Tarnished Gold l-5

by V. C. Andrews

  "This is is important," she insisted. "Now hush up and go to school. Go on," she said, pushing me toward the door, "and don't you worry about how hard I work or how much I spend. I got to do what I enjoy doing and what makes me happy and proud. Especially these days," she added, scowling with thoughts of Daddy.

  I shook my head. There wasn't anything I could do or say to change her mind once Mama had made up what she wanted to do. Daddy called her Cajun stubborn and said she would stare down a hurricane if she had made up her mind to do so.

  "I'll come home as soon as I can to help you then," I said.

  "Never mind. You do what all the girls are doing and worry about your graduation ceremony, not me," she said.

  I left the house, still feeling a cloud overhead because of what had happened to me the day before; but also feeling the excitement that came with the end of school. At school no one talked about anything else. The chatter in the classroom was so loud and furious, we sounded like a yard of hens clucking. Our teachers gave up on doing anything that even vaguely resembled education.

  In the afternoon they took us out to the yard on the side of the building where a portable stage had been constructed so we could rehearse the graduation ceremony. A piano had been wheeled out for Mrs. Parlange, the school secretary, to play the processional. Our principal, Mr. Pitot, was going to accompany her on the accordion, too. Together with Mr. Ternant, who was the vocal, physical education, and math teacher, and who played the fiddle, Mr. Pitot would do a few Cajun pieces to entertain the audience of grandparents, parents, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, and friends before the speeches and the distribution of diplomas. Mr. Ternant was put in charge of the ceremony and lined us up according to height. He told us how to walk, hold our heads up high, and sit properly on the stage.

  "I don't want to see anyone crossing his or her legs. And no gum chewing, hear? You all sit still, face forward, and look dignified. Every one of you is a representative of this school," he lectured. Bobby Slater made a popping sound with his mouth. Many of us smiled, but no one dared laugh. Mr. Ternant glared fiercely for a moment. Then he explained what we had to do when we were called up.

  "I want you to take the diploma in this hand"—he demonstrated—"and cross over to shake like this."

  He wanted us to then turn to the audience and make a small bow before returning directly to our seats.

  I tried to concentrate on everything and listen carefully to all the instructions, but my mind kept wandering and returning to the incident at the lake. Yvette and Evelyn were too occupied with themselves and with their other friends to notice my distraction. I knew anyone who did notice me just thought it was my typical disinterest in things that interested them. It wasn't so. I wanted to be just as excited; I wanted to be just as young and silly and happy as they were. But every once in a while, Mr. Tate's face, just inches from mine, would flash across my eyes and I would gulp and moan softly to myself.

  I was very quiet on the way home; however, Yvette and Evelyn were far more talkative than ever. A twilight gloom had pervaded my entire being, but even if I had wanted to talk, they didn't give me an opportunity to get in a word. It wasn't until we were about to part that they noticed me.

  "What's wrong with you today?" Yvette asked. "Graduation jitters?"

  "A little," I said. I could never even begin to tell them the true reason for my melancholy.

  "Well, if you had a future waiting, you wouldn't be so jittery," Evelyn declared pedantically. "Now what are you going to do the day after tomorrow, sit on the side of the road at your stand and wait for some handsome prince to come riding along?"

  Yvette laughed.

  "Yes," I said, smiling. "That's exactly what I will do." "Well, you'll grow old waiting for a handsome prince in these parts," Yvette said.

  The two of them looked at each other in a way that told me they had been talking about me at length.

  "Don't you even think about being with a man?" Evelyn asked, flashing a sly glance at Yvette.

  "Of course," I said, but with less enthusiasm than either of them would.

  "You never talk about it when we talk about it," Yvette added. "We know you never been kissed," she said, shifting her gaze to Evelyn, who smiled. "Much less . . . touched." They giggled.

  "You two don't know everything about me," I said, but in a sad, unfortunate tone of voice. It wiped the smiles off their faces for the moment. Yvette's eyes grew as small as dimes and glittered with suspicion.

  "What have you been keeping secret?" Yvette said. "Someone visit you in the swamps?"

  I reddened.

  "Someone has!" Evelyn declared. "Look at her."

  "No." Butterflies beat small wings of panic in my stomach.

  "Who was it?"

  "What did you do, Gabrielle Landry?"

  "We always tell you everything that we've done," Yvette said petulantly.

  "Nothing.we’ve done nothing," I insisted.

  They laughed.

  "Liar."

  "You better tell us, Gabrielle Landry or . . ."

  "Or we'll make something up and tell everyone tomorrow before graduation," Evelyn announced. Yvette nodded, happy for the plan. "We'll claim you told us in secret. Everyone will believe us because they know we're friends and we talk on the way home from school every day."

  "That's right," Yvette said. "If we both swear to it, everyone will believe it."

  "But there's nothing to tell. I . . ."

  "What?" Yvette demanded. She put her hands on her hips. Evelyn stared, anticipating. I took a deep breath. If they spread rumors about me tomorrow, they could ruin graduation for Mama.

  "All right, I'll tell you, but you've got to swear to keep it secret."

  "We'll swear," Yvette said.

  "On Saint Medad. Swear."

  They did and crossed their hearts.

  "Well?" Evelyn said.

  "Sometimes in the afternoon I pole my pirogue deep into the swamp to a small pond I've found. No one else ever goes there. I take off my clothes and go swimming."

  "Naked?" Yvette said, her eyes widening. I nodded. They drew closer to me.

  "What happened?" Evelyn asked breathlessly.

  "One afternoon about a week ago, I was sunning myself at the pond and this handsome young man came poling along. I didn't hear him."

  Yvette's mouth opened.

  "You were naked when he appeared?" Evelyn asked. I nodded. They held their breaths.

  "I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me and smiling. I was terribly embarrassed, of course, and reached for my dress. But he . ."

  "What?"

  "Sat on it."

  "No!"

  "What did you do?" Evelyn asked.

  "I said, 'please, monsieur, you have me at an unfair advantage.' He agreed."

  "And gave you your dress?"

  "No. He took off his clothes so he would be naked, too."

  "You're lying," Evelyn said.

  "You asked me to tell you. You swore you would keep it a secret. I'm telling you and you're calling me a liar," I said. "I kept my part of the bargain." I started to turn away.

  "I believe you," Yvette declared. "Tell us the rest." I hesitated.

  "All right. I do believe you," Evelyn relented.

  "Go on."

  "He was very polite. We spoke softly. He had the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. I think he hypnotized me with those eyes. In fact, I'm sure he did."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The next thing I knew, he was kissing me."

  "And he touched you?"

  "Everywhere," I said. "I couldn't resist."

  "And then?" Yvette said with impatience.

  "I don't know. I just . . . woke up and he was gone."

  "Gone?" Evelyn grimaced with disappointment. "You must have just dreamt it, fantasized," she added contemptuously.

  "No, I know I didn't dream it. He had left a beautiful red rose at my side."

  "A red rose? In the swamp?" Evelyn asked, smirk
ing.

  "That's how I knew I hadn't dreamt it."

  The two studied me a moment in silence.

  "All right. So what did you do then?" Yvette asked.

  "I was so frightened I got dressed and went home as fast as I could. I told my mother."

  "You did? Everything?"

  "Of course."

  Evelyn was impressed. "What did she say?"

  "She asked me to describe the young man, and after I had, she sat down with a look on her face like I had never seen. She was quiet for the longest time. Finally I asked her what was wrong, and she then told me the story of the young fisherman who was thought to be the handsomest young man in the bayou. She said young women would swoon at the sight of him, but she said he was too handsome for a man to be and he knew it. No one was more arrogant about his looks.

  "One day he went into the swamps to fish and never returned."

  "Are you saying your mother said the man who kissed you was a ghost?" Yvette asked. I nodded.

  "It's why I never heard him approaching. He glided on the air, I think."

  Neither Yvette nor Evelyn spoke for a moment.

  "Did he feel like a ghost when he kissed you?" Evelyn inquired skeptically.

  "No. He felt real, very real."

  "Did you ever see him again?"

  "No, but sometimes I think I sense him."

  "You still go out alone?" Yvette asked, incredulous. "Yes. He didn't hurt me. Mama says he's a lonely soul.

  Punished for being too much like a Greek god. The story she remembers from her grandmère is, the day he finds someone who can see the goodness in his heart and love him for that and not for his good looks, that's the day he can return to the world to live out his life, but . . ."

  "But what?" Evelyn asked.

  "Yes, but what?" Yvette followed.

  "But whoever does love him that way dies and takes his place in the swamp. It's sort of an exchange of souls for a while."

  "How horrible."

  "And dangerous," Yvette said. "You had better not go into the swamp alone so much."

  "I don't," I said. "As much."

  "I don't know if that counts," Evelyn declared after a moment's thought. "Kissed by a ghost isn't the same thing as being kissed by a live man."

  "How do you know?" Yvette said. "Only Gabrielle knows for sure."

  "It felt wonderful at the time," I replied. "Now, remember. You swore on Saint Medad, and if you violate this oath, you might bring bad luck to your husbands."

  They were wide-eyed. The daughter of a traiteur had some credibility when it came to this sort of thing.

  "I'll never tell," Yvette said.

  "Me neither."

  "I got to go home. See you tomorrow."

  "Oui. See you tomorrow," Evelyn said.

  I watched them hurry off and then continued down the road. In my heart I wished that what had happened to me yesterday was what I had described to them. It was my fantasy, and for a while at least, I would use it to cloak the ugly truth.

  When I arrived home, I found Mama doing just what I feared she would be doing: slaving over the stove, chaining herself to the kitchen to prepare for my graduation celebration. She told me she had already sent word to a dozen of her friends and people she often treated.

  "Some are offering to make food, too. It's going to be a great party, honey. We'll have music and loads of good food."

  "I wish you wouldn't do this, Mama."

  "Let's not start that again. It's my time in the sun and it should be your father's time, too."

  "Has he been home?"

  "Not that I know," she replied, and dove into her labor of love to keep from thinking and being angry. Seeing I was not going to change her mind, I offered to help, but she refused to permit it.

  "It's your party. You earned it; you just enjoy yourself," she insisted. I couldn't stand by and watch her work, so I went out to our dock and sat with my feet dangling in the water, watching and hoping for the sight of Daddy poling his pirogue up the canal to home. But he never came. At dinner Mama was mumbling to herself something awful.

  "That man has gone bad, gone sour like warm milk. Nothing's going to change him. He'll be the death of all of us. Truth is, I hope he never comes home," she declared, but I knew she was heartbroken about it. She sat on the galerie in her rocker after dinner and glared at the darkness, waiting for one of those shadows to take Daddy's form.

  I put the finishing touches on my graduation dress and put it on to show Mama. She shook her head and smiled.

  "You're so beautiful, Gabrielle, it makes my heart pound."

  "Oh, Mama, I'm not. And besides, you told me dozens of times that pride's a sin."

  "You don't have to go overboard and fall in love with yourself, but you can be thankful and happy you've been blessed with such natural beauty. You don't understand," she added when I looked down and blushed. "You're my redemption. When I look at you, at least I can feel something good came out of my marriage to that scoundrel we call your daddy."

  I looked up sharply. "He tries to be good, doesn't he, Mama? He thinks about it."

  "The most I can say for him, honey, is it's beyond him. It's in his blood. The Landrys were probably first cousins to Cain." She sighed. "I got no one to blame but myself for the pot I'm boiling in," she said.

  "But if the Landry blood is so powerful and evil, won't I be evil, too, Mama?" I asked fearfully.

  "No," she said quickly. "You got my blood in you, too, don'tcha?"

  "Yes, Mama."

  "Well, my blood overpowers even the wicked Landry blood." She took my hand into hers and drew me closer so her eyes could look deeply into mine. "When evil thoughts come to mind, you think of me, honey, and my blood will come rushing over those thoughts, drowning them. If it don't . . ."

  "Yes, Mama?"

  "Then maybe what you're thinking ain't so evil after all," she said. Then she took a deep breath as if the advice had drained her of the little energy that remained after so hard a day of cooking and baking. She also did a lot of cleaning around the shack so it would look as presentable as possible to our guests tomorrow.

  "You're tired, Mama. You should go to sleep."

  "Oui. I should," she admitted. She sighed, gazed into the darkness for a moment, her gaze sliding over the shadows in search of Daddy, and then she rose with great effort. We went into the shack together and upstairs.

  "Tonight's the last night you go to bed a little girl," Mama told me after I got into bed. She sat at my feet for a few moments. "Tomorrow you graduate. You're a young woman now." She started to hum a Cajun lullaby, one she used to sing to me when I was a little girl.

  "Mama?"

  "Yes, honey."

  "Before you met Daddy, did you have any other boyfriends?"

  "I had a number of young men on my tail," she said, smiling. "My father would shoo them away like flies."

  "But . . . did any of them become your boyfriend?"

  "Oh, I had my little romances."

  "Did you . . ."

  "Did I what, honey?"

  "Did you kiss and do things with the other boys?"

  "What kind of a question to ask is that, Gabrielle?" she said, pulling her shoulders up. She held a small smile, however.

  "I just wondered if that was what was supposed to be."

  "Kissing and things is supposed to be, if that's what you mean, but you got to remember what I told you my grandmère told me: 'Sex, Catherine,' she used to say, 'is just Nature's little trick to bring the two people right for each other together.' "

  "What if people who aren't right for each other have sex?" I pursued, speaking softly, afraid that if I spoke too loudly or too fast, the magic moment during which Mama would tell me intimate things would burst and be gone.

  "Well then, it's just sex. It might make them feel good for the moment, but afterward," she said with a scowl, "they'll feel they lost a little of something precious, something of themselves. That's what I believe. I suppose," she added, raising her r
ight eyebrow, "your girlfriends would laugh at that, n'est-ce pas?"

  "I don't know, Mama. I don't care what they think."

  She stared at me a moment. "You want to tell me something, Gabrielle, something gnawing at your insides?"

  The words were on my tongue, but I swallowed them back.

  "No, Mama. I just wondered, that's all."

  She nodded. "Just natural. Trust your instincts," she said. "You got good ones. Well, good night, Miss Graduate," she said, and leaned over to kiss my cheek. I held on to her a bit longer than I should have, and Mama's eyebrows went up again, her eyes sharp and small.

  "I'm always willing to listen and help you, honey. Don't ever forget that," she said.

  "I know, Mama. Good night."

  "Good night," she said, and got up even though I sensed she wanted to remain there until I told her what was behind my dark eyes.

  I thought about Mama's words and wondered what part of myself I had left in the swamp. My worrying caused something hard and heavy to grow in my chest, making it ache. I put my palms together under my chin, closed my eyes, and prayed.

  "Please, dear God," I muttered, "forgive me if I did anything to cause this evil thing to happen to me."

  I tried to throw off the dreary feelings. Fatigue closed my eyes, but sleep was driven back by my tossing and turning. Anticipating the excitement of tomorrow, worrying about what had happened, worrying about Daddy and about Mama, kept me wide awake until the wee hours of the morning. The sun was actually turning the inky sky into a shade of red slate when I finally drifted into a deep repose. I woke to Mama's shaking the bed.

  "Gabrielle, you can't oversleep this morning!" she said, laughing.

  "Oh. Oh, what time is it?" I looked at the clock and leaped out of bed.

  We were getting our final report cards, turning in our books, saying our good-byes today, the last day of school.

  "Go wash the sleep out of that face in the rain barrel," Mama ordered. "I'll have some breakfast for you."

  "Did Daddy come home?" I asked.

  "No. You would have smelled him if he had," she offered, and went down to make breakfast.

  I washed my face in the rainwater, brushed my hair, and put on my clothes. Mama was mumbling about all the things she was still going to do in preparation for my graduation party. Every once in a while she would break to complain about Daddy.