The Vigil (12 page)

Maybe Chuck can help Carlton to forgive and perhaps die in peace. But what if Carlton needed forgiveness from Lady S? What then?

Should I attempt to find her?

 

****

 

I edged the door open into Mawmaw's house and peeked in. “It's me. Cheryl.”

“Hey,
sha
. Come in. I'm in the bedroom.” She poked her head around the doorframe. “Coffee's hot. Fix us a cup.”

I poured the steaming dark brew. I'd regret this. The tantalizing aroma was hard to resist. As I stirred the cream into my cup, I made a mental list of things I would do later tonight when sleep eluded.

Mawmaw approached with a slight limp to her gait, but overall she'd made an excellent recovery. “Missed you last night.” She sat in the chair next to me. “How did your committee meeting go?”

“Very well. We're doing a hometown theme for the Fourth of July
fais do do
. We've expanded it to include people in the present and in the past. So that should be interesting. We've had a few famous people from here. Wonder how many will dress like Troy Williams? A simple costume: cowboy boots and hat with a guitar.”

She giggled.

Her giggle made me smile. It was the first time I'd heard her do so since her stroke.

“I like him. You know that's Boots McArthur's grandson. We grew up together. His family lived down the road from us.” She stared into her cup. A dreamy faraway look with a sweet smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes.

I set the cup on the table and nudged her arm gently. “Did you and this Boots have something going on you're not telling me about?”

The lines on her cheeks reddened. “No way. He was too hard-nosed for me. We were just friends.”

“Just friends, huh? I detect you were a little more than that by how red your cheeks became.”

She turned to me with a twinkle in her eyes. The look reminded me of a schoolgirl in love. And I could see her as a younger version. I bet she was beautiful.

“Well, if you have to know.” She leaned toward me as though she would be telling me the greatest secret of her life. “He was sweet on me, but my heart was already taken.”

“Was Pawpaw jealous?” I smiled at the vision of my grandparents in their teens.

She swirled her coffee and took a slow sip. When she returned the cup to the table her mood had changed. She no longer looked like the schoolgirl in love. She simply shook her head and asked, “Who you gonna dress up as?”

And that's when it hit me. I'd been debating on a costume. Seeing my grandmother's earlier look helped me decide. I would be a younger version of her. “You, of course,” I told her.

“You don't want to be me. Goodness, girl, with all the choices.” She giggled again.

And the sound made my heart flutter.

I loved that sound.

I loved her.

“Do you have any clothes from when you were younger?”

Her expression became pensive. “I do. They're in the attic at your mama's house. Dresses I served in friend's weddings, gowns from dances, and my wedding dress.”

“Really? That is so cool. I can't believe you kept all those.” Excited by the prospect, I leaned in closer.

She nodded. “I did. They're in the trunks we moved to your mama's after the last hurricane. You're welcome to go through them to find something for the
fais do do
.”

I hugged her. “Thank you. This should be fun.”

“Maybe your mama can help you.”

My heart sank. There went the fun, but I regretted the thought.

Maybe Mama could go as an older version of Mawmaw and Mawmaw could go as herself. That might be fun.

I finished the coffee and reached for Mawmaw's cup. “I need to get going. It's getting late, and you need your beauty sleep.”

She laughed out loud. “No way I can sleep that long.”

I washed the cups and returned them to the cupboard. Just as I headed for the door, I remembered a question I'd wanted to ask her. “Mawmaw, you said you and Sylvia Mouton were friends when you were younger. Right?”

“Yep. We were best friends.”

“Did she date any of the Perlouix boys?”

Again, she became pensive and reverted to her thoughts. “I think she did for a short while.”

“Do you remember which one?”

She gazed away from me and toward the clock. “Can't say that I do. There was a bunch of dem.”

“Did she date one before he left for the war?”

She paused. “I don't remember.”

I saw her reluctance to answer, but I needed to know. “What about the feud with the Perlouixs? What families were involved?”

“Cheryl, how do you know about that?”

This time I would be the one to avoid answering. “Were the Moutons in the feud?”

She nodded. “Just about every family on our street. Mr. Perlouix did not have a neighborly disposition. Are you on that romance thing again?”

I nodded.

She yawned and shifted in her chair. “It's getting late. Sometimes the past should stay there.” Her eyes bored into me.

Maybe dropping the subject for tonight was best.

I kissed her cheek. “G'night. Call me if you need anything.”

“G'night, Cheryl. And, honey, don't go worrying yourself about the past. The present and the future have enough to keep you real busy.”

Thoughts about Sylvia Mouton and Carlton Perlouix filled my head during the walk home. Had Mrs. Mouton dated Carlton? And why had she said she didn't know the Perlouix family? Was Mrs. Mouton Lady S? Perhaps I would have coffee with Beau tomorrow morning. Who cared what the town thought?

 

****

 

Steven stuffed the last few bites of pancakes into his mouth. “Hmmm.”

“Hey, Slugger, manners.”

He swallowed. “Sorry, Miss Cheryl. I want to get to school early and study with my group for a history test.”

I laughed and enjoyed seeing a kid with a hearty appetite for breakfast and eagerness to do well. “Then you best get over there.”

He stood next to the booth and lifted his backpack onto his shoulders. “Dad, thanks for breakfast and Miss Cheryl, thanks for meeting us here.”

“You are welcome. It was my pleasure. Do well on your test.”

He grunted. “I hope to.”

“See you this afternoon. Don't worry, Stevie. You got this in the bag. You're ready.” Beau stood and walked him to the door.

Beau returned and slid into the booth. “Guess I gotta let loose sometime. It's only two blocks to school, and I'm silly nervous.”

“It's only natural for you to feel a little possessive.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He met my gaze and smiled. “I don't want to scare him away.”

“You won't.” I finished the last of my oatmeal.

He fingered the handle of his coffee cup. “I was surprised to hear from you. Glad you finally decided that it's not worth worrying about what the gossipmongers say.” He laughed. “I don't.”

“That's true. Annie would have been right here with us had she been able to. And I have questions about your grandmother.”

His dark eyes widened, and he leaned in closer. “This sounds intriguing. Like what?”

“Remember the other night when we discussed the Perlouix family?”

“Yeah, she said she heard of them but didn't know them personally.”

I sipped the hot coffee and let the warmth comfort my tongue. “Well, when I spoke to Mawmaw, she remembers your grandma dating one of the Perlouix boys. But she couldn't remember which one.”

He shook his head and wrapped his hands together. “The plot thickens. Why would my grandma lie about that?”

“I don't know. Seems the Perlouix boys were not well respected in Bijou Bayou for some reason.” I lowered my voice. “Maybe, it was a secret romance.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “You're taking this seriously, aren't you?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Do you think my grandmother might be the lady in the couple from the ‘50s?”

“I honestly don't know. She could be.”

He took a long sip. “How did you learn about this couple?”

The waitress, a young redhead with a small butterfly tattoo on her forearm, topped off our coffee cups and removed our plates. I thanked her and watched her walk away. She had another tattoo on her ankle, but I couldn't see it well enough to identify it.

I emptied another packet of sweetener into my cup. “From some old letters.”

“Can you ask the person who sent the letters? Received them?”

“Yes and no. Yes, I could ask, but no it wouldn't do any good. The recipient doesn't want their identity revealed. Seems they were going to get married and something happened to change their plans. There's a lot of guilt, and they may carry it to their graves.”

“That's tough. So you think if you got these two together you could alleviate this guilt?”

“That's the idea.”

“Cheryl, I'm a little confused. If neither wants this brought to light, why are you pursuing this? You know this could backfire.” He placed both hands around his cup and stared directly at me, his expression one of gentle concern.

In a moment of enormous strength, I met his gaze straight on. “Maybe. But Beau, I've got to try. I owe it to one of this couple. If you only knew the torment, you'd do the same thing.”

“Digging up the past can cause more pain sometimes.”

A memory of Beau and me at Toucoin's Park flashed. Guilt gripped my heart. He was right. “I know. I'll handle it respectfully.”

“I'm sure you would, but these situations have a way of taking a path of their own. You may not have control over the outcome.” He sighed.

“I know, but it's really important to me.”

The lines around his eyes deepened. He shifted his position, lowered his shoulders, and then pursed his lips. “How can I help?”

Had I heard correctly? Had he volunteered to help? I lowered my eyes away from the intensity of his gaze. “See if you can find out anything about when your grandma lived on Highway 62. It seems Mawmaw, your grandma, someone named Boots McArthur, and the Perlouixs all lived in the same general area.”

“I'll ask grandma. She may know something.” He lifted his hand to cut me off. “I'll be discreet.”

“Thanks. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to get information from Mawmaw. But she doesn't like to talk much about it.”

“Sounds like my grandma is no different. Maybe something did happen, and they're protecting each other.”

A distinct possibility. The past seemed locked in a vault with all the players owning a small piece of the combination. Would the truth come to light before Carlton died?

We changed the subject and discussed Steven's future games and his science project. I volunteered to help him after work on Thursday. As we finished our breakfast, several of the town gossips entered the diner. I spied a few disapproving looks as they settled in their booth. They sat huddled over the table sharing hushed conversation.

“I thought you said you wouldn't worry about what the townspeople thought.”

“I know. It's hard.”

“Don't.”

I knew he was right. “Right.” I nodded at Beau and didn't let my eyes settle too long in the warmth of his gaze. I thanked him for breakfast and stood to leave.

He stood, also. “I'll find out what I can and keep you posted,” he said.

“Thanks, Beau. I appreciate it.” As I left the diner, I turned toward the matriarchs of the group, smiled, and waved.

 

 

 

 

Quatorze

 

Anger bubbled as I headed to my car. I'd let those women get to me. Why couldn't I just be like Beau and not worry about what people thought?

Mawmaw had known them in high school and said they were the same back then. Perhaps drama queens remain just that.

Guilt stabbed like a splinter to my heart. Maybe they wouldn't bother me so much, if I didn't feel so good about spending time with Beau. His heart was pure; perhaps mine wasn't. I'd have to make an honest assessment of my heart.

I had some time before I had to get to work so I headed to my mama's house to see if she thought the
fais do do
plan was as great an idea as me and Mawmaw did.

Interesting how whenever guilt entered my heart, I thought of Mama.

 

****

 

“Are you kiddin' me? You want me to dress up in moldy old clothes from the attic?” Mama's brows arched in disbelief.

I should have expected this, but after the way she'd acted when Mawmaw had her stroke, I thought she'd be willing. Guess I was wrong.

“We'll clean them, of course. I just thought it would be a great way for us to honor her. Especially after her...” I let the words linger in hopes that she'd change her mind. A sliver of self-reproach pricked. What a heathen I was trying to guilt her into doing this. I searched her face for any signs of defeat.

None.

She just stared at me with that I-am-Vivian-Broussard-the-queen look that sent most people scampering to give her what she wanted. The look quit working on me in tenth grade when she'd tried to guilt me into not going to the Sadie Hawkins dance with Thomas Chambeau. She'd had a row with his mother when we were in third grade and not forgiven her yet. There was no way her daughter would be asking
that
boy to a dance.

I did. And sneaked out to meet him at the junior high school gym.

She blew a gasket.

I was grounded for weeks.

“OK,” I said. “Suit yourself.”

Her stoic face melted and a questioning expression replaced the entitled glare. “Cheryl, it's a great idea. Only, well, I...”

I waited for her to finish her thought, but she just shook her head.