Hidden Jewel

8

A Letter Comes

I sat by the front window and waited, my eyes constantly searching the street for signs of Mommy. Daddy's words had put butterflies in my stomach. They fluttered in a frenzy and crawled through my chest. My heart felt like a lead fist pounding my blood through my veins. The grandfather clock bonged; Aubrey turned down the lights and the traffic outside all but disappeared. Still there was no sign of Mommy. Daddy made a few more phone calls, all dead ends. He came to the doorway occasionally and we exchanged looks of futility.

"Did you look in on Pierre?" he asked after a deep and long sigh.

"Yes. He's asleep. He barely ate."

Daddy nodded, looked at his watch, and then returned to his study, where I knew he was drinking himself into a stupor.

Finally, a little after nine-thirty, I saw a figure cross the street and approach our gate. When she stepped into the light, however, I realized it wasn't Mommy. It was a very tall, thin black girl in a long black skirt and a gray sweatshirt. When she headed for our front door, I rose in anticipation, but Aubrey was there before me to answer the bell. I think he was just as nervous as I was about Mommy's disappearance. Daddy either hadn't heard the bell or was too unsteady now to come out to see who it was.

"Yes?" Aubrey asked.

"I have a letter to deliver, sir," the girl replied with a French accent. "I was told to put it directly into the hands of Mademoiselle Pearl or Monsieur Andreas," she added firmly.

"You can give it to me and I'll deliver it," Aubrey said, his hand out.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot give it to anyone else," she insisted.

Aubrey was about to reply when I stepped closer. "It's all right, Aubrey. I'll look after this. I'm Mademoiselle Pearl. How can I help you?"

The tall girl studied me a moment and nodded. She didn't look more than fourteen or fifteen, but she had a strong and confident air about her that suggested she was older. She had a very smooth and shiny complexion with large ebony eyes, which captured the entryway light and sparkled like polished onyx, "I was asked to deliver this to you," she said handing me the letter.

I took it quickly. There was no name on the envelope and no return address. "Who sent this?"

"Everything is explained in the letter," she said. She didn't smile, but she fixed her eyes on me so intently that I felt as if she were delving into my very soul. Then she gave me a small, tight smile, turned, and walked out. I watched her step quickly over the tile patio and into the darkness from which she had so suddenly emerged.

Aubrey waited beside me, his face full of concern.

"It's all right, Aubrey," I said. He closed the door and returned to his quarters.

I looked at the envelope more closely and noticed some sort of red powder on the flap. I opened it quickly and saw it was addressed to Daddy and me and it was in Mommy's hand.

My heart stopped and then began beating madly. Without reading the first word, I pulled open the front door and lunged down the steps. I ran over the tile drive and into the street just as the tall, black girl turned the far corner. She was walking very quickly.

"Wait!" I screamed, but she didn't hear me. I ran up the street after her. When I turned the corner, she was heading toward the streetcar. "Wait!" I shouted. The streetcar rumbled down the tracks to the station. "Please, mademoiselle, wait."

I ran as fast as I could. She turned as she stepped up to the car and looked my way, but she didn't hesitate. She got in, and the car door closed just as I approached. I saw the girl take a seat by an open window in the rear. She gazed out at me. I waved the letter and ran alongside the car.

"Where is she? It's my mother! Where is she?" I cried.

The girl stared out at me without speaking.

"Please!" I cried as the car began to pull away from me. Suddenly the girl threw something out of the window. It bounced on the grass in front of me as the streetcar made a turn and disappeared. I stopped to catch my breath. My heart was a wild frantic animal in my chest, thudding so hard that my ribs felt as if they would burst. Gasping for air, I stepped forward until I found what she had thrown. Whatever it was, it was in a small cloth sack. I picked it up and undid the string, pausing to look in the direction of the streetcar. What could this have to do with Mommy?

I felt something hard in the bag and pulled it out carefully. The moment I set eyes on it, I screamed and dropped it. It was the head of a snake. My heart seemed to jump out of my chest and into my throat. I felt my face turn crimson, and for a moment it was as if I had stepped into a hot oven. People driving by slowed down to gaze at me. I'm sure I looked wild and hysterical, gasping, crying, shaking my head. Finally, after I got control of myself, I turned and hurried back to the house.

As soon as I entered, I hurried down the hallway to Daddy's study. He was seated behind his desk, but had turned his back to the door and was gazing up at a portrait of himself and Mommy, a portrait she had painted from a photograph. He had a tumbler of bourbon in his right hand.

"Daddy, Mommy has sent us a letter!" I declared.

He turned slowly. His face was streaked with tears. He wiped them away with the back of his hand quickly. "What's that? A letter?"

"Some girl just delivered it. I tried to run after her and question her, but she got on the streetcar before I could stop her. She threw something terrible out the window at me when I screamed for her to tell me where Mommy was."

"Terrible? What?"

"A sack containing the head of a snake," I said, crying.

"Head of a snake? How sick."

"And there's red powder on the envelope," I said, holding it up for him to see.

"Red powder. Another voodoo thing," he said with an expression of disgust. "Where is she? What does the letter say?"

"I don't know. I haven't read it yet."

"Well, read it," he ordered and sat forward. I turned on the lamp near me and opened the letter.

My precious husband Beau and my precious daughter Pearl,

By the time you read this, I will be long gone. I tell you that so you won't go searching wildly over the city to find me and bring me back. That's why I waited until now to write and deliver this letter.

I know that you do not believe as strongly as I do in the powers of the unknown, but the two of you were not brought up in a world in which such things dwelt. I am the granddaughter of a true traiteur, and as such I have some spiritual insight. I know that more than ever now.

Last night I spoke with the dead. Nina's voice was clear, and her spirit was in me. She regretted not having been able to speak with me before our tragedy. She thinks it might have been prevented.

"What a state of mind she is in," Daddy commented. "These people have poisoned Ruby's thoughts, taken advantage of her while she is in mourning, weak, and vulnerable. I'll have them all arrested," he raged.

"There's more, Daddy," I said, my fingers trembling as I held up the paper.

"Go ahead," he said, lowering his head like a flag of defeat.

Although I couldn't prevent what happened to Jean, I can prevent any further bad luck from entering our lives and hurting my loved ones. Nina has given me specific instructions to peel away the layer of evil that has been spread over our home and our lives, evil that was born out of my sins.

These instructions require my leaving our home, maybe forever. That's up to Fate, I suppose. I didn't want to leave so abruptly, but I knew if I told either of you any of this, you would try to stop me.

Already we have seen what these rituals can do for us. Pierre will mend as long as I continue to pursue the path I've been instructed to pursue.

I beg you both not to try to follow me or stop me, but I want to assure you both just how much I love you and how difficult this will be for me.

I am depending on you, Pearl, to be the strength I couldn't be. Stay by your brother and your father and help them.

Beau, my darling, please find it in your heart to forgive me and believe in me. If I have your trust, I will be that much stronger in the days to come and during the battle that is to follow. I will feel your faith in me.

I will not be able to talk to you or call you or even write to you again until I have completed my mission. It is painful for me to be away from the ones I love. I am doing it only because I love you all more than I love myself. My pain is nothing if it will buy happiness and health for my family.

I love you.

Ruby

I lowered my hands and gazed at Daddy. Hot tears were streaming freely down my cheeks and dripping from my chin.

He stared for a few moments and then sat back. "Well," he finally said, "there you have it. Just what I feared and suspected. Who knows where she's gone to or what she's going to do?"

"We've got to find her, Daddy, and bring her home."

"Find her," he said angrily. "Those people close around their own like clams. They won't talk to us; they won't tell us anything."

He reached for his nearly empty bottle of bourbon and poured himself another drink. "Maybe she'll come to her senses and call us or come home," he muttered.

"Daddy, we've got to call the police. She's not in her right mind after all this sadness and tragedy. They'll understand and they'll help us," I said.

He shook his head. "Waste of time."

"No, it isn't," I insisted. "I can't stand the thought of her under the influence of these people. If you don't call them, I will."

"What are you going to tell them? That your mother wandered off to practice voodoo rituals someplace?" he asked disdainfully.

"Yes."

"They won't take you seriously, Pearl. They have a great many more urgent problems to deal with in this city."

"It's worth a try, Daddy."

He took a long gulp of bourbon.

"Daddy! You can't just sit there all day and night and drink yourself to sleep," I cried.

"She's gone, run off, returned to her bizarre past, and my son is dead," he said. "My little boy is gone. My other little boy is catatonic. What did I do to deserve this?"

"Stop this self-pity, Daddy. Mommy needs us."

He lowered his chin to his chest. I felt heat crawling up my spine. What had happened to Daddy and Mommy was terrible. No parent should endure such tragedy, but if Daddy didn't find a well of strength from which to draw new energy and determination, more terrible things loomed over us. Mommy had asked me to be strong. If that meant being cruel first, so be it, I thought.

"Is this the way you handle all your crises, Daddy? You wallow in them?" I sneered. "Is this why you ran off to Europe when Mommy was pregnant with me?" He looked up sharply, knitting his brows as if a sharp pain had cut across his forehead, as if my words were tiny knives.

"No, I—"

"You left her alone to face the anger and the abuse. She gathered strength and returned to the bayou, and she managed to care for herself and for me while you were enjoying the most expensive restaurants and the wildest parties in Europe. Now, when she needs you again, you sit there gulping whiskey and moaning about what's happened to you."

"Pearl, please, that's not the way I was or the way I am," he argued.

"Then get a hold of yourself and let's go find her. Call the police," I demanded sharply, firing my words like bullets.

He nodded, sobering up quickly. "All right," he said. "Maybe you're right. We'll start with the police."

I straightened my shoulders and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. "I'll look in on Pierre. We've got to find Mommy and bring her home for his sake most of all," I added. Daddy bit down on his lower lip and nodded. Pivoting on my heel, I marched out of the room and up the stairs quickly, so he wouldn't see how painful it was for me to treat him so harshly. I had to pause at the landing to catch my breath and slow my thumping heart.

Mrs. Hockingheimer was dozing in her chair in Pierre's room when I looked in on him. She heard me and looked up quickly.

"How is he doing?" I asked softly. His face was in repose, but his lips were crooked, reacting to some nightmare, no doubt, I thought.

"He's having a restless sleep," she said. "I couldn't get him to eat any more, but he did drink some water. He felt a little warm, but he has no fever."

"Okay," I said sadly.

"Mademoiselle," she called as I started to turn from the doorway. "He did mutter something."

"What?"

"He's calling for his mother," she said. "Where is your mother, if I may ask?"

Mrs. Hockingheimer wasn't being nosy. Anyone would have wondered why Pierre's mother wasn't at his side, I thought. "My mother is very troubled by what happened, the whole tragedy. She believes herself responsible, and she's disappeared. We've got to call the police and . . ." My lips started to quiver badly. It was as if my face had mutinied. I couldn't pronounce the words. They got choked up in my throat.

Mrs. Hockingheimer saw what was happening and rose quickly to come to me. "You poor dear. I didn't mean to upset you," she said and embraced me.

"No one has seen her. My father and I are at our wit's end. We're calling the police right now."

"I'm so sorry. There, there," she said, patting my hand. "You must remain strong. Don't worry about Pierre. I will watch him very closely."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hockingheimer." I took a deep breath.

Mrs. Hockingheimer dabbed away the tears that lingered on my cheeks and smiled. "You're a strong young woman. You'll find a way to help your mother," she assured me.

I thanked her again and went downstairs to be with Daddy when the police arrived.

A detective and two uniformed patrolmen came to our door. The detective introduced himself as Lieutenant Ribocheaux. He was about as tall as Daddy, but with much wider shoulders and a square jaw. He looked like an ex–football player. The patrolmen stood in the doorway of Daddy's study and listened with Lieutenant Ribocheaux as Daddy described the terrible events that had unfolded. Daddy showed him Mommy's letter, and I then told him about Mommy's visiting the cemetery. I hadn't spelled out the details before. Daddy's eyes went as wide and round as quarters when he heard me talk of the screeching, the black cat, Mommy's walking about with a candle, and the whispering.

"This young woman who came to your door with the letter," Lieutenant Ribocheaux asked me, "had you seen her before? Was she at the cemetery too or at this house where your mother went to see the dead lady?"

"No, sir."

"And when you ran after her, you say she threw a snake's head out of the streetcar window?"

"Yes. I dropped it. It's probably still there. I can show it to you."

"I imagine it's only one of those souvenirs that the tourists buy in the voodoo shops in the French Quarter," he said.

"Still, I couldn't bring it home."

"I understand," he said, smiling. He turned to the uniformed policemen. "Ted, you and Billy take a look. Maybe it's still there, and it might give us some clue," he said, but from the looks on their faces, I knew they were doing it only to placate me. I told them where it would be, and they left.

Lieutenant Ribocheaux turned back to Daddy. "Monsieur Andreas, was your wife under a doctor's care?"

"Not in the sense I believe you mean," Daddy replied, "but our physician had given her sedatives."

Lieutenant Ribocheaux took out his notepad. "You've called all her friends, people she might go see, I imagine?"

"Everyone we could think of," Daddy said. "No one has heard from her or seen her."

"Relatives?"

"We have none presently in New Orleans. My parents are in Europe for the summer."

"Well, where are your closest relatives?"

"My wife's family comes from the bayou, around Houma, but she wouldn't go to them," Daddy added. "We don't get along that well."

"Except with Aunt Jeanne," I reminded him. "Yes, but I don't think she would have gone to Jeanne," Daddy said.

"Okay," Lieutenant Ribocheaux said. "Let me have the address of that house, the Jackson residence." I gave it to him, and he jotted it down quickly. "We'll pay them a visit," he promised. "In the meantime give us a recent picture of Madame Andreas, please. I'd like to speak with the butler, too, and get a description of what she was wearing when she was last seen here."

Daddy turned to me, and I went to fetch Aubrey. He was reluctant to tell the police any of the bizarre details about Mommy's behavior, but I urged him to be as forthcoming as possible. Lieutenant Ribocheaux took more notes.

The patrolmen returned. They had found the snake's head, but Lieutenant Ribocheaux said there was nothing remarkable about it. "As I suspected, it's no different from what you can buy at Marie Laveau's. Someone's having some fun with you," he added.

"If that's true, it's very cruel," I replied.

After the police left, I sat with Daddy in his study.

"I'm not optimistic about their finding her, Pearl. They'll send a patrol car around, all right, but unless Mommy is standing right in front of them . . . I know these voodoo people. They believe they are doing something spiritual and something good. They won't want Mommy to be found and brought back. That might break some sort of spell."

"Maybe we should go to Nina's sister's house too, Daddy," I suggested, "and stay until she tells us the truth."

"We won't fare any better. At least the police carry some authority. Why don't you go up to bed, honey? No sense in both of us staying up and worrying all night. Besides, I need you strong and healthy for the days to come."

"You're not going to remain down here all night, are you, Daddy?" I gazed at the bottle of bourbon.

Daddy saw where my eyes were fixed. "I won't drink anymore," he promised. "I've got to stay alert in case we're needed."

I nodded, rose, and went to him. We hugged, and he held on to me for a few moments longer than usual before releasing me and sitting back.

"Good night, Daddy."

"Good night, princess. Thanks for making me come to my senses," he said, smiling. "For a moment there I thought I was looking at your mother when she was about your age."

I kissed him again and walked away. At the doorway I turned. He had already swung his chair around and was gazing up at his and Mommy's portrait again, wondering, I'm sure, how they would ever get back to the happy, wonderful time they had when the portrait was painted.

When I peeked in on Pierre, both he and Mrs. Hockingheimer were fast asleep, so I closed the door softly and went to my room. Just as I got into bed, Sophie called. I told her all that had happened, right up to the black girl throwing the snake's head out of the streetcar window.

"I don't know much about voodoo," she said, "but nana does. I could ask her if you want."

I thought about it. I was beginning to agree with Daddy. The more we involved ourselves with these things, the more twisted and confused we became. All it did was fill my head with bad thoughts and give me nightmares. "No, thanks. I'd rather not know."

"I can come over after work and help you go looking, if you want," she volunteered.

"Thank you, but I wouldn't even know where to start. We'll wait and see what the police say tomorrow."

"Maybe she'll come home tonight."

"Maybe."

"I'll say a prayer for you and your family," she said. How ironic, I thought. A few weeks ago Sophie had sat in the streetcar gazing out the window at the Garden District, her face full of envy as I waved good-bye and started for home. She would have given anything to trade places with me, I'm sure. Now I was the object of her pity and sympathy. Money makes people comfortable, but it doesn't guarantee happiness, I thought.

"Thank you, Sophie." It brought tears to my eyes to think that none of my so-called upper-class friends from school had called or visited, but my new friend, my poorest friend, cared enough to volunteer her time to help me.

After I hung up, I put my palms together under my chin, closed my eyes, and said my own prayer. I prayed for Mommy, I prayed for Pierre, I prayed for Daddy, and I prayed that I would have the strength to help everyone. Then I tried to fall asleep. I tossed and turned for hours before drifting off, but my sleep was restless and continually interrupted. I woke often with a start, listening hard for the sound of a door being opened or a phone ringing. I longed to hear Mommy's voice echoing through the hallway or up the stairs, but the dead silence of our morgue-like house was all I heard.

Daddy was disheveled and tattered-looking in the morning. No doubt he had stayed awake most of the night. He had slept on the sofa in his study when he did catch some sleep. I made sure he ate something substantial for breakfast and then persuaded him to take a shower. Mrs. Hockingheimer had Pierre up and washed. She got him to eat a portion of his breakfast, but he had the same empty look in his eyes, the same anticipation when I entered. I spoke to him for a while. His lips quivered and then formed the word "Mommy." It shattered the thin veneer on my heart and made me gulp back the tears.

I convinced Daddy that he should call Lieutenant Ribocheaux to see if they had any leads, but they didn't. Daddy hung up the phone and looked at me, his face lined with exhaustion and frustration.

"I told you it wouldn't do us any good to call the police," he said. "They don't take this voodoo thing seriously, and when an adult disappears, they're not really concerned. Of course, they promised to keep looking."

"I can't stand this waiting around, Daddy. We've got to do something."

"What, honey? Ride around the city?"

"I don't think she's in the city anymore," I said. "I think we should go to the bayou."

Daddy laughed. "A lot of good that would do—you and I, two city slickers trying to find someone in the swamps. If we have little hope of doing so here, where we are familiar with the territory, can you imagine how futile it would be for us to go out there? I wouldn't even know where to begin."

I thought for a moment, recalling Mommy's stories, and then looked up at him with bright, hopeful eyes. "We'll start at the shack," I said.

"Shack?"

"Her old shack, where she returned when she became pregnant with me. She believes in spirits; surely she hopes her grandmère Catherine's spirit will still be there, or even her mother's spirit."

Daddy said, "Let me look at the picture you said she painted."

We went to Mommy's studio, and he stood gazing thoughtfully at it for a while.

"What are you thinking, Daddy?"

"What was it that crazy old lady, Nina's sister, told us . . . that Ruby went to wherever the curse started. You might be right. In her mind that could very well mean the bayou. Especially when I look at this picture. I'll give Jeanne a call." He returned to his office to do so. I followed and waited at the door while he spoke to Uncle Paul's sister.

Aunt Jeanne hadn't heard about Jean's death. That news was devastating enough for her to digest. Then Daddy told her about Mommy's disappearance. I waited hopefully at his side, but it was clear from the rest of the conversation that she hadn't heard from or seen Mommy, nor had anyone she knew.

Daddy shook his head and cradled the receiver. "Well, we know she hasn't been to the bayou yet," he said and sat back.

"We should still go out there, Daddy."

"I don't know."

"It's better than just sitting here and staring at each other hopelessly. Please. Let's go there and search. She might have just arrived, or she could be somewhere the Tates wouldn't know about. They certainly don't go looking around the old shack."

He considered. "Okay," he said. "I suppose it's worth a try and you're right. Not doing anything but waiting for phones to ring is just eating away at both of us."

"I'll go up and tell Mrs. Hockingheimer and Pierre what we're doing so he won't miss us," I said.

"Good idea. I'll dig out my maps of the bayou. It's been a while since I drove there."

Having a strategy and something concrete to do put hope back into our hearts and renewed our energy. I hurried upstairs to change my clothes, and then I went to see Pierre.

"I was just about to go down to see you and Monsieur Andreas," Mrs. Hockingheimer said. "I don't like the way Pierre keeps drifting off, and now he's refusing to drink any water."

"Oh, Pierre," I said, sitting beside him on his bed and taking his hand into mine. His eyes remained fixed on the wall. "You can't do this to yourself any longer. You've got to get strong and well again. We need you to help with Mommy. Daddy and I are going to find her and bring her home to you, but you must eat and drink so you can be strong when she returns. Please," I begged. "Please try."

His blinking quickened, and he took a deep breath. I brushed back his hair. "Will you, try, Pierre? Will you?"

He didn't respond, but I thought there was more light and alertness in his eyes.

"We'll be gone most of the day, Mrs. Hocking-heimer, but we'll phone you in a few hours."

"I'll ask the doctor to stop by later this afternoon," she promised.

"Fine."

"Good luck, my dear."

"Thank you." I gazed back at Pierre. His lips were moving, so I sat beside him again and brought my ear close to his mouth.

"Mommy . . . Mammy went to get Jean," he whispered.

His words put a block of ice in my chest where my heart should have been. For a moment I couldn't speak or swallow.

"Oh, Pierre honey," I moaned. I embraced him and kissed him and rocked back and forth with him. Then I wiped away my tears and rushed from the room, hoping with all my soul that we would find Mommy and bring her home where she belonged.