Tarnished Gold l-5

by V. C. Andrews

  "You mustn't come up here," I said, shaking my head emphatically. I gestured for him to go back down. "Please."

  He tilted his head and wore a grimace of confusion. Then he smiled and pointed to himself. "Hen ree," he said, and pointed to me. When I didn't respond, he repeated the action. "Hen ree."

  "I'm Gabrielle," I told him.

  He shook his head and held up his hands, pointing his right forefinger at his left palm.

  "I don't know how to say anything with my hands. Please, you must climb back down. No one is supposed to know I'm here." I shook my head and pointed to myself.

  He shook his head as if I had said something in a language foreign to him and then boosted himself up on the railing. When he stood on his hands and turned to me, I cried out in fear, but he just laughed and bounced back onto the balcony. He squatted and started to speak in sign language again. He was explaining that he was mute and could speak only with his hands. He continued these rapid hand movements, carrying on what I was sure was a long conversation.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know how to read your hand movements." I held up my hands and shook my head.

  He paused and stared at me a moment, thinking. He had eyes the color of pecan shells and moved nervously from side to side as he struggled to think of another way to communicate his thoughts.

  "You've got to go back down," I said, waving toward the railing. "Madame Tate will be angry. She doesn't want anyone to know I'm here, understand?"

  He raised his eyebrows and grimaced, holding out his arms, questioning. It was so frustrating. I started to act out what I was telling him, first trying to look like Madame Tate, scowling, walking about with exaggerated authority, shooing him away. All I did was make him laugh.

  Finally I pointed to myself and then put my finger on my lips and shook my head. He seemed to understand what I was telling him now.

  "It's just something that has to be kept secret. Please don't tell anyone I'm here." I wagged my head and kept my finger on my lips.

  He smiled. Keeping a secret was obviously fun to him. He nodded emphatically and then his gaze fell to my stomach.

  His eyes widened and then he put his right palm under his left hand and rocked his arms as if he had a baby in them.

  "Yes," I said, nodding. "I'm pregnant and I'm going to have a baby soon."

  I saw that he wasn't going to get off the balcony quickly, and I did enjoy the company, even if he was a mute.

  "Do you work here for the Tates?" I asked, and pointed to the house and the grounds. To indicate work, I raised and lowered my arms as if I were chopping wood and then carrying something, He nodded and began tb make gestures to indicate his work as a grounds person raking up leaves, trimming hedges and trees, planting. "Shouldn't you be in school right now?" I asked him. I pointed to him and then seized a book and held it up, pretending to read. Then I pretended to write. His face brightened.

  "Skooo."

  "Yes, school," I said, and pointed to him.

  He nodded, and from the expression on his face when he did so, I understood that he wished he were in school rather than working. He shook his head and went through the gestures to indicate grounds work again. Then he leaned in to look at my room. It filled his face with more curiosity. This close to him, I could see the tiny freckles under his eyes and a small scar under the right corner of his lower lip. He had a complexion almost as dark as Daddy's, and I could see that although he was slim, his arms were lean with muscle and his stomach rippled like a washboard. His eyes raked over the dolls and then settled on my embroidery. I could read the question in his face and gestures.

  "Yes, I do that," I said. He nodded, smiling and gesturing with appreciation. "Thank you. Of course, if I didn't keep busy, I would go nuts," I mumbled. He looked confused, so to indicate going nuts, I rolled my eyes and shook my head. His right eyebrow lifted. I was sure I looked absolutely ridiculous going through these silly gestures.

  He began to sign another question.

  "I don't understand. I'm sorry." He worked harder and I caught on.

  "Oh. I can't go down." I shook my head. "I told you," I said, pointing to myself and then holding my finger on my lips. "I'm here secretly." He grimaced with confusion, but he didn't let it linger. He indicated he wanted to crawl through the window. "No," I began, but he was already moving into the room. When he stepped down, I brought my finger to my lips and pointed to the floor to indicate he must keep very silent. He understood and walked with exaggerated care. It brought a smile to my lips, which made him smile.

  Then he reached up as if he were plucking a fly out of the air and opened his hand in front of my face to reveal a single costume-jewelry pearl in his palm.

  I laughed. "How did you do that?"

  He held up his forefinger and closed his eyes, pretending great concentration. After a moment he opened them and reached behind my ear to produce another pearl.

  I laughed again. "You're very good."

  He nodded, smiling emphatically.

  "Who taught you all this?" I pointed to the pearl and then to him. Either he was very bright or he could read lips, too. "Graaaaa pppaaa," he said.

  "Your grandpere?"

  He nodded.

  "Why can't you speak well?" I asked, pointing to my tongue and making movements with my fingers. He pointed to his ears, to my stomach, and then to himself.

  "You were born deaf," I concluded.

  And for the first time, I wondered how my baby would be at birth. Would he or she have some defect? Mama thought it was all going well, but even Mama couldn't know everything. If a baby was born out of unwanted sex, would that affect the baby's health? I had been treating my pregnancy like an illness, not wanting this baby inside me until the moment I felt it move. I'd hate to be responsible for it being born deaf or blind. I should have asked Mama, but then I thought she might not tell me the truth for fear I would sit here and worry all day.

  Henry walked about the room, gazing at the dolls and then at the dollhouse, which intrigued him. He knelt beside it, and after a moment, he, too, realized it was the Tate house. He pointed to it and to the walls.

  "Yes." I nodded.

  Just then the baby kicked especially hard and I moaned and seized my stomach. I had to sit on the bed. Henry gazed at me with curiosity and concern, and I pointed to my stomach and then kicked my foot in the air. His eyes widened. The baby kicked again and again. I gestured for Henry to put his hand on my stomach. He stood up slowly and approached timidly. The baby was still very active. When Henry hesitated, I reached out, took his hand, and brought it to my stomach. I held his palm there as the baby continued to kick.

  Henry's face beamed with excitement. Then he laughed. He started to sign question after question. I shook my head. He pointed to my stomach and then made his arms into a cradle.

  "Oh, you want to know how long?" I thought and counted out six fingers to indicate six weeks, but I could see that he didn't know whether I met six days or six months.

  He folded his legs and sat on the floor in front of me, gazing up with wonder. When I looked into those dark brown eyes, I could just sense the myriad questions that swirled around in his pool of curiosity. Who was I? Why was I being kept secretly here? Perhaps he even wondered about the father of the baby. What did it all have to do with the Tates?

  He pointed to himself again and again said, "Hen ree," and pointed to me. He wanted to know my name very badly and was frustrated with my inability to tell him. I thought for a moment, wondering how far he had gone in school. I rose, got a pen and paper, and wrote out my name. He sat beside me on the bed and looked at the notepad. Then I pointed to my lips and sounded out my name slowly.

  "Ga-bri-elle."

  He shook his head. I realized he was illiterate. Perhaps he had never been to school or had only been there a very short time, I thought. How sad. I considered the problem and then I took his right hand and put it on my throat. His eyes were filled with surprise and even a bit of fear. I repeated my name, h
oping he would feel the vibrations. Then I put his hand on his own throat. I did it a few times until I saw a brightness in his eyes.

  "Ga."

  "Go ahead, that's it," I said excitedly.

  "Ga brrr."

  We repeated the action until he pronounced the second syllable and then finally the third. I gestured for him to say it faster.

  "Gabri . . . elle."

  "Yes, that's my name."

  Henry beamed, enjoying the success. Then, timidly, he put his hand on my stomach again. The baby was much quieter. Henry looked disappointed.

  "He's sleeping," I said, and laid my head on my shoulder and closed my eyes. Henry lifted his hand away, but stared at me sweetly. I smiled at him and he smiled back. Then he stood up slowly as if he saw something in the air. He walked with exaggerated steps, like a hunter sneaking up on prey. He snatched the invisible air and brought his hand to his nose, taking in a delightful whiff. I laughed and he bowed, put his hands behind his back, stepped before me, and then voila . . . he held out a tiny magnolia blossom.

  The astonishment on my face filled him with delight. I assumed, of course, that he had been keeping it under his shirt, but it was such a wonderful surprise, I couldn't keep the tears from filling my eyes.

  "Thank you," I said. "And thank you for the hyacinth you left last night."

  He bowed and looked toward the window.

  "You have to go back to work?" I mimed the raking of leaves, pruning of hedges, and he nodded. I held out my hand for him to shake. "Good-bye," I said. "Thank you."

  He held my hand for a moment and then went to the window. "Be careful," I said. He smiled and then slipped out the window and over the railing, scampering down the gutter pipe like a squirrel. I glanced out the window and saw him hurrying around the corner of the house. Like a dream, he was gone, but my magnolia blossom smelled delicious and wonderful. It filled me with pleasing memories and allowed me to close my eyes and put myself back in the bayou, free to enjoy the world I loved, at least for a few moments.

  That night, right after I had my dinner, I had my first bad fright. I hadn't been sleeping well these last weeks as it was. The baby was so active. When I woke each morning now, I felt as if I had been dragged through the swamp by my swollen feet. Just sitting up took great effort, and my lower back ached so badly at times, I had to lie down again. When Gladys saw these symptoms, she began to imitate them to the point that she looked worse than I felt when I saw her in the mornings. She complained about coming up the stairs as if she were really carrying a child, groaning and rubbing her lower back.

  One morning when she had gone on and on about how poorly she was sleeping and how hard things were for her, I exploded.

  "What are you talking about? Why are you complaining so loudly? I'm the one who is actually suffering," I cried.

  She stared at me with ice in her eyes. "How can you say you're the one who is actually suffering? Do you think just pretending to be pregnant is enough? I have developed the ability to feel what you feel, know what you know, and yes, suffer what you suffer so that no one, no one, do you understand, will doubt this child is my child, this birthing is my birthing. And I'm doing all this for you, as much as for the baby. I don't expect any gratitude. That's too much, but at least I expect understanding. So stop your whining. You're not the only one who's been put through turmoil," she snapped, and pivoted to leave me in the wake of her outburst.

  I was too uncomfortable to care. Mama told me much of it was normal, but I could see some concern in her face during the last visit, so after dinner, when I felt a little nauseous, I lay down. As soon as I did so, I was stricken with contractions and I became very frightened. I kept waiting for them to end, but they remained intense.

  "Mama!" I moaned. What was I to do? The cramps were so severe, I could barely sit up. The pain continued, seizing me in a vise that reached around my stomach to my back, shortening my breath. I gasped, unable to even call out for help, not that there was anyone who would hear me.

  Then I heard a sound behind me and turned to see Henry crawling in the window. He saw the grimace of pain on my face and immediately became concerned. He rushed to my side, signing questions, but I didn't have the patience. I groaned and gasped when my stomach tightened again. I had my skirt raised and Henry put his cool palm on my stomach. The tightness amazed and frightened him, too. He pulled his hand away as if my stomach were on fire. I took deep breaths and waited. It eased and I let out a sigh of relief.

  Drips of sweat-trickled down the side of my face. Henry found a handkerchief and returned to my side to dab my face. I looked up at him and smiled. My bosom rose and fell with my heavy breaths. I've got to send for Mama, I thought. She didn't tell me this would be happening now. It's too soon.

  With his hands and gestures, Henry asked if my baby was coming now.

  "I hope not," I said. "It's not supposed to." I shook my head, but another contraction began. And then I felt the warmth leaking down the inside of my thighs. The sensation sent an electric shock up my spine and into my heart. Henry saw the look of terror on my face. Slowly I raised my head and ran my fingers along my leg. When I looked at my fingers, I screamed. They were covered with blood. The expression of fear on Henry's face reinforced my own.

  "Mama!" I cried. I struggled to sit up, and Henry rushed to help me. "Madame Tate!" I screamed her name. The blood continued to flow. I tried to walk, but the cramps were so severe, I had to double up. Henry helped me back to the bed. With all the strength I could muster, I screamed again.

  "Madame Tate!"

  Silence followed. Where was she? She always claimed that every little sound made in this room could be heard below. She said she heard me moaning in my sleep. Why couldn't she hear my scream?

  Henry pointed to himself and then to the door, asking me if I wanted him to go for help. I did, but that also meant Gladys would know he had been here and my secret presence and pregnancy had been discovered. Gladys would be furious. I really didn't know what would be worse: my waiting for her to eventually hear my cries or having her know about Henry. With the contractions coming faster and lasting longer each time, and the blood still streaming down my leg, I felt I had no choice. I took a deep breath and nodded, gesturing for him to go fetch Gladys Tate. He opened the door and bounded down the stairs.

  I took deep breaths and waited, but instead of hearing Gladys coming, I heard Henry rattling the door below. He came running back up to tell me the door below was locked.

  "What? Why?" I moaned.

  Henry gestured that he would go out the window, down and around to the front of the house for help.

  "No, wait," I cried, holding out my hand. He stood, confused as I tried to think sensibly in the midst of suffering another contraction. It nearly took my breath away. I gasped and gasped, but I kept my hand up so Henry wouldn't leave the room.

  I realized that if Henry went busting into the house exclaiming my predicament, everyone would know about my existence up here and the secret would be exposed. Gladys wouldn't go through with her part of our bargain. I couldn't let Henry do that.

  When the contraction eased, I gestured for Henry to hand me the pen and paper on the dresser. He did so and I wrote, Mama, come quickly. Then I folded the paper and on the outside wrote, For Catherine Landry. Urgent. I pointed to it.

  Henry looked at it, but shook his head. He didn't know who Mama was. But then he smiled at me and gestured that he would find out and get the note to her. He patted my hand and headed for the window. In moments he was over the railing and gone. All I could do was hope that the deaf-mute boy would find a way to Mama.

  Another contraction came, but it was of shorter duration. It was followed by a longer respite and then the next contraction was bearable. I took my washcloth and cleaned off the blood. It seemed to be easing, too. As my pain and fear lessened, my thoughts went back to the door below and my anger intensified. Why had Gladys Tate decided to lock that door tonight of all nights?

  Stronger, breathin
g easier, I rose and went to the top of the short stairway.

  "Madame Tate!" I called. "Madame Tate!"

  It seemed quite a while before I got any response, but finally I heard the key being turned in the lock below and saw the door open. She poked her head in and cried in a raspy loud whisper, "Quiet! You hear me? Quiet."

  "Madame Tate, I need you right now," I said.

  She stepped-into the hallway and gazed up at me. I was still clutching my stomach and bent over. She was in a formal black dress, wearing a diamond necklace with matching teardrop diamond earrings. Her hair was done up and she wore makeup.

  "Lower your voice," she said.

  "Why did you lock that door?"

  "We have guests, business associates and their wives. I had to show them the house and be sure you didn't just pop out of here. What's wrong?"

  "I'm bleeding," I said.

  "What? Bleeding?" She paused. "We're bleeding!" she exclaimed, her face in a twisted grimace.

  "No, we're not bleeding. I'm bleeding and I've been having contractions. Something's not right. Something's happening," I said.

  "Oh, dear me. I have these guests. What will I do?"

  "I've sent for Mama," I blurted without thinking. I was so angry about her worrying about her guests and not me, I didn't think.

  "Sent for? How?"

  "Never mind right now. Something's seriously wrong, I told you. I think I'm having a premature delivery. The contractions are starting again."

  "Oh!" she cried, and suddenly clutched her own false stomach. "Contractions! Bleeding! The baby's coming . . . Octavious," she yelled. "Octavious. "She turned from the door, her hand on the jamb and bent over.

  "Madame Tate!" I called. "Wait!"

  "Octavious!"

  She slammed the door shut and then I heard the key turn in the lock.

  "Madame Tate!"

  Another contraction came rushing through me, tightening so quickly this time, it felt more like a punch in the stomach. My lungs hurt. I tried to take a deep breath. The room began to spin and I lost my balance, stumbling to the right. I fell sideways, landing on the dollhouse, splintering and smashing it with the weight of my body, just managing to break my fall a little with my extended right hand. But the contraction was so severe, I couldn't get up. I lay there, sucking in air.