Time Drifters

Our welcome was not unconditional. Mrs. Dalcour insisted that we wait while she spread something across the threshold of the barn and while we were waiting it started raining. Lightly at first, and then a surge of big drops that wet our clothes and made the wool in our pants start to smell.

Thankfully, Imogene’s mother hadn’t insisted on separating us, as Aureliano had offered, and we were able to brush off and settle. The shed was a blacksmith’s workshop with a circular, brick forge at the far end. Imogene’s father was away in Alexandria and Baton Rouge, helping to shoe horses. To my surprise—and a couple of others’—Mr. Dalcour and his wife and daughter were free Blacks who had emigrated from the Dominican Republic, lured by the prospect of work and the boom in the economy on the Mississippi. I didn’t want to admit that I hadn’t known this was possible in the South prior to the Civil War. I didn’t want to jinx our welcome by asking if we might be causing trouble for them. Plus, I was happy to be less wet than if we were out in the rain.

“I had no desire to be wet,” Aureliano explained, “But once the threat was removed, it gave her the power again to choose. And be merciful.”

“Clever, but risky,” Caelen noted.

“I think the line of salt we crossed makes it obvious that we’re not clear of suspicion,” Gwendolyn observed.

“Superstitious woman,” added Thomas.

“And now to the post, please,” Renatta said.

“And how about we figure out what we might be doing here?” Calico asked, examining a pair of heavy metal tongs with curved pincers.

“I think we should wait on that for the moment,” Renatta said, looking pointedly at Capucine.

“Isn’t it kind of obvious she’s involved?” Rufus said.

“We never have twelve Drifters,” Caelen said.

“And yet, she’s standing right in front of you,” Barkley added, agreeing.

“But he’s right,” Gwendolyn said. “Or rather he makes the point. She’s not been sent here, as we have been.”

“So why don’t you ask her?” Marijka said. She had perched on a wooden chest and tucked her knees underneath her, swathed in a horse blanket like a cat on an unmade bed.

“Are you alright, Capucine?” I asked.

“Yes, thank you, Liam,” she said curtly, looking around at the others. “I was beginning to feel somewhat invisible. So it is pleasant to be included.”

“But what about the Monsignor?” I asked.

“Monsignor?” she said, surprised. Her face darkened and Isaac flinched and tried to pull away but she calmed him with her other hand.

“I thought you said he was deaf,” Thomas said.

“He is,” Capucine retorted.

“Well he doesn’t seem to like the word ‘Monsignor’ very much,” Thomas said, walking over to face Isaac.

“Monsignor,” Thomas repeated.

“Stop it,” Capucine said, pulling Isaac closer to her. But oddly, Isaac didn’t react again when Thomas had said the word.

“Monsignor is kind and gives us both a place to live,” Capucine continued. “We are grateful for this generosity.”

“But he bleeds you,” I said, indignantly.

Capucine looked shocked and pursed her lips. She began shaking her head.

“I don’t know what you say,” she added quietly.

“Yes you do,” I insisted, getting angry and standing to face her. “You told me that he thinks of your Drifting as dancing with the devil.”

“Thank you,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “I almost forgot that Isaac and I are due back for evening prayers.” She began to pull his arm but he strained to return to the forge where his attention had been directed most of the time since we had entered the shed.

“Paper, please,” Renatta said. “Where can we find some? Would you tell us that?”

“I can slip away and bring you back some paper with quill and ink,” Capucine said. “I will do that this evening. And I can even post it in the morning for you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Renatta, kindly but decisively. “Just the tools, thank you.”

“Maybe we can go along with you,” Barkley said.

“Good idea!” Rufus added, perking up. “That way we’ll know where you’re at.”

“Yes,” Caelen added. “And you could go to fetch the instruments to save Capucine the trek through the storm later on.”

“I’ll come, too,” said Calico, sidling up to the twins.

“No, ‘cause you’ll start to look like a circus,” Thomas interjected.

“I ain’t no elephant,” Calico objected.

I saw Aureliano shaking his head as Renatta looked at him.

“Stay here, where it’s safe, for now,” Francesca said, loosening the knot that kept her wavy hair in place, letting it flow out freely. “You can help me to braid my hair.”

“I don’t do that stuff,” Calico scoffed.

“I do,” Marijka said, jumping to the help with the task.

“We must go,” Capucine said, pulling Isaac to the door. The twins were silently on their heels and Calico went to the edge looking out at the storm. I walked to stand beside her and noticed that the light had almost gone. The rain made it feel like the world had closed in around us.

“You don’t really want to go out in that, do you?” I asked.

“Better than staying in this stinkin’ barn,” Calico said, itching to follow. “I come all this way, I just want to get to it and do somethin’.”

“Maybe it’s the rain,” Aureliano said. “Capucine told me about Sauve’s Crevasse, and the flood eight years ago that ruined her father’s home. It’s the reason she’s in an asylum.”

“She’s where?” I asked.

“It’s what we call an orphanage,” Francesca said, smiling.

“Oh,” I answered, still not sure it sounded good.

“This past summer, in my time,” Aureliano qualified, “There was such a flood.”

“Oh, my Lord, please!” Renatta said dismayed. “There are others of us who cannot know about these things.”

“I’m just figuring what the possibilities are,” he said. “The rain did start just after we’ve arrived.”

“Rain and floods and hurricanes,” said Renatta. “There are all manner of disasters that happen here in Louisiana.”

“I’ve watched Mommy pouring the bathtub,” Marijka said. “And I don’t want to wait here long enough to fill up the whole Mississippi.”

“Hear, hear,” said Thomas. “I completely agree with you. And I’m with Trinder. I think it has something to do with Capucine.”

“Capucine has to get away,” I said, suddenly feeling a buzz in my chest. “That’s it,” I said, holding my crystal again. “Capucine has to get away.” I felt the buzz again.

“She’s barely fourteen years old, and a girl,” Caelen said.

“So?” Calico interjected, turning back from the doorway to finally join in. “I can do a lot at 13. She’s quiet but I think she’s strong enough.”

“And where, and how, would she get away?” Caelen asked Calico, walking towards her. “She’s a destitute orphan with no parents and no means.”

“Does it matter?” I asked. “As long as we know what has to happen, can’t we just grab her and go?”

“She could end up in much worse trouble, Liam,” Gwendolyn observed, her brow creasing and her eyes darting around in thought.

“Whatever is keeping her here would simply draw her back,” Aureliano added.

“But she has to go,” I insisted. “She said that he bleeds her.”

“You seem to think that is very strange,” Renatta said. “It’s not the worst thing in the world.”

“It’s barbaric,” I said.

“Liam,” Francesca warned, casting her eyes towards Caelen and Gwendolyn, who were also from an older time period.

“It’s not the same as having a vampire draw all of your blood out,” Thomas said quietly.

“What was that?” Caelen asked. Thomas swatted the comment away, and Caelen scowled.

“Have a private conversation in private, if you wish,” Caelen added.

“It’s not right,” I repeated. “He’s not doing it because she’s really sick. She needs to listen.”

“If somebody doesn’t want to hear something, they will find a way to stuff their ears, whether you know that it’s the truth or not,” Aureliano said very seriously.

“Hmm,” I said, chewing on that thought and realizing that I could agree. I’d often say things and have my parents ignore them completely.

“So she needs to want to listen,” said Gwendolyn, breaking out of her reverie as her hand touched her chest. “That’s never happened before,” she added, beaming and repeating herself to confirm.

“The… Post… Please,” Renatta said, standing up and stomping her foot to declare her insistence. “And I shall write the cursed thing into the dirt, unt mit my own toes if I have to!”