Tarnished Gold l-5

by V. C. Andrews

  "Well, that ain't the point. I was thinking we would get one of them new radios and maybe I'll get you one of them Mixmasters so you don't have to stand over the bowl and churn and churn all day, how's that? And what about one of them whatchamacallits that suck dirt up?"

  "You need electricity for all those things, Jack," Mama reminded him dryly.

  "Well, we'll get the electricity now. I got the money coming, don't I?"

  "Don't spend it all in one day, Jack," Mama warned.

  "Oh, I know that. I'm giving you a stash, but I'll need some money to invest. Can't live off five thousand forever, you know," he said as if he were already a big businessman. "Maybe instead of a truck and tools, I'll see about getting me my own shrimp boat with a down payment or—"

  "Stop it," Mama said. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  "What? What I do?"

  She got up from the table and ran out the front door. "What I do?" Daddy asked me, his arms out.

  "It's all right, Daddy. Let me talk to her."

  I followed her. She was sitting in her rocker, staring at the darkness.

  "Mama."

  "I can't abide him sitting there gloating over all the things he's going to do with that money, Gabrielle. I'm sorry. It's tainted money, no matter what," she insisted.

  "I know, Mama. But it's not the money that matters so much. It's having a good place for the baby and keeping the shame from our door. Gladys Tate is right: Even though it's not my fault, people will think bad things about me, and what good man will want to know me?"

  "She said that?"

  "Yes, Mama."

  "She really wants this baby, don't she?"

  "It certainly seemed that way, Mama."

  Mama sighed deeply and then held out her arms. I knelt beside her and buried my face against her bosom the way I used to when I was just a little girl and she held me close and rocked a bit. Then she kissed the top of my head.

  "All right," she said. "I'll be all right. Just tell him to stuff his mouth with a pound of hemp."

  I laughed and hugged her again. Mama was my best friend. There would be no one like her in the world for me, ever. It was knowledge that made me happy, but sad too, for I knew I would lose her someday and have to face mornings and days, nights and the stars, without her wisdom and comfort, her love and her smiles. It would be like a cloud forever and ever blocking the sun.

  We returned and finished our meal. Daddy had sense enough to be quiet and went out back to smoke his corncob pipe and muse about his newfound wealth. After we cleaned the kitchen and dishes, Mama and I went back to the galerie and talked. She told me what it had been like when she was pregnant and how my birth went. She told me about the two babies her mother had lost, one in a miscarriage and one in a silent birth. I had never known it.

  Just about eleven-thirty, Daddy appeared to tell me it was near the time.

  "How's this going to work?" Mama asked.

  "I just drive her up there and she goes into the house herself, right, Gabrielle?"

  "That's right, Mama."

  "You see that she goes in safely, Jack."

  "Of course I will," he snapped. "I don't care how rich them folks are. They ain't going to do nothing to make Jack Landry upset," he threatened.

  "It's not Jack Landry I'm worrying over," Mama retorted.

  "I'll go get my things, Daddy," I said, and hurried upstairs. I stood in my room for a while and gazed around. It wasn't a big room, but it was cozy and warm and the place where I had suffered through my childhood illness, cried my tears of frustration, dreamed my fantasies, and had some wonderful conversations with Mama at night. It was where she had sung her lullabies to me and where she had tucked me in and made me feel safe. Tonight would be the first night of my life that I would sleep someplace else. I choked back my tears, for fear I would upset Mama more than she already was upset. Then I said a silent prayer for her and for Daddy and for me and left my room quickly, not looking back.

  Daddy turned off the truck's headlights when we reached the entrance to The Shadows's driveway. Then he drove very slowly over the gravel. A heavy layer of dark clouds had come pouring in from the Gulf, drawing a sheet of thick raven darkness to shut out the twinkling stars I often looked to for comfort. Now the sky looked like a giant inkwell, purple-black, deep and endless. It stirred me with a strange sense of foreboding as we drew closer and closer to this magnificent Cajun mansion. I knew that under any other circumstances, I would love simply visiting such a home, much less actually living in one for a while.

  With only a light on here and there, the house appeared dismal, ominous. Its roof loomed in a silhouette against the ebony sea of clouds. Off to the right, I could hear the plaintive howl of a chained hound dog, and in the distance I could see lightning around the thunderheads. Bats swooped over the driveway, clicking their wings with a mechanical precision as they dipped to scoop up an insect invisible to my eyes. When Daddy turned off the engine, we could hear the monotone symphony of the cicadas.

  Daddy was a bit more agitated than usual. After he had brought the truck to a stop, he kept his gaze locked on the front door of the mansion while he spoke.

  "Well," he said, "I guess this here's good-bye for a while, Gabrielle. I know you'll be in good hands. Don't take no guff from no one, hear?"

  "Yes, Daddy."

  "Your mother will be visiting you shortly and bring back a report."

  "Okay, Daddy," I said in a voice that seemed smaller and younger even to me.

  "Okay," he said. "Best you hop out and go up there by yourself like she said." He leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

  "'Bye, Daddy," I said, and opened the truck door. It groaned with a metallic complaint that seemed to echo over the whole property. Even the bullfrogs paused to listen.

  "Soon I'll have me a new truck without dents and squeaks," Daddy bragged.

  I closed the truck door and carried my bag and myself up the galerie steps to the front door of the house, but before I could shake the bells, the door was thrust open with such force, I thought it had created a draft of air that would suck me inside the dimly lit entryway. Gladys Tate stood there dressed in a dark blue robe over her ivory lace nightgown. She held a small kerosene lantern in her hand. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and her face, now without a drop of makeup, looked as if candle wax had been melted and smeared over her forehead and cheeks, giving her a ghostly white complexion. The tiny flame in the lantern flickered.

  "Get in, quick," she croaked. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, she closed the door and turned toward the stairs. "Follow me."

  Without another word, she led me up, hustling me along so I wouldn't have a second to pause and gaze around. I half expected to see Octavious, too, but he was nowhere in sight. When we reached the upstairs landing, she turned left and took me down a short corridor to a narrow door. She dipped into a bathrobe pocket to produce a set of keys and unlocked the door. She stood for a moment listening. Satisfied, she reached in and threw a switch to illuminate a short stairway that led to an attic landing where there was a second door.

  "What's up there?" I asked.

  "What do you mean, what's up there? Your room's up there. Where did you think I would put you, in my bedroom or with Octavious?" she retorted. Even in the dim light, I could see the grotesque smile.

  "No, madame, but . . ."

  "But what?"

  "Nothing," I said.

  "Just watch your step and step very lightly. Tiptoe," she advised, and started up the short, steep stairway, practically floating on air herself. When she reached the second door, she inserted a second key and unlocked it. I entered behind her. She set the lantern down on a bare, rectangular cypress plank table carefully and turned it up to reveal the claustrophobic small room that had one window facing the rear of the house. Now it had a shade drawn and a curtain closed over that.

  The walls had once been papered in a flowery print, but that had long since faded so that the flowers we
re barely visible in the eggshell background, a background I was sure had once been bright white. On my right were a set of shelves now full of dolls of all sizes and apparently some from different countries. There were cobwebs between many of the dolls, and their faces and doll clothing were faded almost as badly as the wallpaper.

  Directly in front of me was the short box spring mattress in a low, dark oak bed frame with no headboard. There was a tiny night table to its right, and adjacent to that, a dresser no more than three and a half feet tall, if that.

  "Once," Gladys Tate said, "this was my playroom. Some of my cutouts, puzzles, toy dishes, pots and pans, as well as some other children's games are in that closet." She nodded toward the narrow cabinet just to the right of the small dresser. "It's not the Waldorf, but it will serve our purpose," she added, and turned to me. Her words were cold and uncaring. The purpose could easily be to punish someone for misbehaving.

  Without replying, I set my bag down on the table and went to the bed. I sat on it and heard the mattress squeak like a family of rats. Although it was too dark to see it, I expected there was enough dust in here to fill a pillow.

  "I changed that linen myself today," Gladys bragged. "It's the same linen, blanket, and pillow I used when I used to sleep in here. I always took good care of my things and they lasted. I expect you will take good care of everything, too," she said, and I gazed around, wondering what it was she expected me to take good care of a small lantern, tiny furniture, faded wallpaper, old toys. . . .

  "Of course, I couldn't have my maids clean this room without drawing some suspicion. You'll have to do most of that, but you'll have plenty of time for it, won't you?" she said.

  "Where's the bathroom facilities?" I asked without replying to her comment.

  "Bathroom facilities? You're used to an outhouse, aren't you?"

  "Yes, but how can I go to an outhouse if you don't want anyone to know I'm up here?"

  "Exactly," she said, and crossed to the small closet. She took out a chamber pot. "You'll use this. Once a night, after everyone's asleep, I'll come by and tell you and you can carry it down to the bathroom at the bottom of the attic stairway and to the right. You can wash and bathe then, too. I don't want you coming down with any diseases and endangering my child," she added.

  My child? I thought. She was getting into that frame of mind very quickly. I was impressed with her determination. "It's stuffy in here," I said. "Is that window open?"

  "Yes."

  "We need to open the curtain and pull up the shade then," I said, "to get some breeze." I started toward it.

  "You can do that now, but you must remember to draw the shade in the morning. We don't want anyone spotting you up here. Don't ever, ever look out that window during daylight hours, understand? You'll ruin everything if you are seen."

  "Never look out the window?"

  "Don't even peek. Someone might see the shade moving and I would have to explain it. If that happens, I won't bother. I'll just have you tossed out on your ear," she threatened. Then she smiled coldly, the right corner of her mouth cutting into her cheek. "I could simply tell people we were keeping you here as a favor to your parents, but you misbehaved. Anything I say will be believed faster than anything your father says," she added confidently.

  Despite what Octavious had done to me, I couldn't imagine why he would have married such a coldhearted woman. Her eyes had the glint of polished stone and her mouth looked thin and drawn with a pencil. I half expected to discover that her alabaster face and body had no veins carrying blood around, and instead of a heart in that bosom, there was a jar filled with angry honey bees.

  "Besides, you should be grateful I have provided you with these safe, comfortable quarters during your period of disgrace," she said.

  Safe, comfortable quarters? I was going to sleep, eat, and go to the bathroom in a room not much bigger than some people's closets, and in this mammoth house that had a dozen grand rooms. I would be shut away, forbidden to see the sun or feel the breeze on my face, and permitted to look out only when the sun went down, permitted to emerge like a bat.

  "Now," she continued, folding her arms across her chest, "as to the rules."

  "Rules?"

  "Of course, rules. Everything must be spelled out and followed to the T.

  "First and foremost, you are never to leave this room without my permission. As I said, I will come by and let you know when it is clear for you to go down to empty the chamber pot and wash yourself.

  "Second, don't even wear those moccasins up here. Walk barefoot and walk as little as you can so that you create as little noise as you can. If anyone hears any scuffling about, I will tell them it's field mice, but we obviously can't have any clanging or banging. No singing, no music, and when you talk to yourself, as I imagine you will, keep your voice down to a whisper. All this must be true especially in the morning when my maids are cleaning the upstairs area. Is that clear?"

  "Oui, madame," I said.

  "Good. Third, food. I will try to be up here twice a day, but it might just be once a day occasionally. You will notice a gallon jug of water on the other side of the bed. Don't waste it. When you go down to the bathroom, you can refill the jug, but remember, you won't be doing that but once a day. See to it that you have the proper things to eat so my baby is kept healthy. You'll have one fork, one spoon, one knife, one plate, one cup, and one glass because I will have to wash everything myself. Obviously we can't have the maids doing it.

  "Fourth, there is no electricity up here. You'll use this kerosene lantern only when the sun goes down and keep it as low as possible and as far from the window as possible. In fact," she said, stepping forward, "I have made a mark on the floor here. Look," she commanded, and pointed. I gazed down and saw a black streak over the plank floor. "Don't bring the lantern across this line at any time, understand?"

  "Oui, madame," I said, shaking my head, amazed at how well she had thought out every detail.

  "You can laugh to yourself all you want," she snapped, "but I took great pains to plan this out today, and it's for your benefit as much as it is for anyone else's. I don't know if you truly appreciate that."

  "Of course I do, madame."

  "Umm," she said, nodding skeptically. "We'll see.

  "Fifth, amusements. There are some books in the closet. You're welcome to play with the games, of course. I understand you weave and embroider, so I will bring some of that up to you. There can be no radio, no Victrola, for obvious reasons.

  "Last, every Thursday night, my maids and my butler have the night off and leave The Shadows. I will come up to fetch you and you can come down to stretch your legs and eat dinner in the dining room. You can, if you wish, walk about in the rear of the house. I do have some field workers living nearby, but I'm not worried if they see you occasionally during the first few months when you won't show as much. Toward the second half of the pregnancy, however, you will not be permitted to go outside, even at night. Understood?"

  I nodded.

  "Good. Do you have any questions?"

  I gazed around. "What if I need something during the day?"

  "You'll have to wait until I can safely come up here," she said.

  "I don't like this any more than you do," she continued. When I didn't reply, her eyes became glazed with fury.

  "How do you think I feel housing the woman my husband made love to in the swamps, the woman who hosts his child, the child that should have been my child, in my body? What do you think it will be like for me sleeping beneath you and gazing up at the ceiling every night knowing you're here?"

  "I'm sorry, madame, but this was your idea and—"

  "I know it was my idea, you little fool, but that doesn't mean I have to like it because it was mine, does it? I was just smart enough to think of a way out for everyone." She pulled her head back. "Does your mother appreciate what I’m doing, too?"

  "She understands," I offered.

  "Umm. She understands? Well, I don't, but I'm not a traiteu
r. I'm just a . . . an abused wife." She sighed. "I'm tired," she said. "This has been a terribly emotional and draining day for me. I will bring you something to eat late in the morning after the maids have served us and cleaned up the kitchen and moved on to other parts of the house. If something prevents that, you'll just have to be patient, and don't, whatever you do, try to find out why I'm not here when I said I would be. Be smart enough to figure out that something serious is preventing it at the moment.

  "This all requires great cooperation on your part to work," she explained. "I assure you, if it fails, it won't be because of something I've done."

  "I'll do my best, madame."

  "Your best might not be enough. Do what I want," she corrected.

  "I will try."

  "Yes, try," she said, twisting her mouth. "It's so much easier to conceive a child, isn't it? You just lie back and the man puts his hardness in you and grunts his pleasure."

  "I didn't just lie back, madame," I retorted.

  She stared at me with that wry smile.

  "I'm telling the truth. I was raped!"

  "It's not a big secret around here that Octavious is not a man of great strength. My father chose him, trained and schooled him in our business, prepared him to be my husband. He was afraid I wouldn't find a decent enough, proper man, so he found one for me.

  "He arranged for our courting and practically dragged us both to the altar. Octavious is a meek individual. I find it hard to believe that he could force himself on anyone, even a supposedly helpless young girl.

  "But whatever happened, the damage has been done, and once again, I had to come up with a solution to a problem."

  "You should never have married a man if you weren't in love with him, madame," I criticized, my anger and indignation fueling my courage.

  Her smile became crooked and mean as she shook her head.

  "You young girls today amuse me. You go to picture shows and see all these movie stars in their dream romances and think that can be you, too. You think you'll meet a man and suddenly there will be music and you'll skip off into the sunset together. Well, life isn't like a movie. It's real and in the real world, people are brought together for more practical reasons, and even if there is love in the beginning, it doesn't last long.