Jezebel shook her head. “Close your eyes, Emma.”
It took me a second to comply.
Before I did, as insects buzzed, I scanned the area around us.
For as far as I could see, there were tall trees with low-hanging branches and veils of moss. Dark shadows lurked in the distance beneath the canopy of foliage. The hard-packed ground we stood on was an island of sorts, surrounded by pools of water and mud.
I knew enough about this ecosystem to be cognizant of the dangers that could lurk under the murky water as well as in the air. Mosquitoes and horseflies multiplied exponentially as their larvae matured in the stagnant water. There was a circle of life—the fish and frogs ate the insects while larger reptiles ate the fish and frogs. The area wasn’t without animals—mammals.
In a place like this, the mammals, even those with the advantage of opposable thumbs, weren’t always the highest on the food chain.
I looked up through the trees.
With the lush foliage, I wasn’t even sure if the large house was visible from the sky. In that second, I realized my only hope of leaving—of escaping—was to convince Jezebel North that I would listen and cooperate.
Running away as I’d done from Rett’s wasn’t an option.
Exhaling, with my hand still in Jezebel’s, I did as she asked and closed my eyes.
“Listen,” she said, “and they will talk to you. You are a child of the spirits. They protected you and me as you grew within me. They strengthened both of you when I wasn’t able. Let them speak.”
Opening my eyes, I pulled my hand away. “Jezebel—”
“I very much appreciate the hard work of Marcella O’Brien,” she said, interrupting. “She accepted the task of raising you and Kyle. She agreed to my stipulations and conceded to accept what the spirits had decreed, knowing by doing so she was saving your lives.” Jezebel’s chin rose as she looked from me to the house and back. “However, I’ve waited nearly twenty-six and a half years to hear you call me Mother.”
I concluded that she meant from the time she knew she was pregnant, as I’d only recently had my twenty-sixth birthday before coming to New Orleans.
She continued, “I must insist that you use some form of that word.” Her volume lowered. “After all, Jezebel isn’t my name, not the one my mother used.”
I sucked in a deep breath and forced the moniker from my lips. “Mother, I’m married. I married Everett Ramses, and I need to contact him. He’ll be worried.” I pushed away my concerns of Ian and Noah.
The sound of a slamming screen door brought our attention to the house.
A woman appeared on the front porch, small in stature with skin that was as dark as Leon’s if not darker. The gray in her hair and the wrinkles in her face were reliable indicators of her age. Her eyes shone brightly, like beacons in the shade of the trees near the house. The woman smiled as she fanned herself with an old-fashioned wooden collapsible fan. “Lawd, praise be, Miss Betsy. She’s here. You did it. Our girl is home.”
Emma
Miss Betsy?
“Edmée,” Jezebel said as she reached for my arm. “Please show Emma to where she’ll be staying. I’m afraid I’ve overdone.”
Edmée hurried down the stairs and over the packed dirt. She reached for Jezebel, wrapping her arm around Jezebel’s waist. Her dark orbs turned to me. “Help me, girl.”
I did the same, supporting Jezebel as we helped her up the stairs.
“Over there,” Jezebel said, nodding toward a row of rocking chairs.
“No, miss,” Edmée said, “You best lay down. The spirits have been too hard on you.”
“The chair is fine.”
Once Jezebel was seated, the sound of heavy footsteps from inside the house caused me to turn toward the screen door. Before I could see through the mesh, the door creaked and slammed against the house as Kyle burst onto the porch. In that instant, he was the brother I remembered, wearing blue jeans, Chuck Taylors, and a tight-fitting dry-fit short-sleeved shirt. His skin was tanner than I recalled and his blond hair was longer, mussed, and slightly curled.
While Kyle looked at me, he didn’t verbally acknowledge my presence; instead, he hurried to Jezebel. Holding the arm of the chair and crouching down in front of her, he asked, “Are you all right, Mom? Can I get you something?”
Turning at the sound of tires on loose dirt, I watched as the car we’d arrived in disappeared to somewhere behind the house. Holding the porch post, I stared out again to the land beyond this island of sorts that held the house, pondering if there was a route to escape. While I couldn’t recall driving over a bridge, from where I stood, it was the only possibility.
Gripping the post tighter, I knew I was again captive.