Child of the Storm (23 page)

“
Tell me, Mr. Douglas.
”

“
There was this young
boy, leading a bunch of cattle down a street. What fool
’
s idea that was, I don
’
t know, but it looked like a parade.
Looked that way until something spooked those cattle enough to send
them charging down the street, right over that young boy.
Crushed him to
death. Worst thing I ever saw.
”
He traced the red
line with a damp fingertip.
“
There
’
s another fool thing for you.
”

“
The Mississippi River
Gulf Outlet,
”
Celeste said.
“
My aunt doesn
’
t like it either.
”

“
She
’
s a smart lady.
”
He traced it again from Gulf end up to
the Canal.
 
“
Mr. Go. That
’
s what some are calling it.
Now don
’
t that
look like a big parade street for the Gulf to
charge along?
”
He smacked his hand down over the east
side of the city, covering the map up where Celeste
’
s home sat.
“
Bad storm could rile up the Gulf and
send it right up that big red line to trample us flat. Just like that boy. You
picked the right color for that line, Miss Dubois. A nice angry color.
”
He waved his old finger at the green
lines over near it.
“
With that thing joining the
neighborhood, I like most of those levees less and less.
”

No
skill worth having comes without work and time. It had been so for her since
childhood. It was so with her drawing and painting, and with her sewing. Skills
built on skills and most were kin to each other in one way or the other. She
knew of cause and effect from experience. So all of those years, listening and
watching and smelling and touching, amounted to a good place to start for a
sensitive woman who had mastered the pencil, the brush, the needle and the
oven, and now had turned her thoughts to bending a hurricane to her will.

The
first time a leaf quivered in the little breath of wind, as she expected it
might, it surprised her so, that she said some words out loud that she wasn
’
t known to speak where others might
hear. Surprised her so that she told herself it was nothing unless it could
happen again. When, after a time, it did happen again, she held her tongue, but
also her judgment since three times is a charm.
 
And charmed it was. The little leaf and
others around it quivered in the breath of air she
’
d inspired. It was the work of a whole
Saturday, devoted to nothing but sitting near the back corner of her house
where almost no one might see her, and slipping back and forth between her two
worlds, working her connections and learning the baby steps.

She
was deeply pleased and almost as deeply tired when she turned in that night and
let the bear entertain her with tales and visions. It was four years since
Audrey.

Most
days still found Celeste at Dubois
’
providing direction,
like a watchful mother hen or Zen master, watching the quality of what came out
of the ovens, how it was presented on the shelves and how the staff attended to
the customers. George and Annie didn
’
t leave her much room
for concern. They had all learned well. This was the nearest thing to family she
had, so it was as much to see them as to see the bread. Sometimes she was just
there to hear them talk since there was no one to talk to at home. Not while
she was awake.

“
Millie wanted her
party to be outside,
”
Annie explained to those around her
one morning almost six years past Audrey.
“
Why outside on a
summer afternoon when the showers can just come out of nowhere, I
’
ll never know. I let her say when and
where, and never left myself room to say no. But if it rains and ruins all my
work, it will be
poor Millie
, and not a thought for what I had to do,
and all for nothing.
”
She sighed like a martyr facing the
stake.
“
It
’
s this evening, so we
’
ll know soon enough.
”

Celeste
praised Annie for being so long suffering for her friend and went to the office
to check in with George. Business was fine, but that morning he wasn
’
t concerned about business. He was
concerned about a tree.

“
I raised that tree
from not much more than a stick with a leaf or two on it,
”
he explained.
“
Could have left it in the pot longer,
but it would have died there for sure. I can keep water on it, but it
’
s like it doesn
’
t want it from the spigot; it wants it
from the sky, like it could tell the difference. But the rain falls everywhere
but on my place. That
’
s how it seems.
”

She
told him it would be
alright
, much as her own mother
had told her things would be alright. She left the bakery some time later and
went back home to sit on her porch without stopping to eat anything that might
make her drowsy on a summer afternoon. She did nothing that might muddle her
readings. For a part of the afternoon she sat there watching the sky and the
air in the sky, and the breath in the air. There were no clouds, but there were
the first notions of clouds if you knew how to look for them, and knew how to
read the breath of the river and the lakes and most of all, the blue-green Gulf
where some things begin and others end.

When
she figured she
’
d seen enough to see the patterns, she
closed her eyes and listened. She listened right past the sounds of the city;
listening for something else until she figured she had heard it. Then she put
her attention on feeling what the air had to say. She rubbed it between her
fingers and sensed how it lay against her skin like some fine material or
something coarse.

It
was all stitched together, the sight and smell and feel of the air. It was like
some grand, picturous quilt. And there was a story to that quilt, where she
could see what
was
now, and she could imagine how it had come to be so.
And maybe she could imagine how things might go with the weather of that day.

Celeste
laid aside her seeing and her hearing and her feeling of the air, and she
brought out her imagination, to see what
it
would make of all that was
seen, heard and felt. And through it all, the bear was at her right hand, but
quiet and watchful. That was long work, and almost too long for a day, given
what she hoped to do. By the time she was ready, the notions of clouds were in
the process of becoming clouds indeed, but they would be a rabble of clouds and
none with anything more than rain. And there would be little enough of that,
but enough maybe for somewhere here and somewhere there, but none at all
somewhere else. She opened her eyes for just long enough to see that the clouds
were not so far into becoming that a suggestion couldn
’
t be made. Then she closed her eyes
again. She reached out along those faint threads that fashioned the day
’
s weather in that tiny portion of the
world, and she dropped a word into it, like a grain of sand dropped in a pool
that sets off ripples that none could see. And that was all she could do.

The
clouds formed in the unstable heat of the afternoon, before the sun could set
and the night could bring a settling of the air again. Celeste watched them
build
;
a cloud to her west and more to her east.
Little floating islands rushing inland. She watched them until they were gone
and the
sun set
and the stars burned in the clear sky.
The frogs and crickets sang, and Celeste went inside to eat and then to sleep.
It had not been a long or hard day, but she was tired.

The
next morning found Dubois
’
less distracted by
the private concerns of Annie and George. Annie strode back and forth among the
staff preparing to feed the ovens, an air of triumph about her.

“
Millie
’
s party went well?
”
Celeste asked.
“
No rain to speak of?
”

“
Clouds in sight, but
none overhead,
”
Annie replied.
“
Thank goodness for that.
”

George
was standing by, directing a new hire, but he paused to follow the
conversation.
“
Then I got the rain you were fearing,
and thank goodness for that too.
”

Celeste
rocked back against a table and enjoyed the news of what she took to be her own
efforts rewarded. Secret efforts. But when she looked around at George, she
found he was looking at her in a most peculiar way
—
an expression she couldn
’
t read. She raised her eyebrows at him
and he nodded.

Those
stirring of leaves and shepherding of clouds turned Celeste
’
s mission into a quiet obsession. Not
that she neglected the bakery or those closest to her. Nor did it break that
thread of postings between her and Jonathan Hogue. But when and where she
could, she turned a deaf ear to the tedious things that would have filled up
her mind had she let them. She let go of some things, but she didn
’
t neglect her artwork, since for her,
it was just one more tool in her work of touching the elements; an essential
part of that touching. Watercolor paintings covered the walls of the house and
drawings filled book after book. New Orleans rolled along with all its
multitude of doings, and she wished it well and left it to its
never ending
business. If she had her way, and she meant to,
it would keep on as it had been forever and untroubled.

Eight
years had passed since Audrey. Bread flowed out from ovens and word flowed in
from Hattiesburg
;
good word of stability and happiness
for the twins that had known little of either at the hands of Audrey.

Stars
wheeled and crickets sang. Folks might be walking past, but the porch was dark
and she sat hidden from all eyes, except for those of the bear when Celeste
slipped across the border between the worlds. Celeste was dreaming intently, reaching
out, far along her web.

She
sat on the porch, but her dreaming eyes looked out on a dry vastness as foreign
to her waking eyes that knew lush greenness, as a deep forest would seem to
those living in that far away desert. A woman stood in the midst of it, alone
and filled with an anger that might have come from the east side of a storm.
She was shouting. Shouting to the sky and the sands. And the force of her voice
stirred up the heavens and the desert and the two mingled and churned, surging
away from her and toward the distant ocean. Her voice carried on and on, rising
and churning the earth and then the ocean below.

Celeste
couldn
’
t understand what words the woman
shouted. Maybe they were words of magic that only the elements could understand
and Celeste hadn
’
t mastered fully. Maybe it was the
language of the myst
è
res served by Aurore. She knew she was
dreaming by then, and the vision had delivered whatever message it had meant to
leave with her, and it faded away. She let it go; knowing that to stop
its
going was an impossible thing. She could change it, but
that would change the meaning.

“
You sense something?
”
the bear said.

“
All of this reaching
out along the threads of weather may have touched things I
’
m not aware of
—
things bigger and more complicated than
the stirring of a breeze. Like I
’
m a child talking to
my elders about worldly matters.
”

“
You
’
ve reached out, and something is
reaching back,
”
suggested the bear.

“
Maybe so. Or maybe it
’
s nothing but a dream.
”
Celeste looked up into the enormous,
star filled sky of the bear
’
s world, now folded
over them to replace Celeste
’
s vision.
“
Maybe just a dream. Only it doesn
’
t feel that way.
”

Annie
told her she was getting a bit old for her bicycle riding, especially at the
crack of dawn, but she wasn
’
t ready to give up
coming into the bakery, and she didn
’
t intend to walk all
that way. Today was one such day in particular she needed to be there and
needed information that had nothing to do with baking. The thought of calling
in never occurred to her.

She
found Annie first of all.
“
Heard anything on the
weather?
”

“
Hot,
”
Annie laughed.
“
What are you planning?
”

“
Nothing. Just
wondered if there were any storms in the Gulf.
”

“
Not that I
’
ve heard.
”

She
found George. He was always more plugged into the news.

“
There
’
s one out there alright,
”
he said.
“
Don
’
t any of you watch
TV? They
’
re calling this one Betsy and looks
like it
’
s going for Florida.
Maybe
the Keys.
For a while there it was just wandering in the ocean like it
was lost.
”

“
Or looking for
something,
”
Celeste muttered.

“
You want me to keep
you posted on this hurricane, in case she takes a turn our way?
”

“
Yes I do.
”

A
day later, George found Celeste to bring her up to date on developments. She
was seated behind the small desk in the cramped office of the bakery,
transferring papers from the desk
’
s filing drawer into
what had once been a small suitcase but was now something else, because Celeste
needed it for something else.

“
It
’
s in the Gulf,
”
George said.
“
Sounds like she beat up the south end
of Florida pretty bad.
”

“
And where is she
going now,
”
she asked.

“
They can
’
t say for sure.
”
George said, watching Celeste sort and
re-file.
“
Can
’
t know so soon. Could
hit Texas or even as
far east
as the panhandle, but it
’
s big and getting bigger; hundreds of
miles across and a great big eye looking for land somewhere. But if I had my
guess, I
’
d say she
’
s coming here.
”

Celeste
looked up.
“
Why here?
”

“
Because of you.
”

“
Why because of me?
”

He
bowed up.
“
Because you
know
it
’
s coming here. I don
’
t know how it is you know, but you do.
Like you know about a lot of things that no one knows how you know, but you
know it anyway. You see it coming. You always know when the rain
’
s going to cut loose just before it
does. And here you are gathering things from a drawer down low so it won
’
t get lost in a flood.
”

Celeste
spread her long fingers across the top of the case. That was exactly what she
was doing. And he was right about all of it. She did know it was coming.
“
Don
’
t be silly,
”
she said,
then
added.
“
When would it get here?
”

“
If it keeps going
like it
’
s going, then it
’
ll be tomorrow night or so. They
’
re already telling folks to get ready,
just in case. Telling those who bother to watch TV. Soon, maybe they
’
ll tell folks to leave.
”

“
And go where,
”
Celeste asked.
“
How easy would it be for you to pick up
and go somewhere else? You don
’
t have family inland.
”

“
No ma
’
am. Everyone I know is right around
here. But at least your old aunt
’
s house is a little
higher spot in the pond, for what that
’
s worth.
”

Celeste
sighed heavily.
“
Tomorrow we
’
ll know, I guess. I
’
ll tell everyone we
’
ll be closed tomorrow if Betsy comes
this way. Anyone who has somewhere else to go ought to head out if they want to.
Before it gets too late.
”

She
could hear voices outside as the shop opened.

“
Tell everyone in the
shop to share out whatever goes unsold.
”

Betsy
was a monster. By the following evening, it was certain that she was drawing in
on New Orleans or would pass very near. George told Celeste that men in planes
had tried to kill Betsy off while she was still far out to sea and growing;
showering her with ice crystals or some such thing like sorcerers spreading
magic dust, only it didn
’
t work. Maybe it made
things worse, and now she was intent on striking back. Yet
there
Celeste sat on her porch watching the sky to the south and the east, and
pondering her own desire to touch the storm before it could reach the city.

Dubois
’
closed and Celeste urged anyone who could
get inland to do so. Odette was too old and stubborn to go. Still, she couldn
’
t leave her to fend for herself, but
feared she might call Betsy down on her aunt
’
s home by going there
—
so she worked it another way. She
convinced Odette that she wanted to get George and his new family, including
one little baby girl, somewhere safer than where they were. It was a chance she
took, knowing Odette
’
s reservations about children, but she
counted on her aunt
’
s pride in being of help, even now.
Better to propose it that way than to tell her she was sending someone over to
watch over her during the storm. Fortunately, it worked.

A
mosquito landed on her arm and she slapped it flat, her hand showing a smudge
of blood that might have once been her own. Like that tiny mosquito, Betsy was
a thing of the air, born of the water, and she would call air and water to her
purpose, driving the Gulf into the wetlands and lakes. For a day or even a span
of hours, Betsy could fill them to overflowing and set them pounding against the
town walls like invaders bent on plunder. And how would those walls manage
against such a pounding?
Feet of clay
.
And what of Mr. Douglas and his parade route for a storm.
What of Mr. Go?

A
light came on in the house across the street, leaking out from gaps in the
boards set across the windows, and then the old woman who lived there came out
onto her porch, saw Celeste and waved to her. Celeste rose and crossed the
street to have a word.

“
So you mean to stay,
Miss Dubois?
”
her neighbor asked.

“
I do, Miss Dee. I
have the bakery to worry about, and most of my folks who work there haven
’
t anywhere else to go either, so I
suppose we
’
ll stay put and hope for the best.
”

“
They expect it
’
ll be bad tonight,
”
the old woman said as her old fingers
plucked nervously at the arm of her rocking chair.
“
Guess I ought to bring this in. Wouldn
’
t want to lose it to the wind.
”

“
I
’
ll carry it in for you.
”
Celeste looked at the boards over the
windows and thought how poorly they
’
d been secured. Had
she done it herself or did someone do it for her? If she had paid, she had
overpaid. Celeste knew her own house was safer and even stood a little higher
than the old woman
’
s, but to take her in might only put
her in greater danger. On the other hand, Betsy was so big.

I
’
ll be more at peace through this night
if she
’
s somewhere away from here, Celeste
thought as they carried the rocking chair inside; the old woman offering what
amounted to the ceremonial sort of help that dignitaries bring to a wreath
laying. It
’
s hard to give up doing for yourself.
Time
’
s short and I need to find someone to
take her in. Someone to come collect her, she thought, and scolded herself for
not thinking of her neighbor sooner than this, the brink of storm fall.

Like
an answer to her call for help, they heard the rumble of an engine and saw the
La Salle pull up in front of Celeste
’
s house.

“
Excuse me a minute,
”
Celeste said to her neighbor.
“
It
’
s a friend of mine
that I need to have a word with, but I
’
ll be back shortly.
”

Aurore
met her in the street and took Celeste
’
s hands in her own.
Her grip was firm and urgent.
“
I
’
d hoped to find you off to higher
ground.
”

“
There
’
s none of that around here.
”