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immediately and making sure I was comfortable. A secretary brought me some coffee.
"You don't have to worry about proving anything," the policeman sitting at the desk told me. "Buster doesn't deny what he did. He's still
complaining about not getting his money's worth. What's that all about?"
I had to tell what Grandpere Jack had done. I was ashamed of it, but there was no other way. All of the policemen who heard the story nodded in sympathy and disgust. Unfortunately, some of them remembered Grandpere Jack vividly.
"He and Buster are cut from the same cloth," the desk policeman told me. Then he took down my statement and told me not to worry. Buster Trahaw wouldn't bother me again. They'd see to it that he was put away someplace where they lost the key. I thanked them and returned to Mrs. Thibodeau's.
I think the reason some people in the bayou still didn't have phones and television sets in their shacks was that news traveled almost as fast without them here. By the time I picked up Pearl and headed back to our home, there were a dozen or so of our neighbors working on the house. In his rage, Buster had ripped off the front door and broken almost every window.
Miraculously, Grandmere Catherine's old rocker survived, although it looked like he had kicked it over a few times. Two of the kitchen chairs didn't do as well. Both suffered broken legs. Fortunately, he started drinking before he decided to go upstairs, so nothing up there was touched. But he did wreck a good deal of my kitchen. Once the details were known, my neighbors provided.
As I came up to the house, I saw Mr. Rodrigues repairing the front door. I remembered when Grandmere Catherine had been called to his home one night to drive away a couchemal, an evil spirit that lurks about when an unbaptized baby dies, He was very grateful and after that night, couldn't do enough for us.
Inside the house, Ms. Rodrigues and the other women were cleaning up. A collection had already been made to replace the broken dishes and glasses. Before afternoon, it resembled a shingling party, a gathering of neighbors to help finish a roof, after which there would be a feast with everyone providing something. The goodness of my neighbors brought tears to my cheeks.
"Now, you don't cry, Ruby," Mrs. Livaudis said.
"These people here remember the good things your grandmere Catherine did for them, and they're just happy they can do something for you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Livaudis," I said. She hugged me, as did all the women before they left.
"I don't like leaving you alone," Mrs. Thibodeau said. "You're welcome to come back to my house."
"No, we'll be fine now, Mrs. Thibodeau. Thank you for your help," I said.
"Cajun people don't hurt each other," Mrs. Thibodeau emphasized. "That Buster, he was just a rotten egg from the day he was conceived."
"I know, Mrs. Thibodeau."
"Still, dear, it's not right that a young woman like yourself be left alone here in the swamp with an infant to raise." She shook her head and pursed her lips. "Him who shared the pleasure of making her should share the responsibilities, too," she added.
"I'm all right, Mrs. Thibodeau. Really."
"I hope you don't mind me saying what I think, Ruby, but I know your grandmere would want me to care, and I do care."
I nodded.
"Well, that's all. I spoke my piece. Now it's up to you young people. Times have changed," she said, wagging her head. "Times and people. Good night, dear." We hugged and she left.
By early evening everyone was gone and things settled down again. I put Pearl to sleep, humming to her awhile, and then went downstairs to have some coffee and sit out on my gallery. Mrs. Thibodeau's words returned. I knew they were the words not only thought by other neighbors, but spoken by them behind my back as well. This incident with Buster Trahaw would only make the topic that much more vocal.
When I had changed dresses, I found the letter I had written to Daphne still in my pocket. More than ever now, I felt I should mail it.