Passed down in Cajun families.
Person inherits abilities with age.
Each Traiteur is very skilled at healing one specialty. Can heal other ailments, but usually treats one specific illness repeatedly with success.
Never accepts any form of payment.
The last note intrigued Ophelia. Mawmaw’s specialty was migraines. Ophelia wondered what she might gravitate toward…Ifshe was even able to treat.
Jack interrupted her thoughts. “So what are you going to Oakdale for? Just visiting the crazy old lady?”
Ophelia narrowed her eyes, but she chose to ignore the comment. “Mawmaw? Yeah, you know, I’ve been meaning to ask what you know about Mawmaw being a Traiteur.”
“Oh God,” Jack said with an exasperated sigh. “Why?”
Based on his reaction, Ophelia decided to refrain from telling him about Mawmaw wanting to pass the Traiteur gift on to her. “Just been thinking a lot about our childhood and how she used to teach us things during the summer. I feel like it’s a part of her I don’t really know that well, and it’s so fascinating.”
“It is not fascinating. It’sembarrassing.”
Ophelia recoiled at his words. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s just so humiliating—our grandmother thinking she can heal people with magic. It’s just…I don’t know, Ophelia. It makes me ashamed.” Jack shook his head while he stared at the road.
“Wow.” Ophelia shook her head in disbelief. “I was not expecting you to say that. You know it’s not magic. She says Catholic prayers to heal people. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Trust me, it’s magic. There is nothing godly about it. People around town think she’s crazy,” Jack said with the conviction of someone who had conducted their own personal survey with a sample size of one. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.
She had always thought her Mawmaw’s gift was unique and that being a Traiteur was admirable. Had things changed over the years? Her memories of her Mawmaw treating members of her community were all from her younger years when Ophelia and her sisters stayed at their grandmother’s house for a couple weeks in the summers. Those weeks were some of her happiest memories—building houses out of fallen pine needles, learning to make biscuits, trying to peek inside Mawmaw’s healing room. She never thought Mawmaw was crazy—just wonderfully odd.
But Jack had lived in Oakdale from twelve until eighteen.He’d know more about people’s perceptions there than she. Perhaps there was something to what he was saying.
Breaking the silence, Ophelia said, “Well, while I’m visiting her, I’ll check in on her mental state.”
“Good.” Jack nodded, and his grip loosened slightly. The rest of the car ride was spent discussing pleasantries between songs on the radio.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Prius turned a sharp corner down the long, oyster-paved road to the Pine House. As Jack carefully drove down the bumpy road, Ophelia could see parts of her grandmother’s faded white house by the light of the moon through the dense pines.
The house was two stories with a wrap-around porch that was screened in at the back and open in the front. On the front porch sat four rocking chairs and a porch swing hanging by rusted chains. Even in the dark, Ophelia could tell that the house was in desperate need of a new coat of paint and potentially a termite inspection, but it was still stately. Ophelia soaked in the warm summer night and the smell of pine.
Jack grabbed her weekend bag and carried it to the front door while Ophelia rang the doorbell. He appeared as if he didn’t know if he wanted to stay or leave without saying hello. He started to step backward toward the porch stairs, and Ophelia shot him a glare that pointedly conveyed that he better stay to say hello to his only living grandmother.
Mawmaw’s nurse aide, Lucille, answered the door and showed them into the dimly lit living room, where Mawmaw sat in her recliner, tapping on an iPad. Ophelia took note of the same dark wood furniture and cheerful cherub trinkets thatdecorated all flat surfaces. The room smelled and felt old. The pieces in there belonged to another person and time, and the inevitable feeling of mortality and loss swept through Ophelia. She wanted to run over to her Mawmaw on her recliner and throw herself on top of her and beg the universe to keep her there forever with her.
“Well, well, well. Aren’t you both a sight for sore eyes,” Mawmaw said as she set her iPad on the side table.
She was dressed in a pressed, cobalt linen tunic with soft cream pants, and her long gray hair was braided to the side. She was once a tall woman, but age had shrunk her stature. Ophelia noted Mawmaw’s new walker at the side of her chair, an accessory to old age that Ophelia was sure Mawmaw hated. Mawmaw’s nose was a family heirloom Ophelia had inherited, long and stately, and her smile was magnetic, perfectly upturned and wide, making her rosy lips appear fuller. It was a smile surrounded by happy lifelines that required one to instantly return it.
“Darling Ophelia, you look like a model,” she said as Ophelia bent over to give her a hug. “Not too skinny, though,” she said and smacked Ophelia’s bum.
She blushed and rolled her eyes. “I’ve missed you. How are you?”
“I’m keepin’ busy…A whole lotta stuff to keep track of out there.” She pointed to the iPad with her knobby fingers. “Jack, so nice of you to stop by.” But she said it in Southern, dripping with sarcasm. Mawmaw opened her frail arms, gesturing for a hug.
He uncomfortably embraced her but turned on his own version of Southern charm. “Of course, Mawmaw. Is that a new hairstyle? Makes you look years younger.”
Mawmaw’s hair was the same way she had worn it for as long as Ophelia could remember. She wondered when the two of them had turned so sour toward each other.
