Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (10 page)

And he knew . . . he just knew . . . his life was going to get way more screwed up.

Chapter 6

He was a chip off the ol’ blockhead . . .

Claire knew she should scoot off and give Caleb some privacy, but she stood frozen, watching the amazing tableau unfold before her. Mark was equally stunned, but in his case, he was gawking at Caleb’s sister Lizzie as if she was a
Playboy
centerfold.

The man who unfolded himself from the carriage had to be Caleb’s father. He was just as tall, and despite the long gray beard, Amish clothing, and lean frame, there was a strong resemblance. Not surprisingly, they shared a dour expression.

An Amish woman emerged from the other side. Her attire was the same as Lizzie’s, except her prayer cap was white. Caleb, who stood with his arm looped over Lizzie’s shoulders, observed the woman with his heart in his eyes, and she did the same back at him. It must be his mother. A mother who hadn’t seen or spoken to her son in almost twenty years.

“Mam,” he said.

The woman glanced at her husband for approval.

He frowned.

So the woman stepped back with tears welling in her eyes.

Claire had never really known her mother and had no idea who her father was. She’d been in and out of foster care till her mother OD’d when she was eight and was placed permanently in foster care from then on. A problem child, she’d been dubbed. In other words, unadoptable. To someone who’d always yearned for a real family, this shunning practice was an abomination. How dare they squander the precious gift they’d been given? Family. The love of a parent for a child and vice versa was inviolate, in her opinion. Not to be tampered with by men or churches or cultural rules. Even the Lenape in their early primitive culture, which went back ten thousand years at least, recognized the value of family. She wanted to rush forward and knock some sense into their heads.

“Get in the buggy, Elizabeth,” the elder Peachey ordered.

Lizzie’s brown eyes darted to Caleb. “No. I don’t wanna.”

Mrs. Peachey whimpered.

Mr. Peachey stiffened.

“I sing good, Dat.”

He made a clucking sound of disgust. “Such nonsense!”

“Why cantcha understand? I want a career. God wouldn’t have given me the talent if he didn’t want me ta be a singer.”

“
Ach!
God wants ya to take yer vows and marry up with a goot Amish boy. Ye career is ta have babies and take care of yer husband.”

Caleb’s gaze connected with Claire’s.

Claire rolled her eyes and barely restrained herself from voicing an opinion.

“Get in the buggy, Elizabeth,” her father repeated, more sternly this time.

“Hello, Dat.” Wasn’t that just like Caleb . . . to force the issue?

His father looked directly at him and deliberately looked away. No acknowledgment that Caleb had spoken. Claire noticed something about the old man, though. His face was flushed, even his neck and ears. His hands kept fisting and unfisting. He loved Caleb, and it pained him to treat his son so.

What a mess!
Claire couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. “Hi, everyone, I’m Doctor Claire Cassidy. I live up the road a ways. I believe I buy vegetables from your roadside stand sometimes. Your rhubarb jelly is out of this world.”

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Peachey acknowledged her introduction or friendly overture. Caleb appeared amused at her effort.

“Lizzie, why don’t you come inside with me and have some lemonade? Mrs. Peachey, you come, too. We can talk. They can talk to me, can’t they, Mr. Peachey, since I’m not being
shunned?
” She said that last word as if it was distasteful.

Caleb glanced at her with surprise. And relief.

“Mark, would you go see if your mother and Tante Lulu are up for company? As for you two,” she said to Caleb and his father. “You two can just stand here and glare at each other till you go cross-eyed, for all I care. Men!”

She could swear she saw grins twitching at Lizzie and Mrs. Peachey’s lips.

Caleb and his father interrupted their glaring at each other to glare at her.

Big whoop!

When Amish and Cajun collide . . .

Whoo-ee!

Tante Lulu was in her element. And yes, after all these years, Louise Rivard thought of herself as Tante Lulu.

Crowds of people to feed. Gumbo on the stove. Two of her Peachy Praline Cobbler Cakes in the oven. Lazy bread warming on the counter. Thunderbolts of love snapping all over the place. A war hero to be saved. An Amish family in need of healing. Weddings to plan. Treasure to be found. It was enough to make an old lady’s juices come to life.

She wrung her hands with glee, then took the pitcher of lemonade over to the table and refilled the glasses sitting in front of Claire and the two Amish ladies, Rebekah and Lizzie Peachey, who were talking softly. Tante Lulu was fascinated by the peculiar clothing and language. Not that she was being judgmental; after all, she was from a culture that had suffered its share of ridicule over the years.

Mark was in the shower, following Tee-John and Adam, who were outside moving two picnic tables from the streamside up to the lawn beside the patio, under Abbie’s supervision. Caleb was in the front of the house, trying to out-glower his father.

Ever since Katrina hit southern Louisiana, Tante Lulu had been depressed. She kept it from her family, but sometimes she just needed to get away from all the devastation.

From the minute that blasted hurricane had hit, she’d worked dawn till dusk and continued for weeks, using her
traiteur
skills to heal the injured unable to find hospitals. And poor René! For years her great-nephew had been one of those government lobbyists, fighting to save the bayou and wetlands. He’d been predicting this catastrophe for years. Now he blamed himself for not having tried harder.

Her cottage on Bayou Black hadn’t suffered that much, except for some lost shingles and one ancient tupolo tree that toppled over. All the live-oak trees lost their hanging moss for a long time. Of course, gators and snakes by the dozens had to be chased out of her house as the water level rose, but that was part of living on the bayou.

The rest of the LeDeuxs had been similarly spared. But friends and neighbors, especially those toward Nawleans . . . Ah, it had been more than two years, but they would never totally recover.

Tante Lulu needed a break, and that’s why she’d come to central Pennsylvania. Plus, that scamp Tee-John needed some reining in now and then.

Pouring her own glass, she sat down. The three of them hardly noticed her, so engrossed were they in outtalking each other.

“It wonders me how ya can break yer Dat’s heart like this,” Rebekah told her daughter. “He can’t go through the heart pain he did with Caleb and Jonas again.”

“It’s not fair to play the guilt card, Rebekah,” Claire offered.

“
Jah.
Why should I be responsible for what my brothers did? And I’m tellin’ ya, Mam, I’m thinkin’ Caleb and Jonas had the right idea.”

“On the other hand, Lizzie, cutting family ties isn’t the answer, either. Don’t do anything rash.”

Claire was trying to be logical in a situation that was pure emotion, in Tante Lulu’s opinion. It was like trying to talk the crawfish into the boil pot by saying he’d enjoy the swim. Tante Lulu figured she would have to step in soon.

Rebekah put a hand to her heart in distress. “Ya gotta come home and stop this foolishness. It ain’t right, ya runnin’ off like this.”

“You and Dat forced me ta take drastic measures,” Lizzie said, throwing her hands in the air with exasperation. “Don’t blame me.”

Rebekah gasped.

“Ya wouldn’t listen. I don’t wanna take my vows. Not yet. And for sure and for certain, I ain’t gonna marry Abram Zook.”

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with Abram, but if he don’t suit ya, there’s other fellas.”

“It’s more than that, Mam. I have an awful hankerin’ to sing.”

“Ya can sing at Sunday service.”

“
Himmel!
Not that kind of music.”

Rebekah’s thin eyebrows rose as she regarded her daughter. “Ya haven’t been listenin’ to that devil music, have ya? Oh, ya wicked girl! What have ya done?”

“I like rock ’n’ roll. I wanna try out for
American Idol,
” Lizzie blurted out.

Tante Lulu choked on her lemonade, and Claire’s jaw about dropped onto her chest. Now, this was something to perk up the old blood.

“An Amish girl on
American Idol?
Hmmm.” Tante Lulu tapped her fingertips on the table. “That Simon Cowell guy would swallow a cow, thass fer sure. But wait a minute, this could be a great hook . . . an Amish rock star. I never had no family members in show business, though they do a good version of the Village People, and René does play in a zydeco band.”

“Your family does a Village People show?” Claire’s eyebrows rose with interest.

“
Oui!
Whenever the menfolk in my family finally gets their heads on straight after being thunderstruck with love, they usually need help in winnin’ their wimmen.”

“Oh, my God!” Claire murmured.

“Get awt!” Rebekah murmured.

“Exceptin’ fer Remy. No Village People for him. Instead, he pretended to be Richard Gere from that movie
An Officer and a Gentleman.
”

“Oh, my God!” Claire murmured again. Rebekah just looked confused. Lizzie was grinning.

“With my help and Tee-John’s and, of course, St. Jude, this girl might just have a chance.”

“What’s idle American?” Rebekah wanted to know.

“It’s a TV show,” Claire said.

“No! Lizzie, ya can’t be thinkin’ of doin’ ye singin’ in front of Englishers.”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinkin’.”

“Why can’t ya be satisfied with the Sunday-night singin’s?”

“It’s not the same thing, Mam. So there’s no sense ya tryin’ ta talk me inta comin’ home. Besides, I’m still in
Rumspringa.
I’m allowed my running around as long as I need it.” The girl thrust her chin out in defiance.

“Your running around has gone on far too many years, daughter. Ya been pushin’ it fe a long time.”

“Okeydokey! Enough is enough!” Tante Lulu stood and braced her hands on the table. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. Claire, take Lizzie for a walk down by the bayou. Me and Rebekah need ta talk.”

Once those two had left, Tante Lulu gave Rekekah her “look.” The one that made her nephews cower. The one that pretty much said, “You are such a dumb cluck.”

The woman didn’t budge.

“Rebekah,
chère,
do ya love yer son Caleb?”

Rebekah stiffened with affront. “’Course I do.”

“Then how in the name of St. Jude kin ya cut the boy off fer almos’ twenty years?”

Tears welled in Rebekah’s eyes. “Ya just don’t understand our way. It was Caleb’s choice. And Jonas’s, too. They coulda stayed and repented. But they alveese was stubborn boys.”

“Rebekah, Rebekah, Rebekah.” She took the weeping woman’s hands in hers. “I’m Cajun, and I’m Catholic. Thass my blood and allus will be; I wouldn’t give up either. But family comes first, and I sure as shootin’ would’ve found a way to get around that shunnin’ business.”

“You have no right to say that,” Rebekah said. Then, “What way? My husband would never break the
Bann.”

“Women has all the power, honey. We have ways ta make men do what we want without them ever knowin’ it weren’t their idea ta begin with. Ya know what they say, ya kin make a gator do the polka iffen ya know how ta teach it the right moves.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. By the way, dontcha get hot wearin’ all those clothes? It’s only seventy today, but when it goes up to ninety, I imagine you feel like a vampire under a swelterin’ Looz-ee-anna sun.”

“Vam-vampire?” Rebekah stuttered as if she had invoked the devil. “
Jah,
it gets hot sometimes, but ya get used ta it. Besides, I’m outside most of the time, milkin’ the cows, hangin’ laundry, workin’ in my garden.”

Now it was Tante Lulu’s turn to go boggle-eyed. “I ain’t no wimmen’s libber, but, sweetie, you are killin’ yerself fer nothin’.” She put up a hand to halt Rebekah’s protests. “But that’s neither here nor there. Far as I kin see, ya got two big problems here: Lizzie, and the shunnin’ of yer two sons. Let’s take care of Lizzie first. Is there any place she kin go fer a coolin’-off period? If we was back in Loo-zee-anna, I’d move her into my cottage on the bayou, but I’m stayin’ here at Abbie’s house, and I’m thinkin’ ya doan want a young girl in a houseful of horny men.”

Rebekah’s eyebrows were going to freeze upward if she wasn’t careful. “Definitely not. And no, there’s no neutral place. Jonas’s place is no goot ’cause of the shunnin’.”

“Hmmm.” Tante Lulu tapped her closed lips thoughtfully. “How ’bout she stays with Claire fer a few days? I could stay there, too, ta keep an eye on things.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re makin’ me
ferhoodled
.”

“Thass okay, honey. I gets
ferhoodled
myself sometimes.” Tante Lulu patted Rebekah’s arm. “Claire is some kinda doctor, and she’s got a few years on Lizzie here. I’m thinkin’ ya kin trust her not ta take yer girl honky-tonkin’ or anythin’.”

“Honking what?”

Tante Lulu had to smile. At some honky-tonks, there actually was a lot of honking goin’ on, if you considered loud noise honking. Like Swampy’s Tavern down on the bayou.

“How do ya know Claire would welcome my daughter . . . or you?”

Tante Lulu waved a hand dismissively. “I got St. Jude on my side. Now, about this shunnin’ malarkey . . .”

Rebekah looked as if she’d like to put her face in her hands. “Do ya alveese meddle in other people’s business?”

Tante Lulu smiled brightly. “
Oui!
It’s what I do best.”

Then there was light . . .

This was the day.

Caleb had just finished taking the latest set of photographs for the visual record of the project. And Claire had used a pocket tape recorder to note various aspects of the cave that would show up on those pictures.

The two of them leaned against the wall of the five-foot ledge, watching Mark use a claw hammer to make the last couple of hits that would finally open the new cave room, or whatever they would find on the other side. Everyone else stood on the pathway below, waiting with anticipation, including Abbie and Tante Lulu.