She smiled coolly. "I have heard how you Cajuns can be stubborn and foolhardy. Perhaps it's a consequence of having to live in this godforsaken part of Louisiana," she commented.
"This is hardly the godforsaken part of Louisiana, madame. If God is anywhere, He is here. There is more beauty, more natural goodness, than there is in the city," I told her proudly.
"Oh? You've been to New Orleans?"
"No, but . . . I know," I said.
She smiled again.
"What is it you want from me?" I demanded. "Or did you come here just to gloat or threaten me? I didn't plan for what happened to happen, but it did."
"And you're not sorry, is that it?" she said, her eyes turning to glass.
"I don't know," I replied.
She softened, her eyebrows rising. "Oh?"
"I have brought a lot of pain to my family . . . to my mother," I said.
She stopped smoking and quickly crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. "I will come right to the point, Gabrielle—if I may call you Gabrielle?" I nodded. "I would like Pierre to have his child. It's something that his father wants very much, too. I suppose Pierre told you that we have been unable to have children. The failure to have a family has made my marriage something of a failure as well.
"My father-in-law told me of your father's demands and his willingness to permit you to give up the baby."
"And you would want this, too?" I asked, not hiding my surprise.
"I would like to see my father-in-law happy and . . . I'd like to have a child in the house. We could have adopted, of course, but he or she wouldn't have been a Dumas. You carry a Dumas and that means a great deal to my father-in-law.
"I have come here because your father has now informed my father-in-law that you refused to give up the baby, no matter how much money was offered. I hope to change your mind, but if you do, it will have to be immediately, for I am planning to take an extended holiday, during which time I will . . ."
"Pretend to be pregnant," I said. "I understand, only all too well."
"Oui. That is my plan. So you see, if this is to happen, there can't be any more delays. It will either happen or it won't now. Soon it will be obviously impossible for us, for me, to take the baby as my own."
"But no matter what you do, it won't be your baby, madame," I reminded her.
"It will be Pierre's child, and therefore, it will be mine. We are married; we are as one, whether Pierre recognizes that fact or not. I have come to assure you I will accept the child as my own and I will raise him or her to be a Dumas. The child will have all the benefits, the education, the finest things, and will be with the father," Madame Dumas added pointedly.
I started to shake my head. "I can't give up my child . . ."
"Why not? You think by holding on to the child, you will somehow hold on to Pierre?" she asked, her smile widening. "I assure you, Gabrielle, Pierre is out of your life. He is a rich Creole gentleman. He's had flings before and I've overlooked them before, but this time . . . this time he's gone too far and he knows he has.
"Look at the alternative, Gabrielle," she said, sitting back. She nodded toward the shack. "Your life will become more of a struggle. Your parents will have to work harder and harder. You will feel more and more guilty. It will affect the way you treat the child. Oui, "she said before I could protest, "it will. You won't even recognize it and maybe not even think it, but it will nevertheless.
"And if you should meet another man, someone who will want to marry you even with a child, you will be afraid that he will come to resent the child, that he will look at the child and think this is the child of another man, another man she loved, and not my child, and here I am working to support this child. Then there will be arguments and resentments.
"And if you don't ever find another man, what do you have to offer this child? What hope for the future? How will she or he attend school, for example? Will the other children in the bayou accept this fatherless child or will he or she always feel inferior? You know what happens then, Gabrielle? The child begins to resent you for bringing her or him into such a circumstance.
"Are you prepared for all this? Why should you be?" she added before I could even think of a response. "Why should you have to worry and think about ways to avoid this hardship? I am the first to admit my husband abused you."
"No," I said. "He didn't do anything that I didn't want him to do."
"I see?' She smirked and sat back again. "Then you are happy?"
She stared at me a moment. This woman with her expensive clothing, her well-manicured nails and styled coiffure, her makeup, jewels, and her urban sophistication, was so different from me, we could be speaking different languages, and yet our destinies had crossed and intertwined us in ways neither of us could ever imagine.
"You are a pretty girl," she said in a softer voice after a short pause. "A natural beauty and perhaps not as young as you appear." She leaned toward me, fixing those light blue eyes on me. "Whether we like it or not, pretty girls, beautiful women like us, are often victims simply because we are attractive. Yes, in some ways I am a victim, too. I know I look rich and successful to you, but like you, I find myself in circumstances I would like to change, but can't. Like you, I'm trapped. I'm in a different sort of cage, but nevertheless, I'm not free."
She looked away for a moment, and ray heart, which had hardened against her from the moment I set eyes on her, softened a bit.
"I'd like to be a mother," she said, facing the window and gazing at the darkness across the way. "I'd like to be the mother of my husband's child."
She dabbed her eyes with an embroidered silk handkerchief and then gazed at me. "Will you do it?" she asked. "My father-in-law will give your father the money he wanted, too. It will help your family, your mother. . . ."
"I won't do it because of the money," I said. She nodded. "If I do it, I would do it for Pierre and because . . . because a lot of what you said is probably true."
"Oui. I am sorry. I wish I had given my husband more so he wouldn't have come here to spoil your life, too."
"He didn't," I said, and then felt foolish for saying it.
"Nevertheless, if I would have been able to give him his child, my marriage would have been more successful. It still can be," she said. "You and I can take hold of some happiness and turn something bad into something good, especially for the poor, unknowing child you carry inside you. N'est-ce pas?"
I thought for a moment and then I nodded.
She smiled warmly, beaming with tears in her eyes.
"Merci, mademoiselle. Oh, mademoiselle, merci." She reached out with a hand full of rings to touch mine. I felt as if I were extending my arm from one world into another, from reality to illusion. She took hold, smiled, and then released my fingers.
"Would you like something cold to drink?" she offered, nodding at the bottle.
"No, thank you, Madame Dumas."
"You have given my father-in-law a new lease on life, Gabrielle. I can't wait to return to New Orleans to tell him. He's mostly in a state of depression these days. Perhaps you know about my brother-in-law."
"Oui. "
"And my poor mother-in-law, who died shortly after the accident. So you see, rich people have no guarantee of happiness. Money can't buy everything."
"My daddy thinks it can," I said sadly. "And unfortunately, I'm only firming up that belief now."
"Yes, well, I'm sure he will realize the truth eventually. Thank you for listening to me," she added with a tone of finality. I recognized she wanted to leave. The moment my hand touched the door handle, the chauffeur opened it and stepped back. He held it open as I turned.
"Au revoir, Gabrielle," Daphne Dumas said. She looked like a beautiful mannequin set in the corner of that long leather seat. "I don't expect we shall see each other again, but I promise to be a good mother."
I simply nodded and the chauffeur closed the door.
"Good evening, mademoiselle," he said, tipping his hat. He went around to get into t
he limousine. I stood there watching him drive it away, the white automobile moving like a ghost into the darkness. For a moment I wondered, had I really had this conversation, or had it all been a dream?
I returned to the galerie and sat in the rocker. I was still there when Mama returned from her traiteur mission. Orville Baldwin brought her home in his van. She was surprised to see me waiting up for her.
"I thought you would be asleep," she said as she approached the steps.
"I'm about ready for bed now, Mama."
"Me too," she said, stretching.
"How's Maddie?"
Mama shook her head. "I think she's going to have a hard delivery. I'm worried about the baby, too," she said in a dark voice. Despite the heat and humidity, her words put a chill in my bones. "I'll do what I can, of course," she said, and started for the screen door.
"Mama."
"Yes, Gabrielle?"
"I've changed my mind about my baby. I've decided Pierre should have the child and should bring him or her up in New Orleans."
"What?" She stepped back. "Why?"
"It'll be best all around, Mama."
"Are you sure of this, Gabrielle?" Her expression changed quickly as an angry thought rippled through her face. "Your daddy didn't come around here threatening or haranguing you now, did he?" she asked.
"No, Mama."
"Because if he did . . ."
"No, Mama. He didn't. I swear."
"Hmm," she said, still very suspicious. "And Pierre? Was he here?"
"No, Mama."
She thought a moment. "You've made up your mind on this?"
"Oui, Mama. I have," I said firmly.
She nodded. "Well . . . this has to be your own decision, Gabrielle. If that's what you want." She opened the screen door. "Suddenly I feel twenty years older. That bed's looking better and better to me. You had better come up to sleep, too, honey."
I stood up. Mama's eyes washed over me quickly. "I know you're hurting something bad, honey, and I'm hurting for you."
"I know, Mama," I said. I went to her and she held me for a moment, kissing my hair and my forehead. Then we went inside together, holding on to each other until we ascended the stairs and went to sleep.
Two days later Daddy appeared on the front galerie late in the morning. Mama was in the kitchen cooking, and I was folding some pillowcases and linen we had woven to sell. The moment the screen door squeaked, Mama turned. When she saw it was Daddy, she left the ingredients bubbling in her black cast-iron pot and came charging forward.
"Don't you set foot in this house, Jack Landry," she cried, holding the ladle up like a club.
He hesitated. "Now, just hold on, Catherine. I come by because I heard you and Gabrielle have come to your senses."
"What?" Mama turned to look at me as I approached. She tightened her eyes into slits of suspicion and fixed them on Daddy. "Who told you that?"
"The Dumas," he said. "Why? Ain't it true?"
"What's true is you're still the scoundrel you was before. Nothing's changed as to that."
Daddy shook his head. "I swear, Cajun women can drive you mad. I just stopped by to discuss the arrangements," he protested. "Or did you think you'd sidestep me somehow? Did ya?" he asked, turning to me, now with his own suspicions clouding his eyes.
"No, Daddy."
"All right, then. Here's what's going to be. I'm asking for half the money now and half the money on delivery. I'll have some for you in a few days' time," he said, nodding.
"Don't you bring any of that blood money around here, Jack Landry," Mama said.
"What are you talking about? You act like you don't know nothing, and you're the ones who've gone and fixed it," he protested, his voice rising in pitch.
Mama bit down on her lower lip and stared at him. He got nervous and closed the screen door between them.
"All right. I'll come by another time and we'll talk about it again. But you're going to have to keep me up-to-date now, so I will know when exactly to tell them to be here, Catherine."
"Go back to the swamp, Jack, and sleep with your pack of snakes."
"You ain't cuttin' me outta this," he threatened, waving his long right forefinger at us. "You ain't. I'll be back," he muttered, and kept mumbling as he left the galerie. The moment he was gone, Mama turned on me.
"How did he find out? How did the Dumas family find out you changed your mind, Gabrielle?"
"I'm sorry, Mama. I had hoped to take care of everything myself. I didn't want to cause you any more trouble."
"I had a inkling in my bones when I come home from Maddie Baldwin's the other night. Did you lie to me, Gabrielle? Was Pierre here?"
"No, Mama." I paused and then added, "But his wife was."
"His wife?" She sat on the overstuffed chair, her face full of amazement.
"We talked a long time in her limousine and I saw she was sincere about becoming a mother. She made sense to me and opened my eyes to reality, Mama."
"His wife came pleading for you to give them the child?" she asked with disbelief.
"Yes, Mama."
She shook her head. "She wasn't embarrassed?"
"I suppose she was, Mama, but she's a very dignified and sophisticated lady. I saw how much the baby would be offered living with the Dumas family and 'how hard things would be for us here. Besides, that's a family that's suffered a lot of tragedy, Mama. Pierre's baby might just be the medicine to cure some of the sadness and give them hope."
"After what you've been through, I know how you wanted to keep your child, Gabrielle."
"I got to do what's best for the baby, though, don't I, Mama?"
She was silent a moment and then she fixed her wise eyes on me. "What really made you change your mind about the baby, Gabrielle? I'm sure it wasn't just because they have all that money."
"No."
"Well?" Mama pursued.
"Madame Dumas said something that made me question why I wanted the baby so much, Mama. She said if I thought by keeping the baby, I was keeping a hold on Pierre, I was wrong."
Mama nodded.
"And then I thought, if I was doing that, I was being selfish and not thinking of the baby as much as I was thinking of myself. No bird, no nutria, not even an alligator, thinks of itself before it thinks of its babies."
Mama smiled. "I used to worry about your being out there in the swamp so much, but I see you got the best education from the best teacher," she said. She thought a moment. "That man will be back to be sure he gets his money. Keep him out of my sight.
"I know what I'll do," she said, and went to her cupboard to get a statue of the Virgin Mary. She took it outside and set it down in the middle of the top step. "The moment he sees that," she predicted, "he'll stop dead in his tracks."
Now that I had made my decision about the baby, a weight seemed to be lifted from my shoulders. However, my world still remained changed, and as time went by, I became even less and less energetic, dozing and sleeping longer and more frequently. My swelling continued. Mama had me taking different herbal drinks, but I still bloated and looked twice as big as I had during my first pregnancy at every step of the way. Mama was disappointed that none of this lessened during my second trimester when a pregnant woman usually felt better.
But Mama was heavily involved and distracted by Maddie Baldwin's delivery at the start of my own seventh month. Just as she had predicted, Maddie had a hard time of it, and after the baby was born, Mama said it was a very sickly infant. She didn't think he would last a week. Six days later, the baby died. It laid a heavy pall over everything we both did for days afterward. Mama always blamed herself, thinking there was something she could have done, something she could have added to the treatment and diet.
It seemed we were stuck on a merry-go-round of sadness these days, all the gloom somehow finding its way to our doorstep. It was like being in a storm that would never end. And then, a little more than two weeks later, a ray of sunshine broke through the clouds of despair.
I had
finished eating a little lunch. There was the usual afternoon lull, but a wave of high clouds kept it from being too hot, and there was a cool breeze from the Gulf. So I decided to take a walk along the canal. I had stopped looking for it so long, I almost missed it when I turned the corner toward the path, but there on the dock post was Pierre's blue cravat. The surprise almost had me paralyzed. For a moment I thought I was seeing things; I was a victim of my own vivid, hungry imagination, but when I drew closer, I realized it was true.
I felt an aching in my heart, making it thud louder, making my blood race. As quickly as I could, I went to my canoe. My hands shook with excitement when I grasped the pole. My legs were trembling. I hadn't poled my pirogue for some time now and my palms had grown soft. The pole burned my skin because of my hurried efforts, but I could think of nothing else but Pierre. As the canoe moved toward the Daisys' dock, I turned and gazed ahead in anticipation, impatient with the few minutes it would take to bring me closer.
I didn't see him on the landing, but after I tied the canoe and stepped out, I saw him sitting on a wooden box right in the middle of the debris.
"Pierre!" I cried, and he turned. He stood slowly and looked my way. He was wearing a light blue suit, but he was also wearing his palmetto hat. He looked tanned and healthy and never more handsome. He started toward me and I quickened my pace, nearly stumbling over the overgrown weeds. In moments we were in each other's arms.
"Gabrielle, my Gabrielle," he said, and followed it with his lips over my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, and then against my lips. "I'm sorry," he said as he held me to him, raining kisses. "I'm sorry."
"Where have you been, Pierre? Why didn't you come to me before this?" I asked, my eyes flooding with tears of happiness.
He let go of me and stepped back, his eyes down, his head lowered. "Because deep inside, I guess I am a coward, I am weak, I am selfish," he declared.
"No, Pierre . . ."
"Yes," he insisted. "There's no way to sugarcoat it. Your father appeared that day, wild, angry. I tried to say something, to explain and to make promises, but I saw he was not a man with whom words would work, so I ran from him. I stood by and watched him set fire to our love nest and I did nothing. When other people began to arrive, I fled to New Orleans, crawled back behind the safety of my walls and gates and left you here to bear the brunt of it all. You have every right to hate me, Gabrielle."
Tarnished Gold l-5 Page 31
