Landry 05 Tarnished Gold (10 page)

There were no other children in the dollhouse, and the only other bedrooms were for the maids or empty guest rooms. The kitchen, as in most Cajun homes, was in the rear, and just behind it was a pantry filled with things so small, my fingernail was twice the size. I decided whoever had built this toy world had been a master craftsman, an artist in his or her own right.

I put the house aside and rummaged through the old magazines. I found coloring books and a pad of dry watercolor paints with stiff brushes. There were moldy crayons, pencils, and a toy sewing kit with some material meant for doll's clothing. I found a toy nurse's set with a stethoscope, a nurse's cap, a fake thermometer, and some real bandages and gauze. That, too, looked barely used.

At the bottom of the pile, I discovered a notebook that had been used as a drawing pad. The first few pages had crude line drawings, but as I turned the pages, I felt I was turning through the years of Gladys Tate's development until I reached the point at which her drawings were more sophisticated. One page in particular caught my interest.

I thought it looked like Gladys Tate's selfportrait: the face of a little girl who had similar features. Behind the little girl was the looming face of a bearded man. She had drawn nothing more of his body, but hovering just above her shoulder was what was obviously meant to be his hand, the fingers thick, one with a marriage band.

When I lifted the notepad a little higher to bring it closer, I saw something slipping from between some pages. It was a card with a small bird on the outside. Inside were scribbled the words:
To my little Princess. Love, Daddy.
There was a second card, also with a bird on the outside. This time the scribbled words read:
Never be afraid. Love, Daddy.

I turned a few more pages, observing crude drawings of a man without a shirt, his chest covered with what I was sure was meant to look like curled hairs. In the middle of the torso was a light drawing of a face with the mouth stretched in what looked like a scream.

Curious and now intrigued, I flipped past the drawings of birds, trees, and a horse to find the picture that made me gasp. It had been drawn with a shaky hand. The lines wobbled, but it was clearly meant to be the body of a man, waist down, naked, his manliness drawn quite vividly. I closed the notebook quickly, put it back in the closet, and stood up, slapping my hands together to shake off the dust. What strange things for a little girl to draw, I thought. I was afraid to permit myself to wonder what it all meant.

I went to my door and opened it slowly, listening keenly for the sound of footsteps. Surely she would be bringing me something to eat soon, I thought. I was very hungry and my stomach was growling with anger. Frustrated, but aware that if I didn't occupy myself, my hunger would only bellow louder, I turned to the shelf of dolls.

I found some cloth to use for dusting and took the first doll down to carefully wipe its arms, legs, and face. All these dolls looked like they had been expensive ones. Some had features so perfect, I was positive they were handmade. Observing the line of them on the shelf, I realized that there were only two male dolls, and they had been placed a little behind the others.

As I put the first doll down on the table, I noticed something odd when the doll's dress was raised. I peeled back the skirt and gazed with horror at what had been done. A blotch of black ink had been painted between the doll's legs where its female genitals would be. I inspected the other dolls and found either that or a chipping away of the area that had been done with some crude implement. The worst damage, however, was inflicted on the two boy dolls. They had been smashed so that their torsos ended just under their belly buttons.

I hated to think what this all possibly meant. Suddenly I heard the distinct sound of footsteps on the short stairway. I hurriedly returned the dolls to the shelf and sat on the bed just as Gladys Tate opened my door, my tray of food in her hands.

"Well," she snapped. "Don't just sit there waiting to be served. Come take it."
I hopped off the bed, took the tray, and placed it on the table.
"Thank you," I said. I pulled the chair close and sat. "Why is that lantern on?" she asked.
"It's so dark in here with the shade drawn."
"You're just wasting the kerosene. I can't be bringing up kerosene every day too. Use it sparingly," she ordered, and turned it out, draping us in shadows. Nevertheless, I began to eat and drink the coffee while it was still warm.
"I see you've been looking at things already," she said, noticing the things on the floor by the closet.
"Yes, madame. That's a very nice dollhouse, a replica of this house, isn't it?"
"My father made that for me. He was artistic," she said, "but he did those things only as a hobby."
"It is a work of art. You should have it on display, downstairs."
"I don't think I need you to tell me how to decorate my house," she snapped. "It belongs up here and here is where it will remain."
"I'm sorry. I just thought you would be proud to have other people see it."
"If you must know, it's personal. He gave it to me for my fifth birthday." She closed her eyes as if it had been painful to explain.
"You must have loved it. I looked at the books. They're all for very small children."
"Umm. I'll see about bringing up something more equal to your maturity. My father used to make me read Charles Dickens. He had me stand before him and read passages aloud."
"I have read some of Charles Dickens's novels in school, yes."
"Well, any one of them will keep you busy awhile," she said. "You were sufficiently quiet this morning," she offered in a tone as close to a compliment as she could manage. "No one noticed anything or mentioned anything to me. That's good. Keep it that way," she commanded.
"One thing you must do, however. Rise before dawn and close the shade. It has never been up during the day, and someone will surely notice."
"Why has it never been up?" I asked.
"It just hasn't," she shot back. "This room has been abandoned up until now."
"Why?" I persisted. "I would think your old playroom would have some nice memories for you, and you would want to keep it nice."
"You would, would you? Who do you think you are continually offering your opinion as to what I should and shouldn't do in my house?" She flicked her stony eyes over me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to . ."
"Just worry about yourself. There's plenty to do there," she said. "I'll be right back," she added, and left the room.
While she was gone, I finished eating. When she returned, she had a pail of water and a handful of rags in her hand.
"I brought you this so you could start cleaning this room. Do it as quietly as possible."
"I'll need more than one pail of water, madame," I said. She snapped her head back and lifted her shoulders as if I had slapped her.
"I know that, you fool. You'll start with this. You don't expect me to cart pail after pail of water up here, do you? Tonight you can dump this out with your chamber pot and bring up another pail of water along with your drinking water. I was just being nice giving you the first pail."
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful," I said, which took the steel out of her spine. She didn't smile, but her eyes warmed.
"If you're finished eating, we have some very important matters to go over," she said.
"Certainly, madame." I turned, waiting.
She folded her arms over her chest and took a few steps toward the window. "I, as you know, have never been pregnant. I know as much about it as any woman my age should," she added quickly, "but there is nothing like the actual experience. That's true about everything, I suppose, but especially true when it comes to pregnancy."
I nodded, not sure what it was she was trying to say.
"If we are to make this work, have people believe me when I say I am pregnant, I had better behave as if I am. I know you're just about two months pregnant, right?"
"That's right, madame."
"Well," she said, and waited. When I didn't say anything, she snapped, "Tell me about it."
"Tell you? Where should I begin, madame?"
"At the beginning, where else? How did you find out you were pregnant?"
"Mama told me. I woke up nauseous and had to vomit. After it happened again, she asked me if I had missed my period."
"Yes?"
"I had and then she asked me if I was sensitive here," I said, indicating my breasts.
"Sensitive?" She stepped closer. "Exactly what does that feel like?"
"It feels like my breasts are fuller. Sometimes they are tender and sore."
"Really?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
I felt odd describing these things to her. For the moment it seemed as though I were the adult and she were the younger woman. How could she appear so sophisticated in other ways but be so ignorant of womanly things? I wondered.
"Yes," I said. "Sometimes they actually hurt." Her eyes widened. "I'm also tired more often and find myself dozing off."
"Yes?"
"And I have to go to the bathroom more. . . urinate," I said.
"Did you throw up this morning?" she asked.
"No. Mama gave me some herbs that help me."
"Good. For her first visit, I'll have her bring me the herb, too," she said. "If it works, why not?" she added, which I thought was a strange thing to say. Why would she actually want it? "Now, what about your stomach? I can't tell because of that skirt, but you don't seem to be showing much."
"No. Mama told me she didn't show until she was nearly five months, but I do see a small difference," I said.
She stared at me a moment and then nodded. "I want to see for myself," she said.
"Pardon, madame?"
"I want to see. I have to know exactly what you look like now and as time goes by to do this right, don't I? Take off your clothing."
I hesitated.
"What's wrong? You go parading about in the swamp nude, don't you?"
"I don't go parading about," I said, tears coming to my eyes.
"It's the same thing, whatever you want to call it. Now, just get undressed. I told you, warned you, you would have to be cooperative," she said in a threatening tone. "Either you do what I ask or march right out of here now. Make up your mind."
I swallowed back a throat lump and sucked in my breath. Then, first turning away from those glaring eyes of stone, I lifted my dress over my head. I unfastened my bra and slipped out of my panties. Before I could turn around, her arms came over my head, a tape measure in her hands. She had brought it up with her, planning all along to do this. She wrapped it roughly around my stomach and pulled to take a measurement.
"Turn around," she ordered. I did so and she gazed at my breasts. "You're not normally this big?"
"No, madame," I said. "And the color has changed here," I said, pointing to my nipples. "Darkened."
"Oh?" She studied me with interest. "I'll have to stuff my bra a bit," she mused, and nodded. "Once a week I'll take the measurement of your stomach and adjust my own dimensions accordingly. You can get dressed now," she said.
She waited as I dressed myself and then in a kinder tone of voice she said, "I'll bring you some Charles Dickens with some dinner tonight. The maids are about to begin upstairs and will be working right beneath you, so keep as quiet as possible when you clean. I hope," she added, "that if you do vomit, you do it as silently as possible." She took my tray. At the doorway she turned back to me. "I'll be sending for your mother very soon, perhaps later today."
"Thank you, madame," I said. I couldn't wait to see Mama. Even though I had been here only one night, I missed her terribly.
Gladys Tate closed the door softly behind her and tiptoed down the stairway. I stood there for a moment, realizing that I was trembling, and then I set about cleaning the room and keeping my mind occupied so I wouldn't dwell on this strange, hard woman who would someday soon be the mother of the child I carried.
Gladys Tate brought Mama up to see me after dinner. One look at Mama's face when she came up the stairway and stepped into the room told me she was infuriated.
"You're keeping her up here, in this . . . closet?" she said, turning sharply on Gladys.
"It's the only secluded place in the house," Gladys said, unflinching. 'Tin trying to make her as comfortable as possible."
Mama gazed about the room and then fixed her eyes on my empty dishes. Of course, I wasn't sure if it had been done for Mama's benefit more than my own, but Gladys had brought me a gourmet feast: a bowl of turtle soup, Cornish hen in a grape cognac sauce, sweet potatoes in oranges, and tangy green beans. For dessert, there was a slice of pecan pie. Gladys proudly ticked off the menu, explaining I would always eat what they ate.
Mama's eyebrows rose with skepticism.
"I wish to speak with my daughter alone," she said. Gladys tightened, her mouth becoming a tiny slice in her taut cheeks. She then gave Mama a small smile, tight and cold.
"Of course," she said, and pivoted sharply. She closed the door behind her and descended, her feet barely tapping down the stairway.
"You can't stay here," Mama began
immediately. "This is horrible. I had to sneak up here with her, like some kind of swamp rat."
"It's not so bad, Mama. I'll keep busy and the time will pass quickly."
"I don't like it," she insisted. "You're too much a creature of Nature, Gabriel. You can't be shut up like this."
"I'll manage, Mama. Please. What will be the alternative? These are rich and important people here. They will make me look like the bad one, and the baby, the baby will grow up an outcast. Besides," I said with a smile, "I bet Daddy's already spent some of the money."
"Some? I'll wager he's spent most of it or gambled it away by now." She sighed deeply and sat on the bed. "Look how tiny everything is. What was this room?"
"Her playroom."
"Playroom? What does she think, this is another childish game, you're another toy, a distraction? That woman irks me, Gabriel. Something's very wrong with her. She wants me to bring her herbs."
"I know. She's determined everyone will believe the baby is hers. She's really getting into the pretending."
"Too much. I was alone with her and she was telling me she's had nausea in the morning and lately she's had to go to the bathroom more often. Why tell me those things without anyone around?" Mama pointed out.
I shrugged. "Maybe she was just practicing."
"I don't know. I'm not getting good vibrations here," Mama said, gazing around with that special vision. "This was not a happy room. It wasn't a playroom so much as it was . . . a hideaway," she concluded. "And that's what she's made it into now," she added, turning to me.
"If it gets unbearable, Mama, I'll come home," I promised.
Mama squinted and curled the corner of her mouth. "You have a lot more tolerance for abuse than most people, Gabriel, and you're too forgiving. I'm afraid you won't do what's in your own best interests. You'll think of everyone else first."
"No, Mama, I promise. . . ."
She shook her head and then her face reddened a bit with anger.
"Has he come around? Do you see him?"
"No, Mama. I haven't seen Octavious Tate once since I arrived. I think he's afraid of her," I offered.
Mama nodded. "That's what your father says. He's not much of a man to live under his wife's shadow and to have done what he did to you. I want you to know I was tempted to turn your father loose on him. When he drove off with that in mind, I wasn't eager to stop him. I was just as angry, but . ." She sighed. "Maybe having a good home for the baby and keeping you from the disgrace that some would lay on you no matter what, like you say, is for the best. I just don't like the thought of you being caged up."
"I'll get out as much as possible, Mama. And you'll be by to see me now and then."
"You can bet on that," she said. She dug into her split-oak basket and took out some more herbal medicines, a jar of homemade blackberry jam, a loaf of cinnamon bread, and a package of pralines. "Don't eat all this at one time," she warned. "You gotta watch you don't get too fat, Gabriel."
"I won't, Mama," I said, and laughed.
She sighed again and stood up. We heard Gladys coming up the stairway. She knocked on the door, which was something I was sure she would never have done if Mama weren't there.
"Yes," Mama said.
Gladys entered. "I'm sorry, but if you remain up here much longer, my maids will notice."
"You should get maids you can trust," Mama shot back. Gladys didn't respond, but she made her eyes small and sucked in her breath. "I'll be by in a couple of days," Mama said. Then she turned to Gladys. "You see she gets time out of this room. She needs exercise or the birthing will be difficult, even dangerous."
"Of course, Madame Landry. I will permit whatever is possible."
"Make it possible," Mama insisted. "See that she has plenty of water to drink, too. There's two to take care of here. Keep that in mind."
"Anything else?" Gladys asked with visible annoyance.
"Yes. You should have a fan up here."
"Why? You don't have fans in your shack, do you?"
"No, but she's not locked up in a room in our shack," Mama retorted.
"There's no electricity up here, and even if there were, the noise would attract attention," Gladys explained.
"It's all right, Mama. Really," I said.
"Humph," Mama said, and then turned back to Gladys. "You make sure your husband doesn't come within ten feet of her."
Gladys turned so red, I thought the blood would shoot up and out the top of her head.
"Don't bother to make promises," Mama followed before Gladys could open her tight mouth. "Just make sure it don't happen." Mama turned to me. "I'll see you soon, honey," she said, and kissed me on the cheek. Then she glared at Gladys once more before she started out. Gladys took my tray of empty dishes and shot me an annoyed look before leaving. When they got to the bottom of the stairway and went out the corridor door, Gladys did not lock it. I was glad of that.
After Mama left, I relaxed on my bed and read some of the Charles Dickens novel Gladys Tate had brought me. Since the sun had gone down behind the trees, I was able to pull up the shade and permit more air to come into the room. The sound of a flapping bird's wings interrupted my reading and I went to the window to look out on the night heron. She did a little dance on the railing and turned to peer back at me.
"Hello," I said. "Shopping for dinner or just out for a stroll?"
She lifted her wings as if to reply and then the muscles in her neck undulated as she dipped her beak before rising to swoop down and toward the forest and ponds where she would hunt for her dinner. Never did I wish I had the power of flight so much as I did at the moment. If I had it, I would fly alongside the heron and glide over the swamp before lifting myself higher and higher toward the glittering promise of stars.