Skye Cameron

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  Already I loved the old Rue Royale, with its bustle of carriages and carts, its tiny shops elbowing each other from square to square, always with the lacy iron balconies above, and the blue-green shutters closed against daytime warmth.

  There were grocers’ stores, and the tiny rabais shops that carried pins and needles, threads and other notions. But there were also what I termed to myself the heartbreak shops. Here the great Creole families, impoverished by the war and years of carpetbag government, had brought one and another of their treasures of furniture, French china and objets d’art to dispose of for whatever they would bring. Mama was fascinated by a great sunburst of a garnet pin in one small window, but it was the blue cat in another that caught Lanny’s eye.

  “Look, mam’zelle!” he cried to me. “What a most proud fellow this one is. He is unhappy, don’t you think, to stay in a shop window?”

  The cat was a weighted china doorstop of Delft blue, and never had I seen so complacent a feline face. Its eyes had a superior, rather scornful look, and its blue little tongue licked wisely over its upper lip. It seemed so entirely pleased with itself, so indifferent to the opinion of any other creature, that it made me laugh out loud. Once my father would have loved the whimsy of this china figure. Perhaps even now it might cause him to smile.

  “Lanny’s right,” I said. “Such a proud fellow should never have to reside in a shop window where all and sundry can stare at him. Let’s take him home to Papa.”

  My mother did not think the gift either beautiful or suitable, but she consented to the small purchase and we went into the shop.

  “He doesn’t need a doorstop,” she protested as the clerk wrapped the cat in brown paper. “He always wants his door closed. Your gift is not sensible.”

  “Then perhaps this will coax him into leaving the door open,” I said as we left the shop. “If he doesn’t like it, I’ll take it for myself. The creature reminds me of something, though I can’t think what.”

  I gave it to Lanny to carry and the boy was touchingly pleased with the trust. What a lonely child he seemed. I wished I dared ask questions about why he lived with Lobelia Pollock. But there was a certain reserve about him that held one off. For all that he had taken a liking to me, I did not quite dare question him.

  When we reached the Tourneau house I left Lanny in the parlor, suggesting that he wait until I found Caro. He seemed content enough, looking about the room with great interest. There was a set of sea shells on the corner whatnot, and since he was obviously a careful child, I said he might play with them if he liked. Then I went to my room to leave the china cat and remove my hat, meaning to search out Caro in the next few minutes.

  It was Caro, however, who searched for me. I heard her calling my name in high excitement and stepped out on the gallery. She ran toward me at once, her eyes wide with alarm, all her eager, dancing quality vanished.

  “Oh, it is terrible, terrible! You didn’t tell me the little boy was here, Cousin Skye. And now he has gone into Papa’s study—and—oh, it is most terrible!”

  I took her by the hand and we hurried toward the upper hall together. As we ran, I asked questions breathlessly.

  “What is it, Caro? What has happened? I left him in the parlor and I thought he would stay there until you came.”

  She clung to me tearfully, pulling me back for a moment. “I came downstairs just now and heard Papa’s voice from the study, speaking angry words to someone. He has come home early from the courthouse. So I peeped between the dining-room doorway curtains and saw that Lanny was in there with him. Come quickly, Skye, we must save him!”

  The door to the study was open and we entered without knocking. Lanny stood with his back to us, his legs astride, and his hands behind his back, much as he had stood that day looking up at the statue of General Jackson. Uncle Robert faced us and I was shocked by his appearance. His skin had gone a blotchy, furious red. Between the two, chessmen lay scattered upon the carpet, and the silver cover had rolled upon its side on the floor.

  Lanny looked white and shaken, but he was trying valiantly to explain. “I’m very sorry, monsieur. I did not know when I lifted the cover to see what was beneath, that I would knock the chessmen from the board. If any harm has been done, I will find a way to repay you, monsieur. If any are broken—”

  Uncle Robert had seen us and he made an effort to recover himself. “Stop your chatter, boy. You may leave us, Caroline. This is none of your affair.”

  I had never heard him speak so harshly and I was dismayed.

  Caro stood her ground bravely. “Oh, but it is, Papa. Lanny has come to visit me.”

  The boy looked around at us and I saw that for all his brave apology he was close to tears. I drew him back from the scattered figures of ebony and ivory, put an arm about his shoulders.

  “The whole thing is my fault,” I told my uncle. “I’m terribly sorry, but no harm was intended and I don’t believe any real damage has been done. Mama and I met Lanny this afternoon while we were out for a walk, and—”

  Uncle Robert broke in on my words with less than his usual courtesy. “Lanny? Lanny? What is your name, boy?”

  “My name is Lance Fontaine,” said Lanny quietly.

  Uncle Robert stared at him for a long moment.

  Once more I tried to explain. “There is a woman named Pollock—I believe she is a client of yours. The boy seems to be in her charge.”

  The look my uncle turned upon me startled me. It was bright and dark, almost malevolent.

  “What do you know of this Mrs. Pollock?”

  “Why—nothing very much, really. The day I saw her come out of your office Courtney said she was the proprietress of a gambling house.” There seemed no reason now to suppress the fact of our meeting in Jackson Square and I told him of that too. “Mrs. Pollock was looking for the boy that day,” I concluded, “and we helped her find him.”

  Again Uncle Robert made an obvious effort to control his indignation. “Under no circumstances, Skye, are you ever to speak to this woman, or have anything to do with her. It is not fitting for a young lady of your birth, and what I hope is breeding, to consort with such women.” He fixed his attention once more upon his daughter. “What is this? You no longer obey when I make a request? Go downstairs at once and tell Delphine I wish to see her.”

  “Yes, Papa,” said Caro, suddenly meek. She went without daring a backward glance at Lanny. My hand on the boy’s shoulder tightened consolingly, but he moved away from me and knelt to pick up the scattered chessmen. I suspected that he wanted to hide the tears that filled his eyes and my heart went out to him.

  “Please sit down, Skye,” said my uncle more calmly, and drew a chair for me beside his desk.

  When I was seated, he took the other chair and for a few moments seemed lost in thought, his fingers drumming absently on the desk. Lanny replaced the chessmen one by one upon the board, not attempting to set them up for a game. Uncle Robert thanked him courteously enough, and when Delphine tapped on the door he spoke to her as evenly as though he had never lost his temper.

  “You will take this boy back to the Pontalba apartments at once, Delphine. It seems that he has run away from his home.”

  Delphine nodded without expression and held out her hand. “Come,” she said to Lanny.

  The boy turned and made me a grave little bow. It was clear that he no longer expected help from me. I longed to pull him into my arms and somehow console him for what had happened, but under my uncle’s stare I could not manage it. He bade Uncle Robert a polite “Good day, monsieur,” before he left the room, disdaining Delphine’s hand, and went downstairs with her.

  My uncle and I were left alone. I felt like running after the others, but he had told me to sit here and I was experiencing more than ever before, the compelling quality of his will. After a moment of toying with a carved ivory paper knife, he turned his dark gaze upon me. But now he seemed more unhappy than angry.

  “I’m afraid we must have a talk, Skye,” he said
.

  I waited in silence. I had not wanted to offend and distress him, but I did not see how I could have conducted myself in any other way.

  “I have not been altogether happy about your behavior on various occasions since you have come to this house.”

  “I’m truly sorry I’ve disappointed you,” I said. Tears stung behind my eyes. Always before I had been confident of his understanding and sympathy. It hurt me to see him distant and critical.

  A slight smile moved his lips. “It is not altogether a disappointment, my dear. As I’ve told you before, I like your spirit. However, I feel that your energy and vitality can be turned to better use than by this idle stepping off down indiscreet roads.”

  I stirred in my chair. “Uncle Robert, I had to befriend that child. I could do nothing less.”

  “Knowing nothing about him, you brought him here to play with my daughter Caroline.” The smile had vanished.

  “He seems a well-brought-up child. She liked him and I think they would not have harmed each other.” I hated to be forced into defending my actions to him, but I did not know how else to regain the ground I had lost in his estimation.

  “I do not ask you to think about these matters,” Uncle Robert said coldly. “I ask you to listen to me and do exactly what I ask you to do.”

  “I can’t help thinking,” I told him unhappily. “My father has always taught me to think for myself.”

  “This is not your father’s house. At present you are entirely my charge, not his. Under no circumstances are you to have anything to do with the Pollock woman or with this child who is in her care. Do I make myself clear?”

  I no longer felt like crying. In spite of the dismaying turn our affairs had taken, I grew a little indignant.

  “You make yourself very clear,” I said. “But I can’t promise such a thing. I don’t know what situation might arise in the future and I can’t promise something that would force me to be unkind to that little boy.”

  My voice had risen and my defiant words seemed to echo in the room, frightening me a little. I didn’t want to anger him further.

  The mottled flush had come into his cheeks again and he did not look at all well. I wondered if I should call Aunt Natalie, but I feared that might disturb him all the more. He flung out his hands, as if in repudiation of me and everything I had said. Hoping that the gesture was a dismissal, I half rose from my chair. But he waved me back and spoke with something of an effort.

  “You leave me no choice. I have done my best to move gently with you, Skye, to give you every chance to come willingly to the point of taking sensible action. But you are too unruly, too undisciplined. We can wait no longer. You must marry in the near future.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. How could he possibly say such a thing? How could he believe that I might be forced into marriage just because he wished it?

  He nodded gravely. “Yes, this is the only solution. I have spoken to Courtney Law and he is most grateful to me for wishing to take him into my own family. He admires you greatly, feels that you would make him a fine wife. He advised giving you time, however, not attempting to rush you into anything. It was his feeling that you should get to know and like him, as is apparently the foolish custom in the North before marriage. But now I realize we cannot wait. I shall speak to my wife so that preparations may be started. I shall, of course, give you a suitable wedding and dowry. The date can be set a month ahead. You leave me no other choice, my dear.”

  He reached for the pen on his desk and began to write on a sheet of paper. This time I knew I had been dismissed. For a moment I was too shocked by his words to answer him. I felt as if a blow had knocked the breath completely out of me. Then the power of thought and motion returned, and I stood up in order to answer him all the more forcefully.

  “I’m sorry to oppose you in any way, Uncle Robert,” I said. “I am very grateful for all you’ve done for us. But I cannot marry Courtney Law. Not now or later on. I cannot marry anyone except a man I love.”

  The hand with the pen moved smoothly on. He did not even turn his head to look at me.

  “My dear,” he said casually, “you have no other choice. Your father’s well-being depends upon me. Let us speak no more about it for the moment, Skye.”

  I stared at him in utter disbelief. What I had heard was too cruel a thing to be true. He could not possibly mean—! But watching him as he wrote on, indifferent to my presence, I knew exactly what he meant. And I knew he would not retract it. If I did not choose to marry Courtney Law, he would put us all out of his house and he would not turn a hair in so doing.

  I turned and ran out of the room, lest I say or do something rash before I had time to control myself. Along the gallery I ran, past my father’s door and into my own room. I locked the door after me and flung myself on the bed. Across the room the blue cat stared at me disdainfully from the bureau. It wore an expression as superior as that of my uncle and I was tempted to pick up a slipper and fling it at the china doorstop.

  But that would be a childish release for the shattering emotion that shook me. How could my uncle, whom I had loved and respected, whom I had trusted so completely, change to something monstrous before my very eyes? And how was I to deal with what had happened? How was I to find the means of resisting him?

  Torn by a mingling of fear for the future and misery because my belief in him had been destroyed, I turned my face to my pillow and wept like the child I could no longer be. Yet in my depths of unhappiness I thought of Justin, reached out to him despairingly.

  “Justin, Justin, help me!” I whispered. “You are my love. Don’t let this happen to me!” But Justin Law was far away from this house and how could he know or care?

  Yet he would know, I thought, thrusting back my sobs. If my uncle forced this action upon me, Justin would know that I was going to marry his brother. And what would he think then of the girl who had kissed him with all her heart one night in a garden?

  SIXTEEN

  I could not lie there on my bed for long because the supper hour was approaching. I’d have preferred to avoid the table, avoid seeing my uncle again until I had rallied my courage, had come to some decision. But I did not want anyone fussing over me and I didn’t want word of Uncle Robert’s threat to get back to my father. If Mama dreamed of what he’d said, she would run tearfully to Papa—and that was the one thing that must not happen.

  Reluctantly I left the bed and the luxury of a despair I could not afford and bathed my face in cool water. Then I sat at the dressing table to tidy my hair. Had my mother, when she was younger than I, sat at this very table and gazed with anguish into this same mirror? She too had lived under Uncle Robert’s domination and I remembered her dread of returning here, of being in the same house with her brother again. I had always dismissed as exaggeration the things she said about Robert Tourneau. I had been eager to admire and respect and love my uncle. But this afternoon I had seen behind the sympathetic mask he had shown me, and the glimpse terrified me.

  What was I to do? What could I do?

  The marble top of the little dressing table was cool to my warm hands and for just an instant I bent and pressed my hot cheek against the soothing chill. Then I sat up and combed my hair, faced the girl in the glass. Not since the day of the party had I worn my hair loose, and it was drawn back tightly now in the old way. I looked pale, and my eyes were dull with unhappiness, the lids reddened.

  A tap sounded at my door and Caro called to me softly. I forced myself to smile and went to let her in. She entered tiptoeing like a conspirator and closed the door behind her.

  “Did Papa scold you very much, Cousin Skye?”

  “A little,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She shook her head wisely. “It always matters when Papa scolds. But I am sad that I could not play with Lanny.”

  She might have pursued the subject further, but her eyes rested just then upon the blue cat, sitting proudly high, with his tail curled about blue toes. I was gl
ad to have her attention distracted.

  “Oh, but he is wonderful!” she cried and flitted across the room to make the cat a dancing little bow. “What are you going to do with him, Cousin Skye?”

  “He’s a gift for my father,” I said. “Lanny saw him in a shop on Royal Street this afternoon.”

  Caro smiled her delight. “He is most distinguished. What are you going to name him?”

  I told her she might think of a good name, if she liked, and suggest it to my father.

  “But no one will let me trouble your papa by visiting him,” she said, and I realized for the first time that my father had not met this most interesting member of the family.

  “Let’s do something about that right now,” I said. “Let’s take the cat to him.”

  I was glad to have her company on this visit to my father. With the cat to give him and Caro to present, everything could be kept cheerful and light and my own troubled state of mind more easily concealed.

  There was at once a friendly acceptance between Papa and Caro. The man who could hardly move and the child who was never still, understood each other by the exchange of a look and a clasp of their hands.

  I set the cat upon Papa’s bureau where he could see it plainly and he smiled as he looked at it.

  “It is a Creole cat,” he said. “And most perfectly in character.”

  He was right, of course. No wonder the cat’s expression had seemed familiar. It would never have occurred to cat or Creole that anyone else on earth but another cat or Creole was truly worthy of his attention.

  “When you get irritated you can sit up and throw things at him,” I told Papa. “And perhaps sometimes I’ll come in and help you.”

  Caro whirled suddenly about the small room. “I know the cat’s name! I know just what we must call him!”

  Caro’s gaiety pleased my father and it seemed to me that he was looking better than I had seen him look in a long while. The realization stabbed through me. Nothing must happen to halt this improvement.