It was the heat, she told herself. After the cool, bracing weather of Boston. It would take time to adjust to the enervating stupor of the Louisiana sun. Once she had her new clothes-an armoire full of Muslins and cottons-she would be simpering, too.
The Willows, thought with a sigh as a wave of homesickness washed over her. Her thoughts drifted back to happier times, when mama was still alive. Oh, parties they had been. The house had been lit up so many lanterns that their guests, coming from all along the river, claimed the Willows beckoned like a glittering palace.
Even the morning after, with the guests all abed and the lamps extinguished, it’s had still seemed fairytale castle to Gwen. With its stately lines and tall, graceful columns, she’d always thought the Willows a home fit for a king. It was her father’s domain, where mother was Queen, and Gwen would forever remain their precious little Princess.
In her mind, she envisioned her homecoming. It was too early for candles, but her clever daddy found some way to mark the occasion as special. He’d be waiting on the dock, tall and proud and eager as he watched her disembark, and all the way to the house he’d regale her with his plans. There would be a homecoming ball, of course, and with it a new dress of a silk so fine and delicate, every girl from here to Baton Rouge would faint from envy.
Upon it reaching the house, daddy would clap his hands and the servants would surround and greet her, all chattering at once. Smiling benevolently, daddy would order them to take her trunks and led her upstairs for a rest before dinner.
And for her first meal, they’d have shrimp and crab gumbo, a dish Gwen had been hankering for ever since leaving for Boston. My, but her taste buds were watering already, just thinking about the amazing seafood there servants packed into the dish. For desserts, they would bake berry pie, big juicy fruit picked fresh from the garden.
Engulfed in her fantasy, Gwen failed to realize they’d stopped at the Willows’ dock until Edith impatiently pointed it out to her. “I declare Gwyneth,” he finished off, “you can be quite the flightiest creature, when you’re in one of your daydreams.”
She and Lance left, causing Gwen to redden, but went on uncle Jervis stepped up to join them, Lance instantly sober. Turning to Gwen, he offered his arm. “Perhaps I best help you off the boat,” he said, flashing his most endearing smile. “It’d be a crying shame to have our Gwen trip and hurt herself on her first day home.”
Though miffed, Gwen took the support he offered, finding herself grateful for it as they walked to the house. There was no daddy standing on the dock; indeed, the dock itself didn’t seem to be standing all that well. It must had taken a beating in the last storm, why hadn’t the servants repaired it? With yes soon arriving for her home coming ball, they couldn’t have such a shoddy structure for landing. Why, the talk would live on for weeks.
To her added dismay, the dock wasn’t alone in showing wear. As they passed by the garden from which the plantation got its name, she found mothers prized roses choked by weeds. Clearly unintended for years, every bush was either dead or in the process of dying.
Changes. On the heels of that thought, she recalled Mrs. Tibbs warning about the hardships she’d have to bear. No, she insisted silently, there were reasons for this neglect, and the instant she saw her daddy, he would explain them. No doubt he become so preoccupied with his plantation, he let parts of the plantation slide, things mama used to oversee.
Such neglect stop. His win was now home, she’d hasten to assure him, and she’d come home to help. She saw herself organizing the servants as mama had done, rushing about the place with energy and vigor, every inch the mistress-and lady-Amanda McCloud had been.
As she marched toward the house, she ignored the tangle of weeds lining the cherries shaded drive. Tripping twice in the roots, she insisted it didn’t matter, that it would be set to write as soon as she talked with her daddy.
And optimism somewhat soured when they reach the house, and she found no daddy waiting on the porch steps, either. Their steamboat had sounded its horn long ago; John would have to be deaf, blind, and witless not to know she’d arrived.
But then, perhaps he felt it unsafe to wait here, since the porch steps seemed even less reliable than the dock. To her surprise, Uncle Jervis stepped casually over the missing bottom board and, without another word, went on inside.
What had happened to her beloved Willows? The house had not seen a paint brush in years, and what little paint remained on its weathered boards flaked and peeled. A shudder, likewise stripped of color, dangled disconsolately from a second floor window. The way it move, it must bang against the walls and any good wind, yet nothing had been done to either fix or remove it.
So one should tame the oaks, she thought, before their branches scraped more shingles from the roof. And something must be done with the wisteria, twining up through the gallery railing to the second floor. It made the house look like a prisoner about to be choked.
Stepping blithely over the broken step, Edith followed her father into the house. The fact that neither her cousin nor uncle found anything amiss proved that this state of decay was no recent occurrence. Oh daddy, what’s happened? Gwen thoughts with a catch in her throat.
At her side, Lance padded her arm to console her as he led her into the house. “Be brave, my love. Whatever you face, I am here at your side. Somehow, we shall get through this together.”
His words held such a depressing tone, she half expected to find an ogre waiting inside the door, but only Homer, father’s personal servant and valet, stood in the hallway. How old and stopped the service had become; like the house, Homer had age for more than the years to warrant.
She studied the grand entrance in which mama had once taken such pride. The oak banister on the wide and curving stairway hadn’t been polished in months, and the dust was so strong, Gwen was reluctant stand still of fear it settled down and cover her.
Uncle Jervis was sorting through the mail on the hall table, with Edith trying to hide the fact that she was looking over his shoulder. The way they frowned in unison seem to indicate and unwelcome letter.
“Another bill?” Scratched out a voice from behind.
They snapped to attention, both clearly uncomfortable as he turned to face the newcomer. It was a good thing Jervis called out, “John” for without the name, Gwen might never have recognized her father.
A sudden tightness with her throat at the site of his once proud frame hunched over a sturdy cane. The years had been even crueler to daddy then to her uncle. Where his brother had whited in girth, John had narrowed to near extinction. A soiled white shirt hung on his shoulders like a wilted flag of surrender, and his tightly clenched trousers could well fit another man inside. Similar lines of dissipation appeared on his face, but with Jervis, the pockets of fat on daddy they seemed etched into the bone.
He was such a far cry from the man Gwen remembered, the man she’d imagined would be waiting for her on the dock, she half expected everyone to laugh say they’d played a cruel joke.
But no one said a word; they barely moved, everyone waited for what daddy would say or do next.
He leaned heavily on the cane, eyeing each of them in turn. No one actually squirmed, but neither did they take the look well, fidgeting like bad children caught at a prank. When daddy turn to her, Lance removed his arm, leaving Gwen alone under her father’s scrutiny.
She smiled tentatively, but nothing came to life in his expression. Stared at her as if she were but another dust covered statue in his hallway. “I see you brought her home,” the rasped, turning to his brother. “I expect you to see to it that she stays out of trouble.”
He turned then to Homer, demanding his bottle of bourbon before hobbling off awkwardly to his study.
He snubbed me? Gwen thought. After all this time, against all her hopes and expectations, her own father refuse to knowledge her?
Her mind flashed back to that night five years ago, as they’d stared at each other over her mother’s lifeless bod
y. His gaze had become shuttered then, too, as if he meant to close the doors to his mind, to his heart.
“Daddy,” she yelled out, even as she cried out to him that night, but once again he ignored her. She winced as his study door closed, feeling as if he’d slammed it shut in her face.
Sound seemed to bring local Jervis instantly to life. “Ah, well, it would appeared John is in one of his moods.”
One of his moods? Biting her lip, fusing to cry, Gwen seized the explanation. Moods were temporary things, a mere case of feeling poorly, and no wonder, in this heat. As soon as daddy was rested, why, she did that her last hairpin he’d give her a welcome any girl could wish for. She was his only child; of course, he’d be happy to see here.
Uncle Jervis turned to Lance. “I hope my brother’s mood won’t stop you from staying for dinner tonight?”
Reclaiming Gwen’s arm, Lance smiled down at her. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”
“Good.” Jervis clapped his hands, licking his lips as if he were sitting down now for the meal. “We will assemble in the front parlor at seven, dinner at eight. In the meantime,” he added, smiling at Lance as he gestured down the hall, “you and I can indulge in the chat, while the girls retire upstairs. I feel certain Gwen will wish to rest after this excitement.”
Both men turn quickly to Gwen, their eagerness making it hard to voice a protest. And in truth, she was tired. Just climbing steps to her room seem to require and enormous effort, especially since it seemed she must do so with her cousin.
Leading the way up the winding staircase as if she were the mistress of the house, Edith calmly warned her to expect some changes in the sleeping arrangements. “You,” she announced, stopping before the front room, “will now sleep in here.”
This time Gwen did protest. “Oh, no, I shall stay in my own room, thank you all the same.”
“You can’t. The roof leaks terribly in the rear quarters.”
“Then find me another room. I can’t fit all my lovely furnishings in this cubicle.”
“Your things are gone,” Edith told her, having the good grace to blush. “I’m afraid uncle John sold them after you left for Boston.”
As stiff as starch, Gwen marched into the tiny room. That last was a major blow, she had no wish for her cousin to see how it hurt. After all, it would take for more than a bad mood for daddy to so ruthlessly sell the pretty, delicate furniture mama once lavished on her.
There is a perfectly reasonable explanation, she tried to tell herself. Perhaps daddy plan to replace them with newer, finer furnishings. Must have forgiven her; she simply could not bear it if he had not.
Pasting a smile on her face, she studied her new surroundings. The room was small as she remembered, but the window seat was charming. One could wish its cushions were in better condition, though.
“I sure hope Delfie and Sadie hurry up here to help me,” she said, determine to act as if nothing were wrong. “The way I feel now, it will take half a dozen servants to get me out of this dress.”
“We don’t have a single servant to spare. You’ll have to undress yourself.” Edith retort bordered on rudeness.
“Undress myself?” When turned with surprise. “You must be joking. I cannot possibly remove this gown without help.”
Edith shrugged. “You better learn how, and soon. there is no one to help you.”
“Oh?” Gwen had been prepared to be brave, to grin and bear all these unpleasant surprises, but enough was enough. “I hope you don’t expect me to believe the service are busy cleaning. There’s enough dust in the front hallway to lay a carpet.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing her cousin lush before Edith squared her shoulders. “What I hope you to believe,” she tossed out as she marched off, “is that your days of playing princess are over.”
Furious, Gwen stared at her cousins retreating back. Who did they think they were, she and uncle Jervis, deciding what should or should not be done in her father’s house? If Gwen wanted the services of one-hundred servants, they had no right to deny her.
Flouncing her skirt-no easy thing and its wilted condition-she went straight for the bell pull. As she yanked it, she decided this room wasn’t adequate at all. The heavy oak furniture was far from what she’d have chosen, and Edith knew it. From the bulky armoire, to the battered keyhole desk, these were clearly pieces rescued from a long and well deserved exile in the attic.
When several minutes went by and no servant answered her summons, she decided it was high time someone front of her daddy. He should know what was happening in his own household, how his own daughter cannot get a servants to help her undress.
She was downstairs and at his study door, and a poised to knock, before she remembered his cold reception. Bad mood or not, what would she do… How would she cope…? If he snarled at her and ordered her off?
Hearing voices in the library, she remembered how uncle Jervis and Lance had retired therefore a chat. Perhaps she might better talk to her uncle; with a guest to overhear, he might prove more amenable to her needs. If worse came to worst, she could always appeal to Lance. Surely heard charming Lancelot would not fail to come to her rescue.
As she entered the library, both men stood abruptly, their expressions startled. “Why, Gwen, we thought you were resting.” For all goals gaze slid from her to his guest. “Didn’t we, Lance?”
Lance was too busy stomping out his cigarette and setting down his bourbon to answer. Did he hope to hide that he’d been smoking and drinking? As if women didn’t know what men did when they indulged in their chats.
“I would love to rest,” she told uncle Jervis, “but I fail to see how that’s possible in this heavy dress. I need help removing it. What’s happened to all my father’s household that this mistress can’t get help from her servants?”
An awkward silence ensued, during which the men again exchanged glances.
“I will tell you another thing,” she went on in a bid to gain Lance’s sympathy. “Edith has moved me out of my bedroom. She claims my pretty furnishings are gone, sold by daddy, but I think it’s an excuse to stick me with all the hideous stuff from the attic.”
Where he should be outraged, or at the least, defensive, her article seemed merely uneasy. “What is it?” She asked, glancing from him to Lance. “Why do you to keep looking at each other?”
Uncle Jervis stared at his glass, then downed the bourbon and one drink. “I suppose you should know. The truth is, I’m afraid we have all been reduced to cast offs from the attic. We’ve been forced to practice, er, certain economies.”
Gwen focused on the word is least understood. “Economies?”
“Edith could not send any servants to help you. There are none to spare. Lavinia as all she can handle with the cooking and cleaning. As for Homer, well, he is getting on in years.”
“But what of Lilah and Delfie and-“
“Sold, like the furniture.”
With dismay, he thought of Delfie, her childhood playmates and later maid, now serving as someone else’s servant. “But they were like family. Surely you could have sold the field hands instead.”
“There are no field servants. There are no fields. The Willows hasn’t harvests a decent sugar crop in well over three years.”
Gwen not contain her gasp. Daddy might lose interest in the house, in life itself, but for him to neglect his precious sugarcane was an omen of impending disaster.
“You have to understand,” uncle Jervis said gently, “your mother’s death hit him hard. I knew he was letting things slide steadily, but I did not discover how bad it was until last March, when I talked John into giving me the legal power to help run the estate.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Warned me?”
“I wanted to, honey, but I thought, if it breaks my heart so to think of he Willows going to the creditors, what will it do to our Gwen?”
“Creditors?” She asked, horrified.
His silence told her more than she cared to know. “Why di
dn’t you warn me?” She asked, turning to Lance.
“Your uncle wished to tell you himself. In person.” He raised his hands as if to deny himself of guilt. “A letter can be so impersonal, after all, and so easily misunderstood.”
There was no misunderstanding this. Financial ruin, that’s what they faced, and social demise lurked around the corner. Easy now, to understand the whispers and chatters last night. Everyone knew that he had the let the Willows go to rack and ruin; and no one could miss the fact that his daughter would soon be a social outcast.
“But I thought daddy brought me home to be married…” She nonetheless protested. He had brought her home, merely sell her off save the plantation? T there were men, she knew-old and dreadful unpleasant-who were only too happy to pay for a young bride. “Does this mean…” She swallowed hard,”… I am to be spinster?”
“Now, now, you’re not to worry your pretty little head over this.” Once more, uncle Jervis looked at Lance. “You just go on about your business and trust your menfolk. We will think of something, never fear. The land is still good. If I could dig up the funds by new cane, and perhaps a few servants to plant and harvest it, I can promise you, I will have the Willows back on its feet in no time.
“Here, here,” Lance cheered, raising his glass to be refilled. “That is the spirit. You know, of course, that you can count on me to help.”
Watching uncle Jervis fill his glass, Gwen knew it insisted more panic. All well and good to stand here to toasting each other, but in truth, what could they do? Lance had not a penny either.
It is a nightmare, she thought in a daze. A bad dream, and any moment, she would wake to find Mrs. Tibbs calling for her. How frightening, that she suddenly preferred to be back in a cramped cabin with that awful woman.
She had to escape from the stuffy room, to be out in the fresh air where she could think straight.
Both men looked mildly surprised when she announced this wish. Lance offered a token protest, but soon both he and her uncle seemed more interested in their drinks than in preventing her departure, Gwen muttered her goodbyes and left the room.
The Willows Page 6
