Waters Run Deep by Liz Talley

see. With my own two eyes. I don’t do unexplained.”
    Picou tsked as they forged ahead, finally emerging into a clearing holding three huge mounds measuring almost thirty-five feet in height.
    “Cool,” Spencer shouted, breaking into a run.
    “Stop,” Picou said, lunging ahead and grabbing Spencer by the T-shirt.
    “Hey,” he said, trying to wriggle away. “I want to climb them.”
    Picou pulled the boy toward her and crouched down. “These are Indian mounds.”
    Annie shaded her eyes against the brightness of the sun and studied the three mounds. She’d never seen anything like it. “Are they sacred?”
    “Yes, and they are very old. Built even before the pyramids,” Picou said.
    “Really?” Annie moved beside them, slightly in awe that such an odd structure existed on the land owned by the Dufrenes.

    “What’s in them?” Spencer asked. “Is there a way to go inside?”
    Picou shook her head. “Nothing inside. No one knows why they were built. Maybe as a marker for territory. Whatever they were it’s unexplained.” She glanced at Annie before looking back at Spencer. “They’re very old and built long, long ago by the people who first lived in Louisiana. Isn’t that interesting?”
    Spencer nodded. “I guess. I wish I could climb on them.”
    “Just like my boys. Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. They might have well been a playground for little native boys and girls anyhow. Over at the ULB campus, the kids used to slide down them every home game. Grab some cardboard and your kid will be occupied for hours, leaving you to booze it up.” Picou gave a wry laugh. “They finally stopped it several years ago. Didn’t want them damaged, but I supposed one wee boy won’t hurt these.”
    Annie grinned. “The power of a pile of dirt.”
    Picou allowed a smile, giving Spencer a little push.
    He needed no further urging. His feet flew as he scampered up the mound. Annie pulled her phone from her pocket and pretended to check messages. In actuality she added a marker to her GPS. Perfect spot to meet Jimmy—easy to get to, far from prying eyes. Later she would meet Jane at the hotel bar for two-dollar longnecks and a zydeco band, but first she wanted to get her gun and see if Jimmy had learned anything. She quickly texted him and gave the coordinates to the mounds.
    “Your phone might not work out here,” Picou said, moving so she stood in the shade.
    “You’re right. No bars,” Annie said, pocketing her phone. “Wanted to make sure my dad hadn’t called.”
    Picou nodded. “Is he back in California? Is that where you’re from?”
    “Little north of San Diego. You ever been there?”
    Picou shook her head. “Nope. Born and bred a Louisiana girl. This land has been in my family for 158 years.”
    “That’s quite a past,” Annie commented, keeping an eye on the child as he lay down, folded his arms across his body and rolled down the hill. His shrieks made her smile. Who needed twisted-iron play equipment when the Native Americans of the past had given them the perfect playground?
    “I’m the only one left. This land has been held by a Laborde son for generations. Would still be true if my brother Benny hadn’t died in ’Nam.”
    “I’m sorry,” Annie murmured.
    “Me, too.” Picou’s eyes turned misty. “He was something else. Darby looks like him. Square jaw and thick blondish hair. Good lookin’ like none other. He died in ’69. I was twenty-five and had just married Martin. My mama looked at me and said, ‘No more Labordes, cherie,’ to which I said, ‘The hell there aren’t. I’m a Laborde. That hasn’t changed just ’cause I married Martin.’”
    Annie nodded. She understood. Picou’s identity wasn’t rooted in her husband; it was in the land, in her family’s legacy. She rather liked that about Picou.
    “So Beau Soleil is still held by the Labordes. We won it off the Duplessis family in a card game, who themselves took it from the Chickamauga Indians. Guess