Mardi Gras Madness (Carnival of Love)

Chapter Nineteen

Nothing happened. Barbara waited in the car and the sun sank lower in the west.

Still the oppressive silence hung over the scene like a heavy mantle. The white cottage seemed to shrink furtively in its setting of shrubbery; smug and satisfied, as though turning a disdainful shoulder to the outer world.

Frank did not return and an inexplicable fear gripped Barbara’s soul as she recalled the look on his face as he moved toward that silent front door. Perhaps Frank would not return. Ever. Perhaps something terrible had happened to him. Barbara choked back her sobs and sat up straighter. Her shoulders squared themselves and her face was drawn. She was fascinated by the intolerable hush, more pregnant with mysterious horror than ribald merriment.

The cottage seemed to beckon to her. It was as though unseen fingers reached out to clutch at her heart... drawing her on... a faint, muted cry which struck an answer from some hidden force within her body. She found that she was powerless to resist the call. It was stronger than reason, stronger than all the conscious will she could summon to her aid. Something within her was identified with that beckoning silence. The muscles of her body stiffened, and it seemed that her veins were frozen.

She moved mechanically from the car and stood erect upon the ground. The world did not exist. Her eyes saw only the white door which drew her on.

Then the door burst open. Barbara was halfway up the path.

She paused, and the spell was broken. The door slammed shut violently, and reason reasserted itself as the figure of a girl groped toward her, seemingly dazed and blinded by the light and by release.

It was Ethel. A wraith-like figure, robed as had been Sonia, with the difference that her robe was crimson with a white cross at her loins.

Her eyes were glazed and staring. She would have passed Barbara on the path without seeing her had not Barbara grasped her arm and spoken sharply:

“Ethel! It’s you! Speak to me! What’s happened? What’s the matter?”

“Let me go,” Ethel muttered. “Oh God! let me go!” Her voice rose shrilly as she tore at Barbara’s grasp.

“Stop it,” Barbara said sternly. She was herself again and able to cope with anything. “Look at me,” she exclaimed. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Ethel stared at her for a moment, and her features were distorted in an awful grimace of fear. Her eyes were distended and blazing wildly. Her hands went up, claw-like, to push away what she saw.

“Go away.” Her voice was choked and guttural. “Go away and leave me alone. I know you! You’re Ocypete... the Harpy! Go away! You shan’t have my soul...” The last words were shrieked and little bubbles appeared at the corners of her mouth.

Barbara slapped her. Twice. With all her strength.

Ethel’s hands fell limply to her sides. Her features relaxed from the horrible grimace, and her eyes saw again.

“Oh,” she said vaguely.

“Come with me.” Barbara led her toward Frank’s car. Ethel did not resist. She followed submissively and silently.

“I’m sorry,” she said, making a pitiable attempt to smile. Then she recognized Frank’s car.

“I saw Frank,” she whispered. “He told me to take his car and drive it home. We’ll give it to him at the Brierly Ball to-night.”

“Can you drive?” Barbara asked briefly.

“No.” Ethel shuddered. “You drive,” she said hastily. “Just drive around for a while... then we’ll go home. I’ve got to get rid of this terrible thing and in some other clothes.” She glanced down at the crimson robe with loathing.

“Haven’t you anything beneath it?” Barbara asked practically as she slid into the seat behind the steering wheel and cautiously gave her attention to the unfamiliar actions necessary to put the car in motion.

“No,” Ethel said quietly. “Not a stitch beneath it.”

“Where are your clothes?” Barbara maneuvered the heavy car away from the cottage and turned into an unfrequented street leading north.

“Back... back there. This is... Sonia’s robe.” Ethel spoke with difficulty, seeming to force the words out.

“Tell me when to turn,” Barbara said evenly.

Ethel did not reply, and Barbara drove silently northward until the street crossed a highway leading weft. She turned into the stream of traffic on the highway and followed it slowly.

Ethel seemed sunk in a trance on the seat beside her. Barbara stole quick glances at her as she drove along, but asked her no questions. It seemed to her that she wanted to ask no questions. Perhaps she feared the answers Ethel would give. Perhaps it was merely a natural disinclination to probe into her friend’s secrets.

No matter the reason, she waited patiently for any revelations Ethel cared to make. She refused to let her mind dwell on the forces which had driven Ethel from the cottage. She would listen if Ethel cared to speak of them. But it didn’t seem to matter particularly. She had Sonia’s promise that Bob would be given back to her to-night. That was more important than anything else in the world. She felt tranquil and wholly at peace with the world.

“I... I suppose you think I’m crazy?” Ethel’s voice was anguished.

“I don’t think anything,” Barbara told her calmly.

“It’s... it’s all like a terrible dream!” Ethel shuddered and was silent.

“Don’t talk about it,” Barbara said. “Try and forget what happened. It’s over. Nothing can hurt you now. And it doesn’t matter.”

“I must forget it,” Ethel said determinedly. “I... I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. But I can’t forget it as long as I’m wearing this damned, shrieking costume.” She fingered the crimson material as though the mere touch of it aroused active aversion.

“That’s the first consideration,” Barbara admitted. “Don’t you have some friend where you could stop and borrow a dress or coat to wear home? You are... awfully conspicuous in that.”

“Oh yes. That’s... that’s what I’ll do.” Ethel brightened perceptibly at the thought of ridding herself of the garment. She sat up and looked around eagerly.

“Where are we?” she questioned slowly. “Oh, I know. Listen... Take the next turn to the left. Jane Leffingwell lives out here. She’ll lend me something to wear. Here! Turn to your left. I’m sure this is the street.”

Barbara turned the car into a side street and followed Ethel’s directions till they came to a rambling house surrounded by an orchard.

“This is it,” Ethel said. “Drive in the driveway right up to the garage. Jane’s a dear friend of mine, and even if she isn’t home her mother will let me in her room to borrow something.”

Barbara drove into the driveway and Ethel got out to enter a side door. She cut off the ignition and waited for her to return.

It was almost sundown, and it was very quiet and serene here at the Leffingwell home. The city and the frenzied festival of Mardi Gras seemed almost a mirage. Sonia, Frank, the white cottage, all seemed to fade away and become of little importance. Night was coming on. Mardi Gras would end. The Brierly Ball and Bob filled her thoughts.

She did not fear the outcome of the evening. Some hidden strength came to her aid as she might have faltered. She felt it was right that God should reunite Bob with her. If it was right in His eyes... it would be done.

She breathed a little prayer to a God who she felt was very close to her. It seemed He had guided her footsteps unerringly toward this end. Her lips curled in a little smile as she enlarged upon the fantasy. Perhaps it was absurd to see the hand of God in the swift march of events which had carried her along since coming to New Orleans.

It would have seemed preposterous to the Barbara of a week ago. But this was a new Barbara. Strengthened and assured. She had met her problem and conquered it. To-night she would conquer the larger problem of the future. Her future... and Bob’s.

She smiled whimsically at Ethel as she hurried from the side door to the car. Jane Leffingwell was evidently a large girl. A gingham frock was grotesquely swathed about Ethel. But her face was flushed with relief, and her eyes were bright.

“You drive,” Barbara said thankfully, slipping over to the other side of the seat. “I was frightened to death for fear I’d press the wrong thing when I was driving.”

“All right.” Ethel took the wheel competently. “What a blessed relief,” she breathed. “I felt that robe was strangling me, suffocating me. I told Jane to burn the damned thing,” she ended viciously.

Barbara smiled understandingly. There seemed no need for words. She leaned back against the seat happily as Ethel drove swiftly homeward.

“You don’t seem at all perturbed.” Ethel glanced at her curiously.

“I’m not,” Barbara admitted. “I don’t want to think about this afternoon. I want to forget what I saw when you reeled out of that awful place.”

“I’m afraid I’ll never forget,” Ethel shuddered. “But I’ve learned my lesson,” she went on. “A burnt child fears the fire. It’ll be a long time before I let myself in for anything like that again.”

“Let’s think about to-night,” Barbara prompted. “Sonia... promised to turn Bob over to me to-night at the Ball.”

“Sonia promised...?” Ethel gasped. She was silent for a moment. She wondered if Barbara knew Bob had been one of the votaries at the mystic shrine in the cottage.

“I was so glad he wasn’t there this afternoon,” Barbara went on pensively. “I don’t believe I could have stood that.”

“How did you find out he wasn’t there?”

“Sonia told me.”

“Oh.” Ethel bit her lip and was silent. Then she spoke with forced brightness. “Guess what? I found out something about Cousin Hattie that’ll send you into hysterics.”

“What? Tell me.”

“This takes the cake,” Ethel chuckled. “You remember what we overheard Sonia telling about her drinking the punch at the Dancing Dervish last night? And about the man who was with her? Talk about a scream! You’d never guess who it was in a thousand years.”

“Well, tell me,” Barbara insisted.

“The Widower Simpson,” Ethel said gravely.

“The Widower Simpson?” Barbara repeated in bewilderment. “Simpson? I don’t think I know...”

“Don’t you remember the man on the train? The one we picked up at the depot? With the two darling kids?”

“Oh yes. Of course. They said he wanted to find a new mammy for them... one that would let them come to Mwada Gwa every year.” Barbara laughed merrily. “Do you suppose?” she asked laughingly, “that he selected Cousin Hattie for their new mammy?”

“Sonia said they were stepping high, wide, and handsome,” Ethel observed. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all. Stranger things have happened during Mardi Gras.”

“Oh, let’s drive by and see them,” Barbara said impulsively. “I’ve been meaning to see how they got along. Maybe we can find out something about Cousin Hattie and Bob.”

“All right. It’s right on the way home. We’re almost there now. Gee, I’d like to have seen Hattie last night.”

“Can you imagine her?” Barbara marveled. “She’s so strict and strait-laced. How on earth do you suppose she met Mr. Simpson?”

“That will probably always remain one of life’s minor mysteries,” Ethel responded. “I’d say the hand of God had a part in it. Here we are,” she added, making a sudden turn and stopping before a neat wooden house.

“And there’s Boots and Buddie,” Barbara called gayly.

The children were playing in the yard, and recognized Barbara at once. They ran toward the car as it stopped, and crowded on the running board.

“Having a good time?” Barbara asked them.

“Oh yes!” Boots elected herself spokesman. Her face was clean and it shone like a full moon. “On’y daddy sent us home early las’ night an’ nen didn’ come home till this mornin’,” she said accusingly.

“My, my. Did he stay out all night?”

“Yes, an’ he tol’ us not to tell nobody.”

“So you’re telling everyone you see?” Barbara asked merrily.

“Tell her ’bout the lady.” Buddie poked his sister urgently.

“Oh yes.” Boots hastened to impart the tremendous news. “Daddy tol’ us not to min’ ’cause he found the beutiful lady las’ night what’s gonna be our new mammy. An’ she’s awful purty an’ awful nice an’ she says we kin come to Mwada Gwa every year,” Boots ended triumphantly.

Barbara turned to look at Ethel, and they both burst into laughter.

“Where’s your daddy now?” Ethel asked as Barbara continued to laugh helplessly.

“He went down to get the lady,” Boots said sturdily. “An’ he’s bin gone an awful long time. He promised he’d be home befo’ night.”

“Ooooh! Dere he comes now!” Buddie shouted mightily as a taxi turned the corner and rolled up to stop beside the other car.

It was indeed the Widower Simpson. A rejuvenated Widower Simpson. And no longer a widower. For he proudly gave his arm to the new Mrs. Simpson as he alighted from the cab.

Barbara and Ethel both stared in silent consternation as Boots and Buddie flung themselves upon their father and their new mother.

Hattie did not see the two girls in the automobile. She was on her knees, gathering the two children to her starved bosom.

It was Hattie, though Barbara felt she might not have recognized her had she not been prepared to see her. Her features were actually soft as she bent over the two children. Her spare form did not seem ungainly in the gathering twilight.

Barbara touched Ethel lightly on the arm as they stared at the strangely moving scene.

“Drive on,” she said huskily. “Let’s not bother them now. Mardi Gras has been... good to all of them.”

She wiped away a tear as Ethel drove smoothly away. She looked back at the group and saw them mistily. It seemed to her that she glimpsed something of the power of Mardi Gras. Something of the spirit of the festival which has kept it alive for more than a century. Mardi Gras had wrought its wonder upon those four. They were encompassed in peace and certitude as the festival ended.

Barbara prayed blindly that she might find that same peace and certitude before the chimes tolled at midnight. For it was brought to her that Mardi Gras is essentially a spiritual cleansing; a release from the bonds of fleshly pleasure; that in giving way for a brief period to the unrestrained enjoyment of worldly lusts the soul is made ready for the greater peace of spiritual understanding.

To-night... she and Bob must seek that greater understanding together.