Tarnished Gold

4

Bought and Sold

"What is it you want?" Daddy asked Gladys Tate before Octavious could. Octavious sat there seemingly hypnotized by his wife's movements. Mama once told me there's no hate such as that born out of a love betrayed. Like Octavious, I wondered what sort of revenge Gladys was concocting.

She walked to the window, hesitated a moment, and then jerked the curtains closed as if she thought someone might be spying on us. It darkened the room and her face when she turned slowly back to us. Octavious squirmed in his seat. The dark cherry grandfather clock in the corner bonged the noon hour. While it did, Gladys fixed her eyes on me like a marsh hawk sighting in its prey.

"Who else knows what's happened to you?" she asked sharply.

"Just my mother," I replied. A small smile trembled over her lips as she nodded slightly. Then she swung her gaze at Daddy, her face tightening, her shoulders rising.

"And who else have you told, monsieur?"

"Me?" He looked at Octavious and then back at her. "I just found out about this today, so I ain't had time to tell anyone, but you can be damn sure that I'll talk and talk plenty if—"

"You'll get your money, monsieur," Gladys spit. "Far more than you expected, too."

Daddy's eyes lit up with glee. He sat back and smiled, nodding his head.

"Well, that's more like it. You can't treat folks miserably just because they ain't as rich as you," he said. "You can't just go about abusing and—"

"Spare me the lecture, monsieur," Gladys commanded, her hand up like a traffic policeman. "What my husband has done is terrible, but I'm sure it pales beside some of the things you have done in your life," she declared.

"What? Why, I ain't never been arrested or—"

"Never?" Gladys smiled coolly. Daddy glanced at me and then at her. "It's not important. Nothing you've done or even said matters here. That's not what interests me in all this."

"Well . . . what does?" Daddy cried, his face red with frustration.

"Her," Gladys said, pointing her thin finger at me. She had rings on every finger, but on the forefinger she had a large ruby in a silver setting. Her long, rose red fingernails looked like tiny daggers aimed at my heart. I shuddered, ice sliding down my spine.

"Me?"

"Since no one but your mother and the people in this room know you're pregnant with my husband's baby," she began, "I propose, no, I insist, that you remain here until you give birth to the child."

"What?" Daddy said. "What for she should do that?"

I could only stare at her, dumbfounded. Why would she want to set her eyes on me, much less have me in her presence now?

Gladys turned to Daddy and flashed that oily smile at him again.

"You're so ignorant, you don't even understand what a wonderful thing I am offering your daughter and your family," she said. "Do you think a mere sum of money extorted from us will cure all the problems your daughter, your wife, and even you will endure once she begins to show her unwed pregnancy?"

"Well, no, but . . ."

"What are you proposing to do, Gladys?" Octavious asked in a dry, tried voice. She glared at him in silence for a moment.

"I'm proposing to become pregnant," she said.

"What? I don't understand," Octavious said. He shook his head. "How can you . . ." Then he paused and looked at me, his face lighting with comprehension. "But, Gladys, why do you wish to do this?"

"It's not only these swamp people who will be the talk of the bayou once this is out, Octavious. And do you for a moment think that we can buy this man's silence?" she followed, nodding toward Daddy.

"If I give my word," Daddy began, "you can be—"

"Your word." She threw her head back and laughed and then fired a look of fury at him. "What happens when you go to one of your zydeco haunts and guzzle too much whiskey, monsieur? Will you still keep your word? Do you take me for a fool because my husband . . . my husband has done this dreadful thing?"

"Well," Daddy said. He chewed on his thoughts for a moment, not knowing how to react and not sure yet what it was Gladys Tate was proposing. "I don't think I understand all this."

She croaked a short laugh. "And you think I do?" She raised her eyes toward the ceiling. "Some women drop children like calves in a field all day and all night." She glared at me and then, looking sad, she said, "And some are denied the blessing of their own child because of some quirk in nature." She turned to Octavious. He looked away, his chin resting on the palm of his hand.

"What I am proposing," she continued, glancing at me first, "is that Gabrielle remain here at the house during the entire period of pregnancy. She will live upstairs and no one will know she is here, not even my servants. I will see to it that she is well taken care of until the baby is born and everyone thinks it is mine. In order for that to happen, I will pretend to be pregnant myself and go through all the stages of pregnancy."

"Well, how you gonna do that?" Daddy asked, smiling. "Swallow a watermelon?" He laughed and looked at me. I was too shocked and frightened by her suggestion to move an inch, much less smile or laugh.

Gladys Tate's face went paper white for a moment and then she shot Daddy a stabbing glance.

"Let that be my concern, monsieur, and not yours," she said, her voice resembling a snake's hiss. She straightened her back again and looked at me. "After it's over, Gabrielle can return home and no one will know any of the dreary details. She can go on with her life and be the candidate for marriage to a decent man you hoped she would be."

"What about the baby?" Daddy asked, undaunted.

"The baby," she said after a deep breath. "I told you. Everyone will think the baby is mine. The baby will remain here and be brought up a Tate. He or she is a Tate anyway," she added.

"I don't know," Daddy said, shaking his head. "My wife, she may not put up with this, no. . . ."

"What's the alternative?" she fired. "Your wife will live in utter shame forever, I'm sure. Surely," she said, turning to me, "you don't want your mother to go through the indignity, to be the subject of gossip forever, to have to avoid the looks of others, to know people are whispering about you. Blaming my husband won't be enough to exonerate you, Gabrielle," she charged, nodding at me. "Men will still think you were somewhat responsible, especially when everyone learns you were swimming nude."

I tried to swallow, but my throat lump was like a rock. She kept her eyes fixed on me so intently, I was unable to look away. I couldn't help but think about Mama. Gladys Tate was right. Mama would never show it, but I knew she would feel terrible. Some people would stop using her as a traiteur, and others would treat us like lepers.

"Daddy?" I said after a moment. "I think she might be right."

"What? You saying you want to do this, give up the baby and all?"

I nodded slowly and lowered my head like a flag of defeat. It did seem like a sensible solution to all the problems.

"I don't know. Keeping my daughter like a prisoner, keeping the baby . . ."

"Octavious," Gladys said sharply, and then smiled like a Cheshire cat, "why don't you take Monsieur Landry into the office and discuss the financial considerations, while Gabrielle and I have our own little chat."

Octavious looked at her a moment and then stood up as if he had to lift three times his weight. She pulled him aside at the door and whispered something in his ear that made him crimson.

"Are you crazy?" he said. "He'll just drink it up, waste it."

"That's not our concern," she said. "Monsieur," she added, turning to Daddy. He glanced at me and then rose slowly.

"This ain't a done deal," he said. "Not till I hear what they have to offer, hear, Gabrielle?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good." He exchanged a look with Gladys Tate, but she couldn't be intimidated. He knew it and followed Octavious out of the room and to the office. Gladys Tate closed the door behind them and took a seat in the high-back chair. She rested her arms over the chair arms and kept her back straight. To me she looked regal. Even though we were on the same level, I felt as if I were gazing up at her or she were looking down at me.

"I assume," she began, "that this will be your first baby."

"Oh, of course, madame."

She sneered. "You want to sit there and tell me you were a virgin when my husband made love to you?"

"But it's true, madame."

She stared a moment, her eyes blinking quickly. "Perhaps it is," she said in what I thought was a much sadder, deeper voice. She sighed and looked toward the shaded windows. "It is my fault, me," she said, and brought her lace silk handkerchief to her eyes. "He can obviously make a baby. I'm having trouble."

"I'm sorry, madame."

She spun on me as if she just realized I had heard her words, and her eyes turned crystal-hard.

"I don't want your pity, thank you. What were you doing out there in the pond? Setting a trap for him?"

"What?"

She nodded, her smile slight and twisted. "Bathing in the nude, knowing he was poling nearby, a good-looking, rich man . . ."

"No, madame. I swear."

She grunted and tightened her face again, her skin resembling the surface of an alabaster statue. Then she took a deep breath. "I meant what I told your father: Despite what Octavious has done, this is more of a favor for you and your family than it is for me."

"I know, madame."

"In order for this to work, you will have to obey my every command and be very, very cooperative. It will not be pleasant for me, but it will especially not be pleasant for you for the next six or seven months. You will have to endure loneliness and be quieter than a church mouse. Can you do that?"

"I hope so. I think so, madame."

"I hope so, too. If you disobey me just once," she said, "I'll throw you out and leave you to explain your big stomach, understand? It will be messy, but I think I can convince people around here that you made it all up, despite your mother's good reputation. I have money, friends in high places. People depend on my factory for a living. Whose side do you think they will all take? A poor Cajun girl's or mine?"

I didn't reply. She knew the answer.

"So will you obey my rules?" she pursued.

"Yes, madame. But surely I will be able to see my mother."

"Infrequently and very secretly. What I will do," Gladys Tate thought aloud, "is let it be known I am using a traiteur for my own pregnancy. People will believe she is coming here to see me, but you can see no friends, no other visitors, is that clear?"

"Yes, madame. But where will I stay?"

"I will show you your quarters when you return. I want you to return at night, tonight, in fact. Come at midnight. The house will be quiet. I'll have my butler away, and the maids will, of course, be asleep. Just come to the door. Bring very little. You understand?"

"Oui, madame."

"Good," she said, and rose.

I stood. "I am sorry for all this," I said. "Despite what you might think, I did not want it."

"What I think doesn't matter. What has happened and what we can do to repair the damage to my family and yours is all that matters," she lectured.

I nodded. Was she really so generous, so big of heart, to be able to forgive her husband and plan such a solution? I was hopeful, even grateful, but I didn't like the way her eyes skipped away when I tried to catch them. Was it because she didn't want me to see how deep the pain in her was? Or how deep the thirst for vengeance was?

She opened the door and called to Octavious and Daddy. Daddy came in first, and by the look of delight on his face, I saw he was satisfied with the offer he had gotten.

"Is everything settled?" Gladys asked Octavious. He nodded unhappily.

"I got to get back to work," he said.

"Yes, sir, you go back to work," Daddy told him, and patted him on the back. "I don't want you going bankrupt. Not now." He winked at me. "Come on, Gabrielle. We got to tell your mother what we decided here."

"I told her I want her back here at midnight tonight," Gladys said. "She's to come to the front door herself, understand, monsieur?"

"Sure. What's there to understand?" Daddy said. Then he scowled. "If I hear you don't treat her right, the deal's off," he countered.

She simply smirked. It was as if a fly had threatened an alligator.

"Remember," she told me. "No one is to know and you are to bring very little."

"Yes, madame."

Octavious left first. Daddy stood in the entryway a moment and gazed around, nodding.

"Not a bad place to be living in for a few months, eh, Gabrielle? I'm sure you'll have good things to eat and all."

"Yes, Daddy. Let's go," I urged. He sauntered to the door and then turned on Gladys.

"Don't think any of this makes it all right. It's still a crime, what he done."

Gladys didn't change expression, but her eyes full of accusations shifted to me. I opened the door and stepped out quickly, Daddy following with a wide grin. But when we got into the truck and started away, he stopped smiling.

"You got to help me convince your mama about this, Gabrielle. She's gonna think it's some plan I hatched to make more money. You be sure to tell her it was Gladys Tate's idea, not mine, hear?"

"I will, Daddy."

"Good," he said. And then, thinking about the money, he did break into a wide smile again.

"Is it a lot of money?" I asked.

"What? Oh. Well, not as much as I would have liked, but it will do fine. make sure your mother has a bundle to stash and then I'll buy us some things for the house and maybe even a new truck and tools for me so I can get more work."

"That's good, Daddy," I said. I gazed back at the mansion and thought at least something good has come out of this terrible thing.

Mama said nothing for a few long, heavy. moments. She listened to what Daddy told her, spewing it all in nearly one breath, and then she looked at me and got up from the table to go stand by a window. The plank shutters were open and the breeze blew the cheesecloth we had hung over it so that it flapped about her.

"I don't like it," she finally said. "It don't sound natural, her pretending to be having a baby and all."

"What?" Daddy's eyes bulged as he floundered. "Here we are getting all this money, Gabrielle don't have to walk in broad daylight with her stomach out a mile and take the stares and gossip, and there's a good place for the baby, and you don't like it?"

"Most women I know wouldn't be so gracious about it and want to keep the child as their own, Jack."

"Well, look at the women you know. They ain't got her class. Am I right, Gabrielle?" he asked, and nodded. "Go on, tell her."

"I think it's for the best, Mama. She told me so far she hasn't been able to get pregnant. She blames herself, and I think that's why she's not so hard on Octavious and why she wants to keep the baby."

Mama stared at me a moment. "You understand quite a lot for a young woman, Gabrielle. You're growing up so fast," she said, shaking her head. "But it ain't right this way."

"What you complaining about now, woman? That the child got good sense? Well, she inherited it from you," Daddy offered.

"That, I believe, Jack Landry," she said, fixing her eyes on him. "How much money did they offer you? Come on, tell me quick and no lies."

"Five thousand dollars!" he said. "How's that?"

Mama was impressed, but she still shook her head sadly. "Blood money," she said. "I don't feel right taking it, Jack."

"Well, you're not taking it. I'm taking it," he said. "And it's just your luck I see fit to give some of it to you and do things around here you wanted me to do," he added.

"It's still the same as if I took it."

"Gabrielle," he cried, throwing up his hands. "Will you talk sense into this mother of yours? I'm about outta steam."

"Mama, it's the best solution and at least something good will come from it. Gladys Tate is going to let you visit me, pretending you're treating her."

"What will I tell people about your not being here?" she asked, relenting somewhat.

"You'll tell them she went to visit my brother's family in Beaumont," Daddy suggested. "That'll do just fine, no?"

"No. My friends know I would never let her go visit a Landry," Mama replied. "I'm not a good liar anyway. Don't have your experience, Jack."

"Then don't say nothing. It ain't none of their business anyhow."

"You can tell them I went to visit with your aunt Haddy, Mama. I've always wanted to visit her anyway. It's almost not a lie."

Mama laughed. "You're getting to sound like him," she said, but kept her smile. She walked over to me and stroked my hair and then kissed my forehead. "Poor child. You don't deserve this. It wasn't your fault, but it isn't the first time and it won't be the last something unfair happens in this world. You sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, Mama."

She took a deep breath with her hand on her heart. "You just promise me if you're not happy, you'll come home no matter what, Gabrielle."

"I promise, Mama."

She sat again. "When you supposed to go?"

"Tonight at midnight," I said. She looked frightened, her eyes growing glassy. "It will be fine, Mama."

She bit down on her lower lip and nodded, swallowing back her tears. It made my chest ache.

I went upstairs to choose the few things I would bring with me. I decided to take the pictures of Mama and Daddy when they were first married. I packed some underthings, two nightgowns, three dresses, another pair of moccasins, some ribbons for my hair, my combs and brushes. While I was choosing things, Mama prepared a package that contained her homemade soap, some herbs she wanted me to take with my meals, and a small statue of Saint Medad. I put some books and magazines in my bag and a pad and pen for writing my journals and doodling. I was sure Gladys Tate would give me other things to do when I asked. I could embroider and weave to pass the time.

That evening Mama prepared one of my favorite meals: her crawfish etouffée. She kept busy to keep from worrying and made some lace cookies. Daddy had gone to town to shop for some of the things he was planning to buy with the money. He returned with a box of chocolates and a bottle of French toilet water for Mama. It had been a while since I had seen him so buoyant and happy. He cleaned himself up for dinner and wore his best shirt and pants. As we ate, he rattled on and on about things we should do in the house.

"What'cha say we buy a new stove, Catherine?"

"The one I have is fine, Jack."

"Well, that ain't the point. I was thinking we would get one of them new radios and maybe I'll get you one of them Mixmasters so you don't have to stand over the bowl and churn and churn all day, how's that? And what about one of them whatchamacallits that suck dirt up?"

"You need electricity for all those things, Jack," Mama reminded him dryly.

"Well, we'll get the electricity now. I got the money coming, don't I?"

"Don't spend it all in one day, Jack," Mama warned.

"Oh, I know that. I'm giving you a stash, but I'll need some money to invest. Can't live off five thousand forever, you know," he said as if he were already a big businessman. "Maybe instead of a truck and tools, I'll see about getting me my own shrimp boat with a down payment or—"

"Stop it," Mama said. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"What? What I do?"

She got up from the table and ran out the front door. "What I do?" Daddy asked me, his arms out.

"It's all right, Daddy. Let me talk to her."

I followed her. She was sitting in her rocker, staring at the darkness.

"Mama."

"I can't abide him sitting there gloating over all the things he's going to do with that money, Gabrielle. I'm sorry. It's tainted money, no matter what," she insisted.

"I know, Mama. But it's not the money that matters so much. It's having a good place for the baby and keeping the shame from our door. Gladys Tate is right: Even though it's not my fault, people will think bad things about me, and what good man will want to know me?"

"She said that?"

"Yes, Mama."

"She really wants this baby, don't she?"

"It certainly seemed that way, Mama."

Mama sighed deeply and then held out her arms. I knelt beside her and buried my face against her bosom the way I used to when I was just a little girl and she held me close and rocked a bit. Then she kissed the top of my head.

"All right," she said. "I'll be all right. Just tell him to stuff his mouth with a pound of hemp."

I laughed and hugged her again. Mama was my best friend. There would be no one like her in the world for me, ever. It was knowledge that made me happy, but sad too, for I knew I would lose her someday and have to face mornings and days, nights and the stars, without her wisdom and comfort, her love and her smiles. It would be like a cloud forever and ever blocking the sun.

We returned and finished our meal. Daddy had sense enough to be quiet and went out back to smoke his corncob pipe and muse about his newfound wealth. After we cleaned the kitchen and dishes, Mama and I went back to the galerie and talked. She told me what it had been like when she was pregnant and how my birth went. She told me about the two babies her mother had lost, one in a miscarriage and one in a silent birth. I had never known it.

Just about eleven-thirty, Daddy appeared to tell me it was near the time.

"How's this going to work?" Mama asked.

"I just drive her up there and she goes into the house herself, right, Gabrielle?"

"That's right, Mama."

"You see that she goes in safely, Jack."

"Of course I will," he snapped. "I don't care how rich them folks are. They ain't going to do nothing to make Jack Landry upset," he threatened.

"It's not Jack Landry I'm worrying over," Mama retorted.

"I'll go get my things, Daddy," I said, and hurried upstairs. I stood in my room for a while and gazed around. It wasn't a big room, but it was cozy and warm and the place where I had suffered through my childhood illness, cried my tears of frustration, dreamed my fantasies, and had some wonderful conversations with Mama at night. It was where she had sung her lullabies to me and where she had tucked me in and made me feel safe. Tonight would be the first night of my life that I would sleep someplace else. I choked back my tears, for fear I would upset Mama more than she already was upset. Then I said a silent prayer for her and for Daddy and for me and left my room quickly, not looking back.

Daddy turned off the truck's headlights when we reached the entrance to The Shadows's driveway. Then he drove very slowly over the gravel. A heavy layer of dark clouds had come pouring in from the Gulf, drawing a sheet of thick raven darkness to shut out the twinkling stars I often looked to for comfort. Now the sky looked like a giant inkwell, purple-black, deep and endless. It stirred me with a strange sense of foreboding as we drew closer and closer to this magnificent Cajun mansion. I knew that under any other circumstances, I would love simply visiting such a home, much less actually living in one for a while.

With only a light on here and there, the house appeared dismal, ominous. Its roof loomed in a silhouette against the ebony sea of clouds. Off to the right, I could hear the plaintive howl of a chained hound dog, and in the distance I could see lightning around the thunderheads. Bats swooped over the driveway, clicking their wings with a mechanical precision as they dipped to scoop up an insect invisible to my eyes. When Daddy turned off the engine, we could hear the monotone symphony of the cicadas.

Daddy was a bit more agitated than usual. After he had brought the truck to a stop, he kept his gaze locked on the front door of the mansion while he spoke.

"Well," he said, "I guess this here's good-bye for a while, Gabrielle. I know you'll be in good hands. Don't take no guff from no one, hear?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Your mother will be visiting you shortly and bring back a report."

"Okay, Daddy," I said in a voice that seemed smaller and younger even to me.

"Okay," he said. "Best you hop out and go up there by yourself like she said." He leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

"'Bye, Daddy," I said, and opened the truck door. It groaned with a metallic complaint that seemed to echo over the whole property. Even the bullfrogs paused to listen.

"Soon I'll have me a new truck without dents and squeaks," Daddy bragged.

I closed the truck door and carried my bag and myself up the galerie steps to the front door of the house, but before I could shake the bells, the door was thrust open with such force, I thought it had created a draft of air that would suck me inside the dimly lit entryway. Gladys Tate stood there dressed in a dark blue robe over her ivory lace nightgown. She held a small kerosene lantern in her hand. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and her face, now without a drop of makeup, looked as if candle wax had been melted and smeared over her forehead and cheeks, giving her a ghostly white complexion. The tiny flame in the lantern flickered.

"Get in, quick," she croaked. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, she closed the door and turned toward the stairs. "Follow me."

Without another word, she led me up, hustling me along so I wouldn't have a second to pause and gaze around. I half expected to see Octavious, too, but he was nowhere in sight. When we reached the upstairs landing, she turned left and took me down a short corridor to a narrow door. She dipped into a bathrobe pocket to produce a set of keys and unlocked the door. She stood for a moment listening. Satisfied, she reached in and threw a switch to illuminate a short stairway that led to an attic landing where there was a second door.

"What's up there?" I asked.

"What do you mean, what's up there? Your room's up there. Where did you think I would put you, in my bedroom or with Octavious?" she retorted. Even in the dim light, I could see the grotesque smile.

"No, madame, but . . ."

"But what?"

"Nothing," I said.

"Just watch your step and step very lightly. Tiptoe," she advised, and started up the short, steep stairway, practically floating on air herself. When she reached the second door, she inserted a second key and unlocked it. I entered behind her. She set the lantern down on a bare, rectangular cypress plank table carefully and turned it up to reveal the claustrophobic small room that had one window facing the rear of the house. Now it had a shade drawn and a curtain closed over that.

The walls had once been papered in a flowery print, but that had long since faded so that the flowers were barely visible in the eggshell background, a background I was sure had once been bright white. On my right were a set of shelves now full of dolls of all sizes and apparently some from different countries. There were cobwebs between many of the dolls, and their faces and doll clothing were faded almost as badly as the wallpaper.

Directly in front of me was the short box spring mattress in a low, dark oak bed frame with no headboard. There was a tiny night table to its right, and adjacent to that, a dresser no more than three and a half feet tall, if that.

"Once," Gladys Tate said, "this was my playroom. Some of my cutouts, puzzles, toy dishes, pots and pans, as well as some other children's games are in that closet." She nodded toward the narrow cabinet just to the right of the small dresser. "It's not the Waldorf, but it will serve our purpose," she added, and turned to me. Her words were cold and uncaring. The purpose could easily be to punish someone for misbehaving.

Without replying, I set my bag down on the table and went to the bed. I sat on it and heard the mattress squeak like a family of rats. Although it was too dark to see it, I expected there was enough dust in here to fill a pillow.

"I changed that linen myself today," Gladys bragged. "It's the same linen, blanket, and pillow I used when I used to sleep in here. I always took good care of my things and they lasted. I expect you will take good care of everything, too," she said, and I gazed around, wondering what it was she expected me to take good care of a small lantern, tiny furniture, faded wallpaper, old toys. . . .

"Of course, I couldn't have my maids clean this room without drawing some suspicion. You'll have to do most of that, but you'll have plenty of time for it, won't you?" she said.

"Where's the bathroom facilities?" I asked without replying to her comment.

"Bathroom facilities? You're used to an outhouse, aren't you?"

"Yes, but how can I go to an outhouse if you don't want anyone to know I'm up here?"

"Exactly," she said, and crossed to the small closet. She took out a chamber pot. "You'll use this. Once a night, after everyone's asleep, I'll come by and tell you and you can carry it down to the bathroom at the bottom of the attic stairway and to the right. You can wash and bathe then, too. I don't want you coming down with any diseases and endangering my child," she added.

My child? I thought. She was getting into that frame of mind very quickly. I was impressed with her determination. "It's stuffy in here," I said. "Is that window open?"

"Yes."

"We need to open the curtain and pull up the shade then," I said, "to get some breeze." I started toward it.

"You can do that now, but you must remember to draw the shade in the morning. We don't want anyone spotting you up here. Don't ever, ever look out that window during daylight hours, understand? You'll ruin everything if you are seen."

"Never look out the window?"

"Don't even peek. Someone might see the shade moving and I would have to explain it. If that happens, I won't bother. I'll just have you tossed out on your ear," she threatened. Then she smiled coldly, the right corner of her mouth cutting into her cheek. "I could simply tell people we were keeping you here as a favor to your parents, but you misbehaved. Anything I say will be believed faster than anything your father says," she added confidently.

Despite what Octavious had done to me, I couldn't imagine why he would have married such a coldhearted woman. Her eyes had the glint of polished stone and her mouth looked thin and drawn with a pencil. I half expected to discover that her alabaster face and body had no veins carrying blood around, and instead of a heart in that bosom, there was a jar filled with angry honey bees.

"Besides, you should be grateful I have provided you with these safe, comfortable quarters during your period of disgrace," she said.

Safe, comfortable quarters? I was going to sleep, eat, and go to the bathroom in a room not much bigger than some people's closets, and in this mammoth house that had a dozen grand rooms. I would be shut away, forbidden to see the sun or feel the breeze on my face, and permitted to look out only when the sun went down, permitted to emerge like a bat.

"Now," she continued, folding her arms across her chest, "as to the rules."

"Rules?"

"Of course, rules. Everything must be spelled out and followed to the T.

"First and foremost, you are never to leave this room without my permission. As I said, I will come by and let you know when it is clear for you to go down to empty the chamber pot and wash yourself.

"Second, don't even wear those moccasins up here. Walk barefoot and walk as little as you can so that you create as little noise as you can. If anyone hears any scuffling about, I will tell them it's field mice, but we obviously can't have any clanging or banging. No singing, no music, and when you talk to yourself, as I imagine you will, keep your voice down to a whisper. All this must be true especially in the morning when my maids are cleaning the upstairs area. Is that clear?"

"Oui, madame," I said.

"Good. Third, food. I will try to be up here twice a day, but it might just be once a day occasionally. You will notice a gallon jug of water on the other side of the bed. Don't waste it. When you go down to the bathroom, you can refill the jug, but remember, you won't be doing that but once a day. See to it that you have the proper things to eat so my baby is kept healthy. You'll have one fork, one spoon, one knife, one plate, one cup, and one glass because I will have to wash everything myself. Obviously we can't have the maids doing it.

"Fourth, there is no electricity up here. You'll use this kerosene lantern only when the sun goes down and keep it as low as possible and as far from the window as possible. In fact," she said, stepping forward, "I have made a mark on the floor here. Look," she commanded, and pointed. I gazed down and saw a black streak over the plank floor. "Don't bring the lantern across this line at any time, understand?"

"Oui, madame," I said, shaking my head, amazed at how well she had thought out every detail.

"You can laugh to yourself all you want," she snapped, "but I took great pains to plan this out today, and it's for your benefit as much as it is for anyone else's. I don't know if you truly appreciate that."

"Of course I do, madame."

"Umm," she said, nodding skeptically. "We'll see.

"Fifth, amusements. There are some books in the closet. You're welcome to play with the games, of course. I understand you weave and embroider, so I will bring some of that up to you. There can be no radio, no Victrola, for obvious reasons.

"Last, every Thursday night, my maids and my butler have the night off and leave The Shadows. I will come up to fetch you and you can come down to stretch your legs and eat dinner in the dining room. You can, if you wish, walk about in the rear of the house. I do have some field workers living nearby, but I'm not worried if they see you occasionally during the first few months when you won't show as much. Toward the second half of the pregnancy, however, you will not be permitted to go outside, even at night. Understood?"

I nodded.

"Good. Do you have any questions?"

I gazed around. "What if I need something during the day?"

"You'll have to wait until I can safely come up here," she said.

"I don't like this any more than you do," she continued. When I didn't reply, her eyes became glazed with fury.

"How do you think I feel housing the woman my husband made love to in the swamps, the woman who hosts his child, the child that should have been my child, in my body? What do you think it will be like for me sleeping beneath you and gazing up at the ceiling every night knowing you're here?"

"I'm sorry, madame, but this was your idea and—"

"I know it was my idea, you little fool, but that doesn't mean I have to like it because it was mine, does it? I was just smart enough to think of a way out for everyone." She pulled her head back. "Does your mother appreciate what I’m doing, too?"

"She understands," I offered.

"Umm. She understands? Well, I don't, but I'm not a traiteur. I'm just a . . . an abused wife." She sighed. "I'm tired," she said. "This has been a terribly emotional and draining day for me. I will bring you something to eat late in the morning after the maids have served us and cleaned up the kitchen and moved on to other parts of the house. If something prevents that, you'll just have to be patient, and don't, whatever you do, try to find out why I'm not here when I said I would be. Be smart enough to figure out that something serious is preventing it at the moment.

"This all requires great cooperation on your part to work," she explained. "I assure you, if it fails, it won't be because of something I've done."

"I'll do my best, madame."

"Your best might not be enough. Do what I want," she corrected.

"I will try."

"Yes, try," she said, twisting her mouth. "It's so much easier to conceive a child, isn't it? You just lie back and the man puts his hardness in you and grunts his pleasure."

"I didn't just lie back, madame," I retorted.

She stared at me with that wry smile.

"I'm telling the truth. I was raped!"

"It's not a big secret around here that Octavious is not a man of great strength. My father chose him, trained and schooled him in our business, prepared him to be my husband. He was afraid I wouldn't find a decent enough, proper man, so he found one for me.

"He arranged for our courting and practically dragged us both to the altar. Octavious is a meek individual. I find it hard to believe that he could force himself on anyone, even a supposedly helpless young girl.

"But whatever happened, the damage has been done, and once again, I had to come up with a solution to a problem."

"You should never have married a man if you weren't in love with him, madame," I criticized, my anger and indignation fueling my courage.

Her smile became crooked and mean as she shook her head.

"You young girls today amuse me. You go to picture shows and see all these movie stars in their dream romances and think that can be you, too. You think you'll meet a man and suddenly there will be music and you'll skip off into the sunset together. Well, life isn't like a movie. It's real and in the real world, people are brought together for more practical reasons, and even if there is love in the beginning, it doesn't last long.

"Are your parents still in love?" she asked disdainfully. "Do they still cherish and adore each other until death do them part? Well? You're not answering me," she said before I could take a breath.

I sucked in air and straightened my back the way Mama often did. "Not everyone has a perfect life, madame, but you began yours believing it wasn't perfect to start. You knew and yet you did it. That," I said firmly, undaunted, "was your mistake."

The smile left her face. "You're pretty insolent for a girl your age, but I'm not surprised, considering where you live and how you've been brought up. We'll tolerate each other and do what we have to do, but the day this baby is born, that's the day you leave this house and my life," she declared.

"Madame," I said. "That's the first real thing we agree about."

It seemed all the blood in her body rushed to her face. She jerked up her shoulders and straightened her back. For a moment she simply glared at me. Then she turned and went to the door.

"Remember all I have said," she ordered, and left, closing the door softly behind her. I heard her tiptoe down the stairs and go out the second door. But then I heard her insert the key and turn the lock.

Now I was alone.

I gazed about my new world. I felt like Alice but in a stranger wonderland. The diminutive furniture, the faded walls, the dusty dolls, made it all seem unreal, dreamlike. I had been deposited in Gladys Tate's past, a past obviously rarely visited, a past draped in cobwebs and filled with discarded memories. It was as if I had fallen into someone else's nightmare.

The dolls glared down at me with distrust. The thick shadows cast by the lantern danced with the flicker of the flame. Below me and even above me, the great house creaked. I was afraid to move, afraid that if I made the slightest sound, Gladys would come rushing back upstairs to order me out of the house. But I took off my moccasins and rose slowly to go to the window and raise the shade a few inches. A slight breeze flowed through and I caught the lovely scent of blooming jasmine. When I peeked out, I saw the darkness and the cypress and oak trees silhouetted like sentinels against the still purple-black night sky.

I unpacked my bag, setting Mama and Daddy's picture on the tiny dresser along with my combs and brushes, and the small statue of Saint Medad. Then I took off my dress and underthings and put on my nightgown.

There was nothing to do but put out the light and crawl into bed. I said my prayers and lay there with my eyes open, staring into the darkness. I envisioned Mama miles away getting ready for bed herself, hiding her tears from Daddy, maybe gazing into my empty room and feeling the emptiness in her heart.

I felt that same emptiness now.

And then, for the first time since all this had begun, I thought about the baby forming inside me. Was it a girl or a boy and how would he or she like living under this roof'? How would Gladys Tate really treat the child? Would she be cruel to him or her or would she really accept the baby as her own and find a place in her heart for the infant? It would be horrid to learn she mistreated the baby. Right now she seemed capable of taking her vengeance out on anyone or anything, and yet . . .

And yet, I had this abiding faith, this deep-set belief that she somehow saw me as a necessary evil, a temporary place of incubation for her own long-sought-after child. She was hard and filled her sentences with threats, but surely she wanted it all to go well. I would not be neglected or abused, I thought.

My hope, no, my prayer, was that time would pass quickly and I would go home to the only world I had known and cherished. Just as I closed my eyes, I heard the cry of a night heron. I went to the window and peeked out to see it had landed on the railing outside my window. It turned and looked at me and then lifted its wings as if in greeting and as if to tell me all the animals of the swamp I loved and I believed loved and trusted me were here, watching over me.

The heron lifted off the railing and swooped toward the shadows and trees, its neck bent in that S shape. A moment later it was gone and all was quiet. I returned to the tiny bed, crawling in as quietly as I could, and then I closed my eyes and pretended I was falling asleep in my own room. In the morning Mama would call to me and all this . . .

All this would have just been a nasty dream.