I know what dem marks look like, and I can see purplin’ bruises where she has had some recent trauma to her body.
I motion for her to sit on the couch while I go fix her a glass of warm milk, and she can be takin’ in her surroundin’s. I call out to her from my small kitchen. “You are safe in my home, child. Nothing bad will happen to you here under my roof. That be a promise I make to you.”
I bring the warmed milk over. “Here, honeychile, this will take the blue out of those lips of yours.” She takes the warmed milk and sips it timidly.
I settle into my old, comfy, worn sofa chair and wait patiently for her to finish her drink. I can see her mind churnin’ away, questionin’ my kindness, and so she should be. Her trust has been broken by someone. I can see that written all over her face, and I’m new folk who entered her life out of the blue, but I can see she be believin’ what I tell her. She has good gut instinct. She has survived well usin’ it.
I see a night of tales comin’ before me, and I fear what she be tellin’ me.
“As I have already stated, I’m Miss Catherine, and I am eighty-five years old. I have lived in this here home for fifty-two years. My life has not always been easy or without fear. Some memories don’t disappear, but they do fade.” I give her a soothin’ smile. “What name would you be goin’ by?”
“Whisper.” The girl is so quiet.
“’Chile, I’m a little weak of hearin’. Can you say that a little louder, please?”
She looks over at me, huddled in the blanket, the light from the fire flickerin’ over her face. She be lookin’ way too young for the life she’s been dealt. I already know before she be tellin’ me a thing that she has lived a life of great despair.
“Whisper,” she says loud enough for me to hear this time.
“Nice to make your acquaintance on this rainy night, Miss Whisper. Do you be havin’ a last name?”
“I don’t know.” She looks down into her empty glass. There be no tears comin’; there is only a deep sadness inside her that she don’t be knowin’ what to do with.
“Mais, Whisper, you only be needin’ a first name. That’s the important one.” She attempts a weak smile at my effort to make her feel better. “I am here to listen now, and you can tell me only what you want to be tellin’ me. I am a stranger, I know, but you can call me a friend from now on. It looks like you may be in short supply of them. You look like you are runnin’ from some dark past, and the only way I can help you is if I know what you been dealin’ with.”
She sat lookin’ into the orange flames until she is ready to begin, no doubt wonderin’ where on earth she’s goin’ to be startin’.
I listen to her pour her stories out to me. When her voice gets quieter, I gently prompt her to speak up. She doesn’t need to be afraid to speak up in my house.
The child is like a tap on a water tank that has been left turned on, and water pours on out until it be empty, and then she is all dried up.
She’s probably sittin’ there weighin’ up why she chose my house and me to tell all her worries to. I know the answer to that: because she has never been able to talk so freely before. She never had anybody to be listenin’ to her before. She had that one woman in her life, and I am the only other she has met face-to-face. That woman was a damaged shell who thought she be loved by this evil man, who made this child’s life a nightmare. She didn’t hurt Whisper, but she didn’t save her either, and all that got her was dead.
I knew that William Dupré was no good, but even my bones couldn’t tell me what was happenin’ behind those closed doors. There was no way anybody could have known.
I was figurin’ she would sleep better with a small bowl of my gumbo in her skinny frame, which I go and heat up while she quietly sits warmin’ up and thinkin’. This is the first time she has ever left that plantation home. There is a lot she would be mullin’ over. I am the first black woman she’s ever met.
When I bring the steaming bowl over, she thanks me in a timid voice, and I be pleased to see she eats nearly all of it while I sit patiently watchin’ the flames cracklin’ and hissin’ in the fireplace as I be processin’ what she told me. Her eyes were meetin’ mine every now and then, and no doubt thinkin’ on what the impact is goin’ to be with what she said.
Long ago, I learned not to be shocked by what I be seein’ or hearin’. Some human beings can be the salt of the earth, and some are dangerous creatures with evil poured into their veins and no hope for dem to ever be on the path of good. Some innocents would be crossin’ their paths, and that be their fate in life.
Whisper be one of those.
She be chosen and she be plucked from her family, and there was no choice. It is what it is. Her past can’t be changed, but it’s what she be doin’ with her future that will count.
When I see her eyes be droopin’, I take the bowl from her bandaged hands before it slips onto the floor. “Fais do-do, honeychile,” I murmur. “Go to sleep.” I don’t doubt she will sleep the next eight hours, and then I will have some answers for her, because Miss Catherine, she knows people who can help a skinny mullet who is very much mal prise, stuck in a bad situation.
She be so traumatized, her mind has not caught up to the day’s events, and then she might want to be runnin’. I need her to be stayin’, so she has a chance at a new life, a good life, one with choices. It sounds like the threat to her person is dead, good and gone, and she is no longer in danger.
My heart hurts for the girl; her mind be broken, turned to stone. She is not embarrassed about what left her lips because she don’t understand that emotion. Submissiveness had been flogged into her, and humiliation had become her closest friend.
She is brave and in control of who she is more than she be realizin’. She has no experience with life to show her otherwise. She’s a survivor and braver than she be ever givin’ herself credit for.
The help of a strong sedative in the gumbo is what the skinny girl needs for now. We would work on the rest of her demons with a new day. She be safe now. Miss Catherine will see to that.
I need Boxer’s help. He be knowin’ what to do for her. When Boxer moved into town ten years ago, I made it my business to seek him out. It’s rare in all my years of livin’ in Connard that new folk be wantin’ to be buyin’ up a business and settlin’ here. My bones be tellin’ me he was one to look out for.
I owned a couple properties in town, one being the bar. I had made some money in stocks over the years and bought dem up cheap. I was always smart with money, and I didn’t need much to get by on.
Amazin’ what dem bones of mine be tellin’ me, and where my gut instinct steered me. But that be one of my little secrets.
Boxer be needin’ a reason to be livin’ in Connard, so I sold half my share of the bar to him. I am now the silent partner. Folks be thinkin’ I sold it all to him, but I am a smart one.
Boxer has become family to me, and family look after each other. Family are loyal and keep secrets.
There’s an evil body waitin’ to be taken care of, somethin’ the child can’t be doin’ herself. She will be mine and Boxer's secret until we can resurrect her identity. I will make sure Boxer understands that. I might be an old woman, but I be knowin’ things. He will need to be validatin’ her story, because that be Boxer, but he will be doin’ the honorable thing by this girl.
She didn’t hesitate to do everythin’ I asked of her without question tonight. This be a dangerous thing. Boxer must teach her to defend herself and be in control of her destiny from now on. She don’t yet know it, but she be stayin’ under our protection for as long as she be needin’ us.
That is somethin’ I am sure of.
What be layin’ here before me is a broken child, a scared little rabbit, who is a danger to herself. She be an injured bird that needs to learn how to fly. The horrors that she been livin’ down a ways from me for all her years, she needs to be leavin’ dem behind in her mind and learnin’ what a safe life is all about. But, even in this world, there are still dangers, and she needs to be trained. She has good gut instinct, but that can’t fight an attack on her person.