Em Charvez hurried along Pirate’s Alley toward The Grove, her family’s shop. It
was January and the brightly colored walls and doors of the narrow passage greeted
her as she held her coat closed against the wind and the rain. The drops fell sideways in
icy missiles, pelting her already chilled skin, stinging her face and hands. She cursed
herself for forgetting an umbrella, although in this kind of weather it would have blown
inside out anyway.
Minutes before, as the storm approached on the wind, she’d stood on the banks of
the river staring at the white froth of the waves and the steel gray hue of the water. The
water could be muddy, green or that gray blue, the river had always held a deep
fascination for her and she often came to walk the Moonwalk when she needed to think
about things.
Hoping to beat the storm but wanting to warm up she’d stopped at Café Du Monde
for a café au lait and a bag of beignets on her way to the shop. Just as she’d crossed the
street and entered Jackson Square the rain had started and she hurried along as best she
could, knowing that she’d be soaked by the time she got to work.
Her heart began to lighten as she approached the block that held The Grove. She
walked through the front door. The jingling of the chimes and the scents of the oils and
herbs assailed her and calmed her frustration at having to leave the research she’d been
doing with the books and papers she brought back from Chicago.
