Hidden Jewel (25 page)

"You don't seem spoiled," he said. "I've net spoiled girls, spoiled airheads." He gazed at me and shook his head. "You're not like any of them."
"Thanks. Can I do anything?"
"You can. Here," he said taking out a tablecloth, napkins, and silverware. "Set the table."
"Yes, sir," I said.
Jack found a serving table on wheels and used it to prepare our food. He produced two light blue candles and candle holders. After placing them at the center of the table, he lit them. They didn't add that much light, but it was a warmer glow. I set out the plates and the glasses, and Jack took out his homemade wine.
"Okay, mademoiselle, you may sit down now." After I did so;
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he poured the wine. "I hope this meets mademoiselle's expectations. It's vintage 1950."
I laughed and tasted it. "Very good, monsieur. My compliments."
"Mori,
mademoiselle. And now the star of our show." He took my plate and prepared my entree. Then he prepared his own and sat down next to me.
"It looks fantastic," I said. He had served some green beans and corn with the fish.
"I'm sorry there's no bread."
"We'll make do," I replied.
He smiled and reached for his glass of wine. "Shall we make a toast?"
"Yes."
"To the storm."
"The storm?"
"Which caused us to dine together tonight." We clinked glasses. "Which only proves the saying that out of something bad, something good must come to those who wait and endure."
I felt the warmth from the wine, but I also felt a warmth coming from my heart.
"Let's eat," he declared.
Maybe because of the circumstances, because the tension and excitement had been so draining, I had a ravenous appetite. It was the most delicious meal I had had in a long time. As we ate, Jack told me more about himself and his family. His mother had been sick most of her adult life, suffering from diabetes. So his grandmere did most of the cooking and housework. He had grown up in the bayou and rarely left, only to go to New Orleans and once to go to Dallas with the family to see relatives, and once on a family vacation to Clearwater, Florida.
"I suppose my life's been very simple compared to what you've done and seen," he said. "I'm not what you would call sophisticated."
"Your life might be simple, as you put it, but you're not simple, Jack. Most of the so-called sophisticated young men I've known couldn't hold a candle to you," I added, perhaps with more energy than I intended, but after my third glass of homemade wine, my tongue felt loose and my thoughts free. Even in the low candlelight, I could see Jack blush and look happy. He softly laughed and flashed me a pleased look.
We continued to eat slowly, and whenever I lifted my eyes, they met his. Sometimes those eyes seemed to have the candle flame burning within them.
"I'm sorry I have no coffee or dessert," he said in a voice close to a whisper.
"That's all right. I've eaten more than I thought I would."
"You have, haven't you?" he said, nodding at my empty plate. I had scooped up even the last drop of sauce.
"Very unladylike," I said, shaking my head. "A proper young lady always leaves something on her plate."
"Oh, really? Well, I guess I ain't never met no proper young lady," he replied, imitating some swamp rat. "I've known women who ate the plate."
I threw my head back and laughed. Then I leaned forward. He was laughing, too, and he leaned toward me. We brought our foreheads together gently and Jack kissed the tip of my nose. Our eyes locked again. My heart beat softly, but I felt warm blood flood my cheeks and my neck. Was it the wine?
"Should we clean up?" I asked softly.
"Clean up. Oh, no, mademoiselle. We have servants to do that. Please. Let me escort you to the parlor," he said, standing and offering his arm. I rose. "Perhaps we should take along our homemade wine." He seized the neck of the bottle and our two glasses. Then he blew out the candles and I took the lantern. We returned to the sitting room.
Although the storm had passed, there was a lingering drizzle. It made a gentle pitter-patter on the pane. Lightning still flashed in the distance, each streak turning the pitch-black sky flame-red for a split second. I fixed my gaze on it while Jack poured us each another glass of wine.
"I hope everything's all right back in New Orleans," I said.
"Don't lose hope." Jack handed me my wine, and I sipped it slowly. Then I relaxed and let my head fall back against the settee. Jack stood there gazing down at me. When I looked up at him, I saw far more than simple concern and worry in his eyes. What I saw made my heart stir and then thump. Could it be that there really was something called love at first sight? His eyes were pools of desire, which made me aware of my own ravenous need for romantic fulfillment. These sensations made me feel guilty. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. When I opened them, Jack was at my side, taking my hand.
"Are you okay?"
"Just tired, I guess," I replied.
He nodded. "Sure. Considering what you've been through, no wonder. Well," he added, "if you insist on staying here another night, I guess we can go upstairs. We still have the blankets I brought last night."
I nodded. He took my glass and set it on the table. Then he helped me up and took the lantern. We made our way through the darkness and ascended the stairs, neither of us saying much. He wrapped his right arm around me, and I laid my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes.
Suddenly I heard something below and stopped walking. "What was that?"
"What?"
"I heard something." I gazed into the darkness beneath us. "Mommy! Are you there?"
Silence.
"Might have been a mouse," Jack suggested. I continued to listen and then agreed. He continued to lead me up the stairs, my head against his shoulder.
"Here we are," he announced when we reached Mommy's old bedroom. Jack set the lantern down on the nightstand, and I took off my shoes and lay back. He stood there for a moment looking down at me. I reached up and he took my hand. He brought it to his lips. I said nothing. My heart was pounding. He waited a moment and then let go to turn away and go to the settee.
"Jack," I said. It was as if my voice had the power to act at will. His name was on my lips so quickly that I didn't have a chance to think why or what I wanted. It didn't matter. He knew.
He returned to my side, knelt beside the bed to kiss my hand, and then leaned over to kiss my lips. "Pearl," he whispered.
I tried to reason, to think about what was happening, just the way I always had when I kissed a boy. But tonight my scientific appraisal never took hold; the part of me that questioned and analyzed every touch, every kiss, never showed its face; and it wasn't only because of the wine. In Jack's arms I felt secure; I felt his concern and his care. What he wanted to happen, he wanted for both of us.
His touch was gentle, unselfish. Instead of feeling anxious and fearful, I welcomed the whirl of emotions; I wanted to be engulfed in the tidal wave. I felt myself unlock every door, invite every kiss. I lifted my chin so his lips would fall against my neck, and I kissed his cheeks and his eyes. When he rose, I moved over to make
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place for him.
"Pearl," he whispered. Never did my name sound so sweet.
His hands moved over my arms to my breasts. Our clothing seemed to peel away so our skin could touch. Every time he paused, a little hesitant, a little unsure, I kissed him harder, driving away any reluctance, assuring him I wanted to follow the trail we were both burning to my heart.
"Are you sure?" he whispered one final time. "Yes, oh, yes, Jack," I replied.
With each touch of his lips, of his hands, I felt electrifying sensations. I realized I was not some scientific creature, after all. I was a woman.
We exploded against each other. I bit down on his ear so hard I thought I tasted blood, but he didn't complain. He held me tightly, his kisses winding down slowly as our hearts slowed. He held on to me like someone who never wanted to let go.
"Are you all right?" he asked when I didn't speak and practically held my breath.
I nodded and whispered yes. He released his hold on me and lay back beside me. Neither of us said a word for a long moment.
"Pearl," he finally began, "I don't want you to think that--"
"Don't" I pressed my finger to his lips. "Don't you dare explain anything."
I could see his look of surprise.
"Je ne regret rien. I
regret nothing," I said quickly. He smiled and kissed me.
We made love passionately, both sure of what we wanted. Without timidity and hesitation, it was a long, flowing stream of passion that climbed higher and higher until it burst in a waterfall, pounding rocks below again and again and again, each time punctuated with a bigger, happier Yes.
Exhausted, we separated and lay next to each other, waiting for our breathing to slow, our hearts to stop pounding. I felt a warm glow over my body and closed my eyes.
Jack found my hand and held it. "You were born in a hurricane all right," he said, and I laughed.
As my passion receded, however, my reason and logic returned, bringing with it the baggage of guilt. What was wrong with me? How could I behave with such abandon? I knew if I said one word, Jack would be filled with guilt, too, and I didn't want that.
Yet in the midst of all this turmoil and unhappiness, I had found such pleasure. It wasn't right, was it? I turned my back to him and bit down on my lip.
Jack, as if he were listening to my thoughts, turned to me and whispered, "It's all right. It doesn't mean you care less about your family or you're not trying hard to help them. You can't drive yourself at top speed without taking a break to recharge your batteries. You're human, Pearl. I think maybe you forget that sometimes."
I turned to him slowly and smiled.
"I won't forget it anymore, Jack." He smiled, too. He kissed me again and then cradled me in his arms, and I closed my eyes.
Sleep came rushing in as hard and as fast as the winds of the hurricane. I could no more keep it away than I could the wind. In moments I was drifting.
When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was pouring through the windows. It was hard to believe we had endured such a vicious storm the night before. In fact, the whole night seemed like a dream. Had Jack and I really enjoyed a romantic dinner? Did we really make love? When I turned to him, I found he was already gone. He had scribbled out a note and left it on the pillow.
Didn't have the heart to wake you. You looked like an angel asleep. I had to get up very early because of the storm. Come to the trailer when you get up, and I'll fix you breakfast Cajun style.
Love,
Jack
I sat up and looked at my watch. I had slept until almost ten. Panic seized me. I should have risen early and gotten to a telephone. I had to see how Pierre and Daddy were doing.
I rose quickly and tried the sink in the bathroom. To my happy surprise, after a flow of brown water, clean water appeared. I had no warm water, but I was able to wash my face and go to the bathroom. Afterward I dressed and went downstairs. Jack had cleaned everything up from our dinner, but I saw the results of the storm's invasion everywhere: shattered plates, broken windowpanes, soaked drapes and floors.
It was terrible of the Tates to let this beautiful mansion fall apart, I thought. Why was it that people who had everything could be so wasteful and vicious? What possible revenge did Gladys Tate enjoy from watching her son's pride and joy deteriorate? Did she just want to make sure no one else ever enjoyed the house? Even from the little I remembered about Uncle Paul and from what Mommy had told me, I knew he wouldn't have wanted this.
I started when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Jack? Is that you?" I called. There was no response, but a floorboard creaked in the corridor.
Slowly I turned. It's Mommy, I thought. She has finally returned. My heart pounding with expected joy, I hurried down the corridor toward the kitchen. I would surely find her sitting there, waiting for me.
"Mommy!" I cried as I burst through the doorway; but instead of Mommy, I found a tall giant of a man. His face was bloated so that his thick nose had nostrils big enough to inhale three times the air he needed. He had heavy jowls and a round chin with thick purple lips. He was unshaven, and his three- or four-day beard of gray and brown stubble was thicker under his lower lip. When he smiled, I saw he was missing a lower tooth and some back teeth. All the rest were nicotine-stained yellow.
He was dressed in knee-high boots and torn jeans with a T-shirt that had a tear in the shoulder and looked as if it had been washed in rusty water.
He smiled, the curve in his soft, thick lips cutting deep into those bloated cheeks and narrowing his dull brown eyes over which his thick, heavily wrinkled forehead protruded.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"It's true," he said. "You are Ruby's daughter, ain' tcha?"
"I am Ruby Dumas's daughter, yes. Who are you?" I demanded more fervently. He stopped smiling.
"Name's Trahaw, Buster Trahaw. I'm a friend of your mother's," he replied. "Friends of mine told me you was here lookin' for her, so I come to see for myself."
"Have you seen my mother?" I asked. I didn't remember her mentioning a Trahaw, and I couldn't imagine why she would ever be friends with someone who looked like this, but as Jack had said last night, there were people I never knew and Mommy could have gone to see them or stayed in their homes while she was here, especially if she had gotten caught in the storm.
"Sure, I seen her," he said. "Why do you think I'm here?"
"Where is she? How is she?" I asked quickly.
"She . . . She ain't well," he said. "She's sick as a dog. When they told me you was here, she said, 'Go fetch her quickly.' So I come."
"Where is she?"
"She's at my mother's house," he said. "My mother's a traiteur."
"Oh," I said. It made sense. "Will you take me to her please?"
"Sure," he said. "Only we got to go quick. I got work to do and I can't be wandering about long."
"Okay. Let's go," I said, turning. "My car's out front."
"We can't go in no car," he said, not moving. "My mother's house is in the swamp. I come here in a pirogue to fetch you. This way . . ." He headed toward the rear door.
"But . ."
"You coming or what, missy? I told you, I got work."
I hesitated. I should tell Jack, I thought. I took out his note and turned it over to scribble my own on the back.
Dear Jack,
Went with Buster Trahaw, who said my mother was at his house. Be back soon.
Love, Pearl
I left the note on the counter and hurried after Buster Trahaw, who had already stepped out of the house.