Rassmussen Plantation pt 16

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