Chapter Three

If you look into the bride’s face, you’ll know that the bride is crying.

—Krio Proverb

Von drove Caitlin to her houseboat on the Ouachita River. The boat was moored close to the Louisville Bridge on the West Monroe side. Von helped her out of his car and with his arm around her, walked her to the boat.

“This is your home?”

“Yes. It belonged to my parents. They died in a car wreck a year ago. I really miss them.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Von said. “Why do you live on a boat? Wouldn’t an apartment be more practical?” He looked over his shoulder toward the newly constructed two-story condominiums near them. “Today, I actually thought of making Monroe my American base. I could rent one of those condominiums there. They’re only a thousand a month.”

“God, you must be made of money. Probably an apartment or house would be more practical for me, but I’ve never been practical, and besides, I love the river. The boat possesses a good karma, and it also carries very pleasant memories of my parents and childhood. Sometimes I think I can feel them here, and that makes me feel less like an orphan.”

She paused at the end of the boarded walkway by the boat. “Thank you so much for the ride, Von.” She hugged him.

He kissed her on the cheek. “Can I come inside?”

“No, not tonight. Perhaps another time when I’m not so drunk and I’m thinking clearer.”

“Goodnight then, Caitlin.”

Caitlin paused on the houseboat’s deck and watched Von’s shape fade into the darkness. She leaned against the cabin and studied the dark river and the lights and shadows pocketed along its banks. The businesses, restaurants, and clubs along the river, bustling with activity during the day, were now quiet and still and only the gentle sound of water lapping against the side of the boat could be heard. She wished she could etch such river night-scenes permanently into her head and then create the same beauty, the same sensory experience, and the same sense of peace on canvas. Her absent parents had loved the river so much, and Caitlin knew they had also loved her, in spite of the tension Hunter had created between them. They had warned her of the grief that awaited her should she fall in love with him. “He’s too wild and unreliable, Caitlin,” they had said. “A guitar man like that will only break your heart.”

“You were right,” she whispered to their ghosts.

Caitlin went inside the boat’s cabin, pushed Hunter’s clothes of yesterday from the bed to the floor, and faded into a numbed sleep.

****

When Caitlin woke the next morning, she washed down two aspirins with a pint mason jar of ice water and tried to recall and sort out everything that happened the previous night at the restaurant and the Backdoor Lounge, but the memories were muddy.

She made coffee, moved to the boat’s deck and gazed through sleepy eyes at the sunrise, and once again wished that Hunter could be here with her. The sun sparkled on the dark river’s surface like illuminated diamonds strewn across a dark cloth. She phoned a friend she remembered seeing at the bar last night.

“Jessie, this is Caitlin. I’m sorry I’m calling so early.”

“That’s okay. These crazy kids of mine got me up early anyway. My God, girl, you were trashed last night. I couldn’t help but notice that you and your boyfriend had another falling out. I’ve never seen Hunter so worked up before. He sure gave that poor Bawcomville boy a beating. Hunter’s never hit you, has he?”

“No, Jessie, Hunter’s never hurt me physically. It’s just—he’s just overprotective sometimes. This is the second time he’s started a fight over someone flirting with me. Last night’s like a nightmare. I’ve been trying to think what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Hunter is overprotective? Is that your way of saying that he gets crazy jealous? Caitlin, you don’t need that kind of man. A jealous, possessive man ain’t nothing but trouble. That’s the kind of man that will go ape-shit someday and kill you.”

“I don’t think he could ever hurt me, but after last night… I just don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. How badly did he hurt the man?”

“The poor fellow couldn’t even walk. The ambulance came and they had to wheel in a stretcher to carry his ass out. He’s not likely to be such a spry dancer for a while. Hunter wasn’t in too good a shape neither after the deputies finished thumping him down.”

“I should have left when Hunter told me to go to his truck. What do you think will happen to him?” Caitlin asked. “Where do you think they took him?”

“Well, since it was deputies that came in, I’m sure they toted him to the parish prison. My guess is they’ll charge him with assault and resisting arrest. But look, Caitlin, you can’t worry about Hunter right now. He brought his trouble on himself. That fellow getting hurt wasn’t your fault either. Christ, just because some half-drunk guy flirts with you, that ain’t no cause for Hunter to beat the crap out of him.”

“I need to find out what happened to Hunter.”

“You are such an innocent. Get yourself a Sunday paper and check the police report and see if he’s listed, then call me back. If he is, get ready for a flood of sympathy calls. Reading about who got arrested is a favorite pastime of people around here. Do you think Hunter will ask you to arrange for his bail?”

“No,” Caitlin replied.

“Well, if he does, tell him to call his daddy. He’s probably bailed him out before. Well, I got to go, honey. I think that boy of mine has done climbed into the dryer again. He wants to be a spaceman. I tried to tell him that astronauts don’t train inside dryers, but I can’t get the notion out of his head.”

“I’m going to Africa, Jessie, so I need to meet with you soon. I want to rent out my art gallery. I was hoping your agency could list it.”

“No problem. Just let me know when you want me to come out.”

“I will. I’m going to have one last show. To try to sell some art and say goodbye to my friends. Promise me that you’ll get all gussied up and come to it.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

Caitlin walked to the convenience store near her boat and purchased the local newspaper. Hunter had been charged with vicious assault and possession of marijuana.

Caitlin dropped the paper into the trash and walked to her gallery on Trenton Street. So that she could push Hunter out of her mind, she spent the rest of the day painting and tidying up the gallery for her show. Tomorrow, she determined to begin preparations to go to Africa.

****

Caitlin drove to St. Michael’s. She studied the white stone building with an artist’s eye. The white stone church was a landmark of Monroe, one of its oldest buildings. She loved its majesty and form. The Gothic windows, with their opaque stained panes, rose like sentries guarding its ancient, holy rituals. She twisted down the rearview mirror and checked her makeup.

After she powdered her flushed cheeks and applied lipstick, she went inside, feeling the reverent quiet that the building always imposed upon her and knocked on the priest’s office door.

“Come,” he said.

When she entered, Father Robert looked up from his paperwork and smiled. “Caitlin, I hope you are well.”

“I am, Father, thank you. I hope it’s okay to drop in like this.”

“Oh, yes. I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to thank you for inviting me to your art show last month at the university. Wonderful paintings of Bayou DeSiard. Are you making any money from your art?”

“No, Father. In fact, things got so tight that I had to take a job three weeks ago at Vermeer Diamonds. Even though I receive an inheritance of thirty thousand a year from my parents’ estate, and I manage to sell a few of my paintings, it’s not enough. I still live on the boat, but at least it’s paid for. I manage to get by and maybe I’ll get out of debt soon.”

“Yes, my child. The interest rate on credit cards is pure usury.” Father Robert opened his desk drawer and drew out a pack of unfiltered Lucky Strikes. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No, of course not.”

“Thank you. Thank God social reconstruction policies haven’t yet banned smoking in my own office.” He lit a cigarette, then fumbled through a stack of papers on his desk. “What’s on your mind today?”

“Well, my company wants to send me to Sierra Leone. And my boss was kind enough to say that I could spend some of that time working with the mission you talked about last Sunday, as long as it didn’t interfere with my work. Could the school use an art teacher?”

“Caitlin, that is wonderful! Our mission school in Sierra Leone so needs teachers. Your employer is generous. I can’t wait to share the news with your uncle. I’ll use my ham radio and try to reach him tonight. The Church can provide you with a room if you need it, and we will help pay for some of your expenses. I am confident it will be a life-changing experience.” He pointed to a framed painting of St. George’s Cathedral. “That Cathedral in Freetown is two-hundred years old. I hope you will visit it. It’s a reminder that Freetown was founded on three things: commerce, slavery, and Christianity. Only Christianity remains of the three. And because of volunteers like yourself, Christianity will continue to be a blessing to that dark and troubled land.”

“I’ve never been outside of the U.S., and I’ve always wanted to travel, but I never thought about going to Africa. The thought of leaving Monroe is a little unnerving. And I don’t know what to expect in Sierra Leone.”

“The school is in Freetown, so you would have safety and adequate comforts, at least by African standards. You have so much talent, Caitlin. Here’s your chance to serve God and develop yourself as well.”

“I’ll need your help. I’m planning on having one last show before I rent out my gallery. I’m worried about where to store the paintings and sculptures I can’t sell.”

“Do not worry about that. The church has an empty room you can use to store your art till you return.”

“Thank you, Father. That is very generous. I hope you will come to my last art show. Can you announce it to the church? Honestly, I’m a little frightened when I think of making this journey. I don’t know how to go about getting ready for the trip.”

“I will walk you through every step—all the way to Sierra Leone.”