Twenty-FiveMichael parks his car on a dirt road in front of a country house, which rests in a field of high grass surrounded by tall shade trees. Made of cypress and bousillage – a mixture of Spanish moss and mud – the house is solid and beautiful in its own simplistic way, a typical representation of the homes of early settlers in Lafayette. He follows the path to the steps of the porch. The shutters and windows are wide open to a warm breeze that flutters the lace-trimmed curtains. He knocks on the screen door.
“Door's open,” a woman's voice calls out amiably.
Hesitantly, Michael steps inside the door, but sees no one. The decor is quaint but homey. There are jars and bottles of herbs and potions on the kitchen table, with piles of books, some of them opened for reference to folk remed
