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    Veiled Eyes
    Veiled Eyes
    Veiled Eyes
    Ebook356 pages5 hours

    Veiled Eyes

    By C.L. Bevill

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Anna St. Thais has always wondered who she was; an orphan or abandoned child. As she travels to New Orleans she quickly realizes that the dreams she's had of a strangely attractive man are very real and that he has a strong psychic connection to her. She finds the the enigmatic Lake People and there she will unravel the mystery that is her life.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherC.L. Bevill
    Release dateOct 19, 2010
    ISBN9781458039750
    Veiled Eyes
    Author

    C.L. Bevill

    C.L. Bevill is the author of several books including Bubba and the Dead Woman, Bubba and the 12 Deadly Days of Christmas, Bubba and the Missing Woman, Bayou Moon, The Flight of the Scarlet Tanager, Veiled Eyes, Disembodied Bones, and Shadow People. She is currently at work on her latest literary masterpiece.

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    Reviews for Veiled Eyes

    3.5/5

    40 ratings4 reviews

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    • 3/5
      A very well written and well edited story. A good plot, with intriguing characters and a nice paranormal touch.
    • 4/5
      this is an engrossing series. Not your regular paanormal romance or paranormal mystery it has more twists and turns and is a real page turning thriller. Great haracter and plot developement cn't wait to read the rest of the series Belvevell's Bubba series is more humorus but just as page turning
      This is not your normal paranormal romance. It is a real page turning thriller. It has great character developement and twisty plot lines. I can't wait to read the rest of the series. Bevill Bubba series is more humorous but just as page turning.
    • 5/5
      Veiled Eyes C.L. Bevill – An atmospheric, wonderful tale

      Louisiana is, in her heart, a mystical, magical land. In the bayous, where government and politics hold little sway, the real beating heart of the land resides. Here, the songs of her blood sing out in the voices of the birds, the roar of an alligator, the sound of the wind in the leaves. Her skin is this land of water and warm air, her hair the Spanish moss, growing lushly from the limbs of cypress trees rising full and strong from the bayous. She breathes the scent of water and growth, flowers and fecundity. And in this land of age and history, even the people of the lands are strange and wonderful in their own way – and some are frightening beyond all reason. For bad reasons, but for what they consider good ones too. Frightening.

      Anna St. Thais knows nothing of this land, or its people. Abandoned on the doorsteps of a church in El Paso when only a few weeks old, Anna is alone her whole life, battered from pillar to post, from orphanage to foster home. Life has never been easy, and her luck has never been good. However, she has always had a ‘little friend’ living in the back of her head, helping her to make decisions, warning her of danger. And a voice in her head that visits her on occasion, sneaking into her dreams and touching her heart.

      When we first meet Anna, she is hitchhiking across the country, trying to reach New Orleans where her foster home friend, Jane, has offered her a new job and a new home. It’s tough to keep your job as a car mechanic when the bosses jerk-off son drops a car hood on your hand to try to take your job away and give it to his just as jerk-off friend. And, with her usual string of bad luck in full force, she is mugged, robbed, had her car taken – and she hasn’t even made it all the way across Texas yet. Forced into hitchhiking, her ‘little friend’ in her head, that usually protects her from making bad choices when it comes to trust, checks out and leaves here alone. Alone, to accept a ride from a psychotic.

      Terrified, drugged and in pain, the presence is back with a vengeance, determined to rescue Anna, whether she believes the presence exists or not. What follows is a story of mysticism and history, of stories and family. This is a beautifully written story, blending the voice of the Lake with French Cajun patois, with a smoothness and depth that draws in the reader and soothes the soul.

      This is a fantasy, but it is much more. It is a tale of history and belief, of stories and hope. The people Anna comes to know, her unknown family, are a family in truth – a group of people bound by blood and belief, and by an incredible talent that turns their face from the world.

      You can’t love every person in a tale, but as a whole, these people I truly loved. They are close and caring, determined to protect their family and their way of life. The story is complex and richly written, and draws in the discerning reader immediately. There were some issues that were a bit confusing, when it came to the italics used for mind-to-mind communications, however, I am not sure that those problems weren’t due to formatting for Kindle. I have seen that sort of thing often. Otherwise? I fell into the book to the point that I could nearly feel the breeze off the bayou against my skin. It was wonderful, lush and rich as a bite of pecan praline.

      Highly recommended.


    • 4/5
      I really liked this scary para-mystery set in the swamps of LA. It was scary, really hit all my EEEKKK points. It was romantic with the connection that was always there. It was mystical with the black Lake, the Catfish and the yellow eyed people. It was also had a good mystery with her parentage, and the voices. My only complaint is that the MC had few big TSTL moments, but it was expected with her background and the chip she carried on her shoulder. I would love to see more from this series/author
      A really good read from a self published author to watch.
      Free on Amazon right now, grad it

    Book preview

    Veiled Eyes - C.L. Bevill

    Prologue

    Twenty-three years ago

    They say that it is dangerous to speak aloud of an expected baby. If the fairies hear of the child’s coming, they might be tempted to steal it at the moment of its birth. Instead, old women whisper that an expecting mother should refer to her baby as something so trivial that no discerning fae would dare mess with it.

    The young woman climbed out of her rusting car. She held onto the doorframe and stared intently at the dilapidated cottage in front of her. It hadn’t changed in the months that she had been gone and full darkness couldn’t conceal its present flaws. It was a three-room cottage with peeling paint and several broken windows covered by duct tape and cardboard. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the rotting carcass of an unidentifiable vehicle rested to one side.

    The lack of light and the absence of the truck showed the young woman the cottage was empty. She brushed chestnut hair from her forehead, and her blue eyes focused on the task at hand. She’d driven half the day from Baton Rouge to come to this tiny speck of a town to deliver a message. She’d braved the idiosyncrasies of an unreliable vehicle and an infrequently traveled road. She hadn’t wanted to do it. She was quivering with trepidation inside, but a nagging sense of honor had forced her to come.

    Petite and slender, she smoothed her shirt down in front and carefully shut the car door with a slight noise. For months she had been living in a Catholic women’s shelter in Baton Rouge and the nuns there had convinced her that she had to perform this task. One in particular had been persistently adamant. They have the right to know, the sister had said, unless you think you would be in danger.

    Danger? The young woman hesitated beside the car. Isn’t all life dangerous? When she had met her husband two years earlier, she knew that there was something wild and primitive about him. Living in the back of beyond only added to that perception. The cottage sat along the bluff of a lake with creeping ivy and Spanish moss swaying from each oak tree. Cypresses emerged from algae-covered waters like the legs of giants.

    It was a world beyond her reckoning. Coming from a middle-class family in Natchitoches, the comparison was a one hundred eighty degree turnaround. The people in this place were poor, some worse off than others, but they were proud and isolated. Welcoming outsiders went against their grain, especially someone like the young woman, someone who married one of their own too fast, too swiftly, to retract or counteract against. The priest came to her days after the wedding and spoke solemnly to her, warningly, in a manner that she didn’t understand. At least she hadn’t understood then.

    She understood now. Touching the car’s pitted exterior, she looked at a saint medallion that hung from her rear-view mirror. Dressed in her best clothing, she licked her lips and tried to collect her strength. She didn’t have to face her husband yet. She could walk to that favored place overlooking the bayous and search for strength.

    Looking into the back seat of her car, she knew she had a half-hour or so before she would be needed. So she vanished into the tranquil shadows, breathing in the scent of forest and bayou, understanding that she had missed the stillness of a place that didn’t move like maddened bees.

    And when she reached the place where she had regularly met her lover, she stopped to listen to the night’s denizens. Before long, she also realized that someone must have seen her come through the small town and that someone had rushed to meet her. She was no longer alone in the darkness, and there was no one to hear her scream.

    A man pulled his truck up to the ramshackle cottage and stopped the engine. He stopped ten feet from his door and stared at the car that was parked in front of his home. He didn’t recognize it. Louisiana plates were mounted on the back, and a parking sticker stated Baton Rouge College. He paused, and his face wrinkled into confusion. His wife had fled from his horrid temper six months before, and she had relatives in Baton Rouge. Could it be?

    Then there was a cry, not unlike a small injured animal. His head shot up, and he looked around frantically. Who’s dere? he called. Who’s playing games?

    But there was no one there. His head dropped again, and the noise came once more. A soft cry in the darkness, something was begging for assistance. His head swiveled slowly toward the car. He took a tottering step toward it and peered inside. He saw the saint medal first and muttered under his breath. Arette? Then there was a movement from the back seat that caught his eye. What he saw there made him gasp with shock.

    A car seat was attached to the passenger side facing backwards. He opened the driver’s door and leaned in. The baby in the car seat gurgled at him.

    The tiny light that had come on with the car door being opened showed him that the baby’s small thatch of hair was jet black and that the tiny eyes that stared at him were the burnished shade of gilt.

    "Ah sweet Dieu, he prayed. Realization flooded through him, a realization that escaped him until that very second. He knew what he had to do. He would protect her child even though he hadn’t been able to protect her, even from himself. Please forgive me."

    Chapter One

    Sunday, December 14th – The Present

    Old lore dictates that seeing the front of a black cat is lucky and the back of a black cat distinctly unlucky.

    Anna St. Thais cocked the thumb of one hand as she stood at the entrance ramp to Interstate 20 and gathered her coat closer with the other hand. Although it was Texas, she was chilled by a northern wind. The local meteorologists were calling it an arctic blast and warning people to bundle up.

    The truth was Anna was lucky she had the coat. In addition to the coat and the clothes on her back, all she had left was a backpack stuffed with a few meager possessions from her car before it had been repossessed in Midland. The repo man had generously allowed her two minutes to collect her goods. So in two minutes she had taken what she considered most precious; all the clothing she could grab and stuff in the pack, a coat because the weather was threatening to bite, a Bible, her wallet, and the scratched Wayfarers perched on her nose because they had always brought her luck.

    A week later, on her way out of Abilene, she had been robbed. Some clever thief was probably still counting the twelve hundred dollars she had in her wallet. She remembered the man brushing up against her in the bus station with a halting and seemingly sincere apology and chastised herself for not knowing what he’d done. He’d even pinched the Greyhound tickets, a little Christmas cheer to make her day and his too.

    So much for the scratched Wayfarers being lucky.

    Anna didn’t have a driver’s license or any other form of identification, nor more than twenty-three cents to her name. She had her thumb and a friend in New Orleans who would help her get back on her feet. Certainly, she could call Jane in the Big Easy. Jane had spent years with her in the orphanage, as well as in two foster homes. They had banded together like warriors in a supreme conflict and come out the stronger for it. Jane had a restaurant in the heart of the French Quarter and made money now, an almost obscene amount of money, a testament to her personal determination. Jane even had a friend who was willing to give Anna a job as a personal favor. However, Anna was reluctant to allow her friend to see how dire her straits had become. She’d already asked so much of her closest friend.

    So here I am. Hitchhiking. That’s much better than calling my friend for help, she thought caustically. I can starve for a day or two. No biggie.

    Anna adjusted her Wayfarers on the tip of her nose. She knew she didn’t look like much. Five foot four inches tall. One hundred fifteen pounds, sometimes twenty when she’d been eating well, which had been less and less of late. Her short black hair curled around her heart-shaped face, framing what she thought was her best feature, full ruby red lips that never needed lipstick.

    Given her profession, she wished she weighed fifty pounds more and had a foot more in height. Getting work was difficult unless the man hiring had an open mind. Usually they didn’t, or they wanted favors.

    Stupid. Anna considered. I’m a better mechanic than ninety percent of the men I know. I could strip an engine in an hour and put it back together in two. Running better than ever. Her mechanic abilities hadn’t been the problem at the last job. The manager hadn’t cared if she were a woman or not. He had questioned her closely on her ASE certifications, asked her knowledgeable questions about various tasks that she would perform, and given her the job. The pay wasn’t great but included the back room that had a clean bed and a clean bathroom. It wasn’t bad. Not a cockroach in sight…until the manager’s son had shown up.

    Because the son had wanted the job to go to a friend of his, he sabotaged Anna. Dropped an auto lift on her, all the while professing innocence. Then he got really nasty, dumping a barrel of recycled oil on the floor while she was under a Toyota and then slammed a hood on her fingers. Anna glanced down at her left hand. She still had a straight half-healed cut running across the upper part of her fingers.

    Bruised but not broken, she had shown the manager’s son that she wasn’t going to put up with a load of his crap. A dropped transmission on his chest while Anna peered through the engine compartment got his undivided attention. Later that night she’d used a pipe wrench to dissuade him from doing her bodily damage in retribution. Of course, he’d lost two teeth and would be eating his meals with a straw for the next month. But that hadn’t actually stopped him. It had been her foot planted solidly in his groin that had brought him to his knees. Played soccer for ten years, bucko. Know how to kick.

    Regardless, that was the end of that job. Anna agreed not to file charges against the manager’s son in exchange for her last week’s paycheck. Nor would the manager’s son be filing charges against her, if she left town soonest.

    The wind began to howl. Anna blinked underneath the sunglasses. It felt like it had dropped ten degrees in a moment. There was a large truck stop sitting kitty-corner to where she was standing. Open twenty-four hours a day, it proclaimed in orange neon so that truckers could see it from miles away.

    Anna had spent the last hour in the restaurant with a bottomless cup of coffee trying to fill the ache in her stomach until a waitress had cocked a thumb at the door. The waitress thought Anna looked like a hooker. Glancing down, Anna couldn’t agree. The jeans were tight but old. The t-shirt was clean but worn. The leather coat was probably as old as she was, something she’d obtained in a flea market years before. Ragged Nikes on her feet didn’t look like stiletto-heel boots. And she didn’t even have any makeup to her name, much less any painted on her face.

    The word the waitress would have used would be desperate. Anna could read it like she was speaking it. She was thinking, The girl’s desperate. It was that sixth sense that came to Anna sometimes. That little bit of something that told her what song would be played next on the radio or when to buy a scratch-off lottery ticket, which never got her more than a hundred bucks. Sometimes it worked with people, although it hadn’t with the pickpocket. It was a beacon on the older woman’s face. So Anna left.

    Anna parked herself in a convenient location for someone coming from the truck stop to be able to pick her up. Truckers tended to pick up more hitchhikers, but a girl had to be careful.

    Screwing up her face, Anna grimaced. Three big rigs had already passed her up.

    Her little helper, as she called it, was getting a little wonky lately. Her second sight wasn’t as Johnny-on-the-spot as she needed it to be, especially as it related to the people who stopped to offer her rides. She’d had about twenty rides from Abilene to here. Mostly from people who were not going far. There had been a few truckers who’d stopped for the night or for other reasons. Overall, she’d refused three. They had a certain vibe coming from them. She wasn’t getting that feeling anymore. The last man, who had deposited her at the truck stop and headed due north, had suggested she come along and participate in a threesome with his wife. Anna had threatened to jump out of the truck before he actually slowed down enough to let her get out, cursing at her for being a little straitlaced princess.

    Not exactly the worst insult I’ve ever had, Anna decided. He had a dead-miss in his engine, and she was glad she hadn’t shared any mechanical expertise with him. Despite the weirdness, Anna was a little freaked that she hadn’t gotten an inkling from the man. Not even a little tickling feeling of danger; there hadn’t been anything that told her the man wasn’t to be trusted. She usually had a pretty good personal ruler for that. True, he hadn’t attacked her, but just the same she should have had that feeling.

    Instead, if she began to lose her concentration there was an odd picture that popped into her head. A lake. A huge lake with fingers of water stretching out into deep woods. A lake with water blacker than night even in the brightest of day. There were dozens of cypress trees growing in the lake, tall and proud, the legs of a Titan walking through a sea of darkness. Their branches were laden with Spanish moss, like angel’s hair draped over twisted fingers. She could feel the air that was heavy and pregnant with moisture. There was a compulsion to reach up and wave away an annoying gnat or mosquito. An aura of expectation. Of longing.

    They are waiting for me. He is waiting for me. He is. Waiting.

    Anna shook her head violently. Who the hell is waiting for me? She ran a cold hand over her face. She’d never been this far east before. She had lived in West Texas her whole life, in a world of dry earth, of dusty winds, and warm nights where coyotes howled at the night sky. Far away, at the edge of Fort Worth, the world changed rapidly. Even in winter, it was greener than West Texas. Even with leaves still falling and blowing to every corner, the world had become more humid. The bite of the wind only emphasized the moisture in the air.

    There was the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Anna shook her head again. If she let her mind wander, that odd image would come to her again. The lake. The black lake. And the man who was thinking about her. His thoughts seemed to be linked with hers. With his manly thoughts and his manly manner and his manly dreams. Dreams that sometimes embarrassed Anna to the core.

    She hadn’t been sleeping well the last few weeks, almost from the day she’d left El Paso and headed east. She tried to justify the insomnia, attributing not being able to sleep the last two days to being worried about what crazy person would next offer her a ride. Every time she closed her eyes there was something very peculiar, even for Anna, who believed in the otherworldly, and that was the real cause. She was rotten with fatigue and afraid of what was going to manifest itself next in her mind’s eye.

    A large rig pulled out of the truck stop with its diesel engine reverberating. The driver had spent the last half-hour getting a fill-up and having something checked under the immense hood of the vehicle. She perked up as he climbed aboard the truck and slowly began to move out, clearly headed east.

    Anna looked up into his face and saw that he wore a baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses. Then she glanced at his truck and almost stepped back. It was a Peterbilt. She knew that much about trucks. It was one of the older models that had the long snout-like metal shroud for the engine. It extended outward like an animal’s mouth and had an extra-decorative feature that accentuated it. The shiny metal add-on was attached to the front of the grill, framing it appropriately. It was the shape of a snarling set of teeth with large canines ready to rip and tear. The truck had a mouth on its grill ready to bite down on its next quarry. Except in this case, its prey was already in its mouth.

    The truck driver had attached a Barbie doll to the grill, right in the middle in the widest part of the jaws. It was a little blonde Barbie with windswept hair, dressed in a polka-dotted outfit with a single black shoe dangling off one of her tiny little feet.

    The truck rumbled to a stop just in front of Anna, and she noticed that the rest of the Peterbilt was black. Black like the color of the lake in her imagination. At least she thought it was her imagination. A deep, glossy black that didn’t seem to reflect anything. The chrome words that indicated the make of the truck were attached to the metal shroud, but there wasn’t anything else painted on the side to display the company and town of origin. There were the standard USDOT numbers as well as a VIN, but nothing else. Only the front license plate showed the truck to be from Louisiana.

    Louisiana is good. At least I know he’s headed for the right state.

    The driver waved at her. He waved her over to the passenger door. Anna hesitated. She waited for that feeling to come, for the little Barbie doll to talk to her, to tell her why she was wired to the grill in the middle of a snapping dog’s jaws. She ground her teeth together and demanded the feeling to come. All she got was a brief vision in her head. A man’s hand was reaching for the wheel of a small boat. It was a strong hand, a tanned hand. He was a man who was whistling a tune, some tune that she couldn’t quite place. She’d heard it before, something that sounded happily Cajun. No, not quite happy. Wistful. Not discontent either, but wishing for something he didn’t have, something that was on the edge of his consciousness. You, something said. I want you. And a shiver of comfortable warmth swept through her body.

    Then it was gone. The truck driver was staring down at her, white teeth in a friendly grin. Anna broke herself free. She was cold, and the sun was starting to head down for the count. She took a step up on the Peterbilt and opened the passenger door with a tired grunt. I’m going to New Orleans, she said clearly. Appreciate a ride as far as you go in that direction. And I’m not a hooker.

    The man laughed abruptly. Darling, I didn’t think you were. As a matter of fact, you look like a little lady down on her luck. Going to Shreveport, sugar. You can catch a ride down 49 to Interstate 10, which will get you all the way to New Orleans, sure ‘nough. He drawled out the city’s name, saying, N’ah leens. Then he sighed. Get in before that cold does my bones in. I ain’t gonna eat you up. He held up two fingers like a Boy Scout. Swear on my old black and tan’s grave.

    Anna laughed reluctantly. The Barbie doll still wasn’t talking to her. She hauled herself up, shut the door, and settled into the captain’s chair. Then she looked at the trucker. He was in his thirties, late thirties with brown hair under a New Orleans Saints baseball cap. A good-sized man, he was six feet tall if he got out on flat ground, wearing a black western shirt with pearl buttons and new Lee jeans. Western style boots made of dark brown leather were on his feet. He put the Peterbilt into gear and checked his mirrors. Mind you put that safety belt on, darling.

    Not looking away from his face, Anna reached for the safety belt. She arranged it over her shoulder and waist and clicked the fastener home. My name is Anna, she offered. I didn’t catch your name on your rig.

    Work for a whole lotta fellers, said the trucker. Some of ‘em don’t want me advertising for myself when I’m driving their stuff. Easier to leave it off. ‘Sides which I got my big dawg here to let me know who it belongs to. He reached forward and lovingly patted the dash of the truck.

    I saw the jaws in front. Anna took her sunglasses off and hoped the man would do the same. He didn’t. That’s your handle then? Big dawg?

    Mad dawg, he chuckled. Don’t you fret about Miss Barbie. She done runs and runs, and she ain’t never gotten caught by the dawg yet. He glanced at her and started. My laws. I ain’t never seen eyes that color before.

    Anna shrugged. She’d heard it before. Her eyes were the shade of an aged bronze coin. Not yellow but ancient gold, the kind that made people look twice. She finally looked away from the trucker and made a casual observation of his working environment. Everything in the cab was neat and tidy. The surfaces were polished. The CB radio above their heads was freshly cleaned, and a little bouncing bar of green and red light let them know that other people were actively chatting, though the sound was turned down. The rug-covered floor was clean. No trash to speak of, not even a little speck of dirt. Nothing was out of place.

    Between their seats was the entrance to the sleeping room in the back. A black curtain hung over it. Anna reached out a hand to take a peek, but the trucker said quickly, Anna, my dirty laundry’s back there, and I shore don’t want a lady to see that.

    Anna pulled her hand back. The trucker grinned genially.

    Sure. I know what you mean, she said. She put her hands in her lap and hoped he couldn’t hear her stomach growl again. But he did.

    You hungry, darling? He didn’t wait for her to answer but produced an apple from a compartment on his side. You polish that bear up and remember what they say.

    Anna took the apple and almost drooled. She used the edge of her shirt to clean the granny up. Then she bit into in with great anticipation. What’s that? she asked with her mouth full but not caring.

    An apple a day keeps the doctor away. He chuckled with his own good humor. Name’s Dan Cullen. Truck driver and philosopher. He ducked his head and tipped the bill of his cap gallantly.

    Think that’s an old superstition, Anna offered after swallowing what was in her mouth and sighing with pleasure.

    Maybe, Dan the truck driver answered her solemnly. But superstition keeps us all on a track next to Godliness. I done avoid walking under ladders and crossing the path of black cats.

    Anna shrugged and continued eating the apple she had been given. The cab of the truck was warm, she was headed in the right direction, and so far, Mr. Dan Cullen hadn’t made a wrong move. She settled back into the leather captain’s chair and enjoyed a moment of respite.

    She agreed with the truck driver one hundred percent. Anna had had enough bad luck lately to sink a hundred cruise ships in a calm sea, and she didn’t care to make the gods angry if she could otherwise avoid it.

    Then Mr. Dan Cullen gave her a thermos of coffee to drink from, and that was the last thing she remembered.

    Chapter Two

    Sunday, December 14th

    Common folklore dictates that if a knife falls from a table, then a stranger is certain to come to your door.

    In the town of Unknown, Louisiana, the General Store sat a hundred feet from Twilight Lake. The store had been there since 1958, since the one before that had burnt down because of a lightning storm. That one had been there since 1895. The Benoit family, who owned the store, bragged to the everyday tourist that they had settled the little town in the 1700s, when France and Spain fought over every inch of soil to be found in the region. Sebastien Benoit had told the story more than a few times in his lifetime. He liked telling the story. He liked telling stories.

    Of course, the Benoit family had their hands in many areas of enterprise. From the old salt mine to the oil industry, there had been Benoits involved in all. However, in the weakening economy of small-town business, the general store was Sebastien’s last stand.

    Several tourists over from Dallas were staying in one of the nearby bed and breakfasts in the area. They came to the general store for that authentic air and because Sebastien knew the most about the history of the area. The truth was that he didn’t know the most, but he could tell the story the best way, and that was what really counted. Plus, they stopped at the store for bait, maps, and recommendations for the best guides in the area. He supplied it all.

    Sebastien sat at the counter, looking all of his years and then some. White hair spilled down to his shoulders and gold eyes examined his visitors closely. A tall man in his sixties, his hair belied his strength. He knew that he was just as able as when he had been thirty years younger, but sitting inside his store on a comfortable stool next to the cash register, he knew the picture he presented and played up to it.

    The family from a suburb of Dallas listened avidly. Only the youngest one, a boy of fifteen, was getting antsy. The mother said, What about the name?

    Oh, laughed Sebastien. One day in the ‘40s the townsfolk got a mind to incorporate. Don’t recollect why. Something to do with getting a traffic light out there. He waved at the single traffic light just outside the store. Maybe they wanted some revenue from giving people tickets when they ran it.

    The parents laughed along with him. The teenage boy glowered.

    Well, they had to fill out an application, said Sebastien, ignoring the teenager. And they couldn’t decide on a name. Some of ‘em wanted to name it after Roosevelt. Some of ‘em wanted to name it after Huey Long. A few even wanted to name it after Harry S. Truman, God rest his soul. But no one could get a majority. So they put unknown down on the application. Always meant to pick a name later and fill it in. He

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