The Witch of Bourbon Street Read online

  The officer in charge brought them inside Sorrow Hall. Lanterns and candles lit the front parlor where Danny sat, arms around Frances and Sippie. He’d been talking on and on about policy and procedure. Danny knew it was the most action the sergeant had seen in a while, but as much as he wanted everyone to keep searching for Jack, he also wanted the damn officers to leave them in peace.

  “So, to finish up the briefing, the bones do not in fact belong to Jack, or anyone who has died recently. I’m no expert, but I’d say they must be over a hundred years old.” He went to switch on a lamp and noticed it had a wick, not a plug. Danny lit it for him.

  “Did you lose power, or do you live like this?” asked the officer.

  “Ain’t you never heard of livin’ off the grid?” Old Jim asked grumpily.

  “Just tell us what we need to do, Officer,” said Claudette.

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing. See, that hurricane you all predicted? It’s moving faster than anyone thought. Landfall. We got one day. Come on, folks, you know the drill. Evacuation time.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” said Frances.

  “You don’t have to, baby,” said Danny.

  “Sippie, if you want to go, I won’t be mad at all. In fact, it might set me at ease. I can’t have you both missing. Not now,” said Frances.

  “I’d like to stay with you,” she said softly.

  “We’ll keep her safe, honey,” said Old Jim.

  “Mama?” asked Frances.

  “Um-hmmm.”

  “Can I stay here? Can I come home? I want to be home with all of you. Me and Sippie. And Danny.”

  “Sugar, I been waiting for you to come home since the day you left.”

  “I take it you aren’t going to heed my mandatory evacuation warning,” said the officer.

  The whole Sorrow clan just stared at him.

  “Well then, I’ll be on my way, but I want you all to know that none of my men are leaving Tivoli Parish until we’ve turned it upside down for Jack.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you,” said Dida, showing him to the door. “Now, Frances, why don’t you go on up to bed? I always keep your bed made just in case. I’ll take care of Sippie. Give her a nice room and warm up some water for a bath. That sound good?”

  “You okay with that, Sippie?” asked Danny.

  “I’m fine, Danny. You gonna take care of her?”

  Frances was already fast asleep against the arm of the couch. Danny lifted her in his arms.

  “Forever.”

  20

  A Sorrow Solstice

  Sippie

  Sippie sat on the docks, watching the exodus of people from the bayou. For a place that seemed deserted most days, there sure were a lot of people hiding out, living their lives deep in that wild country.

  She didn’t come here to be the same as the rest of them, sitting around, waiting for something to happen. She was different, raised different, and maybe there was a reason for that. Crow brought her here on the wings of a dream. And if she could fly again, even on her own, maybe she could find Jack.

  She went back to Frances’s cottage, laying herself back down in the cocoon of blankets Frances had made her that first night. Closing her eyes, she thought about being safely nestled inside her mother’s womb, one that Jack grew in three years later. They had to be tied; there had to be a cord. She fell asleep knowing how peaceful it would be when they were all together, finally.

  Memories floated in and out and away, liquid and undefined. Where she was at, the past and present were one. It scared her. It was as if all the walls in the universe had come down and she were swaying in between. There was blackness all around.

  “Jack? You there, Jack? I can’t stay … I’m trying to fly on my own. Talk to me if you can.”

  “Sippie?”

  They sat on the floor, hands together, in that little closed-up room. Familiar sounds surrounded them.

  “You okay? Everyone’s so worried,” she said. “I’m your sister, Sippie Wallace.”

  “I know. I think I’m okay. But I can’t wake up.”

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “No. I’ve never been here. And it’s so lonesome.”

  Sippie hooked her pinky in his. “I’m making you a promise, Jack. I swear they will find you. I swear it. And if for some reason they can’t, I’ll come back here. And I’ll stay. I won’t leave you alone. Ever.”

  He hugged her tightly right before she began to fade.

  “I’m waking up, Jack. But I’ll be back. You’re not alone. Sippie’s here!”

  As her eyes fluttered open, she remembered tapping, silver shoes, brass bands, horns, music. He was somewhere close to Bourbon Street. She knew it. She jolted up, bumping her head on a low shelf that crashed down, leaving a pile of half-broken glass jars, feathers, and old letters scattered everywhere.

  “Great. Just great.”

  One letter, older than the rest and encased entirely in wax, caught her eye. She picked it up curiously, gently attempting to free the paper from the sticky coating, only to rip the letter when she tried to pull out the paper inside too quickly.

  “Dammit…” She sighed and unfolded the letter.

  It was written by the nun everyone thought killed the Sorrows. Only it seemed the truth everyone had come to believe wasn’t the truth at all. The tear she’d made in the letter went directly through the address on the top: 13 Bourbon Street. Signs, omens, ghosts, magic. In the end, it all came down to instinct. Jack was definitely in New Orleans.

  * * *

  Sippie walked purposefully back to Sorrow Hall, straight inside and up the stairs. The house seemed to somehow be more alive, rotting floorboards repairing themselves, damp spots slinking away, as the people inside were breaking over Jack and Millie. She opened the doors to Frances’s room. It looked like something out of an old plantation museum, only it had bits of the outdoors sneaking in through cracks in windows and walls.

  “Sippie,” said Frances, “do you need anything?”

  “Yes. You. It’s time to get out of bed, Frances.”

  “When you gonna start calling me Mama?”

  “It’s been what, a little over a week? Give the girl some space,” Danny said, pulling on some boots.

  “Are you really asking me to give someone space? All I’ve done for too many years is give everyone space!”

  “You two just can’t quit, can you? Look, Danny, can I talk to Frances alone?”

  “Be my guest, Miss Sippie. I got to go get some more plywood.”

  “Don’t mind him,” said Frances. “He gets quiet and mean when he’s not in control. Look, honey, I know it’s been hard on you, coming here, then all this … I’m trying to figure out what exactly I did in this sorry life that makes every single good thing that happens to me get followed up by a bad thing.”

  “Goodness! Stop with all the apologizing and rationalizing! I need to tell you somethin’!”

  “Sippie, love, come here.”

  Crying, Sippie rushed to her and fell into her arms.

  “What’s all this?” asked Frances, smoothing back her hair.

  “I saw Jack. I went to sleep and found him. I think he’s safe, but he’s scared, Frances. And we got to find him. Soon. I can feel it.”

  “Where, Sippie? Where do you think he is?” Frances’s eyes stared at her with the kind of trust Sippie couldn’t believe she’d already gained.

  “I don’t know exactly, but it’s on Bourbon Street. I heard it. Or at least somewhere in the Quarter. And look—” Sippie held out the letter. “Look where the rip is. Everything happens for a reason, right?”

  “I lost you there. You lost Simone there. Jack has to be there.” Frances smiled and hurried to dress. “You amazing girl. Come on, quick! Let’s go.”

  Frances and Sippie ran out of the room together, skipped over rotten stairs, and rushed out the front door, heading to the docks as though they’d been shot out of a cannon made of pure joy.

  “How we gon
na get there? Everyone’s runnin’, evacuating or fillin’ up their trucks with sand and plywood.” Sippie followed, gasping for breath.

  “Just come on,” Frances called back to her.

  They took Frances’s boat to Trinity Bridge, and then the woman Sippie couldn’t seem to keep up with just stopped. She leaned against the railing of the bridge, unmoving.

  “It’s sort of lucky that not many people live here anymore, and those who do won’t leave, because this road would be all jammed up already,” Frances said. “Still, we better hurry up or else we’ll get caught in the traffic north of here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, help me.” Off to the Tivoli side of the bridge, hidden back in the trees, was a truck. Covered in tarps and cared for.

  “Whose is it?” asked Sippie.

  “It’s mine. I know something about exits, too, you know.”

  Maybe it was the confines of the truck, or the freedom of driving, or the long lines where Sippie and Frances had fun making up stories for everyone in all the different cars. Or maybe it was because they were beginning to trust each other. Whatever it was, the drive was magic, and the two began to speak (without words) the way Old Jim liked to do. Under and over the radio stations and songs that they’d sing. Screaming their heads off to “Baby, I Love You” and “I’ll Be There,” Sippie knew, her whole body humming with peace, that once they found Jack, nothing would be able to tear any of them apart again.

  * * *

  About a mile outside of New Orleans, Sippie suddenly grabbed Frances’s arm. “Oh, my God, look!”

  And there they were, those meat boys, helping. They were out there directing traffic for all those families who’d gotten their cars tangled up in the traffic while getting out of Dodge.

  “They’re smiling, but you can tell they sure as hell aren’t happy about it!” said Sippie.

  “We did it!” said Frances. “And Sippie girl, we’re gonna find Jack, too.”

  When they pulled up to 13 Bourbon, Abe was bringing in some coolers to keep the produce in when the power went out.

  “Well, look who’s here! I think this building missed you, Frankie! And look, I got the last bunch of coolers at the store. Hope we have enough. You ladies gonna find your way inside all right? I’m battening down the hatches, if dat’s all right wit you, Frances.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Abe.”

  He paused and looked at her again carefully. “You sure you okay?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “What’s that about?” asked Sippie.

  “I haven’t been here for a long time.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since…” Frances cleared her throat. “Since the morning after I gave you to Eight Track. I ran to the bayou and never came back.”

  “Here,” said Sippie, taking her hand tightly. “You face your demons, and I’ll face mine.”

  They walked slowly into the deserted building, hand in hand. “No one’s here. I thought you said people come here to ride out the storm?”

  “Not yet. First, the overly cautious leave. Then the suddenly terrified. Then the damn crazy ones wait till the last possible second to come get drunk. Now, let’s climb these stairs and get to searchin’. Right?”

  “Right.”

  Frances opened the door to the third floor into a large, sunny living room filled with antiques, richly textured carpets, and plants. Next to a tiny kitchenette off to the side was a hallway that led to three closed doors at the back.

  “What do those lead to?”

  “Bedrooms. That one was mine. That’s where you were born, Sippie. Millie shares that one with Claudette, and Dida has her own.” Frances kicked off her shoes with disgust and fell onto the couch. It was old and narrow, but plush like a big, blue velvet pillow. Frances seemed stuck. Fidgety.

  “It must be hard, being back here … with me,” Sippie whispered.

  Frances rushed back to the present and went to Sippie. “No, love. It’s just the opposite. It’s like a gift I don’t feel I deserve. If Jack was here … well, see … this is so close to the life I thought I’d ruined. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance, only … Jack.”

  A loud-pitched noise suddenly rang through the room, causing them both to jump.

  “What is that?” asked Sippie.

  “An intercom, I plumb forgot about it. Eight Track put it in years ago, scared I’d get into trouble up here when I was reading fortunes. I bet it’s Abe. Hold on.”

  Frances pushed the button. “What’s goin’ on, Abe? You need me?”

  “No, Miss Frances. I got Danny on the line down here. You want me to send the call up there, or take care of it on this end?”

  “I’ll take it. I don’t want to, but I will.”

  The black, heavy phone on the side table near the atrium rang.

  “He gonna be mad?” asked Sippie.

  “I’m not sure. If you’d asked me last week, well … hell, last week I wouldn’t have answered it.” Frances picked up the phone. And urged Sippie over so that they were both listening in on the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Well, listen to you on the phone,” he said. “So, how about you tell me why you are there and I am here? You got something you got to tell me, Gypsy?!” Sippie started to move away, but Frances pulled her back. Her eyes said, You’re not leaving me on this phone alone!

  “I’m sorry, Danny. See, Sippie had this dream, and then I had this tantrum, and then we found … anyway, the important thing is…” Frances looked at Sippie and smiled. “We believe Jack’s here, in New Orleans. And you have to trust me on that. And I thought I’d come here and find him, you know, because, he’s here. And Sippie’s here … on the line with me.”

  “Sippie! You okay, honey?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Look, if you two think he’s there, he is. Do what you need to do, Frances. And Sippie, you listen to your mother. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a blind woman, a deluded matriarch, an angry, displaced Yankee fisherman, a drunk, and a womanizer to deal with. No one is leaving, they’re staying put. We’ve been boarding up what we can. But I’m coming to you as soon as I get these fools situated. Should be fun,” he grunted.

  “Millie didn’t come back?” asked Frances, moving away so Sippie couldn’t hear anymore. She paused, and Danny must have asked about Sippie because Frances said, “She’s good. Better than good. Thank you, Danny. Drive safe, hear?”

  She hung up the phone. She pushed back her hair, smiled, and then got all teary-eyed. “How come beautiful things hurt so much, Sippie? Got any idea?”

  “My mama … I mean, Simone—”

  Frances interrupted her. “Sugar, I may be your mama, but so was Simone. She took good care of you until she couldn’t no more. And I’m nothin’ but grateful for it.”

  Sippie smiled. “Okay, then, my other mama, she sang this song…” Sippie began to sing in a low, bluesy tone, gazing off in the distance. “‘Being happy is beautiful, beautiful, so beautiful, being happy is beautiful until you realize what you had.’” Her eyes rested on Frances again. “I always thought it meant that when we’re too mad and too scared, it’s easy to be blind to just about everything. And when we feel light, when we can see beauty again, we got to remember all the sad that comes with it. All the things that get left behind in this leave-behind world.”

  “Well, if that ain’t one of the truest things I ever heard, Sippie.” Frances squeezed her hand. “Now, let’s get to work.”

  “Where do we even start?” asked Sippie.

  “We search every nook and cranny of this building.”

  They walked back out into the odd little third-floor hallway and Sippie stopped, placing her hands against a smaller door in the corner.

  “What’s in here?”

  “It’s a small room we use mostly for storage. But from time to time, when all the other rooms were full, or someone who couldn’t pay needed a room, that’s where we’d put them.�
��

  “I been here.”

  “In that room?”

  Sippie gulped. “This is where she died, Frances.”

  “How about I look there, and you take the first floor. Then we’ll meet on the second, okay?”

  “Thank you,” said Sippie.

  Half an hour later on the second floor, they found each other.

  “Anything?” asked Frances.

  “No … but he doesn’t have to be here, right? He could be somewhere else nearby.”

  “I suppose I’m just getting tired. Sippie, what if we never find him? Millie, she’s smart. I don’t think she’d hurt him, but I do think she’d take him. Far away.”

  “We will find him,” Sippie said. “I made him a promise.”

  “Then I believe you,” said Frances, forcing a smile. “You know, that room on the third floor, it’s all boxes now. No ghosts at all, if you want to take a look.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Sippie.

  “Sweet girl, sometimes we got to lean inside of something in order to let go. I just learned that, this very week. You taught me that. Made it easy for me because you didn’t give me a choice. But see, you got a choice. And it’s harder that way, to choose that walk back in time.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Miss Frances! Miss Sippie! Oh my, yes. Just the ladies I need to see. Come!” Craven cried out joyfully as he emerged from the first room in the hallway.

  “Mr. Craven! You scared me half to death! I forgot you were here,” said Frances.

  “We haven’t found Jack, Mr. Craven. Can we talk about some long-lost history later?”

  “Miss Sippie, Miss Frances, I insist. You need to hear me out. Come see what I’ve found. I believe it might help us find Jack. You see,” he said, shuffling through boxes, “this place used to be the office of A. A. Monroe. Yes, right here!”

  Frances and Sippie looked at each other. The tear in the sister-nurse’s letter was directly across that very name.

  “This desk, you see, it has a secret panel in the back of the drawer, isn’t that fascinating!” He flapped his hands excitedly.