Hidden Jewel

5

Is Love for Me?

Although I had assured Mommy I would have no trouble working in the hospital near Jack Weller, I couldn't help feeling as if my heart was wound in tight rubber bands when I stepped off the cable car and walked to the hospital the following day. The sky was heavily overcast and gray with rain only minutes away. In fact, the air was so humid I thought I saw drops forming right before my eyes. Sophie had already arrived. She had come early because she had a ride that brought her within a half dozen blocks and she could save the cable fare. Fortunately, Jack Weller wasn't coming on duty until midway through my shift, so for the first few hours at least I wouldn't have to confront him.

But when Sophie and I returned from lunch, Jack was standing in the hallway talking to one of the nurses. He gazed our way and smiled as if nothing at all had happened between us. I hadn't said a word about it to Sophie, so she thought Jack was just being his usual funny and flirtatious self. I went directly to the linen room. Sheila Delacrois, the young woman who I had thought had trouble with her gallbladder, did have a problem and had been taken upstairs for an operation. Afterward she would go to recovery and she wouldn't return to our floor, so I had to change her bed and prepare it for a new patient.

I was busy stacking the pillowcases and sheets when I heard the door of the linen closet close softly behind me. I spun around to discover Jack standing there, his back against the door, his hands behind him on the knob.

"Open the door," I demanded.

"I just want to talk to you privately for a moment," he replied.

"We have nothing to discuss. Just open the door," I insisted.

"Look, I want to apologize. Maybe I stepped over the line, went too far too quickly. Because of how intelligent you are, I thought you were more sophisticated. It was my mistake. I admit it. I just want to say it won't do dither of us any good to talk about this to others."

"You don't have to worry. I won't say anything to anyone. However, I did tell my mother," I added.

"Your mother?" His eyebrows looked as if they might lift right off his face.

"Yes. I don't hide things from my mother. We're very close."

"What did she say?"

"She didn't want my father to know. She thought he would come here and break your neck," I said dryly. Jack Weller swallowed hard and nodded. "I don't know what sort of a doctor you're going to be," I added, hot tears in my eyes.

"Hey, one thing has nothing to do with another. When I'm on duty, I'm a true professional."

"If you're not sensitive to people's feelings, it doesn't matter how much you know or how professional you appear," I retorted.

He smirked and shook his head. "I've seen girls like you before. Actually, I ran into your type throughout college and med school. You're too smart for your own good, know-it-alls who won't admit to their own feelings. You could have had a good time yesterday if you had let down your hair."

"I can live with the disappointment," I remarked dryly. My hot tears evaporated, and the trembling left my body. It was quickly replaced by cold anger, my fury showing in my eyes, eyes that glared down Jack Weller's arrogant smirk.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself." He opened the door. My heart was pounding and my hands were clenched into small fists. He paused in the open doorway, checking first to be sure no one was close enough to overhear his remarks. "I feel sorry for the poor jerk who makes love to you the first time. He'll probably feel as if he's just had a medical exam," Jack added and closed the door behind him.

The tears that had been kept in check under my eyelids poured free. How many men would accuse me of the same thing? I wondered. When would I find someone with whom I truly wanted to be affectionate and warm? Was I too cold, too impersonal, too analytical for my own good? Every boyfriend I'd had eventually deserted me, and now someone I thought was sophisticated and knowledgeable had accused me of the same crime, if it was a crime.

No matter how reassuring Mommy had been and would be, no matter how many books I read on the subject or how many other girls I questioned, I would always have these doubts about myself, I thought. Was I someone for whom the magic of love, the mystery of passion, would remain unattainable? Was it a curse or a blessing that I had what Claude had called X-ray eyes?

"Why is it," he had asked one time when he had tried to get me to make love with him and I retreated, "that I feel like you're looking at me and seeing spleens and kidneys and lungs and not me?"

Of course I told him he was wrong, but as we kissed and he pressed himself against me, I was thinking about his quickened breathing, his quick hardness, and the moist feel of his skin and wondering how the nervous system was triggered by sexual arousal and how different organs were affected. I guess I was some sort of brain monster.

The twins used to try to frighten me by bringing in worms and bugs, and they were always disappointed by my calmness. To satisfy them, I even tried to pretend to be as shocked as most girls my age would be if they found thick night crawlers in their sink or a daddy longlegs in their face cream jar, but I had no problem picking them up and putting them outside.

Pierre and Jean actually complained to Mommy about it. "Pearl isn't afraid to pick up a frog or a big black beetle!"

Mommy smiled and told them I had probably inherited my grandmother's love of animals. Even though she had never known her mother, she told us her grandmère Catherine described her mother as someone who felt comfortable with alligators and whom all creatures trusted. Birds would light on her shoulder and feed out of her palm. "Pearl's got that in her," Mommy had explained.

But was it that, or was I so scientific that I lacked feminine qualities? Couldn't I be interested in science and still be a warm, loving person?

I wiped away the tears and took a deep breath. Then I returned to my work and kept my mind on the tasks I was assigned. A wall of impersonal professionalism fell between me and Jack Weller. He made no more attempts at small talk, and if I walked into a room where he was, he would merely glance at me and then return to whatever he was doing.

There were other doctors—older, more accomplished professionals—with whom I had some conversations. Once they learned of my ambitions they were eager to speak with me and give me advice. If I went into a patient's room to replace a water pitcher or to bring juice or toast and tea, and a doctor was speaking to the patient in the other bed, I would linger and listen, learning about the diagnosis and treatment.

In the evenings I would tell Daddy about these things. He would listen, his eyes bright with interest and his lips relaxed in a tiny smile. If Mommy was there, too, she would sit back, her eyes full of pride, and she and Daddy would exchange secret glances.

Pierre and Jean were interested only in gory details. Had I seen another dead person? Did I see a lot of blood and broken bones? Most of my days were quite routine without any real emergencies, and in the twins' eyes those days were boring. Of course they were enjoying their summer—swimming in our pool, having their friends over, playing Little League base-ball, collecting insects in jars. I told them not to take these days for granted, that time would flow by quickly and before they knew it, they would have to bear down and work hard to become successful at something. Jean didn't want to hear such advice, but Pierre would nod and give me a knowing look.

In early July Mommy's new exhibition was ready. It was being held at one of the newer galleries in the French Quarter. The impressive guest list for the opening included high government officials, doctors and lawyers, big businessmen, and some entertainers. The twins hated having to dress up and keep themselves spotless on the day of the opening. Mommy insisted that they wear identical dark blue suits with silk ties. She bought them shiny new shoes and Daddy took them for haircuts. They did look handsome, if uncomfortable, confined in their new clothes and forbidden to do anything that would dirty their hands or faces or stain their suits.

Jean kept pulling on his collar and moaning that he was choking to death. "Dressing up is dumb, Pearl," he groaned. "You've got to worry about furniture being too dusty or about brushing up against something greasy, and boys have to wear these stupid ties."

"You look so handsome, Jean. Both of you do, and you're doing it for Mommy. You know how big a day this is for her," I explained. Jean nodded, reluctantly agreeing; but a few minutes later he was teasing Pierre by deliberately stepping on his shoes and messing up his hair, then running off through the house. Daddy had to pull them both aside and give them a stern lecture, after which they both sat waiting with their hands folded-in their laps, looking glum.

For a while the music and the excitement at the exhibition kept them amused. Daddy had given them instructions about how they should behave at the gallery, but the moment we all arrived, Daddy and Mommy were surrounded by friends, guests, and the press. The twins slipped away from me and explored. Every once in a while I caught sight of them darting in and out among clusters of people, gobbling hot hors d'oeuvres, and even sneaking a sip of wine. I cornered them a few times and had them sit quietly, but moments later they were gone.

From the comments we were hearing, Mommy's exhibition was being well received. A number of her pictures were sold during the opening. Afterward a party was to be held at Antoine's, one of the French Quarter's oldest and most famous restaurants. We had our party in the private dining room known as the Dungeon and actually used as such during the Spanish period in New Orleans. My waiter, who lingered at my side for a few moments after he served something, was very proud of the restaurant and proud that his name was Antoine, too.

"Oysters Rockefeller, one of our most famous dishes," he said placing them before me, "were not created for John D. Rockefeller, you know. They were so named because of the richness of the sauce, and since Mr. Rockefeller was America's richest person at the time . . ."

"Oh, I see," I said, smiling.

He nodded at a waiter across the table from us who was pouring expensive wine like water. "Our wine cellar contains over 25,000 bottles, the oldest wine dating back to 1884. We even have a brandy produced in 1811."

I tried to appear sufficiently impressed, which encouraged him to continue his explanations and boasting with every course he served.

"Princess Margaret called our crabmeat soufflé a poem."

The restaurant went all out to impress our guests and my parents. We were served chicken Rochambeau, crawfish cardinale, Brabant potatoes, and Antoine's famous creamed spinach. However, the twins went right to the desserts.

While we were having dinner, the first of the art reviews was brought in and read aloud because it was so favorable. Everyone applauded and Mommy stood up and thanked the guests. Then she and Daddy kissed.

Every time they kissed, it seemed to me as though they were kissing for the first time. Their faces always radiated excitement, and their eyes were full of the glitter of discovery. How was it possible for me to ever find such love and happiness? I wondered. Mommy, sensing my thoughts, gazed my way and smiled at me, her eyes saying, Don't worry, Pearl. There's someone like Daddy out there for you, too. I'm sure of it.

How I wished I could be as sure of it.

Right in the middle of all the excitement, while people were coming to our table to congratulate Mommy, while music was playing and the great meal was being served, I saw Mommy suddenly stop smiling and turn toward the doorway. Her face drained quickly and became white with concern. I gazed toward the doorway, too, and saw a tall, thin caramel-skinned woman wearing a red tingon. The maitre d' went to greet her, and she nodded in Mommy's direction. He kept her from entering, but because she was so insistent, he brought a message to Mammy. I watched her read it and saw her face grow even paler. She leaned over to whisper in Daddy's ear, and he became visibly upset.

I got up quickly and went to her. "What's wrong, Mammy?"

"Oh, Pearl honey, this message is about Nina Jackson, my father's cook."

"What about her?" I looked toward the doorway but the mysterious woman was gone.

"She's dying and has asked for me. I've got to go to her at once, but Daddy doesn't think I should leave the party."

"It's your party, Mommy. How can you go? Is she going to die any moment?"

"I don't know, honey."

"Can't you go right afterward?"

"That's what Daddy wants me to do. We're having pictures taken in about a half hour. The mayor is supposed to be here."

"Then you have to stay, Mommy. But I'll go with you as soon as you can leave."

"Thank you, darling," she said, pressing my hands between hers. "I just feel I should get right up and go. Oh, dear."

I thought Mommy was upset enough to excuse herself and run out, but just at that moment the mayor of New Orleans made his entrance. There was applause and great excitement as he made his way through the party to greet Mommy and offer his congratulations. I went back to the twins and waited, knowing the turmoil Mommy was experiencing.

Finally, nearly an hour later, Mammy told Daddy she felt she had to go. Some people were already leaving. She asked Daddy to take the twins home. The twins and I were standing beside them while they discussed it.

"Pearl is going with me. We'll take a cab," Mommy told him.

Daddy looked troubled. "I don't like the idea of the two of you going places alone at night," he said.

"We'll be fine, Beau. We're just going from the cab into the house and back into the cab. I'll have the driver wait," she explained.

"I don't know what good it's going to do, your going," he muttered.

"She was very dear to me once and we remained friends for a long time after she left the House of Dumas, Beau. There was a time when Nina Jackson was practically the only one looking after me."

Daddy nodded and looked away. I imagined Mommy was referring to the time when he left her and went to Europe. "What am I to tell the rest of these people?" he asked under his breath.

"Tell them the truth, Beau. A dear friend is on her deathbed, and I went to her," she said.

"All right, all right. Be careful, will you?" He kissed her on the cheek.

"Take care of your mother, and make sure she doesn't do anything foolish," Daddy warned me.

"I will, Daddy," I promised.

"Let's go, honey," Mommy said.

"We want to go too," Jean whined.

"You two are going home with me," Daddy snapped. "You'll both need castor oil after hogging down all those pralines tonight and eating all that crème brûlée, I'm sure. Don't wander out of my sight," he advised. The two of them looking longingly at me.

"Be good boys," I said and nodded at Pierre, who I knew could make Jean behave. He grimaced with unhappiness, but led Jean to chairs where they would sit obediently and wait for Daddy.

Meanwhile Mommy had the restaurant hostess hail us a cab. "Quickly, honey," she told me. We rushed out.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Mommy gave him the address.

"You sure you want to go there? That's not the safest part of town this time of the night," he said.

"We know where we want to go. Just get us there quickly," Mommy said. Her anxiety made her unusually firm and caustic. No one I knew spoke to servants and service people as kindly as Mommy usually did.

As we drove out of the Vieux Carré and toward a poorer section of the city, Mommy told me of the time Nina Jackson took her to see a voodoo mama so she could get a charm or learn a ritual to keep her sister Gisselle from being cruel to her. She described how she had cast a ribbon belonging to Gisselle into a box containing a snake.

"Not long after that, Gisselle was in the car accident," she said mournfully. "I always felt guilty."

"But, Mommy, you surely don't believe the ritual was the reason for the accident. You said her boyfriend had been smoking pot and driving recklessly."

"Still . . . the voodoo ceremony might have put her in the grip of danger. Afterward, I returned with Nina, and the mama made me reach into the box with the snake in it and take out the ribbon, but she wouldn't guarantee I could rescind the curse. She said once my anger was cast into the wind, the wind had control and I probably couldn't pull it back."

"But, Mommy . . ."

"I told Gisselle, you know."

"What did she say?"

"She just used the information to blackmail me into becoming her slave, but I deserved it. I should never have let my anger get the better of me. No one else knew about it but Nina. She was always burning candles to keep evil away from me and giving me good luck charms, like the dime you now wear," Mommy said, smiling.

We turned the corner and started down a long, dark street. The buildings looked no better than shacks. Despite the hour, I saw young children still playing on the stoops and on the scarred and bald front yards. Broken-down cars were parked along the sidewalks, and the streets were very dirty, the gutters full of cans, bottles, and paper.

We stopped at a shack that looked somewhat better than its neighbors. The yard and the sidewalk were clean, but I saw bones and feathers hanging above the front door.

"Wait here for us," Mommy ordered the driver. "I won't wait long," he warned.

"I have your name and your license number," she told him. "You had better be here when I step out of that house with my daughter," Mommy countered. He grunted his reluctance, but sat back. Mommy took a deep breath and then found my hand. We walked to the stoop, and Mommy knocked on the door. A moment later a short black woman peered out at us. Her long gray hair hung down to the middle of her back, and she wore what looked like a potato sack and old sneakers without laces. Dangling from her earlobes were two small live lizards. They both held on for dear life.

"We're here to see Nina," Mommy said.

"Nina is not here," the small woman said.

Mommy glanced at the note she had been given. "I was told to come to this address. I was told Nina Jackson was very sick and dying in this house."

"That be told true, but Nina's gone. Zombie take her about an hour ago. She's in paradise."

"Oh, no. We're too late," Mommy moaned. I squeezed her hand, and she straightened her shoulders. "I want to see her anyway," she insisted.

The woman stepped back for us to enter. A sweet aroma flowed from the rear of the house. The old lady nodded toward the left, and we heard the monotonous rat-a-tat of a drum. Slowly Mommy and I walked toward the entrance to the rear room.

It was a small bedroom with the shades drawn. The bed took up most of the space. Around it nearly a hundred candles were burning. Another black woman, not much bigger than the one who had greeted us, sat very still beside the coffin. Across from her, an elderly man with a luminous white beard was tapping a drum made of thin cypress staves hooped with brass and topped with sheepskin. He didn't look our way or move his head an inch when we entered, but when the woman turned toward us, her large, sad eyes brightened with some recognition.

"You be Nina's Ruby," she said.

"Yes," Mommy said. "Are you Nina's sister?" The woman nodded and glanced at the body of Nina Jackson. Her face looked waxen, like a mask. I hadn't seen them at first, because my eyes were blinded by the glow of the candles, but at the foot of the bed were two cats, a black one and, on its left, a white. They were both dead, preserved by a taxidermist. Above the headboard dangled a black doll wearing a brightly colored dress and a necklace of snake vertebrae, from which hung an alligator's fang encased in silver.

"My sister couldn't wait no more," the woman said. "I'm sorry," Mommy said, moving to the side of the bed. I was right beside her. "Poor Nina."

"She be rich Nina now," the sister said quickly.

"She be with zombie."

"Yes," Mommy said, smiling. She sucked in her breath and sighed before reaching out to touch Nina's hand. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer and then looked at Nina's sister. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, madame. Nina called for you because she wanted to do something for you. Before he took her, zombie told her something. Before she go for good she say, go fetch Madame Andreas. Bring her to me. I got to tell her what zombie let me know. But you don't come, and she couldn't wait no longer, see?"

Mommy made a tiny cry. I took her hand. "Did she tell you anything?"

"No, no. Nina can tell such a thing only to you. All she do is tell me get you fast, and then she asked if you be here and I said no. A while later she asked again, and again I say no. Then I heard her mumble a prayer. I seen her take her last breath and when I look closely, I see she died with a tear in her eye. That bode no good omen.

"You go pray now, madame. You go pray for Nina's voice. Maybe best you go to cemetery at midnight. Bring a black cat. Nina maybe speak from beyond through the cat's mouth."

The drumming got louder.

"Mommy, let's go," I whispered, feeling a chill in my spine. She looked transfixed, her eyes frozen in fear. "The taxi."

She took another deep breath and then opened her purse and took out some money. "Please, take this and buy what you need for Nina's burial," she said. Nina's sister took the money. Mommy looked at Nina again and turned to leave.

"You better go to the cemetery at midnight," Nina's sister called after us.

Mommy was silent most of the way home. She stared out the window until we were nearly there. Then she turned and mumbled, "I should have gone immediately. I knew it. I should have just gone to her."

"But, Mommy, how could you? All those people had come to see you."

"None of that mattered as much. I know Nina wouldn't have sent for me if it hadn't been important," she said, shaking her head.

"Mommy, you don't really believe all that; you don't really believe Nina went to the land of the dead and returned to tell you something, do you?"

She was silent.

"Mommy?"

"I remember once going with Grandmère Catherine to drive away a couchemal," she said, "an evil spirit that lurks about when an unbaptized baby dies. She was called to drive it away so it wouldn't bring the family bad luck."

"How did she do that?" I asked.

"She put a drop of holy water in every pot, every cistern, anything that could hold water. We went around the house searching and while we she was depositing the holy water . . ."

"What?" I asked when she hesitated.

"I felt it. I felt the spirit," she whispered. "It flew past me, touched my face, and disappeared into the night."

I swallowed back my gasp.

"I don't mock anyone's beliefs," she said, "and I don't challenge the charms, the gris-gris, or the rituals. I don't want to believe in most of it, but sometimes . . . sometimes I can't help it. It fills my stomach with butterflies."

I embraced her; she was shivering. "Oh, Mommy, those are just foolish old superstitions. People make them up. You can't believe anything bad will happen because you didn't get to see Nina in time."

"I hope not," she said, shaking her head. "I hope not."

Daddy and the boys were home when we arrived. He had sent the twins to bed, but fifteen minutes later they were both complaining of stomachaches. "Which doesn't surprise me one bit, considering what they gobbled down tonight." He paused and looked hard at Mommy. "What's wrong? Nina died?"

"Yes, Beau. She died before I got there."

"I'm sorry," he said. "She was quite a character, Nina. I remember how well she dealt with Gisselle. She was the only one who could get her to do as she was told. I think Gisselle was a little afraid of Nina, even though she mocked her and her voodoo."

"Her sister said that Nina had something important to tell me, Beau."

Daddy looked at her. "Something about what?"

"Something she learned in the other world," Mommy blurted.

At first Daddy just stared. Then his mouth dropped. "You don't mean to tell me you believe Nina came back from the dead to tell you something?" Mommy nodded. "Mon Dieu, Ruby. A woman with your intelligence and—"

"It has nothing to do with intelligence, Beau."

Daddy clamped his lips shut. He and Mommy had had arguments about this before, and he knew how firmly she held on to her old beliefs.

"I'm tired," he said. "I'm going up to bed. Oh," he added turning at the stairway, "Bertrand from the gallery said seventy percent of your work has been sold—a record for an opening. Congratulations." He started up the stairs.

Mommy sighed. "What a night. I should be happy, but long ago I learned that for every ray of sunshine, there's a shadow lurking. We've just got to balance ourselves between them, I suppose." She smiled at me. "Thanks for being at my side and being my comfort"

We hugged.

"I better go up and see how the boys are doing. I might have to use one of Grandmère Catherine's herbal recipes," she said.

When the boys set eyes on her, they're begging for attention. "It's no use bawling them out tonight," Mommy said, coming out of their room. "They're both too green to hear a word."

Mommy went down to prepare the old tried and true remedy, and I went to bed. However, as soon as I closed my eyes, I saw the hundred candles and heard the dreary drumbeat. Later I had a horrible nightmare in which Nina sat up on her deathbed and turned to me. She opened her eyes, and they were yellow. Instead of tears, hot wax streamed from under her eyelids and hardened on her cheeks. When she opened her mouth to speak, all I heard was Mommy's voice screaming "NOOOO!" I woke with a start. I was about to get up for a drink of water when I heard footsteps and sobbing in the hallway. I waited and then peered out. Mommy was descending the stairway. I saw her go out a patio door. She appeared to be sleepwalking.

I put on my robe and followed. At first I didn't see her. Then I caught her silhouette in the garden shadows. "Mommy," I whispered, "why are you out here?"

She didn't hear me, so I drew closer and asked again.

"Oh, Pearl," she replied in a voice drawn from a well of sadness. "I was hoping Nina would speak to me in the darkness. Don't tell Daddy I came out here," she pleaded. I took her hand. Her skin felt clammy and cold.

"You better go back to bed, Mommy, and stop this worrying."

"I can't. Something's going to happen because of some bad luck my past actions have brought into our home. Nina wanted to warn me, I'm sure."

"That's silly, Mommy, and you know it is. Things happen for logical, natural reasons only."

She sighed deeply. "I don't know," she muttered. "I don't know."

"Well, I do," I said firmly. "Now come back in and go to bed or I will tell Daddy."

She started back to the house with me and then stopped and seized my hand in a desperate grip. "Did you hear that?" she asked, softly.

I listened, but heard nothing unusual. "Hear what, Mommy?"

"The sound of someone sobbing. I heard it before, too," she said.

"Wasn't that you?" I asked.

Her eyes widened. "Then you heard it too!" she said quickly.

"Stop it, Mommy. You're scaring me."

We both listened a moment longer.

"I don't hear anything," I declared.

She shook her head and walked back to the house with me. We both returned to our bedrooms, but I didn't fall asleep until nearly morning.

Mommy didn't come down to breakfast the next morning before I left for work. Daddy said she had spent a restless night and was still sound asleep. In fact, despite the wonderful reception her new works had received, Mommy remained in a melancholy state for days. The twins were usually there at the door complaining when I returned from work.

"Mommy's losing her hearing," Pierre concluded. Jean, nodded worriedly. "She should go to an ear doctor."

"Maybe you can test her hearing, Pearl," Jean said.

"Why do you say she's losing her hearing?" I asked with a smile.

"If we ask her a question, we have to ask her twice, maybe three times," Pierre explained.

"Sometimes we have to shout!" Jean added.

"She's a bit distracted these days," I told them. "It's not her hearing. Just be patient."

They shook their heads skeptically and went back to their games. But the mood of despair that had laid itself over our home depressed them. They had no enthusiasm for their pranks. Daddy began to worry about Mommy, too. She wasn't working; she didn't visit with her friends or have any visitors, and she wasn't eating well. Finally, one night at dinner, my father thought he had a solution.

"Pearl has Monday and Tuesday off this next week and I'm due for a holiday. What say we go to the chateau, this weekend, Ruby? The change of scenery will do you good. You can get some ideas for your work, and the boys and I can go fishing."

"Yeah!" Jean cried.

"I don't know," Mommy said. Daddy looked to me for help.

"I'd love a change of scenery, Mommy, and we haven't been to the chateau for quite a while," I said. "I can get some of my college preparatory reading done, too."

She looked at me and nodded. "I suppose we could go," she said.

The boys were cheered, and the packing and planning did add some brightness to what had otherwise been a dark time. Despite her initial reluctance, Mommy dived into the preparations. No one had to wake the boys the next morning. They were already dressed and ready by the time Mommy, Daddy, and I went downstairs for breakfast. They had packed their own suitcases, but when Mommy inspected them, she discovered they had included slingshots, baseballs, shedded snakeskins, marbles, and jackknives.

"You'll have plenty with which to occupy yourselves at the chateau," Mommy told them. "No need to bring all this junk."

Daddy packed the car immediately after breakfast. I think he was even more excited than the twins about taking the holiday. As usual the twins talked a blue streak during the drive, asking questions about practically everything in sight. What were people selling on the sides of the highway? How did they make those baskets and palmetto hats? Why were the shacks built on stilts? Mommy had little time to dwell on her dark thoughts, so even though Daddy normally would have asked the twins to take a break, he simply smiled at me, winked, and let the questions go on and on.

It was a beautiful summer day. Bringing Mommy out to the rural world appeared to be the panacea Daddy and I were hoping for. The sight of her beloved Spanish moss draped from old cypress trees, the glistening goldenrod, the willows and cottonwoods, and here and there a pond covered with lilies and hyacinths filled her with pleasure and restored the glow to her eyes and cheeks. The twins loved to test her knowledge of birds, and she was more than eager to identify a grosbeak heron or a scarlet cardinal. They were fascinated by her description of a butcher bird and how it stored its food on thorns so it could eat the cured flesh during the winter. Everything about nature fascinated them. I decided they were the ones who had really inherited our grandmother's affinity for wild things.

"I hope we see snakes and alligators," Jean said as we drew closer to what had been the Dumas family's country home.

"Never mind about them," Mommy warned. "You two mustn't wander off exploring on your own. I want you close to the house except when Daddy takes you, hear?"

Reluctantly, they promised.

"There she blows," Daddy cried as we came around a turn and our country house came into view.

The building that my grandfather Dumas used to refer to as his ranch actually resembled a chateau. It had a steeply pitched hipped roof with spires, pinnacles, turrets, gables, and two oddly shaped chimneys. The metal cresting along the roof's ridges was elaborately ornamented. The windows and the doorway were arched. To the right were two small cottages for the servants and caretakers, and to the right, some thousand yards or so away, were the stables with the riding horses and a barn. The property had rambling fields with patches of wooded areas and a stream cutting across its north end.

Like some of the chateaux in the French countryside, it had beautiful gardens, and two gazebos stood on the front lawn, as did benches and chairs and stone fountains. When we arrived, the caretakers were busily trimming hedges and weeding.

"Can we go horseback riding right away, Daddy?" Jean cried.

"Let's settle in first, unpack, and get organized. Then we'll see about the recreational schedule," he said.

The twins put a cork in their overflowing bottle of excitement, but both looked as if they would burst as they feasted their eyes on our beautiful grounds, the ponds, the fields, and the stream that wove its way deep into the woods and promised adventures forever. They started to rush away as soon as Daddy stopped the car, but he hauled them back with a cry.

"You two help unload. Carry your own suitcases to your room. Come on. You're both big enough to take care of yourselves," he said.

They returned to the car and took their things, Jean proudly heaving his suitcase over his shoulder and helping Pierre unload his.

Mommy stood for a moment gazing around. Then she lifted her eyes to look at an upstairs window. Some memory brought shadows to her face. Daddy sensed her concern and moved quickly to her side.

"Let's have an enjoyable few days and let the past remain buried, Ruby. Please," he pleaded. She nodded, took a deep breath, and started for the front door.

Except for the inclusion of some of Mommy's paintings, my parents had done little to change the decor. The chateau had a short foyer decorated with drapes and large landscape paintings. The furnishings were a mixture of modern and the same French Provincial found in our New Orleans house.

After we all settled in, Daddy took the twins fishing, and Mommy and I went into the garden, where I read and Mommy set up her easel. Although we didn't converse much, we sensed and drew from each other's presence. Both reading and working on artistic projects required concentration and solitude. Mommy soon became lost in her project and I in my reading. Before either of us realized it, the afternoon had turned to dusk and we had to go in to prepare for dinner.

Daddy and the twins returned with their catch. The twins were so excited about the turtles and the other wildlife that they jabbered continuously through dinner. No one else had a chance to get in a word, but their excitement was infectious. All of us felt rejuvenated—Mommy especially. I took charge of getting the twins to bed and left Mommy and Daddy alone to enjoy the warm, star-blazing bayou evening. The twins reluctantly surrendered to sleep only when Daddy promised they could go horseback riding in the morning.

I enjoyed riding too, so the next morning Mommy went back to her painting while Daddy and I and the twins rode for nearly two hours. After lunch Daddy went up to his room to take a nap, and Mommy and I returned to the garden where she continued to paint and I continued to catch up on my college reading.

Toward the later part of the afternoon, a wave of dark clouds crept in from the east. The breeze kicked up, and Mommy decided to go inside. The wind played havoc with our hair, my pages, and Mommy's easel and canvas. We both laughed at our struggle to keep control of our possessions. As we packed up Mommy's brushes and paints, canvas, and easel, she suddenly paused, a half smile of confusion on her face. "What's that?" she asked.

I shook my head. "What's what, Mommy?"

"Didn't you hear it? It sounded like someone screaming." She turned slowly. Daddy had just stepped out of the house and was moving toward us when I heard the screams, too.

"Pierre," I whispered. I saw him flailing about as he struggled to run through the tall grass. He fell once, and Mommy cried out. Daddy started to run toward him.

"Pearl," Mommy moaned.

"It's probably nothing, Mommy," I said and started toward Pierre. But where was Jean? I wondered and felt my heart turn to cold stone when I heard Pierre cry out Jean's name and point to the wooded swamp area behind him. "Snakebite!"

His words were carried to us on the wind and reached Mommy who had followed behind me. She brought her hands to her cheeks and screamed at the fast-approaching storm clouds.

"Nina!"

I stepped back to embrace her just as her legs gave out.

The thunder seemed to come from both our hearts.