Tarnished Gold l-5

by V. C. Andrews

  "I'm afraid to tell her," I wailed. "After all her warnings, I let this happen."

  "Because you wanted it to happen. I know I did," he confessed.

  "You really did?"

  "Yes. You don't know what it's been like for me thinking I might never have a child of my own. It's wonderful," he declared again, and jumped up to pour us glasses of wine for a toast. His exuberance overwhelmed me and made me question my own fears and doubts.

  "We will have this private, secret life forever and ever," he promised. "Don't look so skeptical," he added, laughing. "It's almost a tradition for us Creoles, you know."

  "What is?"

  "Being married yet having the woman you really love as well. My father had a mistress and so did my grandfather. But," he said quickly, "you are more than a mistress. You are my true love. Don't worry. We'll take it a step at a time. First, we'll have our child. Then I will quietly build you a new home, a decent home for our child. You will have all the money you need so you will have only to raise our child. Sometimes," he continued, planning our dream life, "you will come to New Orleans and stay at the best hotels. We'll take trips to Europe, and when our child is old enough, we'll put him or her in the finest private school."

  I stared at him. Could all this really be?

  "Now," he said, kneeling at my feet and taking my hands into his, "how are you feeling? Do you want me to bring a doctor next time?"

  "A doctor?" I laughed. "Mama is ten times better than any doctor. Don't forget she's delivered my baby before," I reminded him.

  He closed his eyes. "That's not the same thing. This is a baby born out of love, a baby we want."

  Although he didn't mean them to be, his words were like tiny arrows piercing my heart. I cried for little Paul and couldn't imagine any child more precious or beautiful than he was. I couldn't imagine loving a baby more.

  "But if you feel confident, I feel confident," he said, and began to pace again as he thought aloud. "Of course, I'll try to visit you more often, and if there is the slightest problem or complication, I'll see to it immediately. The important thing is that you feel safe and happy. My father is going to be a bit of a problem, but I will tell him all of it now."

  "You will?"

  He nodded. "He'll understand," he said. "I don't think it will be all that much of a surprise to him. Well, that's not for you to concern yourself with anyway. Just dote on yourself, my chérie," he said. "Shall we eat?"

  "Oui," I said, rising slowly. Already I felt twenty pounds heavier. Invisible burdens rested on my shoulders. Pierre embraced me to kiss me and reassure me. I smiled softly at him and prepared our meal. Afterward Pierre understood why I wasn't in the mood to make love. He held me and repeated his promises and elaborated on his plans. I left somewhat earlier than usual because I wanted to talk to Mama before she went to bed.

  "Remember," Pierre said on the dock, "I'll be here if you need me."

  "Yes. Good night."

  "Good night, my secret wife," he whispered. He remained on the dock watching me glide over the water.

  After I tied up the canoe, I walked to the house, and when I turned the corner, I was surprised to find Mama still on the galerie, but asleep in her rocker. Daddy's truck was there, too, but he was nowhere in sight.

  For a moment I just stood there staring at her in sweet repose. Mama didn't deserve me, she didn't deserve another burden, another thing to accelerate her aging. Daddy was enough of a weight around anyone's neck. I knew no one who was as caring and loving as Mama, no one who worried about the elderly, the handicapped, the sick and the weak, as much as Mama did. She was truly a saint to her people, and what amazed everyone was how so much compassion and so much wisdom and goodness could be packed into so small a woman.

  Her eyelids flickered and then opened once, closed and opened again when she realized she was looking at me. She sat up in the rocker and scrubbed her cheeks with her palms for a moment.

  "What time is it?"

  "It's not late, Mama."

  She took a deep breath and nodded at Daddy's truck.

  "He's inside, sleeping on the living room floor. I had to sew up a gash in his head. He got into a fight in town and someone hit him with a crowbar. Least, that's what he tells me. He could have fallen over a railing, dead drunk, too, and smashed himself on something."

  She looked at me again. "What is it, Gabrielle? You've got something to say."

  "Oui, Mama," I replied in a small voice. Her body tightened as if she were preparing to receive a blow herself. I guessed that's what it would be.

  "I've been seeing Pierre for some time now."

  "You ain't telling me anything I don't know, child. I might as well have spoken to the wind about that, no?"

  I nodded. "I love him, Mama, and he loves me. It's not something we planned or something we can help. It happened and it is," I said, my head down.

  "You're still not telling me anything I didn't know before, Gabrielle," she said, rocking.

  I swallowed back a throat lump and rallied all the courage I could muster.

  "I'm pregnant, Mama."

  She stopped rocking, but she didn't say anything. She gazed into the darkness across the road and then began to rock again.

  "Pierre knows and he wants to take care of me and the baby. He wants to take care of all of us," I said quickly.

  Mama didn't look at me. She kept rocking. "Of course, that's what he would say now. He would say anything."

  "No, Mama, he means it. Pierre really does love me. He bought the Daisys' shack just to be near me and—"

  "Buying a toothpick-legged shack in the swamp ain't much of an investment for a man like that, Gabrielle. Taking care of a child from the day it's been born . . . that's an investment, not only of money, but of love and affection and concern. It doesn't come in an envelope every week either, hear?"

  "I know that, Mama. But I want the baby more than anything. It's a baby that comes from love," I told her. I didn't even feel the tears that were streaming down my cheeks, but I felt them fall from my chin.

  Mama sighed. "You're going to be some rich Creole man's mistress, have his child and live on his generosity for the rest of your life, Gabrielle? That's what you want?"

  "I want Pierre as much as I can have him, oui, Mama," I told her.

  She closed her eyes and put her hand on her heart. "I'm tired," she said. "I think I'll go to bed."

  "Mama, please . . ."

  "What is it you want me to say, Gabrielle? That I'm happy for you? That I'll help you any way I can? You know I will, but don't ask me to believe in promises like the ones you've been given." She stood and her face grew dark, serious, her eyes small.

  "I don't know everything, honey. I don't know why the Legrands' five-year-old boy drowned last year; why Mrs. Kenner, who's only thirty-nine, had a heart attack and died on her rear galerie washing her children's clothes, and leaving Lyle with three young boys to raise; I don't know why hurricanes come and wipe out the fishermen and destroy natural, good things. I don't know why people are killing each other every day on the other side of the ocean.

  "The world is full of mysteries and questions, and we struggle to understand our tiny part in it. I don't love anything more than I love you. I want your happiness more than I want anything else, but I can't pretend that what I know to be ugly and hard won't be.

  "We'll do what we can and what has to be done. We always do and we always will as long as we have the strength and the breath, but we won't, or at least I won't, pretend to understand why what's happened, happened.

  "Maybe," she said, looking into the darkness again, "maybe there's a reason for all this. Maybe it ain't all caprice, but we just don't have the power to understand. I guess we have to live with that faith if we're to live at all, no?"

  She started to turn toward the door. My heart ached so, I thought my chest would burst open.

  "Mama!"

  "Don't apologize for anything, Gabrielle. I don't love you any less than I did a minute ago
."

  I ran up the steps and threw my arms around her. She held me for a moment and kissed my hair, stroking it gently.

  "You're a very special girl, very special," she whispered.

  Suddenly the screen door was thrown open behind us and we parted.

  Daddy stood there, his hair wild, his eyes so bright they looked filled with fireflies.

  "I heard it all," he said. His lips twisted between his overgrown mustache and his beard to form in a cold, hard smile. "So this is why you wouldn't marry Nicolas Paxton, huh?"

  I started to shake my head, but he turned to Mama. "Don't you worry, Catherine. Don't you worry 'bout nothin'. I'll fix 'im. I’ll fix 'im good," he threatened, and pulled out his long, serrated fishing knife.

  My legs turned into two sticks of freshly made butter. Mama screamed as I sunk to the galerie floor.

  14

  Up in Smoke

  I woke on the sofa in the living room. Mama had a cold washcloth on my forehead and a glass of water ready for me. I groaned and sat up confused.

  "What happened, Mama? Why am I on the sofa?"

  "You fainted, honey. You'll be all right. Here, drink this," she said, bringing the glass to my lips. I took a few sips and she told me to follow that with a deep breath. As my senses returned, so did my memory.

  "Daddy!" I cried, gazing frantically about the room. "He's not here. I chased him away for frightening you," Mama said.

  "Where's he gone?" I asked, a twilight gloom pervading my entire being as I recalled the things he had vowed.

  "Off to blow some steam at one of his hangouts, I'm sure," she said with a smirk.

  "I've got to warn Pierre about him," I said, standing. I wobbled for a moment and Mama steadied me.

  "You can't go anywhere just yet, Gabrielle. Just rest," Mama insisted. She forced me to sit and lie back on the sofa. "I'll mix up something to help give you strength. You're going to need extra nutrition, as you know," she added.

  I swallowed hard, nodded, and closed my eyes. Mama went into the kitchen, but she was there only a moment before I heard her shout, "Oh, mon Dieu!"

  I rose as quickly as I could and went to her.

  "What's wrong, Mama?"

  "There's a fire someplace," she announced, nodding toward the window.

  Looking south over the tops of the cypress and willows, I saw where the sky was turning from pink to a darker red, and black smoke was billowing. A flock of rice birds was in a frenzy, madly circling. My heart stopped. It looked like the smoke was coming from the direction of the old Daisy shack. The blood that had been restored drained from my face again.

  "Pierre!" I gasped, and turned to run out of the house. "Gabrielle! Gabrielle, where are you going?"

  I didn't wait to reply. Instead, I nearly tripped over the steps, but caught myself on the railing as I whipped around the corner and down the pathway to the dock.

  "Gabrielle! Come back!" Mama shouted behind me.

  I broke into a run. As soon as I stepped into my pirogue, I gathered all the-strength I could muster and pushed away from the dock. My chest felt as if I had swallowed a ball of pins, all sticking into my lungs, but I didn't pause even though the pole felt ten times as heavy. My shoulders ached with the strain. I grew dizzy again and feared falling over into the water. I could pass out and drown, I thought, but I took a deep breath and continued, determined. This was a very big fire! I had to see if Pierre was all right.

  More of my strength returned as I gazed ahead and saw the sparks floating skyward on the shoulders of the smoke. Minutes later I could see the actual flames licking at the darkness. Their glow illuminated the water. Alligators, frogs, snakes, and even the fish retreated deeper into the swamp. By the time I reached the dock, the entire shack was engulfed, its walls crumbling, the roof collapsed. Despite the distance, I could feel the heat on my face.

  "Pierre!" I called, hoping he was safe nearby. "Pierre, are you here? Pierre!" I heard nothing but the cracking of the flames and the shrieking of birds. I remained in my canoe, searching the illuminated areas for signs of him. I called again and again, but to no avail.

  Some of our neighbors and those who lived close enough to the Daisy shack to see the fire and smoke arrived to be sure the flames didn't spread. I heard their shouts. I docked my canoe and approached the fire, drawing as close as I could under the waves of heat that undulated from the conflagration. Way off to my right, I saw Jacques Thibodeau, Yvette's father, with two other men. I hurried toward them.

  "Monsieur Thibodeau," I called, approaching.

  "Hey, what'cha doin' here, Gabrielle? It's dangerous. You get back, hear?"

  "Was there anyone in the house?" I asked frantically.

  "Not that I know," he replied, and looked at the others, who shook their heads. "Your pere's out there on the road. He'd be plenty upset if he knew you were back here so close to the fire, Gabrielle, no?"

  "Daddy's out front?" I asked. My hope that Mama had been right—that he had gone to a zydeco bar to blow off steam—was doused with the cold reality that what I feared the most had occurred.

  "Oui. Now get yourself back home."

  "Are there any strangers?" I inquired. "Anyone else nearby?"

  "None I seen, but Guy here says the shack had been bought by some rich man from New Orleans. He ain't going to be too happy to hear about this, no?"

  The three men shook their heads.

  "Someone had to start that, for sure," Guy Larchmont said, nodding at the fire. "You seen anyone around here?" he asked me. "Some mischievous kids, maybe?"

  I wagged my head, barely listening.

  "Better get home before your pere sees you wandering about here," Monsieur Thibodeax warned. "He don't look to be in the best of moods as it is."

  "Merci, monsieur," I said, and retreated from the fire, moving slowly back to the dock and my canoe. I watched the galerie cave in and the last piece of wall melt away. All of my precious gifts, my clothing, our wonderful love nest, went up in flames. The smoke carried our secret into the night. I felt as if I were at a funeral, watching Pierre's and my love cremated in sacrifice to some angry god.

  I didn't pole home directly. Instead, I sat in the canoe, watching the fire burn itself out. More people arrived and drew closer as the flames weakened. Soon whole families appeared. A fire like this was special excitement in the bayou. The children were permitted to come along and sit in the automobiles or stand near them and watch the activity.

  What had happened to Pierre? Surely he was there when Daddy arrived, I thought. He probably thought it was me returning. I felt numb all over, my stomach hollow. For a while I was dizzy again and wished I had listened to Mama. I rested, splashed water on my face, and finally stood up and poled myself back to our dock. Exhausted, I made my way to the shack, my legs trembling, my heart thumping. Mama was beside herself with worry.

  "Where did you go, Gabrielle? What's wrong with you charging out of here like that after you fainted?"

  "Daddy burned the shack, Mama," I complained. "I know he did. He was there, watching with the other people. Pierre was supposed to be waiting for me. I don't know what happened to him," I wailed.

  Mama embraced me. "There, there. I'm sure he's fine," she said. "Most likely he ran off and your father took his anger out on the shack. Come on inside. I want you to lie down and get some rest now, hear?"

  I had no strength to resist, although I wanted to be awake and waiting when Daddy returned. He didn't come home until nearly morning, however. I learned from Mama the next morning that after the fire had burned itself out, he and some of his friends had gone to drink and talk about it. And when he came home, he was so drunk and tired, he collapsed in his bed.

  He didn't rise until midafternoon. I sat on the galerie, rocking in Mama's chair, waiting to hear what had happened. Finally the screen door opened and Daddy appeared, his face pale, his eyes so bloodshot, I couldn't see the pupils. He scrubbed his hair, yawned and stretched.

  "Where's your mama?"

&nbs
p; "With Mrs. Sooter, treating her foot corns," I said. He nodded and started to go back inside. "Daddy. What happened last night? What did you do?"

  "Do? I didn't do nothin'," he said quickly, turning his face to avoid my gaze.

  "I know you did, Daddy. I know you set fire to the shack. Was Pierre there? What happened?" I demanded.

  He turned back slowly and stared at me a moment. Then he shook his head with disgust.

  "I wanted you to marry Nicolas Paxton, but you were too high and mighty for the likes of him. Instead, you go get yourself pregnant with some rich Creole who don't care a hoot what happens to you, your baby, or us who got to live here in shame," he replied.

  "That's not true, Daddy. Pierre cares about me. What did you do? What happened to him?"

  "Shoot," he said, shaking his head. "Cares." He spit over the side of the galerie. He paused and gazed in the direction of the Daisy shack. "He was there," he finally admitted.

  "He was? What happened? Tell me!"

  "I'll tell you. I ain't got nothing to hide. I asked him what he was planning to do to make up for what he had done, and he goes and runs off instead of facing me."

  "He ran off?"

  "Scurried away faster than a nutria. His shadow had trouble keepin' up with him," Daddy added. "So much for your rich lover man. Now what, huh? A daughter should live and work toward makin' her daddy proud of her. She should find ways to help him, too.

  "Ahh," he said, waving at me, "your mother spoiled ya somethin' terrible, Gabrielle, and I been too busy to do much about it. Now look at the mess you're in. I got to sit some and give it all a good think, no?"

  He went into the house. I looked toward the road and thought about Pierre. I was happy that at least he had gotten away safely. I was sure he would contact me soon. A wave of relief passed over me and I permitted myself finally to close my eyes. I fell asleep quickly and didn't even wake when Mama returned and went into the house. Her and Daddy's shouting was what finally woke me. It was painful to listen to them. He was blaming her for what I had done and for what had happened.

  "I'm the one who's no damn good. I'm the one who is a no-account, lazy so-and-so, and I don't provide; but where's her moral learning, huh? She goes and does this right under your nose, Catherine. You go and face your saints now, hear? You go and wave your wand and make this all go away.