Shadow's Way

By Barbara Frances

Prepare to be spellbound. Barbara Frances' long-awaited third novel is available NOW! Shadow's Way, takes you to the coastal, deep South, where the past and the present mingle in a gothic tale of insanity, murder, and sexual intrigue.

 

You'll meet the beautiful Elaine Chauvier, former actress and proprietor of Shadow's Way, her family's antebellum home; the esteemed Archbishop Andre Figurant and his fallen identical twin, Bastien; newly arrived Ophelia and Rudy, here to explore their Chauvier roots and their ties to Shadow's Way; and the mysterious Madame Claudine. Under a veneer of piety and graciousness, i.e., the questions: What is good? What is evil? What is reality?

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mikael Publishing
• Release date: Feb 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201096403

Barbara Frances

Barbara Frances has plenty of stories and a life spent acquiring them. Growing up Catholic on a small Texas farm, her childhood ambition was to become a nun. At age fourteen she entered a convent boarding school as an aspirant, the first of several steps before taking vows. The Sisters were disappointed, however, when she passed up the habit for the University of North Texas, where she graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and Theatre Arts. Her professors were similarly disappointed when she passed up a postgraduate degree to become a (stewardess) flight attendant, Barbara, however, never looked back. “In the Sixties, a stewardess was a glamorous occupation.” Some highlights included and evening on the town with Chuck Berry and “opening the bar” for a planeload of young privates on their way to Vietnam. Barbara eventually returned to Texas and settled down. Marriage, children, school teaching and divorce distracted her from storytelling, but one summer she and a friend coauthored a screenplay. “I never had such fun! I come from a family of storytellers. Relatives would come over and after dinner everyone would tell tales. Sometimes they were even true.” The next summer Barbara wrote a screenplay on her own. Others followed, including Two Women, a finalist in the 1990 Austin Screenwriters Festival. Three more were optioned: Silent Crossing, The Anniversary and Sojourner Truth. Barbara left teaching and continued to work on her screenplays. In 1992, exhausted by endless rewrites, she did something many screenwriters threaten but few carry out. She turned down an option renewal, done forever with writing—or so she thought. It was not to be. One day a friend’s child found and read Lottie’s Adventure, her script for a children’s movie. At her young fan’s urging, Barbara turned it into a book, published by Positive Imaging, LLC. For Like I Used to Dance, Barbara drew upon childhood memories and “front porch stories.” Her next novel is a Southern Gothic tale” about a woman caught in the struggle to keep her beloved plantation home from a vengeful archbishop. The Sisters might be appalled but her readers can’t wait. Barbara’s fans can be thankful she passed up convent life for one of stories and storytelling. She and her husband Bill live in Austin, Texas. She can be reached at [e-mail]

Book preview

1

Her timing was perfect . As she rounded the corner, daily Mass had just ended and the Archbishop was now standing outside the richly carved doors of St. Paul’s Cathedral. His followers were tiered below him on the steps. He turned towards the woman allowing his eyes to trace the contours of her body. She was aware of this attention and as always, felt the thrill of that power. A sheer white muslin shift clung to her black swim suit, still wet from morning exercise at the community pool. Despite the heat and the humidity from the Gulf of Mexico, she strolled by as if it were a cool spring day in Vermont.

Elaine Chauvier was a stately woman, aware of her long legs and enticing figure. Some said she was a snob and she would have agreed with them. After all, she was from aristocracy. Her great grandfather and General Robert E. Lee had been close friends. Her family had owned sections of plantation land in the area with nearly a hundred slaves. No one could give this woman a passing glance without being momentarily transfixed. Soft black hair, always a bit ruffled to give a false impression of casualness, framed a face of classic perfection. Piercing dark eyes conveyed the superiority she felt over everyone.    

Archbishop Andre Figurant gave hardly a thought to the man who knelt to kiss his ring or the mother holding up her baby for a blessing. His focus was across the boulevard, beyond the wrought-iron fence surrounding the complex which consisted of the Cathedral, the Archbishop’s mansion and a striking plaza of mosaic tiles, gardens and statues of Mother Mary and St. Paul.

The gliding presence hypnotized as well as beguiled him. If only that fence could restrain these desires. He wanted more and that was his disease, an enduring obsession, perhaps an incurable illness.  He watched as the vision of his dreams lightly ascended the four steps to the porch of Shadow’s Way, the best preserved antebellum home in the state of Alabama, perhaps in the entire South. When she reached the top, she turned to face him with a look of disdain that flung him back to being a sharecropper’s son working on her family’s land. She would never see him as an equal no matter his ranking in the Church or the money he now had.

Your Excellency. He was annoyed by this cry that brought him back to his priestly role.  Will you please pray for my boy to get well?

A cow-faced woman in a faded cotton dress looked up at him. Kindness quickly replaced his irritation. His flock, his devotees, his faithful evoked mixed emotions. He both reveled in and detested their homage. Yes, of course, my dear daughter. I bless him in the name of our Lady and implore her to heal your son in the name of her son, Jesus Christ.

He paused to look across the street. Elaine lingered on her front porch admiring the azaleas. Fully aware of the archbishop’s compulsive gaze, she tilted her head and smiled flirtatiously at the flowers. You are my lovelies, she purred, then flicked her wrist as if dismissing them as well as him.

An elaborate easel by the front door held a sign, written in large Gothic letters, Bed & Breakfast. Underneath in smaller print were the words, Gourmet Dinner Upon Request.

You’re nothing more than the overseer of a rooming house, he wanted to shout, and all because of me. The impulse was subdued by a humble request. Please bless these, your Excellency, jest so’s I don’t fall down no more. Archbishop Andre looked down at the make-shift crutches the old man held up. A deep grief overcame him. Mother Mary and Brother Jesus, he prayed as he gently took the crutches, made the sign of the cross over them and rested his hand on the parishioner’s head, bless and protect this man as he walks.

Gratitude glistened in the old man’s eyes. Thank you, your Excellency.

Abruptly, Andre turned back toward the Cathedral doors, disgusted that he’d always been a man divided by conflicting natures. The love he felt for those in need and the desire to relieve the suffering of others were as real as his longings for a life of freedom, a life devoid of moral obligations.

Elaine picked up the mail inside her door slot and pulled the heavy door shut. Immediately she set about inspecting the large foyer and winding staircase, all polished to a gleam. She glanced to her right into the dining room and admired the perfectly placed china settings on the table and then to her left into the living room. She smiled at the portrait of a severe-looking man in a Confederate uniform perched over the mantel piece. Bonjour, Grand-pere Henri. She quickly scanned the fluffed sofa pillows and precisely placed magazines on the coffee table.

Well, it looks like Lily Mae has been doing her job. Miracles, miracles. These two rooms, the foyer and the three bedrooms directly overhead were exactly as they had been one hundred and thirty-five years ago. Elaine was very careful to see that not one little detail was changed. When the wallpaper, draperies or upholstery had to be replaced, she paid exorbitant prices to get the exact duplicates.   

A sharp nasal voice shattered the quiet. Oh, Ms. Chauvier, good morning, good morning. Elaine turned her head towards the stairway and forced a smile. Mr. and Mrs. McCrether, a Boston couple, middle-aged, dumpy and plain, began their descent. They wore matching Bermuda shorts with flowered tops.

Elaine wanted to spit. It was so unfair that someone of her stature should have to accommodate people of this sort. Nevertheless, she donned the veil of dripping politeness she always used with paying customers. After all, she reminded herself, I need these uncouth individuals for my livelihood.

Why good morning, Mr. and Mrs. McCrether. My, my, don’t you look all well and refreshed. Lovely outfits. Her lilting voice with its buoyant flow bubbled up from the time of Southern refinement laced with hypocrisy. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Before I went for my morning swim, I left precise directions with Lily Mae. I pray she provided your breakfast and all your other needs to your satisfaction.

It was wonderful. Those muffins were... well, we couldn’t have asked for more, Mrs. McCrether tittered.

Elaine giggled demurely, aware of Mr. McCrether’s unrestrained glances and tugged at the see-through wrap now clinging to her swimsuit. Please, do forgive my unfitting appearance, she purred. If you’ll excuse me, I must make myself presentable but before I depart can I in any way, be of service to you this fine morning?

Elaine’s past acting career served her well in this business. Very few ever detected the manipulation and deception under her well-constructed mask. I know good and well she’d have gotten an Oscar someday if she hadn’t had to come back here to take care of the mess her no-good daddy left, old Judge Davis would say every time her name came up, and it came up quite a bit. Elaine Chauvier was the sort of person people liked to talk about.

We couldn’t have asked for more, Mrs. McCrether bellowed. Elaine glanced at the wall paper around the woman’s head as if expecting to see scratch marks left by her strident tone. And for our last night, Mrs. McCrether went on, we’d like to order the gourmet dinner. I know it says on your brochure to order when making the reservation, but could you make an exception for us? Pretty pleeease.

Damn Yankees, pushy, impertinent, always feeling entitled. Elaine nodded with a syrupy smile. Do you all know what ya’ll would like? I offer three entrees. Do ya’ll wish to see a menu?

No that won’t be necessary. Mr. McCrether waddled down the remaining steps. Our mouths watered over the review in your local paper about the Shadow’s Way Prawn Dinner.

Oh, did it ever, Mrs. McCrether interjected. You must have paid that food editor a pretty price. Both McCrethers laughed louder than what would have been considered appropriate in polite society. They don’t begin to know how unrefined they are. Elaine tried not to shudder. Very good choice, she cooed. I’m sure every course will be pleasing to your palates. Now you must forgive my crudeness, but I have to require in advance the three hundred and fifty dollars plus ten per cent gratuity.

The couple stared in disbelief. Oh, the prices weren’t in the article, Mr. McCrether gasped.

Higher quality eating establishments don’t usually list prices, plus this is a last-minute request. Elaine reveled in their distress. It was as if she were a girl again watching frantic fireflies trapped in the upside-down jar on her bedroom’s window sill. It is after all, five courses, prepared with all fresh, natural ingredients.

Of course, of course, that’s fine. Mr. McCrether reached for his wallet, took out the bills and handed them to Elaine.

Hors d’oeuvres and aperitifs at seven in the sun room and then you can retire to the main dining room for your dinner. You will be dining alone this evening, so romantic by candlelight.

The couple exchanged a quick glance seeming embarrassed. Oh yes, these two are finished with passion, at least for one another. After giving directions to the Fine Arts Museum and graciously bidding them farewell, Elaine walked down the foyer, through the small sitting/library room and into the large kitchen. A broad breakfast nook overlooked a backyard gushing in greenery and pink, yellow, red, and white flowers. A gazebo for weddings and a carriage house, now called the honeymoon bungalow, sat at the bottom of a slight slope.

Elaine had turned Shadow’s Way into a money-maker and she knew her great-grandfather was proud of her. Even though he was long in the grave he still wandered through the rooms and gave her advice, praise and sometimes admonishment. Occasionally, guests would tell her about footsteps in the hallway and doors opening. She would smile warmly and say, Isn’t it somethin’ how these old houses can make one believe in haunts?

As the rumors about ghosts spread, her business increased as well as her prices. People are so interested in the supernatural. I pray you have an encounter, she would whisper to those who specifically came for such a contact.

Good mornin’, Lily Mae. The front rooms are perfect.

Mornin’ Ma’am. Yessum, I done vacuum too. Lily Mae, a black woman in her mid-forties, stood at the island rolling out biscuit dough. She was very short and very round, with a round face and round bulging eyes that registered a state of perpetual fear. The blowfish is what Elaine called her in private.

Not quite so thick. Elaine impatiently scooted Lily Mae over and began rolling the dough. I swear, how many times do I have to show you? Standing slightly behind, Lily Mae stuck out her tongue at her.

Listen, that Boston couple has decided here at the last minute to have the prawn dinner tonight. There goes my free evenin.’ I should have just said no, but I can’t lose good references even from the heathen land of Boston. After all it is another dollar comin in.

She held up a perfect biscuit. Lily Mae, see this. Now that’s how you do it. Do you think you can do that?

Yessum. Lily Mae shuffled back to the board.

Elaine rinsed her hands and looked out the kitchen window towards the two cabins situated down a paved lane to the right of the main house. These were all that remained of the slave quarters. Elaine had renovated them into lovely cottages painted white with navy trim, still quite small and simple. Years ago, her father had had bathrooms put in. She rented these mainly to guests with children in order to avoid noise in the main house. However, now one was being occupied by a nonpaying intruder. Where’s Ofelia? I’ll have her go to the market.

As if hearing her name, the handsome Ofelia emerged from her cabin. She could have passed for Elaine’s twin except she was chocolate brown and a good twenty years younger. Like Elaine she was tall, moved regally and held her head high, yet she possessed none of her sister’s arrogance. Elaine detested her.

Good mornin’ everybody, Ofelia’s deep velvety voice settled into the corners of the room. Lily Mae, honey, I do hope that coffee is strong.

Ofelia, you’ll have to go to the market and get some fresh prawns, Elaine commanded. That Boston couple wants the gourmet dinner this evening.

I’m singing at the club tonight and I’ve got to rest and rehearse this afternoon. She took down a cup from the cabinet.

Elaine flinched at the rebuff. Well that’s too bad. You need to contribute to the upkeep of this business.

Ofelia pretended not to hear, Oh, dear sister, I just can’t. Besides I’m beat. My baby worked me over good last night. She winked at Lily Mae who almost dropped a biscuit between quiet snickers. Ofelia’s mischievous streak delighted in unnerving Elaine’s phony prudishness.  

Elaine quickly flipped through the cards in her recipe box. She’s just like her mother, a whore breaking up a family. Elaine knew Greg Wallace, Ofelia’s lover. He was one of the richest white men around and was married with two daughters.

Elaine’s father had also been married with two daughters, yet he had kept Monique LeBlanc, his Brown Sugar Queen, at the exquisite Elysian Hotel in the center of town. After Elaine’s mother died, he had moved Monique and their bastard daughter, Ofelia, into Shadow’s Way. By then, Elaine had already turned her back on the family and was well on her way to a notable acting career in New York.

Ofelia sat down with her cup of coffee. Just have everything delivered. I know ole Carlyle would love to see you, Ofelia teased. He practically slobbers all over his shirt every time he gets near you.

Ignoring her, Elaine saw the letter sitting on the counter. Where did this come from, Lily Mae?

This mornin’s mail while you was out.

Elaine tore it open and began reading catching her breath. Oh God, no. Rudy’s coming. She’d almost forgotten she had a nephew. Without so much as an invitation.

Oh, but I invited him. I guess I forgot to tell you. Ofelia was delighted. He’s actually coming?

How dare you invite someone to my home?

It’s our home, remember.

Elaine glared at her. That’s not true and you know it. How dare you.

Ofelia picked a strawberry from the fruit bowl on the counter and bit into it. When will he be getting here?

Week after next.

It’s been years, Ofelia moved her fingers as if counting them off. Oh, the fun we had.

Elaine slumped down on the nearest chair. Lily Mae, bring me a cup of coffee. Her energy had drained into the floor’s wooden planks. Her lifelong goal had been to be free of her family and she had succeeded in this area until over a month ago, when Ofelia showed up at her front door. And now this nephew. 

After ten days Elaine had commanded Ofelia to leave. This is my home as much as it’s yours, Ofelia shouted back. So I’m staying till I get ready to go back. She had left New Orleans to escape memories and heal a broken heart. Five months before, her fiancé, Roderick, had broken their engagement. Six weeks later, her Grand-mere died. These losses had toppled her emotional well-being. She had to get away from the sorrow and chose to revisit her childhood home and become acquainted with her estranged sister.

Unfortunately, Elaine didn’t care about Ofelia’s pain. Neither did she care about any relative who wanted to establish a relationship with her. She had seen Rudy only three times since he was born and that was enough for her. His mother, Gabrielle, had been her bothersome little sister who had died in a plane explosion over the Atlantic Ocean. Elaine hadn’t bothered going to the memorial. He’s probably comin’ to get even with me. The color drained from her face.

Elaine, you okay? Ofelia asked. You aren’t looking well. 

I was too busy with this business, this bed ‘n breakfast, Elaine snapped, and couldn’t go to Gabrielle’s services. It was too much to ask of me.

What does that have to do with Rudy? Sometimes Elaine, you... Ofelia didn’t want to go on. Elaine was staring into space, into another world. Ofelia continued, I had just twisted my ankle while roller-skating and couldn’t go either. But Grand-mere went. She paused taking another strawberry. Grand-mere said Gabrielle was the kindest of the kind.

Well, your Grand-mere didn’t have to raise her, Elaine spat out as she stuffed the letter back in the envelope.

Ofelia sipped her coffee. Why don’t you want to have family around you.?

I’ve got things to do. Elaine stood up.

All you have, Ofelia raised her voice, is this old house and some fantasies about that great-grandfather hanging over the fireplace. That scoundrel Henri the first Chauvier.

Don’t you dare! Elaine cried out. Lily Mae disappeared into the walk-in pantry.

Ofelia watched her sister move from the stove to the refrigerator and back again, aimlessly, lips moving in silent speech. Despite Elaine’s hatefulness Ofelia felt sorry for her. She had no life outside of her business and "barely tolerable" customers, as she generally described them. This old house and the spirits who roamed its halls were the only things she cherished.

Wanting to make things better Ofelia suggested, Close Shadow’s Way for a week or so. Let’s show Rudy a good time.

There’s the huge Carlyle wedding next Saturday. We’ll be filled with wedding guests from Thursday till Sunday. Elaine flipped her head and declared, And I may just go to New York for a few days.

You’re not going to New York and you know it. Ofelia leaned back with a laugh. You’re as stuck to this place as flies are to glue paper.

And you’re as frivolous as our father. Like him, all you want to do is live off others and have a good time.

More wide-eyed than usual, Lily Mae peeked out from the pantry. Ofelia remained undaunted. She shrugged her shoulders and announced. Okay then, go to New York. Rudy and I will have a great time. Be sure to take your ghosts with you. She tossed the rest of her coffee in the sink. This is bitter. Lily Mae, would you mind making me some of the good coffee that’s reserved for the guests?

Lily Mae stuck her head out again and looked at Elaine. She knew who the boss was.

Ofelia waited a moment. Lily Mae didn’t move. Ofelia sighed and headed out, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.

Elaine forced her face into a placid expression and put the envelope in the letter holder next to her phone. Her hands shook ever so slightly. Her half-sister frightened her. Unlike everyone else, Ofelia wasn’t in awe or afraid of her.

2

Archbishop Figurant gazed down the extended maple table, luminous from layer upon layer of bee’s wax. Soon they would be arriving. It was going to be a hard-hitting but necessary meeting, long overdue. Abandoning protocol, he would be going against the Church’s hierarchy to expose a long-lived charade of denial and hypocrisy. No longer was he going to hide the truth behind haughty self-righteousness. He was going to act. 

Lanita entered the room with a large tray of chicken sandwiches and fruit pastries. Oh, ‘cuse me, your Excellency. I didn’t know you were already here. I’ll be out of your way in no time. Her words hummed with the rhythmic cadence of a Caribbean island. Neat as a pin in a freshly starched uniform and hair tucked away in a plain white turban, she slipped from point A to point B, with smoothness and efficiency.

You’re fine, Lanita. I’m trying to get my thoughts in order. You’d best put out some ashtrays. I anticipate Monsignors Flannigan and Murphy will burn up a field of tobacco when they hear what I’ve got to say.

She laughed out loud. "Maybe I should put out the whiskey, too, yes?

No, they’ll have to survive on coffee or water today. He smiled at her. Be good for them.

He and Lanita had a comfortable relationship. She had been his housekeeper for six years. He knew some of her secrets and she knew some of his. Late afternoons he often watched her from the upstairs window as she rode her bicycle home, hair fanning out in an Afro halo and a colorful skirt billowing in the wind. 

He knew only bits and pieces about her. He’d hired her right after the death of an old woman she had been caring for, a woman she loved like her own mother. Not long after that, she told him that she had run away from her island home by posing as a waitress on a cruise ship. We docked in Miami and I’ve been sort of looking over my shoulder ever since. She paused and looked off in the distance. I can still picture the place of my childhood. She spoke matter-of-factly as if she were telling him what was for dinner.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt a link connecting them. It seemed that they had known each other for eons, in many other lifetimes—even though he didn’t believe in reincarnation.

There was a knock on the door. His secretary, Brother Damien, entered with a stack of papers. He was a tall, thin man who projected intelligence, competence and calmness. He wore a brown Franciscan robe which seemed to be the only appropriate attire for a man with his presence. Here are all the reports, your Excellency. He turned to leave. I’ll be in the foyer greeting everyone.

Archbishop Andre sat down. He noticed that he was alone and wondered when Lanita had left. With a sigh he began perusing the pages. Holy Mary Mother of God, what a mess. This scandal could easily topple the whole Roman institution. Six cases had already been reported in his diocese alone. The grapevine buzzed that there were perhaps hundreds across the United States and thousands more across the world.

He dropped his head and felt the anger surge through him. He knew first-hand what this abuse could do to a small child, innocent and defenseless. He wished he had the power to defrock every pedophile priest out there, but he didn’t. And unfortunately, the Pope was weak and controlled by a College of Cardinals who believed that denials and cover-ups were the absolute, infallible rights of the Roman Catholic Church. 

Hours later the room was thick with curling smoke and floating distress coming from the six diocesan council members. Monsignor Rodin nervously tapped his pen on the table top, Where’s the proof? he spewed out of a face, fat from years of over-indulgence. "Mother Church is