LaShaun answered by playing the song as though she were in a grand concert hall. She repeated the opening notes then let them tinkle like flowing water. Momon Odette continued to smile as she sat down in the nearest stuffed chair. LaShaun ended the tune with a flourish that would have made any conductor proud.
“Humph, now you’re just showin’ off,” Momon Odette said when the final note died away. She put the walking case aside and stretched out a hand to LaShaun. “Welcome home, my sweet baby girl.”
LaShaun went to her. She kissed the hand that had guided her through childhood. Now the knuckles were large, the tapered fingers weakened by arthritis. Yet the skin appeared strangely smooth.
“Bon soir, Momon.” LaShaun kissed her forehead. She breathed in the familiar scent of Cashmere Bouquet powder. The fragrance of lavender and chamomile came from another era.
“So, you finally come home. To watch me die, eh?” Momon Odette patted LaShaun’s cheek.
“To celebrate your life, sweet mother,” LaShaun whispered. A tear slipped down her face.
Momon Odette shushed away her sadness with a soft hiss. She produced a scented lace handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and dabbed away the tear. LaShaun sat on the floor and rested her head in Momon Odette’s lap.
“Don’t grieve just yet, ma petite. The blood is still runnin’ warm in these old veins. I’ve got just enough time left I think.”
“Time for what?” LaShaun toyed with the hem of her grandmother’s cotton gingham robe.
“Ah, that you will know tomorrow. But tonight you need rest after a long journey. You’ve come back home through time and space I think,” Momon Odette murmured.
LaShaun looked up at her. “Different time, yes. But things look the same. Are they?”
Momon Odette patted her shoulder as a signal she wanted to stand. With a short grunt from the effort, and a hand from LaShaun, she rose from the chair.
“Some things are eternal, cher. The movement of the wind, the heat on the bayou when summer comes. All that is the same.” Momon Odette held LaShaun’s arm as they walked down the hallway to her bedroom.
“And the things that don’t change?” LaShaun asked. She smiled at her.
“Human nature, cher.” Momon Odette did not smile back. Instead she stopped and gave LaShaun a sideways glance. “The same deadly sins rule a man’s nature.”
“And women,” LaShaun added raising an eyebrow back at her.
Momon Odette laughed and started walking again. “True. But age does make a difference. When you get to be old, cher, you look at things different.”
They arrived at the door to her grandmother’s bedroom. As they entered LaShaun let her go in first. Then she fluffed the down pillows as her grandmother sank onto the bed. LaShaun helped her remove the robe and ease back onto the pillows. Once she’d tucked the vintage quilt around Momon Odette’s chest her grandmother sighed.
“Thank you, sweet girl. Now sit with me awhile.”
LaShaun sank onto the cushioned seat of a large oak rocking chair next to the bed. A Bible was on the nightstand. “Of course. Shall I read to you?”
“Non.”
Momon Odette closed her eyes after a few moments. LaShaun watched the slight rise and fall of her grandmother’s chest. After a while she gazed around. Momon Odette had redecorated. Her grandmother had a fondness for antiques, history and tradition. Yet Momon Odette was no old lady clinging to the past. LaShaun smiled when she saw the combination radio and compact disc player on the other wide nightstand. Still the high tech device fit into the country style décor. Curtains with a lovely old rose pattern on a cream background matched the quilt, the rug and pillow shams. A cane ceiling fan overhead looked old enough to have come from one of the plantation homes along Vermilion River. Then LaShaun saw the family photos on a round table. She left the rocker and went to it. Several pictures were sepia toned, taken before the turn of the last century. “Celie LeGrange, 1866-1932” was written at the bottom of one. Momon Odette’s mother. Jules Paul LeGrange, husband to Celie and Momon Odette’s father, stared stone-faced from another photo. An even older picture of a lovely woman dressed in a long dress and button top shoes sat next to it. LaShaun did not have to read the faint letters to know her. Acelie de Bienville stared at her descendant across time, two hundred years to be exact.
“We’ll meet with my lawyer tomorrow.”
LaShaun spun around. Momon Odette’s eyes were still closed. “What?”
“Everything is arranged. Yes.” Momon Odette let a deep breath as she moved slightly against the pillows. A feline smile lifted the corners of her thin mouth. Then her features settled into a blank expression. LaShaun started to ask more questions, but Momon Odette snored softly. She stared hard at her grandmother, suspicious that it was an act. Then LaShaun decided that real or not, Odette LeGrange Rousselle would reveal more only when she was ready. Besides, Ree would fill in any details.
She went to her bedroom, unpacked the overnight bag and showered. LaShaun emerged an hour later feeling refreshed and at ease in a cotton lounge pant set. She’d pulled her hair loose from the braid as she walked to the kitchen. Rita stood at the cabinet putting away dishes.
“I got a plate jambalaya and cornbread all fixed up, boo. Just have to pop it in the microwave,” Ree said over her shoulder. She continued to stack plates on a shelf.
LaShaun stood in a spacious area near the breakfast nook and did a series of stretching exercises. Tension eased from her arms and shoulders. Monmon Odette’s kitchen had also been renovated. Yet the cooking area had an efficient spacing between the spice cabinets, gas cook top and sink.
“I can’t eat that spicy stuff this late. If I know you that jambalaya is just the way I like it. Full of cayenne pepper. Girl, my stomach would be on fire all night if I ate that food so late.” LaShaun moved into the Half-Mon yoga pose.
“Please. You mean to tell me a little pepper gonna come back on ya these days? You been outta Louisiana way too long.” Rita laughed as she wiped her hands dry on a red checked kitchen towel. She turned around and gawked at LaShaun. “What the—?”
LaShaun stood straight again. “You should try yoga, Ree. Makes you flexible and strong.”
“Oh please. Y’all would need to get the jaws of life to get me out of some of those poses. So you don’t want anything?” Ree took the plate out of the microwave and put it in the refrigerator. She took a carton of milk out.
“I’ll just have a cup of warm milk and cookies. Now I know you’ve got cookies in the jar.” LaShaun padded over to the tall antique ceramic jar. The top had a pattern of twisted vines around the knob. She lifted the lid and peeked in. “I knew it.”
“Tea cakes. Momon Odette’s secret recipe,” Ree replied as she poured milk in a small saucepan.
“She gave you the recipe?” LaShaun took out three of the cakes and sat down at the snack counter. Her bare feet rested on the top rung of the stool.
“That and more. Said it was time to pass on the most precious parts of her legacy.” Ree stirred the milk a few times then turned off the burner. After pouring the milk in a mug she joined LaShaun at the counter.
“I’m trying to imagine life without her.” LaShaun wrapped her hands around the mug to ward off the chill she felt.
“Yeah.” Ree sat on the stool next to her. She absentmindedly took one of LaShaun’s teacakes and bit off a piece of it. “I love that old woman.”
“So do I, Ree.I love her much.” LaShaun said.
In spite of everything, their ups and downs, LaShaun knew Momon Odette loved her fiercely as well. And that was the problem. Odette had decades of having her way before LaShaun had been born. Yet LaShaun had finally decided to pull away. The murder of Claude Trosclair had been LaShaun’s wake-up call. LaShaun pushed away thoughts of how her wild ways had led to his death.
“So tell me what’s been going on, Ree.”
Episode 3
