Sandra Hill - [Creole] by Frankly My Dear

Author:Frankly, My Dear [Dear, Frankly, My]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The first thing Selene saw the next morning when she entered the kitchen was Blossom grabbing Etienne by the ear. “Look, look at what that dog done to my clean kitchen. Purple dog biz’ness everywhere.”

The grapes, Selene thought with a giggle.

Etienne’s blue eyes widened with sudden understanding. Amazed and somewhat impressed, he looked down at Dreadful sprawled in the corner like a rug, huge head resting mournfully on its front paws. Dreadful whimpered a dog hello to Etienne, sort of under his breath. Both of them were treading a thin line with Blossom, whose cane stood propped against the wall, within arm’s reach.

“You’re gonna clean up this mess yo’self, boy. No, no, no. Don’tcha flutter them big lashes at me. I toldja not to bring that beast into the house. What you been feedin’ him anyway?”

“It wasn’t me, Blossom. I swear.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Din’t you come into the house yesterday with a mouthful of purple grapes?”

Etienne began to argue with Blossom, his hands braced on his thin hips. With a chuckle, Selene decided to bypass the kitchen and went to the outside privy—not one of the more pleasant aspects of living in the nineteenth century.

On the way back, she had to dodge Bob, the wildly clucking, three-legged voodoo chicken, which still managed to escape the meat cleaver. Bob had a tendency to peck the ankles of anyone—human or animal—who came within ten feet of his self-proclaimed territory, usually the periphery of the out-house.

When she returned to the kitchen, Etienne and Dreadful were both gone, along with the dog’s mess. Blossom was still muttering under her breath, something about dogs and little boys being the death of her.

“So you saw the ghost last night,” Blossom commented idly, handing Selene a cup of strong chicory coffee.

“James told you?” she asked with surprise.

Blossom nodded, looking pointedly at the scratch on Selene’s arm. “Don’tcha be worryin’ none ’bout the master, though. He kin take care of hisself.” She smiled at Selene and patted her shoulder. “Especially with you here to save his stubborn hide,” she added. “He tol’ me how you rushed in and attacked the ghost.”

“Impressed was he, huh?” Selene asked, suddenly hopeful.

Blossom cast her a knowing glance. “More like amazed.”

Selene’s shoulders slumped.

“But ‘amazed’ is good, too,” she comforted her. “Don’tcha be frettin’ over the master sendin’ you away. I’m gonna get you a love potion from one of the swamp women. Like a dead duck he’ll be, jist right for the pluckin’. The master won’t be able to resist you then.”

Selene wasn’t so sure. And voodoo? Criminey! But the idea of “plucking” James, now that was a thought fraught with possibilities.

After breakfast, Selene and her cleaning crew assembled in the front parlor. Iris had brought with her Hyacinth of the big breasts, Lily of the nonexistent breasts, and Rose Petal with the big feet. Plus a half dozen other chattering girls and women who soon told her of their problems, which they somehow expected her to cure. Everything from zits to buck teeth to excessive facial hair.

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