Chapter 3
August 6, 1959
"The bigger the lie, the more people believe it."
Helêne Lepeltier Boudreaux was contemplating that very truth as she rose early to fix breakfast for her husband. She gathered her long dark hair into a clasp at the nape of her neck and took a quick look in the mirror. Definitely French, not Cajun. That part of the story was true at least. Aristocratic? A possibility. Wealthy? A laugh.
Helêne Lepeltier grew up as a street urchin in Paris, never knowing her father, ashamed of her prostitute mother, and then found herself in the same occupation at the age of thirteen. But Helêne had resolved to be different. She avoided the drugs. She saved seventy-five percent of her ill-gotten earnings, and traded her favors for the things she would need to escape -- tutoring in English, lessons in piano and voice, elegant, tasteful clothes, and finally, along with her legitimately earned diplôme from the local lycée, a glowing letter of recommendation from the disgusting old professeur de français, setting forth not only her outstanding intellectual capabilities, but also the illustrious heritage and social connections of the Lepeltier family. Sophie Newcomb College in New Orleans, Louisiana, United States of America, welcomed nineteen-year-old Helêne into its soft protective bosom.
The French girl felt surprisingly at home in the foreign country, surrounded by girls a year or two younger, and quickly adapted to the Southern manner. By the time of her senior year, as her money was rapidly eroding, she had no trouble securing a marriage proposal from Clement Boudreaux, assuring her future as a comfortable, if not wealthy, United States citizen. She thought she could love him and might have been relieved to know that her motives were not too different from the bevy of her classmates who flowered the South with their summer weddings.
Helêne had her entire family sadly but conveniently killed during the occupation of Paris, so that a large wedding would be inappropriate. The chaplain at Tulane University performed the Catholic ceremony in the presence of their friends Claude Demarest and his young wife Christina, who appeared quite pregnant for a recent bride. Christina and Claude Demarest stayed in New Orleans where he was in medical school. After a brief honeymoon in Biloxi, Helêne and Clement Boudreaux drove to Vicksburg.
The Boudreaux's, as would any American family who made their money the hard way, welcomed Helêne as that most prized acquisition, an aristocratic Western European (probably related to royalty though it was too painful for her to speak of her departed relations), sophisticated, accomplished in the arts and fluent in four languages. Helêne took her place in Vicksburg society and set about the business of making a home and learning to love Clement ("you-can-call-me-Clem") Boudreaux.
After several annual trips to her trusted gynecologist in New Orleans, Helêne had been convinced that it was safe to conceive and soon thereafter a daughter, Christina Lepeltier Boudreaux, began and completed their family. At twelve, Christina was everything her mother had wanted -- pretty, popular, smart and healthy. She would have all the advantages that Helêne had missed, from the love and attention of two parents to the material trappings necessary for moving in the right circles from which a suitable husband could be selected. It didn't matter to Helêne that her own marriage was not idyllic. She never looked at another man, and always proclaimed verbally and physically her love for Clement. They never argued, and though there was a lack of passion, there was no lack of admiration from their friends who considered them to be the perfect family.
Occasionally, Clem Boudreaux, hearing more undiluted praise of his beautiful wife, felt a little uneasy, but could never find any fault with Helêne. He finally concluded that he must have some terrible character flaw that made him unappreciative of his good fortune.
Clem was feeling that way again as he sat down to breakfast across from the perfect French woman. Consciously, he compared Helêne to his new secretary Vayda. Mrs. Jander. There was no contest. Helêne clearly excelled in every category, from her thick, luxurious, wavy hair to her thin ankles and beautifully shaped feet.
Vayda had over-permed reddish hair with dark roots, a few extra pounds around her middle from drinking too much beer, and thick ankles above her square feet. Clem wasn't even sure what color her eyes were. She was smart enough, for a secretary, but lacked the refinement that everyone prized in Helêne. Even as he wondered what he saw in Vayda, his heart did a little skip and he knew he was too anxious to get to the office.
Christina and her friend Kelly McCain slipped into the kitchen and sat down at the table just as Clem was leaving for work. He looked with pride at his daughter -- and his wife. Yes, he was doing damn well for himself. Best not to mess it up with fooling around. He felt Kelly's cool presence in the room and turned to say "good morning." She had always been so friendly to him, but now this strange aloofness. He imagined that she knew his secret, but ridiculed himself for the thought. She was only a child. How could she even think of such a thing?
"Morning, girls! You're up early. Got big plans for the day?"
"Yes, Daddy."
Once again, Clem felt the strange aloofness from his own daughter. He responded in the only way he knew how. "Need any money?" he asked hopefully.
"No, sir, thank you," Christi answered, politely, but looking away. "I still have some from the trip."
"How 'bout you, Kelly? Need a coupla dollars for a special treat?"
"No, sir, but thank you anyway," Kelly mumbled at her plate.
It seemed to Clem that Kelly hadn't looked directly at him since Christi returned from Savannah last night. He felt rebuked, and the cloud of Kelly's unspoken disapproval followed him all day. Must be my guilty conscience, he thought. I'd better do something about it. Maybe I'll just get another secretary. Hell, they're all the same.
This resolution was no better than the previous ones he had made and not much different from the ones that would come later. The only thing to change would be his conscience. Eventually, it would wear down.
Christi and Kelly sped off on their bicycles immediately after breakfast. By eleven o'clock, they were hungry again and near enough to Kelly's house to drop in for lunch. However, both girls were specifically hungry for a Dairy Queen hamburger and a strawberry shake.
"Let's go," Christi started off.
"Can't."
"Why?"
"Don't have any money," Kelly confessed sheepishly.
"But you told Daddy you did."
"I lied."
"Why?" Christi asked, blushing. Why would Kelly lie? Does she think I'm lying by not saying anything about the July 25th incident?
"I don't know," Kelly lied again, blushing and hoping Christi wouldn't notice.
"Stop here," the older girl ordered. "Let's see if I have enough for both of us."
Christi counted. "Nope. Sorry. Why don't we go by your house to get some?"
"We might get stuck there, especially if Nellie Mae has something good started for lunch. And she'll want to hear all about your trip. Then my parents will want to hear it."
The girls sighed together. All they could think of now was a big juicy hamburger with lots of mustard and onion. And a cool thick strawberry shake. There had to be a way.
"Christi, I got it! Follow me."
Minutes later the two girls were talking to Kelly's neighbor Old Man Everett through his screen door. Christi remembered that the Everetts had been in Florida while she was in Savannah. That news had rated only a small paragraph in the "Comings and Goings" section of the Vicksburg Daily Chronicle.
"Yes, sir," Christi heard her friend say, "I kept those kids from riding through your yard the whole time you were gone. And, in case you didn't notice, I cleaned out your garbage can real good so it wouldn't draw rats and I watered your garden some, while I was at it."
"Martha, come here. Did you hear what all this nice child did while we were gone?"
"What? Oh, it's Kelly McCain. Good morning, Kelly, how are you?"
"Fine."
"And who's your little friend here?"
"You remember Christina Boudreaux, don't you?"
"Yes, of course. Good morning, Christina."
"Good morning, ma'am."
"Now what's all this you did? Won't you come in and have some barbecue? You know we've always got plenty of barbecue!"
"And it's great barbecue, too, but no, thank you, ma'am. We were just on our way over to the Dairy Queen for a hamburger and strawberry shake."
"Some other time then, but now, Kelly, you tell Mrs. Everett what all you did while we were gone."
"Oh, it wasn't really all that much."
"Wasn't much? Why, this child kept those other kids from riding all over our yard … "
"Do tell."
"… and she watered the garden … "
"No!"
"… and even scrubbed out that filthy garbage can just so's the rats wouldn't come."
"Well, glory be."
Kelly shrugged her shoulders. "It wasn't really all that much. I just wanted to stop by and see if you had a good trip and … "
"We sure did, honey, but it's awful nice to come home, especially when we have such nice neighbors. Herman, don't we have a little something from Florida for Kelly and her friend?"
Old Man Everett shuffled to the kitchen and returned with a box of salt-water taffy.
"We were going to bring this to you anyway, but seeing's how you kept an eye on things for us, here's a little something extra," he added, reaching into his pocket and coming up with a one-dollar bill and two fifty-cent pieces.
"Now don't eat all that candy before lunch. I don't want Nellie Mae getting on me."
"Yes, sir. Thank you. That's real generous of you. I didn't do much. Really."
Kelly and Christi sped off again on their bikes, this time for the Dairy Queen.
Christi waited until they were halfway through their feast before saying, "You've done some dumb things in your life, Kelly McCain, but cleaning out the Everett's garbage can has got to be the dumbest."
"Not so dumb," Kelly grinned, "we're eating hamburgers, aren't we?"
"Sure," Christi acknowledged, "but there must be more to the story than that."
Kelly nodded, "There is, but it's kind of a secret. You tell me a secret, and I'll tell you this one."
Christi glanced away, then lowered her eyes. "I can't think of any secrets right now."
"You're lying," Kelly challenged boldly.
Christi blushed, and stammered, "Whuh, why do you think I'm lying?"
"Because I know you. I know what you think," Kelly announced loudly. Then she leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, "I never told you this before," she confided, her pale green eyes piercing Christi to the soul, "but, I can read your mind."
Christi's face paled. She stared wide-eyed at her friend. She tried to think of something other than "the July 25th incident." There was nothing else in the world. She felt her face and neck prickling with heat. She saw her father and Mrs. Jander rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until she thought she would scream.
"NO!" she screamed at the top of her voice. "NO!"
Kelly stared in disbelief as Christi yelled right in her face. Everyone in the Dairy Queen turned around to stare at them.
Christi dropped her hamburger and jumped up from the table, knocking her purse to the floor.
"NO!" she screamed again and burst into tears as she ran to the girls' bathroom.
Kelly sat in stunned silence. She didn't even care that everyone was looking at her. She waited a few minutes, which seemed an eternity, and Christi didn't reappear. Kelly had never heard Christi raise her voice. No one in the entire Boudreaux family, cousins and all, ever raised their voices.
She tried to remember exactly what she had said that made Christi so upset. The words "I can read your mind" echoed in the silence of her heart. She never should have told such a lie to her friend, but, of course, Christi couldn't have believed it. Maybe that was it. Christi was upset because Kelly had lied to her about being able to read her mind.
Feeling guilty and suddenly concerned that people were still looking at her, Kelly bent down slowly to gather Christi's little purse and its contents. Everything was spilled out. Lipstick, mints, pens, stamps, change, junk.
Kelly stuffed it all back in the purse, straightened up, and walked blindly through the Dairy Queen to the girls' bathroom. She wanted to cry. What's wrong with me? Am I crazy? What did I do? Feelings she couldn't define welled up in her and she wanted to be sick. When she opened the bathroom door, she could smell that Christi already was sick.
"Christi? Christi, are you in there?"
"Yeah," came a weak voice from the last cubicle.
"I've got your purse."
"Thanks."
Kelly went to the sink, ran water on a paper towel, folded it and held it under the door.
"Here's a wet paper towel," she offered.
"Thanks," Christi replied feebly, reaching for it.
Kelly heard the commode flush. She waited, and waited.
"Are you going to come out?"
"Unless I can figure some way to flush myself down the sewer."
"Aw, Christi, come on. It's not that bad, is it?"
"Yes."
"Listen. I'm really sorry."
"You didn't do anything."
"I made you scream and cry and throw up a perfectly good hamburger," Kelly replied.
Christi couldn't help chuckling about the reference to the hamburger. That was so like Kelly.
"It's not anything you did, Kelly."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. It's Nothing with a capital 'N.'"
"Okay, but come out of there and listen to me."
Christi slid the latch over and the door creaked open.
"Look at yourself in the mirror."
"I don't need to look."
"I said 'Look!"
Christi' s blood-shot eyes stared back at her.
"Now, you can either go around looking like that and making yourself miserable over 'Nothing with a capital N,' or you can tell me what's wrong and we can figure it out."
Christi managed a weak smile.
"So you really can't read my mind?"
Kelly shrugged, returned the weak smile, and found a way out of her predicament.
"Of course not, Dummy, and, why would I want to? There's nothing like a Webster's Dictionary in there. Reading your mind would probably just bore me."
"Yeah," Christi agreed gratefully, nodding and beaming at her friend. "Yeah, it would probably just bore you."
