The Gamble (I)

by LaVyrle Spencer

  “Because of somethin’ you said t’ me one time when we were talkin’ about Waverley. You called it a national treasure, do you remember?” She didn’t. He went on. “I had no idea when I left Kansas how I was goin’ t’ make Waverley pay its way again. Then one day I was lookin’ out the rotunda window”—he looked up to it, then back down at her—“and your words came back to me. I realized then what potential the place held. If it hadn’t been for you, insistin’ I come back here, I probably never would have. I just wanted to say thank you for badgerin’ me into it.”

  “But I’ve done nothing. You and the others did it all.”

  Willy had gone ahead and was draped over the balcony railing, balancing on his belly. “Hurry up, Gussie!”

  She lifted her head and caught her breath. “Willie! Get back!”

  He cackled, the sound resonating through the great dome. “I ain’t scared.”

  “I said get back—and I mean it!”

  He thought he was funny, teetering on the banister, showing off.

  “Scott, get him down from there.”

  It took Scott only seconds to pluck Willy off the rail and plant him on his feet. When Agatha reached him she was exceedingly angry. “Young man, if I ever catch you doing that again you’ll be polishing these spindles all the way from the bottom to the top. Every one of them—is that understood?”

  Willy grew sullen. “Well, golly, I don’t know what you’re so mad about. Nobody else gets mad. Heck, Pearl teached me how t’ slide down the banister.”

  “She what!”

  “She teached me—”

  “Taught me. And you’ve done that for the last time, too. You can tell Pearl I said so. Now, how about showing me your room?”

  Willy decided retaliation was a better course. “I don’t wanna! You can look at my dumb room by yourself!”

  “Willy, come back here!” Scott shouted.

  Willy continued marching down the stairs. Scott began to head down after the boy but Agatha gripped his arm and shook her head. Her words carried clearly throughout the rotunda. “Why don’t you show it to me instead, Scott? It’s the room where Justine comes to visit Willy, isn’t it? I’d like to hear all about it.” She moved to the doorway. “Oh, isn’t it lovely.” They heard Willy’s footsteps slow and pictured him gazing up longingly. They moved about the room, Scott giving a cursory tour, mentioning every item he was certain Willy had been eager to tell Gussie about—all his toys, the rocking horse, the view of the stables. When they emerged from the children’s room and moved on to the guest room next door, they knew Willy had been listening and saw him dip out of sight beside the curved stair extension downstairs.

  “When we first reopened Waverley we used all the rooms up here for ourselves, but one by one we improved the slave cabins so everybody has a house of their own. Jube and Marcus are fixin’ up the old overseer’s place and will move in there after they’re married. The Van Hoefs are stayin’ in here.” He indicated the east front bedroom. “And tomorrow we have guests arrivin’ from New York who’ll take that room.” He indicated the rear one opposite Willy’s. “And this...”—he stopped in the doorway of the bedroom above the main parlor—“... this is the master bedroom.”

  For some reason, Agatha hesitated to step over the threshold. “You were born here.”

  “Yes. My mother and father shared it, then Delia and I.”

  Delia, his lost Delia. Did he ever long for her?

  “But you aren’t using it for yourself?”

  “No. I share Willy’s room. That way we can rent this one out.”

  The master bedroom was done in the same ice-blue as the vest Gandy wore today. A tall rosewood tester bed with hand-carved posts dominated the space. Incorporated into the intricate carving upon the center of its headboard was the convex oval that marked it as an original Prudent Mallard piece. Billows of white netting were tied back to its corner posts and beside it sat a set of three portable steps for climbing up to the mattress. A matching dresser took up nearly an entire wall. On the windows, tiebacks of ice-blue with an apricot bamboo design matched that of the heavy counterpane and tester. The design was picked up in a pair of Chinese Chippendale chairs that faced each other before the twin front windows with a low marble-topped table between them. The fireplace was done in Carrara marble with a decorative iron liner. The brass andirons gleamed, matching the chandelier with its etched-glass globes overhead. A hand-tied rug of a deeper teal-blue with a rust border design covered the center of the virgin pine floor, leaving the varnished edges exposed.

  “Will guests be coming soon to use this room?”

  “Next week.”

  “Ah.” She hated to see it happen. Somehow it felt as if the room would be desecrated by having strangers sleeping in the big Mallard bed where Waverley’s heir had been conceived.

  “Would you like t’ see the view from the top?” he asked, to all outward appearances unruffled about giving his bed to strangers. “It’s grand, but there are a lot of stairs.”

  “I want to see it anyway.”

  They climbed the single staircase leading from the second to the third floor, where they passed two closed doors. “This is the trunk room. I’ll show it to y’ some other time.”

  She saw his chin lift, his eyes drawn to the octagonal summit that topped the mansion like a gleaming crown on a monarch’s head. She sensed his pride, his eagerness, to have her see all he owned. They mounted the last single stairway that brought them at last to the catwalk. And there below lay Scott’s heritage. Agatha stood with her fingertips on the window ledge, staggered.

  “It’s breathtaking.”

  “See that field down there?” He pointed.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve put in cotton. Just enough t’ recapture the old days for the guests. And see the meadow leadin’ down t’ the river?” They gazed east now. “I plan t’ fill it with more horses as I can afford them.” They walked around until they were looking straight south along the driveway.

  “And see that buildin’ across the road?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s the swimmin’ pool. Want t’ see it?”

  “I’d love to!”

  When they reached the main floor they found Willy, pouting, on the bottom step.

  “We’re goin’ t’ see the swimmin’ pool. Would y’ like t’ come with us?”

  At Willy’s continued sullenness, Gandy merely turned away and touched Agatha’s elbow, indicating the front door.

  “All right! I’ll go!”

  Scott and Gussie exchanged a secret grin.

  They walked three abreast down the gravel drive, between the formal gardens and the spreading lawn. Gandy said, “Tomorrow, Willy, you’ll be startin’ lessons with Gussie.”

  “Lessons! But I was gonna—”

  “And y’all be ready at whatever time she says and—”

  “How can I be ready when I can’t tell time yet?”

  “Then that’ll be one of your first lessons. Now stop makin’ up excuses and listen t’ me. I’ve made it clear to all the rest, there is one person and one person only who gives you orders around here—and that’s Gussie. Understood?”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? Oh, well, sometimes maybe from me. But before you make plans t’ go off with Zach in the stables, or out t’ the woods with Jack, or into town with the girls, you make sure it’s all right with Gussie. And if she gives you an order and you don’t obey it—like up on the balcony today—there’ll be trouble. If y’ want t’ grow up t’ be a gentleman, and be smart and well liked by others, you have t’ learn how. It doesn’t just happen. And that’s the reason Gussie is here.”

  They reached the pool area then, a white-painted wooden building beneath the oaks and hickories on the opposite side of the road. Inside, it was cool and shaded, lit by a few small windows. The pool itself was constructed of red brick and at one end a set of wide marble steps led into it.

  “Not as fancy as White Spri
ngs, but in the middle of the summer it’s a welcome relief at the end of a hot day.”

  “It smells much better than White Springs.”

  Scott laughed. Agatha recalled the feeling of weightlessness and marveled that she could experience it again any time she chose.

  “Where does the water come from?”

  “Artesian springs.”

  “Is it cold?”

  “Like ice... touch it.”

  He was right.

  “Ivory says he’s gonna teach me how t’ swim,” Willy announced.

  “Really swim?” inquired Agatha. “I mean, not just splash around, but really swim? In water over your head?”

  Scott answered. “Ivory and I used t’ swim in the river together when we were boys, before they built the pool. He’s a strong swimmer. That’s why he used t’ get the job of checkin’ underwater damage when he worked as a rooster on the riverboats.”

  “So it’s all right with you if he teaches Willy?” Agatha asked.

  “Absolutely. As long as Willy’s with Ivory, he’ll be in good hands.”

  “Very well, then. We’ll set aside some time each day for the swimming lesson.”

  And so it was that an unconscious cooperation began between Agatha and Scott in matters concerning Willy. Though he had said she’d be solely in charge of Willy, it never turned out that way. As in the days when they all lived in Kansas, they consulted each other about anything that directly affected his upbringing or his welfare.

  At supper that first night she sent Willy off to rewash his hands when they weren’t clean enough the first time, and when he complained, Gandy reinforced her order by snapping a single word: “Willy!”

  Willy grumbled his way from the room but returned with spotless knuckles. Agatha looked across the table at Gandy and thought, We’ll be better parents than most, married or not. And she cherished the moment and the man and the little boy and being part of the camaraderie around a dining room table at sunset.

  The following morning Agatha inquired if it would be all right to let Willy sleep later and begin his classes at ten A.M., since she had plenty of other work to keep her busy until then and there was no sense in rousing him inordinately early—she planned only three hours of schoolwork each day at the beginning.

  “Three hours? That’s all?” Scott responded.

  “Three hours for a boy of six can seem like two days to an adult. I’ll increase the time gradually.”

  “All right, Gussie, whatever you think is best.”

  On Saturday she approached him and asked, “What about church tomorrow?”

  “Church?” he repeated, caught off guard.

  “Yes, church. Willy has been going, hasn’t he?”

  Gandy cleared his throat. “Well... uh...”

  “He hasn’t.” She looked disappointed in him and he chafed under her somber regard. “Oh, Scott, you can’t neglect a boy’s spiritual upbringing.”

  “Well, it’s not that I didn’t want him t’ go, it’s just that the nearest church is clear in Columbus.”

  “What about the little white one we passed on our way?”

  “That’s the black people’s church.”

  “Black people’s? Baptist, you mean?”

  “Well, yes, Baptist, but it’s for the blacks.”

  “Does Leatrice go? And Ruby?”

  “Leatrice does, not Ruby.”

  “Then I’ll see Leatrice about Willy and me going along.”

  “But, Gussie, y’ don’t understand.”

  “We all pray to the same God, don’t we? What does it matter if it’s Baptist or Presbyterian?”

  “It doesn’t. But it’s theirs!”

  “Will they throw me out?”

  “No, they won’t throw you out. It’s just that the whites and blacks don’t mix in church.”

  “How odd. Now wouldn’t you think that would be the natural place for them to do so?”

  And so she and Willy went to church with Leatrice and Mose and Zach and Bertrissa and Caleb. Leatrice, proudly wearing her bright pink hat, took charge of introducing them. “This heah’s the master’s li’l adopted boy, Willy, an’ Miz Agatha Downin’ from Kansas. She Presbyterian, but she willin’ t’ put up wit us.”

  It didn’t really surprise Gandy that Agatha managed it. After all, it was women like Agatha who’d gotten the entire state of Kansas to change its mind about prohibition. He was waiting when they returned, sitting on one of the bois d’arc benches on the north veranda.

  “Y’all enjoy yourself?” he inquired, rising as Agatha came up the steps.

  “It’s a lovely little church. You must come with us next time.”

  And to Gandy’s surprise, the idea became unexpectedly inviting.

  He grew used to glancing up from the desk in his office and glimpsing Gussie at work in her room, diagonally across the rotunda from his. There was a satisfying feeling knowing she was there, steady, dependable. The guests loved her. She exuded an air of breeding of which the other girls fell just short. In her fine, rich gowns, with her hair always meticulously groomed, her nails buffed and trimmed into neat ovals, she was the picture of gentility the guests had all imagined when making their reservations for Waverley Mansion. She grew accustomed to greeting them when they arrived, coming out of her room to meet Gandy in the foyer, and together they’d open the front door and welcome whomever was stepping off the carriage. It was a logical mistake that more of them than not mistook her for his wife and greeted them as “Mr. and Mrs. Gandy.” The first time this happened Gandy noted a blush color her cheeks and her eyes flashed briefly to his. But after that she took it in stride, allowing him to straighten out the misconception with a quick correction.

  She assigned Willy the job of escorting each new arrival to the proper room, realizing that Willy’s charm in itself would probably bring people back again. He could talk to anyone, familiar or strange, and much as he’d captivated her heart when she’d first met him, Willy won over wealthy industrialists and their wives within minutes after they set foot in the place. Realizing this, she broadened Willy’s job to include giving a tour of the stables and the grounds for each incoming party. Afterward, he invariably received a tip. She had Marcus make him a little wooden bank shaped like a banjo with the strings stretched across the slot so whenever a coin was dropped the elastic strings twanged. Willy was so enchanted each time he dropped the money into it that he didn’t mind saving. She made a miniature account book for him and taught him to enter each tip he made, including the date, the amount, and the name of the person who’d paid him. (Until he learned to write, she agreed to write the names for him, though he already knew numbers so could enter them himself.) She explained to him that when he grew up, undoubtedly he’d be running Waverley instead of Scott and he’d have to know how to keep books, just as Scott did. Also, simultaneously, she taught him to count dollars and cents, and to add. But more importantly, she taught him the value of a penny saved.

  The three hours’ formal work she did with Willy each day didn’t begin to cover the time spent educating him. Manners were taught whenever and wherever the occasion called for it. How to use a measuring tape was taught when she cut out Jube’s wedding dress; oiling the sewing machine was demonstrated when Marcus, at Gussie’s request, allowed Willy to do the job, showing him how instead of just telling him. If some of the men went fishing, she sent Willy along to learn the sport. If Leatrice skinned catfish, Agatha had her show Willy how it was done. When Zach trimmed hooves or shod horses, Willy learned the names of the tools, the proper angle of the hoof, the fit of the shoe.

  She taught him that play was the reward for work, making certain he had enough of each for him to grow up industrious, yet fun-loving.

  He taught her, too. All about how Prince and Cinnamon had nipped at each other and played hard-to-get before Prince had mounted the mare with his long penis hanging nearly to the ground.

  And all about how he’d come upon Jube and Marcus down by the old tannery one
day and how Marcus had Jube’s dress pulled up around her waist and Jube was giggling and bucking like a wild bronc.

  And all about how the girls sneaked out to the brick pool at night sometimes and went swimming in nothing but their underwear.

  Agatha was appalled at the earthy things Willy had witnessed around the place while he’d run roughshod with nobody monitoring him. She spoke to Scott about it. For the first time ever she failed to receive his support.

  “Those things are natural, Gussie. I see nothin’ wrong with him watchin’ the horses mate.”

  “He’s only six years old.”

  “And he’s learned beside me that that’s the way nature goes about propagatin’.”

  “And he’s seen Jube and Marcus. What kind of lesson is that for a six-year-old?”

  “They’re in love. Isn’t there a lesson in that, too?”

  Too uncomfortable to face him any longer, she fled from his office. She lay awake nights wondering what Willy had seen when he’d watched the horses mate, and Jube and Marcus. The images in her mind made her restless and uncomfortably warm and she rose to open her window and saw lights flickering down in the pool house. She wondered what it would be like to experience that unearthly buoyancy wearing nothing but a thin piece of cotton. One day shortly before the wedding, when she was fitting Jube’s dress, she asked her if it was true that the girls swam after dark. Jube said yes, and Agatha asked if they’d let her sneak out with them next time.

  They went that very night, slipping down the driveway like four wraiths, their dressing gowns pale splotches of white beneath the giant magnolias. It was decidedly unladylike, walking barefoot at night with only a single thin garment underneath her gown, but Agatha had done so few forbidden things in her life, it was a pleasure to break the rules, just once.

  They reached the pool house giggling, and they felt their way inside its black recesses—cool, damp dirt against their feet, then the colder, smoother marble at the edge of the pool. Jube teased, “Look out for water moccasins now.” Two high-pitched squeals echoed eerily off the walls and the surface of the lightly gurgling water. Then a match caught and flared and the single lantern cast a thin orange light over one corner of the large enclosure. Jube turned, pulling the knot from her belt. “Anybody scared?” she inquired innocently.