someone might have hidden something else important in there. And yet, the result was always the same. Papa had stashed the flask when he heard Maman coming. And now, three years later, the flask still sat there, forgotten. Rose had held faith that one day she would peer inside and find a pirate’s map, or an emerald, or at least a sacred root.

Once, Rose had mentioned to Papa that she’d heard it was wise to keep a diary of all your secrets. “You’d have to hide it in a special place, of course,” Rose had said, trying to sound casual. “Although there probably isn’t one hiding place in all of Terrefleurs. I wish I knew of a hiding place to put a diary.”

She had hoped her father would start a journal of his visits with spirits and hide it in the desk. She could then sneak in and read it, and maybe learn about the strange world that captured both her parents’ attentions. She might even become a voodoo priestess, more powerful than her own mother.

But it seemed this was a world that would always be hidden. Papa never started the journal, and no one else would speak to her about the spirits. Tatie Bernadette had once whaled the tar out of her when she caught her trying to tie a gris-gris. She had made Rose get down on her knees and pray for forgiveness, and beseech the Lord’s protection from the false gods that surrounded her.

Rose scowled at the secret compartment. No hidden treasure. Only a dusty flask of hooch.

She unscrewed the cap and with heroic daring, took a sip.

Her throat seared shut, and her mouth threatened to spray the brew all over the bundled letters. She mashed her lips together with all her might, eyes watering, forcing it back down her throat. Finally, the liquid was in her stomach. She hoped it would stay there.

Why would Papa ever want to drink that?
Another secret that ended in disappointment.

Rose slipped her own secret in the compartment, her own diary, and replaced the molding and the wooden peg. She had thus far only made one entry but had vowed to write in it once a week, recording whatever mysteries she could learn from her papa.

She placed the bundled letters in front of the molding and closed the rolltop, locking it with a click. Her face burned with pleasure.

As she ran back to her mother’s room, though, her belly began to ache. She fretted that she might be coming down with a stomach flu. She replaced the key in her mother’s dressing table and slipped out of the room.

“What are you doing!”

Rose spun around when she heard the sharp voice behind her. She was relieved to see her older sister Patrice standing in the hall, hands on hips.

Rose gave her a grin. “It’s all right. Maman’s in New Orleans.”

“Marie-Rose, Maman catches you, she’ll beat you nine ways from Sunday. You best be careful.” She turned and started back down the hall.

Rose was elated. Patrice was now her accomplice!

“Don’t worry, Patrice,” she whispered. “No one will see me cause I’m a little brown bunny.”

Patrice’s spine went rigid, and she whirled on her sister.

“You hush up!”

She seized Rose by the shoulders and shook her until her teeth gnashed. “Why you talk like that? You know what they do with a little brown bunny? They kill it and eat it! Is that what you want? Be somebody’s dinner?”

Rose’s jaw went slack and a sob escaped her.

“Patrice,” she wailed. “Patrice!”

Patrice released her sister’s shoulders, and the little girl sank to the ground in a heap, tears rolling down her face.

“All right, stop that now.” Patrice crouched down to put her arm over her sister’s shoulders. “Don’t you ever trust them, yanh? Don’t you listen to Maman when she works those evil games with the pigeons. It’s devil’s work. She’ll feed you to the devil for dinner.”

Still weeping, Rose felt Patrice’s cool hand smooth the hair from her face, and she allowed her older sister to lead her back to the pantry.

Patrice tensed her lips. “You got to stop that mess about being a bunny. Rabbits aren’t clever. They’re food. All that
Compère Lapin
shit is pure lies.”

Rose halted in mid-sob and stared, astonished by the expletive. She’d never before heard such a thing coming from her sister. True, the stories of
Compère Lapin
, or Brer Rabbit, had inspired her wish to be a little brown bunny.
Compère Lapin
could do whatever he wanted, running free and escaping the fox through his speed and wit.

Patrice retrieved a short length of sugarcane from the cupboard and slipped the cool stalk into Rose’s hands, clasping them together.

“You don’t want to be somebody else’s food, yanh? Better to be an alligator, with sharp teeth. You’ve got to be strong. And mean.”

She basked in the sudden attention of her older sister. But Patrice was already leaving. She opened the outside door, filling the pantry with a fresh breeze.

Marie-Rose blurted, “I hide so nobody sees me. Maman hates me. She says I turned out her room.”

Patrice paused and looked back. “You mean womb. You turned out Maman’s womb because you came out feet first. You ought not to have done that.”

“I’m sorry. Now she hates me because she wanted to have lots and lots of children and she can’t no more.”

“Any more. It’s all right. She only wanted children for—different reasons.”

“And Papa doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Papa needs our help. Ask him to make you dolls, like the ones he makes for me.”

Marie-Rose twisted the cane in her hands and stole a glance at her sister. “But I like the painted bisque dolls from the city. They’re so much prettier.”

Patrice rolled her eyes. Her skin was smooth coffee and cream. As she tilted her head, the sun caught in her lashes and the clean knot of hair above her long, graceful neck. Marie-Rose wanted to be like her, or make her angry, or both.

Patrice said, “It’s good for him to make us the dolls. It keeps the river devil away.”

“It does?” Marie-Rose took a step toward her sister, realizing she’d just revealed a secret for her new diary.

Patrice said, “And you shouldn’t ought to show Maman your progress with the pigeons. Let her think you can’t do it. The twins can’t. She might as well believe none of us can.”

Marie-Rose scowled. “You’re just saying that because I’m the best of the four of us. You don’t want Maman to favor me.”

Patrice let out a long, slow breath. She put a hand to her hip and looked toward the garden. Marie-Rose watched her.

A pigeon burst onto the landing behind Patrice in a flutter of wings, causing Marie-Rose to jump. It darted past Patrice in the doorway, right into the pantry, thrusting its neck with each step.

Marie-Rose moved backward. “No!”

It spread its wings and came at her, flapping into the air, darting and pecking. Marie-Rose screamed and tried to beat it away. It kept at her. The stalk of cane tumbled to the floorboards. The bird swooped on it and took it in its feet, and then fluttered past Patrice and out the door.

Marie-Rose balled her fists and shouted, “Darn you Patrice!”

“You watch your mouth, young lady.”

“But earlier, you said the word—”

“Never mind that. It’s high time you think about growing up. You want to be mother’s zombie slave you just keep pitching fits and playing like you’re a bunny.”

Marie-Rose was heaving, furious. But she was also slightly terrified of her older sister, and awed by her calm. Patrice retrieved a knife and a fresh stalk of cane, and peeled back the tough outer green. She handed it over. Marie-Rose accepted it.

Patrice said, “Only way is to try and outsmart Maman. Don’t let her catch on to anything you learn, and keep out of her way. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Patrice turned and closed the door behind her. A feather swirled among the dust motes from the wind in the door. Marie-Rose stood alone in the pantry. She put the pliable white wood at the heart of the cane between her teeth and gnawed, sucking the sweet juices.

BAYOU BLACK, 2009

M
ADELEINE SAT IN THE
living room of the flat, Ethan holding her hand and Jasmine dozing at her feet, while federal agent Gorman listened to her story. When she’d made the call, she hadn’t expected him to get up in the middle of the night and come to the flat. Severin was there too, but she seemed uninterested, and most of the bramble had receded from Madeleine’s field of vision. The clock showed half past four in the morning.

Madeleine explained to the agent that Zenon might be hiding in an abandoned industrial plant which sat along the Gulf of Mexico at Beaumont, Texas, near the Louisiana border. She’d provided the name of the plant along with instructions for getting there, and had offered up a lie about how she had been there before with Zenon when they were teenagers.

“There’s a tall cylindrical structure that looks something like a corn silo,” she explained. “You might find him in there.”

Agent Gorman watched her face as she spoke. “Why would he be in there, as opposed to another building?”

“The lock is broken, and there’s usually nobody around.”

“I see.” Agent Gorman paused, still watching her. “And why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“I didn’t think about it until now. I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Zenon, and then I remembered the old plant. It would be a perfect place for him to hide.” The lies were tumbling more and more easily off her tongue. She shrugged. “I may be wrong, but it’s worth a try.”