What the Bayou Saw Blog Tour (June 18)

What the Bayou Saw by Patti Lacy

Segregation and a chain link fence separated twelve-year-old Sally Flowers from her best friend, Ella Ward. Yet a brutal assault bound them together. Forever. Thirty-eight years later, Sally, a middle-aged Midwestern instructor, dredges up childhood secrets long buried beneath the waters of a Louisiana bayou in order to help her student, who has also been raped. Fragments of spirituals, gospel songs, and images of a Katrina-ravaged New Orleans are woven into the story.

Take a Sneak Peek inside “What the Bayou Saw”

Chapter 1

Call to Action

I see the bad moon arising. I see trouble on the way.

-John Fogerty, “Bad Moon Rising”

October 25, 2005, Normal, Illinois

Need to speak to you before class. Today. It was just a sheet of paper stuck under the wiper blade of her Suburban. Yet something about the bold black letters sent a chill up Sally Stevens’s back. Then she thought of her Sam and thawed a bit. He’d written this, wanting to schedule a coffee date. It was his math professor way of being romantic, yet it seemed odd that he’d disguise his handwriting. Maybe it was a peace offering after that little misunderstanding last night over her headache.

It nagged at Sally as she stuffed the note into her skirt pocket. Maybe it was from a student, since it referenced class. But how had it gotten under her wiper, inside her garage? She fumbled for her keys, then shrugged it off as one of those mysteries, like unmatched socks and empty cookie jars. It was just a note.

A glance at her watch told her she’d better get going if she wanted to spiff up her lesson plans before her eight o’clock class. She started the car, turned on the radio, and managed to back out of the garage without clipping the rearview mirror.

I hear a hurricane’s a blowin’. I hear the end is comin’ soon . . .

CNN images of post-Katrina New Orleans flooded her mind as Creedence Clearwater’s lyrics poured out of her car speakers. By the time Sally had pulled into the nearly empty parking lot at Midwest Community College, her mood was as black as the charcoal-streaked clouds, amassing liquid weaponry as they began to obliterate the blue sky.

Sally grimaced. It was the start of a war-a Midwestern winter. A war requiring her to summon every character trait she’d inherited from the Flowers clan, a genetic jumble of Cherokee, English, and Cajun ancestors, who’d certainly had their share of troubles in this land. A clan she’d left down in Texas. A clan that, with the exception of Mama and her crazy aunt Gayle and uncle Will, hadn’t edged a toe over the Mason-Dixon line for a visit. And she’d been up here for nearly ten years-three years in Indiana, over six years in Illinois. The steering wheel became a target for Sally’s frustration as she drummed it, squeezed it, forcing one of Daddy’s old sayings into her mind: “You can do it-you have no choice. We Flowers not only survive, we thrive.”

The college administration building, a gray concrete monolith, windowless on the long walls, did nothing to dispel the feeling that Sally was in a war zone. As an afterthought, it seemed, someone had planted twiggy saplings and anemic burning bushes around the perimeter of the building. The pitiful things bent in bare-branched surrender to the west wind, the biggest weapon in winter’s ample arsenal.

. . . it’s bound to take your life. There’s a bad moon on the rise.

With a twist of the knob, Sally stopped the music. What possessed some Midwest deejay to play Southern rock and tweak at the chords of her heart like this? She’d accepted being a Midwesterner, and had adjusted darn well. But like any good Southerner, she longed to go back home. And when the sun shortened its daily visits, when the wind hinted at snow and sleet, she almost hated it here.

Hate. Sally shivered, not only from the cold, but also from the emotion involved with even thinking that word. “Hate never solved anything,” Mama always told her, waggling her finger and clucking like an old hen. As Sally checked the rearview mirror for orange pulp in her teeth or smudged lipstick, she knew Mama was right.

She leaned closer to inspect her makeup. Menopause’s marks made her grimace. A complexion as drab as this campus. Her eyes? Dull as used spark plugs, and ringed with dark smudges from a halfhearted attempt at eyeliner. Even her hair, once a crown of glory, at least according to Mama, had been infiltrated with so much gray, Sally couldn’t see any blond in the shaggy mess, even though Sam assured her that he could. But with Suzi in college and Ed having all kind of senior year expenses, a good stylist was out of the question. Maybe she should succumb to a Clairol kit, but Mama always said those were for trailer trash and fast women.

Just thinking about Mama made Sally raise her head and jut out her chin, considerably tightening up her middle-aged jawline. Mama had taught her to face bad hair days, bad any kind of days, with a smile. “Don’t let them know how you really feel. You can change the world with a smile. Plus, honey, did you know it burns more calories than frowning?” Sally plastered on a grin that would make even a Southern mother proud.

Maternally fortified, Sally grabbed her briefcase and purse and got out of the truck. She didn’t have to shut the door-the wind did it for her. Snippets of the spirituals she planned to play, the pop quiz she planned to give, spun on the turntable of her mind. She had so much to do if she wanted to teach these kids about protest music, so much-

“Well, well. Just who we wanted to see.”

Wha-Sally’s blood ran cold. It couldn’t be, could it? Rufus’s hateful voice, Rufus’s hateful tone. Risen from the murky waters of that bayou to haunt her. She whirled, and so did the scenery. Like a crazy carnival ride, everything blurred into whites and blacks and grays. She gripped her briefcase, which had become a roller coaster lap bar.             

—

Are you interested in reading more?  CHAPTER ONE will be continued on the tour tomorrow. Purchase What The Bayou Saw at Amazon.com.

For more FREE peeks inside “What the Bayou Saw,” be sure to view the full blog tour schedule at http://bitly.com/WhatTheBayouSaw.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Patti Lacy graduated from Baylor University in 1977 with a B.S. in education. She taught at Heartland Community College in Normal, Illinois, until she retired in 2006 to pursue writing full time. She has two grown children with her husband, Alan, and lives in Illinois. Visit Patti online at http://www.pattilacy.com/.

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