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Miranda Everlasting

The cemetery is wrapped with moss, the unkept crypts swathed in lichen. Spanish Moss hangs from every tree, creating shadows that hide the pathways. At three forty-three in the morning of the first new moon following Miranda’s internment, the workers Albee hired are following her orders without complaint.

“That one. Slide it down, the long ways.”

“Hey, Miss Albee, what is that guitar for? How come it ain’t got no strings?”

“Never you mind that. Put your shoulder into it, move that cover down, I need to open the cercueil.”

“Hey, Miss Albee, is it true your mother was Marie Laveau?”

“Who told you that?”

“Everyone knows it, Miss Albee.”

“If everyone knows it, why are you asking?”

The youngest of the three hired helpers speaks for the first time.

“Who is Marie Laveau?”

The workmen stop pushing the concrete cover, staring at the young’un. Albee saves the boy from scorn.

“Marie Catherine Laveau was the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans in your grandfather’s time. It is not good to speak of the dead. Especially a dead voodoo queen.”

Albee pauses, eyeing the workmen. When they begin pushing again, she continues the boy’s education.

“My mother’s name was Marie. That is all I know. Mister LaLonde’s grandfather used to brag that he knew Marie Laveau. He used to crow that he bought me from her. But I was born after the Emancipation.”

Seeing the sarcophagus cover moved enough to access the wooden coffin within, Albee stops talking. Waving the workers away, she hands the guitar to the boy and steps to the side of the concrete box.

Using a prybar, she opens the coffin and pulls the lid high enough to see the child’s gray face.

She was a beautiful child.

Good or Bad, Reviews are always appreciated.

Good or Bad, Reviews are always appreciated.

Good or Bad, Reviews are always appreciated.

Good or Bad, Reviews are always appreciated.

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