some rich folk’s babies as her mama cleaned their fine house. She talked about those babies, a girl and a boy, Linda and Luke, who she thought of as her own until she caught the eye of my granddaddy Bastien who she swore was the most handsome fella she’d ever seen her whole life. He took her away when she was twenty and brought her here to Manchac, where his people had lived for years. He’d spent most of their marriage working on the cottage and planting everything he could for his bride, promising her this small farm would be something straight from the heart of a fairytale.
I sat on that swing this morning, worrying and fretting over Dempsey, looking out through the line of crepe myrtles Bastie had planted to keep the outline of Simoneaux’s fancy house distant; she’d wanted a place hidden from the world and with all those trees, dozens and dozens of them and the lush fit of gardenia bushes and climbing roses that ran up and along the fence line, my granny had managed that well enough. But I could still make out the pitch of their roof and the small cottages peppered away from the big house. Dempsey said his daddy used those for his friends when they came to fish the Manchac, but Bastie had said once they’d been used for slaves, folk who never did have even a single choice where they lived or how they did their living.
“Run this up to Mr. Foster’s place, Sookie. Aron will take you but you got to meet him down at the crossways. He’s at that loose-tail woman’s house.” The heavy basket was in my arms before Mama stopped speaking and pushed me off the swing and down the drive and I headed in the direction of Clarice Dubois’, a girl my Uncle Aron had been sweet on since he was ten and too stupid to understand that following after a girl too old and too rich for him was a fool’s errand. Mama didn’t like Clarice, said she wore too much rouge and swung her hips on purpose. But then, Mama didn’t much like when her brother got played a fool and Clarice Dubois was aces at that game.
Behind me, my mother cleared her throat, finishing off the annoyed sound with a low, long sigh that got my feet moving faster. She never asked me and Sylv to do a thing. I reckoned she didn’t have to, but the order she gave just then came at me in a bark, something she said through the tight grit of her teeth. I was used to it, didn’t bother complaining that the cross-ways was at least two miles down past most of the empty fields the Simoneaux’s let out to farmers. I hated walking past those fields and half wished I’d answered the knock that had come at my window the night before.
Dempsey wouldn’t trouble my granny and knew better to ask for me at the front door when Mama was at home. He’d knocked at my window a few times, whispering my name like he hoped no one would hear him. But I di:, far as I could tell I’d been the only one, and I still didn’t answer. Sylv’s warning had been clear and had me thinking things I didn’t like much. Things like telling Dempsey to stay well away from me. Things like he didn’t belong with us, but just thinking that made my stomach go all heavy.
Walking down the drive, gaze veering to the Simoneaux’s place and further down to their empty fields, made me wish I’d met Dempsey at the treehouse this morning, like was usual any time we were home for the weekend. But I hadn’t, still keeping my brother’s warning in mind.
“Don’t drag your feet, neither.” I swear Mama’s frown had only gotten worse the further away I walked from her and when I looked over my shoulder, caught the small snarl of her top lip, I figured I’d need to save myself from her anger if I didn’t move faster.
My mama didn’t hate me so much, I knew that, but I also knew I had the look of whoever my daddy had been, and that always had been a sore spot between us. Not like I could help it.
“Nothing for it.” Bastie had blown off my question, the same one I’d asked a dozen times before I’d made twelve. “You don’t need to worry over that.” But every