Read Online Little Gale Gumbo by Erika Marks - Free Book Online Page B

brought his hand back for a third when he sucked in a sharp breath and released her. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed, his back curved as he studied the streak of blood on his shirt; then they all saw the carving knife in Dahlia’s hand. “You little bitch,” he gasped, wide-eyed. “You cut me!”
    Dahlia thrust the knife at him again, her eyes as wild as his had been, looking even wilder behind the tangled mane of her dark hair.
    â€œDahl, don’t!” Josie wailed, sobbing now.
    Camille stepped forward. “Baby girl, give me the knife,” she ordered gently. “Give it to me.”
    â€œHoly shit . . .” Charles just kept walking backward, staring dully at his wound. It wasn’t deep—they all could see that—but it was deep enough to prove that Dahlia dared to do worse if he came at her again. He looked up, stricken, as he pointed at them all, still moving away. “I want her outta here,” he said, gripping his chest. “I want her gone when I get back!”
    When Charles reached the doorway, he turned and stormed out, banging the screen door against the house. Dahlia dropped the knife and collapsed to the floor. Camille rushed to her, pulling her daughter against her and smoothing her hair. Josie followed, dropping down between them.
    The three of them sat huddled on the floor, wrapped together in a sea of broken dishes and splattered food, waiting for the squeal of the DeVille’s tires to disappear down the street.
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    Josie sat on Camille’s bed, weeping. “What if they take Dahlia away?”
    â€œThey won’t do any such thing,” Camille said calmly, even as her heart raced so loudly she could barely hear herself talk. She pulled her carpetbag from the armoire and yanked it open. “Now take out some clothes, and go tell your sister to do the same.”
    â€œBut, Momma . . .”
    â€œDo it,” Camille said sharply.
    Josie sucked in a sob and nodded, moving into the other room. Camille packed quickly—some clothes, a box of her oils and powders and candles, and a dozen records from Charles’s prized collection in the parlor—then she set the whole pile inside the bag. She moved last to the kitchen, dropping in spices and herbs, then uncovering the jar of money she had been hiding behind the sink, rolling the bills into a neat tube. Seeing that Dahlia was too dazed to move, Josie packed her sister’s bag for her, and when it came time to go, Josie even slipped Dahlia’s sneakers onto her bare feet.
    They took the streetcar to Canal and crossed over Esplanade to the Creole cottage, where Lionel and Roman put fresh sheets on the canopy bed and a pot of peppermint tea on the stove.
    â€œWhere will you go?” Roman asked, setting down Camille’s tea.
    She sighed, looking out at the courtyard where Dahlia and Josie wandered in the men’s bathrobes through the forest of bamboo. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never lived anywhere but here. My family was all here, but there’s no one left. No one I know of, anyway.”
    Lionel took a seat beside her on the chaise, rubbing her back. “We’ll figure something out,” he said. “You can stay here as long as you need to.”
    Camille covered each of their hands, tears filling her eyes as she smiled, her heart breaking. Her precious city was too small to hide them now. It was time to go.
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    It was Dahlia’s idea to use the spinning globe in Lionel’s study the next morning. The suggestion of closing one’s eyes and dropping a finger blindly on a map seemed ludicrous at first, but the more Camille considered the idea, the less absurd it became. After a languid breakfast of grillades and grits, the three huddled, hands clasped and eyes wide. Dahlia offered to spin it and let her mother stop it, but Camille felt it only fair that her oldest daughter get the right to mark their