EXTRACT FOR
The Boudreaux's of Belle Wood
(Author Unknown)

Chapter 1

    

    To me it looked like the setting for a southern gothic horror movie.  Looking through the wrought iron fence up the driveway through the low hanging limbs of huge trees, it looked forbidding. The clusters of Spanish moss didn't help the appearance.

    The three story house was a startling white in the shade of the big trees.  The grounds in front, what I could see, were neglected. 

    You may wonder why I was standing outside the high iron fence looking in at the place. I was asking myself the same question. I was a long way from home. Maybe not home in the classical sense, but away from anything familiar to me.

    My name is Nathan Boudry. Nate to most people who know me. I'm twenty-eight years old and until recently I was a soldier for Uncle Sam.  I joined the US Army right out of high school and it had been home for almost ten years.  I made it up through the ranks to sergeant E-7 and had no intention of leaving the military.

    An Iraqi roadside bomber changed that when he or she blew up the vehicle I was in. That incident got me sent home and into a military hospital for several months.  While I was recovering, someone made a decision that I was no longer fit for military service. I appealed that decision, but got nowhere. 

    I was determined to change their collective minds by working hard to restore by battered body. I did everything I was told to do and a lot more.  I spent five long hard months in rehab working to make all my limbs work right and restore damaged muscles. I lived in the gym.

    By the time they packed me up and showed me the door I was in top physical condition, but still they said goodbye. I was awarded a one hundred percent disability and given the boot.

    Suddenly the life I had known was gone. I had no close family to return to.  All of my friends were in the Army. They were my family. I mean they had been my family.

    My parents were both dead from an automobile accident while I was away in the service and I had no siblings. I was aware that my father was from the south and I think I was aware that he or his father had changed the name from Boudreaux to Boudry. I didn't know why they did so, just that they had. I also didn't know why my father never mentioned his family.

    I had been out of the Army for a bit over six months and was working as a part time forest ranger.  It was just a summer job but one I enjoyed. I spent my days outside in the fresh air and sunshine.

    I was living in a rental single wide trailer near the national park where I worked.  One afternoon I returned from keeping the park clean and safe and saw the car parked in front of my dump. 

    "Hello," the man said getting out of the car. "Are you Nathan Boudry?" Since I wasn't hiding from anyone I admitted I was. I think that somewhere inside of me I hoped the Army would realize their mistake and come fetch me back into the fold. This man didn't look like a military man, he looked like a cop.

    "Alan Carver," he said holding out his hand. "I'm a private investigator." So I was partly right. 

    "What can I do for you, Mister Carver?" I asked. 

    "I'm trying to locate the heirs of an estate," he said. "Do you mind some questions?"

    "No I don't mind," I said with a smile. "I may not answer, but you can ask."

    He asked me about my parents, especially my father. Most of the questions I didn't know the answers, but that didn't seem to upset him. In fact, he seemed pleased I didn't know. He quizzed me for about fifteen minutes then shook my hand and left. 

    It was about two weeks later I got a certified letter in the mail that told me I was the only heir to a great aunt's estate in Mississippi. A place in southern Mississippi I had never heard of and a relative I had never heard of.  The notification told me to contact an attorney by the name of Charles Cannon.

    "Thank you for callin', suh," a man with a southern accent so thick you could cut it said. "We had the devil's own time locatin' y'all.  I wonder if it would be an imposition for you to come see me. I'd sure like to get this thing settled. Been foolin' with it for years."

    "I just started this job, Mister Cannon, and I'm trying to get them to take me on full time. I couldn't get away right now."

    "Well let me sweeten the deal for you, son," he said. "You drag your ass down here and sign some papers and I'll make you a wealthy man. Semi-wealthy anyway." He had my undivided attention with that statement.

    'That does sound sweet," I said. "Just how wealthy are we talking about?"

    "Enough to make you 'bout the fourth or fifth richest man in this county, I'd guess. Damn sure enough to make the trip worthwhile."

    So that's why I was standing outside that fence looking in. I resigned from the ranger's job, packed up the few clothes owned, got in my ten-year-old pickup truck, and headed south.

    When I reached Clyde County, Mississippi, I called the law offices of Charles Cannon and was given directions to the gothic house of horrors. I was told that Charles Cannon, esquire, would meet me.

    "Ah, the allusive Mister Boudry," the man said through the back window when the old-style short limo came to a stop.  A fat white man got out of the back seat in stages while the black driver sat behind the wheel.  His feet came out first then his legs and with a mighty grunt, the rest of his rounded body popped out.

    "That's all right, Sam, you worthless cocksucker. I can make it on my own," he said glaring at the driver who seemed amused. "Mister Boudry, I'm Charles Cannon and I'm right glad to meet you, suh. Did you have a nice trip?" He handed me a fat, soft, moist hand. "Ain't she a grand ol' place? Not much left of the old place now, but she's still a jewel. Come on and let's get that gate open and have a look."

    He used a key to unlock the massive padlock. While he opened one side of the big gate, I opened the other side. He managed to squeeze his girth back in the limo and he and his silent driver led me up the oyster shell drive to the big ugly house.

    "This place is known all over this area," the lawyer said waving his arm to indicate the house and the grounds. "At one time it was the biggest plantation in this part of the state. Well over three thousand acres.  Got whittled down over the years, but she is still one fine-looking place, ain't she?" I didn't know what the hell he saw that I didn't, but I nodded anyway.

    "Back when you turned off the main road and all the way to the gate is all part and parcel of this fine estate. The land goes on down that road out yonder for another couple of miles. All the way to the river.  The deed says nine hundred and fifty six acres more or less. That's a fair size farm, ain't it, son?" I agreed it was big.

    "Come on in and let's give the old place a look," Cannon said heaving his bulk up the steps and onto the wide porch. He used an old fashion key and opened the front door. 

    Inside the place still looked like a horror movie set to me. All the furniture was covered with sheets and the air smelled stale. Mister Cannon opened the curtains and let in some light. It helped some, but not much. It was still spooky.

    "The boys from the electric company will be long shortly to get the power turned on. The old lady had electric put in about thirty years back. Cost her a bundle, but she did it anyway.  You didn't know her did you?"

    "I don't even know who you're talking about," I said. 

    "Miss Lilith Boudreaux," he said with a laugh. "Didn't I mention her name? Your great aunt, son. She was your pappy's aunt.  Your grand daddy's sister. She left us without issue as they say. The old lady spent the last ten or so years down at a nursing home.   Didn't know the world she was in for the last five they say. Kinda dusty in here, ain't it? Nothing that some soap, water, and elbow grease won't put right." He lifted a cover from a sofa and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

    "Tomorrow you'll come on down to the office and we'll get you fixed up. You'll have to sign a couple hundred papers but it will be mostly painless," he said coughing from the dust and laughing. "No reason that you can't stay here tonight, son. No reason at all."

    I could think of several reasons why I didn't want to stay in that spooky house, but I didn't voice them. Suddenly lights came on and I could hear a humming sound from somewhere in the house.

    "There we go," Mister Cannon said with a laugh. "Got them electrons running through the wires now. That humming is the well pump, I suspect.' He went through the house flipping on lights as he went.  I followed him and soon we came to the kitchen. It was surprisingly modern.  The lawyer opened a refrigerator and smiled. 

    "Yeah, they did it right. Cleaned and dried it good then they put some coffee grounds inside. Keeps it from smelling musty.  Smells like a nice cup of coffee, don't it?" I was content to take his word so I didn't go smell it. He went to the sink and turned the water on. It came out muddy or rusty looking.

    "Let that water run for a spell," he advised. "Should clear up pretty soon. You go on ahead and make yourself at home, son. Might as well, since it's yours, huh? Come on down in the morning say 'bout ten o'clock and we'll make it all legal."

    He waddled out the door and I heard the old car drive away.

    The big house didn't look so spooky with some lights on, but it was still...something I couldn't quiet put my finger on. Not inhospitable, but it damn sure didn't feel like home. 

    I explored the ground floor turning on lights as I went. I could see that the place had once been a showplace. Huge rooms with tall ceilings. The woodwork was ornate and well crafted even to my untrained eye. The floors were either hardwood or marble and even as dusty as they were they were beautiful. I noticed the sun was sitting and there was no way I was about to spend the night in that place. I turned off the lights and closed the door. I locked it using the key Mister Cannon left with me. I drove about ten miles to a motel and got a room for the night. 

    The next morning I located the Cannon law office and while I signed papers, Mister Cannon entertained me with local lore. 

    "Okay, son," he said putting the stack of legal papers in a file folder. "Now that you are the official owner of Belle Wood Estates we can get on with the rest of the proceedings. I took the liberty of opening an account down at the bank in your name. I'll transfer the money to that account just as soon as you go down and sign some more papers. They're expecting you so it won't be any surprise to them." He handed me a slip of paper with a lot of numbers on it. Very large numbers.

    "The property taxes are all paid up," Mister Cannon said. "You'll need to go to the electric company and get things in your name. They turned the power on yesterday as a favor to me.  Since I know you'll need some help getting the old place cleaned, I took the liberty of lining up some help for you. They'll be there 'bout noon to start cleaning so you need to get a move on. Get yourself some cash money while you're at the bank 'cause the cleaners are expecting to be paid in cash at the end of every day.  You'll need a couple thousand dollars I suspect."

    I went down the street to the bank and they were indeed expecting me. The president of the bank nearly kissed my hand and wept. 

    "It will be wonderful to have Belle Wood opened again," he gushed, "It's so nice to have a Boudreaux back with us again."

    I didn't bother to mention that I was a Boudry and not a Boudreaux. That fact didn't seem to matter to him. I cashed a check and left the bank still in a daze. Since I spotted the power company office, I went there and was greeted like a long lost relative. 

    I drove back to Belle Wood and only got lost once. When I got there, I was surprised to see a lot of people apparently waiting for me. There were about twenty of them, all women and all black. Each had some cleaning device. Mops and buckets, brooms and electric vacuum cleaners. I told them who I was and they all smiled, nodded and murmured a greeting. I opened the door and they went in.

    Once inside they scattered and begun cleaning. They vacuumed, washed, and wiped. The apparent leader was a short neatly attractive black woman who said I should call her Grace. Grace ordered and directed the activities of the others.

    "Need to air this place out," she said to me. Without waiting for a reply, she ordered the windows opened.  I watched them work and tried to stay out of their way.

    By five o'clock that afternoon they were ready to stop their effort for the day. I asked Grace how I should pay them and how much.

    "You pay me and I pay them," she said holding put her hand. "Two hundred dollars should do for today. We'll be back at it come morning. Got some men comin' to work on the yard tomorrow so you're goina need 'bout five hundred dollars tomorrow. I figure by late tomorrow we'll have most of the worst of it done."

    I thanked her and they left walking in a bright colored group. It was amazing how much they got accomplished in half a day. The first floor was spotless and the early spring air blowing in through the open windows smelled clean and fresh. It didn't seem so eerie any more. It was almost as if the women had used soap and water and a lot of labor to remove the spooks from the place. Maybe it had been their chatter and laughter that changed it.

    I ventured up the long winding stairs to the second floor. There I found another living room, a library and two bedrooms. That floor smelled of pine disinfectant and soap. Windows were opened on that floor also.

    The third floor was more bedrooms and I was surprised to discover that the bathrooms were all fairly modern. It was obvious that the bathroom had been added much later and not part of the original construction. 

    I decided that since the women had de-spooked the place I would stay the night. I found a large bedroom on the second floor and lay claim to it as mine.

    There were no closets built in the room. There were two large chest-like things that Grace had called wardrobes in the bedrooms. I opened one in my room and was surprised to find it full of women's clothing. The other one had men's clothing in it.

    From the look of them, the clothing was old. Almost as old as the house. Well, maybe not that old, but old. I was undecided what to do with the clothing. I was still thinking about it when I heard someone calling from downstairs.

    "Hello," a woman's voice called. "Are you receiving guests?" I went to the top of stairs and saw a young woman looking up at me. "Well, for lands sake," she said "Don't just stand there looking goofy. Say something."

    "Okay," I said starting down. "How's this? Hello, won't you please come in?"

    "Too late," the young woman said with a giggle. "I'm already in. I'm Liz Monroe. You must be Nathan Boudreaux."

    "Actually, I'm Nate Boudry," I said taking the dainty little hand she offered me. "My grandfather changed our name a long time ago.  Where did you come from, Liz Monroe?"

    "We live over there," she said waving her hand in a general westerly direction. "I heard you had finally arrived and was getting the house opened."  She was wearing a pair of what I assumed to be riding pants. Jodhpurs or jaspers or something like that. Poufy on the sides with black boots nearly to her knees. She wore a thin white tee shirt and obviously no bra. "So I saddled up and jumped on my horse and came callin'. I'm up here, Mister Boudreaux."

    "Oh, sorry," I said embarrassed at being caught looking at her protruding nipples. "You rode a horse?" I dragged my eyes from her chest and looked past her at a large black horse nibbling on a shrub by the sidewalk.

    "I did indeed," she said brightly. "That's Satan, my stallion. Do you know what a stallion is, Mister Boudreaux?"

    "I do, but my name is Boudry, but to avoid having to go into it again why don't you call me Nate."

    "Then I shall call you Nate," she said. "Do you mind if Satan eats your shrubbery?  A stallion still has his balls, Nate," she said not waiting to see if I minded that her horse ate the shrub or not.

    "I am aware of that," I said trying not to smile. "And a gelding does not and a mare never had them."

    "Very good, sir," she said. "I have ridden on Belle Wood since I knee high to a grasshopper. May I continue to do so? Daddy said I should ask."

    "You may," I said. "Where exactly did you come from?"

    "Over on Meadow Wood. My daddy owns the next farm over. If you repair the fence will you install a gate so I can come over here and ride?"

    "I wouldn't have it any other way," I assured her. Since I am the world's worst at guessing women's age I decided to just ask her to say her age. "Are you old enough to be riding by yourself, Liz?"

    "I'm old enough so that you stared at my tits," she said with a smile. "I have hair and everything, Mister Nate Boudreaux. Relax, I'm legal. Got to go and maybe I'll see you later."

    "It's Boudry," I said as she swung into the saddle. "They are nice tits!" I called as she galloped off.  That comment got me another giggle and a wave.