considered legally black.”
“Why don’t I look black? Or you, your skin is as fair as mine. We couldn’t be more white. I don’t understand any of this.”
“It’s simple genetics. Dominant characteristics of race can disappear after only three or four generations. Look it up on the Internet if you don’t believe me. Read up on Thomas Jefferson and his slave Sally Hemings. Marie Laveau had as many as fifteen mixed-race children. Even if she had only half as many, that’s still a lot of opportunity for interracial relationships over the years.”
“What about the Voodoo? Is that inherited, too? Is that why the lady in the shop . . . ?”
“What lady in what shop?” asked Kate.
“Nothing, never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“What lady? Answer me!”
“Everything about my life just sucks! I hate New Orleans! I hate living with you! I’m done.” I headed for the door.
“You know what? I don’t much care for you. Or your bad attitude. I don’t want to live with you either,” Kate shot back.
I stomped out of the kitchen, watching as Kate picked up one of the Voodoo books and threw it across the room. When it hit the wall, her grandmother’s beautiful antique mirror fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.
I grabbed my purse from the hall table and flew out of the house. The wind was almost gale force, the rain came down in sheets. Streets were empty, no carriages or cabs were in sight.
Perfect, just perfect
, I thought, slogging my way up the sidewalk fighting against the high winds and heavy rain.
I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know how far I’d gone until I arrived at the Voodoo shop. The storm raged all around me. Soaked to the skin and in need of shelter, I turned the knob. The door was locked. A razor thin stream of light shined at the back of the shop; somebody had to be inside. I rapped on the door, but nobody answered. Finding an unlocked gate next to the building, I went through and followed a muddy path to the back porch. I stopped before knocking.
Is this what I really want to do?
When the back door swung open, the decision was made.
“Welcome, Miss April. Come in out of the storm before you catch your death.”
Chapter Eighteen
The wind gusted, blowing stinging rain into the back porch. I scuttled through the doorway like a drowning rat in search of a dry hole. I couldn’t get any wetter, but I could get dry. The woman disappeared into a small room and returned with a stack of fluffy towels.
“Dry yourself. I will find you something to wear.”
I rubbed my face and toweled my hair, worked my way down my arms and legs, kicked off my sandals, and dried my feet.
“Here, put this on,” she said, handing me a long multicolored dress.
“Is there somewhere I can change?”
“In there,” she said, pointing to the bathroom door. “I will go fix some tea for us.”
Closing the door behind me, I looked in the tiny mirror, thought about the crash I heard after I left Kate's kitchen, and wondered briefly if she was okay.
I am a mess, no doubt about it. My life is in shambles. I have no friends except maybe Miles, if I haven’t scared him off. I have no family except Kate, if I haven’t scared her off. Seems to me that at this point in my life, the only ally I have is this Voodoo woman. What does that say about me?
There was a rap at the door.
“Are you all right, Miss April?”
“Coming,” I said, slipping the soft, flowing fabric over my head. I opened the door.
“Let’s have some tea; you can tell me what brought you to my doorstep this night. But first, wrap your hair, it will dry faster,” she said, handing me a thin, brightly colored towel.
Gathering my curls into a knot, I wrapped the turban tightly and was freaked out by my reflection. I looked exactly like a white Marie Laveau. Queasy and lightheaded, I glanced in the mirror again. I didn’t look anything like her, it was only this outfit and my
“Why don’t I look black? Or you, your skin is as fair as mine. We couldn’t be more white. I don’t understand any of this.”
“It’s simple genetics. Dominant characteristics of race can disappear after only three or four generations. Look it up on the Internet if you don’t believe me. Read up on Thomas Jefferson and his slave Sally Hemings. Marie Laveau had as many as fifteen mixed-race children. Even if she had only half as many, that’s still a lot of opportunity for interracial relationships over the years.”
“What about the Voodoo? Is that inherited, too? Is that why the lady in the shop . . . ?”
“What lady in what shop?” asked Kate.
“Nothing, never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“What lady? Answer me!”
“Everything about my life just sucks! I hate New Orleans! I hate living with you! I’m done.” I headed for the door.
“You know what? I don’t much care for you. Or your bad attitude. I don’t want to live with you either,” Kate shot back.
I stomped out of the kitchen, watching as Kate picked up one of the Voodoo books and threw it across the room. When it hit the wall, her grandmother’s beautiful antique mirror fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.
I grabbed my purse from the hall table and flew out of the house. The wind was almost gale force, the rain came down in sheets. Streets were empty, no carriages or cabs were in sight.
Perfect, just perfect
, I thought, slogging my way up the sidewalk fighting against the high winds and heavy rain.
I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know how far I’d gone until I arrived at the Voodoo shop. The storm raged all around me. Soaked to the skin and in need of shelter, I turned the knob. The door was locked. A razor thin stream of light shined at the back of the shop; somebody had to be inside. I rapped on the door, but nobody answered. Finding an unlocked gate next to the building, I went through and followed a muddy path to the back porch. I stopped before knocking.
Is this what I really want to do?
When the back door swung open, the decision was made.
“Welcome, Miss April. Come in out of the storm before you catch your death.”
Chapter Eighteen
The wind gusted, blowing stinging rain into the back porch. I scuttled through the doorway like a drowning rat in search of a dry hole. I couldn’t get any wetter, but I could get dry. The woman disappeared into a small room and returned with a stack of fluffy towels.
“Dry yourself. I will find you something to wear.”
I rubbed my face and toweled my hair, worked my way down my arms and legs, kicked off my sandals, and dried my feet.
“Here, put this on,” she said, handing me a long multicolored dress.
“Is there somewhere I can change?”
“In there,” she said, pointing to the bathroom door. “I will go fix some tea for us.”
Closing the door behind me, I looked in the tiny mirror, thought about the crash I heard after I left Kate's kitchen, and wondered briefly if she was okay.
I am a mess, no doubt about it. My life is in shambles. I have no friends except maybe Miles, if I haven’t scared him off. I have no family except Kate, if I haven’t scared her off. Seems to me that at this point in my life, the only ally I have is this Voodoo woman. What does that say about me?
There was a rap at the door.
“Are you all right, Miss April?”
“Coming,” I said, slipping the soft, flowing fabric over my head. I opened the door.
“Let’s have some tea; you can tell me what brought you to my doorstep this night. But first, wrap your hair, it will dry faster,” she said, handing me a thin, brightly colored towel.
Gathering my curls into a knot, I wrapped the turban tightly and was freaked out by my reflection. I looked exactly like a white Marie Laveau. Queasy and lightheaded, I glanced in the mirror again. I didn’t look anything like her, it was only this outfit and my
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