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The Past Comes
A-courting
.
The thunderheads had been creeping along in
our direction all day. By the time I retur
ned to Cypress Woods, they were overhead, growling and heralding rain and wind. I drove directly to the house, but a cloud burst just as I stopped the car. I waited a moment. However, seeing it was only going to get worse before it got better, I pulled my jacket over my head, lunged from the car, and ran up the gallery steps. The wind whipped the heavy drops at me, soaking my face.
I stepped inside and closed the large door to keep the gusty air and the rain out, but I, found myself standing in a very dark, dank entryway filled with stale air. A chill passed through me and settled like the cold palm of a large hand on the back of my neck. I shuddered and looked up the dark stairway.
"Mommy!" I yelled. "Are you here?" My voice reverberated, and the echo sounded like someone tormenting me, imitating my
desperation: "Mommy, are you here?"
Dead silence was followed by the heavy creaking of the wood frame and floors. Shutters rattled. It began to rain harder. Was my mother wandering about out there? I wondered. The thought of her being caught in this storm terrified me. Tears streaked my face as much as the rain streaked the windowpane, mixing with the raindrops on my cheeks. Another chill shot through my chest, making my teeth chatter. I had to find a warmer place.
I hurried into the sitting room on my right and pulled the dustcover off the settee. Although it was dusty, I used it as a blanket and curled up against the arm of the settee, squeezing my legs up against my stomach and embracing them.
The wind seemed to be circling and embracing the house, seeking out every opening, no matter how small, and then threading itself through to whistle and whip about the rooms, making the long drapes move in a macabre dance and the chandeliers swing ominously above. The storm grew stronger. I had heard that summer storms in the bayou were often worse than they were in New Orleans. This one appeared to have the power to lift this enormous house from its foundation and carry it off into the swamp.
I groaned. "Mommy," I whispered, "where can you be in all this? Are you safe?" Maybe she was upstairs, cringing in a corner just as I was cringing on this settee. I looked up at the ceiling, wishing I could see through walls for just an instant.
A decorative plate shook loose from one of the shelves of the hutch on my left and shattered on the cypress-plank floor. The crash startled me and I cried out. The wind grew louder, angrier. The chandeliers were rattling like old bones. In another room down the corridor, another piece of glass or china fell, exploding like a gunshot. Raindrops pelted the windows, zigzagging like sharp fingernails scratching their way down the panes. The wind that passed freely through the house stirred up the dust. I coughed and buried my face in my hands as I began to alternate between feeling chilled and feeling feverish. The raging tempest blustered harder and harder. I thought it was never going to end. The very walls threatened to fall in, crushing me. It grew so dark I could barely see my hand, and then I heard the front door blow open.
But I heard it close, too.
"Pearl! Pearl, where are you?" Jack cried. Never was I so happy to hear another person's voice, especially his.
"In here, Jack!"
He came rushing in, dressed in a slick black raincoat and hat and knee-high boots. He carried a flashlight and had a bundle under his arm. "Are you all right?" he asked hurrying over. He put down the flashlight and swept his hat off. Then he brushed the rain off the back of his neck.
"This storm is so horrible and it came so fast," I complained through my chattering teeth.
"We had hurricane warnings coming in over the radio," he said. "The storm built up as it traveled inland." He took the bundle out from under his arm. It contained a blanket and a kerosene lamp, which he set on a table. "I saw you drive up and tried to get you to come to the trailer, but you didn't see me waving."
He took off his wet raincoat and put it on a chair just as a gust of wind slammed against the house. I released a small cry. Jack was at my side instantly. I welcomed his embrace and cuddled against the warm pocket between his arm and his chest.
"You poor thing. You're freezing," he said, rubbing my shoulders and arms vigorously.
My teeth stopped chattering. "Oh, Jack, what are we going to do?"
"We'll wait it out," he said. "But anything that's loose is going to fly away. Let me light the kerosene lamp." I lifted myself away so he could do so. Then he sat back and offered his arm again. I leaned into him. The illumination from the flickering lamp threw distorted shapes over the wall. They looked like the silhouettes of grotesque marionettes dangling on strings, moving to the rhythm of the wind.
"Warmer?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you. No one mentioned a hurricane," I said.
"Sometimes they creep up on us. Makes it exciting to live here," he added smiling.
"I think I can do without this sort of thrill."
He laughed. "Did your mother contact your aunt? She was obviously not there if you returned to Cypress Woods," he concluded.
"No. I'm sure she won't call or go there either. I met my aunt's mother," I said with a grimace.
