Hidden Jewel

by V. C. Andrews

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Bien. Have a good time,” he said, and then he and Mommy left us.

  After we put Jack’s things in the guest room, I took him to my room. He stood by the window and gazed out at the gardens, the pool, and the tennis court, watching the grounds people clear away fallen palm fronds and manicure our hedges and flowers.

  “You’re right,” he said. “This isn’t what I think of as city life. You have a beautiful home, Pearl. And your room and your closets … practically as big as my whole trailer. You’ve grown up in a magical place, a castle,” he said with a sad note in his voice.

  I knew what he was thinking and what was happening. He was becoming overwhelmed with our wealth and feeling inadequate. He was sorry he had come.

  I went up to his side and threaded my arm through his as he gazed down at the grounds.

  “None of this means anything if you can’t share it with the right person, Jack. I know a great many sad rich people who would trade most of what they have just to have a sincere, loving relationship.”

  “You say that now, little princess, but I wonder what you would say after you’d lived without servants and fine foods and cars and clothes.”

  I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, and I spun him around to face me.

  “I’ll tell you what I would say, Jack Clovis. I would say I love you, and all the servants in the world and all the fine clothes and cars couldn’t compensate if I lost that love. I’d say that there’s nothing more beautiful than a sunset when I’m in the arms of someone I love and nothing more precious than waking up in those arms, whether I’m sleeping in a trailer in the bayou or in a mansion in New Orleans.

  “Being rich doesn’t make falling in love impossible. I’m not sorry my parents have done well, but falling in love with someone who really is in love with you—that’s really being rich, Jack. Maybe that sounds like a schoolgirl’s fantasy, and maybe you’re right that most people would regret losing their pleasures and comforts, but I’m not most people.

  “Don’t you forget I’m part Cajun, too, and my blood can be traced back to those swamps you cherish.”

  Jack’s face broke into a wide smile. “You’re not kidding about your Cajun heritage,” he said. “I remember I said I didn’t want to risk your wrath. That was a smart piece of advice I gave myself. I should have listened.”

  I softened. “Just see me for who I am and not for what my family owns,” I pleaded.

  “Okay. I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s the last time I’ll make a big deal of this overgrown shack.”

  I laughed and hugged him. “Let’s go. There’s nothing like showing someone else your hometown,” I told him and hurried him out and down the stairs.

  I took him on a whirlwind tour. First I drove him past Loyola and Tulane. We stopped at the Audubon park and zoo, and then he said he wanted to ride a streetcar. I drove back to the house, and we walked up to the stop and took the streetcar to Canal Street. We crossed into the French Quarter and had po’boy sandwiches at a sidewalk café near the river where there was something of a breeze. For a while we just watched the steamboats and barges going up and down the Mississippi and listened to the street music performed by guitarists and harmonica players, and trumpeters.

  “It’s nicer here than I expected,” Jack offered, but there was still some hesitation in his voice.

  “What is it you miss the most, Jack?” I asked. We were holding hands, but he suddenly seemed hundreds of miles away.

  “The stillness, I guess. Nature, the animals, even the dangerous ones. And your well,” he added. “They’re drilling for a different kind of oil in these streets, hawking from the storefronts, pushing their wares.” He shrugged. “I guess you gotta be what you are … but it really is pretty here,” he added.

  I thought about what he’d said and wondered if the gap between us was too wide. We lived only hours away from each other, but the way we were brought up had become part of us and had given us a different view of the sunrise and the sunset. How strong was love? Could it bridge the gap and show us how to really know each other?

  We did have a wonderful day together, though. Late in the afternoon, after we visited Mommy’s new exhibit, we had coffee and beignets at the Café du Monde. Jack smiled and said Bart was right: their baker, back in the bayou, was right up to par. His loyalty made me laugh, but it made me a little sad, too.

  Before dinner we all visited Pierre again. He was more animated, and he liked Jack, especially when Jack promised to show him how an oil well brought the oil up from the depths of the earth.

  “Can we go up there as soon as I get out of the hospital, Pearl?” he asked me excitedly.

  “Not as soon as you get out, Pierre. You have to get strong and healthy first. Then we’ll go,” I said flashing a look at Mommy.

  “We’ll all go there. I promise,” she said, smiling at me, and I had the feeling she had killed all the demons that had kept her from visiting her past. We would go back often.

  Jack was concerned that he didn’t have the proper clothing for the restaurant Daddy had chosen. He mumbled about it, but Daddy overheard and told him not to worry. He considered him, nodded, and suggested Jack try one of his older sport jackets.

  “I bought this a while ago, when I had a trimmer figure,” he explained. The jacket fit Jack well. Daddy loaned him a tie, too. Jack was reluctant to take the clothing, but did so at Daddy’s insistence.

  Our dinner was spectacular. Daddy went overboard to impress Jack and to celebrate. After our rich desserts, Jack leaned over and whispered, “I bet the bill for this dinner is as much as I make a week.” He laughed, but once again I felt the gap between us.

  Mommy and Daddy drank a little too much wine. They were both giddy and pleasantly tired by the time we arrived home. Jack and I went out to the patio and pool, and they went upstairs to fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  It was a particularly starry night, no moon but a myriad of twinkling lights.

  “Most of those stars are bigger than our own sun. But when you’re far away, bigger things look small. Then, when you get closer, you see how small you are,” he said. I knew what he was saying.

  “No matter how far away I am from you, Jack, you will never seem small to me.”

  He laughed. “I only went to high school. My daddy taught me all I had to know about being an oil rigger. The fanciest party I’ve been to is a wedding, and I bet the whole affair didn’t cost as much as tonight’s dinner in that restaurant. And you’re going to be a doctor.”

  “Don’t make me regret it,” I replied quickly.

  “Why would I do that? I think it’s terrific. You know what you are,” he said, suddenly turning to me. He gazed up at the stars and then at me. “You were named Pearl, but you’re really a diamond—a diamond in the rough. They’re going to polish you and make you dazzle just like those stars.”

  Before I could speak, he raised my hand to his lips and then he leaned over to kiss me.

  “Thanks for a great day,” he said. “I guess I better go to bed. I’ve got to get up early and drive back.”

  “You’re staying only one day!” I cried. He nodded. “But… can’t you stay one more?”

  “You’ve got a lot to do here, Pearl. Your family needs you. You can’t be spending your time entertaining me, and I do have to get back.”

  “But your visit’s too short. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get up to Cypress Woods. Pierre won’t be home for a few more days and—”

  “I’m sure you’ll come when you can. I’ll call you, and you can call me.” He stood up. Reluctantly I did so, too. We held hands and walked back into the house. The lights had been turned low. Without speaking, we ascended the stairway and stopped at Jack’s room.

  “Is there anything you need?” I asked.

  “No. I’ll be fine. Thanks again for a great day,” he said and kissed me. Then he went into his room and closed the door. I looked down the hallway toward Mommy and Daddy’s closed
door. They were probably asleep in each other’s arms by now. I sighed and went to my own bedroom. After I changed into my nightgown, I slipped under the cool sheet and stared at the ceiling.

  Had Mommy been right? Had my great love affair been stimulated only by my vulnerability and emotional strain when I was in the bayou? I felt the cold tears filling my eyes and turned over to bury my face in the pillow.

  Then I thought about the night Jack and I had spent together in the old Cajun mansion, how passionate and loving we were with each other. I remembered how wonderful and happy I felt when he found me in the swamp and how loving and tender he was afterward.

  I couldn’t bear the ache in my heart. Telling myself I wouldn’t stand for it, I decided to get up and go to Jack. Quietly I walked across the corridor to his room and opened the door. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. I could see his eyes were open.

  “Jack,” I whispered.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  I rushed to him and threw my arms around him. We held each other quietly for a long moment.

  “I don’t want us to lose each other,” I said through my tears.

  He smiled. “Maybe we won’t,” he said. We kissed.

  “We won’t,” I said determinedly.

  “I want to believe that, too, but I’m not smart enough to see past tomorrow, Pearl. Let’s wait on the promises so we don’t hurt each other, hear?”

  “I won’t ever hurt you, Jack.”

  “That’s a promise,” he warned.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Well, I am. I can’t help it. Even when we drill in a known oil field, we got no guarantee until that bit hits that vein. We aren’t deep enough into each other’s lives yet, Pearl,” he said wisely.

  “Just hold me, Jack. Hold me and dream of only good things. Soon enough my life’s going to be filled enough with facts and statistics, piles of details and piles of data and objective proof. I want some dreams, some fantasies, too.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  He held me and kissed me, and I fell asleep for a while. Before morning I returned to my own room, calmer, more contented.

  Daddy and Mommy were surprised to hear Jack was leaving. At breakfast, he explained that he had planned only to be away from his job for only one day. Daddy made him promise he would come back soon.

  Jack returned the sport jacket and tie to Daddy, thanking him, but Daddy asked him to keep the coat.

  “I doubt that I’ll get back to that size and you just might be going to more formal affairs in the future.”

  “But, monsieur—”

  “Please,” Daddy insisted. “It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done for me.” Reluctantly, Jack took the jacket.

  Before Mommy and I returned to the hospital to visit with Pierre, I said good-bye to Jack in front of the house.

  “I forgot to give you back your clothes,” I reminded him.

  “Can’t trust you city folk.”

  I laughed.

  It was a very sunny morning without the usual haze. Everything looked brighter, cleaner, and the air was filled with the scent of flowers and bamboo. We could hear the city coming to life, the streetcar rattling, cars honking horns, someone shouting down the street, and lawn mowers and blowers being started.

  “I’ll see you before I start college, won’t I?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Besides, you should visit your well more often, get to know her. And bring Pierre.”

  “I will.”

  We kissed.

  “Safe trip,” I said putting my finger on his beautiful lips and drinking in the softness in his eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Me too.” He got into his truck. “I hope I don’t get lost in these city streets,” he complained.

  “A man who can find his way around those swamp canals shouldn’t have any trouble navigating the streets of New Orleans,” I said.

  Jack laughed. Then he put on a serious expression and gazed at me.

  “I don’t know if I have a right to love you, but I sure think I do,” he said.

  “You have more than a right, Jack Clovis. You have an obligation. You better love me.”

  He flashed that wonderful smile, the smile that would have to last me for some time, and then drove away.

  I started to cry, but then drew back my tears and took a deep breath. I had to be strong for Mommy and Daddy. We had a long road ahead with many steep hills to climb and many sharp turns.

  Two days later we brought Pierre home from the hospital. He was shaky, but he wanted to walk. I held his hand and guided him. He wanted to go out to the gardens. I knew why. He wanted to look at the tree house he and Jean and Daddy had built long ago. The doctors thought he should get as much air as he could. They said it would make him tired, at least for the first week or so. It did. He fell asleep in his chair after lunch, and I carried him up to his room.

  But he was outside every morning. I spent a great deal of time with him, reading to him, playing board games, answering his questions about his illness. He went to therapy once a week and had a good checkup from Dr. Lasky, who was impressed with Pierre’s physical recuperation. “The mind is far more powerful than we can imagine,” he told Mommy. She was the one person in the world he didn’t have to tell.

  Epilogue

  Two weeks after Pierre came home, Mommy decided to visit Jean’s grave again. I went with her. She set out some flowers and stood gazing at the tomb, a small smile on her face as she recalled his antics and the way he threw his arms around her when he was frightened or sick or just wanted her love. But I knew why she wanted to go there. It wasn’t just to remember. It was to say thanks, for she believed in her heart that it was Jean’s spirit that had turned Pierre around and sent him back to us.

  When Pierre was strong enough to make the trip, we went to visit Jack at Cypress Woods. Jack spent a great deal of time with him, showing him the machinery, explaining how everything worked. Daddy and Mommy walked around the neglected grounds and the house, and then we all went for lunch in Houma and ate crawfish étouffée.

  A few weeks later I began my college orientation. Pierre was strong enough to return to school in September, although he was still seeing a therapist once a week. He was having a hard time adjusting to life without Jean at his side. Often I would find him off by himself, and I knew he was talking to Jean. Finally, Dr. Lefevre decided it would be good for Pierre to visit Jean’s grave.

  At first he resisted. I talked to him for a long time about it until he finally relented, and we all went to the cemetery with him. He just stared at the tomb and read Jean’s name over and over. He was very quiet for the rest of that day, but I did see a change in him in the weeks that followed. He became more outgoing, was willing to have friends over and to visit with them. He grew taller and leaner and continued to be a very good student.

  The summer never seemed to end that year. It was hot and humid right into the first week of December. Jack came to see me at college, but he was uncomfortable on the campus and was happier at the house or visiting the sights. Pierre loved him and was never so happy as when Jack visited us or we went to visit him in the bayou.

  Late that spring, just after April Fool’s Day, Aunt Jeanne called to tell Mommy that Gladys Tate had died. She said the family was thinking of restoring Cypress Woods.

  “Paul would like that,” Mommy told her. “He was very proud of that house.”

  “I know Pearl visits from time to time,” Aunt Jeanne said. “Maybe you could come along sometime, and we could spend some time there. I’d like to hear your suggestions for fixing the place up.”

  Mommy told her she would think about it. She related the conversation to us at dinner.

  Daddy listened and then said it wasn’t a bad idea. “They don’t know anything about real estate,” he told her.

  He knew how much Mommy wanted to be part of the restoration and made it easier for her. I was happy because that meant I would have that many more opportunities
to spend time with Jack.

  Something subtle began to happen to me as I made more and more visits to the bayou. In the beginning I believed my horrible experience with Buster Trahaw and my frightening time in the swamps had left me with such a bad taste for the bayou that I would never see anything pretty or pleasant about it again. But when I was with Jack and he and I walked over the grounds or drove on the back roads, it was different.

  Just as I was eager to show him my city world, he was eager to show me nature, to point out the different flowers and animals. He had a Cajun guide’s eye and could spot sleeping baby alligators, brown pelicans, marsh hawks, and butcher birds. I would have to stare and stare and sometimes be taken by the hand and nearly brought right up to them before I saw what he saw. Then I would nearly burst with astonishment.

  I saw the bayou during every season, met many of the local people, and got to know and like them. I felt they liked me too, especially because Jack was bringing me around. I enjoyed their stories and their expressions and earthy humor. It was always a refreshing change from the hubbub of city life and the complexities of college.

  In the late fall of the following year, Jack surprised me and Mommy by showing us what he had been doing during his spare time: he had been restoring the old shack. Now it truly looked like the toothpick-legged Cajun home in my fantasy. The new tin roof gleamed in the sunlight. He had replaced and stained the railings on the gallery and the steps, removed the broken floorboards, replaced the windows, and cleaned up and trimmed the grounds. He had even restored the racks where Mommy and Great-Grandmere Catherine used to sell their handicrafts and gumbo to the tourists.

  Mommy beamed. She clapped her hands with joy and amazement and went through the shack declaring her astonishment and pleasure. Jack had repaired the old rocker, too. Mommy said she could stand back and easily imagine her grandmere sitting in it again. While she relaxed on the gallery and reminisced, Jack and I walked to the water. He held my hand.

  “See that current there?” He pointed. “Watch. In a minute you’re going to see a big snapper. There she is. See her?”