Mardi Gras Madness Page 10

  Someone with the yellow slicker of a volunteer thrown over blue jeans and a work shirt pulled Chief Fontenot from the ladder. The fireman shouted, “I’m the chief! This is my job. Get out the way, Bob.”

  “That’s my child, you old fart!” Robert LeBlanc climbed the ladder two rungs at a time. Angelle did not turn or reach out for her father, but he grasped her beneath her arms and slung his child over his shoulder. The balcony yawed again and crashed through the awning. The ladder swayed but held to the wall with the weight of Chief Fontenot on its bottom rung. Father and child descended to safety. Lola Domengeaux cried, “Praise be to God” and crossed herself with the rapidity of constant practice. The crowd cheered.

  “Just like an old time movie,” murmured Laura. Just like a movie, except her life had gone up in flames, burning all that remained of David out of existence. Nothing would be left, not a picture or a piece of shared bed linen, nothing old or new, borrowed or blue, simply nothing.

  At the edge of the crowd, a medic covered Angelle LeBlanc’s small body with a blanket and strapped her to a stretcher to be lifted into an ambulance dispatched from the funeral home. Laura wanted to move toward the ambulance and yet she felt—nothing. The blankness following David’s death settled over her like an old well-loved blanket, a warm safe blanket.

  “Miss Lola, Miss Laura, come to da ambulance now.” A volunteer, who appeared to be old Thibodeaux from the Canal gas station beneath his outsized fireman’s hat, took their arms. “Doc Bourgeois wants y’all.” He led them from the multitude across the open space cleared by the firemen to the ambulance with its doors open wide as a tomb and its black lettering reading “Duchamp’s Funeral Home” on the side.

  “David,” Laura said softly. Her knees wobbled and she steadied herself on the side of the vehicle.

  Robert bore down on her. “What the hell was Angelle doing in your apartment? She’s supposed to be on her way to New Orleans. She can’t be left alone like that! Do you hear me?”

  Laura jerked back sure Angelle’s father would strike her with his powerful fists. She lost her balance as her window on the world went dark.

  Dr. Bourgeois caught her on the way down and helped place Laura on a second stretcher.

  “Bob, get into the ambulance with Miss Lola and be quiet. This young woman has had a shock and doesn’t need you bellowing in her face. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  The medic slammed the doors of the emergency vehicle behind patients and passengers. The ambulance siren flashed and whined, clearing the way toward the clinic.

  Chapter Ten

  David’s comfortable old shirt felt strangely starchy and her wide brass bed so hard and narrow. Reluctantly, Laura opened her eyes to white curtains separating her bed from others in the clinic. Beyond the flimsy partition, she heard a childish voice.

  “I wish I could have seen it. You were a real hero, Daddy.”

  “But you were there, Angelle. You were very smart and brave not to jump and to shut the doors to escape from the smoke,” a deep male voice answered.

  “Yes, I shut the doors to keep the flames away from me and Snake.”

  “You see, you do remember.”

  “No, I don’t after that. I hid in the old closet from Mama, but I was sure she would find me. There aren’t many good places to hide in Miss Laura’s apartment, but Mama went away without looking inside. When I came out, the stairs were on fire. I picked up Snake and went to the balcony to wait for help like you told me to do if our house ever burned while I was upstairs. After that I don’t remember. Is Snake okay, too? I want to go look for him.”

  “We can go after Dr. Bourgeois checks you out.”

  Laura shifted in her bed and wondered desperately how she could make her way to the bathroom in the hospital gown with the two inadequate ties in the rear.

  “Sounds like Miss Laura is awake. Should we visit, Angelle?”

  Laura wanted to cover her face with the pillow. No, don’t come in here, don’t come!

  One glimpse of Robert LeBlanc’s face as he parted the curtains reminded Laura her own face must be puffy with sleep and grotesque with smeared makeup. Beyond him, Angelle, full of the recuperative powers of the seven-year-old, slid out of her bed. Her long-sleeved flowered cotton nightie, obviously delivered by her caring father, swept across the hospital tiles. The child giggled, full of anticipation as she stood by Laura’s bed.

  “You look like you passed a bad night.” LeBlanc gave her a wicked smile.

  “You have no tact,” Laura retorted, feeling as irritable as her bowels. She shifted her hips in discomfort.

  “If you accept my apology for that scene by the ambulance, I’ll leave and let you get cleaned up. If not, I’ll stay and embarrass you until the nurse comes with the bed pan.”

  “Like Angelle, I have very little memory of last evening. You’re forgiven for being an overwrought parent, and you were entirely correct. She should not have been alone in my apartment. Domengeaux’s store was an old and dangerous building. A fire inspector never set foot in the place, I’m sure. I suppose nothing is left of it?” Only the lightness of the banter kept her from screaming the question.

  “Nothing.” Her visitor sobered, then returned to his former tone with determination. “I didn’t expect to be forgiven this easily, so I brought something to make peace.”

  He presented the patient with a large pink dress box tied with silver ribbon. A silver seal stuck on one corner advertised Helen’s Dress Shoppe.

  “It’s from Helen’s Boutique. Miss Helen changed the name to boutique when boutiques came into vogue. She said it sounded so French, but she didn’t want to waste her old seals. Now that boutiques are passé, she’s thinking of becoming a shoppe again, or so she said this morning. She remembered your dress size and took a guess on the lingerie.”

  Laura opened the box, took a quick glance at the labels on the black lace bra and panties discreetly buried in tissue paper and replied, “Good guess.”

  She recognized some of the contents, a trim gray skirt with matching slacks and jacket she had rejected a week ago as too expensive and a blouse of wine red silk she would not have chosen for herself in a million years—along with black lace underwear. Those kinds of garments were simply too much hassle to wash by hand.

  “The gray for your eyes, the red to brighten your face. My mother had coloring like yours, and that is what she would say in her very French way. She came from Paris, and Miss Helen always stocked the latest fashions for her. Of course, ma belle mama accounted for a good share of her business. You have no idea how that old lady glowed when she got to bill another LeBlanc.”

  “Your wife never shopped there?”

  “Ex-wife. Mon Dieu, no! Only New Orleans is good enough for the Montleons.”

  “I should have known. We met yesterday.”

  “You mean collided. Vivien meets no one. She mows people down and walks over the bodies. I avoid her when I can get an unsuspecting victim to take my place. I’m sorry about that, too.”

  “Well, she didn’t mow me down, but I understand what you mean. Speaking of bodies, please get out of here so I can put on this incredibly expensive gift—which I am accepting only until my next pay check comes through.”

  “No repayment necessary. I want you in my debt.” He disappeared in back of the curtain, leaving behind the impression of a grin like the Cheshire cat.

  Angelle, who witnessed the whole scene with delight, left after giving a hug and whispering, “Now you must come to stay at our house.” Chateau Camille appeared to be the only place she could go—after the bathroom of course.

  A nurse’s aide intercepted Laura as she backed toward the toilet. She covered her rear without comment, helped her into the shower after she’d used the facilities and guarded the door while Laura restored herself. When the aide brought her purse, which had been locked in the clinic office overnight, Laura seized the handbag as if it were full of gold coins. The purse did contain a compact of power, a lipstick a
nd comb, two barrettes that had sunken to the bottom of the accumulation and the credit cards and checkbook she could use to restore her wardrobe without becoming a charity case.

  Looking into the bathroom mirror, Laura hated the childish look the barrettes gave to her damp brown hair, but without a hairdryer or curling iron, they kept the wet strands out of her face. The lipstick and red blouse did brighten her complexion, giving her enough confidence to face the world once more. She took a seat in the visitor’s chair next to the bed she’d occupied and clutched her soiled clothes in a plastic bag a nurse had given her. Dr. Bourgeois checked on Angelle in the next compartment.

  “All functions go, Angelle. Nurse Anders has some juice and ham biscuits for you in the office. Go on now. I want to talk to your daddy.” The child’s footsteps skipped down the hall.

  “Keep an eye on her, Bob. You were right about her reactions being abnormal. Two traumas like this in her life aren’t good. She might have nightmares and behavioral problems over the next few weeks when this all catches up with her.”

  “I remember. I’ll be there when she needs me.”

  “Good. You might do the same for Mrs. Dickinson. This hasn’t been an easy year for her either.”

  “I will if she’ll let me.”

  “Fine.”

  When Dr. Bourgeois pulled back the curtain, he seemed surprised to find Laura dressed and ready to be discharged.

  “You certainly get out of a bathroom faster than my wife and daughters, Laura.” Exuding his best bedside manner, Dr. Bourgeois checked her pupils, pulse and respiration.

  “I didn’t have to linger deciding what to wear.”

  “Bob always did have good taste. You look superb, and you can go home now.”

  “I look barely passable, and I have no home to go to.” The brittleness of her answer made Dr. Bourgeois pause.

  “Laura, I’m sorry for your loss. I am sure it was no joy to wake up in a hospital, but I felt the situation called for a little sedation and observation. One minute, I was telling you to get in the ambulance because Angelle had asked for you—but you didn’t seem to hear me—and then you collapsed. Physically, you are fine. However, I would suggest you talk to someone about this tragedy. Chapelle doesn’t have much to offer in the way of mental health facilities, but I’ve written a few names on this card of people in Lafayette who can help you. In the meantime, I’ll give you some pills to get you through the worst of this trouble.”

  “I don’t need or want them! I will do fine on my own.” Laura’s voice overflowed with sudden anger. She rose from her chair and, clutching her purse and the plastic bag containing all she owned in the world, went into the hall, leaving the bewildered doctor behind.

  Robert LeBlanc awaited her. “Pearl has the guest room ready for you at the Chateau. You’re coming home with us.”

  “Of course. I have nowhere else to go now, do I?” Laura looked around the empty clinic. “Mrs. Domengeaux. How is she?”

  “Miss Lola went home last night. She said it would kill her husband if he heard about the fire from anyone but her. Louie has a bad heart, you know. He gave up the business after an attack and a triple by-pass several years ago, but Miss Lola kept on until now. She said this was God’s way of telling her to retire, but she is mighty sorry about your things. She implied God sent you a message, too, and she would pray to the Holy Mother about it to be sure after she called the insurance company. Don’t worry about Miss Lola. God is always on her side—even if He was a little drastic this time.”

  Laura smiled, and the little knot of tension inside of her loosened. That same visceral knot tightened like a noose a half hour later when the pickup truck stopped at the light by the ruins of Domengeaux’s store. Laura recognized nothing in the rubble except the twisted remains of her brass bedstead. Someone had pushed her car across the street to the Canal station where Old Thibodeaux had washed and waxed it. If the residents of Chapelle had known where she was going to stay, the kitchen at Chateau Camille would have been overflowing with Magnalite pots of hot gumbo and bowls of gelatin salad by now

  “I’d like to get my car. Please let me out, Robert.”

  “You can do that later.”

  “No. Now!” Laura felt as stubborn as Angelle at her worst.

  “Let her out, Angelle.” The child, her face cloudy for the first time that day, reluctantly allowed Laura to pass from the cab.

  Robert, leaning across his daughter, spoke to her from the open door of the truck. “We’ll see you for lunch then.”

  Using the changing light as a pretext for escape, Laura hurried to the sidewalk and waved as the father and daughter passed. She did not cross the street to her car. Instead, she entered the brick façade where the front door of Domengeaux’s store once opened. She sought something, anything, from her past, but the fire had obscured that completely. Here lay a charred plank, perhaps from the Segura armoire. No one could tell. It nestled near the bedstead, contorted beyond salvage in the frame part of the building that had been over the storeroom. The internal noose would strangle her soon if she did not find something of David to preserve. She jumped when someone spoke behind her.

  “I been at da church, cher, and seen you come in. Believe me, dere ain’t not’ing left. Even my beautiful Virgin is gone.” Mrs. Domengeaux poked at a black sticky mass of melted plastic flowers.

  “You know I been t’inking just before da fire my votive candle went out. I t’aught it was a bad sign, you know. But when I went over dere, da cup and da candle, and everyt’ing, it was gone. I t’ink maybe dat little girl took it up to your place, and she don’t want to tell her daddy what she done, no. I started to go up, but den Mrs. LeBlanc, who was looking for Angelle, come down and said dat child must have sneaked out just to aggravate her.

  “I get busy behind da counter and can’t keep a good eye on everyt’ing, you know. When I saw dat child on da balcony, I t’aught it’s my fault if she die. But da Virgin answered my prayers again. I tell you, she is da best saint dere is. I prayed on it dis morning, and I’m not telling the insurance company about dat candle, no. Dis was meant to be, I’m certain. Believe you me, I’ll give you your share when dat check come in. What for I paid all dose years if dey can’t pay me back now?” Miss Lola said with great certainty.

  Laura did not try to refute Lola Domengeaux’s logic. She thought instead of a willful child, used to getting her own way, helping herself to a votive candle in a red glass holder and letting herself into Laura’s apartment with the librarian’s own keys. Maybe, she had set Laura’s clothes on fire accidentally when she went to hide in the armoire and took the candle with her to ward off the dark. Could be, Angelle had set the fire intentionally to get her own way about Laura’s coming to live at Chateau Camille. Laura closed her eyes and leaned against a sooty refrigerator case.

  “You got somewhere to stay, cher? My daughter and her kids is coming up from Baton Rouge to help out, so we’ll be a little crowded, but we can always fit one more in da house.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be staying out at the LeBlanc place for a while,” Laura replied, though the thought suddenly gave her chills. She shuddered slightly.

  “If you need anyt’ing, you call me, cher.” Miss Lola brushed some soot off Laura’s blouse. “You look real pretty in red.”

  “Thanks.”

  After she got the second toothbrush and sack of necessaries she had purchased in Chapelle that fall, Laura could no longer delay the inevitable. She drove the road to Chateau Camille ten miles under the speed limit and arrived at the front door at twenty past noon. Angelle waited on the porch. Her new pink going-home dress rumpled beneath her as if she had sat there all morning, the little girl sat in one of the verandah rockers.

  “I’ve been waiting for you all day!” Angelle bounded off the porch and seized Laura’s paper bags. “Lunch is ready. Better hurry.”

  The child dumped the sacks on the four-poster in the guestroom and hurried Laura to the dining room where her father and great-aunt
were seated and already eating cold crab salad served in half an avocado. The ever-present iced tea and a bread pudding frosted with meringue sat on the sideboard.

  “We gave up on you a little while ago.”

  The host held a chair for Laura. Tante Lil continued to eat in silence. Angelle attacked the crab salad after moving her place closer to Laura’s chair. Robert LeBlanc watched both of them carefully as if making mental notes for a report to Dr. Bourgeois. Laura ignored his eyes and chattered to Miss Lilliane as if they were the best of friends. She picked at the shreds of crab, ate one or two forkfuls and drained her iced tea, then excused herself to make telephone calls before the dessert was served.

  She knew her voice sounded overly vibrant to the family in the dining room and to her own mother on the other end of the line who kept saying, “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “Certainly, Mother. I just wanted you to know where I’ll be staying. Miss Lola says this was a sign from God telling her to retire.” Laura tried for a little levity, though in the back of her mind the words “Gone, all gone” repeated liked a scratched record.

  “Well, it might be a sign from God for you to come home. You’ve said that bitchy old lady still comes into work every day. What do they need you for?”

  “She’s training me. I need to learn the ropes. I’ve only been here a few weeks.”

  “And already a disaster.” Her mother sighed. “I’ll send some of the clothes you left behind.”

  “No, don’t send those old things. I’ll buy new down here. Besides, I might go on a diet again. Yes, yes, I’ll keep in touch. So long.”

  She phoned Father Ardoin. “No, don’t cancel the bonfire and the folktales. I feel fine, and so many people would be disappointed. You’ll pick up Tante Lu? See you tonight.”