Hidden Jewel Read online

  Daddy leaned on his crutches and shook his head. “You’re driving us all mad now, Ruby. You’ve got to stop. Come home and go to sleep.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. That’s why I came here,” she said. “You see that now, don’t you, sweetheart?” she asked me.

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  She touched the stone of Jean’s vault lovingly and smiled. “He heard me. He won’t let Pierre leave us. Jean is a good boy, a good boy.”

  “Come home now, Mommy. Please.” I helped her to her feet. She looked at Jean’s tomb again, and then the three of us, crippled by our tragedy, hobbled along the pathway past other vaults and other scenes of sadness where the ground was soaked with similar tears.

  I gazed back once and shuddered with the horrible vision of a second vault, twin to Jean’s.

  “Please, God,” I murmured, too low for Daddy or Mommy to hear, “please help us.”

  17

  Please Wake Up

  Despite being exhausted by the time we all returned home and to bed, I tossed and turned, slipping in and out of nightmares. When I woke, I welcomed the morning sunlight, but I felt as if I had just run a marathon in the middle of the summer. My sheet and blanket were drenched with perspiration, and when I sat up, my legs and my back ached from the twisting and turning I had done in my sleep.

  I was the first to rise, wash, and dress. Both Mommy and Daddy looked as if they had been through the same wringer of horrors when they entered the dining room and sat down to breakfast. Mommy had already phoned the hospital and spoken to Pierre’s nurse, who told her there was no change.

  “At least he’s not getting worse,” I said, hoping to find a ray of sunshine in all this gloom.

  “Yes, but he’s not getting better,” Mommy replied in a voice that was totally devoid of energy and expression. She ate mechanically, her eyes fixed on nothing. Daddy reached across the table and took her hand. She smiled weakly at him and then turned and chewed and stared. Daddy flashed a sad look at me, and I could tell that he was at his wit’s end.

  “Jack’s coming tomorrow,” I announced, deciding that a change of subject might be the best antidote to our depression. Mommy’s eyes widened with some interest, and Daddy looked impressed. “Is that all right?”

  “He’s coming here?” Mommy asked.

  “Yes. I invited him to stay.”

  Mommy looked at Daddy, who shrugged.

  “From what I hear, we owe this young man a great deal,” Daddy said. “The least we can do is offer him hospitality.”

  “I don’t think I’m up to being a hostess,” Mommy said.

  “Jack won’t expect anything special, Mommy. He’s here to be at my side and offer his comfort.”

  “He sounds like a special young man,” Daddy said.

  Mommy sighed deeply. I knew there was no room in her heart and mind for anything but sadness right now, but I also knew we had to dwell on hope and find new strength.

  While Mommy got ready to return to the hospital, Daddy returned the phone calls of friends and business acquaintances who had been inquiring about Pierre’s condition. Afterward we drove to the hospital.

  The three of us stood around Pierre’s bed gazing down at him in silence. Mommy choked back a sob and sat beside the bed to hold his hand and talk to him softly. She left his bedside only to eat some lunch, and only at Daddy’s and my insistence.

  There was a great deal of pressure building on Daddy, too. He had business problems and tried to handle them over the telephone, but some things required his presence. I told him it made no sense for all three of us to hover around Pierre’s bed. He finally agreed and had a driver pick him up in a limousine to take him to some business meetings. I sat with Mommy and spoke with Pierre’s nurse, Mrs. Lochet, a pleasant woman in her late fifties with short, thick gray hair and light blue eyes. Afterward I met Sophie for coffee in the cafeteria. I told her I had informed the hospital I wouldn’t be able to return to work.

  “My parents need me at home right now,” I explained. She was sad about it, but I assured her we would always be friends.

  “Maybe when you become a doctor, I can come work for you,” she suggested.

  “There’s no one I’d rather have at my side while I tend to patients,” I told her.

  When I went back to Pierre’s room, I found that Mommy had fallen asleep in her chair. The nurse and I gazed at each other and stepped outside the room to talk so Mommy could sleep.

  “Have you ever seen a patient like Pierre improve?” I asked her.

  “Well,” she said hesitantly, “this is my first case where the patient has gone into a coma from psychological reasons. I have had comatose patients who were injured and who improved. I even had a young man who was shot by a mugger and who went into a deep coma and later improved. You can’t give up hope,” she added, but I didn’t see any optimism in her eyes, and she did shift them away from me quickly.

  Dr. LeFevre visited and merely said, “We’ll see,” when I asked her for an opinion.

  Daddy returned to take us to dinner, but Mommy was so tired that we decided it would be better to just go home. Sitting in a chair and talking to Pierre all day didn’t require much energy, but it was emotionally draining for my mother. She looked so bad, my heart cried for her. Her eyelids drooped, her lips trembled, her complexion was pallid, and she walked with stooped shoulders.

  When we arrived home, Mommy decided to lie down. Her supper would be brought to her room, but she insisted Daddy and I eat in the dining room. We did, but we weren’t very talkative. It was as though Pierre’s funeral had begun.

  “The doctor told me Pierre could go on like this for months and months,” Daddy finally said. “I don’t see how your mother is going to last. She was convinced her rituals and appeals to various spirits would help. Now that all of this mystical business has failed, she’s at the lowest point I’ve ever seen her. I’m afraid we’ll be visiting her in a hospital soon, too.”

  I tried to sound hopeful, to find the words that would restore faith and hope to him as well as to myself, but my well of optimism had run dry. All I could do was shake my head and mutter, “She’ll be all right. Everything will be all right.”

  Daddy smiled. “You can’t let any of this get in your way, Pearl. I know you are not a self-centered person by nature, but I don’t want to hear any talk of you postponing your college education,” he said firmly. “It’s enough you had to quit your job at the hospital.”

  “But—”

  “Pearl, promise me,” he insisted. When I didn’t respond immediately, he looked as if he might burst into tears, but he raised one arm and added, “We can’t lose everything, even our dream for you.”

  “Okay, Daddy. I promise,” I said. My chest ached. I knew if I didn’t get up and go upstairs soon, I would sob openly and only make things harder for him. I forced a smile and excused myself.

  When I looked in on Mommy, I saw she was asleep. I started for my room, but something drew me to the twins’ room instead. I opened the door that had been kept shut tight since Jean’s death and Pierre’s transfer to the hospital, and I stood there gazing at their toys—Jean’s frog and insect specimens on the shelf, his model airplanes and cars, their bookcase filled with adventure stories and books on animals and soldiers. How many times had I looked in and pleaded with the two of them to straighten up their things before Mommy saw the mess?

  I smiled, remembering Jean’s impish grin and Pierre’s serious concern. I recalled them playing checkers, each of them looking into the other’s identical face after every move in search of a reaction. Usually, Pierre won, and when Jean did win, I had the feeling Pierre was letting him win.

  They were both hoarders, refusing to throw anything away. Their toy chest was filled to the brim, and in their closets were cartons of older toys and books. It was as if they wanted to mark and save every stage of their development, every moment of pleasure, every new discovery. Mommy was always pleading with them to sort out the things they would neve
r use again, but how do you throw away a memory?

  What would become of all this now? I wondered. Would Daddy see that it was discarded or given to poor children, or would it be stuffed in some attic corner and left to gather dust and cobwebs?

  I stood in the doorway until I realized the tears were streaming down my face so fast and so hard they were dripping off my chin. Then I closed the door softly and went to my room to read myself to sleep.

  I did fall asleep with a book in my hands. I never heard Daddy come upstairs, and later, much later, I never heard Mommy sneak out. She didn’t go to the cemetery this time, nor did she go to see some voodoo mama. She returned to the hospital and to Pierre’s bedside. Later she would tell me she heard his voice; she heard him calling for her in her sleep.

  Well after three in the morning, when everything in the world seemed to be slumbering, when even the stars blinked like tired eyes, I woke to the sound of the phone ringing. It rang and rang until someone answered it. When I realized what time it was, my heart thumped with a deep, hard pounding that took my breath away. I held my breath anyway, listening hard for the sounds I feared most—the sound of wailing, the sound of sobbing, the sound of death.

  I heard a door open, and then I heard the tap-tap of Daddy’s crutches. He came to my door. My reading light was still on, and I was still dressed, my book open on my lap. I sat up slowly. He looked confused, just woken from a deep sleep.

  “What is it, Daddy?” I asked in a small voice.

  “Your mother got up and left the house without my knowing,” he said. “I never heard her. She must have walked on air.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “To the hospital,” he said. “She just phoned.”

  I brought my fist to my lips.

  “She said Pierre … Pierre just spoke to her.”

  As soon as the words registered, I leaped from my bed and ran to him. We embraced, both of us crying so hard from happiness that neither of us could catch enough breath to tell the other to stop. He was kissing my hair, and I was holding him so tightly I was sure I was crushing his ribs.

  Then he started to laugh through his tears, and I smiled and wiped mine away as quickly as they emerged.

  “I’ll throw something on,” he said, “and we’ll rush right over. My boy, my boy is coming home,” he cried happily.

  It was enough to turn even the most skeptical person into a believer. When we arrived at Pierre’s room, we found him sitting up and sipping warm tea through a straw. Mommy turned to greet us, her face beaming like some previously dying plant resurrected, blossoming again with those bright and beautiful eyes full of light. Even her cheeks glowed, the richness rushing back into her complexion.

  “Hi, Pearl,” Pierre said. His voice sounded strained, like the voice of someone who had a bad sore throat, but it was his voice and he was looking at me.

  “Hi, Pierre.” I hugged him. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m tired, but I’m hungry,” he said. He threw an angry gaze toward his nurse. “They won’t give me anything good to eat until the doctor comes, they said. When is she coming already?”

  “Not for a while, Pierre. It’s four in the morning,” I told him and laughed.

  “Four in the morning? I’ve never been up that late, have I?” he asked, looking from Mommy to me.

  “No.”

  He looked past me and saw Daddy on his crutches in the doorway. Pierre’s eyes grew bigger than silver dollars. “Dad, what happened to you?”

  “Oh, I slipped and fell down the stairs,” Daddy said nonchalantly. He hobbled up to the bed.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not much anymore. Later I’ll let you sign your name on my cast.”

  Pierre smiled. Then, just as quickly as that smile came, it faded. “Jean can’t sign it,” he said.

  “Then you’ll sign it for him,” I replied quickly, before the tears could come to anyone’s eyes.

  “Yes,” Pierre said, thinking. “I will. I’ll sign everything ‘Pierre and Jean’ from now on,” he said excitedly.

  “Well, people might not understand that, Pierre. When you sign your name, it’s enough that you know you’re signing for Jean, too, okay?”

  He thought a moment and then reluctantly nodded. But I sensed that from that moment on, everything Pierre did in his life, he would do for his dead brother, too. He would drive himself to do twice as much twice as well. He would try to live two lives. It would take a long time for him to bury Jean. When he did that, Jean would die again for him, and he would suffer the tragedy a second, maybe even harder time.

  Pierre couldn’t believe how long he had been sleeping. We told him as much about his condition as we could. He was smart enough to understand most of it. I promised him that when he was up to it, I would explain it in more detail. He loved to learn, and it occurred to me that he, perhaps as much as I, had the potential to be a good doctor.

  We remained with him until he got tired and closed his eyes again. Mommy was terrified he would slip back into unconsciousness, but the nurse and Dr. LeFevre, who arrived hours earlier than usual, having been told of Pierre’s recovery, assured us the worst was over.

  “But there is much to do,” she added quickly. “He’s going to need loads and loads of tender loving care and therapy. It will take time. Don’t expect him to put on his running shoes and go off to join other children his age right away,” she warned.

  “We’ll do whatever it takes to help him get well again,” Mommy pledged.

  Although it was still quite early and none of us had had enough sleep, we were too excited to just go home to sleep. Daddy took us out for breakfast, and we discovered that we were quite hungry. We hadn’t done much more than nibble at our food the past day or so.

  It was good to see my parents reanimated, talking excitedly about the things they were going to do to prepare for Pierre’s homecoming. Mommy thought it might be wise to hire a tutor for him as soon as possible, and Daddy suggested some short sight-seeing trips. I warned them about moving too quickly and advised them to wait to see what the doctor thought before we made any decisions or took any actions.

  “Look who’s become the wise old lady,” Daddy kidded and then reached for Mommy’s hand across the table. “And look who’s become as giddy as a child.”

  She smiled at him and they exchanged that magical look I had seen so many, many times before, a look I envied and dreamed of having between me and someone wonderful… someone like Jack.

  Jack! I thought.

  “Daddy, we’ve got to get home soon. Jack will be arriving.”

  “Jack?” Mommy said. “Oh, I had forgotten.”

  “How could you forget Jack?” Daddy teased.

  “You stop it right now, Daddy,” I warned. The two of them laughed. It was the sweetest music I had heard in a long time.

  Just as I feared, when we returned to the house, Jack was already there.

  “You have a guest in the sitting room, mademoiselle,” Aubrey told me. I thanked him and hurried down the corridor.

  Jack looked lost and unsure of himself seated on the velvet settee in our grand sitting room. He wore jeans, boots, and a cotton plaid shirt, but his dark hair was brushed neatly, not a strand out of place.

  “Jack!” I cried, rushing to him. He almost didn’t get to his feet before I embraced him. I kissed him and held him for a moment.

  “Whoa,” he said.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” I said, laughing. “But we had the most wonderful news this morning. Pierre came out of his coma. We’ve been at the hospital since very early this morning.”

  “That’s fantastic.” He looked up as Daddy came to the doorway on his crutches. “Bonjour, monsieur,” he said.

  “Bonjour.” Daddy came in as quickly as he could and extended his hand. “I want to formally thank you for all you have done for my daughter and for my wife,” he said. “I am in your debt.”

  “Oh, no, monsieur,” Jack said gazing at me. �
��I am in yours for having such a wonderful daughter.”

  Daddy raised his eyebrows and turned a small smile at me. Blushing, I turned and saw Mommy in the doorway.

  “Bonjour, Madame Andreas. I am glad to hear the good news,” Jack said.

  “Thank you.” She came in to greet him. “If we don’t behave like proper hosts, please forgive us. We’re so full of mixed emotions. It’s exhausting.”

  “Oh, please, madame. Don’t think twice about my being here, and if I am in the way, even slightly, I will be gone before you can blink your eye, hear?” he said with his Cajun intonation.

  Mommy seemed to drink in his accent, and I suspected that memories of her Cajun life were rushing over her. “I doubt my daughter will permit you to get away that soon,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Now I did blush, and so did Jack.

  “Are you hungry, Jack? I’ll have something fixed for you,” Daddy said.

  “No, thank you. I ate just before I arrived, monsieur.”

  “Well,” Daddy said. “I guess I had better see to my business concerns so someone can pay the mortgage around here,” he jested.

  “I’m going to show Jack around New Orleans,” I said.

  “Good idea,” Daddy said. “Why don’t we take him to one of our finer restaurants for dinner tonight. I’ll make a reservation.”

  “Please, monsieur, don’t plan anything special for me,” Jack said.

  “What are you talking about?” Daddy asked. “This is New Orleans. Everything we do for everyone is always special,” he said. He turned to me. “Run him by your mother’s current exhibit in the French Quarter,” he suggested.

  “Oh, Beau, there are many more interesting things for her to show him,” Mommy said.

  “I’d really like to see the exhibit,” Jack said.

  “Very diplomatic, monsieur,” Daddy said. He gazed at me again. “You’ll see that Jack is settled in the guest room?”