Tarnished Gold

  "I can't ask you to do anything, Pierre. It's enough that you and I have been together while you are married, but I believed you when you said our love is so good and pure, it makes it all right. I wanted to believe you."

  "Don't stop believing that, Gabriel. It's true. It's as true as the morning light and the evening stars." He stepped closer to me. "How can you deny that?"

  "I don't deny it," I said softly.

  "Good. Love me then, Gabriel; love me as purely as I love you and throw caution and

  unhappiness to the wind."

  "Pierre," I said, whispering. He put his hands on my shoulders. I couldn't drive him away; I didn't have the strength. God forgive me, I thought, but I love him more than I love what's logical or right or what's sensible. He kissed me and I kissed him back.

  Instantly his arms were around me. He lifted me to him and held me.

  "I thought I might kill myself," he whispered in my ear between kisses. "I thought I might throw myself into your swamp and let your snakes or alligators feast on my depressed body. It seemed a fit place to die."

  "No, Pierre. Don't think of such a terrible thing."

  "I won't as long as you will hold me and be with me and love me," he said. I promised I would and we kissed again. Then we stepped into his canoe. I lay back and watched him push off and pole us into the darkness.

  The swamp seemed to come alive. It was as if all sound, all life, had been put on hold while we spoke, and now that we were quiet, Nature spoke. She spoke through the owl that hooted from the branch of the pecan tree onshore, the cicadas that raised their voices to drone their nightly symphony, the frogs that croaked at us every inch of the way, and the night heron that called from the darkness.

  We returned to our love nest that night, and together, we burned my letter and watched the flames consume it.

  "Let those dark thoughts evaporate with the smoke," Pierre said, and kissed me.

  I lay back, too emotionally exhausted to resist or even to hesitate. Afterward, he brought me home before Mama returned from her traiteur mission. He told me he had to leave in the morning.

  "I won't be able to return for nearly two weeks because I'm going on a business trip to Texas with my father."

  "I will miss you and count the days until I see you again," I promised.

  "I don't suppose I can come calling on you when I do return. Your mother wouldn't be too happy about that." "No."

  "I expect your father wouldn't be pleased either. But I can't just come by and stand waiting for you to see me, so here's what I'm going to do," he said, and took off the blue silk cravat he had around his neck. "When you find this tied to the northeast post on your dock, you will know I am here and waiting for you. Bring it with you when you come," he said.

  "Someday, somehow," he added with a sigh, "we might not have to be so secretive, but as for now . . ."

  "As for now, let's not think about it," I told him. He smiled and kissed me good night. He waited as I ran up to the house and turned once to wave goodbye. He pushed off into the darkness as was gone, and I went inside.

  As Mama had thought, she had to stay with Nicolette Loomis most of the night and was exhausted herself when she returned just before daybreak. Daddy didn't come home at all until the following afternoon. He made no excuses and Mama didn't ask him for any.

  I said nothing to Mama about Pierre. If she knew anything by reading my face, she didn't reveal it.

  Daddy had two hunting trips that week, and Mama and I were busy making food and selling our wares.

  I went to town on an errand the following Saturday and spotted the Tates' automobile in front of the dry goods store. Neither Gladys or Octavious seemed to be around, so I wandered up the walk toward the car. When I peered into the rear, I saw the nanny and Paul. He smiled at me and I smiled back, but I moved away quickly when I thought Gladys Tate was returning. Even so, I had a long enough look at Paul to see how he had grown, how bright his eyes were and how beautiful he was.

  Mama sensed a lightness in my gait and a contentment in my smile during those days. I could see it in the way she looked at me from time to time, but she didn't ask me anything, nor reveal she suspected anything. I was spending almost all my time working beside her or taking my walks in the swamp alone. I helped Daddy, too.

  I hated being deceitful and secretive, but I told myself this was one of those times when it was better for everyone. I was afraid I was becoming a little like Daddy, who used to say lying and stealing were all right if they were meant to help someone you love or who needs it.

  Mama, of course, accused him of just making up an excuse for his own evil ways.

  "It will all come home to roost and haunt you in your old age, Jack Landry," she predicted. "The ghosts of your sins will be your own company."

  I was terrified, of course, that what she predicted for Daddy would fit my future, too; but every time I entertained a thought to try to end my love for Pierre again, his face, his words, his warm lips, returned to mind and drove those thoughts away, fluttering off like a flock of rice birds spooked by an alligator.

  The weeks passed too slowly, and when the time came for him to be here, I looked eagerly for his blue silk cravat; but every day I looked, I found nothing. I was afraid he had tied it and it had come loose and been carried down the canal, so I even poled up to the Daisys' landing to check, but he wasn't there. Another week passed and I began to grow desperately worried. Had our love affair been discovered and his father forbidden him to see me again? Had Daphne found out and made great trouble between them? Perhaps something happened to him and he was sick or hurt, I thought. It was terrible having to live in ignorance and darkness when it came to him. After another day passed and there was no cravat, I entertained the thought of going to town to use a pay phone and call his residence in New Orleans; but the idea of hearing his wife's voice, or even a maid's or butler's, terrified me. I could get him in trouble, I thought. So I waited, growing sadder and more depressed with every passing hour, much less every passing day.

  I tried to act cheerful whenever I was with Mama or whenever I thought she was watching me, but my face was like a glass pane to her. She finally asked me if I was feeling all right.

  "I'm fine, Mama," I said. I thought quickly and added, "I saw little Paul in town the other day and he smiled at me."

  "Oh," she said, thinking that was it. "Did the Tates . . ."

  "No, I left before either saw me looking at the baby."

  "That's good," Mama said. "We don't need any more turmoil in our lives," she added, raising her eyebrows. "No more, hear, Gabriel?"

  "Yes, Mama."

  I went on about my business. The next morning I found a lark had thatched a nest with goose down, but a family of field mice had made a home beneath it. The lark didn't seem to mind, and the wonder of Nature cheered me up for a while. Then, as I returned home from my walk, I gazed at our dock and saw the blue silk cravat waving in the breeze.

  My love was back.

  My heart was full again.

  13

  Secret Wife

  .

  In the days and weeks that followed, I lived for

  the sight of Pierre's blue silk cravat fluttering in the breeze. It was as if we had our own country, our own world, and the cravat was our flag, hoisted to announce our love. His arrivals were always unexpected, for he never knew exactly when he would be free to come. Sometimes we met in the afternoon, sometimes at night. He never stayed more than two days.

  After a while there was no question that Mama knew, but she said nothing. A few times I caught a glimpse of her crossing herself while she looked at me. She wore that expression she always had when she believed something sad was inevitable or meant to be.

  But these days Mama was distracted by and occupied more with Daddy than with me. Having some success and some money had gone to his head. Mama tried to get him to put something in the bank, but he never trusted banks or bankers. Daddy was suspicious and disdainful of anyone who made
a living with his brain instead of his hands. To him it was just a more elaborate or sophisticated form of a scam that had its roots in the con games and tricks scoundrels employed to tempt hardworking people into investing their money in phony land deals or companies.

  Mama told him if there was anyone who should know about that sort of evil, it was he, since the Landrys had a string of embezzlers, con men, and thieves throughout their family line. Those comments only started new arguments between them. The truth was, Daddy could be as stubborn as Mama, and what he claimed to be true about Cajun women was just as true about Cajun men.

  With money in his pocket, a new truck, and the growing respect of other Cajun trappers and fishermen, Daddy became somewhat arrogant. He bought himself new boots and some new clothes, new knives and fishing poles, and paraded about the old haunts, buying some of his worst drinking buddies jugs of "Good Old Nongela" and rye whiskey, and going off with them to drink and gamble. His stash quickly shrunk and he started in again, day after day, demanding Mama share some of the money he had given her to hold for a rainy day.

  "It's pouring now," he'd complain. "I need it." "If it's raining, it's raining because you brought the storm clouds over yourself, Jack Landry. Stay home nights and think about ways to earn new money, not spend the money we have," she told him. She refused to give him a penny no matter how much he pleaded.

  One night he came home drunk and started to pull the shack apart looking for hidden dollars. Mama was out treating Mrs. Bordeau for gout, and when she returned, she found me hovering in the shadows out front, frightened. She heard the racket coming from inside.

  "What's going on, Gabriel?"

  "Daddy's drunk again, Mama," I wailed. "He came charging into the house, demanding I tell him where you hid money. I told him I didn't know and he started pulling the pots and pans out, throwing them across the kitchen, and nearly hitting me with one. I ran out here to wait. I think he's pulling up

  floorboards now."

  "This is coming to a quick end," she vowed, and charged toward the front door, her tiny body swelling up so that her shoulders rose almost even with her ears. She pulled open the screen door, reached into her basket, and came up with a statue of the Virgin Mary. She held it up in front of herself and walked in, chanting something in French. I heard the racket come to a stop. Mama shrieked something that sounded like voodoo and Daddy came out of the house, his face beet red, his eyes wild. He tripped on the gallery steps and fell. Mama appeared above him and shook a bottle of holy water at him. When the drops hit him, he howled as if he had been scalded. I had never seen anything like it before. He bellowed and crawled away, clawing the air to get to his feet.

  "Don't you come back here, Jack Landry, unless you repent and are sober as a church deacon, hear?" she screamed after him. He practically flew down to the dock and into his canoe, poling off into the night as soon as he was able to push off. Mama sat herself on the gallery top step to catch her breath.

  "He near wrecked our home," she moaned as I approached. "I swear," she said, her eyes full of tears and frustration, "the devil sent him to me as part of his battle against my good works. He's the curse I wear around my neck, and just because I listened first to the woman in me. You hear, Gabriel? You see what comes of paying more attention to this than this?" she said, pointing from her heart to her head.

  "Oui, Mama," I said softly. I knew what she meant, but never in a thousand years would Pierre be anything like Daddy, I thought. His first concern was always my happiness. Whatever brought sadness to me brought sadness to him. There was a great difference. The woman in me hadn't blinded me to that truth. I looked down so Mama couldn't see my defiant eyes. I heard her sigh deeply,

  "Nothing to do but fix up what he broke," she said. "I'll help you, Mama."

  I followed her in, shocked myself at the sight of smashed furniture, torn-out cabinets, ripped-up floorboards, and holes in the walls. We worked until we were both exhausted and had to go to sleep.

  Nearly a week followed before Daddy returned looking meek and repentant. He had a small hunting party to take out, but he got into an argument with one of them before they began and the whole group marched off and drove away, leaving him cursing and spitting on the dock. It was more money lost, and because of his temper too. Mama bawled him out for that and he left in a huff, claiming his woman never took his side.

  "If I had something decent to take, I'd take it!" she shouted after him. He muttered curses and drove away.

  Things between them had never been worse. It saddened me deeply. I was very happy to see Pierre's cravat on the dock post the next day and couldn't wait to get myself up to the Daisy shack.

  Now that we met more often at our love nest, Pierre brought food often and I would make us a romantic dinner. We had wine and bread he had brought from the fancy bakeries in New Orleans. We would eat by candlelight. We didn't have electricity, of course, but Pierre bought a wind-up phonograph and played records. We held each other closely and danced in the shadows and flickering light, his lips against my forehead, my ear against his chest, listening contentedly to the beating of his heart and knowing that it beat with love for me.

  This time when I arrived, Pierre had gifts for me. He had bought me a fancy dress that had a billowing full skirt and he bought me a necklace with matching earrings. He had even bought me matching shoes. I put everything on and felt like I was going to a real ball.

  "It's the latest fashion," he said. "A Dior. Daphne keeps up on those things," he added without thinking. I saw him press his lips together like the farmer who realized too late he had let the horse out of the barn.

  "Does she have a dress like this too, then?" He stared at me. "Does she?"

  "Yes," he admitted, "but despite her expensive hairdressers and makeup, she doesn't look more attractive than you."

  "I doubt that," I said, the magic seeping out of my precious, special moment. "I never wore anything but a little lipstick. Mama says most of it is bad for your skin."

  "And she's right."

  "Why? Does Daphne have bad skin?" I snapped back quickly.

  "She will," he said.

  "The only perfume I've ever owned is the scents Mama concocts with her herbs and plants."

  "And they're ten times better than what Daphne imports from France."

  I shook my head, "I may look like a swamp rat, but I'm not that dumb."

  "You don't look like a swamp rat. I'd match you against the most elegantly dressed debutante in New Orleans," he declared. "And you shouldn't dismiss your simple life out here. To me it looks like an idyllic world when I think of the turmoil, the phoniness, and the deceit I contend with day after day in the supposedly sophisticated city."

  "Some idyllic world," I said, flopping on a chair. "My mother spends all her life helping people fight diseases and pains, bites and poisons, and then comes home to do battle with my drunken father."

  "Why so sad, cherie?" Pierre asked, moving quickly to my side so he could take my hand. "This is not like you, especially when you talk about the bayou."

  "It's Daddy again," I said, and described what he had done to our home and what had happened between him and Mama. "Money has made him worse, not better."

  "I'm sorry. I wish there was a way to take you away and build you a castle someplace where you will always be safe and happy," he told me. He thought a moment. "Maybe I will."

  "Don't be a dreamer, too, Pierre," I warned him. Thanks to Daddy, I knew too well what misery false promises could bring.

  Pierre smiled. "My little old wise woman." He kissed me. "Come. Let's refuse to be sad. Remember our pledge? When we are here, we shut the rest of the world away and live only for ourselves." He put the music on again and held out his arms. "Come to me, Gabriel. Let these arms comfort and protect you forever and ever."

  I softened. "Am I really as pretty as a rich and elegant New Orleans debutante?"

  "They can't touch you. You are fresh and beautiful in ways they couldn't even begin to understand,"
he said. My heart felt full again. He was right, I thought, we must live up to our pledge and think only of ourselves and our own happiness. I rushed into his arms and we danced, had wine and coffee, and then made love as passionately as ever. It seemed we would never grow accustomed to each other, never stop discovering something new and exciting about each other.

  I felt so complete, so full and satisfied, when I went home that night. Mama was already asleep, or at least in bed, and Daddy was nowhere in sight. I moved through the shack as quietly as I could, but the stairs creaked and the floor groaned. When I lay back on my pillow, I thought I heard the sound of Mama weeping. I listened hard and didn't hear it again, but even the thought of such a thing put a sword of ice through me. I felt terribly guilty for being so happy at a time when Mama was so terribly sad.

  In the days that followed, Daddy returned to eking out a small living harvesting oysters and Spanish moss, which was used by furniture

  manufacturers for stuffing chairs and sofas. He trapped muskrats and did some fishing. He seemed angry all the time, and Mama and he said very little to each other. Pierre offered to give me some money for him, but I thought that would only make Mama angrier, and Daddy would only spend it on jugs of whiskey. There was nothing to do but plod on and hope for the best. Mama must have felt the same way. She seemed busier than ever with her traiteur missions.

  One afternoon Pierre arrived earlier than usual and had a basket of food. He thought it would be nice to try a picnic. He asked me if I knew any place in the swamp that was interesting, quiet, secluded. Of course, I thought of my special place, my pond, but that was where Octavious Tate had raped me, and I hadn't been able to go there and swim or sun myself since.

  "There is one place," I said, "but I don't think I can show it to you."

  "Why not?" Pierre asked, and I explained. He listened, his face turning grim and dark.

  "It makes it even worse if you permit what he did to destroy what you had," he said after I finished describing what had happened. "It wasn't Nature's fault, was it?"