The Blood Bond

Trip to New Orleans

“Ms. De’Hon, I can’t allow you to do this.” Isadora wasn’t in the mood to hear what she could do and couldn’t. She was a grown woman who was more than capable of making sound decisions on her behalf. Besides, who did Mr. Roche think he was, dictating to her as if she were some feeble, delicate woman? She was far from that. “You must understand. If you step on that plane, you forfeit your inheritance. Your grandfather's will was very explicit.”

Isadora wanted to scream. For the last two days, all she had heard of was how precise her grandfather's will was. She knew what his will said. She read it to herself. However, she refused to be swayed from her current course of action. She had already arranged to postpone her travels to Europe and begged forgiveness from her guide. Her little adventure was going to have to wait until the matter of her grandfather was settled. That was the least she could do.

She had made a promise and she intended to keep it. The only way was to take her grandfather back to his family's ancestral home personally. She had no other choice. She dreaded the thought of having nothing when all her life she had everything she needed, but thanks to her grandfather, she was a smart woman and with the means to take care of herself.

She cringed when she thought that no funeral home within fifty miles of Darkwater Bay would come to escort her grandfather's remains home. Hell, just mentioning her name, seemed to instill the fear of God in them. Even before she could explain her predicament, they would give her their condolences and hang up. She didn’t know what in the world was going on in southern Louisiana, but she had had enough. She was taking her grandfather back herself, and if she had to dig the damn grave with her bare hands, she was burying her grandfather at Bella Darrow. “I understand Mr. Roche, but there is nothing more to say. No one is coming for my grandfather. I am determined to keep my promise. Now, unless you are boarding the plane with me, I suggest we say goodbye here.”

“You can bury him here. That way he will be close to you.”

“That was not what my grandfather wanted and you know that.”

“Let me try again. I will make the calls.”

“No. You’ve tried and failed. It is my responsibility. I made him a promise.”

“But he was my client.”

“He was my grandfather.” Frustrated, Isadora sighed. There was nothing Mr. Roche could say. She was firm in her resolve. She was going to Louisiana.

Mr. Roche merely nodded, handed her his card and said, “Goodbye Ms. De’Hon. If there is anything I can do for you in the future, please call me.”

“Thank you. For everything.” With that, Isadora turned and boarded the plane. Not once did she look back.

The flight from LAX to New Orleans was a smooth flight. She had always loved flying, and this time was no different. After disembarking from the plane, she was greeted by security, who ushered her through the throngs of people. She knew where they were taking her. However, she didn’t relish the idea of seeing the coffin again. She had to sign it before handing it over to the funeral home she found in New Orleans. From there, they would make the two-hour drive to Darkwater Bay and help her bury her grandfather.

She had paid a pretty penny for their time. She refused to be deterred by morose and unwanted feelings. She had a job to do and she was going to do it. Mustering her courage, she followed the security officer down to the tarmac, where she saw a black man dressed in a black suit and hat, step out of a white hearse.

“Is it always so humid here?” she asked the security guard standing next to her.

“Yes, ma’am. However, tonight is cool. You must be concerned about the daytime. August is a hot month down here. I’m sure it’s nothing you’re not used to, being from California.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. California is hot but nothing like this. The air is so thick. I feel as if I’m choking.”

“It does that to some. There’s an old saying, that when the air is thick as molasses and the sky is filled with the darkness of night, the bayou is welcoming home one of its own. It’s considered a blessing, ma’am.”

“More like a curse,” she muttered, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her shirt and fanning herself. If she didn’t know any better, she would swear that she could feel someone’s hands around her neck, squeezing the life out of her.

“Would you like to wait inside where the air is cooler? This might be a while,” the security guard asked. Isadora about accepted when a small golf-cart looking vehicle drove up, pulling her grandfather’s coffin in what looked like a small trailer cart. She watched as the driver got out of his little car and handed a clipboard to the man in the black suit and hat.

“Sign here, Ms. De’Hon,” the man said. Nodding, Isadora hastily signed her name and watched as the man from the funeral home loaded her grandfather’s coffin into the back of the white hearse. “There is a car waiting for you at the entrance. Once you gather your bags, the car will follow us to Bella Darrow.”

“Thank you,” Isadora said to the man. Making her way through the terminal, she quickly found her bags and headed outside once again into the stifling heat.

Isadora had always longed to visit the fascinating city, but it was one of the few places her grandfather avoided. Rich with history and culture that she didn’t know, she learned from books and documentaries. Founded in 1718 by the French, New Orleans was originally called Nouvelle-Orleans. However, the first settlements dated back to 400 AD. The opulent culture made New Orleans one of the most attractive tourist destinations in the world. From the language to the music, New Orleans had an abundance of culture that rivaled many of the major cities in the United States and Isadora couldn’t wait to sample it all.

“First time in New Orleans?” she heard the cab driver ask as she watched beautiful antebellum homes pass by. She saw horse-drawn carriages and people laughing as if nothing was wrong. Beautiful magnolia trees in the full bloom-covered street after street. The sounds of jazz, blues, and Creole twang drifted into her ears. The music was relaxing and invigorating.

“Yes.” She replied as the cab passed the French Quarter and part of her wanted to tell the taxi driver to stop. People walked aimlessly coming in and out of the hotels, restaurants and bars. The pleasant smell of the Louisiana flavor tickled her nose. Her mouth watered to taste it all.

“How long are you visiting for?”

“I don’t know. I am here to bury my grandfather,” she replied, then watched out of the corner of her eye as the man crossed himself. She never understood religions. She believed that people believed in higher deities, but she never understood the concept of one. Then again, her beliefs tended towards the darker realm, so who was she to pass judgment?

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“Was he in pain long?”

Isadora looked at the man and wondered at his odd question. Her grandfather wasn’t in any pain. Actually, now that she thought about it, she never saw him sick, not once, ever. Yet, for some reason unknown to everyone, he just laid down one day and the next he died. Since her grandfather refused an autopsy, the mystery behind his death would never be known. Of course, Isadora figured, since the man was almost ninety-three years old, age definitely had something to do with it.

“No. He just died,” she replied calmly as the cab drove past the quarter, leaving all the luster of life behind her. For the rest of the ride, the driver was quiet and she was thankful for that. She really didn’t want to talk about her grandfather. She was still angry with him for lying to her. Still, the thought of never knowing why lingered in her mind. Whatever his reasons, he took them to his grave.

The sun setting over the bayou was something indescribable. The colors blended together, creating a canvas of a picturesque scene only seen in great works of art. Reds, purples, greens and blues all mixed in harmony as the sun sank beneath the glistening waters. Listening carefully, sounds of pelicans and sea creatures splashed around, frolicking in the muddy waters deterred by modern mechanisms. A soft breeze blew in from the Gulf, adding a delicate tone to the scene before her. Isadora had seen many sunsets around the world, but none would ever compare to the one she saw now. She felt home as if she’d watched the very evening many times before in her life.

“Bella Darrow up ahead Miss,” the driver said, slowing the cab. Isadora leaned forward to look at where her grandfather once lived. The beauty of the old plantation home was impressive. Lined with magnolia and cypress trees, the long drive was something out of an old civil war movie than the twenty-second century. Made of brick and cypress lumber, the plantation house stood over three stories high facing the river. A mix of Greek revival and Italianate styles, the house looked as grandiose as it’s past. Almost delicate looking, there was an old world charm and grace to the splendorous home.

Stepping out of the cab, Isadora stood staring up at the place in awe. She felt weird, almost as if she knew every nook and cranny as she laughed and played in the large home before. There was something definitely familiar with the large antebellum home as she moved closer to it, as if it were welcoming her in a way, beckoning her to enter.

Fresh potted flowers lined the granite stairs that led up to the dark mahogany front door. Lights flickered from within, letting her know that someone was there waiting for her. Reaching for the silver dragonhead knocker, she was about to announce her arrival when the door opened.

“Welcome home, Mademoiselle,” a finely tailored black man with a thick Creole accent said, bowing before her. Isadora didn’t know what to say. Instead, she smiled and simply replied, “Thank you, I guess. I am Isadora De’Hon. I brought my grandfather, August De’Hon, home for burial.”

“Yes, Mademoiselle. We were notified earlier. Monsieur De’Hon arrived early. All has been attended to. Please follow me,” the man said, bowing again until she was completely inside the house. He never looked at her directly, which Isadora thought strange, but then again she was the stranger in a strange place.

Bella Darrow was a massive old antebellum home. The grand entrance was expansive with white marble floors and Grecian columns. The white walls were adorned with priceless works of art and tapestries from long ago. Fresh potted flowers gave the entrance a welcoming feel, but there was something menacing about the place. Isadora couldn’t put her finger on it, but if she didn’t know any better, she would swear that someone was watching her.

The butler moved towards the grand staircase, which reminded her of something out of the movie, Gone with the Wind. It was also white, with marble steps that curved to the second floor. She followed the butler up the great stairs, eying the many hand-painted portraits. People she had never met stared back at her, watching her as she ascended the stairs. It was eerie. A light breeze tickled the back of her neck and Isadora stopped. Fear seeped into her bones. Something wasn’t right. Turing to see if anyone was behind her, her heart picked up when she felt a gentle caress of her cheek. Her hands rushed to the spot, now warm as she blushed. She could still feel the sensation of fingertips lingering on her skin. Searching the staircase, she found no one, only the butler and he was in front of her. Chalking it up to an old drafty house, Isadora ignored what her body was shouting.

A loud clearing of a throat had her turning back to the butler, who was staring at her as if she were a nuisance. Moving once again, Isadora listened when he started speaking. “The funeral has been arranged for tomorrow evening at the family cemetery. A priest from a neighboring parish will perform the service. There will be no wake, no after party. I have made arrangements for a flight out of New Orleans for you after the burial.”

“Thank you, I think,” she replied, shocked at his gruff manner. The butler stopped before a set of double doors before he opened them to an enormous master suite. “You will sleep here.” Cautiously entering the room, Isadora gasped. She had never seen a room so big before in her life. There were two fireplaces, a sitting room, a large balcony and a massive canopy bed. The room was lit with candles and a small fire burned in one of the fireplaces. She thought it was too hot for such a thing, but she chose not to say a word. Moving about the room, several paintings and portraits hung on the wall. They were more of the man that graced the stairwell. His face was everywhere. The room was clean. In some way, it seemed as if the original owner had never left. Brushes, combs, a razor, all laid out on display. Clothes still hung in the closet, some old, some new. The bedlinen smelled freshly laundered. It made no sense.

“Mrs. Randolph has offered to stay and take care of your needs until you depart. Do you need anything?”

“Oh, nothing. Thank you.”

Bowing again, the man said, “Mademoiselle, I will see to your luggage.” He then turned to leave as Isadora stopped him. “Excuse me, but what is your name?”

“I am Andrews, the butler to the Master.”

“The Master,” Isadora asked, but before Andrews could reply, he tripped, falling against the door. He paled, if that was even possible, looking around wildly. Standing, he righted himself, cleared his throat and said, “My apologies Mademoiselle. I meant to say the butler of Bella Darrow.”

Concerned, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“I am fine. Will that be all?”

“Thank you, Andrews. This is lovely.”

Andrews left, closing the door behind him, never saying another word.

Left alone, Isadora looked about the vast room and wondered just what in the world she had gotten herself into? She wasn’t expecting a warm reception, but what she had experienced so far was plain spooky. The butler was closed off, reserved, so void of feeling yet, he looked scared as if he erred somehow and was afraid to be reprimanded. Then there was the odd feeling of someone watching her, touching her. What unnerved her the most was the feeling as if she belonged?

From the moment she stepped foot in New Orleans, a sense of foreboding surrounded her. The thick air choked her. The sights, smells and sounds were all familiar, yet distant as she saw Bella Darrow for the first time. It felt as if the large antebellum plantation was welcoming her home. She couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It was all confusing yet exciting, as if an adventure awaited her.

Sitting on the bed, she wasn’t sure of her actions anymore. Which shocked her because she was always sure of her course of action. She knew the right thing to do was to see that her grandfather was buried according to his wishes. However, maybe he was right about not wanting her to attend. She didn’t understand what was going on. She didn’t understand why she was feeling so particular. After a few minutes, Isadora chalked it all up to just nerves. She was burying her grandfather tomorrow and then she would be alone.

There was something consoling about laying the dead to rest. It was an ending. Maybe that’s why she was feeling so out of sorts, she thought. She just needed to get through tomorrow, make sure everything went smoothly so she could move on with her life. Her grandfather would want that.

A knock on the door startled her. The door opened to show Andrews was back with her bags. He was silent as he placed her overnight bag on the bed and her suitcase on a small chair next to the armoire. Then he left as if he was never there. She thought Andrews looked to be a lonely man and wondered if he would ever get married. Did he have children, grandchildren? He was certainly old enough to be a grandfather. She couldn’t imagine being a butler. To be at the beckon call of those who deem themselves superior. She figured Andrews was paid for his service, but to cater to someone who didn’t look twice at him, well, Isadora couldn’t imagine how lonely that would feel.

Changing into her nightclothes, Isadora’s thoughts returned to Bella Darrow. The place was remarkable. Rich with history and lore. She bet if she dug a little into the history of the place she would find something intriguing. She found the place to be oddly seductive as she watched the sun finally set over the Bayou.

It was a different world in the south. Everything moved slower, even the setting sun, which seemed to take its sweet time sinking over the horizon. There was no rush, no eagerness for the night to begin. Everything looked content, happy even like a maiden giving her lover a long kiss before they met again. It was erotic.

As the last vestige of sun disappeared into the night, the darkness finally took over. Even at night, the bayou was stunning as the moon made her ascent. Light and dark, male and female, the moon was the yin to the sun’s yang. An equal counterpart, the moon, wielded her force and influence. A subtle power of clarity, the moon’s reflection gained by her counterpart the sun, relying on the sun’s rays to mirror her luminosity. Just like in a relationship, as one, a person is powerful in their own right, but together, they both shine brilliantly. A match made in the cosmos, Isadora thought. One could not survive without the other.

She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at the still water of the lake. With the bright moon above beating down upon it, it looked more like black glass than a watery lake. It was odd, even with the evening’s fresh breeze, the lake was still. Not a ripple of water, nothing to show that the lake lived. It was as if the lake had died, but that wasn’t possible because there was water in it. Isadora knew as long as there was water, the lake would survive along with all the creatures. Yet the water never moved.

She was mesmerized by the lake. Transfixed on its stillness. Even when the wind picked up and the leaves in the yard started to blow around, she never took her eyes off the dark water. Soon, the soft whispers of the wind began to speak to her. A sweet melody she had never heard before, beckoning her to come closer. The trees began to sway, branches moved in conjunction with the wind, pointing her towards the black lake.

Wanting a better look, she left her room and headed downstairs. The house was dark and empty, not a soul moved about minus a mouse or two. Reaching the front door, she carefully opened it and stepped outside into the dark night. It wasn’t until she passed the first magnolia tree that she wished she thought of a flashlight and shoes. It was dark, too dark and the warm grass under her feet crinkled as she moved closer to the lake.

The closer she got, the louder the wind and trees sang their haunting song. She didn’t know how long it took her, or why she was going, but before she could think, her bare feet touched the water’s edge.