Hidden Jewel l-4

by V. C. Andrews

  "You will have to obey the hospital rules. You work here as a nurse's aide, I understand, so you should know how important it is that we all—"

  "Pierre moved his finger, Doctor. I felt it. If I can stay with him longer . . ."

  "We have to let the nurses do their work and—"

  I felt Pierre's fingers move again and cried out. When I turned back to him, his eyelids fluttered.

  "Pierre," I said. "Show them. Show them."

  His lids fluttered harder and, like eyes that had been closed for centuries, slowly opened.

  "Go get Dr. LeFevre," Dr. Lasky ordered the nurse. She hurried away.

  I continued to stroke Pierre's hand, cajoling him. "Come on, Pierre. That's it. Try. Come back to us." His eyes remained open.

  "That's good," Dr. Lasky muttered behind me. "Hello, Pierre," I said. "Are you feeling better? Do you want to go home soon?"

  He turned his head slowly toward me. I saw his lips moving, so I bent down to bring my ear close. He was just putting out enough breath to be heard in a whisper.

  "Get Mommy," he said. "Make her come home."

  "Oh, yes, Pierre. Yes. I will." I hugged him. "He spoke to me, Doctor!"

  "Excellent," Dr. Lasky said and turned to greet Dr. LeFevre, who was rushing toward us. I stepped back as the two of them examined Pierre, and then I decided to go out and get Daddy. I found him in the cafeteria, hovering over a cup of coffee. When I told him the news, his eyes brightened and his face re-gained some color. The two of us hurried back.

  Afterward, outside in the corridor, with Daddy and Dr. Lasky at my side, Dr. LeFevre asked me to repeat what I had said and done to get Pierre's reaction. She nodded as she listened.

  "You must get your mother home to him soon," she said. "If not, he could relapse again, and I'm afraid each time that happens, he will retreat deeper and deeper inside himself until he becomes irretrievable. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," I said and looked at Daddy, who just nodded, a look of terror in his eyes.

  "With the diuretic working, we've at least stemmed the threat of acute renal failure for the time being," Dr. Lasky said. "But what happened before can certainly happen again," he cautioned. Neither doctor wanted to leave us with false hope. Their words, although realistic, were as sharp as darts.

  Daddy and I returned to Pierre to reassure him we were going to find Mommy and bring her to see him as soon as we could. He listened and then closed his eyes. He was just sleeping now. The great effort to claw his way up and out of the grave his mind was constructing around him had exhausted him. We left him resting comfortably.

  "What if Ruby doesn't return, Pearl? What if she never returns?" Daddy asked as we drove home from the hospital.

  "She'll come back. She has to."

  "Why? She doesn't know what's happening. We can't find her; we can't get a message to her." He shook his head. "If she doesn't come back, poor Pierre . . ."

  "We'll sit and we'll think of what else to do, Daddy. We'll find her," I promised, although for the moment I hadn't the slightest idea what we should do next.

  The doctors' words lingered like bruised and angry clouds waiting to drop a storm over us. Pierre remained on the brink of oblivion, and we were helpless.

  Mommy wasn't there when we returned home, and there had been no phone calls from her or from anyone in the bayou. Daddy phoned Aunt Jeanne and explained the situation. She promised to send out everyone she could and make as many phone calls as she could to people in the area. She said she would contact the police up there for us, too.

  "If we don't hear anything tonight or tomorrow morning, we should search for her again, Daddy," I said.

  "Search where? We went to the shack and to Cypress Woods. I have no idea where else she might go up there. That part of her life is like a fantasy to me. For all I know there are places and people she never mentioned or that she did mention but I don't remember. You know all of her grandmère's friends are gone. What can we do . . . ride around the back roads, searching the swamps?"

  "That would be better than just sitting here, wouldn't it?"

  "I don't know, Pearl." He shook his head. "I don't know. What if we go up there, get lost on some back road, and she calls here? No, all we can do is wait."

  Neither he nor I had much of an appetite for dinner, but we sat and nibbled. All of the servants were quiet, their faces worried. The house had a funereal atmosphere. No one closed a door hard; everyone tiptoed through the corridors and spoke in whispers. There was no music, no radio or television, just the constant ticking of the grandfather clock followed by its hollow, reverberating gong to announce the passage of time, the flow of minutes without any word from or of Mommy. When Daddy and I gazed at each other, we thought but didn't speak the same thought: back in the hospital, Pierre was waiting, teetering on a tightrope above the dark chasm of gloom that would swallow him and lock him up forever in unconsciousness and finally death. I felt sure that in his mind he saw death as a doorway beyond which Jean stood, waiting.

  Neither Daddy nor I knew what we would do or say when we returned to him. He would open his eyes hopefully, expectantly, not see Mommy beside us, and close those eyes again, perhaps forever. We were both terrified of taking the chance, and yet it was hard to keep from visiting him. The longer we stayed away, the deeper his skepticism would become.

  Daddy spent some of the evening in his office talking to friends, getting advice. None suggested anything more than what we had already done, and none could understand why Mommy would have run off; but of course few if any of them knew her background and why she had come to believe she was the cause of our trouble.

  I wanted to stay awake as late as I could to hear the phone ring, hopefully with news of Mommy, and to keep Daddy company, but when I lowered my head on the sofa and closed my eyes, sleep seized me so quickly I could have been the one in a coma. The next thing I knew, I heard the bong of the grandfather clock declare it was three in the morning.

  I sat up slowly, rubbed my eyes, and listened. The house was dead quiet. The lights in the corridors had been turned down low. I was surprised Daddy hadn't come in to wake me and send me up to my bed.

  I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and got up to check on Daddy. The desk lamp in his office was still on, but he wasn't there. I saw that he had done some drinking. The bottle of bourbon was open, and there was a partially filled glass beside it. Thinking he had gone up to bed, I climbed the stairs. My legs felt as if they were filled with water. Every step was an effort. When I got upstairs, I saw that Daddy's bedroom door was open, so I went to it and peeked in.

  The bed was empty, the lamp beside it lit. The bathroom door was open, but the bathroom was dark.

  "Daddy?" I called quietly. "Are you here?" I listened and heard nothing.

  I checked the other bedrooms and didn't find him, so I went back downstairs. The cars were all there, and no one was in the kitchen. I walked through the house and went to Mommy's studio. There were no lights on, so I was going to go back upstairs, frightened now that Daddy might have fallen asleep or collapsed on the floor beside his bed. But as I turned, I caught a whiff of bourbon and paused, staring into the darkness of the studio. My eyes grew used to the absence of light until I saw his silhouette on a settee. I stepped farther into the studio, slowly approaching him.

  Daddy was sprawled naked on the settee with just a small towel over his torso. He looked fast asleep. What was he doing? Why had he gotten undressed to lie in here? I debated waking him and then decided to let him rest. Just as I started to turn away again, I heard him cry out my mother's name.

  "Ruby. Go on," he muttered. I drew closer again to listen. "Go on," he continued. "You're a professional. You should have no problem drawing me. I want you to do it. Go ahead," he challenged. Then he laughed. "Ready?" He pulled off his towel and cast it over the back of the settee. "Draw with passion, my darling. Draw."

  I stood transfixed, unable and afraid to move. I knew if he discovered it was I and not my mother in t
he darkness, he would be horribly embarrassed. After a moment he lowered his head to the settee again and mumbled something I couldn't hear. He grew quiet, and I tiptoed out of the studio, closing the door softly behind me, leaving Daddy back there, reliving some intimate moment with my mother.

  Troubled but exhausted, I put my head on my pillow and fell asleep in moments, glad my mind hadn't the energy to think one more thought.

  I awoke with a start. A mourning dove was moaning her ominous, sad cry just under my window. The sky was heavily overcast, shutting out the always welcome rays of warm sunshine and leaving the world draped in a dull film of dreary darkness. Rain was imminent. I gazed at the clock and saw that I had slept until nearly nine. Recalling what had happened the night before, I rose quickly, washed, and dressed. When I descended, I found Daddy, up and dressed and in his office on the telephone. He was speaking to the police in Houma. I stood in the doorway listening.

  "Then you have been to the shack and searched the surroundings thoroughly?" he asked, glancing at me cheerlessly. "I see. Yes. We do appreciate that. You have my number, and please, if there is any expense involved . . . I mean, if there's anything extra you can do but can't afford it, . . . of course. Thank you, monsieur. We're grateful."

  He cradled the receiver and sat back. His hair was disheveled, his face unshaven and gray, and he was dressed in the wrinkled clothing he had worn yesterday. To me it looked as if he had woken in the studio, dressed, and come to his office.

  "Nothing," he said. "Not even a footprint. Maybe she was swallowed by one of the alligators behind the shack."

  "Don't say such a thing, Daddy!"

  "What can I say?"

  "Did you call the hospital?"

  "Not yet." He sighed deeply. "What are we going to do, Pearl?"

  "She'll come home or she'll call us," I said. "She will," I insisted when he didn't react. "Did you have breakfast?"

  "Just coffee. I don't have an appetite. But you go on. Eat something. No sense in both of us suffering like this," he said. "I'll give Jeanne a call in about twenty minutes. Everyone's going to get annoyed with us for nagging them, of course."

  "No, they won't. They'll understand."

  "That's good, because I don't," he said bitterly. He was at it again, swimming in a pool of self-pity. I just didn't have the patience for it, so I went to get some breakfast. Afterward I decided we should go see Pierre.

  "I can't," Daddy said. "I can't face him and continue to promise him something that I have no idea will happen."

  "But we can't not go, Daddy. Our presence is all he has now. We have to go," I insisted. "Get up."

  His eyes widened. "Okay," he said. After giving Aubrey detailed instructions about how to reach us should anyone call with any information, he reluctantly drove us to the hospital. We met Dr. LeFevre in the corridor just outside the ICU.

  "No word of your wife yet, monsieur?" she asked when she saw it was just us again.

  "I'm afraid not," Daddy said.

  "How is Pierre doing, Doctor?" I asked.

  "He's going in and out of consciousness. Each time he emerges, it's with the expectation he will have his mother at his bedside, and each time he sees she's not there, he retreats into his deep sleep. Have you no idea where she might be?" she asked.

  "Some, but there's been no sign of her anywhere," Daddy moaned.

  Dr. LeFevre didn't hide her dissatisfaction, which only made Daddy feel worse.

  "We're trying to find her, Doctor," I said. "We have the police looking, and we have friends searching."

  "Very well," she said. "We'll do what we can," she added with the definite tone that said it wouldn't be enough.

  The entire time Daddy and I were at Pierre's bedside he remained asleep. He didn't even move his fingers when I held his hand. He was waiting to hear Mommy's voice, not ours. The sight and the silence drove Daddy mad. He couldn't stay long and left before I did. I found him pacing in the corridor.

  "Let's go home," he said. "Maybe someone's called."

  No one had. The day seemed to last forever. Every hour fell like another heavy stone on our hearts. Daddy ate a little lunch, but started to drink in the late afternoon. By early evening he was in his own comfortable stupor, and I was left waiting for the ringing of the phone or the buzz of the doorbell. Nothing brought any news.

  And then, just before nine o'clock, the phone rang and Aubrey came to the sitting room to inform me that a Monsieur Clovis was on the line waiting to speak with me.

  "Clovis?" At first I couldn't recall who that might be,

  "He said Jack Clovis, mademoiselle."

  "Oh, Jack," I cried and hurried to the phone.

  "Sorry if I'm calling too late," he began.

  "No, it's fine, Jack. What is it?"

  "I don't know if it's anything, Pearl, but just before I was about to leave the fields tonight, I saw a light in a window in the big house. I knew it couldn't be the reflection of a star or the moon, because we've got heavily overcast skies out here tonight," he explained. "To me it looked like a candle."

  "Did you go look?"

  "I did because of what you told me about your mother and all. I took a flashlight and went into the house. I listened, but I didn't hear anyone. I swear I saw candlelight, though. I didn't see it when I was in the house, and I don't see it now, but someone was walking through that house tonight. I'd swear on a stack of Bibles."

  I thought a moment. It was nearly a two-hour drive, but this was the first sign of any hope.

  "We'll be out there in two hours," I said.

  "Really? I don't know if you should do that, Pearl. I haven't found anything. It might have been a prowler, of course. I can't say I saw a woman. I hate to have you drive out here in the middle of the night for nothing."

  "It's not for nothing, Jack. We're coming. I don't expect you to wait around, though."

  "Oh, no problem. I'll go sprawl out in the office trailer. If I fall asleep, just knock on the door. Boy, I sure hope you're not coming out here for nothing."

  "Don't you worry about it," I assured him.

  As soon as I hung up, I went looking for Daddy. To my chagrin, I found him sprawled out on the sofa in his office, his arm dangling over the side, his hand clutching the neck of the bourbon bottle.

  "Daddy!" I rushed to him and shook him. He groaned, opened his eyes, and then closed them. "Daddy, Jack called from Cypress Woods. Someone was in the house, walking with a candle. We've got to go up there. It might be Mommy." I shook him again. This time he released the bottle, and it fell to the floor, spilling its contents over the rug and splattering my feet. "Daddy!"

  "Wha . . . Ruby?"

  "Oh, Daddy, no!" I cried. I stared at him for a moment and, realizing he wouldn't be able to drive anyway, and would certainly sleep all the way there, I turned and went to the desk. I found a pen and wrote a quick note explaining what Jack had said and where I had gone. Then, to be sure he read it, I pinned it to his shirt and left him, sprawled out drunk in his office.

  I had never driven the car for as long a journey as this one was going to be, and at night, too. The thought crossed my mind to call someone to accompany me. I considered Catherine, but remembered she was on holiday. I certainly didn't want to call Claude or any of his friends. No one would want to go traveling into the bayou this time of night anyway, I thought. I had to do this alone, and I had to do it now.

  Thinking about some of those dark side roads put a tremor into my legs and made my fingers shake when I finally got behind the wheel and turned the key. I took a deep breath, checked to see that I had enough gas, and then pulled out of the driveway, turning slowly into the city streets and leaving Daddy and the house behind me.

  Somewhere ahead of me in the night Mommy waited. At least, I prayed so. Whenever I had any doubts I just conjured up Pierre's image and the plea in his eyes.

  "Get Mommy," he had asked. "Make her come home."

  I sped onto the highway and into the night to do just that.

 
11

  Kiss

  Ten minutes out of the city, the sky that had looked heavy and forbidding delivered on its threat. The rain fell, driven by a furious wind that splattered the heavy drops like eggs against the car windshield. The wipers groaned with the effort to keep the window clear. Oncoming car headlights blurred. It was like a monsoon. My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my breath with every turn.

  Suddenly I felt the car sliding, and I panicked, hitting the brakes too hard, which sent the vehicle sideways. I screamed as the car rammed into a tree and the rear end whipped out, leaving me facing the side of the road, my front wheels in a ditch. Other drivers, whizzing by, sounded their horns as if in anger, fearful I would back out onto the road again and into their path.

  But all I could do was sit and cry, my hands frozen to the steering wheel. I couldn't move a muscle. My heart was a wild frantic animal in my chest, thudding hard against my ribs. Tears coursed down my face and dropped from my chin.

  The wipers were still going, even though the engine had stalled. I sucked in my breath and tried desperately to calm down. The rain sounded like giant fingers drumming the roof. More horns blared, and then a pair of huge headlights came bearing down on me. It was a tractor trailer truck, and I thought it was going to plow right into me. But the driver brought it to a stop about a dozen feet away. I saw him get out and run over to open my door.

  He was a lean man in a faded white T-shirt and jeans. He had a well-trimmed dark mustache and thin brown hair. "You all right?" he asked.

  "I think so. Yes," I said wiping my tears away.

  "Your rear end is sticking out in the highway. You're gonna get smacked for sure. Did you try to back up and straighten out?"

  "No, sir."

  He was getting soaked standing there in the rain, but he didn't seem to care.

  "Well, go on, see if she'll start," he said. I turned the key. The engine turned over and over, but the car didn't start. "We might need a tow truck," he muttered.

  "Oh, no. I've got to get to Houma tonight!" He thought a moment.

  "Let me come around and try it," he said. I slid over, and he got behind the wheel. "Might be flooded." He kept his foot down on the accelerator and turned the ignition. It churned and churned and then suddenly sputtered and started. "Let's see how bad you're hung up in this ditch," he said and put the car into reverse. Then he accelerated. The car lifted and fell, lifted and fell. He shook his head. "I don't know. We could rip something out if we force her."