Authors: Renee Miller
Rowan navigated the pirogue deeper into the bayou. The morning mist dampened her skin. She breathed deep the smell of the swamp: sweet, with a hint of decay; a smell she’d grown to love.
She kept an eye out for pursuers, not because she worried about being caught, but to keep her destination secret. Very few people knew about the little shack hidden in this remote part of the swamp. A passerby wouldn’t notice it at all. Covered in moss, it blended in behind the tall oaks and weeping cypress trees that surrounded it. Its owner liked privacy and the price of revealing its location was high.
Rowan searched the green mass of trees and leaves for the marker. The morning sky reflected pink and orange off the murky water, bright enough to make out the edge of the bank but casting everything beyond into golden shadows. A bullfrog croaked somewhere, soon drowned by the sounds of birds awakening, squawking and rustling the trees, searching for breakfast.
Had she mistaken the distance? Rowan considered turning around, but then she saw it. Poking out of a mass of black-eyed Susans, dead eyes and a wide grin stared back at her. Angling the boat toward the bank, Rowan moved quickly, eager to get the craft hidden before anyone spotted it.
“Good morning, Charles,” she greeted the gator’s head fastened to a cypress stump among the yellow blooms. “Does Mama Gator know that you’ve been decorated? You are far too ugly to be hiding in these pretty flowers. You stand out like a sore thumb my dear friend.”
Rowan stepped out of the little boat. Sticky, cool mud seeped over her bare feet to cover her ankles. She heaved the boat up the bank, slipping several times. As she labored to pull the boat through the mud, sweat trickled down her face. Finally, when she reached a patch of leaves it slid easier over the ground.
Rowan stopped to catch her breath. “This is why I don’t come see you more often, Charles. Most people have a dock, or a stump to tie the boat to, but Mama Gator can’t have none of that.”
Rowan scanned the river. In its center a large gator watched, only his eyes and the top of his head visible. Tiny ripples, barely discernable, fanned around him as he edged closer. She stood and patted Charles’s head. “I don’t think I’ll stay for breakfast. I’m sure you understand.”
She dragged the boat into the trees behind Charles’ stump and then turned it over. While the mildewed bottom blended into the leaf-covered ground, it wouldn’t be enough. She covered the boat with leaves and dirt. Once satisfied that anyone crazy enough to travel this far down the river wouldn’t see it from the water, she stood and stared at the opposite bank. Rowan recalled the first time she’d found this place and Mama Gator. Tears blurred her vision as she recalled that day when she foolishly believed she might escape her birthright.
***
Rowan had found Mama Gator when she was just twelve years old. She’d spent the day searching for plants and other ingredients for her mother’s potions and had loaded her bag into her boat and then poled it into the deep water, but something made her pause. Worried she forgot something, Rowan had set the pole along the side of the boat so she could search through her bag. If she forgot a single item on the list, Mama would be furious.
A quick search confirmed she had every item on Mama’s list. Still, Rowan felt as though she was missing something. Ignoring a sudden instinct to pole the boat away from her home, Rowan set the bag on the bottom of the boat and stood. Her foot hit the side and she’d stumbled, but managed to regain her balance. She took a calming breath and turned to pick up the pole, but it was gone. Rowan realized she’d kicked the pole when she stumbled, and it now floated too far to reach it. The gators watched her from the banks, as though waiting for her to jump in or fall, and provide them with a snack.
Cursing herself, she sat down and cried while her boat drifted further down the bayou, away from home. She must have made an awful racket for Mama Gator to have heard her. The old woman claimed that the spirits had sent Rowan to that part of the swamp for a reason, and carried her cries through the trees to Mama Gator’s ears. Knowing all that she knew now, there could be some truth to that. Mama Gator always seemed to know when Rowan needed help.
Mama Gator’s real name was Celestine. She had no last name; if she did, she dropped it long ago. The little shack she called home had belonged to her grandmother and then her mother. She never spoke of a father, or any man for that matter, and Rowan didn’t dare ask.
When she appeared on the bank that day, Rowan thought she was a ghost and fear gripped her heart.
“What you cryin bout chile?” Mama Gator yelled from the bank.
Rowan stared back at the tiny old woman. Her skin as black as the mud that lined the riverbanks and her white hair stood out in stark contrast, hanging in dreads to her little waist.
“You keep squawkin like dat, dem gators is gonna eat you jus to shut you up, girl!”
Rowan stopped crying. She looked at the gators that seemed to grin at the old woman’s words. She wondered why they didn’t bother the old lady sitting on the bank so close to them.
“They’s my chilren, and a chile don’t eat his mama,” the old woman answered as though reading her thoughts. She tapped the gator head next to her, causing Rowan to see it for the first time. Its vacant stare seemed to gaze into her soul, sending a shiver down her spine and she looked away.
“Only one ever talk back to Mama Gator, an dis be where he stay now. Charles was a bad boy so Mama Gator had to make an example. He a good boy now, right Charles?”
Rowan stared in disbelief at the woman. How could such a small, old woman kill a gator? He must have been pretty old and slow himself.
“You stayin out der all day hon?”
“I lost my pole.” Rowan said.
“How you lose a big ole pole?”
“I don’t know. I—it fell off.”
Mama Gator tsked and knelt in the trees, nearly disappearing. “Maybe if you was holdin onto it stead of fussin like dat, den it wouldna fell into de river, hmmm?”
“Probably,” Rowan didn’t know what else to say.
Mama Gator reemerged from the trees with a pole. Rowan nearly cried again in her relief.
“Can you catch?”
Rowan nodded.
“Dis be de only one I got. I don’t want you losin it in de swamp. Dem gators respect me but I ain’t goin to swim in der water.”
“I’ll catch it.” Rowan promised. She floated only a few feet from the bank. The pole would almost reach her. She worried only about whether Mama Gator could throw it far enough.
“I count to tree an you be ready.” Mama Gator held the pole high above her head and counted. “One, two, tree—”
She launched the pole and to Rowan’s surprise, it flew over her head. She almost fell when she stretched to catch it, causing water to slosh over the sides of her boat, the cool liquid soaking her bare feet.
Mama Gator smiled, showing one lone tooth at the bottom of her mouth. “Mercy chile, you clumsy. Mebbe one day soon you grow into dem arms an legs an den you won’t fall all over like dat.”
Rowan said nothing as she turned the boat toward home.
“Wait chile, where you goin to now?”
“I’m going home. Thank you for your help. I’ll bring your pole back when I retrieve my own.”
“You can’t jus leave. Come on, we only jus met and de spirit be powerful angry if we don’t get to know each other. De spirit wants us together so we best do as he please, hmm?”
Rowan had hesitated. Mama would be waiting for her. If she didn’t head home soon she’d have to go in darkness. She didn’t mind it so much, but Mama didn’t like her on the water at night. She said the devil waited in the dark and Rowan wasn’t sure she shouldn’t believe it.
“Jeesh, you be fine, now come on over here. I make us a nice drink an we can talk some.”
Rowan didn’t understand why, but she felt drawn to Mama Gator. Something inside urged her to accept the invitation. It seemed… right. She turned the boat back toward the bank. When she stepped off the boat, there was a splash in the water. A large gator moved toward them.
Mama Gator laughed, a cackling sound that came from deep in her throat. “Dat der is Shamus. He like to scare people now and den. Don’t you fret, he ain’t comin up here. Now pull dat boat on up. I don’t want no visitors. I like to keep private, you hear?”
“Yes.” Rowan pulled the little boat up the bank. She thought the woman would make her drag it right to her shack but she stopped her once they were behind the trees and it couldn’t be seen.
“Now chile, when you come see me, you best remember to cover your tracks. I got enemies, an I don’t like to have problems. No one know where Mama Gator is an I like to keep it dat way. You tell anyone about me or dis place an it be very bad on you. Got me?”
Rowan nodded and followed the little woman through the trees, brushing mosquitoes from her face as they walked and wondering how they didn’t bother Mama Gator at all. The deeper into the dense bushes they went, the bigger the bugs seemed to get. Rowan’s skin burned as though on fire from the swarming insects. She stifled the urge to scream in frustration but didn’t dare open her mouth for fear of it filling with them.
“Here we are, home sweet home.”
At first, Rowan didn’t see anything resembling a home.
“Can’t see de forest for de trees, eh? Look closer, girl.”
Rowan squinted. Then, as they drew closer, she saw it. Nestled between two giant oaks, what she thought was a mound of earth was Mama Gator’s shack, built into the tall trees surrounding it with moss covering every inch.
Now that she knew what she was looking at, she noticed a small window and door as well as a tiny porch on the side with a rocking chair on it. “This is amazing. It’s like something the faeries would live in.”
“I ain’t no piss-ant faerie girl. You gonna learn much more from me den you learn from a glorified bug.”
Rowan bit her lip at Mama Gator’s disdain for faeries. Didn’t she know they were capable of cursing her for speaking so?
“Faeries ain’t nothin, hear? Fancy gnats, if you ask me. Come on, let’s get inside for dose skitters drain every drop from you.”
Rowan followed her up the steps and into the strange little shack. Scents assaulted her nose. She recognized herbs, but along with those, she smelled a bitter odor that caused her head to ache.
When her eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, she gasped. Rows of glass jars lined shelves that covered the opposite wall. Creatures hovered in some, floating in liquid of different colors. She spotted frogs, worms, and a snake. Others contained powders and jellies that Rowan didn’t recognize. When her gaze fell on a jar containing various sized eyeballs, she blinked and shuddered. Not one jar was labeled. This was a world she had only seen in nightmares. She turned to a shelf laden with skulls, some bright white, most yellowed and cracked with age. Mama had warned her about this kind of magic. Rowan instinctively backed away, almost falling over Mama Gator.
The old woman patted her shoulder. “Nothin to fear in my house. Not for you anyhow. You chile, are special. Mama Gator been waitin a long time for you. Dose heads are all dead, an de stuff in dem jars der ain’t bein used no more, so I took dem.”
***
Rowan blinked the tears away and dragged her thoughts from the past. She took a breath and patted Charles on the head before turning to make her way through the trees to Mama Gator’s shack.
All those years ago, Mama Gator’s insistence that she was special had terrified Rowan as much as the eyeballs staring out from the jar. The shack itself instilled fear in her heart, but she always returned, as though drawn to it despite her misgivings. Now, as the mound come into view, she considered this place home. Mama Gator had been her savior, a savior she needed desperately today. She expected the old woman to come out to greet her as she often did, but as Rowan stepped on the soft moss that covered the porch, there was no movement inside.
“Mama Gator?” Rowan called. “It’s Rowan, are you home?”
Rowan opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark and silent, unusual when Mama Gator was home. Over to the far side of the room, a small form rested on a pallet in a cluttered corner.
“Mama Gator!” Rowan rushed to the bed.
Rowan let out a relieved sigh when Mama Gator stirred. Perhaps she had a late night. Sometimes the spirits kept her up for days and she was pretty old.
“Jus a minute chile, I know you’re here. I jus restin,” Mama Gator grumbled.
Rowan searched for candles to light. When Mama Gator was this tired, she liked Rowan to leave her be. Despite the urgency of her situation, she would let the old woman rest.
“You had trouble las night.” It was a statement rather than a question.
Rowan pretended to be busy arranging the candles properly.
“Why did you think I be sleepin so late? De spirit hounded me all night bout you.”
Rowan smiled. “There are so many spirits. How am I to know which one gives a damn about me?”
“You know chile, he’s de one you was callin.”
“No one came.”
“Fool. You can’t jus call em without preparing for em. Gah! He was powerful mad about dat.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t calling for anyone in particular. I just needed help from one of them. I didn’t have any time to prepare.”
Mama Gator tsked as she sat up on her little bed. Her hair was wilder than usual. Rowan felt terrible that she had been up all night on account of her.
“I’m always ready dear.” Mama Gator pointed to the small tables on either side of the door. “See, der’s two altars der ready. One good and one not so much. De gifts got to be ready so I can call dem when I need dem. Seems I keep telling you again and again.”
“Mama won’t let me do that. She says it offends the Goddess and you know how she feels about Her.” Rowan frowned. “It’s clear to me now whose side the Goddess is on. I’m glad I never gave Her anything.”
“Your mama’s Goddess has a place in things, chile. Don’t be offendin Her jus cause you mad at Jolene. She don’t like de dark spirits dat follow you. Dey not overly fond a Her neither.”
“How can you please them both?”
“You can’t. Dat’s why I leave de Goddess to de do-gooders. I need more powerful magic dan She can give. The spirits help me when I need dem and your Goddess comes around when it pleases Her. I don’t need help I can’t rely on.”
Rowan thought it over and decided she no longer needed the Goddess either. Hell, she didn’t even know Her name, Mama always referred to her as ‘the Goddess’ and nothing else. Mama Gator avoided mentioning her at all if she could.
“Now, enough creepin around it honey, what happened las night dat made you call such a bad one to you?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“He didn’t say nothing bout nothing. He was mad as hell bout bein called and getting no proper welcome. He said der was a trap for him and he was not pleased bout dat, no sir.”
“That was Mama, not me. She was trying to protect Henri so I couldn’t call anyone to help me.”
“Henri?”
“The fool that followed me around last year. Remember when I didn’t come for a while because Mama was having me watched.”
“Ah yes, de rich boy.” Mama Gator frowned. “He hurt you?”
“He raped me. Mama took his money and let him do disgusting things to me and that isn’t the worst of it. I wish that were all she did.” Rowan’s voice sounded small and fragile and it angered her that Henri could make her feel vulnerable. She was not weak.
“It’s not de worst? Seems bad enough to me.”
“No, she sold me to Rosaline. I’m supposed to go today. I’m a possession, bought and paid for.”
Mama Gator’s eyes widened. “Dat woman done gone too far now. Oooh, she will pay, I bring de demons of hell upon her, I will.”
“No, I don’t want that.” Rowan loved her mother despite what she had done. She likely did believe it was for the best. If she was truly dying, that would be punishment enough. “She’s dying, that’s why she sold me.”
“Well, dat makes it all good den, don’t it now. No Mama worth anything sells her babies. You hear me? If I could have my girl back, I’d never do such a shameful ting.”
“You would have been a wonderful mother, I’m lucky to have you, but Mama is different. She’s always had to fight something or someone and she thinks I’m going to be protected with Rosaline. I don’t agree, but I understand why she did it.”
“So you goin?”
“No I’m not. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I won’t let another man do that to me. It was awful and Henri will pay for it.”
“You go see to dose chores for me an I’ll speak to de spirits. We’ll see what’s to be done about dis new problem.” Mama Gator stood, straightening the old brown sack she wore. At one time Rowan imagined it was a pretty dress but after years of wear, it hung off her skinny body like a rag. She had nicer ones, packed away in a corner of the shack, but refused to wear them.
Rowan smiled at the old woman. She knew Mama Gator wouldn’t let her down. It was comforting to have someone on her side. She always felt safe with Mama Gator. Sadly, her own mother had never been able to give her that same security.
Rowan went around to the back of the shack, where Mama Gator hung herbs and other things to dry. Animal skins, organs, and other things she guessed at, but was not sure what they were used for, hung in the trees. She asked often enough, but Mama Gator always replied, “When it’s time, you will know it all. It’s not de time yet.”
Pulling each item carefully from the trees, Rowan tried not to think about where they came from. Mama Gator would have her grind some of it into powders that she stored away or mixed with other liquids. The rest would be saved for later.
Rowan wanted to learn the dark magic that Mama Gator knew, but so far, she knew only basic potions for healing. She wondered when it would be time. Now seemed perfect, but she wouldn’t push the issue. Mama Gator knew how much she wanted Henri to suffer and that would be the reason she did not teach her.
Rowan had learned this long ago, when she’d asked Mama Gator why she didn’t just get rid of her enemies. Have the demons kill them or something equally horrible.
“Jus cause I don’t like dem don’t mean I can jus kill dem,” Mama Gator had said. “Life jus don‘t work dat way. You got to be sure dat be what dey deserve, not jus what you want. It’s all about patience chile. Baduns get what’s comin in de end. I know dat and I be happy with it.”
She stepped around to the front of the shack with her bundle, when a splash in the water sounded by the bank. Rowan crept to the edge of the trees and peered out from the shadows. A boat caused her heart to skip a beat. It slowed and four men who stood inside looked in her direction. Rowan knew they couldn’t see her, but she shrunk back anyway. Why were they here? No one came this far into the swamp unless they were lost or looking for trouble and the four men weren’t lost.
They were well-dressed and large, two dark skinned and the other two as fair as Henri. It wasn’t often Rowan saw men of color dressed so nicely. These two wore suits that identified them as more than servants. They dressed better than the white men that came to see Mama. An ominous dread crept over Rowan.
She hurried back to the shack. Inside, Mama Gator beat on her little drum. She had much larger ones, but explained to Rowan that they were used in large rituals and required more than one person to use. Reluctant to interrupt, the sound hypnotic, Rowan drifted with the music and had to resist its pull. “Mama Gator?” she whispered tentatively. “I’m sorry I—”
The old woman slowed the beat and turned. Her eyes were vacant. The gleam caught in them unsettled Rowan. “In a moment chile. I know what’s out der. You best hide out back. Dey come for you an dat can’t happen. Your spirit say hide, an we will deal with your men. He say it is not time for you to fight. Go girl, dey comin up de bank right now.”
Rowan ran out the front, to the sound of struggling voices and grunts up the riverbank. She hoped one of the gators would get them, but knew better. These men grew up here just like she did, and would be cautious of the gators. They also knew what they were challenging in Mama Gator. That such knowledge didn’t stop them terrified Rowan.
She ran into the trees behind the shack and climbed up a tall oak where she could hide in the leaves without being seen. The rough bark scraped her hands and feet as Rowan scrambled to sit on a thick branch, from where she could see the shack and the men coming up through the trees.
Mama Gator came out before they reached the steps. “What you want with Mama Gator?”
“We’re looking for the girl. Just let us have her and we won’t do you no harm,” the taller of the two colored men told her.
Mama Gator put her hands on her hips and stared at him.
“Listen old woman, we know she’s here. Her boat is right there in the trees.”
“Dat be my boat you fool. How you think I get around? Swimmin? Gah!”
The men looked at each other and one of the white men stepped forward. Rowan recognized him as one of Mama’s clients, Pierre. Not much older than Rowan and quite attractive, his hair was black as night and his eyes a clear blue. Rowan used to have a crush on him until she realized what he did with Mama. The crush ended that day.
“Madame,
we wish to speak to Rowan. You have my word we will not harm her. Her mama is worried about her, nothing more. You would let a mother fret for her child?” He had a smooth voice that reminded Rowan of melted butter and an easy smile. Rowan was sure it worked on most women, but Mama Gator was not most women.
“Pshht! I know why you come here and dat girl ain’t layin down for no one. Over my dead body will she be treated like some whore.”
“If necessary it will be so,” the other white man spoke.
Rowan didn’t recognize his face. His voice sounded familiar, though. His dark hair, which was flecked with shots of white, grazed his collar. He stood a full head taller than the rest. His dark eyes seemed to look through Mama Gator to her very soul. “I own Jolene’s child. The papers are right here.” He patted his pocket. “The law says she must come with us. If you choose to defy the law, then you must pay the consequences.
C’est simple, Madame.”
“You don’t scare me none. I have seen worse den you, boy. I don’t know where she be, an I wouldn’t tell you if I did. She belong to no one, an definitely not de likes of you. You boys leave now an I’ll forget you ever came. You give me trouble an it be bad on you and yours.
C’est simple, Monsieur.”
Rowan was touched that Mama Gator loved her enough to face these scary looking men in order to protect her, but even if they left today, they’d come back again. Something about the tall white man frightened Rowan to her soul. She knew his voice, and the memory of it wasn’t a good one. It made her feel anxious, scared. Why couldn’t she place him?
“All right, if that’s the way you want it; Stefan, if you please?” The white man signaled the two colored men and they advanced on Mama Gator.
She stood still, not backing away an inch as they approached.
“No, you need to run.” Rowan whispered.
They’ll kill you.
She didn’t know where the thought came from but she knew it was true. If Mama Gator allowed them too close, she was dead.
“It’s time to feed your gators
Madame,
they look so very hungry.” The man called Stefan chuckled and picked her up as though she were no more than a sack of potatoes.
Mama Gator closed her eyes and began to chant.
The men laughed at her, making their way back to the water. Rowan couldn’t let them kill her. It was far worse to lose Mama Gator than to live as a whore. She jumped down from her perch and then ran after them. “No! Please wait, she’s just trying to help me.”
The men turned. Mama Gator opened her eyes and sighed. “Oh chile, you are foolish. Now dey got you an me.”
“They’ll let you go now, won’t you?” Rowan looked to the man who shared her mother’s bed so many nights. “Please, Pierre, don’t do this. I’ll go with you, just don’t hurt her.”
He smiled, his blue eyes sparkling.
“Ma petite,
I knew you were in the tree all along.”
“But you don’t have to hurt her. She’s just an old woman.”
“We’re killing two birds, in a manner of speaking. Madame knows we can’t let her live. Monsieur Dumas here,” he nodded to his companion, “has an old score to settle.”
Monsieur Dumas smiled. “I do. That you chose to hide here was merely a happy coincidence.”
Rowan gasped as Monsieur Dumas signaled for them to continue to the river. Pierre took her arm and dragged her with them.
“Why are you doing this?” Rowan asked. “I’ll kill any man who touches me. I’m sure he has more willing slaves available to you.”
“Monsieur Dumas cares not about willingness, my dear. You’ll kill no one, because this fate is in your blood.”
“I’m not my mother.”
“But you are a whore. You see,
ma petite fille,
many years ago, Monsieur Dumas knew your mama intimately. He tried to get rid of the lying whore when she betrayed him, but his father took pity on her, and well, he took a lot more from her too if you know what I mean.” He winked and she scowled. “Anyway, Mama Gator found a place for him to keep her and you for all these years.”