All That Glitters l-3

by V. C. Andrews

  "Why did you two do it now?" Toby asked. "Why didn't you do it as soon as you knew you were pregnant?"

  I didn't look at her when I spoke, for fear she would see the lies in my face.

  "Paul wanted to," I said, "but I didn't want to ruin his life."

  "What about your life?" Toby countered.

  "I was all right."

  "Living by yourself with a baby in that shack?"

  "Oh, Toby, why drag up the past? It's over now, and now look where they are," Jeanne cried, her arms extended. "Everyone's raving jealous over this house and Paul's good fortune."

  Toby came up beside me and looked down at Pearl. "When did you two . . . make her?" she asked.

  "Toby!" Jeanne exclaimed.

  "I'm just asking. She doesn't have to say if she doesn't want to, but we're all sisters now. We shouldn't have secrets from each other, should we? Well, should we?" she asked me.

  "No, not secrets, but each of us has something private in our hearts, something best kept locked up. Maybe you're still too young to understand that, Toby, but you will," I said. It was the sharpest thing I had ever said to her. She blinked and pulled her lips thin for a moment and then she nodded after considering what I had said.

  "You're right. I'm sorry, Ruby."

  "That's okay," I said, smiling. "We should be sisters now in every way possible."

  "And we will!" Jeanne declared. "We'll help with the baby, won't we, Toby? We'll be real aunts."

  "Sure," Toby said. She gazed at Pearl. "I've baby-sat enough to know how to take care of an infant."

  "Pearl will get more love and attention than she can stand," Jeanne promised.

  "That's all I want," I said. "That's all I really want. And all of us to become a family."

  "Mother is still quite speechless, isn't she, Toby?" Jeanne said.

  "Daddy isn't exactly bursting with pride and happiness either," she said.

  "Maybe Daddy doesn't want to face the fact that he's a Grandpère so soon," Jeanne quipped. "Don't you think that's it, Ruby?" she asked.

  I stared at her for a moment and then smiled. "Yes, probably," I said. It was uncomfortable to stand waist-high in deceptions and half-truths, but for now there was no other way, I thought.

  Jeanne tried to wrangle a dinner invitation out of Paul, but he insisted they leave and return with their parents tomorrow.

  "When we'll have a real celebration," he said. "Ruby and I are just very tired and we need to be alone, rest up," he explained.

  Toby smirked, but after Jeanne flashed her face of disappointment, she burst into a smile and exclaimed, "Of course you should. It's your honeymoon!"

  Paul shifted his eyes toward me quickly and blushed.

  "As usual, Jeanne puts her foot in her mouth," Toby said. "Come on, sister dear, let's go home."

  "What did I say?"

  "It's all right, Jeanne," I told her. We all hugged again and they left.

  "Sorry about that," Paul said, glaring after them. "I should have warned you about my sisters. They've been spoiled and think they can have anything and everything. Don't put up with their antics. Just let them know their place and everything will be fine," he assured me. "Okay?"

  "Yes," I said, but it was more of a prayer than an answer.

  That evening we were served the wonderful dinner. Paul talked about his oil fields and some of his other ideas for business. He told me he had made reservations for us in New Orleans and we would be going the day after tomorrow.

  "So soon?"

  "No sense in postponing what has to be done here. And remember, I want you at your art," he said.

  Yes, I thought, it was time to return to my second great love—painting. After dinner, Paul and I wandered through the great house and discussed what we would do to complete the furnishing and the decorations. I finally realized how big a task it was going to be and wondered aloud if I was capable of doing it.

  "Of course you are," he assured me. "But maybe I can get Mother to help. She loves doing this sort of thing," he said. "You can learn a lot from my mother," he added. "She's a woman of refined taste. Not that you aren't," he added quickly. "It's just that she's been buying expensive things longer than you have," he said, smiling.

  "How rich are we, Paul?" I asked. Was there no end to the possibilities?

  He smiled. "With the price of oil rising and the wells producing four to five hundred percent more than predicted . . . we're millionaires many times over, Ruby. Your rich stepmother and your twin sister are paupers next to us."

  "Don't let them know it," I said, "or they'll be heartbroken."

  Paul laughed. I confessed to being tired. Exhausted was more like it. It had been a roller-coaster day emotionally, one moment full of depression and sadness and the next moment taken to the height of happiness. I went upstairs and prepared for my first night in my beautiful new home. Once again, Paul surprised me. I found a pretty nightgown, robe, and slippers laid out on my bed. Holly had been in on the surprise. When I thanked Paul, he pretended he didn't know a thing about it.

  "Must be your fairy godmother," he said.

  I looked in on Pearl. She slept so contentedly in her pretty new crib. I leaned in and kissed her on the forehead and then I returned to my own bedroom and slipped into my own large bed with its fluffy pillows and soft mattress.

  The overcast and rain had moved southeast and the cloud cover had broken up to permit some moonlight to fall over our great house and spill through my windows. I lay there, comfortable, but still full of trepidation about all our tomorrows. Then I heard a gentle knock on the adjoining door.

  "Yes?"

  Paul opened it and looked in. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, Paul. Fine."

  "Comfortable?" he asked, remaining in the doorway, silhouetted.

  "Very."

  "May I kiss you good night?" he asked in a small voice. I was quiet a moment.

  "Yes," I said.

  He approached, leaned over, and pressed his lips to my cheek. I thought that would be it, but he moved toward my lips, so I turned away. I could feel his disappointment. He lingered inches from me and then straightened up.

  "Good night, Ruby. I love you," he said. "As much as any other man could," he added.

  "I know, Paul. Good night."

  "Good night," he said, his voice soft and small, like the voice of a little boy again.

  He closed the door between us and a cloud closed the gap that had permitted the moonlight a window on my new world. For a while the darkness was thick and deep again.

  However, although they were on the other side of the house and some distance away, the oil pumps could be heard delving into the bowels of the earth to draw up the black liquid that would ensure our future and build walls of riches around us, keeping out the demons. Paul had created a moat of oil between us and the hardships that marred so much of the world beyond.

  I could cuddle in my luxurious comforter and I could close my eyes and put aside my own fears and think only of the wonderful things to do. I could dream of Pearl as a little girl with her own pony. I could dream of lawn parties and birthday parties and grand dinners. I could dream of my studio bright and full of new works.

  What else should I wish for? I thought.

  Wish for love, a tiny little voice whispered. Wish for love.

  4

  Another New Family

  Very early the next morning, I heard the adjoining door open and saw Paul poke his head around to check if I was awake. He was about to retreat when I called to him.

  "Oh, I didn't mean to wake you," he said quickly.

  "What time is it?"

  "It's very early, but I wanted to check on the wells before going over to the cannery this morning. I'll be home for lunch. Did you sleep well?"

  "Yes. It's a very comfortable bed," I said. "And these pillows . . . it's like sleeping in a vat of butter."

  He smiled. "Great. See you later, then." He closed the door and I rose and got dressed before Pearl woke. By the
way she was giggling and playing in her crib, I saw that she, too, had enjoyed her first night in her new home. I dressed her and took her downstairs. After breakfast, I took Pearl up to the attic to plan out my studio and make a list of what I would buy when we were in New Orleans. When Pearl took her late morning nap, I went out to the side patio to watch the men Paul had hired work on our landscaping.

  The scent of new bamboo was in the air, and off in the distance, a pair of snow white egrets soared into the blue sky. I sighed with pleasure, dazzled. I was so entranced in my own visions of the rolling lawns, the flagstone walkways, the flower beds and bushes, that I didn't hear a car come up our drive, nor did I hear the door chimes.

  James came out to the patio to inform me I had a visitor. Before I could go back into the house, Paul's father appeared. As soon as James retreated, Octavious hurriedly approach me. A chilling shiver ran down my spine.

  "I told Paul I'd join you two for lunch and then go over to the wells with him, but I left early so I would have a chance to speak with you alone," he quickly explained.

  "Mr. Tate . . ."

  "You might as well start calling me Octavious or . . . Dad," he said, not quite bitterly, but not quite willingly either.

  "Octavious, I know this is something you left my house believing I wouldn't go through with, but Paul was so heartbroken―and after I had been attacked by Buster Trahaw—"

  "Don't explain," he said. He took a deep breath and gazed out at the swamp. "What's done is done. Long ago," he continued, "I stopped believing that Fate or Destiny owes me anything. Whatever good fortune I have, whatever blessings I receive, I don't deserve. I live only to see my children and my wife happy and secure."

  "Paul is very happy," I said.

  "I know. But my wife . . ." He looked down a moment and then raised his dark, sad eyes to me. "First off, she's terrified that somehow, because of this marriage, the truth will rear its ugly head in our small community and all of the make-believe she has constructed around Paul and herself will come crashing down. People think because we are a rich, successful family that we are as hard as rock, but behind closed doors . . . our tears are just as salty."

  "I understand," I said.

  "Do you?" He brightened. "Because I've come early to beg a favor."

  "Of course," I said without hearing his request.

  "I want you to keep the . . . for lack of a better word . . . illusion alive whenever you see her. Even though you know the truth and Gladys knows you know."

  "You didn't have to ask me," I said. "I'd do it for Paul as well as for Mrs. Tate."

  "Thank you," he said with relief, and then gazed around. "Well, this is quite a home Paul is building. He's a nice young man. He deserves his happiness. I'm very proud of him, always have been, and I know your mother would have been proud of him, too." He backed away. "Well . . . I . . . I'm just going out to speak to one of the workers in front," he stammered. "I'll wait for Paul. Thanks," he added, and quickly turned to disappear into the house.

  My quickened heartbeat slowed, but the emptiness in my stomach that made it feel as if I had swallowed a dozen butterflies live continued. It would take time, I thought, and maybe even time wouldn't smooth the rough edges between me and Paul's parents, but for Paul's sake, I would try. Every day of this specially arranged marriage would be a day full of tests and questions. At least in the beginning. Despite all we had and all we would have, I had to question whether or not I could go through with it.

  James returned to interrupt my heavy thoughts. "Mr. Tate is on the phone, madame," he said.

  "Oh. Thank you, James." I started for the house, realizing I didn't know exactly where the closest phone was.

  "You can take it right here on the patio," James said, and nodded toward the table and chairs. A telephone had been placed on a small bamboo stand beside one of the chairs.

  "Thank you, James." I laughed to myself. The servants were more familiar with my new home than I was. "Hello, Paul."

  "Ruby, I'll be home very soon, but I had to call you to tell you about this stroke of luck. At least, I think it is," he said excitedly.

  "What is it?"

  "Our foreman here at the cannery knew this nice elderly woman who just lost her job as a nanny because the family's moving away. Her name is Mrs. Flemming. I just spoke to her on the phone and she can come to Cypress Woods this afternoon for a personal interview. I spoke with the family and they can't stop raving about her."

  "How old is she?"

  "Early sixties. She's been a widow for some time. She has a married daughter who lives in England. She misses her family and seeks employment to be around children. If she works out, maybe we can hire her immediately and leave her with Pearl while we go to New Orleans."

  "Oh, I don't know if I can do that so soon, Paul."

  "Well, you'll see after you speak with her. Should I tell her to come around two?"

  "Okay," I said.

  "What's the matter? Aren't you happy about it?" he asked. Even through a telephone, Paul could sense when I was nervous or anxious, sad or happy.

  "Yes, it's just that you keep moving so fast, I barely have time to catch my breath over one astounding thing when you present me with another."

  He laughed. "That's my plan. To overwhelm you with good things, to drown you in happiness, so that you will never regret what we have done and why we have done it," he said. "Oh, my father is going to join us for lunch. He might arrive before I do, so . . ."

  "Don't worry," I said.

  "I'll call Mrs. Flemming and then I'll start for home. What's Letty making?"

  "I was afraid to ask her," I said, suddenly realizing. He laughed.

  "Just tell her you'll put the hoodoo on her if she doesn't behave," he said.

  I hung up and sat back. I felt like I was in a pirogue going over one waterfall after another, with no chance to catch my breath.

  "The little one's up, Mrs. Tate," Holly called from an upstairs window.

  "Coming," I said. There wasn't time to think about anything now, but maybe Paul was right. Maybe that was for the best.

  At lunch neither I nor Paul's father did or said anything to reveal we'd spoken earlier, but we were all nervous. Paul did most of the talking. He was so full of excitement, it would have taken a hurricane to slow him down. His conversation with his father finally centered around their business problems.

  Promptly at two, Mrs. Flemming arrived in a taxi. Paul's father had left, but Paul had remained to greet her with me. The first thing that struck me about her was how close in size she was to Grandmère Catherine. Standing no taller than five feet three or four, Mrs. Flemming had the same doll-like, diminutive facial features: a button nose and small, delicate mouth with two bright grayish blue eyes. Her light silvery hair still had some strands of corn yellow running through it. She kept it pinned up in a soft bun with her bangs trimmed.

  She presented her letter of reference and we all went into the living room to talk. But none of her previous experience, nor an arm's length of references, would have made any difference if Pearl didn't take to her. A baby is completely reliant on its instincts, its feelings, I thought. The moment Mrs. Flemming saw my baby and the moment Pearl set eyes on her, my decision was made. Pearl smiled widely and didn't complain when Mrs. Flemming took her into her arms. It was as if they had known each other from the day Pearl had been born.

  "Oh, what a precious little girl," Mrs. Flemming declared. "You are precious, you know, as precious as a pearl. Yes, you are."

  Pearl laughed, shifted her eyes toward me as if she wanted to see whether or not I was jealous, and then gazed into Mrs. Flemming's loving face.

  "I didn't get much chance to be with my own granddaughter when she was this small," she remarked. "My daughter lives in England, you know. We write to each other a lot and I go there once a year, but . . ."

  "Why didn't you move there with her?" I asked. It was a very personal question, and perhaps I shouldn't have asked it so directly, but I felt I had
to know as much as I could about the woman who would be with Pearl almost as much as, if not more than, I would be. Mrs. Flemming's eyes darkened.

  "Oh, she has her own life now," she said. "I didn't want to interfere." Then she added, "Her husband's mother lives with them."

  She didn't have to explain any more. As Grandmère Catherine would say, "Keeping two Grandmères under the same roof peacefully is like trying to keep an alligator in the bathtub."

  "Where are you living now?" Paul asked.

  "I'm just in a rooming house."

  He looked at me, while Mrs. Flemming played with Pearl's tiny fingers.

  "Well, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't move right in, then," I said. "If the arrangements are satisfactory for you," I added.

  She looked up and brightened immediately.

  "Oh yes, dear. Yes. Thank you."

  "I'll have one of my men take you back to the rooming house and wait for you to get your things together," Paul said.

  "First let me show you where you will sleep, Mrs. Flemming," I said, pointedly eyeing Paul. He was doing it again, moving along so fast, I could barely catch my breath. "Your room adjoins the nursery."

  Pearl didn't complain when Mrs. Flemming carried her out and up to her room. I kept feeling there was almost something spiritual about the way the two of them took so quickly to each other, and sure enough, I discovered Mrs. Flemming was left-handed. To Cajuns that meant she could have spiritual powers. Perhaps hers were more subtle, the powers of love, rather than the powers of healing.

  "Well?" Paul asked after Mrs. Flemming had left with one of his men to get her things.

  "She does seem perfect, Paul."

  "Then you won't be upset leaving her here with Pearl?" he followed. "We'll be away only a day or two." I hesitated and he laughed. "It's all right. I've come up with the solution. I have to be reminded from time to time how rich I really am. We really are, I should say."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We'll just take Pearl along, reserve an adjoining room with a crib," he said. "Why should I care what it costs, as long as it makes you happy?"