Landry 05 Tarnished Gold (23 page)

He laughed. "Not only beautiful and magical, but wise, too. I'm tormented by the possibility we will never see each other again. You won't turn me away, will you?"
"I'm sure you have fine, well-to-do friends in New Orleans, monsieur. You don't need a poor Cajun girl in the bayou."
"That's exactly what I need," he said as we continued to walk along. He still held on to my hand. "Someone who will tell me the truth and listen with sincerity to what I say. I'll pay you for your time. I know. I'll hire you as my personal swamp guide," he added. "I'm sure there is a great deal more you can show me."
"But, monsieur . . ."
"As long as you don't dunk me in the water every time we go poling," he added.
I couldn't help but laugh.
"That's better. Look at me, soaked but happy. I'm like a little boy again," he said.
His exuberance swept me along. I thought of dozens of reasons to protest and refuse him, but he was too cheerful and too determined.
And something inside me kept me from shutting the door.

11
The Hidden Ring
.
"What happened?" Mama asked the moment

she set eyes on us.
"A little accident, Madame Landry," Pierre
replied quickly, before, I had a chance to explain. "It's
no one's fault, or if it is anyone's fault, it's mine. I was
talking so much and asking so many questions,
Gabriel was distracted while we were in her canoe." "You turned your canoe over in the canal?"
Mama asked me with surprise. She knew how expert I
was at poling a pirogue.
"No, Mama. I hit a rock while we were in the
small pirogue and I fell out."
She was nonplussed for a moment, her eyes
shifting from Pierre to me.
"Go change," she ordered me. She turned back
to Pierre. "I have some clean, dry clothes for you to
put on, monsieur. One moment."
"Please, don't go to any trouble," Pierre said,
but Mama was already off to fetch the clothing. Pierre
gazed at me and shrugged.
"Gabriel!" Mama called from the stairway. "Coming, Mama." I hurried up behind her. "How did such a thing happen, Gabriel?" she
demanded in a loud whisper.
"Just the way he described, Mama. I wasn't
paying attention and I poled us right into a rock. I lost
balance and fell overboard."
"How did he get soaked, too?"
"He jumped in to help me."
"He jumped in?"
"Oui,
Mama."
She stared at me a moment and then shook her
head. "Change your clothes," she said.
By the time I came downstairs, Mama had
Pierre dressed in Daddy's best pair of slacks and one
of his best shirts. He was barefoot while Mama dried
his shoes and socks, pants and shirt, on the stove. His
underpants were hanging on the line in the sun. He
looked up at me from the plank table in the kitchen.
He had an impish grin and appeared to be positively
enjoying every moment of my disaster. Before him on
the table was a mug of steaming Cajun coffee and a
bowl of gumbo.
"Our unexpected swim has made me
ravenously hungry," he explained. "And I am glad of
that because this is absolutely the most delicious
shrimp gumbo I've ever eaten. So you see . . . at the
end of every storm, there is some sort of rainbow." I started to smile, but Mama raised her
eyebrows.
"Sit down," she directed, "and get some
nourishment in your stomach, too. Honestly, Gabriel,
how could you take Monsieur Dumas into the swamp
to show him a pond filled with alligators and snapping
turtles and snakes and then be so careless as to fall out
of your canoe?"
"I didn't take him to any pond filled with
alligators, Mama."
Pierre's smile widened. Just as I sat, we heard a
car horn. "Customers," Mama said.
"I'll get my own gumbo, Mama. Thank you." She gave us a once-over, her eyes filled with
suspicion and reprimand, before hurrying out to the
stand.
"Your mother's wonderful," Pierre said. "The
sort of woman who takes command. I was afraid to
say no to anything."
"When you leave, she will bawl me out for
endangering a rich gentleman from New Orleans," I
told him, and dipped into the black cast-iron pot to
ladle out some gumbo for myself. I, too, was suddenly
starving.
"I eat in the finest restaurants in New Orleans,
but I don't think I ever enjoyed a meal more," he said,
gazing around the small kitchen. "My cook has a
kitchen to rival the best restaurants, and your mother
does so much with so little."
"Where do you live in New Orleans,
monsieur?" "Please, call me Pierre, Gabriel. I live in
what's known as the Garden District."
"What is it?"
"The Garden District? Well, it began as the area
for the rich Americans when New Orleans became
part of the U.S.A. These people were not accepted by
the French Quarter Creoles, so they developed their
own lavish neighborhood. My grandfather got our
property in a foreclosure and decided we weren't
above living there. Elegant gardens visible from the
street give this section of the city its name. Tourists
visit, but there are no buses permitted. There are some
famous houses in the Garden District, such as the
Payne-Strachan House. Jefferson Davis, president of
the Confederacy, died there in 1889.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound like a tour
guide," he said, laughing at his own enthusiasm. "Is your house very big?"
He nodded.
"Is it bigger than any house you've seen in the
bayou?" He nodded again.
"How big is your house?" I demanded, and he
laughed. "It's a two-story Grecian with two galleries
in front. think there are fourteen or fifteen rooms." "You think? You live in a house so big you're
not sure of how many rooms?"
"It's fifteen," he said. Then he paused. "Maybe
sixteen. I don't know if I should count the cook's
quarters as one room or two. And of course, there's
the ballroom."
"Ballroom? In a house?"
"We have some rooms that haven't been used
for anything yet. If I count them, too . . ."
"Mon Dieu!
Is there much land around it?" "We have some outbuildings, a stable, a pool,
and a tennis court. I never measured it, but I bet it's
over an acre of land."
"You have a stable in the city?" He nodded.
"Are you the richest family in New Orleans?" I
wondered, wide-eyed.
He laughed. "Hardly. In this section there are a
number of large estates like ours."
"How tiny and poor our shack must seem to
you," I said, gazing down as ashamedly as someone
caught with holes in the soles of her shoes.
"But how large and rich it is because you live in
it," he replied. I blushed and continued eating, feeling
his eyes constantly on me.
"Perhaps one day you will visit New Orleans,"
he said. "Daddy says he will take us as soon as he
earns enough money to take us in style."
"Of course. New Orleans is a city to which you
should go in style," Pierre said. "As for earning
enough money . . . I expect he will have my father for
a steady customer. He is impressed with your father's
knowledge of the swamp."
"My daddy is the best Cajun guide in the
bayou. When I was little, he taught me about the
animals and he showed me how to pole a pirogue." "Did you fall out then?" Pierre asked with a
wide grin. "No, monsieur. I'm sorry. Really, I don't
know how that happened. I . . ."
"I'm only teasing you, Gabriel." He reached
across the table to put his hand over mine. "I can't
think of when my heart felt more filled with happiness
than it is at this moment," he added. His words were
so sincere and yet so overwhelming, they took my
breath away.
"I must help Mama," I said, my voice cracking.
"Fine. I'll help too."
"You, monsieur? Selling our wares to the
tourists?" I started to laugh at the prospect.
"I happen to be a crackerjack salesman," he
said, feigning indignation. "Why, just last week I sold
a building worth nearly two million."
"Dollars?"
"Oui,
"he said, smiling at my look of
amazement. "I wish Daphne was as impressed and as
appreciative," he added, and then regretted it quickly. "Daphne is your wife?"
"Oui,
" he said.
I rose to put my bowl in the sink. He did the
same and for a moment, stood right behind me, so
close I could feel his breath on my hair. My heart
thumped. His hands went to my waist.
"Gabriel, I feel something truly magical with
you. I can't deny or ignore it."
"You must, monsieur. Please," I said, afraid to
turn.
"I must see you again, that's what I must do,
even if it's only to chat. Surely you will turn my
grayest days to blue sky. And," he said, forcing me to
turn so I faced him, "I will fill your heart with
happiness. I promise."
I started to shake my head, but he brought his
lips to mine to kiss me gently.
I broke away. "I must help Mama," I muttered,
and charged out the front door.
Mama had two couples at the stand, the women
going through our linens and towels, the men off to
the side smoking and talking.
"Gabriel, fetch those pillowcases we wove day
before yesterday, please," she said the moment she
heard me approaching.
"Oui,
Mama."
Pierre stepped out on the gallery as I hurried
back and into the house, passing him without a word.
When I returned to the stand, Pierre was conversing
with the men, getting them interested in buying jars of
swamp insects.
"They'll make great conversation pieces on
your desks in your offices. Not something easily
acquired in the city,
n'est-ce pas?"
he told them. They agreed and bought two jars apiece to add
to the items their wives had taken. When they left,
Mama thanked Pierre for making the sale.
"It's nothing, madame, but it was more fun than
being in the canoe hunting," he added. Mama smiled.
He asked her about some of her herbs and listened as she described how to use them and what they would cure. I could see he was very impressed with her. He
decided to buy a variety of herbs himself.
"We have a cook who's very much into this sort
of thing herself," he explained. He flashed a smile at
me. Mama returned to the house to bring out some
other items, happy at how well the day's sales were
going.
Pierre sat in the rickety old cypress chair Daddy
had made years ago and, at my request, described his
mansion in New Orleans in greater detail. I sat on the
grass at his feet. Nearby, curious gray squirrels
squinted and waited to see what we were about and if
there would be any crumbs.
"You have beautiful wildflowers here, but on
our estate, our garden walls enclose huge banana trees
and drip with purple bugle vine. In the morning I
wake to the scent of blooming camellias and
magnolia, and the streets of the district are under a
canopy of oak."
"It does sound like you live in a beautiful place,
too."
"It's beautiful and quiet, but minutes away by
streetcar is the bustling city," he said with visible
excitement in his eyes. I listened, enchanted as he described the art galleries, the museums, the grand restaurants, and the famous French Quarter where the jazz musicians played and people sat in coffee stalls
drinking cafe au lait.
"The French Quarter is really more Spanish
than French, you know. All of the buildings that date
from colonial times are Spanish in design and
architecture. And the so-called French market is
Spanish from foundation to chimney pots."
He knew a great deal about the history of New
Orleans and enjoyed having so attentive an audience
as me and, later, Mama. In fact, he ended up talking
more with her about Louisiana's history than he did
with me.
Late in the afternoon, the hunting party
returned. Pierre's father had more than two dozen
ducks, as did their friends. Before they reached the
dock to disembark the pirogues, Pierre went into the
shack and retrieved his clothing. Mama had ironed
everything, as well as dried it, and it looked at least as
good as it had been.
"No reason to tell your father about our spill
into the canal," Pierre whispered to me as the men
shouted from the dock. I nodded. I knew Mama
wouldn't say anything.
Even in his hunting clothing, Pierre's father
looked the distinguished gentleman with his full head
of stark white hair and his matching goatee. His
cheeks and forehead were pink from the sun,
deepening the wrinkles around his bright, emerald
green eyes. I guessed from the expression on Daddy's
face that he was giving Daddy a sizable tip. He then
gazed at me for a long moment before approaching
Pierre.
"How's your headache, son? Did you try some
of Madame Landry's secret potions or," he added,
smiling in my direction, "find another way to cure
yourself?"
"I'm fine, Father," Pierre replied curtly. "I see
you did well."
"Excellent. We've already booked another trip
with Jack. Think you might be up to it next time,
Pierre?" he asked, still with that demonic grin on his
handsome face. Pierre blushed and turned away.
Before they left, Pierre thanked Mama for hen,
hospitality, and she thanked him for the purchases he
had made. Daddy was busy with his gear at the dock,
so he didn't see Pierre approach me to say good-bye. "I had a wonderful day. I mean it," he said,
pressing my hand in his. "I will be back sooner than
my father thinks," he added, "or you, for that matter." "Please, Monsieur Dumas. You should not. . ."
"Watch for me," he said with a twinkle in his eyes,
"where and when you would least expect to see me." He hurried to join his father and their friends in
their big limousine and rolled down the window to
wave as they pulled away. Mama, who had just sold
something to another traveler, stepped up beside me. "He's a very nice young man," she said. "But
he's married, Gabriel," she added in a dark voice. "I know," I said sadly. "He told you?" "No."
"Then how did you know, Mama?"
"When I put his pants on the stove to dry, I felt
the wedding ring in his pocket and gave it to him to
hold with his other things. A man who takes off his
wedding ring so easily does not wear it so well," she
commented.
"Beware of him, Gabriel," she said softly. "He
has an unhappy heart, and unhappiness is too often
contagious," she said. She went to speak to Daddy and
left me trembling a little as I gazed after Pierre's
limousine, his beautiful words falling away like
teardrops in the wind.
Weeks passed and Pierre Dumas began to fade, his face pressed to my memory like some embossed cameo to cherish deep in my heart, but never to see or feel again. At night I would fantasize about him, think of him as I would my dream lover, the ghost who emerged from the swamp to win my heart even though I knew the price I would pay for loving him. I couldn't help but replay his words, relive his kiss, hear again his laughter, and feel my heart warmed by his
soft, green eyes, smiling.
Mama in her wisdom saw me moping about the
grounds, drifting rather than walking along the banks
of the canals, and knew what was making me pale and
wan. Often she had to say something to me twice
because I didn't hear her the first time; I was too lost
in my own thoughts. I played with my food and stared
blankly while she and Daddy talked and argued at the
dinner table. Mama said I was losing weight, too. She tried to keep me busy, giving me more to
do, filling my every quiet moment with another chore,
but it took me double the time to do anything, which
only exasperated her more.