All That Glitters l-3

by V. C. Andrews

  I clapped my hands and laughed.

  "Oh, Paul, that's so funny."

  He stepped toward me, not cracking a smile.

  "Madame, I am William Henry Tate and I am at your service. There is no more distinguished service for a southern gentleman to perform than the service he performs on behalf of a lady, a truly beautiful and elegant daughter of the South."

  With that he took my hand and kissed it softly.

  "Well, suh," I said, thickening my accent and stepping into his make-believe, "I am flattered. No fine nor more handsome gentleman has come to my aid so quickly before."

  "Madame, think of me as your devoted servant." He kissed my hand again. "May I be so bold as to invite you to my tent this evening for dinner. Of course, the service and the victuals won't be up to the standard they should be for a woman of your stature, but we are in the midst of a desperate struggle to keep our way of life survivin', and I'm sure you will understand."

  "It's ma contribution to the great effort, suh, to sacrifice, too. You do have linen napkins, however, do you not?" I asked, batting my eyelashes.

  "Of course. I didn't mean to imply you would dine like some dirtbag Yankee merchant. And on that note, may I offer you this dress for the occasion. It belonged to ma own sweet departed mother."

  He handed me the package under his arm. I set it on my lap and unwrapped it. Within was a brownish pink taffeta dress. I held it up. It had high bodice sleeves that were bell-shaped at the wrists and lavishly embroidered. From these emerged undersleeves made of batiste covered with embroidery. The collar was like the sleeves.

  "Why, suh, this is a beautiful dress. I'd be honored to wear such a garment."

  "The honor is all mine, madame," he said, stepping back with another sweeping bow. "Shall I stop by . . . say, in twenty minutes and escort you to the dining area?"

  "Make that twenty-five minutes, suh. I do want to make special preparations."

  "Madame, for you, the clock stops." He stood up and pulled a beautiful, antique gold pocket watch out of his pants pocket and flipped it open. It began to play a sweet tune. "I shall return as you requested."

  "Paul," I cried, "where did you get all this?"

  "Paul? Madame, my name is William Henry Tate," he said, and with that he pivoted and marched out. I stared after him, the laughter on my lips. Then I looked at the dress again and wondered what I would look like in it.

  The dress fit nearly perfectly. I took it in slightly at the waist with safety pins, but the bodice and the sleeves were perfect. Once I had the dress on, the magic of pretending took control and I thought about my hair. Quickly I brushed and pinned it up, making a part down the middle just the way southern women in historical pictures I had seen wore their hair. I stood there gazing at myself in the full-length mirror, wishing for the moment that our make-believe were true and I really was a member of southern aristocracy about to dine with a gentleman officer.

  There was a gentle knock at my door. When I opened it, Paul, in his costume, stepped back with a wide smile over his face, his eyes brightening with pleasure. He had a corsage of white baby roses in his hands.

  "Madame, you surpass even my most ambitious expectations. Beauty has no better place to call its home but in your face and fine figure."

  I laughed. "Where did you get these words?"

  "Madame, please. These are the words of a southern gentleman, and the words of a southern gentleman are never trifling."

  "Excuse me, suh." I curtsied.

  "May I?" he asked, approaching with the corsage. I stood still as he pinned it on my bodice. When I looked into his face and he looked into mine, it was as if I were looking at the face of a handsome stranger. He smiled and then stepped back and offered me his arm. "Madame."

  "Suh," I said, taking it. He escorted me down the corridor and we descended the stairway like the lord and lady of some great manor. Paul had prepared our servants for this costume party, for neither Molly nor James looked surprised. Molly smiled and bit down on her lower lip, but everyone behaved as if this were a perfectly normal evening.

  Paul had the lights turned down in the dining room and candles burning in the silver candelabra. He had soft dinner music piped in. After he brought me to my seat, he took his and offered me a glass of wine.

  "You set a fine dinner table in the field, suh," I remarked.

  "We make do with what we can, madame. These are times to try the souls of gallant men and gallant women. I am not one to diminish the sacrifice made by southern ladies. However, rank has its privileges, and I was able to manage this fine French Chablis." He leaned over, pretending not to want the servants to hear. "Bought it from some smugglers," he said.

  "Oh dear. Well, suh, they say the higher the grape, the sweeter the wine."

  "Well put, madame. Shall we make a toast?" he said, lifting his glass toward mine. "To the return of better times when the most important thing for a man to do is make the woman of his heart happy."

  We clinked glasses and sipped, eyes open and fixed on each other as we did so. Then Paul dabbed his napkin over his lips, taking care not to move his fake Vandyke, and nodded to Molly and James so they could begin to serve our dinner.

  I had expected to have little or no appetite this evening, but Paul's elaborate plotting to create these illusions and pleasant distractions was so delightful and romantic, I had to leave my dark and depressing thoughts behind. I had the feeling he had been planning such activity before and had everything ready just in case.

  Letty had prepared glazed wild duck as our entrée. And for dessert, with our rich Cajun coffee, we had floating island with strawberries. While we dined, Paul was charming and funny. Apparently he had studied up on the Civil War battles in which his ancestor William Henry Tate had fought. Like an actor who had rehearsed his part for months and months, he kept in character. He sang Civil War ditties, talked about the occupation of New Orleans by the Yankee army and the hated General Butler, whose face was painted on the inside of chamber pots that became known as Butler pots.

  He kept me so amused, I had little time to recall Gisselle's visit and the dreadful things she had told me. By the time Paul and I finished dinner, I was giggly and happy and very content. He offered his arm and escorted me to the patio, where we were to have an after-dinner cordial and gaze at the stars.

  Over a hundred years ago, I thought, a Confederate officer and his lady looked up at the same night sky dazzled by the same stars. A hundred years wasn't much time to the stars, even less than a second was to us. How small and insignificant we are beneath the celestial firmament, I thought. All our great problems were so tiny.

  "A Dixie for your thoughts," Paul said.

  "My thoughts that valuable to you?"

  "So valuable, it makes no sense to put any monetary offer. That's why I symbolically offer the Dixie."

  "I was just thinking how small we are under the stars."

  "I beg to differ, madame. You see that one star up there, the one that's blinking brighter than the others?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, it's blinking that way because it's jealous of the radiance that comes from your face this night. Some-where on another planet like ours, two people are looking up at their night sky and seeing the brilliance from your eyes, the glow of your lips, and thinking how small their world is."

  "Oh, Paul," I said, moved by his words.

  "William Henry Tate," he corrected, and leaned over to brush my lips with a kiss. It was so soft and quick, I could have been kissed by the breeze coming up from the Gulf and thought it was Paul's kiss, but when I opened my eyes, his face was still close to mine.

  "I can't be happy when you're unhappy, Ruby," he whispered. "Are you a little happier now?"

  "Yes, I am," I said. I heard the way my words sounded; I felt the trembling in my body. The cordial, the wine, the wonderful meal, had filled me with a warm glow. The night, the stars, the very air we breathed, all conspired against that part of me that struggled to remind me how close I wa
s to surrendering myself.

  "Good," Paul said, and brought his lips to my forehead. He kissed my closed eyes and my nose and brought those warm lips to mine. The tingling that stirred in my breast radiated into my neck, where his lips followed. I moaned and then I pulled away.

  "I'm tired," I said quickly. "I think I should go up."

  "Of course." He stood up when I did.

  "Thank you, suh," I said, smiling, "for a most wonderful evening."

  "Perhaps when the war ends, we will do it again," he replied, "in surroundings more suited to your beauty and stature."

  "It was fine, wonderful," I said. He nodded and I turned and walked into the house, my heart pounding. It was as if I really were saying good night to a beau who had been courting me and with whom I had fallen deeper and deeper in love.

  Molly had turned down all the lights in the house. Mrs. Flemming had fed and put Pearl to sleep. I hurried up the stairs and to my bedroom, gasping as I entered and falling back against the closed door to catch my breath, my eyes closed, my blood rushing madly through my veins.

  After a few moments, I stepped away from the door and went to the vanity table. Slowly I slipped out of the old dress, but I stood there staring at myself in my slip and panties. I unpinned my hair and let the strands fall down my still crimson neck and over my shoulders. I couldn't stop my body from trembling with a longing I had naively thought I could subdue at will. My breath quickened as I continued to undress, stepping out of my panties and undoing my bra. Naked, I gazed upon myself in the mirror, imagining a gallant Confederate officer stepping up behind me and placing his hand on my shoulder until I turned to raise my lips to his.

  Finally I turned off the lights and crawled under my comforter, luxuriating in the cool touch of the linen on my hot skin. Paul's romantic words lingered in my ears. I lay there thinking about the stars, dreaming. I didn't hear the adjoining door open, nor did I hear him approach my bed. I didn't realize he was beside me until I felt the weight of his body shift the mattress and then felt the warmth of his lips on my neck.

  "Paul."

  "It's William," he said softly.

  "Please, don't . . ." I began, but the words choked in my throat.

  "Madame, war makes time a luxury. If we were to have met and fallen in love before or after, I would spend weeks, months, courting you, but in the morning, I am to lead my troops into a desperate battle from which many will not return."

  I spun around and when I did so, his hands cupped my shoulders and he brought my lips to his. It was a long, hot kiss. His chest pressed against my naked breasts and his legs moved between mine until I could feel his manliness probing gently.

  I started to shake my head, but his lips went to my throat, and the touch of them pushed back my resistance. I laid my head against the pillow as his lips moved down my neck and grazed the crowns of my breasts, nudging the already erect nipples. Outside my window, I thought I could hear the snorting of horses, impatiently tapping their hooves on the stone.

  "I, too, may not return, madame. But if Death is waiting to claim me, he will be disappointed, for on my lips will be your name and in my eyes will be your face."

  "No," I said weakly, and then I said, "William . . ."

  When he entered me, I gasped and started to cry, but his lips were over mine again. We moved in a gentle rhythm that grew stronger and stronger until we galloped toward an ecstatic explosion that made me moan.

  Afterward, we lay beside each other, waiting for our breathing to slow. Then he lifted himself from the bed, turning to say, "God bless you, madame," before he slipped through the darkness to the door and was gone.

  I closed my eyes. There was a part of me in turmoil, hysterical, screaming about sin and evil, raging about the curses and the punishments that would rain down over me with hurricane force. But I pressed those voices back and heard only my own thumping heart. I fell asleep to the sound of my blood pumping through my body and didn't wake until the dim light of false dawn played shadows over the walls.

  I thought I heard the sound of cannons in the distance and sat up slowly. It sounded like a troop of horses were clip-clopping their way over the yard. I rose from my bed and went to the window. Pulling back my curtain, I looked out. inflamed swamp gas rolling over the surface of the canals did resemble the flash of cannons. Off in the distance, the silhouetted willows seemed to swallow a company of men on horseback. And then the sun really lifted its first rays over the rim of darkness and sent dreams scurrying back to their havens to wait for another night.

  I returned to bed and lay awake until I heard Pearl's first cries and Mrs. Flemming hurrying to her crib. Then I got up and dressed myself to face the reality of another day.

  Paul was at the table having coffee and reading his newspaper when I came down with Mrs. Flemming and Pearl. He snapped the pages and folded them quickly and

  "Good morning. Did everyone sleep well?"

  "The little one slept through the night," Mrs. Flemming said. "I've never seen such a contented infant. I feel like I'm stealing by taking money from you for caring for such a perfect baby."

  Paul laughed and gazed at me. He looked fresh and awake and absolutely glowed with vibrancy. There was not the slightest sign of remorse in his face.

  "I thought it was going to rain last night. Did you hear the thunder toward the Gulf?" he asked me.

  "Yes," I said. From the way he was smiling and talking, it was as if I had dreamed our entire encounter. Had I?

  "I absolutely passed out myself," he said to Mrs. Flemming. "Slept like a log. I guess it was the wine. But I feel well rested. So what are your plans for the day, Ruby?" he asked me.

  "Your sister's coming over later to show me some pictures of wedding dresses and bridesmaid gowns. I'm going to be working in my studio most of the day."

  "Good. I've got to go to Baton Rouge and won't be back until dinner. Ah," he cried when Molly began to bring in our eggs and grits, "I'm starving this morning." He beamed a smile at me and we had our breakfast.

  Afterward I went up to my studio, and just before he left, Paul came up to say good-bye.

  "I'm sorry I've got to be away so much of the day," he said, "but it's oil business that can't wait. Have you any idea how much money I've deposited in our various accounts?"

  I shook my head but gazed at my easel instead of him.

  "We're millionaires many times over, Ruby. There isn't anything you can't have or can't have for Pearl, and—"

  "Paul," I said, turning sharply, "money, no matter how much, can't ease my conscience. I know what you're trying to do, to say, but the fact is, we violated our promises to each other last night. We made our own special vows, remember?"

  "What do you mean?" he said, smiling. "I went to bed and passed out last night, just as I described. If you had dreams. . ."

  "Oh, Paul . . ."

  "Don't," he said. He pleaded with his eyes, and I understood that as long as I went along with the make-believe, he could live with what happened. Then he smiled. "Who knows what's real and what isn't? Last night someone rode a horse over our grounds, right over our newly planted lawn. Go on and look for yourself, if you like. The tracks are still there," he said. Then he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. "Paint something . . . from your dream," he suggested, and left me.

  Could I do what he asked . . . imagine that it had all been a dream? If I couldn't, I couldn't live with my conscience, and Pearl and I would have to leave, I thought. Paul had become so attached to her, and she to him. No matter what sins I might have committed and might yet commit, I had given Pearl a loving and caring father.

  I smothered the voices that would haunt me and turned instead to do just what Paul had suggested . . . paint from the pictures within me. I worked in a frenzy, drawing, constructing and creating an eerie swamp landscape. From out of the moss-hung cypress emerged the shadowy, ghostlike figures of Confederate calvary, their heads bowed. They were returning from some battle, their ranks greatly depleted. The mist curled ar
ound the legs of their horses, and on the branches of nearby oak trees, owls peered sadly. Off in the background, the glow of yet-burning fires lingered and turned that part of the inky night sky bloodred.

  I became inspired and decided I would create a whole series of pictures depicting this romance. In my next picture, I would have the officer's lady waiting on the balcony of the plantation house, her eyes searching desperately for the sight of him as the men emerged from the night of death and destruction. I was so entranced with my work that I didn't hear Jeanne come up the stairs and couldn't help showing my chagrin at being disturbed.

  But she was so excited about her upcoming wedding, I felt terrible about disappointing her.

  "You mustn"t mind me," I said when her face dropped into glum despondency over my reaction at seeing her. "I get so involved in my painting, I forget time and place. This house could go up in flames and I wouldn't realize it."

  She laughed.

  "Come, let me see the pictures of the dresses," I said, and we spent the afternoon talking about designs and colors. She had a half dozen friends to serve as brides-maids. We discussed the little gifts she would get for each of them and their escorts and then she described her mother's plans for the reception.

  As we talked and I listened, my regret over not having a wonderful real wedding for myself deepened. Even Jeanne remarked how sorry everyone was that Paul and I had eloped and not given them the same opportunity to plan a grand affair.

  "What you should do is get married again," she suggested excitedly. "I've heard of couples doing that. They have a ceremony for themselves and then an elaborate one for all of the friends and relatives. Wouldn't that be fun?"

  "Yes, but for the time being, one elaborate party is enough," I said.

  The planning continued as if it were a major campaign. We had dinners at the house after which the family gathered in the living room to discuss the menus, the guest list, the arrangement of flowers, and the location of every part of the ceremony and reception. There were some heated arguments over the music, the girls wanting a more modern band, and Gladys and Octavious wanting a more eloquent orchestra. Every time a disagreement became impossible to solve, Paul would force me to give my opinion.