Hidden Jewel Page 13

  Sophie stopped in before going on duty, and I thanked her for coming to the funeral. She promised she would peek in on Pierre whenever she could and talk to him, too. I told her he would soon be moved to the psychiatric wing.

  “That’s all right. I’ll get up there, too,” she promised. We hugged, and she went to work. I remained as long as I could, talking to Pierre, pleading, soothing, cajoling him to return to us. Finally, exhausted myself, I went home.

  All of the mourners had gone. The house was dead silent. Aubrey told me Daddy had retreated to his study. I found him sprawled on his leather sofa, mercifully asleep. I put a blanket over him and then went up to see Mommy.

  At first I thought she was asleep too, but she turned her head slowly toward me and opened her eyes like someone who had risen from the grave. She reached out for me, and I hurried to her side and took her hand. We embraced, and then I sat beside her.

  “Where’s your father?” she asked.

  “In his study, asleep.”

  “Did you go to see Pierre?”

  I nodded. “The doctor wants to move him to the psychiatric ward so he can get the kind of treatment he needs,” I told her.

  “Then he’s no better?”

  “Not yet, Mommy. But he will be.”

  She shook her head and looked away. “Don’t think your sins ever go away,” she said. “You confess, you perform penance, you hope for forgiveness, but your sins are indelible. They hover like parasites, waiting for an opportunity to feed on your good fortune.”

  “You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself, Mommy.”

  “Listen to me, Pearl,” she said tightening her grip on my hand. “You’re brighter than I was at your age. You won’t make the same mistakes, and you won’t succumb to your weaknesses. You don’t have the weaknesses I had. And that is good because you don’t just hurt yourself, you hurt those you love and who love you.”

  “Mommy …”

  “No. What could a free, innocent soul like Jean possibly have done to be so punished? This is not his doing. The weight of my sins was placed on him, and he suffered because of that, don’t you see?

  “Nina knew,” she muttered. “Nina knew.”

  I sighed so deeply and loudly that she spun on me.

  “A long time ago I did a bad thing, and I’m not referring to getting pregnant with you. You are too beautiful, too wonderful, to be anything but good; but after you were born, we were alone in the bayou.”

  “You told me this, Mommy. You don’t have to explain.”

  “I want to explain. I need to explain. I didn’t agree to marry your uncle Paul just because your father was off in Europe living the rich young man’s life.”

  “But you thought he had become engaged and there was no hope of you two ever marrying,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, yes, but Paul was my half brother. True, we didn’t learn that truth until we were both teenagers and after Paul had already fallen in love with me, but that didn’t excuse it.”

  “Excuse what, Mommy? Look how we were living when you returned to the bayou. Why shouldn’t you have agreed to live at Cyprus Woods? You said every-one thought I was his child anyway.”

  “Yes, they did, and he did little to convince them otherwise.”

  “Why are you telling me all this again?”

  “Because I gave in to him and let him talk me into marrying him. We actually were married by a priest.”

  “But you told me that was just a marriage of convenience, that you and Paul were like roommates.”

  “Not always,” she said. “There was a time when we pretended we were other people, people from the past, and … I sinned.

  “I didn’t do penance; I didn’t ask forgiveness. I pretended it didn’t happen, but the sin was part of my shadow and followed me from the bayou. Slowly that shadow moved over this house and this family until it claimed my poor Jean.”

  “Oh, Mommy, no,” I said. I shook my head. It hurt me to learn this, but I couldn’t believe God would punish Jean for Mommy’s sin.

  She closed her eyes. “I’m so tired, but I don’t sleep. I see only Jean’s face, see only Beau rushing from the swamp with him in his arms. And when I looked back, I saw that shadow smiling triumphantly at me.”

  She opened her eyes and seized my hand. “Jean is still here, still with us, still in this house. I want you to go back to Nina’s house and see her sister. I want you to tell her what’s happened and get her to bring the right charms here.”

  “Mommy, you’re talking nonsense. Daddy wouldn’t let us bring charms into this house anyway.”

  “You’ve got to do it, Pearl,” she said, her eyes wide. “Will you promise?” she demanded. I saw she wouldn’t rest until she had my word.

  “Okay, Mommy. I promise.”

  “Good. Good,” she said, releasing my hand and closing her eyes again. “Now I can sleep.”

  I sat there for a while staring at her until her breathing became slow and regular. Then I got up quietly and slipped from her room, thinking about the heavy burden of guilt Mommy had kept buried in the vault of her memory. Surely it had weighed down her heart before, but she had been able to pretend it had never happened. She had been lonely and afraid, I told myself. Everyone she loved but Paul had deserted her. I could never blame her for anything evil. Never.

  Mommy was like an invalid for the next few days, never leaving her room, getting up only to bathe and change her nightgown. Daddy and I visited Pierre often in the psychiatric ward. Daddy did a little work, but by early evening, he was usually in his study drinking bourbon to help him sleep.

  One afternoon about four days later, I went to the hospital first. I started talking to Pierre the same way I always did: first reviewing the things that had happened at the house, the people who called, the friends of Pierre’s and Jean’s who had asked about him. I talked and talked and stroked his hand and kissed his cheek and told him how much Mommy needed him. And then the nurse’s aide brought in some juice and as usual, I tried to get Pierre to take something by mouth.

  It looked as if I would fail as I had so many times before, when suddenly his lips opened and his clenched teeth unlocked. Excited, I started to feed him the juice in tiny increments. He took some on his tongue, and then he swallowed and took some more.

  “That’s good, Pierre. That’s wonderful. We’ll get you off this I.V.”

  I rushed out to tell the nurse, who called Dr. LeFevre. By the time Daddy arrived, Pierre had drunk most of the juice. He wasn’t speaking and he wasn’t moving, but at least there had been this small change.

  Daddy was overjoyed. “We’ve got to get home to tell Ruby. Maybe now she’ll get up and come to see him,” he said.

  We hurried home; a shaft of bright light and hope had finally pierced the dark clouds over us. When we pulled into our driveway, we saw a tall, slim black woman leaving the house. She wore a long red skirt, sandals, and a bone-white blouse. Her bracelets were made of animal bones, and her dangling earrings were silver embedded with what looked like cats’ eyes. She glanced our way, but didn’t pause. I saw she had a scar across her right cheek with a triangular cut at the top end of it right beneath her sharp cheekbone.

  “Who the hell is that?” Daddy muttered.

  The woman disappeared around our gate. We hurried inside and up the stairs. Mommy wasn’t in the bedroom, but a can of brimstone was burning on each nightstand. The scent of sulfur permeated the air.

  “What the …” Daddy snuffed them out quickly. “Where is she? What is she doing?”

  “Don’t yell at her, Daddy,” I warned. “She’s—”

  “I know what she’s doing. I know exactly what she’s doing,” he said and left the room. I followed him downstairs. Mommy wasn’t in the sitting rooms, the study, or the kitchen. We finally found her in her studio. She was sketching on an easel, but on either side of her burned a blue candle.

  “Ruby,” Daddy said and she turned slowly.

  “Hello, Beau.”

  �
�What was that woman doing here? Why were you burning that stuff in our bedroom? And what is this with these candles?”

  “I had to get us some good gris-gris and fight back, Beau. Don’t be angry. I feel safe again. I’ll start to work, too.” She smiled at me, but I thought it was a strange smile, the smile of someone who was under a spell. Like Daddy, I wondered what that voodoo woman had done.

  “I can’t believe this,” Daddy said. “Stinking up our bedroom …” He shook his head and then remembered why we had rushed home. “Anyway, we’ve got some good news. Pearl got Pierre to drink some juice.”

  Mommy just stared at him, that same strange smile frozen on her lips.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said, Ruby? Pierre has drunk some juice. Perhaps he can be taken off the I.V. soon. There’s light at the end of the tunnel,” Daddy said, obviously annoyed that Mommy remained so unanimated.

  “Of course there is, Beau,” she finally said. “I knew it. It’s because of what the voodoo mama did here. Don’t you see? Nina’s going to help us … from beyond.” She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. “She’s going to help us.”

  “Mon Dieu,” Daddy said. “I can’t believe this. Don’t you want me to take you right over to see Pierre?”

  “Not yet, Beau. I’m not ready yet. Soon.”

  “I give up.” Daddy threw up his hands. “You talk to her, Pearl. Maybe you can get her to regain her senses so she can visit her son and not act like a lunatic,” he cried and left the studio.

  “Beau’s always been so skeptical,” Mommy said. “But he’ll change.” She turned back to her sketch.

  “Mommy,” I said, going to her. “You can’t bury yourself in these rituals and charms now. You’ve got to come with me to see Pierre.”

  “Not yet,” she said. “There are still some things to be done. Otherwise I’ll only bring him bad luck. He’ll understand. Later I’ll make him understand. You see I’m right, don’t you, honey?”

  I said nothing. I gazed at the sketch Mommy was doing. She was drawing Jean floating in the swamp. “Mommy …”

  She continued her work as if I weren’t standing there. After a while I started to turn away, but she sensed it and reached for my hand. “You’ve got to do something with me, Pearl. We’ve got to do it tonight. Only you must not tell your father. I know he’ll try to stop us; he just doesn’t understand.”

  “What, Mommy?”

  “We’ve got to go to the cemetery at midnight. Mama Leela will be there with a black cat. We will be able to speak to Nina and see what else we can do.” “Oh, Mommy, no. We can’t do that.”

  “We must,” she said, her eyes wild. She was digging her fingers into my skin.

  “Okay, Mommy. Okay.”

  She relaxed. “Promise not to tell Daddy.”

  “I promise,” I said. Now I was feeling as if I were making a deal with the devil.

  “Good.” She smiled and turned back to her painting.

  I watched her for a moment and then left. I found Daddy sitting on the sofa in the office, sipping from his glass of bourbon.

  “Can you believe your mother?” he asked as soon as I entered.

  “She’s having her own sort of nervous breakdown, Daddy. We’ve got to be sympathetic and indulge her for a while, until she returns to her senses,” I added.

  Pain flashed in his eyes. “I thought she would want to rush out to the hospital with me. Instead, she’s burning candles, painting weird pictures, and mumbling about chants and gris-gris. I’ve got only one friend now,” he said and lifted his glass.

  “That’s not any better than what Mommy’s doing, Daddy. You’ve got to stop drinking,” I warned.

  “I know,” he said. “Soon. Well, I have to attend to some business problems. We’ll stop in on Pierre after dinner. Maybe Ruby will snap out of it and come with us.”

  I didn’t want to discourage him, but I didn’t think she would. “We’ll see,” I said.

  Mommy wouldn’t come with us to the hospital, of course.

  The nurses told us Pierre had eaten some soft-boiled egg and drunk some milk. He still didn’t speak or act as if he heard what anyone was saying, but we were all encouraged. It was enough to buoy Daddy’s spirits. He was more talkative and energetic.

  “You’ve got to come with us tomorrow, Ruby,” he told Mommy when we returned home and found her in the sitting room listening to music and reading.

  “All right, Beau,” she said, giving me a conspiratorial glance. “I will.”

  “Good. Good,” Daddy replied and looked at me. I could tell from his face that he thought things were finally turning around. “I’m going up to bed.”

  “I’ll be right along, Beau,” Mommy told him.

  “Pierre has made good progress, Mommy, but he needs to see and to hear you now,” I told her.

  “I know, dear. And he will as long as you remember what you promised.”

  “Mommy …”

  “I’ll come by your room at eleven-thirty and knock softly. Be ready,” she said.

  I stared at her a moment. What was I going to do? Then I looked down at the book in her hands.

  She was holding it upside down, just using it to stare at her own maddening thoughts.

  “Mommy, it’s too dangerous to go to the cemeteries at night. Daddy would be very, very angry at both of us, but especially at me. Please,” I begged.

  She gazed at me. “Okay, Pearl,” she said. “If you don’t want to do it, it’s all right.”

  “But you’re not going either, Mommy, right? Right?” I insisted.

  “I won’t go,” she finally said, but I didn’t believe her.

  I pledged to stay awake and listen for her footsteps just in case.

  7

  Beyond the Grave

  Despite my urgent and great desire to do so, I had trouble keeping myself awake. I tried reading, but my eyes were drifting off the page and my head was nodding more and more. I told myself it would be easier to just lie quietly in the dark, but almost immediately after I put out the lights and lowered my head to the pillow, my eyelids closed. The next thing I knew, I woke with a start and when I glanced at the clock, I saw it was nearly a quarter to midnight. If Mommy had come to my door to knock or if she had walked by, I hadn’t heard her. I couldn’t imagine her going out at night to a cemetery by herself. Confident I would find her still in her bed, I rose, put on my slippers and robe and tiptoed across the hallway to my parents’ room.

  The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it gently and peered in. The amber light of a half moon outlined the silhouettes of the dresser, lamps, chairs, and vanity table. I could see Daddy’s head on the pillow, but when I looked closer, I did not see Mommy’s. For a long moment panic nailed my feet to the floor. She must be in the bathroom, I told myself. I waited and listened, but there was no sign or any sound of her. I knocked gently on the door and waited for Daddy to lift his head. He didn’t move.

  I entered their bedroom and whispered loudly, “Daddy.”

  A heavy, resonant snore was his only response. I went to his side and touched his shoulder. I didn’t want to wake him abruptly and frighten him. He might think the hospital had called about Pierre. But he wasn’t responding.

  “Daddy.” I shook him. He moaned and turned over, still not opening his eyes.

  The strong odor of bourbon reached me, and I saw the nearly empty tumbler on the nightstand. When I shook him again, more roughly, my father groaned and his eyelids fluttered but barely opened.

  “Whaa,” he said.

  “Daddy, wake up. Wheres Mommy?”

  “Whaa.” He closed his eyes and turned on his side. Frustrated but frantic about Mommy, I retreated from the bedroom and hurried down the stairway. I searched the rooms, all of which were dark, and then I peeked in the kitchen, hoping she had gone there to make herself some warm milk. But I found only the night-lights on and no one anywhere.

  I thought for a moment and then hurried down to her studio. Even though it was dark, I could imagine
her sitting there, so I flipped on the lights. My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my breath. She wasn’t there, but her recent picture caught my attention. I drew closer to it and saw that she had added more detail.

  It was a sketch of Jean’s face on a ghostlike body floating out of the swamp, but vaguely suggested in the water below was the figure of a man, his eyes wide. I studied the picture and then stepped back and gasped. This was the face I saw so often in my own nightmare; it was the face of Paul Tate, who was thought to have drowned himself out of grief when Mommy went to live with Daddy. It was a face that obviously haunted her as well.

  I turned off the lights and hurried through the house to look in the garage, where my worst fear was confirmed. Mommy’s car was gone; she had driven off to meet the voodoo mama in the cemetery in which Nina Jackson had been buried. Upstairs, Daddy was in a drunken stupor. What was I to do?

  I dressed quickly and drove Daddy’s car to the cemetery. In the glow of the moonlight the burial vaults took on a pale flaxen glow, and the shadows around them deepened, creating long corridors of darkness that wrapped themselves tightly around most of the ovens and permitted only the very tops of monuments to be seen. The darkness resembled a sea of ink.

  I hesitated and then drove slowly around the cemetery. At first I saw nothing and hoped Mommy had gone someplace less ominous; but when I made a final turn, I saw her car near an entrance, and she wasn’t in it.

  My heart began to thump. I pulled up behind her car and reached into the glove compartment for the flashlight. Then I turned off the engine and the lights, allowing that sea of ink to rush in around me, too. A wave of anxiety washed over me and sent my throbbing heartbeat into my bones. My fingers trembled when I reached for the door handle and stepped out. For a moment it felt as if the ground beneath my feet had softened into quicksand. Every step toward the cemetery took great effort.

  I turned on the flashlight and directed the beam down the corridor ahead of me, not daring to look back or to my left or right. With my attention glued to the ray of light, I walked on, listening, hoping to find Mommy quickly and get her out of here and home.