LITTLE CYNNIE LANDRY

Honeysuckle combined with sticky, humid air oozed in through the back porch and filled the parlor of the old Landry house. Cynnie, the youngest of the Landry children, had taken a spot in the parlor and made herself quite comfortable while the rest of the family milled about outside and wandered in and out of the kitchen trying to get an early taste of the evening’s supper. Cynnie came from an old southern family with old southern secrets and a very particular way of getting things done, so when Mrs. Adelaide Breaux turned up unannounced at half past three on a Sunday afternoon Cynnie’s mother cleared the house. Without a word or a question Mr. Landry had the children, the cousins, his sister and his mother-in-law ready to walk out the door for a steamboat ride and a stroll through Jackson Square. Mrs. Landry and Adelaide Breaux would handle whatever it was that needed to be done.

As they put on their hats and started to leave Adelaide gave Mrs. Landry a nod and turned her eyes on little Cynnie. She was just five-years-old by a day, but it was Cynnie that Adelaide Breaux had come to discuss. Mr. Landry held his gaze on his wife’s and after a shared moment of fearful unknowing, the family was on their way; and Adelaide and Mrs. Landry were alone with Cynnie and the matter at hand.

The aroma of cooling pecan pie, chicory coffee and fresh lemonade in the making hit Adelaide as she wandered the house, taking in the space. The Landry’s had obviously been going about a typical Sunday before Adelaide had knocked on their door, which only confirmed exactly what she’d suspected. They didn’t know.

Adelaide wound her way though the living room, the sitting room and finally the parlor. Mrs. Landry walked beside her and little Cynnie danced along behind them, stopping to look at this and that or twirl around for no reason in particular it seemed. The first time her mother started to tell Cynnie to mind her manners Adelaide politely hushed Mrs. Landry. Cynnie was behind her, but Adelaide was watching every move the child made. She didn’t want her to mind. She wanted her uninhibited, free.

When they reached the parlor Adelaide took a white candle from her bag, set it in the middle of a table and continued on to the back porch. Mrs. Landry wondered why Adelaide didn’t light the candle, but she kept her question to herself and followed Adelaide outside. Cynnie stayed put in the parlor. Adelaide and Mrs. Landry sat down to rest their legs and enjoy a glass of lemonade while they watched little Cynnie through the large parlor door, which looked out on the garden.

“Why don’t you invite her to join us for a glass of lemonade Charlotte.” Adelaide said.

“Cynnie.” Mrs. Landry called. “Would you like to come out on the porch and visit with Mrs. Breaux?”
“No thank you Mama.” Cynnie answered as she twirled through the parlor looking for something.

Mrs. Landry threw her arms up in confusion and exasperation, the way most mothers did from time to time, and Adelaide sat back in her chair and zeroed in on the girl.

Cynnie pulled a box from the ashtray and struck a match. Mrs. Landry gasped. She’d never let her daughter play with matches and had no idea where she’d learned to strike one with such ease. Adelaide placed her hand over Mrs. Landry’s to calm her, not wavering for a moment and not taking her eyes off the child.

Cynnie held the match to the white candle and her face lit up; her eyes grew wide and an air of wonder and excitement took her over. “It makes it easier for her to see.” Adelaide said nodding while Cynnie danced and sang and rambled on with the same nonsense she always did, according to her mother.

“She spends a great deal of time in the parlor.” Mrs. Landry said. “All by herself.”

“She always has.” Adelaide said knowing.

“Ever since she could crawl. She’ll sit in there all day long. All by herself. I don’t know what it is that she finds so entertaining. The imagination of a child I guess.”

“No Charlotte.” Adelaide said. “Cynnie’s not entertained by her imagination.” Adelaide patted Mrs. Landry’s hand to comfort her. “She’s entertained because your baby girl isn’t alone in there.”

Mrs. Landry held her breath as she watched her little girl who was carrying on in some sort of tea party, first talking to one chair and then to another. She turned from her daughter back to Adelaide.

“They’ve found her.” Adelaide said nodding and patting Mrs. Landry’s hand. “They’ve found her.”

“She’s just a baby.” Mrs. Landry whispered barely able to get the words out. “Who is it they think they’ve found?”

“They don’t think Charlotte. They know. They’ve found the spirit that can serve as their portal.” Adelaide said looking straight into Mrs. Landry’s eyes, making sure she understood. “They’ve found the soul that can let them communicate with this life and the next. They’ve found your daughter Charlotte and she’s found them.”

Adelaide and Cynnie’s mother turned back to the parlor, eased back in their chairs and watched the little Cynnie carry on as if she was the host of a grand afternoon of guests and conversation because, in fact, she was.

A.W. Gryphon©