"Insect bite?" Grandmere asked quickly.
"Can't find anything on him that says so," Raul replied. "Be right with you, Raul," she said, and went back to get her basket of medicines and spiritual things.
"Should I come with you, Grandmere?" I asked as she hurried out.
"No, dear. Stay and make us dinner. Prepare one of your good jambalayas," she added, and went to Raul's truck. He helped her in and then quickly drove off, bouncing over the drive as hard as he had when he had arrived. I couldn't blame him for being anxious and frightened, and once again, I was proud of Grandmere Catherine for being the one to whom he came for assistance, the one in whom he placed such trust.
Later in the day, I did what she asked and worked on our dinner while I listened to some of the latest Cajun music on the radio. There was a prediction of another downpour, one that would be full of lightning and thunder. The static on the radio told me the prediction would come true and sure enough, by late afternoon, the sky had turned that purplish dark color that often preceded a violent storm. I was worried about Grandmere Catherine and after I had battened down all the windows, I stood by the door waiting and watching for Raul's pickup. But the rain came before the truck did.
We had hail and then a pounding downpour that sounded like it would drill holes even through the metal roof. Wave after wave of rain was washed over the bayou by the wind that came rushing over the sycamores and cypresses, bending and twisting the branches, tearing leaves and limbs from trees. The distant low, rumbling thunder soon became real boomers, crashing down around the house like boulders and then lighting up the sky with fire. Hawks shrieked, everything that lived struggled to find a hole to crawl in to remain safe and dry. The railings on the porch groaned and the whole house seemed to turn and twist in the wind. I couldn't recall a storm as fierce, nor when I was more frightened by one.
Finally, it began to recede and the heavy drops thinned. The wind slowed down and became less and less severe until it was nothing more than a brisk breeze. Night fell quickly afterward, so I didn't see the resulting damage around the swamp, but the rain trickled on for hours and hours.
I expected Raul was waiting for the storm to stop before bringing Grandmere Catherine home, but as the hours ticked by and the storm dissipated until it was finally nothing more than a sprinkle, the truck still did not appear. I grew more and more nervous and wished that we had a telephone like most of the other people in the bayou, although I imagined the lines would have been down just like they often were after such a storm and the telephone would have been useless.
Our supper was long done. It simmered in the pot. I wasn't all that hungry, being so anxious, but finally, I ate some and then cleaned up. Grandmere had still not returned. I spent the next hour and a half waiting on the galerie, just watching the darkness for the lights of Raul's truck. Occasionally, a vehicle did appear, but it was someone else all the time.
Finally, nearly twelve hours after Raul had come for Grandmere Catherine, his truck turned into the drive. I saw him clearly, and I saw his oldest son, Jean, but I didn't see Grandmere Catherine. I ran down the galerie steps as he came to a stop.
"Where's my grandmere?" I called before he could speak.
"She's in the back," he said. "Resting."
"What?"
I hurried around and saw Grandmere Catherine lying on an old mattress, a blanket over her. The mattress was on a wide sheet of plywood and was used as a makeshift bed for Raul's children when he and his wife went on long journeys.
"Grandmere!" I cried. "What's wrong with her?" I asked as Raul came around.
"She collapsed with exhaustion a few hours ago. We wanted to keep her overnight, but she insisted on us bringing her home and we wanted to do whatever she asked. She broke my boy's fever. He's going to be all right," Raul said, smiling.
"I'm happy about that, Mr. Balzac, but Grandmere Catherine . ."
"We'll help you get her into the house and to bed," he said, and nodded to Jean. They lowered the rear of the truck and the two of them lifted the mattress and board with Grandmere Catherine off the truck. She stirred and opened her eyes.
"Grandmere," I said, taking her hand, "what's wrong?"
"I'm just tired, so tired," she muttered. "I'll be fine," she added, but her eyelids clamped down shut so quickly alarm filled me.
"Quickly," I said, and rushed ahead to open the door for them. They brought her up to her room and eased her off the mattress and into her own bed.
"Is there anything we can do for you, Ruby?" Raul asked. "No. I'll take care of her. Thank you."
"Thank her for us again," Raul said. "My wife will send something over in the morning and we'll stop by to see how she is."
I nodded and they left. I took off Grandmere's shoes and helped her off with her dress. She was like someone drugged, barely opening her eyes, barely moving her arms and legs. I don't think she realized I had put her to bed.
All that night I sat at her side, waiting for her to awaken. She moaned and groaned a few times, but she never woke up until morning when I felt her nudge my leg. I was asleep in the chair beside the bed.
"Grandmere," I cried. "How are you?"
"I'm all right, Ruby. Just weak and tired. How did I get home and in bed? I don't remember."
"Mr. Balzac and his son Jean brought you in their truck and carried you in."
"And you sat up all night watching over me?" she asked.
"Yes."