Gilda finally laid down on the covered Mississippi soil, her enthusiasm for the evening muted by the solemnity of her talk with Anthony. Deep inside her, however, was the kernel of excitement and curiosity—new dresses, the opera, and Eleanor at her side. Gilda closed her eyes with some difficulty and asked the night to take her.
By the time her dresses were ready and Eleanor had announced what evening they would attend the opera, Gilda had spent additional time with Sorel in which the budding relationship between the two women was not the topic. But there remained an undercurrent of sadness in Sorel whenever Eleanor or her driver appeared at the salon to call for Gilda.
Eleanor and Gilda were both surprised when Sorel announced that he and Anthony were also attending the opera the same evening and asked that they meet beforehand in his salon. Gilda’s formal gown was a stunning success, but no more so than Eleanor’s red gown in a design suggesting modesty in spite of the scarlet hue.
Gilda was fascinated by the soft weight of the skirt at her own waist and the light reflecting on the fabric. For once, she had little concern for what others were thinking as they observed her. In the lobby of the theater she was much too busy looking at them. The glitter of jewelry was a sight she had never imagined. It seemed a foolish competition with the light off the bay and the electric lights that circled it.
The four of them were an elegant ensemble. Gilda was so excited by being with Sorel, Anthony, and Eleanor together that she could hardly pay attention to the singing. She tried to understand the meaning of the ear-shattering sounds and ponderous movements around the stage but realized that any appreciation she had for the opera would be achieved later, under less distracting circumstances. The music and movement stirred her, but not in the way it was intended. It brought to the surface long-buried memories of the songs the workers sang on the plantation.
She felt the monumental elegance of the rhythms and the urgency that had been missing from her life for some time. She had not heard music such as that since her escape. Sometimes the women at Woodard’s would sing around the piano, country songs from their childhoods, or bawdy songs from the wharf, but nowhere did she hear sounds as compelling as those she had run away from. She added music to her growing list of reasons to remain with Sorel for a while. And for the first time she had something to look forward to.
After the program was over, the four of them hurried away from the bustling audience. They offered greetings to the many people who recognized Sorel but did not stay to talk with anyone. Eleanor was met by her driver and reluctantly left Gilda with Sorel and Anthony. Once back in Sorel’s rooms the three—Sorel, Anthony, and Gilda—sat quietly in front of his fire, each listening to individual thoughts.
Sorel spoke first. “I’m pleased we were able to spend this time with you and Eleanor. You seem to have had a salutary effect on her.”
“I think she’s needed someone closer to her own age…” Gilda started.
The three of them laughed uproariously and spent another hour talking of the opera and its audience. Gilda excused herself when she began to feel the need to go out for the blood. She wanted time alone to think of the music and clothes she’d seen. She went to her room and donned the dark breeches, jacket, and cap she wore when she went out at night. In spite of her enthusiasm for the evening’s gowns and jewels, returning to the clothes she had worn on the road soothed her.
As the weeks passed, Gilda most often hunted for the blood alone. Occasionally she shared the time with Anthony simply because they enjoyed walking the city together. Eleanor had asked once if she would like to join her to search for the blood, but Gilda said no. Afterward Gilda was uncertain why she responded this way. Her trips with Eleanor remained, for the most part, afternoon forays to dressmakers or other merchants where one or both of them made purchases.
Sorel promised to arrange other theater excursions in the coming weeks, but Eleanor remained noncommital. Gilda visited Eleanor’s salon frequently, and they sat together talking of their pasts for hours, ignoring the patrons around them. With Eleanor, Gilda saw much of the surrounding countryside and learned about the medicinal plants, flowers, and animals that existed on the edge of the city.
Coming downstairs one evening to await Eleanor’s coach, Gilda entered the salon hoping to spend some time with Sorel before she went out for the evening. Her trunk had arrived intact and sat comfortably in her room. With its arrival, Gilda felt her place here secured.
She had examined the soft leather case and its practical knife, wondering where Bird kept the old knife she had given her in exchange for this one. The rough cross from Gilda’s mother had an odd attachment for her. She knew it was a Christian symbol although her mother had not really believed in their God. She had clung to the dim memories of the gods of her homeland. The cross was more a signpost. It marked a time in life, like the signs erected at crossroads. She had packed the comforter at the last moment, not really sure why. It was a crude thing made by one of the girls, the hem not quite finished because of the need to wrap it for some holiday. Gilda’s things now seemed natural additions to her room.
Sorel joined her in the salon as soon as he heard she was there but waited for her to speak. Gilda wasn’t certain how to express her sense of satisfaction. She spoke anyway. “I understand more now why Bird felt as she did. I understand it’s only a turn, that our roads can meet in the future. I don’t have to run after her. My life is wherever I am.”
Although his voice remained even, Sorel looked angry as he said, “So you’ve given up your search?”
“No, I’ve just come to believe, as you said, Bird will seek me out when she’s ready. I still await word.”
“And in the meantime?” Sorel asked.
“I will stay with you, if I may. Learn the lessons that remain for me. There are still many ways that I must become accustomed to.” Gilda felt Anthony just behind her and looked up at him. He was staring intently at Sorel, as if he wished to still his speaking. Gilda was unnerved by what appeared to be discord between the two men.
She went on in the hope of making Sorel understand the clarity she had recently begun to feel. “I’ve no doubt Bird will return to my life, but I must not suspend my progress until that time. Perhaps I don’t need her at this moment as much as I’d thought.”
“Don’t think that you replace one with the other: Bird with Eleanor. Let me assure you that Eleanor is in no way suitable as a substitute for anyone, least of all Bird.” Sorel’s voice was tight with anxiety. “She will fail you in ways that Bird never could.”
“She’s not tried to leave me.”
“In time you might wish that she did.” Sorel took a deep breath before going on. “I love her as my own, but you will see she has only her own interests in her heart. There’s no room for any other. I cannot talk of her as if she’s no concern to me, but look honestly at her as I’ve done. The women who brought you into this world were honest, honorable, devoted people. The gift of life was in them before they joined this family. Eleanor is beautiful, charming, clever, but she does not have that gift. She may never have it. Becoming one of us merely bestows the power of long life. It cannot light the fire of living in one who has no spark of it.”
Sorel’s words sat heavily on Gilda as she rode to her meeting with Eleanor. She decided to put them aside and use only her power of observation and visceral reactions—much as she had done when among the night animals on the road. This would decide her course of action. Still, she was shaken by the obvious truth that hung in the air: in all their time together it was Eleanor who controlled every moment. Gilda began to taste her own naiveté in responding to desire, a sensation with which she had had little experience.
Once the footman had escorted her to Eleanor’s table and she was seated across from Eleanor, looking into the deep green of her eyes, Gilda fought her sensation of falling.
“The outfit is perfect, you beautiful thing. And who’d believe such a devilish pantaloon contraption would be so engaging. Look h
ow everyone gazes at you and tries to pretend they’re not.
“Yes, I’m so grateful for your help these past weeks.” Gilda was silent, uncertain how to continue.
“Don’t be silly. It was a purely selfish act. As anyone will tell you, that’s my only motivation. How could we have the delightful evenings together that we’ve had with you in dusty breeches? That’s not the sort of company I could endure, I assure you.” Eleanor’s eyes flashed with mischievousness.
The room felt close to Gilda. Unlike Sorel’s rooms these seemed stuffy, smoky, noisy. The men at the bar were a bit loud and drank too much. The edge in the conversations around her felt too close for her to be comfortable among these strangers. Gilda looked around the room and recognized a few faces, regulars here but ones seldom seen at Sorel’s. She thought she glimpsed Samuel slipping out the door. She recognized the intensity in the bend of his body. He frequently hung around the edges of the room when she was present but had not approached her since that night on the street.
A deep exhaustion descended over Gilda that begged for quiet, a cessation of thoughts, simple enjoyments rather than the complexity of the unknown. She felt trapped here among these anxious people. Within her view were at least four others like herself and Eleanor. In their faces she could see juvenile preoccupations or convoluted machinations, the need to be entertained at any expense.
“Might we walk outside for a while? I’d like some air,” Gilda said.
Eleanor looked puzzled for a moment but signaled over her shoulder. A waiter appeared, and she told him to bring her a cape. They stepped out into a cool fog. She dismissed her driver, and the two of them walked downhill toward the bay. Eleanor linked her arm through Gilda’s and then spoke. “What is it, my little one? You seem distracted. I’ve been waiting for so many days to be with you again, and you seem to be somewhere else.”
“Yes, I think that’s true. There’s so much for me to learn while I’m here—”
“And I intend to teach you—”
“Sorel and Anthony have done quite well, thus far.”
“What is it? Do you worry about your Bird? I think you must learn that we all make our own lives. That’s just the way of it.”
“No, Bird is not a concern for the moment.” She was silent as they continued their walk down the shadowy street. Eleanor pulled her suddenly toward the darkness beside an unlit house.
“Why are you hiding from me?” She held Gilda’s gaze in a grip of fire. Gilda felt her body yielding, sinking into the soft, satin-covered breasts. She tried to break the gaze but could not. Eleanor’s mouth was on hers, and Gilda pressed harder into its fierce strength reaching out for her.
The kiss bruised her mouth. Yet Gilda matched its power, feeding a need inside her like no other she had experienced before. Her hand became entangled in the mass of red curls, and she pulled at it while pressing Eleanor’s mouth tighter to her own. She heard only her own breath and Eleanor’s. The woodframe building behind them seemed to creak with the energy of their bodies against it. The dry, old wood sounded as if it would ignite with the desire that passed between them.
Gilda felt the sharpness of Eleanor’s teeth as she bit her lip and continued to press her mouth onto Gilda’s, taking in her blood. Gilda became confused, unsure how to protect herself. She did not want to be bound to this woman by blood, but her desire was a tide she feared she could not resist.
She heard nothing in the world except the beating of their hearts and their breath rushing between them. She felt only the silkiness of Eleanor’s hair in her hand and Eleanor’s iron grip at her back until the sound of a crash echoed somewhere, perhaps inside her own head.
She staggered backward, unable to imagine what had rallen from the building’s upper stories to daze her. She looked upward at the blank eyes of the building as her knees buckled and she toppled over. She closed her eyes for a second, then panicked.
“Eleanor,” she screamed, and tried to focus the blur. Eleanor was there, against the wall, with a look of horror spreading across her face. And there, too, was Samuel.
“I warned you to leave us, you black demon. I warned you.” Samuel’s face was engorged with hatred. He turned to Eleanor as if to hit her, but her look of horror quickly became one of derision. He turned back to continue directing his anger at Gilda.
She recovered herself and sprang to her feet. “Samuel, you’re a foolish man. You’ve nothing to gain by this.”
Gilda felt blood slipping down through her hair, staining the collar of her new outfit. She was stunned but no longer disoriented. She could see from his eyes, almost before he was sure of it himself, that Samuel would attack again. As he came at her with the iron pipe she grabbed it in midair. He would not release his grip so Gilda swung it around in front of her, taking Samuel with it. He hit the wall beside Eleanor with a force that shook the woodframe. The pipe dropped to the ground, and he leapt at Gilda without missing a breath.
The force of his assault knocked Gilda back to the ground. He was atop her with his hands at her throat. She had never struggled with one of her own, only those who did not understand her strength. It was a moment before she realized Samuel was not trying to strangle her but to rip open her throat. Over his shoulder she saw Eleanor standing quietly. Gilda saw her look once up and down the street to see if anyone approached, but she maintained a gellid calm that unnerved Gilda more than Samuel’s attack.
Gilda used her own head to butt Samuel’s face, stunning him. She forced him aside and raised herself high enough to deliver a punch to his jaw. He fell backward. The surprise seemed to have robbed him of all his strength.
“Kill him, it must be done. We must be rid of him.” Eleanor’s words, softly spoken, were full of desire and promise. Gilda looked down at the blond hair now laced with blood. Samuel began to gather his strength for another attack.
“You kill him, Eleanor. It’s your wish that he die, not mine. He’s a fool of your making.”
“Kill him! He’ll haunt our every step if you don’t.” Her urgency made her voice become more shrill. “How can we live if we don’t rid ourselves of him right now?”
The face of the one man she had killed on the road north from Louisiana floated up from the quiet place in the back of her mind. And with it the revulsion she had felt at the deed. He had meant to kill her on the dark road but had died himself, never knowing why.
“How?” Gilda screamed at Eleanor. “I don’t think we can live at all if we do this.” Gilda invoked reason, still unable to recognize the eerie lust in Eleanor’s face. Samuel looked at Eleanor with disbelief and rage. He leapt up, no longer afraid of her power over him, and sprung forward to finally vent his anger at Eleanor. She swatted outward and sent him sprawling.
“You must be done with it, I beg you.” Gilda heard the forced guilelessness in Eleanor’s voice that she had sensed before, but this time its falseness rang more clearly.
“No, Eleanor, I can’t kill him for you.” Samuel tried to stand again, his face swollen, the fire in his eyes undampened. “You best keep up your guard, Samuel. I will not kill you for her, but surely, sooner or later, someone will.”
“My dearest, please understand, he’s plagued me ever since the unfortunate death of his wife. A death he caused. Can’t you see how he blames me? But it was he who took her final blood, not me. I couldn’t stop him. He took her final blood.” Eleanor’s voice rose in anguish and desperation. “You have to help me be free of him. You must.” This last was icily imperious.
Gilda stepped back. “I’m no longer a servant, Miss Eleanor. We been freed.”
Gilda turned on her heel as she had seen Samuel do. The force of her movement and intent propelled her forward into the dark, obscuring fog.
Away from the fire of their hatred, Gilda felt uncertain what direction to take. She soon found her way toward Mission Dolores. On unsteady legs she approached the bench where she sat before with Anthony and sank down gratefully.
She began to moan. There were no
tears to come to her eyes now—something she had become accustomed to once she was taken into the life. But she moaned as its equivalent, a high, keening sound of anguish as she once heard Bird do. She moaned for the loss of the one who had made her, for the loss of Bird, and for the loss of Eleanor. She moaned for the desperation of her need and desire, for the magnitude of her ignorance of the world.
“Will I ever know?” she asked aloud of the tombstones and stars. The wind around her was silent, and the fog was like a blanket. Looking at the graves of the churchyard, she was suddenly curious about what was beneath them. What would it be to lie still beneath these carved stones, to finally have peace?
“I hardly think you’re ready to find out, do you?” Anthony spoke in a soft voice above her. He dropped to his knees in front of her and reached up to wipe the almost-dried blood from her brow. “Have you any wounds?”
“Not that bleed now. He was, as Sorel said, a weak man.” Anthony drew a handkerchief from his coat and wiped at her face as she released a stream of words in lieu of tears. “I couldn’t kill him. Even seeing how he wished to kill me, to kill her. I couldn’t do it.”
“There was no need. That is an important lesson,” said Anthony.
“Lesson! Aren’t you listening?” Gilda almost shouted. “I could have destroyed him, happily. What does that make me? I’ve never, in all the time that’s been given me, never wanted to kill as much as I wanted it tonight. I think it was only her entreaties that saved him. Saved me. The mesmerizing innocence of her voice was betrayed by her words.”
The Gilda Stories Page 12