Hidden Jewel (21 page)

The small amount of illumination our flashlights provided elongated the shadows and made the rooms and corridors look deeper than they were. Furniture draped in sheets resembled spirits waiting patiently to be reanimated, and the silhouettes created by our flashlights slid across the walls and ceilings like phantoms gathering around us. Our own footsteps made the floorboards creak. Our shoes clicked over the tiles, a small sound amplified in the emptiness.
"The light was upstairs," Jack said. "Be careful."
He led the way up the grand staircase. The steps groaned under our weight. It had been a long time since anyone had walked up or down regularly. I felt a rippling sensation on the back of my neck, as if someone had stepped up behind me. I paused and spun around. As we were moving forward, the darkness, pushed aside by our beams of light, was rushing back in behind us. I decided to stay as close to Jack as I could. When we reached the landing, he directed me to the right and we entered what I knew was Uncle Paul's bedroom.
"I might be wrong," Jack said. "But I'm pretty sure the light was in here. I counted the windows from the end of the house. If there was someone in this room, that person was standing about here." He moved to the window. "The light lingered awhile and then grew smaller. My guess is that the person moved deeper into the house, away from the window. I called and called, but no one responded. Could have been a prowler or a burglar, as I said," he added.
"There isn't much here for a burglar to steal, is there?" I asked.
"Well, there are good furnishings, works of art, bric-a-brac, kitchenware . . sure, there's good loot, especially for some of these swamp pirates. We don't have urban crime, but we do have some lowlifes meandering about the canals, breaking into other people's shacks. This place is so far out that it's not easy to rob, but desperate people do desperate things."
Our flashlights were like candles. They threw a glow over our faces as we stood talking.
"Why would your mother come back here by herself in the middle of the night?" he asked. "You obviously thought she would or you wouldn't have come. I don't mean to poke my nose where it don't belong," he added quickly.
I shook my head and bit down on my lower lip. If Mommy was in the house, she would have heard us, but I couldn't be sure she would let us know she was here. I had no idea what state of mind she was in at this point.
"I told you about my brother's death and how upset my mother was, but I didn't tell you that my mother blamed herself for the tragedy. She went to a voodoo mama and was told to enact certain rituals. The next thing we knew, she had left to do something else mysterious. She sent a letter telling us she wouldn't be coming home for quite a while, if ever. We suspected she had returned to the bayou and found something she left in the shack where she and my great-grandmother lived when my mother was a little girl."
"And then she lived in this house after she married Paul Tate," he said.
"Yes."
"So you think she's coming back here to perform some voodoo ritual?"
"She's returning to wherever she thinks she did something that might have put a curse on us. I'm sure there's some ritual that has to do with driving away evil spirits," I told him.
"You don't believe in any of that, I take it," he said. "No."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I'm really sorry for your troubles."
"It's gotten worse. My little brother, the one who's in a coma, has become very sick. The psychiatrist treating him thinks he believes my mother blames him for my other brother's death because she doesn't go to see him. He doesn't want to live anymore," I concluded sadly.
"That's terrible."
"So you see why it is so important for me to find my mother and get her to come home."
"Yes, I do. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to find whoever was here. You want to go through the rest of the house?"
"Yes," I said.
He reached for my hand. "We'd better be careful. This place has been deserted for a long time. I don't know what to expect."
I didn't hesitate to give him my hand. He grasped it firmly. It was reassuring to sense his strength. We started through the upstairs, going in and out of the rooms, checking closets and bathrooms, looking into every possible space. I called for Mommy. I begged her to reply if she was in the house.
"Pierre needs you desperately, Mommy. If you're here, please call to us. Please!"
There was only the echo of my voice followed by silence. We returned to what had been my mother's bedroom. The bed had no linen, but there were still pillows and a mattress. Both of us ran our light beams over the floors and walls, even under the bed, but we saw no one and no evidence of anyone having been here recently.
"Maybe I just imagined the candle," Jack said woefully, "and brought you up here on false hope. The swamps play havoc with your senses sometimes. You ever see a flash of swamp gas?"
"No."
"It ignites and rolls across the water's surface like balls of lightning," he said. "It happens so quickly you're not sure whether or not you imagined it."
"I think I saw something like that when I drove up to the house. I don't really remember much at all about the bayou; I was just a little girl when I left. It sounds fascinating."
"I wouldn't want to live anywhere else," he said. "Don't mean any disrespect, but as you know, I'm not one for city life."
I smiled for the first time in hours, but I wasn't sure he could see in the dark.
"Well," he said after a moment, "you're welcome to come back to the trailer with me. I can make us something cold to drink. I got some watermelon in the fridge, too," he added. "Unless you're too tired."
I had been so excited and nervous, I never realized the lateness of the hour or the weariness in my body. Now that we had paused for a while, my legs did feel heavy, and fatigue began to climb up as if I had stepped into a pool of it.
"I'm okay," I said. "Just a little tired."
"What are your plans?" he asked. "You don't want to just turn around and drive back, do you?"
"Oh, no. I'm going to stay here," I said, gazing around.
"Stay here? You mean, in the house?"
"Yes. If my mother was here, she might come back, and if she's hiding, she might finally show herself. I don't know what else to do."
"But this is an empty house. Don't you have any relatives or friends to stay with? I mean, there are probably all sorts of creatures living in here by now, including spiders and snakes and--"
"Don't!" I said. "You're scaring me, and I have to stay here."
"I'm sorry," he said, seeing my determination. "If you're positive you want to do this . . ."
"Yes."
"Okay. Let's go back to the trailer.I'll dig out some food and get us some blankets," he said.
"Us?"
"Well, you don't think I'm going to let you stay here by yourself, do you? I wouldn't catch a wink of sleep lying back there in my trailer, worrying about you here," he said. "I mean, that candle could have been used by a prowler."
"You don't have to stay here. I'll be all right," I said, but my legs were shaking and my knees knocking.
"I told you, I take care of your oil well, and I'll take care of you," he said firmly.
I smiled in the darkness, grateful for his generosity and concern. "Thank you," I said.
"No thanks required. Let's go get what we need," he said, and we left the house.
The cold watermelon was refreshing. After I had eaten some, I used the bathroom while Jack gathered the bedding and a kerosene lamp. Then we returned to the house.
"Where do you want to camp?" he asked after we entered and stood gazing into the dark.
"Upstairs," I said. "My mother's old bedroom." The glow from the kerosene lamp cast pools of dull yellow light over the walls as we climbed the stairs.
Our shadows spilled behind us down the steps and over the entryway. Jack saw where my attention had gone and laughed. He lifted the lamp making the shadows change their shapes and sizes.
"We're gigantic," he said. "We'll scare away any ghosts that might dwell in these crannies."
"Do you believe in ghosts, Jack?" I asked him. "Sure. I've seen them occasionally."
"Stop," I said.
"No. I have." He paused at the landing and turned to me. "In the swamp at night, floating over the water. Indian ghosts, I'm sure."
"Maybe it was just that swamp gas you described," I told him.
"You don't believe in spiritual things?"
"I believe in God, but not in goblins and ghosts and voodoo spirits. I'm a scientist," I said. "I believe there's a logical cause and a logical reason for everything. We might not know it yet, but there is."
"Okay," he said with a small, smug smile on his lips.
"You think I'll be proven wrong?"
"Don't know. I just know what I've seen," he said confidently and continued to the bedroom.
When we entered with the brighter light from the kerosene lamp, the room looked larger. When Jack started to put the lantern down on the vanity table, I spotted something on the bed.
"Wait!" I cried. "Bring the lantern closer to the bed."
He followed me. We both stared down between the two pillows.
"What the heck is that?" Jack asked. "I didn't see it before, did you?"
"No." I reached for it slowly. "It's a mojo," I said. "A what?"
"The leg bone of a black cat that's been killed exactly at midnight. Powerful gris-gris," I told him. "My mother was definitely here! Either we didn't see this when we were here before or she came back after we left to go to the trailer."
When I turned around, Jack was standing there with his mouth open. "Leg of a black cat?"
"My mother's old cook gave her this mojo. She was the woman who died and came back with the warning my mother never got because she was at a party celebrating her new art exhibit. That's one of the reasons she blames herself for what happened to Jean," I explained.
Jack gazed at me as if I were crazy. "This woman died and came back?"
"I don't really believe any of this," I said. "I told you my mother's having some sort of emotional breakdown."
He nodded and then looked around the room. "Sure you want to stay here?" he asked again, a little tremor in his voice now.
"Positive. My mother might return."
"But what if she's off doing something weird someplace else?" he asked.
"The only way to be sure is to stay here and wait," I said, more determined than ever. He sensed the resolution in my voice and stopped trying to talk me out of staying.
"Okay. You want to sleep on that mattress? It's a little dusty, but if I put this blanket over it and this one over the pillow . . ."
"That'll be fine," I said. "Thank you."
"I'll fix myself a spot over there," he said, nodding toward the settee.
He prepared my bed and then went to prepare his own, placing the kerosene lamp between us.
"You all right?" he asked, after sprawling out.
"Yes," I said. "It's really nice of you to help me like this."
"No problem."
"How old are your two sisters?" I asked. Now that I was lying down in Mommy's old bedroom in the empty mansion and the darkness had closed in around us, I felt the need to keep talking. Besides, I was interested in Jack's life.
"Daisy's twenty-two and Suzanne is twentynine. She's married with two kids, a boy three and a girl four. Her husband runs a canning plant."
"What's Daisy doing?"
"She just finished college in Baton Rouge and got engaged. She's getting married in two months to a fellow over in Prairie. His family has a furniture business. They met at college."
"Did you go to college?" I asked.
"Me? No," he said. "I barely finished high school before I went to work with my father on the rigs."
"You said you were working when you were twelve."
"I was, but I couldn't collect a salary yet. How did you remember I said that?"
"I just did," I said quickly, happy he couldn't see me blush.
"No, I got my schooling on the job," he said. "I read a lot, though. We have lots of time to ourselves." "What do you like to read?"
"Mostly about nature. The other guys call me Einstein because I always have my nose in a fat book. I think it's great that you want to become a doctor. 'Course, I've never been to a real doctor, just a traiteur lady."
"My great-grandmother was a traiteur."
"I know. She's kind of a legend around here. You got magic in your hands, too? Oh, I forgot, you don't believe in anything that isn't logical." He laughed.
"Sometimes people get better because they believe so strongly in someone. That's logical," I said.
He was quiet a moment. "I guess it is. You're pretty smart, huh?"
"I get good grades."
"How good?"
"Good enough to be valedictorian of my class," I said.
"No! Really? I thought so," he said. "You just look smart, but I wasn't sure."
"Why not?" I asked laughing.
"Well," he said slowly, "the only smart girls I ever knew were . ."
"Were what?"
"Not ugly, but not very pretty," he said.
There was a long moment of silence between us, neither of us knowing exactly what to say. Finally I spoke.
"That's silly, Jack. Looks have nothing to do with mental abilities."
"You're right," he said. "I'm just babbling. Tired, I suppose."
"We should sleep," I agreed. "Good night, Jack. Thanks again."
"Night," he said. "You want the lamp on or off?" "On, I think."
He paused and then said, "Not logical."
I had to laugh aloud. "You're a very nice person, Jack. I'm glad you're the one who's looking after my well."
"Thanks," he said. "Pearl?"
"Yes?"
"What did you do with that cat bone?"
"It's still here on the bed," I said. "That's where my mother wanted it."
He was quiet. The wind wove its way through the openings in the house and in and out of rooms below us, sometimes making a whistling sound. Walls creaked, and a loose shutter tapped monotonously against a window frame somewhere. I thought I heard the sound of flapping wings and imagined bats had inhabited the rafters, but I knew they weren't dangerous.
It had been a long, emotional night. Now that I was lying down, my body felt as if it would sink into the mattress. I tried to stay awake to listen for footsteps or the sound of my mother's voice, but before I knew it, I was in a deep sleep.
I sank into dreams filled with the faces of people I had met in the bayou. I imagined the people in the shack who gave me directions, and I dreamed they were outside. They had followed me to Cypress Woods and were muttering to themselves in the shadows. They drew closer and closer and entered the house. They were all coming up the stairs, the woman with the rolling pin arms leading them and the children all following behind. I saw them enter the bedroom and sensed them around me. Their eyes were big, and their faces were liquid, changing from round to oval to round again.