Chapter 9
Noa
Yesterday was by far one of the longest, most productive days I’d had since I’d been in Magnolia. Waking up this morning, it felt like someone had thrown an entire filing cabinet on my head and was violently shaking me at the same time.
All of the pictures, articles…the scholarship fund, learning who the Dubois were and then Ezekiel Dubois was all just a hell of a lot and for some reason I couldn’t shake Ezekiel from my mental. He intrigued me in a creepy yet intoxicating way, leaving me feeling some things I’ve never felt before.
Every answer I thought I found created more new questions.
It was never-ending and I needed a minute from it all.
Even though Ezekiel said what I was looking for couldn’t be found in the archives, for some reason, I didn’t believe him.
I felt like he was trying to deter me for whatever reason…
maybe it was to protect his family. I wasn’t sure, but I sure as hell planned to go back and look to find out.
To help ease my mind and clear my thoughts I decided to go on another tour of the town. I’d been driving with no particular destination in mind as I rode down a narrow two-lane road that was lined with towering Georgia pines and ancient live oaks draped in thick Spanish moss.
I rode past rusted mailboxes to homes with aluminum rooftops, old farmhouses and fields upon acres of fields that looked untouched by time.
It seemed that the further away from downtown Magnolia the quieter everything was, which was exactly the type of time I was seeking.
The countryside was eerie and beautiful at the same time.
I occasionally stopped and took several pictures along the way.
I came upon an marsh, back of the woods area that looked like there were no signs of life but what caught my eye was a weathered old sign, wrapped in vines that were hanging from an iron post that looked just as old as the town it was in that said: VALE ROOTWORK & HERBALS.
The lettering on the sign you could tell faded years ago, but you could still read clearly what it said.
That journalist side of me started to get the best of me, pulling at my curiosity so I pulled forward into what looked like a parking area that was covered in gravel.
The building, storefront or whatever it was looked like something that was straight out of another lifetime.
There was blue glass bottles posted on a large, thick branch right by that stairs leading to the porch.
I knew from my own research because my mom had the exact same thing out on her porch, that they were called bottle trees but the official name of it was called Haint bottles and they were used to ward off or trap evil spirits.
It was believed that when you hung these blue bottles upside down on old tree branches at night, they would lure in wandering spirits or ‘haints’ that roamed throughout restlessly.
The bottles would trap the haints inside and when the sun rose in the morning it would destroy the spirits.
Even though we didn’t live in a house my mom kept hers out on our patio but instead of an old, dead tree branch, her bottles were posted up on a metal frame.
My mom was always deeply spiritual, and I looked at it as part of her southern roots and this place just confirmed it as such.
As I walked up the stairs to the front entrance, wind chimes hung from the porch, bundles of dried herbs dangled from the porch ceiling and more glass bottles were purched up on the windowsills.
But what really caught my eye were the dozens of tiny brass bells that were literally everywhere.
The moment I reached the top of the steps the bells started chiming softly yet there wasn’t a breeze that could be felt in the air.
Just as I got to the front door, before I could reach for the handle to open it, the door opened on its own and one of the elderly women I’d seen before in town was standing there.
When I looked closely, she looked like the lady that I saw standing in the rain the first day I got to town.
From a distance she just looked like an elderly lady but up close her presence was overwhelming.
When you looked at her, her age couldn’t be measured in years only because the grief, wisdom and survival that permeated loudly from her.
Every wrinkle line etched deeply in her mahogany skin was almost as if life itself had written stories across her face one chapter at a time.
Her complexion had a polished walnut color, and her eyes were the most intriguing part of her.
They were aged gray that carried an unsettling stillness behind them.
They didn’t look clouded by her age but more so sharpened by all of the things she’d been through and witnessed.
She looked at me with certainty like she already knew what I was thinking without having to ask.
Her hair cascaded past her shoulders and down to the middle of her back in silver and ash-gray locs.
Each loc was thick with history and age.
They were loosely hanging away from her face with a faded black silk wrap that covered her edges.
The silver in her hair caught every flicker of light giving them an almost ethereal halo as she stood in the doorway.
"About time you made it." She smiled.
"Huh?"
"Said it's bout time you made it here, chile," she repeated herself then stepped aside and motioned for me, "Come on in here." For a quick second I hesitated. "Ain’t nuttin’ in here to be scared of. It’s what’s out there you should be concerned bout."
She laughed and the sound reminded me of dry leaves rustling in the wind.
She was wearing mostly black, but not a regular black, more of a ritual color black in a loose-fitting lace and worn cotton robe-like dress.
The way it fit her frame created the impression that she moved throughout the room like drifting smoke rather than regular footsteps.
The sleeves on her dress were delicate and long with intricate lace patterns on them.
Around her neck looked like a lifetime’s worth of jewelry.
She had strands and strands of old wooden prayer beads, tarnished bronze chains with tiny antique pendants and handmade talismans layered one after another as they rested against her chest. Every piece of jewelry looked earned, blessed and inherited.
On her wrists she had just as many bracelets as she had necklaces that were made from brass, polished bones, crystals and black stone. She had rings on every one of her fingers, some were small and delicate, others were oversized and ancient-looking.
As soon as I stepped inside the shop the smell of rosemary, lavender, sage and old books smacked me in the face. There were shelves and bookcases that lined the walls that were filled with old books and overflowing jars of all types of different herbs.
She had just about every crystal known to man, all kinds of different shapes and color candles, some in jars some not, beads of all sorts some were styled as waist beads, some bracelets and others styled as necklaces and bundles upon bundles of herbs.
Browsing at the bookcases, they were filled with all sorts of books.
Books on rituals, hoodoo, voodoo, spell work and more.
Standing in the middle of the shop felt more like standing in a living archive versus being in a store.
If you were a spiritual person, this place would be like Heaven on earth.
"You hungry, chile?"
"No thank you." I responded, thinking that was a weird question being that this wasn’t a restaurant.
"Sho’ look hungry."
"I'm not. But thank you anyway."
Disregarding what I said she handed me a honey biscuit that was wrapped in wax paper and smelled absolutely divine.
I stared at her then at the biscuit, and even though I said I wasn’t hungry, it smelled so good that I couldn’t help myself, so I took a bite.
The old lady nodded, with a smile spread ear to ear across her face.
"Told ya," she laughed, her voice filled with wisdom.
"I did skip breakfast this morning and I haven’t had lunch yet… but this isn’t a restaurant, so food was the last thing on my mind.” I laughed. “How’d you know?”
"The grief sittin’ deep in your eyes, gave it away."
When she said that, my smile disappeared, and I realized I was standing in front of yet another person that knew more about me than I did about them.
Her facial expression softened, but not in a pity way, but more like she understood how I was feeling.
Grief was a difficult thing to go through and obviously she somehow could tell I was in the midst of it.
"You carry it loud, hard to not see it."
"Yeah, my mom passed away recently. One minute I’m okay and the next…"
"Oh, I know."
Her knowing that I was grieving didn’t startle me in scary way, it actually felt comforting in an older people type of way. Her presence gave not just old, but wise and all knowing.
“Ya know…I knew yo mother and father.”
I wasn’t surprised that she knew my parents and who I was. Like the lady at the church told me, everyone knew who I was…it was up to me now to find out who they all were and how they fit into the puzzle of my life.
"What kind of shop is this exactly? It gives store yet something else I can’t quite put my finger on."
“What you really wanna kno’ is who am I since I already kno’ who you is,” she paused and I guess the expression on my face gave that she’d basically read my mind. “Dessa Mae Vale…Last living member of my bloodline.”
“Oh wow! So, all of your family have passed and you’re the last one left?”
“Last one livin’. Use tah have a fairly big family at one point.
We was one of the first of this town. Magnolia was built off the back of the Vales.
Now it’s just me. Folks say I’ve gone mad, being the only one left, but I likes it betta that way.
Folks stop payin’ attention to ya when they think ya mind gone. ”
“So do people still come here to shop?”