Tarnished Gold

by V. C. Andrews

  way to the door as Octavious drove away, the sound

  of his car drifting back into the darkness. I was still in

  pain. My legs felt so heavy and my head even heavier,

  but I didn't complain. I didn't want to make things any

  harder than they were for Mama. She managed to get

  me in the house and up the stairs to my little room. It

  was actually a bit smaller than the room I had been

  living in at the Tate house, but it was my room and

  full of my memories. It was like seeing an old friend

  again.

  "It's so good to be home, Mama," I said. She helped me into bed. "Just get some rest,

  honey. I'll be right here if you need me," she added.

  She said something else, but I didn't hear it. Before

  she had completed the sentence, I was asleep. Daddy returned sometime before morning,

  bitter and angry about the money he had lost

  gambling, raging that he had been cheated and that he

  would get revenge. He was quite drunk and smashed a chair in anger, splintering it to bits. It woke me and sent Mama flying down to bawl him out. I heard the shouting, his pounding the walls and stomping the floor. I heard the door slam so hard, the whole shack shook, and then it was deadly quiet. My eyes shut themselves and didn't open again until the sunlight brushed my face. They fluttered open, and for a moment I didn't know where I was. After a moment, it all came rushing back over me, including the racket I had heard in the middle of the night. Mama, anticipating my awakening, stepped into the room with a cup of rich Cajun coffee, the steam rising from

  the mug.

  "Got to get you up and about, honey. Women

  who lay around like sick people after they give birth

  usually develop some problem or another," she said. I sat up and took the mug of coffee. "Was I

  dreaming or was Daddy screaming and yelling last

  night?" I asked her.

  She shook her head. "I wish you had been

  dreaming. No, he came home in one of his drunken

  states again, claiming he had been cheated out of the

  money he lost at cards. Instead of finding a good job

  and working hard, he keeps trying to make a killing

  somewhere. He works harder at not working than he

  would if he worked," she added.

  "Does he know I'm home?"

  "I tried to tell him, but he wasn't hearing

  anything but his own stupid voice last night." "Where is he?"

  "He fell asleep in his truck last I saw, but when

  I looked out before, the truck was gone. No telling

  what he's up to now. I'll fix you some good breakfast,

  honey. You rise and stretch those legs, hear?" "Yes, Mama. Mama?" I said before she left the

  room. She turned.

  "Yes, honey?"

  "What about. . ." I held my hands under my

  ample breasts.

  Mama's face turned sad again. "I was going to

  tell you about that today," she said sadly. "You'll have

  to just pump it out or you'll develop milk fever." "But the milk . . ."

  "We can't offer it to anyone's baby, and that

  woman won't let Paul have your milk," she added

  bitterly. Mama hated waste in any shape or form. "How long will I have to do this, Mama?" "From the looks of you, a few weeks at least,

  honey. I'm sorry."

  My tears burned under my eyelids. Every time I did this, I would think of my baby forced to drink the milk of a stranger while his mother's milk was poured into the ground. From the way I ached, I couldn't postpone it much longer either. After breakfast Mama showed me what to do. All the hot tears I had held

  back streaked down my cheeks.

  They seemed to singe my heart as well as my

  face. I think Mama turned away and left me because

  she, too, was close to crying.

  Afterward, when I lay back and closed my eyes,

  I thought I could hear my baby's cry. I recalled his

  tiny face and imagined what it would have been like

  to have his lips on my nipple drawing the milk from

  me. Perhaps, if I did this every time, it would make it

  a little easier, I thought.

  Late in the afternoon, Daddy returned. He had a

  swollen left cheek and a black eye. There was a thin

  gash along the top of his forehead, and his clothes

  were wrinkled and marred with mud and grime as if

  he had been dragged through the swamp. He limped

  when he entered the house. Mama and I both looked

  up and gasped.

  "What did you do now, Jack," Mama asked

  after a moment, "to get such a beating?"

  "They ganged up on me is what happened," he wailed. "Those thieves down at Bloody Mary's." He fixed his eyes on me. "You shouldn't have left that house so fast, Gabriel. We coulda made them pay to

  have you leave."

  "What for, Jack? So you can go and throw it

  away at some bar or over some game of chance?"

  Mama snapped. "Just like you did every other

  nickel?"

  "It was what was coming to us," he declared,

  his arms spread.

  "Us, Jack? How's it us? She's the one's suffered

  and she don't get one penny because you've gone and

  lost or spent it all, right? Or did you put away a little

  for her?" Mama asked, knowing the answer. "I . . I just been trying to build something for

  this family, is all. But I got cheated, so I went back to

  get back what's mine and they jumped me." He stared

  at me a moment. "They give you anything before you

  left?" he asked.

  "No, Daddy," I said.

  "And if they had, we wouldn't tell you, Jack

  Landry," Mama said.

  "Ahh. Women never appreciate what a man

  tries to do for them," he complained, and sank in his

  worn easy chair. "I got to think up a new plan here.

  Those Tates can't get off this. easy," he muttered. "Instead of spending all this time sitting, there

  trying to think up a new plan to rob people, why don't

  you go look for honest work, Jack?" Mama said, her

  hands on her hips. He gazed up, his nearly closed

  right eye twitching.

  "What'cha talking about, robbing people? It's

  them who's robbed us, robbed our daughter of her

  pure innocence. Just like you not to see the point." "I see the point," Mama said. "I been seeing it

  grow sharper and sharper, too. It's cutting right

  through here," she said, holding her hand over her

  heart.

  "Ahh, stop your wailing. I need quiet and

  something to eat. I got to think' hard," he said. Mama shook her head and went back to her

  roux.

  "I said I need something to eat!" Daddy cried.

  Mama continued to stir her gravy with her back to

  him as if he weren't in the shack. I rose and put

  together a plate of food for him.

  "Thank you, Gabriel," he said, taking it and

  wolfing it down. "At least you care."

  "Mama cares, Daddy. She's just tired. We're all

  tired," I said.

  Daddy paused in his chewing, his eyes growing

  darker. "Damn if I'm going to sit here and watch my

  women suffer while that rich family enjoys the fruits

  of my daughter," he declared. "I'm going back, and

  this time I'm going to demand twice as much." "Jack, don't you dare," Mama snapped. "Don't tell me what not to do, woman. Cajun

  women," he spit. "Stubborn. . ." He put the plate down

  and rose.

  "J
ack Landry," Mama called, but he was

  already heading for the door.

  "Just sit tight and let me be the man of the

  house," he yelled back, and shot through the door. "Man of the house don't mean blackmailing

  people forever, Jack Landry," she called after him, but

  he didn't stop. He got into his truck and pulled away,

  leaving Mama and me standing by the door. "It's

  going to come to no good," she predicted, and shook

  her head. "No good."

  Sure enough, late in the afternoon, the police

  arrived to tell us Daddy was in the lockup.

  "He caused a terrible commotion over at the

  Tate Cannery," the policeman explained. "We're

  holding him until Mr. Tate decides whether or not to

  press charges."

  Mama thanked the policeman for coming by to

  tell us.

  "What are you going to do, Mama?" I asked

  after they left. "Are you going to go over to speak to

  Octavious?"

  She shook her head. "I'm tired of bailing your

  father out of trouble, Gabriel. Let him sit in the clink

  for a while. Maybe it will drum some sense in his

  head."

  That evening after Mama and I had a quiet

  dinner, we sat on the gallery and watched the road,

  both wondering if Daddy would come driving up.

  Mama was very troubled, and those worries made her

  look so much older to me.

  "Things have a way of going so sour

  sometimes," she suddenly muttered. "I guess I'm not

  doing so well as a traiteir. I can't do much for my own

  family," she moaned.

  "That's not so, Mama. You've done a lot for us.

  Where would I be without your help and comfort?" I

  reminded her.

  "I should have looked after you better, Gabriel.

  I should have warned you about the evil that lurks

  deep within some people, and I shouldn't have left you

  alone so much. It's my fault," she said.

  "No it isn't, Mama. I was stupid and blind. I

  shouldn't have been wandering around in my own

  dreamworld so much."

  "It's been hard," she said. "It's like you never

  had a father. Be so careful about who you fall, in love

  with, Gabriel," she warned. "It's so important. That

  first decision decides the road you'll follow, all the

  turns and hills, the twists and gullies."

  "But, Mama, if you couldn't see the future, how

  can I expect to do so?"

  "You don't have to see the future. Just don't be

  as trusting anymore and don't let your heart tell your

  mind to shut up." She rocked and shook her head. "Will Daddy ever change, Mama?"

  "Fraid not, sweetheart. What's rotted in his

  heart has taken hold of him. Now he's just a man to

  endure. Looks like you and I will have to tend to

  ourselves."

  "We'll do fine, Mama. We always have." "Maybe," she said. She smiled. "Of course we

  will," she said, and patted my hand. We hugged and

  then talked about other things until we both grew tired

  and decided to go to sleep.

  I had to pump my breasts again and again; I

  conjured the image of baby Paul as I did so. I fell

  asleep dreaming of his tiny fingers and his sweet face. Late in the morning Daddy returned. He was

  sullen and quiet, so Mama had to drag the story out of

  him. He did go back to Octavious to demand an

  additional payment, only this time, Octavious had his

  men throw Daddy off the grounds. Daddy sat in his

  truck, beeping his horn and creating a disturbance

  until Octavious called the police.

  This morning the police told him Octavious

  wasn't making a formal complaint, but Daddy was

  warned to stay away from the Tate property. If he

  came within a hundred yards of it, they would lock

  him up again. He ranted and raved about how the rich

  controlled the law. He vowed to find a way to get

  back at them. Mama, refusing to talk to him,

  nevertheless made him something to eat. Finally he

  calmed down and talked about taking up Fletcher

  Tyler's offer to hire him as a guide for hunters in the

  swamp.

  "Nobody could do it better than me. It pays all

  right and they give you tips," he told Mama. "Well?"

  he said when she didn't comment. "What'cha so quiet

  for? It's what you want me to do, honest work, ain't

  it?"

  "I'll believe it when I see you actually doing it,"

  she told him.

  That set him on a tirade about how Cajun

  women don't give their men the support the men need.

  He raged about it for a while and then went off to trap

  some muskrats.

  The day passed slowly into another hot and

  muggy night. Fireflies danced over the swamp water

  and the owls complained to each other. After I went

  up to my room, I sat by my window and listened to

  the cicadas. I wondered if Paul was asleep or being

  nursed. I imagined his little arms swinging, his

  excitement coming with every new discovery about

  his own body, and I turned to find a pen and some

  paper to write the letter I would never send.

  .

  Dear Paul,

  You will probably grow up never hearing my

  name. If we do see each other, you will not look at me

  any differently from the way you look at anyone else.

  Perhaps, when you are old enough to realize, you

  might see me looking at you with a soft smile on my

  face and you, might wonder who I am and why I am

  gazing at you this way. if you ask your parents about

  me, they won't tell you anything. We will remain

  strangers.

  But maybe, just maybe, on a night as warm and

  as lonely as this one is for me, you will feel a strange

  longing and you will realize something is missing.

  You may never tell anyone about this feeling, but it

  will be there and it will come often.

  And then, one day, when you're old enough to

  put the feeling into a thought, you will remember the

  young girl who looked at you with such love and you

  will realize there was something more in her eyes. Maybe you will confront your father or your

  mother and maybe, just maybe, they will be forced to

  tell you the truth.

  I wonder then if you will hate me for deserting

  you. I wonder if you will want to know me. I wonder

  if we will ever have a conversation.

  If we did, I would tell you that when you were

  born, I thought it was glorious and I was filled with

  such love for you, I feared my heart would burst. I

  would tell you I spent night after night crying when I

  thought about you. I would tell you I was sorry. Of course, you might hate your father and

  resent your stepmother, so I have to think hard before

  I tell you these things. It might be that for your sake I

  never do, because your happiness is far more

  important to me than my own.

  I just want you to know I love you, and even

  though I didn't want it to happen, you became a part

  of me and always will be.

  Love,

  Your mother Gabriel

&n
bsp; .

  I kissed the paper and folded it tightly. Then I

  stuck it in my top drawer with my most precious

  momentos. It felt good to write it even though I knew

  Paul would never read it.

  The moon poked its face between two clouds

  and sent a shaft of yellow light over the swamp. It

  looked magical for a moment, and I could swear I

  heard the cry of a baby. It echoed over the water and

  drifted into the darkness. I curled up in my bed and

  pretended I had baby Paul in my arms, his tiny face

  pressed up against my breast, my heartbeat giving him

  comfort.

  And I fell asleep, dreaming of a better

  tomorrow.

  9

  A Tormented Sky

  .

  On warm nights when the moon peered through

  clouds no thicker than dreams, I would sit on Daddy's dock with my bare feet just above the water that lapped gently against the dark wooden posts, and I would listen for the cry of a raccoon. To me, a raccoon sounded like a human baby crying. I would think about Paul and how much and how quickly he had grown these past three years. Occasionally I would catch sight of him either in town with the Tates or at church whenever they would bring him along. I hoped God would forgive me, for I went to church more to catch a glimpse of my baby than I went for the service. However, most of the time the Tates would leave Paul at home with the nanny on Sundays. I learned Gladys didn't like being bothered with a baby when she was in public. I'd never complain, I thought.

  The small patch of blond hair with which Paul had been born had become a full head of chatlin hair, the blond strands just a little thicker and brighter than the brown. His eyes were the soft blue shade of the sky in the morning when the sun was just climbing from the east and the sable darkness was sliding down the horizon on the west.

  Whenever Gladys Tate saw that I had caught Paul's eye, whether it be in town or at church, she would immediately toss him from one side to the other so her body would block me from Paul's sight. It was difficult for me to get close to him. Once, only once, when they were leaving the church and I had deliberately lingered behind at the doorway, I was no more than a few inches from him. I saw how graceful his hands were and how creamy pink was his complexion. I heard his sweet peal of laughter and when he turned his head my way, I saw him smile, his eyes brightening as if there were tiny blue bulbs behind them. I could see he was a happy baby, plump and content. I was glad about that, but I was also saddened by the thought that he might really be better off with the rich Tates, who could give him so much, and not with me, who could give him so little.

  For this particular day at church, he was dressed in a little sailor's outfit and his shoes were spotless, bone white. There was no question he had everything he needed and would ever want. He looked healthy, alert, and loved. I was no more than a passing shadow in his presence, nothing more than just another strange face; yet his bright round eyes lingered long enough for Gladys to realize it. When she turned and saw it was I standing there, her cheeks turned crimson with anger. She hoisted her shoulders and quickened her step, practically flying past Octavious, who was surprised for the moment. She muttered something to him and he spun around to look at me, too. He grimaced as if he had just experienced a gas spasm in his stomach and then hurried to catch up to Gladys, who had already dropped Paul into the arms of their nanny as if he were nothing more than a rattlesnake watermelon. The baby was quickly shoved into the car, and a few moments later, they were off, the dust clouds rising behind their luxurious automobile.