Chapter Eleven
A month had passed since Cinnamon’s
brush with death. She was a fair-skinned girl by nature, and while she was
recovering well from her injuries, she was still so pale that her face and lips
looked almost blue. Jeremy had summoned the doctor from New Orleans, and
insisted on paying for Cinnamon to receive blood transfusions. It was a very
strange, foreign idea to Cinnamon, someone else’s blood flowing through your
veins, but Jeremy had been very reassuring, and had given an article for her to
read from the Journal of the American Medical Association which assured her
that the procedure could be depended
upon, and was saving many lives during the Great War.
While Cindy Talbot came calling
frequently to help the two brave girls out, poor Alexandra was still bearing
the brunt of the housework, but proved herself to be more than able, and the
Mansion was shortly ready to receive roomers. Jeremy begged Alexandra not to
divulge the true story of what had happened to Cinnamon, and she agreed, once
again finding herself under the mysterious spell that he cast on her. Alexandra
promptly invented a lie for her mother about a chance encounter and accident
with an unknown equestrian, which she straightaway felt ashamed of but even
more so felt compelled not to rescind. When Cinnamon asked, Jeremy and
Alexandra assured her that a report had been made to the police, and she could
add her statement when she was stronger. Jeremy had told Alexandra that he
would handle things with the police, and Alexandra left it at that.
Cinnamon was feeling well one
particular day, and was making a special supper, because they were, once again,
expecting Jeremy to join them. She happily stirred the chili and shaved a bit
more corn off the cob to add to it, because corn was her favorite part of
nearly every meal. She peeked into the old stove and saw happily that the
cornbread was very nearly done. Cinnamon whistled merrily and then remembered
the phonograph player she had employed previously. She walked to the sitting
room to retrieve it and bring it with her to the kitchen, barely leaning on her
cane as she went. In a week or so, she was confident that she could put the
cane away altogether- it was heavy and bothersome anyhow; the thick, hefty
thing used to belong to Old Rassmussen himself. She carried the phonograph
without a great deal of effort back to the kitchen and set it down on a
counter. A record slid off the top of it, falling to the floor, and Cinnamon
bent down with a sigh to pick it up. That’s when something unusual caught her
eye. The date on the front of the music she was about to play. She cocked her
head to the side and her eyes narrowed.
1913.
Nothing too sinister in that by
itself. While it hadn’t been a good year
for Cinnamon personally, the Great War hadn’t broken out yet. But it was two
years ago; and two years ago no one was supposed to have been in this house;
not even Mr. Andrews, the lawyer who had handled the affair. Two years ago this
house should have had the wind howling through the cracks in the windows.
Cinnamon thought with renewed horror of the clean parlor she had found the day she
entered the house. The phonograph must have been brought there by the old
crone. But what would she have wanted to for? The room was undoubtedly used for
entertaining guests, and she didn’t seem much the type for company. The stories
about lights in the windows of the mansion suddenly took on a different
implication for her.
A loud knock at the door caused
Cinnamon to nearly jump out of her skin; she shrieked lightly and jumped to her
feet with one hand over her heart, the other flailing about wildly and landing
unfortunately on the stove top. She jerked it off quickly, but not quite
quickly enough. She hurried over to the basin of water and dunked her hand into
it, in her haste bumping it and causing water to splash out and up her front.
She cursed under her breath and
wondered if she had the time to go upstairs and change. Probably not- the knock
on the door was most likely Jeremy, just a bit early. She decided to run
upstairs and see if she had anything else to wear anyhow- Jeremy could wait.
Alexandra heard the knock at the
door also, and so wiped her hands on her apron and then untied it and hung it
on a nail. She looked at herself in the mirror briefly, running her fingers
through her hair. She pinched her cheeks to bring out the color, and then bit firmly
on her lips to make them red. When she was satisfied she walked quickly toward
the door, passing Cinnamon on her way there. Cinnamon was leaning lightly on
her cane and headed up the stairs.
“I think Mr. Jeremy is here,” said
Alexandra, looking up to the third or fourth step where Cinnamon was ascending.
“I’ll be down in just a moment.
I’ve got to change,” Cinnamon indicated toward her dripping apron.
“Oh, dear,” Alexandra laughed,
“Well, hurry. I don’t think there’s much clean, since we didn’t do the laundry
today…”
The girls shared a look of
self-reproach and mutual loathing of laundry.
“…but you know, I found a chest of
things that might fit us and so I pulled it into the hallway. You’ll see it.”
“What would I do without you?”
praised Cinnamon, who continued up the stairs.
Alexandra continued to the door,
looking in the mirror just one last time before opening the door. Jeremy
Tarleton stood on the porch, his hands behind him, the faint sunset in the
distance just barely casting a halo around his head. He smiled and from behind
him produced a nosegay of wild groundnut and purple iris.
Alexandra blushed, and reached out
for them. Jeremy laughed a bit, a friendly, warm laugh, and handed them over.
“I have another for Cinnamon,” he
said, stepping into the foyer and taking off his hat.
“She’ll be down in just a moment”
Alexandra said, shutting the door behind him, “She’s just upstairs changing,
she spilled on herself. Which means I should probably see to the chili.”
Alexandra reached out to take
Jeremy’s coat and hat, but he smiled another brotherly smile at her and hung
them on the rack himself.
“Let’s go see to the chili, then.
If I’m going to help you ladies with your new hotel, I suppose I should know
how to make a decent chili.”
“But how do you know it’s a decent
chili?” Alexandra teased as they walked toward the kitchen, “You haven’t had
any yet.”
“I’ve smelled it!” Jeremy announced
with approval.
“Cinnamon doesn’t care for bell
peppers, so they’ll be served on the side. You can spoon them in if you must
have them, as I do. Cinnamon is a picky eater.”
“I sympathize,” Jeremy said, as
they pushed through the door and into the kitchen, “I myself am a terribly
picky eater.”
“What!?” Alexandra laughed as she
stirred the chili, “What won’t you eat?”
“Bell peppers,” Jeremy wrinkled his
nose and Alexandra swung the chili-covered wooden spoon at his wisecrack. “And
crawfish. Cooked tomatoes, onions and spinach. I don’t like garlic or basil or
black pepper. Or acorns.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes, “I’ll
have to write that down.”
“I’ll do it for you,” he offered,
and promptly pulled a pen and paper from within his vest, and began writing the
list down.
“Wow. You’re being serious?” asked
an incredulous Alexandra.
“What? I would write down your list
if you had one,” Jeremy teased, looking up with a feigned innocence.
Upstairs, Cinnamon had found the
chest that Alexandra had told her about. The dresses within were a little
old-fashioned, but they were clean and looked about her size. She reached in and
pulled out a navy blue dress, not too fancy, but very plainly something
expensive by the weight and texture of it. It smelled a little like must, but
also like lilac and magnolia. Alyce’s perfume! Were these Alyce’s things?
Cinnamon took another look at them. No, they weren’t. They were a bit old, but
certainly not 50 years old, and Alyce had been dead since just before the
outbreak of the Civil War. Then who’s were they? How did they get here? Another
mystery, just like the parlor and the phonograph. Was it possible that someone
had been living here as recent as two years ago? Why wasn’t she told? Who could
it have been?
The sound of laughter downstairs
convinced her to hurry and change, to solve the mystery later. She took the
dress into her room, and shut the door lightly behind her. She quickly unzipped
her own brown dress, and dropped it around her ankles. In the mirror she
paused, and gently brushed her fingers over her nearly-healed wounds. The
uneasy feeling of being watched had never left her since that day. Every time
she looked in the mirror, she could not help but look over her shoulder,
searching for anyone else who might be lurking in the room.
As if in a dream, she remembered
also a time when she was younger, and still living in her parents’ home. Young
Cinnamon had looked in the mirror just this way, examining a fat lip her father
had given her earlier that evening. Nothing too serious, and her nosebleed had
stopped up quickly. Cinnamon always hated being slapped more than anything,
because her nose would bleep and her mother always got angry about the mess.
Cinnamon would be crying and franticly cleaning the mess when her mother would
appear like a vulture; Cinnamon could swear that her mother could smell the
blood.
“Look at this mess! Oh go on,
Cinnamon, smear it around! You love the blood everywhere! You want us all to
say, ‘Oh, poor Cinnamon, look at the blood!’ but we all know you just smear it
around! Look at this mess you have made! You love it!”
Cinnamon had spent a good deal of
her life looking over her shoulder.
The sound of Alexandra calling to
her snapped Cinnamon from her unpleasant reverie. She pulled the navy blue dress up around her
waist. Hm. A little snug, but it would fit. She put her arms into the ¾ length
sleeves and, with some effort, zipped up the back. The cuffs and collar were
made of velvet, and the trim seemed to have a bit of the soft material in it as
well. Whoever had owned the dress was just a little taller than Cinnamon, so
the hem trailed on the floor a little. Cinnamon wished that she had a better
pair of shoes to wear with the dress, but knew that couldn’t be helped, and so
she put her scuffed black plimsolls and hurried out the door, as fast as one
can hurry with a cane.
When she reached the top of the
stairs she called to Alexandra.
In the kitchen, Alexandra put down
her spoon cocked her head.
“Was that Cinnamon?”
“Yes,” replied Jeremy, “Does she
still use the cane? Perhaps I should help her down the stairs.”
Jeremy was out the door before
Alexandra could finish telling him that she probably wouldn’t accept his help.
She sighed, and set the spoon upright in the chili, then followed Jeremy, just
two or three steps behind him. They entered the foyer and Jeremy looked up at
Cinnamon. For just a moment, Alexandra could have sworn that a look of alarm or
anger crossed his face, but almost just as quickly was gone. She looked up to
see what would have alarmed him, but saw only Cinnamon, outfitted in one of the
dresses that had been in the chest. Though the dress wasn’t stylish anymore,
Cinnamon nonetheless looked pretty in it.
Jeremy must have known that an
offer of help would have been rebuffed, so he didn’t offer. He climbed the
stairs three at a time until he reached her, replaced the cane in her hand with
the nosegay, swept her up into her arms like she weighed no more than a feather
and carried her halfway down the stairs before she could object.
“You look lovely this evening, my
girl,” Jeremy remarked, “And the color in your cheeks is much pinker. This
dress looks lovely; where did you get it?”
Cinnamon smiled, her smile still a
little wilted; you could see that she was still weak and tired.
“Thank-you, Jeremy. I’m feeling
much better. Alexandra found a chest of things, and since they seem to be about
the right size, we thought we’d use them. Did you want to borrow it sometime?”
“I think I’ll pass this time,”
Jeremy chuckled, setting Cinnamon gently back on her feet at the bottom of the
stairs, and handing her cane back to her.
“Well, I think that supper should
be cooked and ready, so go sit in the dining room and we’ll bring it out,”
Cinnamon ordered.
“Not on your life,” Jeremy
countered, “I’ll help bring it all out. Maybe I’ll carry the bell peppers so
you won’t have to touch them.”
Cinnamon’s nose wrinkled at the
thought of bell peppers, and Alexandra objected with an indignant, ‘Hey!’
Jeremy carried the pot of chili and
bowl of bell peppers, Cinnamon carried a pitcher of grape juice, and Alexandra
found some water for their nosegays.
“Where’s Ajax?” asked Jeremy, who
had looked around but not seen the wolf.
“Oh, I never know,” said Cinnamon,
“But here’s the way to find out.”
She whistled a tune, and from the
shadows of the hall came trotting Ajax, stealthy as a shadow.
Jeremy called him over and messed
up his fur affectionately, and then Ajax followed them into the dining room.
The dining room was far too large
for a party of three, but Cinnamon was happy to see it being used for the first
time since she had made the place her home. She had even broken out the real
silverware, which had been polished lovingly until it reflected like a mirror.
It had taken her a good long while, and she was in the mood to brag.
“Don’t go getting your fingerprints
all over the forks and knives, Jeremy. I’ve just polished them within an inch
of their lives, so if they’re grimy I’ll know who to blame.”
Jeremy feigned an offended look, “I
would never! Not the good silver! Did you shine it up just for me?”
“Not just for you. We’ll have
guests here soon, I’m sure,” Cinnamon said with just a little more confidence
than she felt. She believed that they would get customers, some, eventually,
since they had just sent out for an advertisement to be posted in the paper,
but she didn’t know how many would respond. She thought it more likely that
that they would get long-term boarders rather than day or week long visitors,
which she preferred.
“Ouch!” Jeremy barked, pulling his
hand quickly back from the chili pot, cursing under his breath.
Cinnamon and Ajax both turned to
look over at him.
“I’ve burned my hand a bit,” Jeremy
said, as if giving a guilty confession.
“Is it bad? Let me see,” Cinnamon
offered.
“Oh, it’s fine. I’ll just wrap a
cold rag around it, no harm done,” Jeremy shuffled quickly off to the kitchen,
and returned a moment later, a rag around his hand and Alexandra right behind
him, carrying the cornbread and butter.
Supper was a welcome affair, and
Jeremy, who never seemed to cease of surprises, produced a bottle of pinot
noir. They all drank just a little more than they ought to; possibly a
reflection of the undercurrent of tension between the three that was masked by
their merriment. Eventually conversation turned to business.
“Have you sent out for the
advertisement yet?” asked Jeremy, spooning a great heaping spoonful of bell
peppers into his bowl.
“I thought you didn’t like bell
peppers,” accused a scandalized Alexandra.
“I am a liar,” Jeremy replied
jovially, “I lie all the time.”
He grinned at Alexandra, “But I
don’t like all the other things. That was true.”
“We have sent it out. Just the day
before yesterday,” Cinnamon answered, taking another sip of wine.
“Good. Excellent. Are you sure you
can manage the bookkeeping? I’ve made inquiries to a friend, and he is more
than willing to come here to assist you”
Cinnamon snorted, “You know
perfectly well that we don’t have the money to pay anyone.”
“Ah, miss smarty-pants, here’s the
really good news: my friend is willing to work for just room and board. She’s a
writer, a novelist, by profession, and the solitude would be invaluable.”
Alexandra began to agree, but
Cinnamon made a face.
“I don’t know that I trust anyone
who says they’ll work for no pay.”
“She’s a very good friend of mine,
who I have known for years and I trust implicitly. Won’t you trust me?” Jeremy
looked very sincere.
“Yes, yes,” Cinnamon sighed, “Of
course we trust you. What is her name?”
“Marie. Marie Paris-Glapion. She’s
a lady of about sixty years, a Creole and a Catholic and a believer in voodoo.
Will that be a problem for you?”
“No. So long as she isn’t
sacrificing the chickens,” replied Cinnamon matter-of-factly.
“I’ll be sure to remind her,”
Jeremy smiled, “Or you can tell her yourself. She’ll be here in the morning.”
“The morning!?” exclaimed
Alexandra.
“I knew you’d agree to it,” he
replied with a self-satisfied smile.
Jeremy reached out and took
Cinnamon by the chin. She gave him a quizzical look, but he said nothing,
turning her head slightly to the left and then the right.
“You are looking better. Do you
have enough to eat?” he asked.
“Yes, dad,” she replied, parroting
the way Alexandra said ‘Yes, mom’ when she was tired of Cinnamon’s
mother-smothering. Cinnamon’s father had never given her a reason to think of
the quip on her own.
“Well, next time I come to visit
I’ll bring you beef. I think you need more red meat, not just fish and
chickens.”
“And crawdads,” Cinnamon smiled
over at Alexandra.
“Oh, crawdads,” Alexandra laughed,
“What would we do without out little friends?”
Cinnamon and Alexandra had spent
many afternoons in the bayou, in rolled up overalls and muddy water up to their
knees, setting and pulling traps for crawdads. They weren’t good, but they were
food, and they were easy to come by.
“What you really should do is bring
us an alligator for dinner. What do you have to say about that?” Cinnamon
challenged Jeremy.
“I don’t think you appreciate the
effort that really goes into catching a gator,” said Jeremy, “So you’re just
getting beef.”
“I’ll do it. I accept your
challenge,” replied Cinnamon, taking a bite of cornbread.
Jeremy lifted an eyebrow, “What
challenge? What are you going to do?”
Cinnamon smiled, “Catch an
alligator. With you. You can teach me how.”
“Oh, no” said Jeremy, leaning back
in his chair, “The only thing I have offered to teach you is how to waltz. I’m
still recovering from the whiplash that gave me, so I haven’t offered to teach
you anything since.”
“Well, how about a compromise? I’ll
learn to waltz if you’ll also teach me to catch an alligator.”
Jeremy considered this.
“Here’s my final offer,” he said,
after a moment’s pause, “I’ll take you out boating on the bayou and show you
how one does it, if you promise to sit nicely and move ne’ery a muscle. And you
learn to waltz.”
“Deal,” said Cinnamon, raising her
wine glass.
A few hours later, Jeremy decided
it was time to go home, but asked Cinnamon to join him on the veranda for a
moment. The fireflies were flashing in the cool night air, and a gently breeze
was blowing.
“Cinnamon, you said earlier that
you trust me,” Jeremy began, tipping her head up to look at him.
“Go on,” Cinnamon encouraged. At
the very least, this sounded interesting.
“Don’t go outside of this house
until Marie comes. Not even if you have Ajax at your side.”
“What!? What do you mean? What’s
going on?” Cinnamon had had just about enough of this.
“Trust me?” Jeremy implored.
“Trust you? Jeremy, you can’t be
serious. No! I’ve had enough. If you
know something I need to know, you’d better tell me right now.”
He opened his mouth as if to say
something, but then twisted his tongue against his top canine and said nothing,
as if he had just caught the words before they escaped over his lips.
“You do know something, something
you’re not telling us, just like you knew something about the crazy old woman,
and you haven’t told us yet! You could have gotten Alex and I both killed! You
nearly did!” Cinnamon’s voice was growing closer to a yell with every word.
“Cinnamon, I can’t, I swear to
you…”
“Swear to someone else, not me!”
“I can’t tell you. It’s better if
you are kept in the dark. Just do as I tell you to do, and you’ll be fine. I
will make sure that you are safe.”
“I’ll make sure that I am safe,
thank you! Take your safety and secrets and your riddles and be damned!”
Cinnamon was really shouting now, and she turned on her heel back into the
house.
She heard him call her name, but she just bolted
the door and the shutters in reply. Just the same, she promised herself
silently that she wouldn’t go out-of-doors until her mysterious guest had
arrived