Situated deep in the Louisiana bayou is the formerly opulent Sorrow Estate. Once home to a magical family—the Sorrows—it now sits in ruins, ever since a series of murders in 1902 shocked the entire community. Now the ghosts of girls in white dresses shift in and out of view, stuck in time as they live out the past on repeat.
When Frances Green Sorrow is born carrying the "signs" of the so-called chosen one, it is believed she will bring her family back from the brink of obscurity, finally resurrecting the glory of what it once was and setting the Sorrows ghosts free.
But Frances is no savior.
Fleeing from heartbreak, she seeks solace in the seductive chaos of New Orleans, only to end up married too young in an attempt to live an ordinary life. When her marriage falls apart shortly after having a son, she returns home again—alone—just out of reach from the prying eyes of her family. But when her son disappears, she is forced to rejoin the world she left behind, exposing her darkest secret in order to find him and discovering the truth of what really happened that fateful year in the process.
Set amidst the colorful charm of The French Quarter and remote bayous of Tivoli Parish, Louisiana, Suzanne Palmieri's The Witch of Bourbon Street is a story of family, redemption, and forgiveness. Because sometimes, the most important person you have to forgive.... is yourself.
Release date:
June 30, 2015
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
336
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It must be late in the evening now, the sky is mercilessly dark. It has been a season of storms, has it not? The people here who wish me dead believe that not only did I kill the Sorrow family, but that I brought these wicked storms to our shores as well. I almost think it to be true, which proves how altered I am by these circumstances. I feel as if something vast has shifted inside my soul. I lost my way, didn't I, dear Albert? Drank too greedily from the well of this enchanted world, and now I will be punished for my sins. I warrant I would be terribly upset if I still believed in sin. However, I no longer care about evil or seeking redemption. I'm as bent on vengeance as those who have spent the last month surrounding Sorrow Hall. They want to see me hanging from a cypress tree as much as I wish to see each of them burn in hell for what they allowed to occur to this fine family that both you and I adored.
Do I sound harsh, Albert? I fitfully tried to pray tonight. The sky raced from gray to black so quickly, it is as if I am a creature lost in time. When I first arrived, that voodoo witch, Rosella, told me this was a sacred place, this Sorrow land. One of the few places on earth where geography and mysticism collide. I did not trust in it then, but now, after all that has happened, I know it to be true.
I sit here, alone in the cottage Madame Helene provided me, in the shadow of Sorrow Hall, writing this letter by the flickering light of the last candle I could find. I know you told me that if I chose to ride out this storm, you wished for me to close myself up inside the stronger confines of that grand house, whose walls could hold off the wind and the tides. Only, those same walls still echo with the laughter of the children, haunting me. Perhaps they have come back to escort me to the other side. I would gladly go with them, I miss them so.
Please know I did not take your warning about the "mob" lightly. I know they will come for me and mete out their justice. You were right when you said they believed me to be a demon, a rougarou, or at the very least a murderer of children. And I have done nothing to calm their hysteria, thus I am convicted in the court of popular opinion. So, when you asked me to come with you, I wanted to run to the safety you offered. But who would I be if I ran toward the very thing that was ripped out from under this beautiful family, be it my fault or not, the very day I arrived? No, I deserve to be alone with these dangers.
I realize that my previous silence has frustrated you. You have spent weeks patiently interviewing me, taking your copious notes. Asking me repeatedly to summarize my tenure with our beloved Sorrow family in the hope that I would give you some proof that I was not guilty. The zeal with which you have tried to clear my name is admirable. I did not mean to cause you pain. I never meant to cause pain to anyone. After all, I was brought here to ease suffering.
When you walked away from me (was that only yesterday?), pausing before closing the iron gates behind you (I adore that you called them Edmond's Folly, you were quite right about that), urging me one last time to accept the refuge you so graciously offered in New Orleans, I saw you pause before you disappeared into the damp mist of the leafy canopies that line the path to the docks. I saw you look back, Albert. Don't ever look back. You must always only look forward.
Be it the storm, or the mob, I'm not long for this world ... and though I struggle with the fear of what is to come, it is no worse than the weight of what is already lost. As one of the people aside from myself whom the Sorrow family allowed to be part of their magnificent world, I feel it only right that you should be the one to hear my confession, such as it is. Do you see now why I could not give you what you wanted? I could not state that I had nothing to do with their deaths, because I did.
Though a mere two years have passed, it seems a lifetime since I arrived to begin a new life in this savage paradise. I remember the day it all began in perfect detail. And, Albert, as it began with you, it seems fitting it should end with you as well. When Edmond and Helene decided to find a sister-nurse, it was left up to you, their solicitor, to make the proper inquiries. Oh sir! You must have felt discouraged from the start. What they were looking for was entirely too detailed. They needed a nurse to live with them, to care for darling Edmond Jr. (poor Egg, for whom there was no cure) and the rest of the children, SuzyNell, Edwina, Mae, the twins ... Lavinia and Grace, and little wild Belinda B'Lovely. The act of writing down their names is disconcerting to me, Albert. Like casting a spell, or saying a prayer (which I have come to believe might be very similar things).
I was to be a governess, healer, and religious adviser. Tasks that would prove to be nearly impossible in this strange, wet wilderness. But I fought back any fears I had, and came.
Perhaps it is that same lingering fear, deep inside, urging me to tell you here the very information you needed to clear my name. It is such a puzzle, Albert, that instead I will tell you what I did not do in the hopes that you will see the bones of truth spanning the blankness in between. I did not go from room to room killing them. That should be clear from the indictment itself. I am, as you know, accused of the following: instigating fits of insanity resulting in the suicides of Edmond and Helene. I am also accused of purposefully poisoning Edmond Jr. and the twins. It is believed I drowned beautiful Mae in the bayou, and lest we forget, delivered a fatal blow to Edwina's head with a metal croquet ball. SuzyNell, of course, had escaped the madness before it began, running away to France with her beau.
That leaves but one Sorrow child, Belinda B'Lovely, who is still missing. And though her body has not been found, I am presumed responsible for her death as well. Do not think me wicked if I tell you that I hope her soul is resting with her family, for that would be a finer fate than dying all alone in Meager Swamp, that desolate, tidal plane fed by the magical Sorrow Bay. We couldn't keep her away from it, remember? She'd come home dragging mud from her skirts. But I digress. Here is what you have been asking for.
I say this with the honesty that comes from the threat of imminent death: Albert, I did not do the things I am accused of.
So, why didn't I profess my innocence when the blame was cast my way?
Complicity. I was complicit in the demise of the Sorrow family, and one does not have to start a fire, or even watch it burn, to be guilty of arson; you need only be the one who fanned the flames.
I understand this may not appease your curiosity as much as you may have hoped.
Only the Virgin Mary, my confessor, will know the entire truth. Once this storm has passed, if you should decide to return from the safety of 13 Bourbon Street to find me, I will no longer be on this earth. I am sealing this letter well, casing it in wax, and placing it on a high shelf. I pray that you will find it and its contents will convince you to let this community continue to believe I am at fault. That is the only way it will heal. Let it be known that I died taking full responsibility, and though I go to God now with a clear mind, I have a stained conscience. That should be enough to keep the feux follets from stealing my soul. Or if that not be true, and you see lights over the bayou,run.
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