All That Glitters l-3

by V. C. Andrews

  "1 refused, of course, and they threatened to take me to court, which they have done."

  "No further questions, Your Honor," Monsieur Williams said.

  The judge looked at Monsieur Polk with hard eyes. "Do you have any questions for this witness?"

  "No, Your Honor."

  "What? Make her take back these lies," I urged. "No. It's better to get rid of her. She has everyone's sympathy. Even the judge's," Monsieur Polk advised. Monsieur Williams helped Madame Tate out of the seat and escorted her back to her chair. Some people in the audience were openly crying for her.

  "You won't get the child back today, if you ever do," Monsieur Polk muttered, half under his breath.

  "Oh, Beau," I wailed. "She's winning. She'll be a terrible grandmother. She doesn't love Pearl. She knows Pearl's not Paul's child."

  "Monsieur Williams?" the judge said.

  "No further witnesses or exhibits, Your Honor," he said confidently.

  Monsieur Polk sat back, his hands on his stomach, his face dour. I looked across the courtroom at Gladys, who was preparing to leave in victory. Octavious still had his eyes fixed on the table.

  "Call one more witness, Monsieur Polk," I said in desperation.

  "What's that?"

  Beau took my hand. We gazed into each other's eyes and he nodded. I turned back to our attorney.

  "Call one more witness. I'll tell you just what to ask," I said. "Call Octavious Tate to the stand."

  "Do it!" Beau ordered firmly.

  Monsieur Polk rose slowly from his seat, unsure, tentative, and reluctant.

  "Monsieur Polk?" the judge said.

  "We have one more witness, Your Honor," he said. The judge looked displeased. "Very well," he said.

  "Let's conclude this matter. Call your final witness," he added, emphasizing the word "final."

  "We call Monsieur Tate to the stand."

  A ripple of astonishment moved through the audience. I wrote feverishly on a piece of paper. The judge rapped his gavel and glared at the crowd of people, who immediately grew still. No one wanted to be removed from this courtroom now. Octavious, stunned by the sound of his name, lifted his head slowly and gazed around as if he just realized where he was. Monsieur Williams leaned over to whisper some strategy to him before he stood up. I handed my questions to Monsieur Polk, who perused them quickly and then looked at me sharply.

  "Madame," he warned, "you could lose any sympathetic ear you might have if this proves untrue."

  "We don't have any sympathy here," Beau answered for me.

  "It's true," I said softly.

  Octavious walked slowly to the witness stand, his head down. When he was sworn in, he repeated the oath very slowly. I saw that the words were heavy on his tongue and on his heart. He sat quickly, falling into his seat like a man who might otherwise crumple to the floor. Monsieur Polk hesitated and then shrugged to himself and stepped forward on our behalf.

  "Monsieur Tate, after your son had first proposed marriage to Ruby Dumas, did you visit Ruby Dumas and ask her to refuse?"

  Octavious looked toward Gladys and then he looked down.

  "Sir?" Monsieur Polk said.

  "Yes, I did."

  "Why?"

  "I didn't think Paul was ready to marry," he replied. "He was just starting his oil business and he had just built this home."

  "That seems like a good time to think of marriage," Monsieur Polk said. "Wasn't there another reason for your asking Ruby Dumas to refuse your son's proposal?"

  Octavious looked at Gladys again. "I knew my wife was unhappy about it," he said.

  "But your wife has just testified that she was happy Paul was doing the right thing and she testified that she fully accepted Ruby Dumas into her family. Was that not the case, monsieur?"

  "She accepted, yes."

  "But not willingly?" Before Octavious could respond, Monsieur Polk followed quickly. "Did you believe the baby was your son's baby?"

  "I . . . thought it was possible, yes."

  "Yet you went to Ruby Dumas to ask her not to marry your son?"

  Octavious didn't reply.

  "Did your son tell you Pearl was his child?"

  "He . . . said he wanted to provide for Ruby and Pearl."

  "But he never said Pearl was his child? Sir?"

  "No, not to me."

  "But to your wife, who then told you? Is that the way it was?"

  "Yes. Yes.”

  "Then why didn't you think he was doing the right thing?"

  "I didn't say he wasn't."

  "Yet you admit you didn't want to see the marriage happen. Really, monsieur, this is very confusing. Wasn't there another reason, a more serious reason?"

  Octavious turned his head slowly toward me and our eyes met. I pleaded for the truth with mine, even though I knew how devastating that truth was.

  "I don't know what you mean," he said.

  "Please," I cried. "Please do the right thing." The judge slammed his gavel down.

  "For Paul's sake," I added. Octavious winced and his lips trembled.

  "That's quite enough, madame. I warned you and—"

  "Yes," Octavious admitted softly. "There was another reason."

  "Octavious!" Gladys Tate screamed. The judge sat back, shocked at the outbursts, one from each side.

  "Don't you think it's time to tell that reason, Monsieur Tate?" our attorney said with a senatorial voice.

  Octavious nodded. He looked at Gladys again. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't go on with this. I owe you so much, but what you're doing is not right, my dearest wife. I'm tired of hiding behind a lie and I can't take a mother from a child."

  Gladys wailed. Necks strained to see her daughters comforting her.

  "Will you please tell the court what that additional reason was," Monsieur Polk demanded.

  "A long time ago, I succumbed to temptation and committed an adulterous act."

  The audience took a collective deep breath.

  "And?"

  "As a result, my son was born." Octavious raised his head and gazed at me. "My son and Ruby Dumas . . ."

  "Monsieur?"

  "They were half brother and half sister," he confessed.

  Bedlam broke out. The judge's gavel was barely heard above the din. Gladys Tate fainted and Octavious buried his face in his hands.

  "Your Honor," Monsieur Polk said, stepping forward. "I think it would be in the best interest of the court and all concerned if we could adjoin to your quarters to complete this hearing."

  The judge considered and then nodded. "I will see opposing counsels in my chambers," he declared, and rose from his seat. Octavious had not moved from the witness chair. I got up quickly and crossed to him. When he raised his head, his cheeks were wet with tears.

  "Thank you," I said.

  "I'm sorry for all that I have done," he said.

  "I know. I think now you will find peace inside yourself."

  Beau came up and embraced me. Then he led me away, people stepping aside to create a path for us. I bit off all my fingernails while Beau and I waited outside Judge Barrow's chambers. My heart was pounding and my stomach felt like it was churning butter. The Tates' attorneys emerged first, their faces so stone-cold, they revealed nothing. They didn't even look our way. Finally Monsieur Polk came to us and told us the judge wanted to meet with us alone.

  "What has he decided?" I asked frantically.

  "I'm to ask you to go in only, madame. Please."

  I clutched Beau's arm, my legs threatening to give out at any moment. If we were to leave without my daughter . . .

  In his office without his judicial robes, Judge Barrow looked more like a nice old Grandpère. He gestured for us to sit across from him on the settee and then he took off his reading glasses and leaned forward.

  "This was, needless to say, the most unusual custody hearing in my experience. I think we have sorted out the truth now. I'm not here to assign blame at this time. Some of this was caused by events beyond your control, but there
are all sorts of fraud, ethical and moral fraud, too, again you know how much of that is your doing."

  "Yes," I said, my voice filled with remorse.

  Judge Barrow stared a moment and nodded. "My instincts tell me your motives for your actions were good ones, motives of love, and the fact that you were willing to risk your reputations and your fortunes by telling the truth in court bodes well in your favor.

  "But the state is asking me to judge whether or not you should have custody of this child and be in charge of her welfare and her moral education or whether or not it is better for her to be assigned to a state agency until a proper foster home is found."

  "Your Honor," I began, ready to list a dozen promises. He put up his hand.

  "I have made my decision, and nothing you say will change that," he said firmly. And then he smiled and added, "I will expect an invitation to a wedding."

  I gasped with joy, but Judge Barrow became serious again.

  "You may and must become yourself again, madame." Tears of happiness flooded my face. Beau and I embraced.

  "I have given orders for your child to be returned to you. She will be brought here momentarily. The legal ramifications resulting from your previous marriage, straightening out the identities . . . I leave all that to your high-priced attorneys."

  "Thank you, Your Honor," I said through my tears. Beau shook his hand and we left the office.

  Monsieur Polk was waiting for us in the corridor. "I must confess," he said, "I had my doubts as to the veracity of your story. I am happy for you. Good luck."

  We stepped outside to wait for the car that would bring Pearl back to us. There were still people who had been in the courtroom lingering about, discussing the shocking events. I spotted Mrs. Thibodeau, one of Grandmère Catherine's old friends. She had trouble walking now, but she hobbled her way toward us and took my hand.

  "I knew it was you," she said. "I told myself Catherine Landry's granddaughter might have been a twin, but she had lived most of her life with Catherine and she had her spirit in her. I looked at your face in that courtroom and I saw your Grandmère looking back at me and I knew it would turn out right."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Thibodeau."

  "God bless you, child, and don't forget us."

  "I won't. We'll be back," I promised. She hugged me and I watched her walk way, my heart heavy with the memory of my Grandmère walking alongside her friends to church.

  The peekaboo sun slipped out from under the mushrooming clouds and dropped warm rays around us as the car with Pearl in it was driven up. The nurse in the front seat opened the door and helped her out. The moment Pearl saw me, her eyes brightened.

  "Mommy!" she cried.

  It was the best word in the world. Nothing filled my heart with more joy. I held out my arms for her to run to me and then I flooded her faces with kisses and pressed her close. Beau put his arm around my shoulders. All around us, people watched with smiles on their faces.

  As we started from the courthouse, I saw the Tates' limousine drive away. The windows were dark, but as the sunlight grew stronger, the silhouette of Madame Tate became clearly outlined. She looked as if she had turned to stone.

  I felt sorry for her, even though she had done a very mean thing. She had lost everything today, much more than her vengeance. Her illusionary life had been shattered around her like so much thin china. She was going home to a darker, more troubled time. I prayed that somehow she and Octavious could find a renewal and a peace now that the lies were stripped away.

  "Let's go home," Beau said.

  Never did those words mean as much to me as they did now.

  "I want to make one stop first, Beau," I said. He didn't have to ask where.

  A little while later, I stood in front of Grandmère Catherine's tombstone.

  A true traiteur has a very holy spirit, I thought. She lingers longer to look after the loved ones she has left behind. Grandmère Catherine's spirit was still here. I could feel it, feel her hovering nearby. The breeze became her whisper, its caress, her kiss.

  I smiled and gazed up at the light blue sky streaked with thin wisps of clouds now. Mrs. Thibodeau was right, I thought. Grandmère had been with me this day. I kissed my fingers and touched her stone and then I returned to the car and to Beau and to my darling Pearl.

  As we drove away, I gazed out the window and saw a marsh hawk strutting on a cypress branch. It watched us and then it lifted into the wind and soared beside and around us for a while until it turned and headed deeper into the bayou.

  "Good-bye, Paul," I whispered. But I'll be back, I thought.

  I'll be back.

  Epilogue

  My dreams of having a glorious wedding were still not to become a reality. The publicity and all the commotion surrounding the custody hearing continued to hover about us when we returned to New Orleans. Beau thought it was better for us to have a small ceremony away from the din, and since his parents were not taking it all very well anyway, I couldn't disagree.

  We debated for days about whether or not we should sell the house in the Garden District and build a new house just outside of New Orleans. Finally we both came to the same conclusion: We were happy with our servants and we wouldn't find a more beautiful setting. Rather than move, I embarked on the task of redecorating, tearing the rooms apart, floor to ceiling, and replacing the drapes, wall hangings, flooring, and even some of the fixtures. It was as though I were caught in a maddening frenzy to purify the house and purge it of any and all traces of my stepmother, Daphne.

  Of course, I kept all the things that I knew had been precious to Daddy and I didn't change a thing in the room that had once been Uncle Jean's. It remained a shrine to his memory, something I knew Daddy had wanted. I put all of the things that even smelled of Daphne into the attic, burying away clothing, jewelry, pictures, mementoes, in large trunks. Then I gathered Gisselle's things together and gave much of it away to thrift shops and charities.

  With the rooms repainted, new drapes on the windows, the changes in the artwork, the house took on my and Beau's identities. Of course, there were still memories lingering like cobwebs, but I believed, as did Beau, that time was the best vacuum cleaner and these troublesome memories would someday become vague and insignificant.

  After I had done what I wanted with the house, I directed my energies back into my artistic work. One of the first pictures I drew and then painted was a picture of a young woman sitting in a gazebo with a newborn baby in her arms. The setting placed her in a home and on grounds like ours in the Garden District. When Beau looked at the picture, he told me he thought I had done a self-portrait, and then, a few weeks later, I woke with the symptoms of pregnancy and realized that the inspiration for the picture had come from a deeper realization inside myself.

  Beau swore it meant I had some of Grandmère Catherine's traiteur powers.

  "Why can't it be so? Your people believe it's inherited power, right?" he said.

  "I never felt anything like that, Beau, and I never even dreamt of healing people. I don't have that sort of mystical insight."

  He nodded and thought a moment and then said a startling thing. "Sometimes, when I'm with Pearl and she's jabbering away in her baby language, I see her fix intently on something, and suddenly her face seems years older than four. There's an awareness in her eyes. Do you ever feel that when you're with her?"

  "Yes," I said, "but I was afraid to even mention anything like it for fear you would laugh at me."

  "I'm not laughing. I'm wondering. You know," he said, "she's even beguiling my parents these days. Mother tries not to show it, but she can't help but dote on her, and my father . . . when he's with her, he's like a little boy again."

  "She has her way with them."

  "With anyone," Beau said. "I think she's charmed. There. I've said it. Just don't tell any of my friends," he added quickly. I laughed. "Next thing you know," he said, "you'll have me believing in some of those voodoo rituals you and Nina Jackson used to practice."

/>   "Don't discount anything," I warned.

  He laughed again, but two weeks into my ninth month, he managed to surprise me with a wonderful present. He had located Nina and he brought her to our house to see me.

  "I have a surprise visitor for you," Beau said, coming into the sitting room first.

  Then he reached around the door and brought Nina forward. She didn't look very much older, although her hair was completely gray.

  "Nina!" I struggled to my feet. I was so big, I felt like a hippopotamus rising out of a swamp. We embraced.

  "You be big, all right," Nina said. "And close. I can see it in your eyes."

  "Oh, Nina, where have you been?"

  "Been travelin' a bit up and down the river. Nina be retired now. I live with my sister."

  She sat and talked with me for an hour. I showed her Pearl and she ranted and raved about how beautiful she was becoming. She told me she thought she was a special child, too. And then she told me she was going to light a blue candle for my new baby so the baby would have success and protection.

  "It don't be long," she predicted. She reached into her pocket and produced a camphor lump for me to wear around my neck. "It keep germs away from you and your baby," she promised. I told her I would wear it even in the hospital.

  "Please, don't be a stranger. Come see us again, Nina."

  "Be sure I will," she said.

  "Nina," I asked, taking her hand into mine, "do you think the anger I threw into the wind when I went to see Mama Dede with you about Gisselle has blown away?"

  "It be blown from your heart, child. That's what matters most."

  We hugged and Beau took her home.

  "That was a wonderful present, Beau," I told him when he returned. "Thank you."

  "I see she left something," he said, eyeing the camphor lump around my neck. "Figured she would. To tell you the truth," he admitted, "I was hoping she would. Can't take any chances."

  We laughed about it.

  Four days later my labor began. It was intense, even more so than it had been with Pearl. Beau was at my side constantly and was even there with me in the delivery room. He held my hand and encouraged my breathing. I think he felt every stick of pain I felt, for I saw him wince each time. Finally my water broke and the baby started to enter this world.