The Witch of Bourbon Street Read online

  “I do, too,” said Sippie, digging in the earth. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  “Why’d you get married?”

  “When I found out I was pregnant with Jack, Danny insisted. We don’t usually marry in this family, just partner for life, like wolves.”

  “Well, technically they don’t. They just have one mate at a time. But you could use sandhill cranes there. That would work. So, why’d you get divorced?”

  “We didn’t like each other much.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Sippie eyed me wisely.

  “Fine, we liked each other too much.”

  “Better. Who’s my grandfather?”

  “My father was a fisherman, or rather boy, that fell in love with poor, blind Claudette, which surprised the whole bayou. But before I was born, he drowned. Drowning is what terrifies Claudette most. His name was Louis. But I always had Old Jim, and growing up, Eight Track was like an older brother.”

  “He’s a good man,” said Sippie, who had gone quiet at his name.

  “You miss him … well then, tell me about him!”

  We spent the rest of that night like that, with Sippie telling stories of growing up and the things her Eight Track taught her.

  “He always reminded me of Old Jim. All that wisdom. I suppose Crow gave you a taste of him, too?”

  “Yeah, but Old Jim too white to be like Eight Track.”

  “There is no white or black or purple or orange or anything here in Serafina’s Bayou. You got to try not to think like that anymore.”

  “I think I lived too long in a world where it’s all anyone looks for, so long that I started to look for it inside myself. I think I’ll stop looking for it now. The more I look for it in myself, the more invisible I become. You know?”

  I nodded.

  Sippie hesitated. “So … who is my father?”

  “Maybe we should start with how I feel about fathers.”

  “There was this high school counselor; he was a strange little man. I saw him at a strip club just last month and he put ten dollars—”

  “Stop there.” I grabbed her hands; I wasn’t ready to hear about the terrible way I’d left her.

  “Well, anyway, he used to say I had ‘daddy issues.’”

  “Honey, we all have those. It’s like … an American crisis or something.”

  “You aren’t answering me.”

  “I don’t have an answer.”

  “You don’t know?! You’re worse than me! How old were you again? Fifteen?”

  “Don’t be a sass mouth. And you already been with someone? Tell me, I need to know. And don’t say something like ‘You been my mama for a day and you want me to tell you everything?’ Just tell me that one thing.”

  “I been wanting you for too long already, so the more mothering you have for me, the more I’ll take. And no … I’ve never … I mean, almost. But never because I wanted to.”

  “Those boys rape you, Sippie? Those meat boys?! I’ll kill them!” I started to get up.

  “Wait! They didn’t, they didn’t touch me in that way. But they weren’t the first to beat me either. Foster care is another great American crisis, I guess. It’s why I always look for the exit signs. Eight Track always said…”

  I smiled, joining her.

  “Be kind, be clever, be safe, know your magic, and always look for the exit signs.”

  “You loved him, too,” she said.

  “Daddy issues…,” I said, laughing.

  “You still ain’t answer my question.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question.”

  “You talk just like me, why you tryin’ to correct me all the time?”

  “Honey, Sorrow women know how to speak. We got our ‘home’ speak, where we be all relaxed and inside and out like that watahhhh, movin’ all slow like, and even a bit a Cajun French now and again, ça va? But then, we got proper English for when we are out in the real world and must speak in a way that gives us power. How we use words carries powerful magic, Sippie.”

  “And what makes you think I don’t already have the ability to use my words that way? I have a stunning vocabulary and can hold my own with the classiest of classies. It’s something I pride myself on … de bon coeur.”

  With her whole heart. That girl, my girl. Getting to know her was like opening a never-ending Christmas present. Each layer of bright paper bringing a new, shiny thing to enjoy.

  “But, you still ain’t answerin’ my question.”

  “Beast. You are a beast of a child. And I get it, you know how to speak … fine. But let’s have that conversation over dinner. I need to get my strength up.”

  “I ain’t a child.”

  “You are my child,” I said. And with that declaration planting us firmly together on this Sorrow soil, for the first time in forever I felt whole.

  That night we feasted on red beans and rice, tomato salad, and bread pudding Dida sent over for dessert. We sat on the front porch as the candles burned low and the tree frogs chirped right alongside her many questions. I couldn’t stop looking at her, examining every feature.

  Her head, so like mine, resting on her hands. Her thin, elegant wrist turned upward, tilting her exotic face toward the warm light of the candles.

  The world amuses her. But it also hurts her, confounds her. She’s been an observer so long, she hasn’t had to feel. Only now the feelings are leaking inside.

  We were almost through with dinner when I saw her begin to search my face the way I searched hers, ready to strike or laugh. A smile teased the corner of her mouth. Always chattering, she was, a loud kind of quiet that hung over her. She was loud so that she could keep her hurting soul quiet. God, I wanted to kill the world for her, to steal back anything that was stolen from her, including me. I’d give myself over to her. I would take care of this girl.

  “Now that we’re just sitting here,” she said pointedly.

  “Ah yes, the father question,” I said. “I hope this doesn’t disappoint you, Sippie, but for all my … whatever it is people say about me, I’ve only ever been with two men. And they were both … well, timing is everything. So, you are either the child of the most unruly union there ever was, me and Danny, or, you are the child of Eddie the Jazz Man. And I don’t know his last name so don’t bother askin’.”

  “Was Eddie black?” she asked.

  “What? Why do you care?”

  “’Cause my skin…”

  “Is like mine. A little tanner, but like mine,” I said.

  “Still…”

  “Girl, Eddie was Cuban and Haitian and Portuguese, with the most beautiful green eyes. He was all mixed up. And Danny is Italian, not dark skinned, but his hair … Lord. And then there’s my own poor, drowned lost soul of a father, Louis LaNuit, who was a Creole, and so there’s no rhyme or reason to how we look. And if you ask me, Sippie Wallace, that’s the way this whole damn country should see things, the more mixed up we get ourselves, the less we got to argue about, ça va?”

  Sippie looked confused and relieved at the same time.

  “Well, fine,” she said. “I don’t reckon I have to know everything with a certainty, as long as I got you.”

  I forced back the tears. I couldn’t cry anymore. “What else happened over there?”

  “Dida told me a whole bunch of things. Millie, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, lemme get this straight. You were supposed to save this whole family? You were the most powerful of all of them. That’s what they said.”

  “Exactly, that’s what they say. But I still believe that’s just a story. I could do things. It used to be on and off, even then. Magic is temperamental. It demands payment if you ask for something big. So I gave up on all of it.” I saw Sippie start to smile, then we were both laughing. Then? It was that kind of laughter that is something else entirely … one you can’t stop. And I was trying to breathe through the tears and said … “But now, it’s coming
back. I think you brought it back. You brought magic back into my life!” Which pushed us both into new waves of laughter.

  When the last bits of it ebbed away, we were lying on the ground, looking up at the stars.

  “I know how to do that, too, you know … get all funny when something hurts to talk about,” said Sippie. “So tell me … come on. No foolin’.”

  She had me there. We sat back at the table, and I tried.

  “It’s not that easy to explain, Sippie. Magic, and I don’t even like that term, it’s a hard art to master. And for a long time I just turned it all off because I couldn’t figure out what was real and what was an act.”

  “Tell me something small you used to do.”

  “Well, I could light candles and put them out again. Without any matches.”

  “Do it now! At least try!”

  I put out the candle with my fingers.

  “No fair!” Sippie glared at me.

  “Shhh…” I looked at the candle hard. Nothing. It didn’t work.

  “Guess I don’t have it anymore,” I said quietly.

  “How’d you do it before?”

  “I’d think about something that made me angry.”

  “Here, hold my hand.” She reached out over the table, taking my hand. “Now, think about those boys, the no-good ones who brought me here, the ones who left me bruised.”

  The candle wick sputtered to life, a strong, deep flame.

  “You did it!” she said.

  “It could have been you, honey.”

  “Then we did it. Teach me? Teach me more.”

  “We’ll teach each other. And Jack, too, when he comes home. He’ll be over the moon. He’s spent his whole life trying to get me to teach him things.”

  “I love him already, out there on his own. He’s so brave.”

  “Blood does that, girl. Now, enough of this talking … I got an idea,” I said. I felt reborn, filling up like the moon.

  “What?”

  “Well, we’re gonna try something from The Book of Sorrows, you and me, together.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  It was the perfect night for it. The moon was on its way to waxing, change of heart and all that.

  I had her make a circle out of salt in the middle of the saint garden. Then we placed all the elements in the corners. A bowl of water, a candle, a pile of dirt, a jar we both blew into, capturing our breath, and The Book of Sorrows in the middle. We sat as I flipped through the pages.

  “As soon as Old Jim, your great-granddaddy, came back, I was gonna have him hunt down those boys and make them into alligator food. But maybe … Here it is. Turning evil into good … let’s try this.”

  “What’s it supposed to do?”

  “Well, those boys? It should make them kind. As kind as they are dark. Which means they might all grow into good men with good hearts who do good things. They’ll be good.”

  Sippie thought for a minute. “That’s worse, isn’t it, than killing them. It’s like … the best kind of spite.”

  “I met this woman once,” I said. “Vivian Pratt, a tourist from up north. She came to see me a month or so before you were born. She said she was looking for her sister. And when I pulled the cards … I swear, I told her I saw her sister losing someone she loved, that she was full of hurt and pain. I thought it would make her sad. Only it didn’t. Vivian paid me more than she should have, and walked out of the parlor at Thirteen Bourbon laughing. ‘Oh, Frances, thank you,’ she said. ‘For what?’ ‘For the proof.’ Oh, Karma, she is a cruel bitch.”

  Sippie started laughing.

  “Now, our Eight Track, he’d been teaching me a little philosophy from the time I was a bit of a thing. About Karma, you know … and I think maybe that’s the best idea.”

  “He taught me that, too. So, yeah … Frances, let’s do it. This is exactly what they deserve,” said Sippie.

  “Well,” I said, examining the book in the lantern light, “unfortunately, this will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m missing something. These witches, I swear, I take a fifteen-year break, and they let the devil’s bit die out. I bet there’ll be some at the farmer’s market in Tivoli. An old Cajun lady always used to have what we needed, when we needed it. We can check the garden at the Voodoo first, but they mostly got vegetables now. Millie never did have a knack for herbs or root work.”

  “You know something, Frances?” she said as we made our way back, “I remember her.”

  “From where, honey?”

  “From a long time ago, from when my mother, I mean, Simone … the night she died. Millie was there. At least, I think it was her.”

  So that’s it. Oh, Millie.

  “Look, I’m going to tell you something right now, and I want you to hear it as the truth,” I said. “I gave you to Simone and Eight Track for a lot of reasons. Because her voice always made me think of what love should feel like. Because Eight Track always kept me safe. And now, here you are, and I know you might’ve walked a thousand miles of grief to get here, but you are here. And we’re gonna walk through whatever comes our way together from now on.”

  We walked up the porch stairs, hand in hand.

  “You think mistakes are lessons or just mistakes, Frances?” she asked.

  “I think it depends.”

  “Why?”

  “Because a lesson stays a mistake unless you learn something from it.”

  “So, we’re learning now, right? You and me together?” she asked.

  “Yes. We are. But let’s go to bed now because I could listen to you talk forever, and Lord knows we could both use some rest.”

  13

  Day by Day

  Frances

  The Voodoo garden had nothing useful, as I suspected. Millie stood over me, yammering nonsense. I’d sent Sippie in to get JuneBug so he could take us into town.

  “I know it’s hard to keep up, needing dry soil and all, but devil’s bit is one of the more important ones, Millie. Hoodoo aside, it’s something that we use when people come to us for pregnancy … helps stop miscarriages, you know that.”

  “Frances, when was the last time anyone came to Sorrow Hall, or Bourbon Street, for that matter, for anything other than a fortune?”

  I sat back on my heels. She was right. I hadn’t seen many people coming to Dida for herbal remedies of late. But I thought she still did her root work when they were at 13 Bourbon. “What types of things does that store sell now? None of Dida’s cures?”

  “Hell, woman, that all ended years ago. Now it’s all that stuff tourists eat up. Crap from China.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You got no right judging us, Frances. One could say it’s your own damn fault, you know.”

  “You’re right, Millie.”

  “Anyway, it’s been ages since we used that root. It’s good you’re ‘back’ and all, Frankie, but what about baby steps? You diving in so fast, girl.”

  “Well, I’ve never been real good at doing things halfway, have I?”

  “Guess you have a point. But you got a lifetime to reclaim what’s lost. Take it slow.”

  “I don’t want to wait. I want it all back now. I should have had it back ten years ago.” I stared at her, hard.

  I hadn’t intended on letting Millie know I knew she’d kept the truth from me. I thought that after Sippie was settled and Danny was home I’d sit her down and ask what happened the night Simone died. I was sure there was some sort of reasonable explanation, and my anger took me by surprise. Millie looked up at the sky, then back at me, like she wanted to say something, but instead she shook her head and walked away. Maybe I should have followed her. But I was downright vexed at that moment, and me and Millie were as famous for our fights as we were our follies.

  Sippie and JuneBug passed Millie as they walked out of the bar. JuneBug tried to say something to her, but she looked away from them as well. She was isolating herself and knowing she felt cornered made my anger melt back into
love.

  Breathe. Millie will be fine. All this change is hard on everyone. After the solstice we’ll have a night, just the two of us, where we confess all our sins and dance under the stars like when we were kids so she knows I’m still here for her.

  “We goin’ to town or not, Frankie?” shouted JuneBug banging the hood of his truck.

  “We sure as hell are.” I said.

  * * *

  “You okay, Frankie?” asked JuneBug as we drove off toward Tivoli Bridge.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  Sippie looked confused.

  “I haven’t been over this bridge in nine years.”

  “’Bout time, then,” she said.

  The drive into Tivoli Proper was easier than I thought. Right up until we crossed the bridge, I worried that the memories of my time living there with Jack and Danny would drown me in guilt. Once we crossed it, I was filled with lightness instead.

  I feel like I could fly … I thought.

  JuneBug dropped us off at Pete’s, who gave me a big hug. I wanted to ask him if he knew Jack was off on his own, but I didn’t want to ruin Jack’s adventure.

  “Grabbin’ a beer,” said JuneBug, disappearing into the market.

  “It’s good to see you on this side of the world, Frankie! You gonna stop by and see Jack?” he asked.

  “No, not now … he’ll be coming to Sorrow Hall soon enough. But Pete, here’s the thing. We’re gonna have a really big Solstice Eve celebration this year. Spread the word, okay … I got something to announce.” I winked at Sippie.

  “You messing with all that hoodoo again, Frankie?” Pete was never comfortable with things he didn’t understand.

  “So what if I am?” I said, but I smiled and he warmed up again.

  “Who’s this pretty gal you got with you?” he asked.

  “Part of my solstice surprise.”

  “When you get what you need, I’ll be right here with Pete,” said JuneBug walking back out into the sunshine with a six-pack.

  “Where else?” I asked.

  Sippie and I headed off down Main Street to the sound of Pete saying, “What’s gotten into her? She sure seems happy.…”