Poor Banished Children of Eve: Book I of the Duval/Leveque Trilogy

By Carol Morgan

In the tradition of William Faulkner and Tennessee Williams, Poor Banished Children of Eve is the haunting saga of the Duval/Leveque clan of Maringouin County, Mississippi, a family tormented by a history of incest and insanity. The story revolves around beautiful, tempestuous Angelique Leveque whose mother Solange Duval Leveque had spent the past twenty-one years, since Angelique’s birth, locked in an upstairs bedroom “mad as a hatter,” as the townspeople said, a fact that no one seems to find peculiar. After all, doesn’t everyone have an insane woman locked in an upstairs bedroom? As the story begins, Angelique is about to be married to Charles Carrington, a “suitable young man,” with a secret and twisted torment of his own, and her impending marriage is breaking the hearts of the town’s young swains, not the least of which, two of her brothers. To add fuel to the fire, Antoine Babineaux returns from prison still in love with Angelique and determined to win her back. Thus begins the first tremors of a tidal wave of tragedy that sweeps over the family and the residents of Jezreel, Mississippi in a miasma of murder, insanity, incest and suicide, to finally reach and explosive and unorthodox climax where they find peace at last. Or do they?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669864363

Book preview

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

T HE SUMMER OF 1957 was so hot it damn near scorched the cotton, folks would say in later years. Maringouin County, Mississippi languished beneath a blanket of sweltering heat, drowsing in remote splendor, with hardly a tremor from the racial turmoil that had begun slithering into the rest of the state. The county abutted the Louisiana state line. Consequently, many of the families in the county had, to some degree, a strain of French blood in their veins, but the most highly prized flowed down through the families who had fled Saint-Domingue during the uprising in 1791 – the Duval, Prejean, Babineaux, Delacroix and Leveque families. Most prominent of these families was the Leveque family who owned 275,000 acres of prime cotton land.

The town of Jezreel, nestled in a curve of the sluggish Cocodrie River, lay still in the blazing midday sun. On Main Street, which circled the town square, nothing moved. The leaves overhead hung dusty and lifeless in the breathless hush of the summer afternoon. The red brick courthouse occupied the center of the town square, surrounded by a wide green lawn, shaded by majestic oak and sycamore trees. The bronze statue of a Confederate soldier gleamed in the sunshine. To the east, beyond the business district, were neat cottages with flower-bordered walks and white picket fences that converged with imposing homes set back on spacious, tree-shaded lawns. To the west, beyond the railroad tracks on Beauregard Street, was Milltown, a neighborhood of narrow streets and dingy houses, so called because it lay within the dismal realm of Leveque Mills, a world apart from the rest of Jezreel.

On Monday morning, Omar Gates went on trial at the county courthouse in Jezreel for the rape and murder of a white woman, Eula Faye Langley. The courtroom was packed, and it was muggy and heat smothered as the day wore on. The air conditioner shuddered and spluttered and struggled in vain to cool the room.

Angelique Leveque, Randy Delaney, and his sister Diana-Grace, watched from the colored gallery upstairs as one after another, white witnesses took the stand and testified, more often about their own opinions than actual facts. Omar’s employer, Benoît Dupuis, testified that Omar had been working at the cotton gin on the morning of the murder. The jury of twelve white men went out to deliberate at two p.m. Thirty minutes later they returned with a guilty verdict. Judge Armistead Creighton sentenced Omar to death.

Let’s get out of here! Angelique Leveque said angrily. The others followed her as she shoved through the crowded gallery and down the back stairs. At the foot of the stairs she collided with Judge Creighton, headed back to his chambers.

Well, what in the world are you doing here, Miss Angelique? And sitting up there with the nigras too! Judge Creighton’s lecherous gaze swept her slowly. Do you reckon your daddy’s gonna like it, a sweet little gal like you coming here to watch these sordid going ons?

Well, Judge Creighton, she lifted her chin defiantly, do you reckon God’s going to like you sentencing an innocent man to death?

Judge Creighton’s amused expression faded. He watched as she and her friends swept past him and out the door. That little gal’s trouble waiting to happen, he thought, but by golly, she’s a little beauty, just like her mother.

François Leveque had stepped out on to the portico and lit a cigarette just before they came outside. Diana-Grace Delaney instinctively fluffed her blonde hair and moistened her lips. François was tall and muscular, with sardonic dark eyes, black hair that fell below his collar, handsome with a brooding, dark splendor and possessed of a rakish charm and innate arrogance that most women, even those who didn’t approve of him or at least wouldn’t admit it to themselves, found tantalizing. Diana-Grace and François dated casually, but she was yet to hear even a hint about a marriage proposal.

That was horribly unfair, François! Angelique told her brother. They’re going to kill that poor man for something he didn’t do! And it’s just because he’s a Negro!

It won’t be the first time, won’t be the last. François tugged a lock of her hair affectionately. I told you not to go in there, didn’t I?

Yes, you’re always telling me not to do something or other, but ....

But nothing. When are you gonna start listening to me?

When you start to say the things I want to hear, she replied impudently.

Well, that ole boy is Parchman bound, Randy Delaney said. Wonder when they’ll kill him?

You heard what Mr. Dupuîs said. He was working at the cotton gin that day!

Randy shrugged. Yeah, well, that’s how it is around here. Up until a few years ago, an ex-convict named Jimmy Thompson was the executioner, and he drove the electric chair all over the state in his pickup truck. Everybody used to come sit here on Town Square and watch the street lights dim when they turned on the juice. Remember that, François?

I remember it happening. I never came into town to see it.

I went once. It was kind of like a picnic ... people brought drinks and snacks.

That’s horrible! Diana-Grace said. Anyway, they don’t use the electric chair anymore.

Well, the gas chamber’s a gruesome death, some say it’s worse than the electric chair. They don’t lose consciousness right away. Their eyes pop out and their skin turns purple and they start drooling and choking ....

Angelique shuddered and Diana-Grace covered her ears with her hands.

Randy, shut up that kind of talk, François told him. That’s fucking sick.

Randy lapsed into silence, watching the sunlight glisten on Angelique’s hair and the swell of her breasts in the white eyelet sundress. The bright sun glittered on her engagement ring. She was engaged to Charles Carrington, one of the most eligible bachelors in Maringouin County. He sighed. Maybe before that damned wedding, he would finally succeed in convincing her not to go through with it.

We should go, Angelique, Diana-Grace said, or we’ll be late for Virginia Lee’s Bourré party.

I don’t want to play Bourré and listen to that bunch of cackling hens all afternoon. God, it’s so hot! I wish it would rain. You go on without me. I want to go down to the river. Come with me, François?

And do what?

Swim ... or whatever.

Dressed like that? Randy raised one eyebrow skeptically. Not a good idea.

I can always take off ....

"Then I’ll definitely go with you."

"That is definitely not a good idea, Randy," François said.

I didn’t ask you anyway! Angelique said. Please, François? I’m so bored I could die! I want ....

"There are a lot of things I want too that I can’t have, Chérie, but as far as you’re concerned, maybe a cold shower is a better choice than the river and ... taking off whatever, hmm? She pouted prettily and he tilted her face up to his. Besides, Daddy wants me to go over to the Benoît Gin and relieve Etienne. He’s keeping an eye on the weight scales. If you’ll be a good little girl, I’ll take you to Tubby’s tomorrow night."

That’s not exciting. I go there all the time.

But not with me.

She considered him for a moment with scintillating dark eyes. "Je promets."

But I thought you and I ...? Diana-Grace looked stricken.

Some other time, okay?

Hey, if you’re not going with Charles, Randy asked, how about me? You won’t have much fun with your brother.

Don’t count on it. She flashed him a pretty smile.

In front of the courthouse several old men sat on wooden benches in the shade. The only sound was the gurgling of the fountain at the base of the statue.

Josiah Harkins tilted his battered straw hat back from his face. People began spilling out of the courthouse then. They found that ole boy guilty, looks like.

Looks like, my hairy white ass, Leroy Sikes muttered. Of course they did. When’s a nigra ever been found innocent of anything in Mississippi?

Macom Owens roused himself to speak. Remember back in ’46 they fried Armageddon Lincoln to a crisp. Thought he was as good as white folks, drinkin’ outta the white water fountain over at the five and dime store.

Them darkies what fought in the war think they can come back and act like they’re white, Josiah said, but that weren’t why they hung him. They done it because he got uppity with Miss Daffodil Siddons.

So she said, Leroy mused. It never crossed anybody’s mind to question the word of a Baptist preacher’s daughter, but I always did think ....

They took Eula Faye Langley’s word too, but if he did do it, I guarantee you she wasn’t objectin’ too damn much.

Omar’s a quiet sort, never was a troublemaker. Army was an arrogant nigra, brazen as they come. I never thought to see it, but the times is changin’ and there’s a whole generation of arrogant nigras stirrin’ up trouble. How’s about that uppity woman over in Montgomery, Alabama a couple of years back? Went to jail because she wouldn’t get up and let a God fearin’ white man have a seat on the bus.

That’s what they started up that the Sovereignty Commission for. Macom turned and squinted into the sunlight. Yonder comes Anne-Marie Landry. Little flibbertigibbet, what she is. But ain’t that a fine new car, now? Never seen one that color.

They watched a custom pink Cadillac convertible turn on to Main Street and stop in front of Peabody’s Drug Store.

Kinda cute little gal, got them whitey-blonde Shirley Temple curls and that turned up nose, Leroy remarked. On the plumpish side though. It’ll turn to fat once she’s had a baby or two. Been chasin’ after Etienne Fontenot this past year. Reckon she’ll catch him in the end. Women generally does when they set their minds to it.

She won’t catch Etienne. Arnaud Leveque sets a great store by that boy. Josiah shook his head. Ben Bridewell’s bastard son. When the boy’s mother died, Arnaud brung him back here to raise with his own kids.

Arnaud set a great store by Ben too. One of them no good Bridewells that cropped shares for Arnaud’s daddy, but him and Arnaud grew up playin’ together, they was close as brothers all their lives. Hell, everybody knew Ben only married Miz Esmé because he wanted a part of La Bonne Vie. Arnaud knew it too, but Miz Esmé wasn’t likely to catch her a man no way else.

Arnaud’s always been headstrong. Hell bent on marryin’ Solange Duval, in spite of both families agin it, Macom chuckled. He marched right into the Duval house, picked her up in his arms, and carried her off, and old Madame Isabelle screamin’ and a cursin’ ‘em both every step of the way.

Reckon he paid for it too, her locked up in a bedroom all these years, mad as a hatter. Some say he’d get drunk and go to her bed even after she went crazy and didn’t remember him. Leroy sighed. Lord, she was a beauty though. If it’d been me, I might of done the same thing.

That’s sick, Leroy, Josiah muttered but he sounded unconvinced of his own words.

Why’s it sick? She was still his wife.

Macom shook his head in wonder. They say he near ‘bout went mad himself when she died. Went into a fury, Tillie Jane said, and it took Virgil and Etienne and François all three to keep him from killin’ that young nigra maid that forgot and left Miz Solange’s door unlocked. Miz Suzanne give her a month’s wages and got her outta there quick. Sent her to her people over in Tallahatchie County.

They fell silent. A blue jay chattered raucously on a tree limb overhead. Bees hummed drowsily in the honeysuckle that twined about the base of the statue. The town seemed suspended in time, as if nothing had ever changed and nothing ever would.

They looked up again as Angelique took leave of her friends, crossed the square to her car, and climbed into her white Jaguar, revealing briefly a flash of smooth tanned thigh beneath the skirt of her dress.

Beautiful as one of God’s own angels, Macom murmured. The others nodded in approbation. The spittin’ image of her mama.

She’s got a come hither look in her eyes that sure sets a man’s blood to boilin’. Josiah licked his lips comically. Sure hate to see her wasted on the Carrington boy.

Boy, my ass! Leroy snorted. He’s thirty-four years old and still tied to his Mama’s apron strings. How come you reckon she’s gonna marry him when she could have any man in the great state of Mississippi?

It’s what Arnaud wants. Next to him, Elizabeth Carrington’s got more money than God.

Yeah, but that big diamond ring Charles give her ain’t changed nothin’. All them young bucks is still swarmin’ around her like bees around honey. Leroy nodded sagely. Mark my words, one of these nights a couple of them young hellions gonna get likkered up and jealous, and there’ll be a killin’ over that girl.

And likely it’ll be one of her brothers does the killin’. The Duval blood runs thicker’n any other kind.

Don’t reckon it’d take much provokin’ for Randy Delaney to do murder over her.

He ain’t got a chance in hell with her but he don’t have sense enough to know it.

They watched Angelique’s car roar away down Main Street toward the highway.

She’d be worth killin’ over if any woman ever was, Josiah sighed wistfully. She was fifteen and got to messin’ around with that Antoine Babineaux from over in Soleil County. François damn near killed him. He was in the hospital three damn weeks before he could go before the judge.

Yeah, Judge Creighton don’t hold with a grown man messin’ with a minor. Antoine’s been down on Parchman these past five years for that.

Still, I wouldn’t mind bein’ forty years younger.

And her brother to boot. You’re an old fool is what you are, Macom grunted, but his voice did not carry the conviction of his words. By damn, it’s hot enough to melt the asphalt. Worst summer we ever had.

In the distance the mournful whistle of the Delta Express rounding a bend of the Cocodrie River broke the heat smothered hush of the summer afternoon. The clock on the bank tower began to chime. It was four o’clock.

CHAPTER TWO

A RUSTED IRON FENCE enclosed the cemetery, and the scent of damp earth, rotting leaves and the honeysuckle and wisteria twining in riotous profusion over the fence, were cloying in the muggy late afternoon heat. Angelique seemed out of place amidst the breathless hush of death and decay and brooding timelessness. She knelt beside the newest grave, and her fingers traced the carving on the headstone.

Solange Duval Leveque

1913 – 1958

Priez Pour Elle

Maman, Angelique wept softly, not for the loss of her mother, for she had not really known her. She had known only a beautiful woman who lived for twenty years, the length of her own life, locked in an upstairs bedroom, closed away in a world of insanity. She cried for the realization that it had been a natural part of her life, accepted without horror or revulsion or even curiosity, a situation not unduly dwelled upon. Now, when it was too late, she wondered how those years had been for her mother.

Had there been times of awareness when she remembered who and where she was, why she was locked in the bedroom? Or had she been oblivious to the passage of time? What had happened to drive her over the edge of sanity, into madness?

Angelique had often heard Solange’s voice behind the locked door, resounding with some inner pain that only she knew, "Je me déteste tous mes péchés. Je me propose fermement de les confesser ...." Over and over she’d repeated the litany entreating forgiveness. For what sin, real or imagined, had she pleaded forgiveness? How had it all begun?

Was it a nameless, faceless terror creeping closer while she clung frantically to the fraying threads of sanity? Or had it overcome her in one final moment of lucidity, a sudden catapult down a long dark passage into bedlam? That last day of her life, had she come back finally to discover that reality was the worse torment? Or had she at last sunken to the final depths of her madness?

It was in the attic, cluttered with old toys and broken furniture, draped with cobwebs and smelling of age and dust and disuse, that Angelique found her mother. Afternoon sunlight through the shutters cast long shadows, illuminating the portrait of Saphronia Duval that was propped in one corner of the room.

Angelique saw the shadow first, swinging back and forth. Her eyes followed the shadow to its source, somehow knowing what it was before she actually saw it. Solange hung from a rafter, a drapery cord around her throat, her eyes bulging from the macabre caricature of the once lovely face.

She became aware of a noise, and with detached calmness, realized that it was her own screaming. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and Virgil and Etienne came in. Etienne caught her in his arms. The room began to spin, and the dusty floor came up to meet her.

In the distance a dog barked. The setting sun cast a fiery glow over the countryside. The rasping of insects heralded dusk. Angelique rose, brushed the tears from her cheeks, and started back up the path to the house.

* * * * *

The ivory silk counterpane felt cool against Angelique’s cheek. The last rays of sunlight through the open French windows sparkled on the diamonds in her engagement ring. She tried to picture Charles’ face but the image was as blurred as an old photograph. Odd how Charles’ face wouldn’t come into focus when she had seen him just last night, known him all her life. They were engaged to be married! The wedding would be in July, only three more weeks! She had a much clearer picture of Antoine Babineaux and she hadn’t seen him in five years.

With a muffled groan she closed her eyes, allowing another memory to take his place. A summer storm had come up suddenly and with full force the night Solange died. Rain lashed against the window panes and the wind roared, seeming to shake the very foundation of the old house. Thunder woke Angelique. The storm had torn down the electrical lines.

She lit a candle and went out into the hallway. Light no longer shone beneath the door of her mother’s room. The soft voice with its sorrowful prayers was hushed forever.

The door to the front parlor where her mother’s body reposed on the catafalque, was closed. The back parlor was lit by hurricane lamps. The flickering flames cast shadows about the room.

Virgil sat on the sofa, and his wife Regina was beside him, beautiful and bored in white slacks and a topaz silk shirt. T’ante Aurelia was ensconced in a wing chair, her tiny feet not quite touching the floor. François slumped in a chair in the shadows, his eyes bloodshot, his dark hair falling over his forehead, and Etienne leaned against the mantle smoking a cigarette.

A gust of wind hurled a shower of raindrops through the open French doors and the fresh air was a welcome relief in the oppressively warm room. Suzanne went to close the doors.

Please don’t close them. Regina said. It’s so hot in here.

The drapes are getting wet.

I’d rather everything get wet than to shut out the cool air.

T’ante Esmé rolled her high-backed wheel chair into the circle of light. Don’t be a goose, Suzanne! Close the doors.

Leave them open, François said.

Suzanne shrugged and moved away. She saw Angelique in the doorway and jumped nervously, startled by her quiet appearance and her uncanny resemblance to Solange. T’ante Aurelia gasped and clutched at her ample bosom.

Oh dear! You look so like her standing there. You frightened me!

I’m sorry, T’ante Aurelia. Angelique scanned the shadows in the room. Where’s Daddy?

He has shut himself in the front parlor with your mother’s corpse! T’ante Esmé retorted.

François rose and offered her his chair, then sat down on the arm of it. Suzanne brought her a cup of coffee.

Is Daddy alright?

He wanted to be alone with her, Etienne said.

He’s sitting by her corpse drinking and crying like a baby! T’ante Esmé said. It’s not as if she’d been any kind of wife to him all these years!

He still loved her, Regina said.

I don’t suppose there’s a man alive who didn’t fancy himself in love with Solange Duval at one time or another. Oh, she had them all panting after her. She pointed a bony finger at Angelique. Like her! She can’t walk down the street in town without turning men’s heads!

Kindly shut the hell up, François said quietly.

"‘For by means of a whorish woman, a man is brought to a piece of bread.’"

Leave her alone, T’ante Esmé! Etienne snapped.

Always flaunting herself! I’ve seen the way men look at her! And you! Esmé turned her malevolent gaze on Etienne. You’re no different! I’ve seen ....

You’ve seen nothing but the reflection of your own evil.

Esmé dropped her eyes from Etienne’s relentless stare. A bastard! That’s all you are! The bastard son of my dead husband! And my brother brought you here to raise with his own children!

Ah, yes, the bastard pretender to the Leveque throne, Etienne chuckled. That would be me, alright.

"C’est vrai." François parodied playing a violin. Angelique could not stifle a giggle.

Don’t goad her, Suzanne pleaded. Please don’t.

All these years, Esmé’s voice rose shrilly, I’ve had to face you while my own babies lie dead in the graveyard! You are arrogant and evil, conceived in lust and born in sin!

Stop it. Angelique set down her coffee cup with a clatter.

Etienne laughed, his white teeth flashing in his darkly handsome face. Let her rave on. It’s her only pleasure in life, after all.

"It’s alright, Bébé, François said, twining a lock of her hair around one finger. Our true natures have come to the surface in the face of tragedy. We’ll survive this too."

Are you intoxicated, François?

In a manner of speaking, T’ante Aurelia.

You are vile! T’ante Esmé snapped.

And you’d drive any man to drink, T’ante Esmé, which I understand was the reason for Uncle Ben’s untimely demise. François went to the open doors to look out into the rain swept night.

It’s raining harder now. Regina went to stand beside him. Her long russet hair caught glints of lamplight as she moved her head. What will happen now?

Solange had nothing of her own to leave, if that’s what you mean, T’ante Esmé said. Most of the Duval money went to keep her idiot brother Jules in the Maryville Asylum. A pity, really. The state asylum would have sufficed quite nicely.

A mentally unsound person can’t make a will anyway, Virgil said.

Those are just fancy words for crazy. All the Duvals are crazy. It’s in their blood. They’re tainted.

That’s ridiculous.

Oh, is it, Angelique? T’ante Esmé’s voice dropped to a low croon. "All the way back to Saphronia Duval that Grandpère Janvier built this house for, there’s been insanity in every generation. She went mad, killed her brother with an axe on the eve of her wedding. And look at your own mother, and her mother too! There isn’t one generation of the Duval family that hasn’t been touched by it!"

My mother is dead, Angelique said softly. We all seem to be forgetting that.

No, François said, we aren’t forgetting.

I remember her before she got sick, Virgil murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "She used to read to us. The Green Fairy Book, and we had a book of French nursery rhymes. Do you remember, François?"

Vaguely. I was barely six when ....

She was nervous and high strung! Esmé interrupted. It was inevitable. The dastardly inbreeding. It was in her blood!

"C’est des conneries! François whipped around to face T’ante Esmé. Fucking bullshit!"

Esmé, if you’d only just try to be kinder.

You are a silly, fat, simpering old fool, Aurelia!

T’ante Aurelia lapsed into hurt silence. Suzanne patted her plump arm comfortingly.

At any rate, Angelique, why isn’t Charles here with you at a time like this? T’ante Esmé asked. One would think ....

He’ll be here for the wake tomorrow night … and his mother.

The last thing she needs is Charles pussyfooting around here tonight! Etienne snapped.

Or any other night, François said. "Mon Dieu, Bébé, you can’t go through with this farce of a marriage."

Angelique met his gaze with a cynical smile. Have you any better suggestions?

"As a matter of fact, I do, ma douce sœur. Any number of them."

But not a swim in the river on a hot summer day?

"Don’t tempt me too greatly, Chérie, I’m only human."

Suzanne giggled nervously.

Insanity! Inbreeding ....

Shut up, T’ante Esmé. Etienne stabbed out his cigarette. The Duvals don’t have carte blanche on insanity, you know.

I think you’re all crazy! Regina cried.

Come sit down, Regina. Virgil’s voice sounded queer and high pitched.

I wish I could go into town. Regina clasped her trembling hands together. I can’t stand this, trapped here by a storm, and Solange dead in the other room, and all this talk of madness!

Six months a bride, François chuckled softly, and as the saying goes, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

I mean it! This whole thing is so bizarre!

The river rises over the bridge, Etienne told her. You couldn’t get into town, anyway.

Her smoky green-gold eyes traveled over the room. Thunder rumbled and lightning crackled. Regina shivered. François poured a snifter of brandy and handed it to her.

Is this a tried and true remedy for shutting it all out? She asked.

It’s been your father’s tried and true remedy, at any rate! Esmé said.

T’ante Esmé, Angelique said wearily, leave her alone. None of us know how we’re supposed to act. This isn’t easy for her.

I warned Arnaud, but he wouldn’t listen. He let Virgil marry her! The daughter of a drunken sharecropper!

You are a vicious old bitch, Regina said softly.

Sit down and hush, Regina!

I won’t hush! Regina whirled about to face Virgil. You let her treat me this way! You never say a word in my defense!

You’re my wife. That speaks for itself. Now do as I say.

I’ll do as I damned well please! That will speak for itself, if nothing else will!

Regina turned away to look out the doors again. Suzanne pulled the bell cord for Delphine to clear away the coffee tray. The rain pounded in dreary monotony, and the wind whistled around the eaves of the house.

I wish the rain would stop, Angelique leaned her head wearily against the chair back.

It’ll be better tomorrow, Etienne said.

François uttered a sharp laugh. Can it get any worse?

* * * * *

But nothing had been any better, Angelique thought, returning to the present. She went out to the balcony overlooking the back garden. From the verandah below she heard her cousin Anne-Marie Landry’s voice.

"Mère de Dieu, she groaned. Not her again tonight!"

I told you not to go down to the cemetery.

She turned to find François in the doorway, a drink in his hand.

You’re always full of brotherly advice, she said.

Well, I was right, wasn’t I? It just upset you, didn’t it?

Yes, you were right!

It’s no different now than when Maman was alive. She isn’t going to know how we feel.

But I know how I feel!

Are you sure about that?

Did it ever occur to you, François, I mean did it ever, even for the tiniest moment, occur to you that it wasn’t normal for our mother to be insane and locked in an upstairs bedroom? It seemed normal to me!

"And to me. We never knew anything different. Would it have been any better if Daddy had put her in the asylum where so many of our infamous Duval ancestors ended up? Hell, Bébé, Saphronia lived to be ninety in that place. François took a slow drink. He couldn’t do that, you know. He loved her too much."

You don’t understand.

Yes, I do. Now that it’s too late, I regret all the times I didn’t stop to wonder what was going on behind those expressionless dark eyes of hers.

You and Virgil remember her from before. I never knew her at all.

It still torments Virgil. He was ten years old and remembers her pretty well. I was only six and I don’t remember that much.

There, you see! When what happened? What? We don’t even know that! What did happen, François? Was she a normal, loving young wife and mother one minute, and the next, suddenly and inexplicably insane?

You know the story as well as I do.

Yes, she was a normal, happy young wife expecting a baby, and she walked down to the cemetery one afternoon to check on her grieving sister-in-law, and half an hour later, was carried back in Daddy’s arms, in labor with me, and totally out of her mind!

Don’t, Angelique. Don’t do this to yourself.

Angelique studied her reflection in the cheval glass. I look exactly like her, and like that old portrait of Saphronia Duval up in the attic. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll go crazy too.

Don’t say that!

Why? Because you’re afraid I might? She turned to look at him. "Je suis une Duval, mon doux frère."

Because it’s nonsense!

Then what’s wrong with me?

I imagine you’re just ripe for the picking.

Be serious, François.

"I am dead serious, mon amour."

So, are you saying that if I go out and get laid, it’ll solve all my problems? She brushed past him into the bathroom, turned on the faucets to fill the tub and sprinkled hyacinth scented bath oil into the water.

Some of them, anyway.

Well, it hasn’t solved yours, has it?

I don’t have any problems.

Don’t you? You’ve got Duval blood, too. She pinned up her long hair. Go away, François, and let me have a bath before I go downstairs. I don’t see why we have to put up with Anne-Marie every evening!

Because hospitality’s an old Southern tradition. I’d rather watch you than listen to Anne-Marie. He laughed. Incest is an old Southern tradition too.

At any rate, it’s an old Duval tradition, isn’t it? She asked sweetly. She began to unbutton her blouse. You should’ve taken me swimming down at the river this afternoon.

Like I told you, there are a lot of things I want but can’t have, So I was practicing my pious denial of carnal pleasures. He turned to go. I’ll leave now, before the taint in my blood overcomes my sense of propriety.

* * * * *

The copper and violet sunset spilled over the countryside turning the fields and forests bronze-green and the sluggish waters of the Cocodrie River appeared molten gold. A warm breeze had swept away the heat of the day.

Anne-Marie Landry sat beside Etienne in the wicker swing, her platinum curls bouncing as she chattered. She was not really pretty, but rather cute in a childlike way, with alabaster skin that she pampered shamelessly, blue eyes and a retroussé nose. Verging on plumpness, she reminded one of a child with her innocuous air and vapid prattling. She was vain, shallow, and totally absorbed with herself, and, reared in a polite society where people dissembled, unaware of how ridiculous her affectations were.

I can’t decide what to do about the wedding. She turned to look at Etienne. Should I pin my hair up, with a cascade of curls down the back? I do so wish you’d chosen pink for your bridesmaids’ gowns, Angelique. Pink is my best color. Or at least cornflower blue to match my eyes.

Everything you own is pink, Angelique replied absently. She didn’t add that everything was always, to Anne-Marie’s thinking, all about her. Southern hospitality! She glanced at François and his lips quirked in a smile.

Just imagine this! Anne-Marie was undaunted. "Pale pink chiffon draped over a deeper pink peau de soie, and the scallops pinned up with little satin rosebuds. Doesn’t that just make you drool?"

Idiots drool, Etienne murmured.

That sounds more like Little Bo Peep than a bridesmaid’s gown, Angelique murmured. I suppose you’d want lacy parasols too!

Oh, absolutely! Her blue eye sparkled and she cast an oblique glance at Etienne.

Manchild handed around drinks from a silver tray and ice tinkled in crystal glasses. The roar of a bull alligator sounded faintly from the swampland beyond the plantation. Lightning bugs darted helter skelter through the twilight. From the kitchen they could hear Hattie Mae rattling pots and pans and the redolent scent of pork roast and sweet potatoes drifted tantalizingly across the verandah.

Ummmm! That smells divine! Anne-Marie sniffed appreciatively. Hattie Mae is a wonderful cook. Our Virgie absolutely ruins a pork roast.

You staying to supper again, Anne-Marie? François inquired politely.

Is that an invitation? She asked coyly.

Angelique frowned at him, dreading having to endure Anne-Marie’s chatter all through supper.

Not at all. You’ve been gracing us with your presence so often lately, I just wondered.

I might. Anne-Marie glanced coquettishly at Etienne. He was staring out into the garden and said nothing. I just might stay for supper. I truly might.

Angelique stirred restlessly. The last glow of sundown sparkled on her rings and shimmered over her honey gold hair that fell in a silken tumble around her shoulders. Her skin was creamy and flawless, and her eyes were sultry black, slightly tilted at the corners and fringed with long, sweeping black lashes. Hers was a breathtaking beauty that was all the more startling because she wore it with such careless indifference. She looked up to find Anne-Marie staring at her with a curiously watchful expression in her blue eyes.

Regina came out to the verandah then and slammed the screen door. Her russet hair gleamed like a dark flame in the waning light.

Regina! Virgil’s voice echoed down the hallway from the back parlor. Come on back in here!

She ignored him, leaned against a pillar, and lifted her glass to her lips.

François’s eyes rested on her slender form. Angelique watched him with a bemused expression in her dark eyes. He felt her gaze and looked at her. What is it they say about borrowing trouble? He murmured.

Why go borrowing it when there’s plenty to be had at home.

"Why indeed, Jolie Cœur?"

I can’t help thinking, though, Anne-Marie broke in, that pink would have been so lovely. She made a little moue of disappointment. Vermilion silk! Honestly, Angelique, that’s rather wanton!

Maybe it’ll light a fire under the icy good breeding of the bridegroom! Etienne snapped. Vermilion silk it’s going to be if that’s what she wants! And could we talk about something else besides that goddamn wedding?

Is Charles coming out for supper tonight? Anne-Marie asked.

No. He’s driving his mother to Yazoo City. Some charity thing.

I wondered why he wasn’t here, François murmured, haunting us with his dignified presence.

I’d just as soon not be haunted by him every night, thank you.

Last minute jitters? François rolled his eyes in mock dismay.

Maybe. The wedding is three weeks away.

I don’t see why you chose July, Anne-Marie said. June is the traditional month to get married.

Regardless, François said, it’s not too late to change your mind.

That’s what Randy keeps telling me. Angelique laughed at François’s dark scowl.

Yeah, well, you just keep Randy out of those pretty little panties of yours. You don’t need him either.

Change her mind? Anne-Marie cried. Why, Charles is one of the most eligible men in the county! And besides, Randy and Veronica are practically engaged!

Then why don’t you go after Charles instead of mooning around here after Etienne? As for Randy, if I wanted him, I’d only have to say the word!

If you’d only say the word, this ridiculous wedding would be called off and life could go back to normal.

Or what passes for normal around here, Etienne said.

If you two keep on at me, I might just do it! Then what will you do, stuck with an old maid sister who’s subject to go mad at the drop of hat?

"I’ve got an interesting and highly controversial answer to that question, Catin. François regarded her with roguish dark eyes over the rim of his glass. Sérieusement."

I’m truly intrigued.

But, Angelique, Anne-Marie cried, think of your wedding gown! All those yards and yards of ivory satin and scrumptious lace, and the precious little seed pearls!

Much more serious, François said, ignoring Anne-Marie, and a lot more fun than precious little seed pearls.

"Est-ce un promesse?" She laughed softly.

"Je garantie."

Anne-Marie frowned. I hate it when you do that. I can’t understand a word you say! But about the bridesmaid dresses ....

Anne-Marie, I almost envy you your single-mindedness.

That isn’t single-mindedness, Angelique, it’s sheer idiocy! Etienne rose abruptly and stalked down the steps, disappearing into the dark garden.

What did I say wrong? Anne-Marie looked around in bewilderment.

Never mind, Regina said. The explanation is far more confusing than the incident in question.

Go after him, Angelique, François said, and see if you can restore him to good humor, or else Hattie Mae’s supper will be ruined.

I’ll go. Anne-Marie stood up eagerly, patting a loose curl into place.

Why don’t you have another drink, François told her. Come sit down, Regina, and help me entertain our charming little cousin.

* * * * *

The sun was blood red beyond the tree tops, sinking rapidly into the horizon. The night sounds of katydids, crickets and tree frogs pulsated through the stillness. Etienne looked out toward the river, smoking a cigarette, his dark eyes brooding and angry. He did not look around as Angelique approached, and they stood side by side in silence for a long time.

It’s so peaceful here, she said at last. Sometimes I think I never want to leave it.

And other times? He tossed away his cigarette.

I wish there were no other times. I wish I could banish the demons.

"Which ones, mon ange?"

The Duval demons, I suppose.

The very ones we embrace so fiercely? Etienne turned then to look at her, startled anew by her exquisite beauty that one never quite grew accustomed to. What are you forever running away from?

I don’t know.

Don’t you think you’d better find out before it’s too late? She shrugged. Is that how you want to spend the rest of your life? Shut up in that mausoleum with Charles Carrington and his mother?

It’s what Daddy wants. I don’t know what I want, Etienne!

Or who?

She lowered her eyes from his gaze. Darkness was descending rapidly now and the moon filtered pale light through the trees.

You’d better quit playing games with Randy. He’s not like the others.

I’m not playing games.

Aren’t you? Jesus Christ, Angelique, have you forgotten Antoine Babineaux?

No, I have not forgotten him! How could I? But I was only fifteen, Etienne! I let him kiss me behind Dupuîs Cotton Gin. I thought I was in love, but … it turned out it wasn’t anything serious.

It was serious enough that François came damn close to killing him! As it is, he’s still down on Parchman Farm for dallying with a minor.

Well, that was just wrong because it was consensual. At any rate, he’s not an issue.

Maybe not, but do you want somebody killed over you? It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. She turned to go, but he caught her arm. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.

Let go of me!

Not until you listen to me.

I’m tired of listening to everybody tell me how to live my life, Etienne.

You obviously need somebody to tell you. You’re running head-on into trouble and can’t even see it.

Or head-on away from it? Or is it six of one, half a dozen of the other?

Beyond her shoulder he saw Anne-Marie, partially hidden by the tangle of shrubbery. Her face was white in the moonlight. He let go of Angelique and she massaged her wrist.

What do you want, Anne-Marie?

I came to tell you .... She wet her lips with her tongue. I came to tell you that supper’s ready.

Angelique looked up at Etienne pensively for a moment, then turned and fled up the path toward the house.

CHAPTER THREE

A NTOINE BABINEAUX STEPPED off the train into the white hot sunlight. He lit a cigarette, his dark eyes squinting through the smoke to survey the somnolent little town. Heat waves rose shimmering from the sidewalks, and the streets were devoid of movement. He was vaguely disturbed by the eerie sense of time having stood still.

Nothing had changed. It was as if he had never been away and the past five years were a bad dream from which he had just awakened. He wondered now why he had expected anything to change. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted it to be changed.

Inside the depot the ceiling fan clattered and Miss Marigold Prejean peered at him curiously through the screen door, just as she had on the day they had taken him on the train to Parchman. Parked outside, his brother Tubby waited for him. He tossed away his cigarette and walked toward the truck.

* * * * *

The Carrington mansion on Magnolia Street loomed forbidding, built of gray stone, towered and turreted, its precisely landscaped lawn surrounded by a high iron fence. There was an air of seclusion about the estate, and no child ever dared to reach through the fence to pick a blossom from the perfect rose bushes that bordered the lawn.

The drawing room was cavernous. Beige carpet covered the floors, and drab portraits of austere Carrington ancestors adorned the white walls. The whole effect, from the crystal candy dishes and ashtrays which gleamed unused, to the symmetrically arranged camel-colored sofas and chairs, was one of bland, uncluttered elegance.

Charles Carrington, immaculate in gray slacks and starched white shirt, his blond hair neatly in place, sat across from his mother, a cup of hot cocoa in his hand. The ticking of the mantle clock was loud in the silence.

Elizabeth watched him pensively. Her pale blonde hair, worn in a thick braid coiled atop her head, resembled a coronet. Diamonds glittered on her fingers and wrists.

You’re awfully quiet this evening.

I’m sorry, Mother.

You’ve hardly spoken since dinner.

I’m sorry.

Something’s bothering you.

I’d planned to spend the evening with Angelique, but when I phoned, Manchild said she’d gone with François over to Soleil County.

Elizabeth dismissed his concern with a graceful flutter of her hand. La Bonne Vie is a madhouse. So many people, so much commotion. I imagine she wanted to get away for a while. I hope you’re not worrying needlessly about what people will say. They do tend to blow every small thing out of proportion, you know.

Say about what?

Then you haven’t heard? Antoine Babineaux has come back.

Charles looked up at her. When?

This afternoon. Jessica glanced at her son from beneath lowered lashes. Of course people are going to talk, but if Angelique behaves with proper decorum, the talk will soon die out again.

Why would anyone talk about that at all? She was only fifteen. He tried to take advantage of her youth and innocence. He got what was coming to him.

Yes, but François almost killed him. People being what they are, they’ll rehash the old scandal. Just turn a deaf ear to it.

Turn a deaf ear? She’s my fiancée!

Yes, Charles, turn a deaf ear! Ignore it.

I’m sure there won’t be anything to ignore. After all, that was five years ago. Charles busied himself refilling his cup to avoid Jessica’s scrutiny.

I’m a bit concerned about something else, Charles. Elizabeth’s pale eyebrows arched delicately. Angelique is, of course, a lovely girl from an excellent, moneyed family. Still, I hope your marriage won’t destroy the closeness we’ve always shared.

Of course not, Mother. Why would it?

Perhaps I’m unduly concerned, but she does have a streak of rebelliousness in her. She twisted a sapphire bracelet around her wrist. At times I’ve sensed that her attitude toward me is a bit irreverent.

Angelique is high spirited, and sometimes moody, that’s all.

I would so hate to be excluded from your lives.

That won’t happen.

Enough said then. Elizabeth uttered a tiny sigh of relief. I will miss our cozy evenings together, just the two of us.

Charles looked down at his hands. He was startled when Elizabeth spoke again. It’s getting late, nearly ten. I think we should turn in for the night.

I’m not sleepy.

Nonsense! You know late hours upset your system.

It’s not that late. It’s only a quarter to ten. I’m really not tired.

Perhaps not. Elizabeth rose decisively. Still, you are rather in a nervous state tonight.

I’m not in a nervous state. I’m simply disappointed that I couldn’t spend the evening with Angelique. I don’t want ....

Charles, that’s quite enough! Come along now. I know what’s best for you.

Angelique and I will be married next month. What then? You can’t go on ordering me ....

Indeed? She whirled to face him, her eyes glittering. Angelique does not live here yet. When she does, she will not reign as mistress. I am mistress of this house as long as I live. Now, come along, Charles. I won’t brook another protest!

* * * * *

The Babineaux farm was in Soleil County. Tubby Babineaux ran a juke joint, called Tubby’s Joint since he wasn’t long on imagination, in a crudely remodeled old barn deep in the woods on the north end of the Babineaux property. His grew marijuana behind the farmhouse, dried the leaves and manicured them for sale. It was proclaimed to be the best weed in three counties.

Antoine sat on the porch steps, shirtless, his sun bronzed chest and arms glistening with sweat. He drained the last drops from a beer can and tossed it into the yard. The late evening was breathless with the oppressive heat that precedes a thunderstorm. Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance. His brother Tubby came out on the porch, his truck keys jingling in his hand. He was heading out to the old barn to open up business for the evening.

You gonna be alright here by yourself tonight?

Antoine looked up at his brother with a sardonic smile. "I managed to survive five years at Parchman. I think I can handle a few beers and some douce souvenirs on a rainy night."

Sweet memories? Tubby looked askance at him. Aw, man, you’re not gonna bring up that long past shit again, are you?

You really think I’d forget what sent me to Parchman to begin with?

"I think you damn well better. Angelique Leveque is way out of your league, petit frère."

She didn’t think so back then. It wasn’t her that got me sent up. Maybe she won’t think so now. Man, I loved that girl.

"Merde! You damn near got yourself killed and threw away five years of your life for her. She’s une petite poupée, alright, but let it go. You always had expensive tastes, liked to get up under those silk skirts."

Especially that particular silk skirt. He grinned. And I was almost up under there … if her motherfucking brother hadn’t come along!

And you got five years in prison for that!

"Je veux toujours embrasser sa douce bouton d’amour."

That’s disgusting!

That’s what the ladies like. You should try it. It would improve your love life ... if you have one.

Tubby scowled at him and started down the steps. Anyway, it’s too late for that. She’s getting married next month. Three weeks to be exact.

Married? Antoine rose and walked to the end of the porch, staring out into the darkness. To who?

Charles Carrington. They’ve been engaged for the past year.

You never said anything about that when you came to visit.

Why would you care? Tubby asked, exasperated. She’s Arnaud Leveque’s daughter, for God’s sake! You can’t come back here ....

Arnaud Leveque isn’t God, and I’m not afraid of him.

Lightning tore open the night sky and large drops of rain began to splash down, pattering on the tin roof. Antoine stood up and stretched.

Let me drop you off and borrow the truck. I want to go into town, then I’ll drop by the barn later on.

What’re you gonna do it in town? In case you forgot, Jezreel shuts down at five o’clock.

I thought I’d pay a visit to Rena Santangelo. Maybe she and I will come out to the barn. He grinned. "And maybe la petite poupée will be there. She’s not married yet."

"Merde! I don’t want any trouble!"

I won’t cause any ... unless trouble comes to me first.

"You’ve got a short memory, mon frère, If you don’t stay away from her, Tubby said as they hurried through the rain to the truck, Arnaud Leveque will be the least of your worries!"

CHAPTER FOUR

T UBBY’S JOINT WAS hot and crowded on Friday night. Anne-Marie was miserable. Rivulets of perspiration ran down her neck and her carefully wound ringlets were drooping. She hated Coca-Cola spiked with Anatole Duval’s moonshine, and she hated the gut-wrenching blues wailing from the jukebox. She preferred the bright lights and soft music of parties where she could be seen and admired. No one had even noticed her new dress in the dim light of the kerosene lanterns. Etienne sat beside her, drinking in brooding silence. He had hardly said a word all evening, his dark eyes smoldering with some obscure emotion that was familiar but that she could never decipher. He uttered a low oath and she turned in the direction of his gaze.

Angelique was hemmed in at the bar with Jessime Duval and his brother Ardoin on either side of her, vying for her attention, and Randy hovering on the fringe. She looked up at Jessime, laughing, and the lantern light glistened on her honey gold hair. Anne-Marie could see the dimple at the right corner clearly in the soft light, and the seductive curve of her lips when she smiled. In one of her rare flashes of perception she thought she understood the sensual allure that drew men to Angelique.

I hope she chokes on that smile, Veronica Duval hissed with an angry toss of her raven hair. She does it deliberately, and she doesn’t want Randy! She doesn’t want any of them.

Sometimes it seems like she doesn’t want Charles either! Mary Alice Littlejohn said gloomily. She was on pins and needles waiting for a marriage proposal but Ardoin Duval had not proposed yet.

She seems to want my husband! Jessime Duval’s wife, Juliet, who was Randy’s sister, snapped furiously.

Maybe she does want ... someone. It had never before occurred to Anne-Marie that a woman would want a man without marriage as her goal. She found the thought vaguely disturbing.

François came back to the table with fresh drinks. He noticed Etienne’s glum countenance and his gaze followed Etienne’s to Angelique. Jessime toyed with the pear-shaped diamond that hung from a gold chain, nestled in the hollow between her breasts. Randy, already well on his way to being drunk, tried to shove himself in between Jessime and Angelique. Ardoin shoved him back.

Behold the fall of Babylon, François murmured.

And the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her .... Etienne grinned caustically and turned up his glass to drain it.

With who? It irritated Anne-Marie that they seemed able to read each other’s thoughts when she could not even fathom their words.

It’s Apocalypse, Veronica told her impatiently. She was dressed in purple and scarlet and rode a beast with seven heads.

Oh, the Bible, Anne-Marie said crossly. Who was dressed like that? Angelique isn’t wearing purple and scarlet, and besides, those colors don’t match at all.

Everyone laughed. Anne-Marie subsided with a pout.

To the Apocalypse. François lifted his glass in a mock toast, about to begin." He sauntered toward the bar to reclaim his sister.

And I’m going out to the car for a few minutes, Etienne said.

Why do they bring us here if they’re going to spend half the evening outside? Juliet grumbled.

They’ve got a bottle of good whisky in the trunk of Etienne’s car, Veronica said, and I need another drink. She peered into her empty glass. I presume Randy and Jessime are about to engage in another skirmish. Y’all want to go out and watch?

I won’t go out there and watch my husband fight over her! Tears glistened in Juliet’s eyes. I thought after we got married that he would settle down, stay away from her!

I don’t understand why Charles lets her get away with it, Anne-Marie said. Where is he tonight, anyway? Why is she here with François? I thought he and Diana-Grace had a date. It’s as if Charles doesn’t care.

I suppose he thinks marriage will quell the libidinous urges, Veronica hiccoughed lightly, "of mon frère and his compatriots in concupiscence, so to speak. As for François, he’s ... je ne sais quoi when it comes to her. Veronica hiccoughed lightly. Une penchant immoral, as Maman says."

I think you’re tipsy, Veronica, Anne-Marie snapped. Why can’t any of you ever speak in plain language a person can understand?

We do it to plague you, of course, Veronica chuckled.

"Well, your brother’s marriage