Landry 05 Tarnished Gold (3 page)

"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I said. "Get out of my canoe."
"First I have to do the gentlemanly thing and help you to safety," he insisted. "Come along now." He reached out and seized my wrist. I climbed up and over the side of the canoe, and he sat back as I got in, this time pulling me over him and throwing his arms around my waist. His mouth was on mine again and then his lips moved quickly over my neck and down to my breasts, trailing his kisses with laughter. I tried to struggle out of his grip, but he was too strong and he turned me over so that I was now beneath him. Then he leaned back and smiled.
"Quite a temptation, you lying out here like this, waiting for a man like me."
"Please, monsieur. I was waiting for no one."
"No boyfriend about to arrive?" he asked with skeptical eyes.
"No, please."
"Come on now, you don't expect me to believe that a daughter of a man like Jack Landry wasn't waiting for some excitement. Why settle for a teenage boy? You have a man at your disposal," he insisted.
Before I could offer more protest, he lowered himself toward me, squeezing himself more firmly between my legs. I felt him nudge me with the hardness that had grown between his legs and then he pushed forward, dropping the weight of his body over my arms, pinning me back as he slipped farther under until . .
The shock of it stunned me at first, but the more I squirmed, the more he enjoyed what he was doing and the tighter he made his grip on me. I was trapped beneath him, his hot breath over my face. He was mumbling, pleading, pressing deeper and deeper into me, his thrusts faster, harder, until finally I felt him quiver. I uttered a tiny cry and stopped resisting when he filled me with his hot lust and passion. All I could do was close my eyes and wait for it to end.
After it had, we were both silent. I didn't move, but I felt him lifting himself from me. I kept my eyes shut tight, hoping that I could erase what had happened from my mind and my body if I just didn't look.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I just . . . couldn't help myself. You're so beautiful and my wife and I . . . we . . . It's been a while. I'm sorry. You're okay. It's nothing. Really. You're fine."
I waited. Then I heard him dive into the water and start to swim back to his own pirogue. I opened my eyes as he pulled himself into his canoe. I sat up and took a deep breath. All the blood had drained from my face. I thought I would faint. He dressed himself as quickly as he could, looking at me periodically until he was finished. Then he seized his pole.
"It's all right. It was nothing," he said, and began to push away. "I'll never come back here. I promise. This will be your special place again.
Bonjour,"
he added as if we had just had afternoon tea. A few moments later, he was gone.
The pirogue rocked in the water. I didn't move. It was deadly quiet. Even the frogs had stopped croaking. Only the insects circled madly over the water, but the bream, frightened by the commotion above, had swum deeper and waited in the cool shadows to be sure it was safe.
I started to cry, but stopped myself. It would do no good and it would only make me look even more horrible when Mama set eyes on me. I was terrified of that. Feeling dirty and violated, I lowered myself off the side of the pirogue and scrubbed my body vigorously. Then I got back into the canoe and dressed quickly, swallowing down my sobs, choking back my tears.
It terrified me to think of what would happen if everyone found out what Mr. Tate had done. The scandal would be worse than a hurricane. Hateful gossips would find a way to blame me, I was sure. Why was I naked in the swamp? Those who had made up fantastic stories about my wild ways with animals in the bayou would see this only as a reinforcement of their terrible lies. And poor Mama, she would bear the brunt of the storm. Daddy would only get drunker and into more fights.
No, I decided, there was nothing to do but try to forget; although right now, I didn't see how that was possible. For one thing, I could never return to my beautiful pond without recalling this nightmare. The surroundings lost their pristine beauty for me. I would be afraid to return. What if he returned when I was alone again?
How horrid and guilty I felt. Maybe this was my fault. Maybe I was wrong to bathe nude. I had a woman's mature body and I would be a liar to claim I never craved to be touched, to tingle and fulfill my own longing for love; but it was a longing I had hoped to satisfy with someone who truly cherished and loved me, too.
I desperately longed to talk to Mama about it, to get her advice and wisdom, but I didn't see how I could do so without her realizing what had happened. Mama would take one deep look into my eyes and know the truth. I had to be strong and not appear to be avoiding her gaze tonight, I thought. I sat there with my eyes closed and held my breath. Then I released it and took long, deep breaths, willing my heart to stop thumping like a drum. I would be calm. I would press this memory down and smother it with other thoughts.
My legs were still trembling when I stood up to begin my poling, but as I gathered speed and momentum, they grew stronger and more sturdy. I pushed myself away from the pond, the leaves of the sprawling cypress closing like a door behind me. I didn't look back. For a while as I continued, I darted my gaze from side to side, afraid Monsieur Tate might be somewhere nearby, waiting to apologize or plead with me to say nothing. The thought of facing him ever again set my heart pounding. What would I do? What would he do?
When I reached our dock and tied up my pirogue, I checked my clothing and tried to see my reflection in the water. Mama would think my appearance was due only to my swim anyway, I assured myself. I looked up at the shack where I knew she was waiting, setting the table, lighting a butane lantern, putting a record on our windup Victrola, trying to forget her own troubles. I had to do everything I could to keep what had just happened to me buried outside the house.
I took a deep breath and started up the pathway. As soon as Mama heard my steps on the gallery, she called.
"Is that you, Gabriel?"
"Yes, Mama. I'll just go up and change into something else," I said. "I got this dress wet and dirty," I added before she could inquire. I flashed a smile at her in the kitchen and hurried up the stairway to my bedroom.
"How was your swim?" she called.
"Refreshing, Mama. You should come with me someday." I heard her laugh.
"I don't remember when I swam last. Probably that time your father took us all to Lake Pontchartrain, before the war. Can you remember that?"
"Yes, Mama."
I studied myself in the long mirror over the oak armoire in Mama's room. My shoulders were red and there were faint patches of irritation on my neck, too. What was I to do? I put on my yellow and white dress, the one that had the buttons up to my collarbone, and then I wiped my hair vigorously with a towel, brushed it down, and wrapped the towel over my neck like a scarf. I kept my fingers crossed and descended to the kitchen. Mama looked up from the stove.
"This roux is delicious, honey. I boiled some crawfish, too."
"I'm starving," I said. I got us some napkins and some of Mama's lemonade. She brought the pot to the table and ladled out the crawfish and roux. She had thrown in some vegetables and rice. It smelled delicious.
"What'cha doin' with that towel?" she asked with a smile before she sat.
"My hair's still very wet, Mama. I'm too hungry to wait." She laughed and we started to eat.
"Well, like I told you. Your father's not coming home for dinner. I'm locking him out tonight," she declared. "He's nothing but a thief, stealing your dowry money for that stupid scheme. If he spent half the time and energy he spends on schemes doing legitimate work instead, we'd be millionaires, as least as rich as the Tates," she said, and I nearly dropped my spoon.
"What's wrong, Gabriel?" she asked quickly.
"I swallowed too fast, Mama."
"Well, take your time, honey. You got all the time in the world. Don't rush your life like I did. Think twice and then think twice more before you say yes to anything. No matter how simple or small it seems."
"Yes, Mama."
The music had stopped.
"I'm going to wind it up again," Mama said. "Tonight I just feel like hearing music. Tonight I don't want to hear silence."
I watched her get up and go to the Victrola. I hated being deceitful to her, but she was so down, so depressed and alone, I could never add even a pinch of sadness to her misery. I lowered my eyes to my food. After I ate, I helped clean up and then went upstairs to finish sewing my graduation dress. Mama had cut out the pattern. She went out on the gallery to
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weave some split-oak baskets, but she wasn't out there long before Mr. LaFourche came to fetch her in his Ford pickup truck. His wife was having terrible stomach cramps.
"I got to go make a visit," she called up to me. "You be all right?"
"Yes, Mama. I'm fine."
"If that no-account father of yours shows up, don't give him anything to eat," she said.
"I won't, Mama," I said, but she knew I would. After I heard the truck leave, I came out of the loom room and put on my dress. I went to Mama's mirror again and gazed at myself in the light of the butane lamp. The dress fit perfectly. I thought it made me look years older.
But I didn't smile at my image.
I didn't feel my heart burst with joy and excitement.
I began to cry. I sobbed so hard, my stomach ached. And then I ran out of tears and sat silently on my bed, staring through the window at the sliver of moon above the willow trees. I sighed deeply, took off my graduation dress, put on my nightgown, and crawled under my blanket.
When I closed my eyes, Mr. Tate's face with his lustful smile appeared. I moaned and sat up quickly, my heart pounding. How would he sleep tonight? I wondered. Was it easier for him to put the sinful act out of mind than it was for me, or would his conscience come roaring down over him and drive him to his knees to pray for forgiveness?
I was very angry. I wanted to pray to God to refuse him. I wished him centuries of pain and suffering. I hoped that when he had left my pond, he had fallen out of his canoe and been attacked by snakes and alligators. His cries would be music to my ears. I raged for a while like this and then I felt guilty for doing so and shut down my vengeful thoughts.
But Mr. Tate had stolen more than my youth and innocence when he had attacked me, he had invaded and stained my private world. My sadness was deeper because of that. I was afraid of what it meant, for before this, I never felt alone. No matter that I had no real friends; no matter that I wasn't invited to parties and did not go to dances and shows.
But if I lose my world, I thought, if I lose the swamp and the animals, the fish and the birds, the flowers and the trees, if I fear the twilight and cringe when shadows fall, where will I go? What will become of me?
Would the beautiful blue heron return to her nest above the pond?
I was afraid of the morning, afraid of the answers that would come up with the sun.

2
Paradise Lost
.
I was positive that Daddy's not coming home

all night was the only thing that kept Mama from noticing that something serious was bothering me the next morning. Mama had been out late treating Mrs. LaFourche, who Mama believed had eaten a few
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bad shrimp, so Mama was pretty tired and irritable anyway. She rose, expecting to find Daddy either sprawled out on the front gallery or on the floor of our living room, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Mama didn't notice that I ate very little breakfast or that I was quiet and tired myself. I had tossed and turned, flitting in and out of nightmares most of the night. But Mama ranted and raved to herself, raking up old complaints about Daddy, criticizing not only his excessive drinking and gambling, but his laziness.

"All the Landrys were lazy," she lectured, returning to an old theme. "It's in their blood. I should have know'd what your father would be like right from the start. Oh, he charmed me in the beginning by building this house and working hard for a while, but he was only setting me up the way the Landry men always set up their women, so he could throw it back at me all the time about just how much he done for me already.

"Like being a husband and a father was a nineto-five job," she complained. "But being a mother and a wife was a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week job. That's the way the Landry men see it.

"Before you marry anyone, Gabriel, you ask to see his grandpere, and if his grandmere's still living, you talk to her and get the lowdown, hear?" she warned.

She finally took note of me, but she attributed other reasons to my appearance.
"Look at you," she remarked, "nervous as a just-hatched chicken with your graduation just a day away now."
"I'm fine, Mama."
"I can't wait to see them hand you that diploma."
She beamed, her smile washing away her scarlet face of anger.
"You're the first Landry to get a high school diploma, you know that?" she asked. Daddy hadn't told me, but she had said it a few times before in his presence when she blamed some of the things he had done on his family blood.
"Yes, Mama."
"Good. Then be proud, not nervous. Well now, we'll have to plan a little celebration for afterward, won't we?"
"No, Mama. I don't want a party."
"Sure you do. Sure," she said, nodding and talking herself into it. "I'm going to make a couple of turkeys, and I think I'll make Louisiana yam with apple stuffing. I know how you love that. Of course, we'll have some stuffed crab and some shrimp Mornay with red and green rice. I'll make some garlic grits. need some biscuits, and let's see, for desserts we should have a gingerbread, one of my coffee cakes, and maybe some caramel squares."
"Mama, you'll be working all day and night until graduation."
"So? How often will I have a graduation party for my daughter?" she said.
"But we don't have the money, do we?"
"I got a small stash your daddy didn't get his hands on," she said, winking.
"You should save it for something important, Mama."
"This is is important," she insisted. "Now hush up and go to school. Go on," she said, pushing me toward the door, "and don't you worry about how hard I work or how much I spend. I got to do what I enjoy doing and what makes me happy and proud. Especially these days," she added, scowling with thoughts of Daddy.
I shook my head. There wasn't anything I could do or say to change her mind once Mama had made up what she wanted to do. Daddy called her Cajun stubborn and said she would stare down a hurricane if she had made up her mind to do so.
"I'll come home as soon as I can to help you then," I said.
"Never mind. You do what all the girls are doing and worry about your graduation ceremony, not me," she said.
I left the house, still feeling a cloud overhead because of what had happened to me the day before; but also feeling the excitement that came with the end of school. At school no one talked about anything else. The chatter in the classroom was so loud and furious, we sounded like a yard of hens clucking. Our teachers gave up on doing anything that even vaguely resembled education.
In the afternoon they took us out to the yard on the side of the building where a portable stage had been constructed so we could rehearse the graduation ceremony. A piano had been wheeled out for Mrs. Parlange, the school secretary, to play the
processional. Our principal, Mr. Pitot, was going to accompany her on the accordion, too. Together with Mr. Ternant, who was the vocal, physical education, and math teacher, and who played the fiddle, Mr. Pitot would do a few Cajun pieces to entertain the audience of grandparents, parents, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, and friends before the speeches and the distribution of diplomas. Mr. Ternant was put in charge of the ceremony and lined us up according to height. He told us how to walk, hold our heads up high, and sit properly on the stage.
"I don't want to see anyone crossing his or her legs. And no gum chewing, hear? You all sit still, face forward, and look dignified. Every one of you is a representative of this school," he lectured. Bobby Slater made a popping sound with his mouth. Many of us smiled, but no one dared laugh. Mr. Temant glared fiercely for a moment. Then he explained what we had to do when we were called up.
"I want you to take the diploma in this hand"-- he demonstrated--"and cross over to shake like this."
He wanted us to then turn to the audience and make a small bow before returning directly to our seats.
I tried to concentrate on everything and listen carefully to all the instructions, but my mind kept wandering and returning to the incident at the lake. Yvette and Evelyn were too occupied with themselves and with their other friends to notice my distraction. I knew anyone who did notice me just thought it was my typical disinterest in things that interested them. It wasn't so. I wanted to be just as excited; I wanted to be just as young and silly and happy as they were. But every once in a while, Mr. Tate's face, just inches from mine, would flash across my eyes and I would gulp and moan softly to myself.
I was very quiet on the way home; however, Yvette and Evelyn were far more talkative than ever. A twilight gloom had pervaded my entire being, but even if I had wanted to talk, they didn't give me an opportunity to get in a word. It wasn't until we were about to part that they noticed me.
"What's wrong with you today?" Yvette asked. "Graduation jitters?"
"A little," I said. I could never even begin to tell them the true reason for my melancholy.
"Well, if you had a future waiting, you wouldn't be so jittery," Evelyn declared pedantically. "Now what are you going to do the day after tomorrow, sit on the side of the road at your stand and wait for some handsome prince to come riding along?"
Yvette laughed.
"Yes," I said, smiling. "That's exactly what I will do." "Well, you'll grow old waiting for a handsome prince in these parts," Yvette said.
The two of them looked at each other in a way that told me they had been talking about me at length.
"Don't you even think about being with a man?" Evelyn asked, flashing a sly glance at Yvette.
"Of course," I said, but with less enthusiasm than either of them would.
"You never talk about it when we talk about it," Yvette added. "We know you never been kissed," she said, shifting her gaze to Evelyn, who smiled. "Much less . . . touched." They giggled.
"You two don't know everything about me," I said, but in a sad, unfortunate tone of voice. It wiped the smiles off their faces for the moment. Yvette's eyes grew as small as dimes and glittered with suspicion.
"What have you been keeping secret?" Yvette said. "Someone visit you in the swamps?"
I reddened.
"Someone has!" Evelyn declared. "Look at her."
"No." Butterflies beat small wings of panic in my stomach.
"Who was it?"
"What did you do, Gabriel Landry?"
"We always tell you everything that we've done," Yvette said petulantly.
"Nothing.we've done nothing," I insisted.
They laughed.
"Liar."
"You better tell us, Gabriel Landry or . . ."
"Or we'll make something up and tell everyone tomorrow before graduation," Evelyn announced. Yvette nodded, happy for the plan. "We'll claim you told us in secret. Everyone will believe us because they know we're friends and we talk on the way home from school every day."
"That's right," Yvette said. "If we both swear to it, everyone will believe it."
"But there's nothing to tell. I . ."
"What?" Yvette demanded. She put her hands on her hips. Evelyn stared, anticipating. I took a deep breath. If they spread rumors about me tomorrow, they could ruin graduation for Mama.
"All right, I'll tell you, but you've got to swear to keep it secret."
"We'll swear," Yvette said.
"On Saint Medad. Swear."
They did and crossed their hearts.
"Well?" Evelyn said.
"Sometimes in the afternoon I pole my pirogue deep into the swamp to a small pond I've found. No one else ever goes there. I take off my clothes and go swimming."
"Naked?" Yvette said, her eyes widening. I nodded. They drew closer to me.
"What happened?" Evelyn asked breathlessly.
"One afternoon about a week ago, I was sunning myself at the pond and this handsome young man came poling along. I didn't hear him."
Yvette's mouth opened.
"You were naked when he appeared?" Evelyn asked. I nodded. They held their breaths.
"I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me and smiling. I was terribly embarrassed, of course, and reached for my dress. But he . ." "What?"
"Sat on it."
"No!"
"What did you do?" Evelyn asked.
"I said, please, monsieur, you have me at an unfair advantage. He agreed."
"And gave you your dress?"
"No. He took off his clothes so he would be naked, too."
"You're lying," Evelyn said.
"You asked me to tell you. You swore you would keep it a secret. I'm telling you and you're calling me a liar," I said. "I kept my part of the bargain." I started to turn away.
"I believe you," Yvette declared. "Tell us the rest." I hesitated.
"All right. I do believe you," Evelyn relented.
"Go on."
"He was very polite. We spoke softly. He had the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. I think he hypnotized me with those eyes. In fact, I'm sure he did."
"What do you mean?"
"The next thing I knew, he was kissing me."
"And he touched you?"
"Everywhere," I said. "I couldn't resist." "And then?" Yvette said with impatience.
"I don't know. I just . . . woke up and he was gone."
"Gone?" Evelyn grimaced with disappointment. "You must have just dreamt it, fantasized," she added contemptuously.
"No, I know I didn't dream it. He had left a beautiful red rose at my side."
"A red rose? In the swamp?" Evelyn asked, smirking. "That's how I knew I hadn't dreamt it."
The two studied me a moment in silence.
"All right. So what did you do then?" Yvette asked.
"I was so frightened I got dressed and went home as fast as I could. I told my mother."
"You did? Everything?"
"Of course."
Evelyn was impressed. "What did she say?"
"She asked me to describe the young man, and after I had, she sat down with a look on her face like I had never seen. She was quiet for the longest time. Finally I asked her what was wrong, and she then told me the story of the young fisherman who was thought to be the handsomest young man in the bayou. She said young women would swoon at the sight of him, but she said he was too handsome for a man to be and he knew it. No one was more arrogant about his looks.
"One day he went into the swamps to fish and never returned."
"Are you saying your mother said the man who kissed you was a ghost?" Yvette asked. I nodded.
"It's why I never heard him approaching. He glided on the air, I think."
Neither Yvette nor Evelyn spoke for a moment.
"Did he feel like a ghost when he kissed you?" Evelyn inquired skeptically.
"No. He felt real, very real."
"Did you ever see him again?"
"No, but sometimes I think I sense him."
"You still go out alone?" Yvette asked, incredulous. "Yes. He didn't hurt me. Mama says he's a lonely soul.
Punished for being too much like a Greek god. The story she remembers from her grandmere is, the day he finds someone who can see the goodness in his heart and love him for that and not for his good looks, that's the day he can return to the world to live out his life, but . . ."
"But what?" Evelyn asked.
"Yes, but what?" Yvette followed.
"But whoever does love him that way dies and takes his place in the swamp. It's sort of an exchange of souls for a while."
"How horrible."
"And dangerous," Yvette said. "You had better not go into the swamp alone so much."
"I don't," I said. "As much."
"I don't know if that counts," Evelyn declared after a moment's thought. "Kissed by a ghost isn't the same thing as being kissed by a live man."
"How do you know?" Yvette said. "Only Gabriel knows for sure."
"It felt wonderful at the time," I replied. "Now, remember. You swore on Saint Medad, and if you violate this oath, you might bring bad luck to your husbands."
They were wide-eyed. The daughter of a
traiteur
had some credibility when it came to this sort of thing.
"I'll never tell," Yvette said.
"Me neither."
"I got to go home. See you tomorrow."
"Oui.
See you tomorrow," Evelyn said.
I watched them hurry off and then continued down the road. In my heart I wished that what had happened to me yesterday was what I had described to them. It was my fantasy, and for a while at least, I would use it to cloak the ugly truth.
When I arrived home, I found Mama doing just what I feared she would be doing: slaving over the stove, chaining herself to the kitchen to prepare for my graduation celebration. She told me she had already sent word to a dozen of her friends and people she often treated.
"Some are offering to make food, too. It's going to be a great party, honey. We'll have music and loads of good food."
"I wish you wouldn't do this, Mama."
"Let's not start that again. It's my time in the sun and it should be your father's time, too."
"Has he been home?"
"Not that I know," she replied, and dove into her labor of love to keep from thinking and being angry. Seeing I was not going to change her mind, I offered to help, but she refused to permit it.
"It's your party. You earned it; you just enjoy yourself," she insisted. I couldn't stand by and watch her work, so I went out to our dock and sat with my feet dangling in the water, watching and hoping for the sight of Daddy poling his pirogue up the canal to home. But he never came. At dinner Mama was mumbling to herself something awful.
"That man has gone bad, gone sour like warm milk. Nothing's going to change him. He'll be the death of all of us. Truth is, I hope he never comes home," she declared, but I knew she was heartbroken about it. She sat on the gallery in her rocker after dinner and glared at the darkness, waiting for one of those shadows to take Daddy's form.
I put the finishing touches on my graduation dress and put it on to show Mama. She shook her head and smiled.
"You're so beautiful, Gabriel, it makes my heart pound."
"Oh, Mama, I'm not. And besides, you told me dozens of times that pride's a sin."
"You don't have to go overboard and fall in love with yourself, but you can be thankful and happy you've been blessed with such natural beauty. You don't understand," she added when I looked down and blushed. "You're my redemption. When I look at you, at least I can feel something good came out of my marriage to that scoundrel we call your daddy."
I looked up sharply. "He tries to be good, doesn't he, Mama? He thinks about it."
"The most I can say for him, honey, is it's beyond him. It's in his blood. The Landrys were probably first cousins to Cain." She sighed. "I got no one to blame but myself for the pot I'm boiling in," she said.
"But if the Landry blood is so powerful and evil, won't I be evil, too, Mama?" I asked fearfully.
"No," she said quickly. "You got my blood in you, too, don'tcha?"
"Yes, Mama."
"Well, my blood overpowers even the wicked Landry blood." She took my hand into hers and drew me closer so her eyes could look deeply into mine. "When evil thoughts come to mind, you think of me, honey, and my blood will come rushing over those thoughts, drowning them. If it don't . . ."