Michael was the perfect gentleman. Where one might have laughed due to the sheer absurdity of my stories, he remained composed and sensitive. I told him about my D. Thomas, and my time in the Chicago nunnery, and how they kicked me out and shipped me to New Orleans. Of course he chuckled a bit, but he remained focused and interested, a trait rarely found in today's youth.
I learned a few things about Michael and the Stanton family too. He was thirty years old and single. He loved swimming, tennis and badminton, a real sportsman. He certainly had the arms to prove it. His mother used to live at Stanton Manor until a year ago when she left to live in their vacation home in Chicago. Apparently Mrs. Denise Stanton was greatly disliked in town and the pressure of such disrepute had left her severely scarred and in need of relief. The town called her the Stanton Witch for the many mysterious deaths and disappearances that happened in or around the family estate. This was to be her first time in Louisiana since then; an event that had the whole town buzzing with gossip.
"Why does the town hate your mother?" I asked trotting alongside Michael and his bike.
"They think she killed her husband," said Michael. "He fell off a ferry boat and drowned when I was sixteen. Mother says he was drunk and tripped over the railing. He was well respected and did a lot for this small place. He was running for reelection as state representative and the ferry boat was his contribution to this community to get voter approval. It was a terrible loss when he passed away. There is no denying my mother and father had marriage issues. They argued a lot. Never publicly though otherwise it might have seriously affected his reputation."
"And do you believe your mother? That she is innocent."
"I have to," said Michael. "She is my mother. I have to trust her."
"Family is no basis for reasoning." I puffed up my cheeks and exhaled. "Never was close to my mother."
"Are you saying you believe the rumors?"
"No," I said, whacking Mrs. Stanton's umbrella against a patch of weeds. "I'm saying people are not always what you expect. Even people we love and trust hide secrets. And where rumors are concerned, the truth, though sometimes obvious, is often times overlooked."
"Wise words, Sister Mary, but I know my mother. She is no murderer."
"Don't confuse wisdom with insanity, boy," I said chuckling. "If I had a shred of wisdom, I wouldn't be here now would I."
"You must give yourself some credit," said Michael. "You might be a saint in disguise."
"Hmm. Merry Sister Mary, the saint of trouble makers and rule breakers. I admit, it does have a ring to it."
The conversation abruptly ended when we reached the front gates. A young girl sat on the trunk of the red convertible. A lit cigarette slid out of her mouth followed by a plume of smoke. The girl wore bell-bottom jeans and a light green blouse. Her shoulder-length hair was the same shade as Michael's, brown with speckled highlights.
"There you are," yelled the young girl mockingly. "Mother is here."
"Unfortunately so," mumbled Michael.
"She is looking for you. God, she is mad at you. Forgetting to pick her up from the station." The young girl slapped her knee in laughter.
"Shit," cursed Michael.
"Best give her a moment to calm down. She was throwing stuff earlier." The girl blew smoke high in the air.
"I thought they took away your lighter," said Michael as he and I neared the vehicle.
"Hush. I do it to spite mother. Always trying to take away my smokes." The young girl took one more puff from her cigarette before flicking it into the grass. "So, who is this?" she gestured to me. "Is mother dying? In need of the last rights? Please say she is."
"No," said Michael as he turned to me. "Gloria, meet Sister Mary. Sister Mary, meet Gloria, one of my sisters."
"Hi, good to meet you." I shook Gloria's hand firmly. It was covered in red and orange paint. "An artist I see?"
"Not professionally. Just for stress relief. Doctor's orders!" She faced Michael and jabbed him in the shoulder with her finger. "Of all things to bring back from one of your excursions, Michael. A nun. Ha!" Gloria leapt off the car. "So what's your story, sister? What brings you to this quaint little patch of paradise?"
"Your brother got me out of a rather tight spot. Now I'm stranded here until I can get a ride to New Orleans."
"Ah, is the bridge out again? The water gets high in Thompson Creek and Bayou Sara sometimes. A little rain and all the roads start washing away."
"No," said Michael. "The bus left without her and with all her things."
"Hmpth, no luck there ain't it, Sister?" Gloria put her cigarettes into her pocket. "It's been enough time. Seems we should join the rest of the family inside before they send a search party. Will you be dining with us tonight, Sister Mary?"
"Michael has already invited me."
"Good," said Gloria, smiling. "It will be nice to have a new face to talk to. I dread this dinner every year."
"Not to pry," I lied, "But what exactly are you celebrating?"
"It's more a memorial than a celebration." Gloria sighed and turned to the house. "It's mother's idea. She puts on this dinner every year to remember dad's life on the anniversary of his death. The last few years we have had to go all the way to Chicago. This year we convinced her to come back home and celebrate. She was hesitant but eventually agreed since it was the tenth, the big one O. Can't believe it's been 14 years. I was fifteen then. Has it been that long?" Gloria rubbed the paint on her hands. A distant look filled her eyes. "Anyway, Sister Mary, get ready for one hell of a show tonight."
"I'm excited," I said, smashing Gloria's discarded cigarette with my foot as it started to catch the grass on fire. She looked upset by my actions.
"I wonder how mom will react to a nun joining us. She might be insulted, Michael." Gloria's voice changed to a mocking tone. "'Oh, what cruel joke is this?' 'Oh, Michael, why must you always make fun of your mother?' 'Oh, Michael— "
"Shut up, Gloria!" snapped Michael. Gloria smiled and childishly flicked her hair and scooted around the car.
"Gosh, take a joke, brother." Gloria stuck out her tongue. "You're not the only one who hates having mother around."
"It's just for a couple of days."
"Exactly so..." Gloria jabbed her finger into Michael's chest. "So don't set her off, you hear? If mother is happy, we are happy."
"Fine, fine. I get it. I know." Michael turned to me. "And here is the Stanton family at its finest. We love each other but can't stand each other's guts."
"That seems like most families," I said.
"Let's just get inside and get this over with." Michael motioned to me to come. He parked his bike by the far oak and together we sauntered to the front steps.
The place was even more spectacular up close. A wrap-around gallery held chairs for sitting and small tables for dining. Massive white columns pushed up to the roof-line. Michael noticed my interest and mentioned how the columns were modeled off of the Parthenon in Greece. The house's main support was internally placed as the structure sat on thick cypress beams and mason-laid bricks. Surely no hurricane could ever blow this building down. Standing on the top step, I felt dwarfed under the home's mighty presence like a tiny mosquito perched on the shoulder of a giant.
Gloria knocked on the tall french doors. An elderly African American gentleman appeared instantly behind the glass. If I had food in my stomach I would have surely barfed just at the sight of this man. No offense to any race or nationality, some people are just hideous. It was as if someone had found an ugly stick and used it to unhinge this monstrous beast from his mother's womb. Even as he stood behind the wavy glass I could make out his long curved nose hair and twisted ear hair. One eye drooped slightly to the left while the other was glazed with the whitest cataract one ever did see. And his teeth. Oh! His teeth! By God, how could the poor sod eat? He barely had gums for speaking. I know I'm a nun, and judgment should be left to the almighty lord, but by golly it was written across my face.
"Ah, Ms. Gloria, you seem to 'ave 'ound Mr. Michael," said the man in a muffled tone. He slowly pushed open the door and turned to Michael. "Mrs. Stanton, is looking for you."
"God, I know. Why must everyone bring it up." Michael rolled his eyes.
"Because you're the older brother, the responsible one," snickered Gloria.
"Mother only likes Pearl and you know it."
"Whatever, Michael." Gloria put her hands in her pockets and trotted off.
"And who might this be?" The hideous man came unnervingly close to my face. He reeked of spoilage and mushy peas. It took all my willpower from pinching my nose.
"Sister Mary," I managed to spurt out trying to hold my breath.
"A darling Sister." The man lit up with joy. "Come in. Come in." Apart from the smell and the looks, he seemed nice and welcoming. "Baines is my name. Jefferson Baines."
"Nice to sm—meet you." I caught myself.
"Sister Mary," said Michael. "Baines is our lovable family butler. He has been around for generations."
"Ah, yes, he does give off an aura of experience," I said uncomfortably. Thankfully for my sake Baines was partially blind and deaf, otherwise, the look I was giving him was none too pleasant. Michael noticed my judgmental face, leaned in, and whispered into my ear as Baines struggled to shut the front door.
"He's eighty years old. Do be patient with him."
"Of course," I whispered.
Michael turned to the poor old man and helped him latch the door. Baines then bid me good day and left hastily down the hall to feed the dogs. I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.
"He's strong for an old man, but stubborn as a mule," said Michael. "We've offered him plenty of compensation to retire. Seems he would rather work until he dies or at least until mother kicks the bucket."
"Michael!"
A loud and frightfully toned yell pierced the hallway. A woman in a black dress entered. Her silvery hair curled up into small whiffs that from a distance looked like horns.
"Speak of the devil! It's my mother!" Michael fixed his hair and stood up straight. The woman stomped towards him.
"I am seriously disappointed with you. Leaving me at the ferry when I called earlier to remind you. Instead, Gloria had to come."
"Mother, I forgot. I—"
"Forgot your own mother!" snarled Mrs. Stanton, her teeth clenching. "Nevermind." Mrs. Stanton waved her hands in the air. "I don't want to hear any excuses. So many of the townsfolk saw me. They were whispering under their breaths. 'There's that woman again,' they said. 'The nerve she has showing her face 'round here after what she did,' said another. It was embarrassing, Michael."
"Mother, I'm sorry. I was helping a nun in distress."
Mrs. Stanton turned an angry eye to me. "Is this one of your sick jokes, Michael? A nun? I said no visitors tonight. Only family. This is a private affair. Celebrating your father's legacy."
"Mother, Sister Mary isn't a visitor. She is my guest. I found her stranded and hungry—" Michael was cut off.
"I've heard enough." The woman gave me a quick once over. She growled and turned back to Michael. "The nun can stay. Like those lost dogs you used to bring home. God would surely smite me if I refused. Get Janet to set her up with a room."
"Did she just compare me to a dog," I whispered. Mrs. Stanton turned back to me. I instantly smiled and did a little curtsey. "Thank you, Mrs. Stanton," I said thankfully. The frightening woman contorted her rage-filled expression into a calm and modest grin. She must have not heard my comment.
"Sister Mary, was it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Mrs. Stanton rubbed her hands and breathed deeply. "Forgive me for being so rude just now. I've been rather flustered and forgotten my southern hospitality. Welcome to Stanton Manor." The woman extended two open palms and shook my hands. "I am Denise Stanton, head of the house. You've met my eldest son, Michael. Can't imagine how. And my second child, Gloria." She turned to the quiet Gloria. "You did introduce yourself, right?"
"Yes, mother, I did meet Sister Mary."
"Hmm." Mrs. Stanton turned back to me. "I'm sure you will meet the rest of the family in good time. But for now you are welcomed to my home. We have plenty of rooms. As a catholic woman myself, I'd be damned if I turned down a holy mother in need."
"It will be just for a couple of days if that's alright? Until I can get a ride to New Orleans."
"Of course," replied Mrs. Stanton, attempting a smile. "In fact we have family there. They can take you back when they leave. I'm sure it won't be a problem."
"That's splendid," I said. "This is yours by the way." I handed the woman her umbrella. She looked at it awkwardly.
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"You accidentally took mine instead. We were on the same bus. From Chicago. You left in a hurry."
"Oh my, how naive of me. That was you was it? I thought I recognized you. The one picking her nose during the trip and causing that ruckus about the boat. Bless your heart."
"Yes," I said proudly, pumping up my chest and raising my chin so she could see up my nose. "That was me." Gloria gave me an odd disgusted look.
"And you came all this way to return my umbrella. Quite honorable." Mrs. Stanton forcefully handed the umbrella to Michael. "I hope it did not cause you any trouble."
"In all honesty, it was for selfish reasons. My umbrella, the one you took by mistake, is sentimental."
"I see." Mrs. Stanton pointed at the wooden rack by the door. "Michael, take my umbrella over there and bring this kind woman hers." Michael grunted as he did so. You could see he was none too happy. "Now come on, we don't have all day." Mrs. Stanton clapped her hands. "Chop, chop!"
The boy was taking too long. I could not hold back my anticipation any longer, so I pushed him to the side, nearly knocking him down as I darted over to the rack of umbrellas. I saw it instantly with its tip down and its base up, the carved letters DT glistening on the handle. Like a victorious knight who had fought armies and slain dragons, I lifted my spoils into the air. My prize, my princess of the high tower, my Doubting Thomas.
"AH!" I screamed letting out a powerful and frightening battle cry of success. I began swinging my umbrella like a sword swatting with great confidence at the invisible beasts in the room. Everyone present was stunned by my crude performance of Swan Lake meets Macbeth. It was ballet. It was a drama. I was the star, Odette, and D. Thomas was my Banquo.
"Sister Mary?" mumbled Mrs. Stanton, her voice steadily growing louder and more stern as I continued to ignore her. "Sister Mary... SISTER MARY!"
"Yes?" I said, twisting around at last. Suddenly there came a loud crash of porcelain hitting wood. In my excitement, my umbrella had hit a vase situated on a pedestal. Broken shards spread out by my feet. "Shit," I said, lowering my eyes to the smashed vessel. "I hope it wasn't valuable."