blouse. It’ll keep the ghosts away from you.”
“And get rid of them?” Jolie asked.
Shaking her head, the woman said, “No, no, no. I didn’t say that. Getting rid of ghosts is something else altogether. Some people burn brimstone, but that doesn’t work for me. First you gotta know why the ghost is there and second you gotta understand the ghost’s problem so you can help it to free itself. And then you say, ‘Go away to whatever awaits you,’ to the ghost. Gris-gris can’t do that. But it can keep ghosts from bothering you.”
Jolie tugged on my arm. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Protection while you’re there. Your parents won’t want to stay, so you’ll come home, and that will be the end of it.”
“Yes,” I said. “That is what I want.”
The woman mixed up all kinds of powders and tied them up in a very small cloth bag, about the size of a Ping-Pong ball, only flatter. She tied it tightly with a string and made a loop with the string so that I could wear it around my neck.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“You don’t need to know,” she said. “You just have to believe that it will protect you. And you can believe because I said that it will. Five dollars. You want to wear it now?”
“No,” I said, giving her the money. “I don’t need it yet. Could you put it in a paper bag?”
She reached under the counter and brought forth a small paper bag, used and wrinkled. She dropped the gris-gris charm into it.
I took it and thanked her, and Jolie and I left the store.
“Whew!” Jolie said when we were on the street with the door closed behind us. “I’m glad to be out of there.”
I held the bag gingerly. “I’m the one who’s got to wear the gris-gris,” I said. “It looks weird. It even smells a little funny. What if it’s got dead stuff in it or ground-up bones?”
Jolie stopped and faced me. “Don’t back off now, Lia,” she said. “Promise me that you’ll wear it. Promise, or I won’t be able to sleep or eat or do anything except worry until you come home. Promise!”
“All right,” I said reluctantly. “I promise.”
In Louisiana in the summertime the sun rises early and hot, so even though my alarm clock was on roll-over-and-go-back-to-sleep time, Dad knocked at my door and called, “Wake up, Lia. We want to get an early start.”
I staggered out of bed, groaning, but as my mind began to wake up I remembered we were going to Graymoss. I hurried to dress and gulp down my breakfast. Not knowing what else to do with my gris-gris bag, I wore it, hidden inside the neck of my blue chambray shirt.
We drove Highway 61 to 190, a little north of Baton Rouge, where we turned east until wereached Highway 1. Then we drove north, following the Mississippi River.
Mom used the cell phone to make a couple of calls to the engineers. Finally I heard her say, “Not until Friday morning? That’s the earliest you can make it?… Yes. Fine. Nine o’clock. We’ll be there when you arrive.”
Dad laughed. “You didn’t expect them to drop everything and come today, did you?”
“I guess I’m impatient,” Mom said. “I just can’t wait to find out the results of their inspection.”
“Take it easy,” Dad said. “We haven’t even seen Graymoss yet.”
The drive didn’t take long, even though we stopped to ask directions in a small town called Bogue City, which Mom said was close to Graymoss.
“Bogue
City
? Someone had dreams of grandeur,” Dad said. He glanced down the main street and chuckled.
“Derek! Hush!” Mom said. She had already rolled down the window to talk to a portly, balding man who was strolling down the sidewalk.
“Sir,” she called, “we’re looking for a plantation house called Graymoss. Do you know of it? Can you tell us how to find it?”
The man stepped over to the car and bent down, peering through the open window at the three of us. He seemed satisfied at what he saw and stuck his arm through the window to shake hands.
“And get rid of them?” Jolie asked.
Shaking her head, the woman said, “No, no, no. I didn’t say that. Getting rid of ghosts is something else altogether. Some people burn brimstone, but that doesn’t work for me. First you gotta know why the ghost is there and second you gotta understand the ghost’s problem so you can help it to free itself. And then you say, ‘Go away to whatever awaits you,’ to the ghost. Gris-gris can’t do that. But it can keep ghosts from bothering you.”
Jolie tugged on my arm. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Protection while you’re there. Your parents won’t want to stay, so you’ll come home, and that will be the end of it.”
“Yes,” I said. “That is what I want.”
The woman mixed up all kinds of powders and tied them up in a very small cloth bag, about the size of a Ping-Pong ball, only flatter. She tied it tightly with a string and made a loop with the string so that I could wear it around my neck.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“You don’t need to know,” she said. “You just have to believe that it will protect you. And you can believe because I said that it will. Five dollars. You want to wear it now?”
“No,” I said, giving her the money. “I don’t need it yet. Could you put it in a paper bag?”
She reached under the counter and brought forth a small paper bag, used and wrinkled. She dropped the gris-gris charm into it.
I took it and thanked her, and Jolie and I left the store.
“Whew!” Jolie said when we were on the street with the door closed behind us. “I’m glad to be out of there.”
I held the bag gingerly. “I’m the one who’s got to wear the gris-gris,” I said. “It looks weird. It even smells a little funny. What if it’s got dead stuff in it or ground-up bones?”
Jolie stopped and faced me. “Don’t back off now, Lia,” she said. “Promise me that you’ll wear it. Promise, or I won’t be able to sleep or eat or do anything except worry until you come home. Promise!”
“All right,” I said reluctantly. “I promise.”
In Louisiana in the summertime the sun rises early and hot, so even though my alarm clock was on roll-over-and-go-back-to-sleep time, Dad knocked at my door and called, “Wake up, Lia. We want to get an early start.”
I staggered out of bed, groaning, but as my mind began to wake up I remembered we were going to Graymoss. I hurried to dress and gulp down my breakfast. Not knowing what else to do with my gris-gris bag, I wore it, hidden inside the neck of my blue chambray shirt.
We drove Highway 61 to 190, a little north of Baton Rouge, where we turned east until wereached Highway 1. Then we drove north, following the Mississippi River.
Mom used the cell phone to make a couple of calls to the engineers. Finally I heard her say, “Not until Friday morning? That’s the earliest you can make it?… Yes. Fine. Nine o’clock. We’ll be there when you arrive.”
Dad laughed. “You didn’t expect them to drop everything and come today, did you?”
“I guess I’m impatient,” Mom said. “I just can’t wait to find out the results of their inspection.”
“Take it easy,” Dad said. “We haven’t even seen Graymoss yet.”
The drive didn’t take long, even though we stopped to ask directions in a small town called Bogue City, which Mom said was close to Graymoss.
“Bogue
City
? Someone had dreams of grandeur,” Dad said. He glanced down the main street and chuckled.
“Derek! Hush!” Mom said. She had already rolled down the window to talk to a portly, balding man who was strolling down the sidewalk.
“Sir,” she called, “we’re looking for a plantation house called Graymoss. Do you know of it? Can you tell us how to find it?”
The man stepped over to the car and bent down, peering through the open window at the three of us. He seemed satisfied at what he saw and stuck his arm through the window to shake hands.
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