Dual Images - Saint and Sinner

By Walker Jackson

Sequel to "Rose, Ma Petite"

Cajun Manor - New Orleans

Shirley Johnson idled into Cajun Manor's library wiping tears from her eyes. Moldy odors tickled her nose. "Ka-choo! Ka-choo!"

"God bless you, Shirley."

"Rose go away. My head is splitting."

Stopping at the century old oak bar, Shirley glanced into the mirror. For one frightful moment, she envisioned the ghostly image of her great-grandmother Rose Rodon. The image yielded to her own reflection -- a curvaceous, petite woman in a flowing peignoir, a beautifully chiseled face: eyes and hair dark as soot, and a slender pointed nose. She was the mirror image of Rose, who built this mansion in the American section of New Orleans shortly after the Civil War.

Two large windows, elegantly dressed with red satin curtains, emitted dull light incapable of clearly defining circa Nineteenth Century furniture. Overcast summer skies hid the sun's life-giving brilliance. She switched on the overhead lights. That's better. She was cheered, but only slightly.

Great literature and fiction, composed by prominent authors of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, crowded dusty shelves. Rose, the grand matriarch was an avid reader.

Am I going mad? For an instant, Shirley thought bookworms feasted on Rose's cherished literature. So vivid was her imagination that she thought she heard the miniscule buggers devouring inks and paper. That humming sound has to be the overhead fan. She chuckled softly. Or the worms are intoxicated on the inks and celebrate. I'm glad someone hasn't a care.

Again, she felt Rose's presence. She wasn't disquieted. She had come to accept Rose's haunting. Though dead for fifteen years, Rose wouldn't relinquish ownership of Cajun Manor: too many memories of life with Michael echoed from the paneled walls and furnishings. Shirley whispered, "Rose, Cajun Manor is mine now. Go away lady. I don't need your mothering today."

"I'm ashamed of you Granddaughter. Your behavior these last few days has been scandalous."

"Okay. So the intercourse with that young man was sinful, but it served a purpose. You know Billy almost died during his heart operation. He's all I have now. His father is dead. You know I need family around me."

"Hmmm!"

"Okay, I enjoyed the sex. I couldn't get enough. I've lived the chaste life of a nun forever it seems. This was never your lot in life."

Shirley shrugged her shoulders. She poured a double brandy and imbibed half. She continued walking to sturdy shelves where she'd search for a volume of Sherlock Holmes short stories. He was an old friend who rendered solace and companionship when it was needed.

The last four days had been a hedonistic binge so sensual she found it impossible to think of it as sinful. But, she would visit the St. Louis Cathedral confessional and atone. She knew Rose, whose spiritual presence seemed real at times, had turned over in her coffin. A more puritanical and pious woman has never walked terra firma. But young Joe Hancock was gone—probably forever. He'd left just this morning.

Reaching the mystery section, she sipped brandy and set the glass on the shelf. She pulled books and read titles, ignoring the melancholy dampening her spirit. Pleasure alone hadn't been the main purpose of the liaison. At least she hadn't expected to fall for young Joe. He was ten years younger, which was a slight problem. However, the limiting constraint was that Joe had signed a three-year contract with the U.S. Air Force. Her ulterior motive had been to get pregnant. She wouldn't know for weeks if Hancock had succeeded.

She removed a thick, oversized book from the shelf. The red leather cover and gold letters were bold and expensive. She blew off dust, thinking the housekeeper had been remiss or just lazy. She read, "Ma Petite's Memories - The beginning."

Bless the Pope, Grandmother Rodon recorded events in her life. My goodness! There are two more similarly bound books. She set the first book aside and checked the titles of the other two books. Ma Petite's Memories Book II and Book III. "More of the same," she whispered, as if someone was present. "Rose's penchant for documenting her life was methodical. I've got to read these memoirs," she mused audibly.

"Yes! Shirley! Read and discover that my sins were few. I was a virgin when I married Michael. And I never committed adultery."

"Rose, the world has changed."

"Sin is sin Granddaughter."

 Shirley sipped brandy and was swept back to that cold, bitter winter's evening of December 21, 1934, when Rose drank her first ever brandy before joining her Michael in heaven. Family members were shocked. She was a teetotaler her entire life, but Rose wanted to know what her Michael found so irresistible about brandy. He consumed several before dinner almost every day of his life. She wanted to feel close to him. She was but one breath away.

Shirley tarried long enough to finish the brandy, while stories and myths of Rose echoed from her memories. She took the first book to her bedroom upstairs eager to read it. She stacked pillows and turned on the bed lamp. She climbed on top of the sheets. She took the book in hands, opened it, and thumbed to the beginning of "Ma Petite's Memories." She read aloud. Memorable and beautiful images of Rose and Michael's life formed in her cerebrum. Rose listened lying just a touch away.

 "Cajun Manor - July 11, 1930

 The time has come to start what I will call, for lack of a more appropriate title, Ma Petite's Memoirs. Ma Petite is my nickname. I chose to use it instead of Rose because Michael adored my nickname. I turned eighty-five yesterday. My health deteriorates daily and my time on terra firma shortens with rapidity. The candle is only a stub now...

BUY THIS BOOK.