Miranda Everlasting: Miranda, #4

By R C Ducantlin

The cemetery is covered with moss, the unkept crypts swathed in lichen. The Spanish Mass hangs from every tree, creating shadows that hide and block the pathways. At three forty-three in the morning of the first new moon following Miranda's internment, the workers Albee hired were following her orders without complaint.

"That one. Slide it down, the long ways."

"Hey, Miss Albee, what is that guitar for? How come it ain't got no strings?"

"Never you mind that. Put your shoulder into it, move that cover down, I need to open the coffin."

"Hey, Miss Albee, is it true your mother was Marie Laveau?"

"Who told you that?"

"Everyone knows it, Miss Albee."

"If everyone knows it, why are you asking?"

The youngest of the three hired helpers spoke for the first time.

"Who is Marie Laveau?"

The workmen stopped, staring at the young'un. Albee saved the boy from scorn.

"Marie Catherine Laveau was the VooDoo Queen of New Orleans in your grandfather's time. It is not good to speak of the dead. Especially a dead voodoo queen.

"My mother's name was Marie. That is all I know. Mister LaLonde's grandfather used to like to brag that he knew Marie Laveau. He used to brag that he bought me from her. But I was born after the Emancipation."

Seeing the sarcophagus cover moved far enough to allow access to the coffin, Albee stopped talking. Waving the workers back, she stepped to the side of the concrete box.

Using a prybar, she opened the coffin and pulled the wooden lid high enough to see the child's gray face.

She was a beautiful child.

 

Praise for Miranda Everlasting

 

"Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the book.  This wouldn't have been one I'd pick off the shelf for myself, so thank you for the experience." – Seth.

 

"The language allowed me to clearly visualize the Southern setting and feel for the struggling family dynamics throughout… you'll really dig this story. Would recommend!" - Lizzie

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: R C Ducantlin, Ltd.
• Release date: Oct 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781949211337

R C Ducantlin

Fortunately, in secondary school, my interest in reading was sparked. A close friend and an instructor, who took interest in a boy he later called ‘The rebel without a clue.,’ were instrumental in my learning the value of a good book. Both piqued my interest in reading. My lifelong friend inspired me to read J.R.R. Tolkien and I became addicted to the fantasy genre. The instructor required I read interesting historical novels for academic credit. Frank Norris, Leon Uris, and Ken Follett are inspirations and fuel my love of history. Born to a military family, it was logical that I follow the military tradition. However, after four years of “yes sirs” and scraping the wax off floors I decided there must be more fun in a corporate career. Thirty plus years of work experiences across the globe, the corporate career landed me in Colorado, where I live with my wife and I can be close to my children and grandchildren.

Book preview

Fò Miranda

I have been dead for more than one hundred years. Not dead, dead. Not like you usually think of dead, but sort of dead. The Hoodoo put the evil flu on me when I lost my Gris-Gris. My friend Albee knew what to do. She knew how to make me live and to become famous.

A Gris-Gris is a voodoo charm. It is strong magic to keep off the evil and bring the good luck. Good luck on yourself or bad luck on another.

My father burned my Gris-Gris.

My name is Miranda Marie LaLonde.

My mother was giving birth to me when the Hoodoo got her. I was almost thirteen when the Hoodoo deviled me.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

A century ago, every American was affected by the Great War. They said it was the war to end all wars. They were wrong. Along the southern tip of Louisiana, the Deep South was not exempt from the economic and emotional impact of these United States entering the Great War.

Businesses suffered.

Communities suffered.

Families suffered.

Hardships do not last.

Hard people last.

Fifty years later, people were learning to accept Emancipation in the Deep South.

The Great War was a tragedy but was minor compared to the influenza pandemic of 1918-1919.

Named Spanish Flu by the people who name things, the influenza pandemic came in three waves, with the second being extraordinarily deadly. Unlike prior flu pandemics, the Spanish Flu plague was aggravated by the Great War, killing many young, healthy adults.

Chicken frying.

I am better able to imagine hell than heaven; it is my inheritance, I suppose.

Elinor Wylie

Miranda Marie LaLonde loved the pond and bayou that fed her pond. The smelly water. The mosquitos. The constant cacophony of bird calls. She always avoided the cottonmouth and copperhead snakes, but the alligators did not bother her. The gazebo was her sanctuary down to the other side of the fishing pond.

The bullfrogs were as long as your arm. Frogs slept under the shade of the Spanish Moss during the day and croaked fiercely under the bright moon. Miranda loved watching the egrets and herons wade in the muck. She adored the aromas of lavender, gardenias, mold, and fertile earth. She was fascinated by the dragonflies, but the mosquitos were terrible on the days with no breeze.

Miranda may as well have been an only child. Her older brothers, Beau and Earl, left her alone. Beau was seventeen and spent all his time in his room reading. He focused on getting into Tulane University on a science scholarship. Earl was sixteen, and the Funny Papers and Football Playbook were the only books he bothered to read. Earl was going to play football for Louisiana State University.

Geaux Tigers.

With her brothers living oblivious to their younger sister, Miranda did not feel alone on the sprawling plantation. Her friend, her only real friend, was Albertine Beaudry. Called Albee by everyone, the household servant was almost six feet tall, big as a house, and dark as night. Her imposing stature belied bright eyes, a sharp wit, and a dazzling smile. Albee had been the LaLonde family housekeeper and cook for nearly thirty years when Miranda was born.

When Miranda’s mother died giving birth to the headstrong little whiffet, Albee vowed to Miranda’s father she would care for the child. From the day she came screaming into the world, any harm headed toward Miranda had to go through Albee.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Twirling on the ball of her right foot, her dirty summer cotton dress flying, she is trying to make herself dizzy. Ten-year-old Miranda is in the kitchen pestering Albee, who is preparing the evening meal. After Miranda returned from spending the day playing amidst the muck on the pond's edge, twenty questions became their afternoon ritual.

What do the bones say about me today, Albee?

Child, same as I told you yesterday and the day before that. And, every other day, you asked. They say you ask too many questions. Did you practice your music today?

Yes.

Child?

No.

Run upstairs and put on some clean clothes for dinner. Don’t forget to wash your face.

Watching the chicken fry and enjoying the smells, Miranda returned to one of her favorite topics. The girl knew Albee had collected the chicken bones cut from preparing dinner. Miranda knew Albee would dry the bones before tossing them on the butcher block table for a reading.

Albee, how come you never tell me what the bones say?

Stirring the gravy with one hand, flipping a frying chicken breast with the other hand, Albee replied but didn’t bother to glance at the girl four feet behind her.

Child, why are you pestering me? Your father will be home in twenty minutes, and supper better be ready. Run upstairs and do what I told you.

The ball of her right foot became too hot, causing her to shift to her left foot. The child continued to twirl as if she had not heard her guardian’s direction. The pink flowers on the beige cotton dress bumped against the butcherblock and the counter.

Albee, what was your mother’s name?

How many times are you going to ask me the same questions? Child, you need to move along before I pull this spoon from the gravy and take it to your backside.

Pressing against the countertop and the butcherblock, Miranda increased her twirling speed.

Albee, her name was Mary, like my mother.

"Yes, Miranda, my mother’s name was Marie. Some say it was Mary, like your mother. They have both passed. Stop asking about the dead and go get cleaned up."

Succeeding in becoming dizzy, Miranda stopped spinning and grabbed the butcher block to keep from toppling over. Achieving her goal, she started toward the rear stairs and her room to clean up for dinner. Speaking to Albee while walking away, like most conversations with the child, Miranda dispensed the last word.

"Albee, I know the bones are telling you something — something I know you don’t want to tell me.

I am going to figure it out. Just you wait. I’m going to learn to read them bones.

Pippa

Wantin’

A person’s a person, no matter how small.

Dr. Seuss

Miranda, what did I tell you about coming to the supper table dirty?

Trying to ignore their father, Beau and Earl did not look around. Focusing on the food on their plates, the boys knew their father’s dinner routine of questions and answers would get around to each child in turn. Always clean and dressed for dinner, Father will not let the old Southern ways drift into nothingness. Society’s rapid changes are forcing their way into proper culture — everywhere but the LaLonde plantation.

Daddy, I did wash and put on clean clothes.

Did you look in the mirror?

Realizing she had skipped cleaning her face, Miranda slumped and stared at the okra and chicken.

No, Daddy, I missed my face.

That is correct.

Momma wouldn’t care if there was mud on my face.

Beau and Earl looked at their sister — shocked, she was sassing her father. Father glared at his third child, angry at the sass — but unusually holding back his temper to think.

She is probably right about her mother. Mary would be more accepting. She speaks as if she knew her mother. Mary died giving birth. Miranda loves the music, like her mother. How does she know these things?

Before her father could get worked up, Albee stepped in to save the child from a whooping for being sassy with her father.

Child, your mother would have snatched you from that chair. Hauled you along the stairs and cleaned your face until it was raw. Excuse yourself, run upstairs, and wash properly before you return. When you return, there better be an apology coming out of your mouth.

Looking at her father, the real authority, Miranda, was hopeful. When he nodded toward the stairs, she kept the smile off her face at avoiding the paddling and ran up the stairs. Collecting the child’s plate for warming, Albee calmed the situation.

She don’t mean no harm, Mister LaLonde. I’ll see to it doesn’t happen again.

Beau and Earl watched silently, intently, wondering if Father would erupt.

"Albee, see she is cleaned and proper from now on.