"No. I thought I'd call you first so you could make the arrangements."
"Good. Okay, I'll get right on it. You call her. She was so dead to the world when I rose that I didn't even speak to her," he said.
"I know." It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him why, but I thought Mommy would be devastated if I broke our pact. "I'll call her now."
I phoned and Aubrey answered.
"I have to speak to my mother right away, Aubrey," I said quickly.
"Madame has left the house," he said.
I glanced at my watch. She had said she wasn't coming to the hospital until after lunch. "Did she say where she was going?"
"No, mademoiselle. She just said good-bye to everyone and left."
"Said good-bye? How do you mean?"
"She made it a point to see every servant before leaving," he said, obviously confused by Mommy's behavior. My heart began to pitter-patter. Where had she gone? What was she doing? I was wrong to leave her and to make such promises, I told myself.
"Did she receive any phone calls this morning or any visitors, Aubrey?"
"None that I know of, mademoiselle."
"Did she take anything with her when she left?" He hesitated. I knew he didn't like reporting or seeming like a spy. "It's all right, Aubrey. Mommy has been troubled since Jean's passing and isn't herself. I have to know."
He was silent for a moment and then began. "The only reason I know this is because Margaret was confused and mentioned it to me, mademoiselle."
"You know what, Aubrey?" I demanded with impatience.
"Madame was searching for something in your brother Jean's dresser. She pulled all of the drawers out and spilled the contents on the floor, and then she took down the picture of the twins that hung above Monsieur Andreas's desk and . . ." He paused. "And?"
"She cut your brother Jean out of it and left the other half, and then she left the house with only a small satchel."
I sensed from the way his words hung in the air that there was something more. "What else Aubrey?" I asked, my teeth practically chattering in anticipation.
"She didn't take the car, mademoiselle. She simply walked away."
"No one came to pick her up, not a taxi, nothing?"
"Not that I saw, mademoiselle."
"You saw her walk away from the house?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. She never looked back. Is there something you wish me to do?"
"No, Aubrey. Nothing now," I said, the tears filling my eyes. "I'll be home soon." I said good-bye, then cradled the receiver and stood there, a stone-cold numbness creeping up my legs. Where was Mommy going? Whatstrange ritual was she off to perform now? A chill embraced me, and I crossed my arms over my breasts.
"Hi, Pearl." I turned to see Sophie. "I just stopped at your brother's room, and the nurse told me you were still here. I heard the wonderful news. The doctor's sending him home, huh?"
"Yes," I said, trying to smile.
Sophie needed only one look at my eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Why aren't you happy about it?"
"Oh, Sophie, it's not my brother; it's my mother," I cried and threw myself into her comforting arms.
After I calmed down, I tried to call Daddy, but he had already left his office. I went straight home, hoping Mommy had returned, but Aubrey shook his head glumly when I asked, his hazel eyes full of worry. He had instructed the maid to put Jean's room back in order and refold his clothing. The dresser drawers in her own room were still open and had also been rifled, but I could find no clues as to what she had taken, what she was up to, or where she had gone. The sight of the torn picture of the twins put a chill in my heart. She had ripped Jean away from Pierre just as death had, and although I knew that pictures couldn't change expression, Pierre seemed to be gazing out with forlorn eyes.
I wandered down to Mommy's studio and looked at the eerie picture she had been painting. It was completed now. To me it looked like Jean's soul was fleeing Uncle Paul's floating body. When I looked closely, I saw she had made Uncle Paul's body look like a snake's. Farther away in the canal, nearly hidden by the draping Spanish moss, was a tiny face that resembled Mommy's. Surely this whole scene had come right out of one of her horrid dreams, I thought. I covered the picture and returned to the sitting room. Aubrey came to tell me Daddy had arrived and had immediately gone upstairs, thinking I was in my room. I hurried up to him.
"Where's Ruby?" he asked emerging from the master bedroom.
"Oh, Daddy, didn't Aubrey say anything?" "Say anything about what?"
"She's gone. She took something from Jean's dresser, tore off his picture from the portrait of the twins in your office, and left carrying a small satchel."
"Where did she go?"
"I don't know," I moaned and sat down on a hallway bench.
"What are you saying, Pearl? What's going on?" "I didn't get a chance to tell you because you were gone by the time I went down to breakfast this morning, but Mommy left the house last night while you were asleep. She went to Nina Jackson's tomb, where she met with that voodoo lady. She had wanted me to go along with her, but I refused and got her to say she wasn't going. But she went anyway. I went looking for her and found her there,"
"All this went on last night?" he cried in disbelief. "Why didn't I--"
"I tried to wake you, Daddy," I wailed.
He stared at me a moment and then shook his head. "I'm sure you tried. I seem to be letting everyone down lately," he said.
"She made me promise not to tell you, but I was going to tell you anyway," I said and wiped away a fugitive tear. "Only I waited too long. I forgot about it when I arrived at the hospital and saw Pierre's progress and spoke with the doctor. I got so excited. I should have told you when we spoke."
"It's all right, Pearl," Daddy said, coming to me. "It's not your fault. I should have heard or seen her leave last night. I shouldn't have drunk myself to sleep. This hasn't been easy for any of us. I know she's been acting strange, those damn supernatural beliefs," he muttered. "I should be paying her more attention. Where do you think she's gone?"
I swallowed and thought. "Maybe back to Nina Jackson's sister's house. That's where it all started."
"Right. Do you remember the address?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Then we'd better go looking for her."
I nodded and took a deep breath. "What about Pierre?" I asked.
"I've already arranged for the nurse. She'll be here by five. We can pick Pierre up after we locate your mother. Let's go."
"I'll get something for Pierre to wear," I said. After I did so, we hurried down the stairs.
On the way to Nina Jackson's sister's house, I told Daddy about the ritual Mommy had performed the night before and how she kept saying she knew what she had to do now. "She claimed Nina had spoken to her through the black cat."
"These people should be arrested and shipped out of here," Daddy complained. "They cause more trouble . . . but then again, your mother was brought up believing in a lot of this--faith healers, evil spirits, protecting your home with candles and statues of saints. It's the age of interactive television, and these people are still living in the fifteenth century," he said shaking his head.
"Look at this place," he muttered when we arrived. "Who in her right mind would want to go in there: feathers dangling, bones clinking, powder on the steps to ward off evil. Are we in the twentieth century?" Daddy cried, his face crimson with anger and frustration.
I put my hand on his shoulder, and he took a deep breath and calmed down.
"Let's go get your mother and take her home," he said in a tired voice.
We went to the front door and knocked. Daddy's Rolls-Royce had drawn the attention of some neighbors who stood outside their homes watching. Daddy knocked again, more vigorously this time.
Nina Jackson's sister finally came to the door wearing a tattered robe. She was barefoot, and her hair was dripping wet. Daddy's mouth fell open.
"Hello," I said quickly. "We're sorry to bother you,
but maybe you remember me. I'm--"
"You be Ruby's girl. You came here to see Nina."
"Yes," I said.
"Is my wife here?" Daddy demanded. She shook her head.
"Are you sure?"
"No one be here. I be protecting myself against being crossed. I take a bath of garlic, sage, thyme, geranium water, dry basil, parsley, and five cents' worth of saltpeter," she explained proudly. Then she leaned toward me. "Since Nina's death, some folks think her spirit go haunting them, so they try to get even by putting a curse on my steps. But," she said, pulling her shoulders back, "I stop that."
"Have you seen my wife?" Daddy asked impatiently.
Nina's sister shook her head. "She be gone away?"
"Yes, and we're very worried about her," I said. Nina's sister thought a moment. "If she run away, best you burn some of her clothes in gasoline with chicken droppings."
"Oh for God's sake," Daddy moaned, "let's get out of here."
"She went to the cemetery to speak with Nina last night," I said quickly. "Why would she go away today?"
"Oh. That be different. She must be carrying some kind of curse and Nina tell her how to fix it."
"But where would she go?" I said.
"Wherever she think the curse first start," Nina's sister replied. "She got to meet the devil man at the door and slam it shut in his face. That's what Nina would tell her."
"Satisfied?" Daddy said. "We're no better off than we were. Let's go, honey."
"Wait," Nina's sister said. "Don't you move your toes." She went into the house and quickly returned to press something in my hands.
"What is this?" I asked. It looked like a marble embedded in silver.
"Eye of a black cat killed at midnight. When you be lost in the dark, it will be your eye and show you the light," she said.
"A real eye?" I started to open my hand, but she closed my fingers over it again.
"Don't be 'fraid. Go on. Find your mother."
I swallowed back a throat lump and shoved the eye into my pocket. Then I thanked her, and Daddy and I returned to the car.
"Was this a wasted trip or what?" he said, pulling away.
"But where is she then, Daddy?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure she'll come home soon, and when she finds Pierre there, she'll be too busy to dwell on this stupidity," he said.
I hoped he was right, but I didn't have much faith.
We went directly to the hospital to take Pierre home. If he had any inkling he was being brought home, he didn't show it. He sat as stiff as always and stared blankly ahead. However, the nurse said he had eaten some more food and was sipping juice through a straw now.
"That's wonderful," Daddy said. He turned to Pierre. "Hey, buddy, ready to come home?"
Pierre blinked, but didn't respond. Daddy ran his hand through Pierre's hair the way he had so many times before, and then we got him dressed and transferred to a wheelchair. The nurse let me wheel him out and down to the door while Daddy signed all the papers. Daddy tried to get Pierre to stand, but his legs were like sticks of butter. He had to carry him to the car and slip him into the back seat. I sat beside Pierre and we headed for home.
"It will be good to be back in your own room, Pierre," I told him, "and eating Milly's cooking instead of hospital food."
"And you'll be able to go outside, too," Daddy added. "All of your buddies have been calling and asking about you, Pierre."
He didn't respond to any of this, but his eyes moved from side to side, and I was sure he was wondering about Mommy.
"Mommy can't wait to see you, Pierre," I said. "She's out getting things for you."
Daddy said nothing.
When we arrived at the house, Aubrey came out to help and to introduce Pierre's nurse, Mrs. Hockingheimer, a short, stout woman of about fifty with light brown hair cut so straight it looked as if it had been ironed down to her jawbone and over the back of her neck. But she had pleasant green eyes and a soft, gentle smile that immediately put me at ease. As soon as we were all introduced, the first question on my lips for Aubrey was "Did Mommy return?"
Aubrey glanced quickly at Daddy and then shook his head.
"Did she call?"
"No, mademoiselle."
"Let's just get Pierre up to his room," Daddy said angrily. "Then we'll worry about your mother."
He carried...Pierre into the house and up the stairs, with Mrs. Hockingheimer following. She got Pierre dressed in his pajamas and comfortably settled in his bed. She already had provided something cold for him to drink. Pierre must have felt comfortable with her, because he let her give him a glass with a straw in it and started to drink when she asked him to. His eyes continued to shift from our faces to the doorway, anticipating Mommy's entrance. Daddy and I looked at each other, and then he signaled for us to leave.
"We told her Pierre had made some improvements," he reminded me. "Why wasn't she at the hospital today instead of gallivanting about with these voodoo women? I'd better start making phone calls to see if any of her friends or acquaintances have seen her today," he said and went to his office.
Later he came to tell me no one had seen or heard from her. "It's as if she stepped off the face of the earth," he added, now more concerned than angry. It was getting later and later, and the twilight was already turning the shadows in our gardens darker and making the streetlights come on.
"What should we do, Daddy? Should we call the police?"
"And tell them what? That my wife is out performing voodoo rituals somewhere? She's an adult, Pearl. I can't ask them to find her."
"But she's not thinking clearly, Daddy. Maybe she's wandering about confused."
He gazed out the window. Night was waving its wand of darkness over the world around us. "Maybe she'll come to her senses soon and return or at least call and tell us where she is," he said. He looked up at me with desperation and held out his arms. "I don't know what else to do, honey. We've got a little boy upstairs, who desperately needs his mother and she doesn't even know he's home from the hospital."
"Maybe that's where she'll go, Daddy," I said hopefully. "Then she'll come home quickly."
"Maybe, but she obviously hasn't gone there yet." He reached for his bottle of bourbon.
"Daddy, please don't drink too much tonight."
He hesitated and nodded. "You're right. I'd better stay alert. Who knows what will happen next?" he said, which put the pitter-patter in my chest and turned my legs to cold stone.
Another hour passed. Mrs. Hockingheimer tried to feed Pierre, but he was reluctant to open his mouth. I knew why. He wanted his mother. I stayed away from his room, not knowing what white lie to tell.
Daddy and I tried to eat a little, but neither of us had much of an appetite. We talked and waited and shifted our eyes from the clock to the door. Every gong of the grandfather clock was like a punch in the stomach. After dinner we went up to visit with Pierre. Mrs. Hockingheimer must have been wondering where Mommy was too, but she was too polite to inquire. She stepped out of the room while Daddy and I tried to talk to Pierre about everything else. Every once in a while, his eyes shifted back to the door until finally a single tear crawled over his right eyelid, and his lips began to move.
"Mom . . . Mommy . ." he said.
"Mon Dieu," Daddy said, bouncing up. "I can't stand this any longer." He charged out of the room and down the stairs.
I turned back to Pierre and took his hand into mine. "Mommy's very troubled and confused by what has happened, Pierre. She's trying to find the answers, but she loves you very much and wants to do something to help make you better quickly. She'll be here as soon as she can. You'll see," I promised, and then I kissed his cheek.
"Mom . . . Mommy," he repeated. He closed his eyes.
Mrs. Hockingheimer returned and examined him when she saw the concern on my face. "He's just exhausted," she said. "For him in his fragile state, being brought out of the hospital and set up here was a major effort."
I nodded and rose as she
helped Pierre lean back on his pillow. It looked as if he had fallen asleep. In this case, I thought, that was a blessing.
I went downstairs to look for Daddy and found him pacing back and forth in his study and gulping from a tumbler of bourbon. He was muttering to himself. "What right has she to do this? Why isn't she thinking of Pierre, if not of me? And Pearl. We have a family to protect, a little boy to heal. How could she do this?"
"Daddy, don't. . ."
He paused and looked at me, blinking madly.
Suddenly he tilted his head as if he had just heard something no one else could hear.
"Oh, Pearl," he said in a hoarse whisper.
"What is it, Daddy?"
"I don't think . . ."
"What, Daddy? What don't you think?"
"I don't think she's ever coming back," he said.
8
A Letter Comes
.
I sat by the front window and waited, my eyes
constantly searching the street for signs of Mommy. Daddy's words had put butterflies in my stomach. They fluttered in a frenzy and crawled through my chest. My heart felt like a lead fist pounding my blood through my veins. The grandfather clock bonged; Aubrey turned down the lights and the traffic outside all but disappeared. Still there was no sign of Mommy. Daddy made a few more phone calls, all dead ends. He came to the doorway occasionally and we exchanged looks of futility.
"Did you look in on Pierre?" he asked after a deep and long sigh.
"Yes. He's asleep. He barely ate."
Daddy nodded, looked at his watch, and then returned to his study, where I knew he was drinking himself into a stupor.
Finally, a little after nine-thirty, I saw a figure cross the street and approach our gate. When she stepped into the light, however, I realized it wasn't Mommy. It was a very tall, thin black girl in a long black skirt and a gray sweatshirt. When she headed for our front door, I rose in anticipation, but Aubrey was there before me to answer the bell. I think he was just as nervous as I was about Mommy's
disappearance. Daddy either hadn't heard the bell or was too unsteady now to come out to see who it was.
"Yes?" Aubrey asked.
"I have a letter to deliver, sir," the girl replied with a French accent. "I was told to put it directly into the hands of Mademoiselle Pearl or Monsieur Andreas," she added firmly.