Hidden Jewel

  "You be Nina's Ruby," she said.

  "Yes," Mommy said. "Are you Nina's sister?" The woman nodded and glanced at the body of Nina Jackson. Her face looked waxen, like a mask. I hadn't seen them at first, because my eyes were blinded by the glow of the candles, but at the foot of the bed were two cats, a black one and, on its left, a white. They were both dead, preserved by a taxidermist. Above the headboard dangled a black doll wearing a brightly colored dress and a necklace of snake vertebrae, from which hung an alligator's fang encased in silver.

  "My sister couldn't wait no more," the woman said. "I'm sorry," Mommy said, moving to the side of the bed. I was right beside her. "Poor Nina."

  "She be rich Nina now," the sister said quickly.

  "She be with zombie."

  "Yes," Mommy said, smiling. She sucked in her breath and sighed before reaching out to touch Nina's hand. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer and then looked at Nina's sister. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

  "No, madame. Nina called for you because she wanted to do something for you. Before he took her, zombie told her something. Before she go for good she say, go fetch Madame Andreas. Bring her to me. I got to tell her what zombie let me know. But you don't come, and she couldn't wait no longer, see?"

  Mommy made a tiny cry. I took her hand. "Did she tell you anything?"

  "No, no. Nina can tell such a thing only to you. All she do is tell me get you fast, and then she asked if you be here and I said no. A while later she asked again, and again I say no. Then I heard her mumble a prayer. I seen her take her last breath and when I look closely, I see she died with a tear in her eye. That bode no good omen.

  "You go pray now, madame. You go pray for Nina's voice. Maybe best you go to cemetery at midnight. Bring a black cat. Nina maybe speak from beyond through the cat's mouth."

  The drumming got louder.

  "Mommy, let's go," I whispered, feeling a chill in my spine. She looked transfixed, her eyes frozen in fear. "The taxi."

  She took another deep breath and then opened her purse and took out some money. "Please, take this and buy what you need for Nina's burial," she said. Nina's sister took the money. Mommy looked at Nina again and turned to leave.

  "You better go to the cemetery at midnight," Nina's sister called after us.

  Mommy was silent most of the way home. She stared out the window until we were nearly there. Then she turned and mumbled, "I should have gone immediately. I knew it. I should have just gone to her."

  "But, Mom.tny, how could you? All those people had come to see you."

  "None of that mattered as much. I know Nina wouldn't have sent for me if it hadn't been important," she said, shaking her head.

  "Mommy, you don't really believe all that; you don't really believe Nina went to the land of the dead and returned to tell you something, do you?"

  She was silent.

  "Mommy?"

  "I remember once going with Grandmere Catherine to drive away a couchemal," she said, "an evil spirit that lurks about when an unbaptized baby dies. She was called to drive it away so it wouldn't bring the family bad luck."

  "How did she do that?" I asked.

  "She put a drop of holy water in every pot, every cistern, anything that could hold water. We went around the house searching and while we she was depositing the holy water . . ."

  "What?" I asked when she hesitated.

  "I felt it. I felt the spirit," she whispered. "It flew past me, touched my face, and disappeared into the night."

  I swallowed back my gasp.

  "I don't mock anyone's beliefs," she said, "and I don't challenge the charms, the gris-gris, or the rituals. I don't want to believe in most of it, but sometimes . . . sometimes I can't help it. It fills my stomach with butterflies."

  I embraced her; she was shivering. "Oh, Mommy, those are just foolish old superstitions. People make them up. You can't believe anything bad will happen because you didn't get to see Nina in time."

  "I hope not," she said, shaking her head. "I hope not."

  Daddy and the boys were home when we arrived. He had sent the twins to bed, but fifteen minutes later they were both complaining of stomachaches. "Which doesn't surprise me one bit, considering what they gobbled down tonight." He paused and looked hard at Mommy. "What's wrong? Nina died?"

  "Yes, Beau. She died before I got there."

  "I'm sorry," he said. "She was quite a character, Nina. I remember how well she dealt with Gisselle. She was the only one who could get her to do as she was told. I think Gisselle was a little afraid of Nina, even though she mocked her and her voodoo."

  "Her sister said that Nina had something important to tell me, Beau."

  Daddy looked at her. "Something about what?" "Something she learned in the other world," Mommy blurted.

  At first Daddy just stared. Then his mouth dropped. "You don't mean to tell me you believe Nina came back from the dead to tell you something?" Mommy nodded. "Mon Dieu, Ruby. A woman with your intelligence and--"

  "It has nothing to do with intelligence, Beau."

  Daddy clamped his lips shut. He and Mommy had had arguments about this before, and he knew how firmly she held on to her old beliefs.

  "I'm tired," he said. "I'm going up to bed. Oh," he added turning at the stairway, "Bertrand from the gallery said seventy percent of your work has been sold--a record for an opening. Congratulations." He started up the stairs.

  Mommy sighed. "What a night. I should be happy, but long ago I learned that for every ray of sunshine, there's a shadow lurking. We've just got to balance ourselves between them, I suppose." She smiled at me. "Thanks for being at my side and being my comfort"

  We hugged.

  "I better go up and see how the boys are doing. I might have to use one of Grandmere Catherine's herbal recipes," she said.

  When the boys set eyes on her, they're begging for attention. "It's no use bawling them out tonight," Mommy said, coming out of their room. "They're both too green to hear a word."

  Mommy went down to prepare the old tried and true remedy, and I went to bed. However, as soon as I closed my eyes, I saw the hundred candles and heard the dreary drumbeat. Later I had a horrible nightmare in which Nina sat up on her deathbed and turned to me. She opened her eyes, and they were yellow. Instead of tears, hot wax streamed from under her eyelids and hardened on her cheeks. When she opened her mouth to speak, all I heard was Mommy's voice screaming "N0000!" I woke with a start. I was about to get up for a drink of water when I heard footsteps and sobbing in the hallway. I waited and then peered out. Mommy was descending the stairway. I saw her go out a patio door. She appeared to be sleepwalking.

  I put on my robe and followed. At first I didn't see her. Then I caught her silhouette in the garden shadows. "Mommy," I whispered, "why are you out here?"

  She didn't hear me, so I drew closer and asked again.

  "Oh, Pearl," she replied in a voice drawn from a well of sadness. "I was hoping Nina would speak to me in the darkness. Don't tell Daddy I came out here," she pleaded. I took her hand. Her skin felt clammy and cold.

  "You better go back to bed, Mommy, and stop this worrying."

  "I can't. Something's going to happen because of some bad luck my past actions have brought into our home. Nina wanted to warn me, I'm sure."

  "That's silly, Mommy, and you know it is. Things happen for logical, natural reasons only."

  She sighed deeply. "I don't know," she muttered. "I don't know."

  "Well, I do," I said firmly. "Now come back in and go to bed or I will tell Daddy."

  She started back to the house with me and then stopped and seized my hand in a desperate grip. "Did you hear that?" she asked, softly.

  I listened, but heard nothing unusual. "Hear what, Mommy?"

  "The sound of someone sobbing. I heard it before, too," she said.

  "Wasn't that you?" I asked.

  Her eyes widened. "Then you heard it too!" she said quickly.

  "Stop it, Mommy. You're scaring m
e."

  We both listened a moment longer.

  "I don't hear anything," I declared.

  She shook her head and walked back to the house with me. We both returned to our bedrooms, but I didn't fall asleep until nearly morning.

  Mommy didn't come down to breakfast the next morning before I left for work. Daddy said she had spent a restless night and was still sound asleep. In fact, despite the wonderful reception her new works had received, Mommy remained in a melancholy state for days. The twins were usually there at the door complaining when I returned from work.

  "Mommy's losing her hearing," Pierre concluded. Jean, nodded worriedly. "She should go to an ear doctor."

  "Maybe you can test her hearing, Pearl," Jean said. "Why do you say she's losing her hearing?" I asked with a smile.

  "If we ask her a question, we have to ask her twice, maybe three times," Pierre explained.

  "Sometimes we have to shout!" Jean added. "She's a bit distracted these days," I told them. "It's not her hearing. Just be patient."

  They shook their heads skeptically and went back to their games. But the mood of despair that had laid itself over our home depressed them. They had no enthusiasm for their pranks. Daddy began to worry about Mommy, too. She wasn't working; she didn't visit with her friends or have any visitors, and she wasn't eating well. Finally, one night at dinner, my father thought he had a solution.

  "Pearl has Monday and Tuesday off this next week and I'm due for a holiday. What say we go to the chateau, this weekend, Ruby? The change of scenery will do you good. You can get some ideas for your work, and the boys and I can go fishing."

  "Yeah!" Jean cried.

  "I don't know," Mommy said. Daddy looked to me for help.

  "I'd love a change of scenery, Mommy, and we haven't been to the chateau for quite a while," I said. "I can get some of my college preparatory reading done, too."

  She looked at me and nodded. "I suppose we could go," she said.

  The boys were cheered, and the packing and planning did add some brightness to what had otherwise been a dark time. Despite her initial reluctance, Mommy dived into the preparations. No one had to wake the boys the next morning. They were already dressed and ready by the time Mommy, Daddy, and I went downstairs for breakfast. They had packed their own suitcases, but when Mommy inspected them, she discovered they had included slingshots, baseballs, shedded snakeskins, marbles, and jackknives.

  "You'll have plenty with which to occupy yourselves at the chateau," Mommy told them. "No need to bring all this junk."

  Daddy packed the car immediately after breakfast. I think he was even more excited than the twins about taking the holiday. As usual the twins talked a blue streak during the drive, asking questions about practically everything in sight. What were people selling on the sides of the highway? How did they make those baskets and palmetto hats? Why were the shacks built on stilts? Mommy had little time to dwell on her dark thoughts, so even though Daddy normally would have asked the twins to take a break, he simply smiled at me, winked, and let the questions go on and on.

  It was a beautiful summer day. Bringing Mommy out to the rural world appeared to be the panacea Daddy and I were hoping for. The sight of her beloved Spanish moss draped from old cypress trees, the glistening goldenrod, the willows and cottonwoods, and here and there a pond covered with lilies and hyacinths filled her with pleasure and restored the glow to her eyes and cheeks. The twins loved to test her knowledge of birds, and she was more than eager to identify a grosbeak heron or a scarlet cardinal. They were fascinated by her description of a butcher bird and how it stored its food on thorns so it could eat the cured flesh during the winter. Everything about nature fascinated them. I decided they were the ones who had really inherited our grandmother's affinity for wild things.

  "I hope we see snakes and alligators," Jean said as we drew closer to what had been the Dumas family's country home.

  "Never mind about them," Mommy warned. "You two mustn't wander off exploring on your own. I want you close to the house except when Daddy takes you, hear?"

  Reluctantly, they promised.

  "There she blows," Daddy cried as we came around a turn and our country house came into view.

  The building that my grandfather Dumas used to refer to as his ranch actually resembled a chateau. It had a steeply pitched hipped roof with spires, pinnacles, turrets, gables, and two oddly shaped chimneys. The metal cresting along the roof's ridges was elaborately ornamented. The windows and the doorway were arched. To the right were two small cottages for the servants and caretakers, and to the right, some thousand yards or so away, were the stables with the riding horses and a barn. The property had rambling fields with patches of wooded areas and a stream cutting across its north end.

  Like some of the chateaux in the French countryside, it had beautiful gardens, and two gazebos stood on the front lawn, as did benches and chairs and stone fountains. When we arrived, the caretakers were busily trimming hedges and weeding.

  "Can we go horseback riding right away, Daddy?" Jean cried.

  "Let's settle in first, unpack, and get organized. Then we'll see about the recreational schedule," he said.

  The twins put a cork in their overflowing bottle of excitement, but both looked as if they would burst as they feasted their eyes on our beautiful grounds, the ponds, the fields, and the stream that wove its way deep into the woods and promised adventures forever. They started to rush away as soon as Daddy stopped the car, but he hauled them back with a cry.

  "You two help unload. Carry your own suitcases to your room. Come on. You're both big enough to take care of yourselves," he said.

  They returned to the car and took their things, Jean proudly heaving his suitcase over his shoulder and helping Pierre unload his.

  Mommy stood for a moment gazing around. Then she lifted her eyes to look at an upstairs window. Some memory brought shadows to her face. Daddy sensed her concern and moved quickly to her side.

  "Let's have an enjoyable few days and let the past remain buried, Ruby. Please," he pleaded. She nodded, took a deep breath, and started for the front door.

  Except for the inclusion of some of Mommy's paintings, my parents had done little to change the decor. The chateau had a short foyer decorated with drapes and large landscape paintings. The furnishings were a mixture of modern and the same French Provincial found in our New Orleans house.

  After we all settled in, Daddy took the twins fishing, and Mommy and I went into the garden, where I read and Mommy set up her easel. Although we didn't converse much, we sensed and drew from each other's presence. Both reading and working on artistic projects required concentration and solitude. Mommy soon became lost in her project and I in my reading. Before either of us realized it, the afternoon had turned to dusk and we had to go in to prepare for dinner.

  Daddy and the twins returned with their catch. The twins were so excited about the turtles and the other wildlife that they jabbered continuously through dinner. No one else had a chance to get in a word, but their excitement was infectious. All of us felt rejuvenated--Mommy especially. I took charge of getting the twins to bed and left Mommy and Daddy alone to enjoy the warm, star-blazing bayou evening. The twins reluctantly surrendered to sleep only when Daddy promised they could go horseback riding in the morning.

  I enjoyed riding too, so the next morning Mommy went back to her painting while Daddy and I and the twins rode for nearly two hours. After lunch Daddy went up to his room to take a nap, and Mommy and I returned to the garden where she continued to paint and I continued to catch up on my college reading.

  Toward the later part of the afternoon, a wave of dark clouds crept in from the east. The breeze kicked up, and Mommy decided to go inside. The wind played havoc with our hair, my pages, and Mommy's easel and canvas. We both laughed at our struggle to keep control of our possessions. As we packed up Mommy's brushes and paints, canvas, and easel, she suddenly paused, a half smile of confusion on her face. "What's that?" she asked. br />
  I shook my head. "What's what, Mommy?"

  "Didn't you hear it? It sounded like someone screaming." She turned slowly. Daddy had just stepped out of the house and was moving toward us when I heard the screams, too.

  "Pierre," I whispered. I saw him flailing about as he struggled to run through the tall grass. He fell once, and Mommy cried out. Daddy started to run toward him.

  "Pearl," Mommy moaned.

  "It's probably nothing, Mommy," I said and started toward Pierre. But where was Jean? I wondered and felt my heart turn to cold stone when I heard Pierre cry out Jean's name and point to the wooded swamp area behind him. "Snakebite!"

  His words were carried to us on the wind and reached Mommy who had followed behind me. She brought her hands to her cheeks and screamed at the fast-approaching storm clouds.

  "Nina!"

  I stepped back to embrace her just as her legs gave out.

  The thunder seemed to come from both our hearts.

  6

  The Curse Strikes

  .

  The water moccasin is a large poisonous olivebrown viper. Folks in the South often call it a cottonmouth. It coils itself on the lower limbs of willow trees and when it lies in the water, it can look like a broken branch floating.

  Jean had waded into a pond to catch a turtle sleeping between the lily pads. Pierre had warned him not to, but Jean was fascinated. I knew that when Jean fixed his mind on something, he was sometimes like someone hypnotized. He would turn off everything around him and concentrate on what he wanted to do or see or touch. Pierre had remained on the shore screaming at him, but Jean had ignored him.

  When he got too close to the snake, it struck. "I thought it was a branch, Daddy," Pierre moaned. It would be something he would chant in his own mind, for a long time: "I thought it was just a branch."

  Jean was floating face down when Daddy lunged into the water to get to him. He scooped him up, lifting him over his head. I had just arrived at the clearing and saw him rushing from the water as if it were boiling around him. There is nothing more frightening to me than the sound and the sight of a grown man screaming. Daddies aren't supposed to cry. There was no sight more heartrending and terrifying to me at the same time as the sight of my father, petrified at the prospect of losing his son, my brother. Daddy looked as if he had lost all sense of direction; he had lost his wits.