St. Charles at Dusk: The House of Crimson and Clover Series Prequel Page 7

  “When first arriving in New Orleans, the family occupied a series of three townhouses in the French Quarter, beating the Irish immigrant rush by only a few years. By 1859, Americans had swarmed into the Garden District buying up land like hungry alligators. The successful Sullivans, wanting to fit into the new culture, purchased a lot in the Garden District at Third and Prytania and hired famed architect James Gallier (fellow Irishman and client of the firm, born Gallagher) to design their Greek Revival home.

  “While many Irishmen labored in the lavish homes of the Garden District, the Sullivans owned and lived in one. Perhaps out of embarrassment, they did not hire the Irish and German of the Channel as was the fashion of the time. Instead, they owned a small team of slaves up to the war.

  “Although the family is still very much Irish, the years in America have removed the old ways and Gaelic dialects. What remains is the strong sense of family and the pride that comes with their land and estate. This same pride is evident in the up-and-coming Oz.”

  “Well, I guess that’s what I said, minus a few colorful words,” I remarked when she was done. Though I didn’t say it to her, I thought if I cleaned it up a little (more facts, less opinion, less sex), my father would love to use it as PR for the firm. Perhaps add it to the welcome brochure they gave prospective clients. The message in there now had some cheesy slogan: A Family Establishment Since 1839… and Still Going Strong! I decided I would procure a copy from her and show it to my father.

  “It was those few colorful words that made the story,” Adrienne pertly retorted. She closed her notebook, folded it along the crease, and tucked it into the back of her pants. “Thank you, Oz, for your time and for sharing that enlightening story with me.”

  I laughed. “Just make sure they spell my name right on the royalty checks.”

  6- Adrienne

  "Are you going to tell me what happened last night? In your dreams, I mean?”

  Adrienne looked up from her new garden and saw Jesse standing in front of her, his face lit by the morning sun. His hair, dark in the winter, was almost dishwater blonde in the hottest months of the year. His muscles were conditioned from the work he performed to support his family, his skin dry and tanned. Dimples appeared whether he smiled or frowned, and he had the slightest scar near his right eyebrow, which reminded her always that, despite his strength and loyalty, he was not infallible. She did not have many men to compare him to, but she thought him very handsome.

  She met his gaze for a moment, then dropped it. Jesse was not as easily wounded as his sister and mother, but she felt more guilt with him, maybe because of his understanding. She didn’t want him to believe she was looking for another life, where perhaps she had been in love with another man, when Jesse gave so much of himself. The fact he did not seem to be hurt by her curiosity only deepened her shame.

  Secretly, she also felt annoyed with all three of them: Jesse; Angelique, Jesse’s mother; and Anne, his sister. She was truly sorry they felt ousted by her memories. But what of her? What of the fact she was the one missing sixteen years of her life? How was it she became the selfish one for wanting to know more about it? Why did they put the burden of their bruised feelings on her? It was her life, after all. Wouldn’t they want to know if it had happened to them? Sometimes when she thought of these things she became so angry she had to sneak off by herself into her garden, created for this very reason, to put things back into perspective.

  She kept these feelings to herself because she knew voicing them would do no one any good. Despite the often acidic attacks, Adrienne truly believed, at the heart of their emotions, was their love and devotion to her.

  “It was just a dream,” she reassured Jesse in an offhand manner.

  He stepped out of the sunlight and knelt next to her. Kissing her forehead lightly, Jesse then watched her for a moment, as if he was going to say something further. Aware it was his presence, rather than the soothing quality of his words, that had been her biggest support, she was not surprised when he got up having said nothing more about it.

  Jesse saved her life. Though she would have no way of being certain, she always associated her accident with her memory loss. Angelique maintained people don’t forget the good, only the bad. She speculated people lost their memory to protect them from things their soul can’t deal with. Adrienne considered this and it made sense, but it didn't change her private desire to know who she was. Or, more to the point, who she had been.

  When Adrienne awoke the day of her accident, her first sight was the relief in Jesse's face. His aura was a warm comfort to her. Angelique and Anne were also relieved, but only later would she realize their auras did not warm her in the same way. She chalked this up to differences in their personalities. They were women who had relied on the strength of the only man in their life, their son and brother, Jesse.

  Adrienne watched as Jesse untied his small boat from the dock, pushed off, and jumped neatly into it. He spent most of his free time helping his mother, whose illness left her unable to do much for herself. Because it was a Thursday, A&A (as Adrienne had begun calling the two women) would be off to their weekly marketing trip. Lately she hadn’t been joining them, and, for now, they didn’t press the matter. This meant she had the day to herself, alone to her thoughts and the soft, but unrelenting, sounds of the bayou. She wondered if she had loved privacy this much in her previous life.

  In the beginning–or the beginning of her new life, as she had come to think of it–she wanted to know everything: how did she get here, what happened in the accident, who were her parents, where did she come from? She would ask the questions until one of them–usually Anne, who could not hide her strange jealousy, but sometimes her surrogate mother Angelique, who tired of subjects easily–would shame her into silence with a pointed statement. With Angelique, it was not unusual for her to spout off something like, “Oh, you don’t love me, you don’t need me! My dear Adrienne, who I love like my own blood, who I would die for, denies me!” While dramatic, it usually hit the mark. Adrienne’s empathy was such that she could not bear to see Jesse’s mother in any kind of pain.

  With Anne, it was less dramatic, but more obvious. “Sister, if your life was so amazing before you came here, do you not think someone would be looking for you?” Or: “Your parents never wanted you Adrienne. That’s why they aren’t looking for you.” The words always came with such spite. Adrienne could not understand the feelings Anne seemed to harbor toward her. If what Anne said was true, that no one wanted her, then her animosity would be unfounded. Still, the possibility of its truthfulness nagged at Adrienne as the days went by and no one inquired about her.

  Adrienne noticed the fewer questions she asked about her past, the more tranquil life was.

  “Adrienne,” Anne said one night, approaching the forbidden subject. This time, her voice was almost tender. “I want things to go back to the way they were when you first got here. Can you be trusting, and believe what we tell you, about who you are?”

  Adrienne considered this. She felt a brief kinship with Anne at that moment, which was a feeling she had not realized she craved so strongly until then. She wanted to do as Anne requested; might have done so even, if not for the dreams. Adrienne was not altogether sure everyone was being honest with her anymore.

  “Good night, Anne,” she whispered and felt her sister stiffen by her side, the moment lost.

  Adrienne admired Jesse, for many reasons, but most of all because of his complete selflessness. People talked about giving up their dreams for others, but few actually did it in a way that didn’t drip with resentment. Jesse seemed to know the sacrifices he made would stop being gifts if his actions caused guilt for those who had stolen his time. Namely, his mother.

  In many ways, Jesse was made for hard labor: strong body, strong genes, strong work ethic. He never complained about what needed to be done. But that was Jesse on the outside. Adrienne had come to know him to be smart in many things besides sugar cane harvests, crawfish farming,
or the porosity of wood. He had a knack for remembering what he read, and tended to only need to have something explained once for him to turn it into a skill. As a child, Jesse worked closely with the local physician, Dr. Morrison, who had been so impressed with Jesse’s knowledge that, by the time Jesse was old enough to be thinking of college, Dr. Morrison was plotting ways to help him pay for it.

  Angelique was very skeptical, but not because she didn’t believe Jesse was capable. She had not come from a world where college was an option. Her reality was one where people worked until their bones refused to move anymore. She was hesitant to encourage Jesse because she could not bear to see his disappointment when life brought him back to earth.

  Yet, she did not count on Dr. Morrison’s generosity. She didn’t realize he was an alumnus at the University of Louisiana, and on the scholarship board. Nor had she paid much attention to Jesse’s good grades. In her world, grades were nothing but reminders of where life could take you if it was fair.

  Most importantly, she did not count on Jesse’s unfailing loyalty.

  Jesse would never tell his mother what college meant to him, because he was more concerned with her disappointment than his own. Dr. Morrison encouraged dreaming of becoming a doctor and doing great things. But Jesse would never forget his mother, or her need of him. Where becoming a doctor might allow him to provide better care for her, he knew college and medical school was a long road, and he could not abandon his mother.

  Angelique had been afflicted with severe epilepsy since childhood. Although rare, when she had seizures they were often horrific and potentially fatal. Dr. Morrison saved her life more times than Jesse could count, and Jesse could not imagine–would not imagine–what would have happened if Dr. Morrison hadn’t answered their calls at three in the morning, or if he had demanded payment they couldn’t make. Fear of leaving his mother alone made him turn down Dr. Morrison’s offer.

  Angelique was heartbroken she was the only reason her son would be unable to go to college, and she worked with Dr. Morrison to come up with an acceptable compromise. The Lafayette campus was mere minutes away; Jesse could attend classes during the day and be close to her in case of an emergency. After much convincing, Jesse agreed, attending and eventually graduating from the University of Louisiana.

  What Dr. Morrison should have been focusing on were the things Jesse didn’t say. If seizures were the sole issue, Anne could have run to fetch Dr. Morrison as fast as Jesse.

  Angelique, as well as Anne, knew the real reason Jesse would not go far from home and it was a wonder they managed to keep it from Dr. Morrison all these years. He knew about her severe anxiety, of course, because he had treated her for it. He understood when her husband died he’d left her with two children and no means of supporting them. But Dr. Morrison did not know how extreme her guilt was at their circumstances, nor to what extent her mind continuously worked at ends with itself.

  Most times, Angelique’s anxiety and depression hit her in the usual ways: fatigue, lack of energy, short temper from time to time. Everyone knew she worked tirelessly for her family and had been dealt a rough hand, so no one begrudged her giving in to her sorrows now and then. But there were times Angelique was not in control of how she dealt with her anxiety, and these were the times, both unpredictable in timing and nature, that Jesse feared leaving home.

  Stress can do a number of things to your body, but what is more interesting is what it can do to your mind. The first time Adrienne witnessed one of Angelique’s psychotic breakdowns was about a week after she joined the family.

  She woke up one morning and something smelled both smoky and wet all at once. She heard screams from outside the cabin, from three different voices, the only voices she now knew.

  Adrienne quickly wrapped herself up in her shawl and ran to the window. Flames erupted from the storage shed, licking at the branches of a nearby cypress. A few pieces of Spanish moss had caught fire and were falling to the ground in curls.

  Angelique swung a large chunk of wood toward her children, slicing through the air as she backed closer and closer to the fire. Adrienne thought she looked insane, like another person altogether. “Get away from me!” she screamed at both of them.

  Jesse kept looking from the shed, to his mother, to Anne. When his eyes fell on Anne, he seemed to be signaling her for something as Anne ran back in the house.

  “Mother, please, you are going to hurt yourself,” Jesse pleaded very calmly. Adrienne thought later he would have had a wonderful bedside manner. It was such a shame he decided not to continue on with medical school.

  Adrienne watched through the window as Jesse had to tackle his mother to the ground and hold her until she stopped thrashing. Anne rushed out of the house with something in her hands. When she came into view, Adrienne could see it was a straightjacket. Jesse quickly secured Angelique into the restraints, then lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the house.

  Adrienne was speechless.

  The next time Adrienne witnessed one of these incidents, Angelique had a knife to her daughter’s throat for refusing to go to market. Jesse had to inject her with a mild tranquilizer, and she slept for almost two days. She would wake periodically, and moan things unintelligible, before slipping back into a restless sleep.

  Each time Adrienne attempted to ask Jesse about these episodes, he met her eyes with a look that stopped her before she could even part her lips. Only in these times, when his mother was an entirely different person, was Jesse also someone foreign to Adrienne.

  She thought she understood; Jesse was distant because he didn’t have the answers.

  Angelique’s episodes were the unspoken elephants in the Fontaine household. They were handled promptly, and no one discussed them afterward.

  Adrienne soon realized Angelique could not control her fits, nor her epilepsy, or even her son’s will. But she could put a band-aid on the situation. It did not take long for Adrienne to see she was that band-aid. In Adrienne, Angelique was offering her son the happiness he was giving up to care for her; a small consolation prize, maybe, but still a chance at a life he deserved.

  There was a lot riding, in the Fontaine household, on Adrienne’s memory.

  Adrienne’s memory loss was particular. She had not forgotten how to function. It was the history of herself, and her people, that had been lost.

  Angelique liked to insist Adrienne had no life before she came to them, but Adrienne was used to these passive aggressive comments now. Angelique spoke clearly and said what was on her mind, her eyes always animated. Her hands were soft and full of affection, her voice the kind children responded well to. Yet when provoked, Angelique’s eyes changed, sometimes losing their color completely and darkening to a deep black. Anne was not so good at keeping her emotions at bay, either, and often the two women blended into one inauspicious personality, bitterness and gloom waiting at the end of every happy thought.

  Adrienne did not doubt they loved her. What she could not shake was the effects of her dreams, and the fact the people in her life now were missing altogether from them.

  She felt so strongly her dreams held the secrets to her missing past, and, now, she was beginning to unlock them.

  Oz Sullivan is the key. She prayed he would take the bait left by her phone call, and come to find her.

  7- Oz

  I woke to the lilting sound of the cicadas and the sun penetrating through the thin sheath of curtains. As soon as I opened my eyes, I remembered where I was.

  Adrienne. She was alive, and somewhere nearby where I lay in a small motel on the highway outside Abbeville.

  The phone rang only moments later.

  “Colin Sullivan?” a heavily accented male voice asked.

  “Speaking.” I was still tired. Sleep had not come easily for me the night before.

  “I was asked to deliver a message to you. Adrienne Deschanel will be waiting for you, in twenty minutes, at Lafitte’s Diner.”

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes. “
Who left that message?” I tried to understand how Adrienne could have discovered I was in town. Only my father knew I was making the trip.

  “Do you need directions?”

  “No. I’m not prepared to meet with Ms. Deschanel yet. If you give me a phone number, I will contact her when I am inclined to meet.” She was obviously trying to engage in a subtle power struggle here, first hanging up on me and then catching me unawares. Well, she would have to wait, even if it meant my being here longer than I intended.

  “I see.” The caller clearly had not expected this. “Mrs. Fontaine will be displeased,” he added, more to himself than for my benefit.

  Who the hell was Mrs. Fontaine? And what was her displeasure to me?

  “If you have a phone number where I can reach Ms. Deschanel, I will gladly set up a meeting with her at my earliest convenience,” I reminded the caller.

  He gave me the phone number quickly and hung up.

  Don’t think you can control me so effortlessly, Adrienne. Whether you remember me, or not.

  I took my leisure reviewing her file that day, intending to make her sweat a bit before setting up the meeting. Impatience won out, though, and I decided I would meet with her that afternoon.

  A woman picked up the phone and I knew right away it wasn’t Adrienne.

  “I’d like to speak with Adrienne Deschanel,” I politely requested.

  “Of course you would.” The woman’s sarcasm was intentional. Then, “Can I take a message? Ms. Deschanel is not available at the moment.”

  “This is Colin Sullivan, her attorney. I’ve called to set up some time with her today, to go over the details of her estate.” I paused. I didn’t know who this woman was; best be careful how much was revealed. “I’m leaving town this evening. What would be a good time to reach Ms. Deschanel?”