“Jeannotte’s brother met Boudrais in Texas and was captivated. By then she was calling herself Elle. That’s also where Dom Owens came into the picture.”
“He is the man from South Carolina?”
“Yes. Owens was a small-time dabbler in mysticism and organic healing. He visited the Fort Bend ranch and was infatuated with Elle. He invited her to the South Carolina compound on Saint Helena, and she seized control of his group.”
“But it all sounds so harmless. Herbs and spells and holistic medicine. How did it come to violence and death?”
How does one explain madness? I didn’t want to discuss the psychiatric evaluation lying on my desk, or the rambling suicide notes found at Ange Gardien.
“Boudrais read extensively, especially philosophy and ecology. She was convinced the earth would be destroyed, and before that happened she would take her followers away. She believed herself to be the guardian angel of those devoted to her, and the lodge at Ange Gardien was the jumping-off point.”
There was a long pause. Then,
“Did they really believe it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think Elle was willing to trust entirely to the power of her oratory. She relied in part on drugs.”
Another pause.
“Do you think they believed enough to be willing to die?”
I thought of Kathryn. And Harry.
“Not all of them.”
“It is mortal sin to orchestrate the loss of life, or even to hold another living soul as a captive.”
A perfect bridge.
“Sister, did you read the information I sent regarding Elisabeth Nicolet?”
The pause at her end was longer. It ended with a deep sigh.
“Yes.”
“I’ve done a lot of research on Abo Gabassa. He was a well-respected philosopher and public speaker, known all over Europe, Africa, and North America for his efforts to end the slave trade.”
“I understand that.”
“He and Eugenie Nicolet sailed for France on the same ship. Eugenie returned to Canada with an infant daughter.” I took a breath. “The bones don’t lie, Sister Julienne. And they are not judgmental. From the moment I looked at Elisabeth’s skull, I knew she was a person of mixed race.”
“That doesn’t mean she was a prisoner.”
“No, it does not.”
Another pause. Then she spoke slowly.
“I agree that an illegitimate child would not have been well received in the Nicolet circle. And in those days a mixed-race black baby might have been impossible. Perhaps Eugenie viewed the convent as the most humane solution.”
“Perhaps. Elisabeth may not have chosen her own fate, but that doesn’t diminish her contribution. According to all accounts, her work during the smallpox epidemic was heroic. Thousands may have been spared by her efforts.
“Sister, are there any saints from North America whose bloodlines included Native American, African, or Asian ancestry?”
“Why, I’m not sure.” I heard something new in her voice.
“What an extraordinary role model Elisabeth could be to people of faith who suffer prejudices because they were not born Caucasian.”
“Yes. Yes, I must speak to Father Menard.”
“May I ask you a question, Sister?”
“Elisabeth appeared to me in a dream and spoke a line I cannot place. When I asked who she was she said, ‘All in robe of darkest grain.’ ”
“‘Come pensive nun devout and pure; Sober steadfast and demure; All in robe of darkest grain; Flowing with majestic train.’ John Milton’s
“The brain is an amazing archive,” I said, laughing. “It’s been years since I read that.”
“Would you like to hear my favorite?”
“Of course.”
It was a lovely thought.
When we hung up I looked at my watch. Time to go.
During the drive I turned the radio on and off, tried to identify a rattle in the dashboard, and just drummed my
