The Vigil (10 page)

“Really? Where did you come across these letters?”

Her rapid-fire questions darted like bullets, and she hadn't really answered any of mine. I repeated my question. “Did the Perlouixs live close to you?”

“Yes. Down the street.”

“Do you know if one of the Perlouix boys was in love before he went off to war?”

She avoided my question by glancing at her watch. “Oh, honey. Look at the time. It's getting late, and I haven't been sleeping well at your mama's house. So I think I'll go to bed early tonight. If that's OK.”

I bit my lower lip. Why wouldn't she answer my question? Guilt swallowed my desire to press her. Here I was interrogating her when she'd had a busy day and needed rest. “OK.”

Her wrinkles had deepened in the last few minutes. I stood, grabbed our cups, and rinsed them at the sink.

She disappeared from the kitchen.

I locked all the doors and windows and then gathered and set up the pot and filter for coffee in the morning. When I walked to her room, she'd changed and was climbing into bed.

“I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No. Not necessary. I'm fine. Just a little tired. Need my rest you know.” She snuggled into her bed. “It feels so good to be back home.”

“I bet it does. I'll come by and have coffee with you before I leave for work in morning. About six.”

She nodded.

I bent over and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Mawmaw. Call me if you need anything. OK?”

“OK.”

As I walked to my car in the moist air of that June night, I breathed in the heady scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. Mawmaw's reaction weighed heavy on my mind.

The lamplight on the street buzzed and a swarm of flies danced around its subtle glow. Avoiding my questions as she'd done could mean a number of things. Her fatigue proved too great to keep her focused. Or she protected her best friend, Sylvia. Or she had a greater secret to keep—could Mawmaw be Lady S?

The radiance of my porch light ushered me home, and I looked forward to the welcome of my favorite pooch. Instead, the persistent
beep, beep, beep
of my answering machine greeted me. After settling Mr. Bojangles with a dog treat, I listened to the messages.

“Hey, Sis, I contacted, Angelle. We're going to meet this weekend. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” Anthony's rushed and excited voice made me smile.

“Way to go, Anthony.”

My over exuberant pup came barreling around the corner and yipped his excitement. He searched around the kitchen. I'd deducted that his excitement and searching meant he thought his favorite Uncle Tony was here. I picked him up and let him lick my chin. “Down you go.” He slid from my hands onto the floor. I grabbed another treat from the box and let him retrieve it from my fingertips. I pushed the button for the next message.

“Cheryl, it's Debra Hebert, used to be Debra Sanders. Remember me? We worked on the high school yearbook together. I heard you were back in town and got your number from a friend. We're planning the July 4th
fais do do
and wondered if you'd like to help. I remembered we worked on it together when we were in high school. Call me.” She left her number.

I was amazed to hear from her. We had been good friends in high school. Another friendship I'd let lapse because when I left I wanted to put as much distance as possible between Bijou Bayou and me.

Debra had moved to Bijou Bayou in sixth grade and became the most popular girl in our school. She'd kept that title later as homecoming queen and our valedictorian. She still lived here. Surprising. With the last name of Hebert, she must have married someone from here. Had she gone to college and come back?

My curiosity grew as well as my guilt. Some friend I'd been. Another lost opportunity. Was this my chance to make up for ignoring her all these years?

 

 

 

 

Onze

 

I returned Debra's call and agreed to help with the
fais do do
. Our conversation lasted over an hour as we caught up with each other's lives. She'd married the local bad boy and seemed happy.

I left out why I'd left Jarrod. Maybe later, but not in this first conversation. Our first planning committee meeting was scheduled for tomorrow night, and I looked forward to it.

Once in bed, I tossed and fought a no-win battle with my sheets. Carlton and Lady S consumed my thoughts. I couldn't imagine Beau's grandmother writing those letters. They were written by someone passionate and loving. Sylvia Mouton did not fit that image. But then again, a broken heart can change a person. What had happened to Carlton and his Lady S?

 

****

 

Carlton sat up against his headboard and rasped out his greeting. “Missed you this weekend.”

“Well, look at you. Sitting up. That's got to feel pretty good.” I checked his water cup and the new medication schedule.

Darcy had left everything in great order as usual.

He nodded. “Feelin' a lil bit…better today.”

I figured the change in his medications had been responsible. “Good for you.” I smiled and tried to ignore the sadness in his smile. “More reading today?”

“You bet.” He pointed toward the stack of letters.

Dare I ask him about Lady S? Would today be a good day since he was feeling better or would my question set him back? I sat in my usual seat, reached for the letters, and opened the next one. A quick glance toward Carlton rewarded me with a wink. I smiled and began to read.

 

Dear Carlton,

Today's been unusually hot for this time of year. Christmas is just around the corner, and Mama is getting a little anxious because the whole family is coming here for Christmas dinner. Our aunts from Arkansas will be here and their children. The house will be full. I'm looking forward to spending time with all my cousins. Sure wish you were here. It would be so nice to tell everyone about our engagement at Christmas dinner. I know Papa would be mad, but I believe once he got to know the real you, he would support us. Maybe we can get him to sell us that piece of the farm that borders the bayou and we can build our own house there. Wouldn't that be nice? We'd be close to both our families. Then again, I'm not sure that would be a good idea.

Mrs. Guillot at the dress shop said she might have a job for me after Christmas. She said I could work from nine to five Tuesday through Saturdays. I'm so excited. She has catalogs with wedding dresses! Wouldn't that be fun to scour the pages for the perfect wedding dress? Oh, Carlton, I do miss you so much. I hope you're being careful. I was a little concerned when it took so long for you to write back to me. But I understand your troops are moving so much. It's a wonder any of these letters get delivered. I'm so glad the memory of our day at the watering hole keeps you happy. Hold on to that memory. When you get back, we'll spend another afternoon there.

I saw your mama at the meat market the other day. She looked very sad. She avoided me, and I guess that's a good thing. I'm sure she didn't want to get the rumor mill going again about us. Are you writing to her, too? I'm sure she's worried about you like I am. And with your brother at war, too, it must be hard for her.

Well, Mama needs me to help get the Christmas decorations from the barn. Remember, I love you and miss you. I'm praying for your safety.

Your Lady S

 

Carlton stared at the letter in my hands. His breaths came in short shallow gasps. He gazed into my eyes. “She...was...special,” he said.

“She seems to be. Was she your first love?”

He blinked a few times and then nodded. “First and only.”

Could now be when he would tell me who she was? “Does she still live in Bijou Bayou?” I held my breath. Would he answer me?

He paused, and I wondered if he'd heard me. His eyes never left mine, and the intensity sent tiny chills through me. “Yep...she does.”

Dare I ask her name? “Carlton, would you like me to contact her so you can see her?”

Fear, anger, or regret—I'm not sure which—flashed, but his expression shifted to a glare, and the lines around his eyes deepened. “Don't.” His lips set into a tight line. “Never...tell...her...never—” he labored to take each breath “—about me...here.”

I stood and took in a deep breath. Why the response? I'd never seen this emotion from him. I leaned over his bed. “Carlton, I don't know who she is. I won't tell. I promise.” I patted his arm and leaned closer to him. “Carlton?” His emotions took him to a place far away. I suspected an unpleasant place from his furrowed brow and frown.

He struggled for air. I replaced his nasal cannula with an air mask. After a few minutes, he calmed, and his breathing, while still labored, settled.

Why couldn't I just share this time with him and quit worrying about who Lady S was? I'd upset him and felt like a heathen. “Carlton, I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I won't tell. I promise.” I repeated the phrase until he drifted to sleep.

When he awoke three hours later, he seemed calm and didn't mention the earlier episode.

We had lunch and played a few games of rummy in the afternoon. He usually beat me, but today I won three of the four games we played.

After the fourth game, I asked, “Do you want me to read more letters to you?”

He shook his head. “Nope, not today.”

My heart sank. Had I ruined his enjoyment of our time reading the letters? I hoped not. It was the only joy he had, and I wanted to give him as much as I could in his remaining days, however many there were.

“Do you...believe...in God?” Carlton asked. Had he spoken to me?

I wasn't sure because he stared out the window across the room. How to answer his question? My life had surely not been an example of someone who followed God. I'd fallen short in that department. But did I believe? I sat straighter in my chair and stared out the same window.

The leaves of a large sycamore tree near the corner of the house fluttered in the afternoon breeze.

“Yes, I do. But I haven't been very good at living like I do. Do you believe?” I glanced his way.

“I used to.” He turned from the window and closed his eyes.

Was this the sadness of everyone who bordered so close to death or a man who had loved so deeply and lost? Or of someone filled with much regret.

“Maybe we can find Him again. Together.”

“He...doesn't...want me.” His lips separated the bare minimum.

My chest expanded with grief for this man. What could he have done to make him feel God had abandoned him? I patted his arm. “I bet he does.” I instantly regretted the simple and weak response. As I revisited the words, their lameness battered me. Was that all I could come up with at such a crucial moment?

He shrugged his shoulders, closed his eyes, and turned his head away. His breathing slowed and before long, the raspy, steady breaths of sleep took over.

As I gathered my things to go home, Carlton's question rubbed me and left a pounding dissonance. Did he think about God because death seemed so close? And what about my life? Where was God there?

 

****

 

Later that evening, I sat next to Debra and awaited the arrival of the other
fais do do
committee members.

“Cheryl, thanks so much for helping with this.” Debra squeezed my shoulder. “We'll have to meet for coffee sometime and catch up.”

“I'd like that. And thanks for asking me to help. It'll be nice to be involved in something fun.” Fun had been lacking in my life for the past year it seemed.

“Well, this
fais do do
has grown quite a bit since our high school days. Close to a thousand or so people come each year.”

“Wow, it has grown. Who are the other committee members?”

Just as Debra pulled her list of names, several people entered the room.

At the sight of Beau Battice, my hand flew to my throat and my breath caught. Great. Spending this much time with him was not what I wanted, but I'd already volunteered. I couldn't back out now.

He sat next to me—the brown in his eyes intensified by the bright fluorescent bulbs in the town hall. “Hi, Cheryl. I didn't know you were on this committee.”

I smiled. “Just volunteered last night.” I shot Debra a we've-got-to-talk look. She simply smiled and began to call roll.

 

****

 

Beau milled about in the corner of the room with a few of the members after the meeting ended.

“Cheryl, wait.” His voice rendered my every muscle useless. He walked along as I headed toward the parking lot. “It's good to see you on this committee, getting involved in the community. Maybe you'll want to stay.”

I slowed. “It feels good to get involved.” I turned toward him. “I had a good visit with Annie.”

“Did you? Were you the one who painted her nails?”

I nodded, and he laughed. “I knew it. She told me about that silly promise you gals made in Junior High.”

We stood at my car, Beau smiling as he shared his wife's memory with me. I smiled too. “I'm glad I went to see her.”

He opened my car door. “I'm glad you did, too. I know she enjoyed it. Why had I never thought about painting her nails?” He tapped the top of his head.

I slid into my car seat. “Sorry, Beau. It's a girl thing. Besides, it's not like you haven't had a million other things on your mind.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I'm grateful for you. Thanks, again.”

“No need to thank me. I think it did me more good than Annie.”

He smiled. “My sweet Annie. She has a way of doing that, doesn't she?”

“That she does.” I pulled the door, but before I could close it, Beau pulled it back.

“Say, have you unraveled the mystery of your couple from the past? It sounds intriguing. I wish I had the whole story.”