Grizzly Manor: Seven

A modern take on Wuthering Heights taking place outside of New Orleans.

The city (or, I should say, Parish) of New Orleans is almost an assault on all the senses.  The music (and people) are louder, the food is spicier, the colors are brighter, the heat is thicker, heavier, more oppressive, the odors more varied (particularly on Bourbon Street), and the drinks are stronger.  Even so, even as I tried to fill up my time with ghost tours, fan boat rides, a museum honoring D-Day, restaurants owned by John Besh and Emeril Lagasse, I couldn’t get Lexi and Rose out of my mind.  If I had never run into Lexi, Rose may have been more easily forgotten.  It was the juxtaposition that I couldn’t forget.  Lexi was exactly the way a girl her age should be �" she was friendly, had good manners, had hobbies that obviously took her outside often, and she seemed worried about her former friend.  Rose, on the other hand, was pale, miserable, and too busy escaping her dismal reality in the world of Victorian literature to notice when other people were even in the room.  And, more than once, it had seemed as though she’d been asking me not to leave.  I was an adult, a mother, and she was a child being treated poorly by her employer and, apparently, father-in-law.  And what about Lance?  Poor, sweet Lance who was getting the abuse from Grizz and, most of the time, Rose?

Less than 24 hours after I’d high-tailed out of Grizzly Manor, I found myself back on the interstate, making my way back to Bayou Lafourche.  Guilt pulled the bottom corners of my stomach, nagging at me to go straight back to the Manor, grab Rose and Lance and get them out of there.  I had to remind myself, however, that as young as they seemed, they were most likely legally adults.  Rose had been old enough to be married and, at her young age, was a widow.  Until I found out more from Lexi, I was unprepared to barge into the home of a famous rapper/actor/business mogul who could sue me, my husband, and my sons out of our Spanish-styled Santa Monica single-family home if I alleged that he was mistreating his employees.  

It didn’t occur to me until I was pulling into the dust and gravel parking lot of Gil’s Bait & Tackle that Lexi might not be there.  Hoping that she was or, that if she wasn’t whoever was working would know what she knew, I opened the door.  The bell above it let out a sad ring and I could hear the measly fan rattling, desperately trying to serve it’s purpose.  “Afternoon!”  Sure enough, Lexi was behind the counter, and when I got closer I noticed that she’d been flipping through the pages of Field & Stream magazine.  When she recognized me, her face fell a bit, which hadn’t exactly been the reaction I’d been hoping for.  Recovering quickly, she greeted me, “Well hi there.  Didn’t think we’d see you ‘round here again.”  She sounded as though she had, in fact, been hoping for that.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so, either.”  Taking a deep breath, I recalled the pitch I’d been thinking about since I’d decided that I was going to come back here.  Smiling, I tried to seem as friendly as she was naturally, and introduced myself.  “I’m Emily Lockwood.”  Lexi didn’t pretend it was nice to meet me.  When it was clear that she wasn’t going to, I continued to press her for information.  “I wanted to ask you more about Rose.”

Seeming to have anticipated that this might have been why I was there, Lexi shook her head.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I really don’t have much to tell you.  Me ‘nd Rose haven’t been friends since we was kids.  An’ Mr. Lee…well, he’s a got a temper on ‘im.”

“I know,” I nodded.  “I’ve seen it first hand.” 

Lexi let out a visible shiver of fear.  “Folks ‘round here don’t talk about that, ma’am,” she repeated what she’d told me yesterday.  “It was a long time ago.”

“Rocco Lee did not die a long time ago.”

“My daddy wouldn’t like me talkin’ to you about this.”

“I understand,” I told her.  Then, reaching over the countertop, I took her hand.  “Lexi, I’m worried about Rose, and that boy Lance.  We both know what Garrod Lee is capable of.  Aren’t you worried about your friend?”

The fan rattled back and forth.  A page of Field & Stream fluttered in the dull breeze.  A bead of sweat slowly rolled from the nape of my neck down my spine. 

When the boat motor roared to life outside, Lexi and I both jumped.  Looking around frantically, Lexi insisted, “I can’t tell ya here.  Meet me tomorrow mornin’ at the Crossing.  I’ll tell you what I can, but it’s not much.”

The hinges on the door groaned as it opened and I made for a quick exit before I got Lexi in trouble for discussing small town secrets with an outsider.  I found out that the Crossing was an historic landmark commemorating a Civil War battle; a battle that the Union had won in less than 24-hours.  It wasn’t anything significant �" just an old, sad, bronze plaque that had clearly been the victim of more than one flood.  The plaque was erected only a few feet from a dock, at the end of which Lexi was waiting in a tiny rowboat that the natives here called a pireaux.  “I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” I told her.

Lexi muttered under her breath, “Well that makes both of us then don’t it.”  I was trying to figure out a way to assure her that everything was going to be fine, even though she was about to tell me what was obviously some dark secret about Grizz Lee, his son, and his daughter-in-law that no one wanted getting out (and make it convincing), when Lexi broke into my thoughts.  “Well?” she asked impatiently.  “What’re you waiting for?  An invitation?  Get in.”

“Into the boat?” I asked her.

Narrowing her eyes at me, she deadpanned, “No, into a deluxe apartment in the sky.”

I might have been offended at her sass and attitude, which was almost certainly out of character for her, only I was too busy laughing.  “Okay, sorry.”  When I was seated in the tiny, cramped boat, Lexi pushed us away from the dock and thrust an oar my way.  Taking the cue, I did my best to not spin us in circles.  It felt like we’d gone miles and my biceps were practically screaming when Lexi steered us under an aged magnolia that dipped into the water.  “I think we should be safe here,” she assessed, looking over her shoulder.

“Safe?  Lexi, what in the world is going on at Grizzly Manor?”

The girl took a deep breath before warning me, “I’ll tell ya.  But after, you’re gonna regret you asked.”

It’s over a year later and I’m still trying to decide if she was right. 

What follows is my depiction of what happened �" of the sad history of the orphan Garrod Lee, Catherine Etienne (her maiden name), Benedict LeCompte, and how their tragedies, self-made or otherwise, spiraled downwards onto their children.  It might not be accurate, it might not even be the truth, but it is, unfortunately, all we have.  

 

Author's Note

This is a modern re-telling of Wuthering Heights that takes place in various places around Louisiana. It was hard to work out because Wuthering Heights actually has a really odd narrative structure. Any and all comments are appreciated, and if you have questions or anything is unclear please don't be afraid to say so.