Ring Shout(40)

Chef and I look at each other, then answer back, “’Bout damn time!”

We leave her there to her newfound sight, making our way home.





EPILOGUE

I sit sipping the best mint julep I ever tasted. Just enough bourbon and sugar. Not a real mint julep, of course. Nothing here real. Not the antique white table or the wicker chair I’m sitting in, set on a mound of grass in what look like a swamp. The giant red oak still there, now covered in tresses of tan Spanish moss and lavender wisteria. Behind us sits a mansion, with ivy twisting about faded white columns and creeping across stone.

Auntie Ondine across from me, in an old-timey white dress and broad white hat. She’s sipping her own mint julep while holding open a white ruffled parasol. Said they needed a change of scenery. I look up through the moss and wisteria, catching sight of Auntie Jadine perched on a branch. Her bare legs swing under the lace trim of her dress, brown toes wriggling while she hums, twirling her parasol.

Back at the table, Auntie Margaret jabbing her umbrella at me. Had the fool idea of asking why come foxes always up to no good in stories. Lord, if that didn’t set her off.

“And them tales got it backward! Rubbish and rabbit propaganda is all that is!” She slams down her parasol, rattling a vase of snow-white carnations.

“Well!” Auntie Ondine’s plump cheeks dimple kindly. “Before we started down that path, I believe I was asking how things are at home. Your battle with the enemy must have caused quite the stir!”

Yeah, about that. Things have been … strange.

Been four days now, and Georgia papers still carrying stories about “big happenings” on Stone Mountain. That there was a fire at a Klan rally, killing dozens. Others say it was a bad batch of moonshine poisoning. More claim it was a fresh outbreak of Spanish flu, explaining why the government showed up, burning bodies.

Turns out that last one’s not so wrong. Leastways about the government.

Word come from Atlanta that the United States Army all over Stone Mountain. Got the place cordoned off with military trucks and soldiers. Scientists too, wearing gas masks and sweeping about with funny gadgets. All of them supervised by government men in dark suits, smoking and giving orders. Not just Stone Mountain either. They come to Macon.

Not army trucks but wagons. Full of men claiming to be Prohibition agents. They raided Butcher Clyde’s shop, busting up liquor barrels and making a big to-do, charging he was a bootlegger. But me and Chef checked it out from a rooftop. Them government men was there, directing agents to seal up all that butcher meat in glass containers, packing them into wagons and driving off.

“So Sadie’s claims proved correct,” Auntie Ondine says when I finish.

I know. Hardly believe it myself. Might have to start reading those tabloids.

“And your beau? We looked in on you earlier tonight, he seems quite recovered!”

Somewhere above, Auntie Jadine titters. Really need to have them stop that.

“Michael George doing well,” I confirm. Me and him finally have that talk he been wanting. And I answer some of his questions. Not all, but enough. For now. I’m expecting him to call me crazy, but he just nods slow. Says he always thought them Klans was jumbie, what they call haints in St. Lucia. And that his great-auntie was an Obeah woman, so he not afraid of magic. Says none of that stopping him from taking me sailing one day. I tell him I still don’t make promises. But I’ll think on it.

“We’re delighted things are going well, Maryse,” Auntie Ondine says. She looks hesitant. “Have you made a decision about the sword?”

I set down my glass, right beside the leaf-shaped blade. I ain’t called it since Stone Mountain. After everything, I needed some time to just be Maryse, not nobody’s champion. This sword done right by me. Yet, lie that he was, Butcher Clyde wasn’t fibbing when he said I took pleasure in working out my vengeance. I think to Dr. Bisset. His emptiness. Don’t want that. Nana Jean warned me accepting gifts from haints carried a price. I seen now what it’s like to pay it.

But this war not over.

There’s still Klans. Still Ku Kluxes. Still that damned movie. This sword carries anger paid for in the suffering of a whole people. Butcher Clyde and them couldn’t have it, because it wasn’t theirs to take, to twist and feed on. It been passed on to me. Mine to shape into what’s needed here and now. I ain’t ready to abandon that just yet. Besides, got some vengeance in me still needs working out.

I look up to see everybody quiet, waiting. Even Auntie Jadine stopped humming.

“I’m still your champion. If you’ll have me.”

Auntie Ondine beams and Auntie Margaret gives the barest smile, which is a lot for her. Auntie Jadine winks from above, and I wink back.

“You are indeed our champion!” Auntie Ondine pronounces.

Those words make me happier than I’d realized and I look over the sword. “You know it come to me that it ain’t right this blade only binds the spirits of slave-trading chiefs and kings. What about the white folk who bought them slaves? Who worked them to death. Ain’t they got penance to pay?”

Aunt Ondine gives the foxiest of grins. “Why Maryse, that’s a whole other sword.”

I almost choke on the mint julep. Another sword? A hundred questions form on my tongue. But her face turns serious.

“I’m glad you taking time to rest. But I’m afraid there’s evil afoot.”