The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(42)
Author: Karen White

 

I sat back in my seat, realizing I wasn’t part of the conversation.

 

We found street parking on Rampart Street, near Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. As we climbed out of the car, Sarah asked, “Why are we here?”

 

I sent a warning glance to Jolene so she wouldn’t mention her quest to petition the saints for their intervention in her love life. “It’s the oldest church in the city. Actually, St. Louis Cathedral is older, but it’s been rebuilt at least once. This church building is original.”

 

Jolene pulled down the car’s visor and began reapplying her lipstick. “There are two statues I thought would be interesting. The first is an unusual one with a bit of a legend attached to it. His name is Saint Expedite. The legend has it that the statue arrived in a crate and the good nuns had no idea who he was. He’s dressed as a Roman soldier and he’s, like, a thousand years old, but he doesn’t have a shield or a sword, and on the crate was just the word ‘expedite.’ So they named him Saint Expedite, and people come to see him to ask for a quick response to their prayers.”

 

“Are you serious?” Melanie asked.

 

“As a dead person.” Jolene pulled her compact out of her purse and dabbed at her nose while we all watched. “The other saint—and he’s quite famous around the world—is Saint Jude. He’s the patron saint of hopeless causes.” Jolene smiled at us in the mirror before snapping the visor shut with authority despite the duct tape wrapped around it to keep it in place. “So the church is basically a one-stop shop for those desperate for intervention but needing it in a hurry.” She opened her door and stepped out of the car.

 

Melanie stood on the sidewalk, her eyebrows pressed together as she looked up at the white stucco church. “Is there . . . anything else about it? Besides the saints?”

 

Sarah spotted the historical marker in the neutral ground and pointed it out to her mother. “It says it was built in 1826 as a funeral chapel for the victims of yellow fever.” Their eyes met before they both looked at me.

 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware—really. Jolene just mentioned it was historic, and I thought it would be interesting to see something that was quintessential New Orleans.” I crossed my arms and turned to Jolene. “I had no idea about . . . the yellow fever thing.”

 

Jolene’s face fell. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Maybe y’all could wait here while I pop in for a few minutes? Since we’re already here.”

 

Melanie reached for Sarah’s hand. “We’ll be fine. For a little bit. Right, Sarah?”

 

My sister nodded, even managing a smile for Jolene.

 

Jolene beamed. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be fast. I’ve already typed up and folded my requests for intercession, and it shouldn’t take long to pin them on the wall and light a candle.”

 

It was Melanie’s turn to beam. “Nothing wrong with being organized, right, girls?”

 

She was looking at Sarah and me, and as if on cue we rolled our eyes in unison.

 

We slid off our sunglasses as we entered the church, and we were quickly enfolded in the dim serenity found in places of worship. The hushed voices of other visitors buzzed like sacred chanting amid the pale walls and jewel-toned windows. The scents of flowers and candle wax flooded the lofty space, huddling in the pews alongside the praying faithful. Statues and plaques of varying sizes filled most of the walls; at the far end was a simple altar with two angel statues standing at each side as guardians.

 

“Which one should I go to first?” Jolene whispered.

 

“Probably Saint Jude. Let him know what you’re asking for, and then head over to Saint Expedite to ask him to hurry it up.”

 

“Isn’t that a bit blasphemous?” Jolene asked, her eyes round with worry.

 

“Not intentionally. Besides, you’re not Catholic—remember? I’m sure that means you get a special dispensation or something.”

 

“Good point,” she said, smiling again. “I’ll hurry.”

 

As she walked over to Saint Jude’s shrine, I left Melanie and Sarah near the door where we’d entered and I began walking around the perimeter of the building, admiring the architecture and the obvious care the church received.

 

I wasn’t sure when I became aware of humming, the song “Dancing Queen” painfully familiar. I followed the sound to Melanie to ask her if she was ready to leave, and I saw that she was looking at Sarah. My sister stood in the alcove with Saint Expedite, facing the side wall full of flickering candles in glass jars in a kaleidoscope of colors. Her lips were moving so that the casual observer would assume she was praying. As I approached, she turned to me, a curious expression on her face.

 

“Who is Adele?”

 

I sucked in my breath, not sure if I’d heard her correctly. “Who?”

 

“Adele. Like the singer. Except she’s not.” She tilted her head, listening to someone I couldn’t see. “She says you know who she is.”

 

“Beau’s mother,” I said.

 

Sarah nodded, then tilted her head again, her forehead creased. After a moment, she said, “She’s hard to understand. It’s like . . .” She stopped, shook her head as if unable to come up with the correct word.

 

“Like she’s underwater?” I asked.

 

Her face brightened. “That’s exactly it!” Sarah’s smile faded and she closed her eyes. “She says . . .” She frowned, shook her head. “I can’t . . .” She stopped. “I think she just said something about Louis.”

 

“Louis? Like the cathedral? Or the king?”

 

She shook her head, allowing her chin to sink near her chest. “No. It’s—” Her head jerked up, her eyes wide, and she stared directly at me. “It’s like a small city, with little white buildings. And crosses. Lots of crosses.”

 

Melanie joined us, her expression one of concern. “Let’s go outside, Sarah. You’re looking a bit green.”

 

Sarah shook her head. “No. I’m fine. She’s gone now.” She bit her lip, her blue eyes brighter than usual. “I don’t think she was supposed to be here. I think she followed us because she knew she could talk to Mom or me, and that took up a lot of her energy.”

 

“Did she frighten you?” Melanie asked, putting her arm around Sarah.

 

“No. She was just . . . a mom, you know? Except her skin was really white, and her lips blue. That’s how I knew she wasn’t alive anymore. She looked so sad, and I really want to help her. We need to find out what this Louis is.”