Landry 05 Tarnished Gold (16 page)

When my next contraction came, I muffled my cries by putting my closed fist in my mouth and biting down on my own knuckles and fingers. I couldn't let the people below hear me, not that they would have with all the noise Gladys Tate was making. It was strangely like an echo of my own inner screams and shouts of agony. It was as if my pain did travel through the floor and ceiling below until it settled in her so she could sense when to cry out and when to be silent.
I never found out how Henry located Mama, but he did so. To me it seemed like hours and hours before she came, but later I realized it had been less than an hour. I heard her voice below first and then I heard doors slam and the landing grow very quiet. Soon after, the door below was opened and Mama came bounding up the stairs. I was never so happy to see her face.
I told her what had been happening. She examined me and looked at the bloodstained sheets.
"What's it all mean, Mama?"
"The baby's been stirring a lot. He wants to be born sooner, honey."
"Is it going to happen right now?"
"It's hard to say exactly when, but maybe very soon," she replied. "Maybe very soon."
She sat back and held my hand.
"I think I passed out from one of the
contractions, Mama. I can't remember how long ago the last one occurred."
She nodded
aid looked around, seeing the crushed dollhouse. "You fell on that?"
"Yes, Mama."
"You can't be alone anymore, honey, and I don't want you up here any longer. That woman wants you in her bedroom
^,
now anyway," she added with a smirk. "I don't know what she did to herself, but she had blood on her thigh when I was brought up to see her
"Who was that boy you sent?"
"His name's Henry. He works here. I didn't want Gladys Tate to find out that he knows I'm here, but I was desperate, Mama."
"Let's not worry about what she thinks anymore, honey. I want to bring you downstairs where you'll be more comfortable and things will be easier."
I saw in her eyes that she was more worried than she wanted me to believe.
"Will the baby die, Mama?"
"Babies can be born early and be strong, honey."
"But it's usually the other way, isn't it? It's my fault," I moaned. "I wanted to be out of here so much, I forced the baby to hurry."
"Nonsense," she said.
"It doesn't deserve this. It's not the baby's fault. It didn't ask to be born this way," I wailed.
"Gabriel, stop this right now," Mama commanded. Her face was firm, her eyes blazing with authority. "If you're going to lie there and worry about everything, you'll make it harder and more dangerous for both you and the baby, honey. Trust in God now. It will be what He wants, and we will do what we can. This is not the time to be weak."
I swallowed back my tears and nodded.
"I'm sorry, Mama."
"Okay, honey."
"Where's Daddy?"
"Your father is downstairs with Octavious Tate. He jumped for joy when he heard you might be giving birth."
"Why?"
"Another opportunity to ask for more money. He's been sitting on this like a fat hen on a fat egg, just waiting for the chance to put the squeeze on the man. I don't know who to dislike more for it, your father for his greed or Octavious Tate for what he's done to you. The man deserves to have your father on his back, but your father ain't doing this to get justice for you. I'm sure he's gambled away most of what he took from the Tates and got himself into new debt."
"It just gets worse and worse, Mama. Maybe it was all my fault."
"Nonsense, and don't you even think it," she snapped.
"Oui,
it's hard, but like any storm, it will come to an end and the sun will shine again for you, Gabriel." She wiped away the strands of hair dampened with my sweat. "Can you stand or should I go get those scoundrels to help carry you down?"
"Let me try first," I said.
"Good girl."
She helped me to my feet.
"Suddenly my stomach feels ten pounds heavier, Mama, and my legs feel like two sticks of lard."
Mama laughed. I breathed easier. With her at my side now, I wasn't afraid..
Of course, I was still like someone poling in the canal for the first time. I was excited and anxious to do well, but I didn't know what was around the next bend.

8
Mine for a Moment
.
In anticipation of my arrival, Gladys Tate had

Octavious move a second bed into her room and place it beside her bed. Mama said she heard Gladys tell Octavious to tell the servants it was for Mama because she would have to be at Gladys Tate's side continually now. Neither Mama nor I understood why Gladys didn't just move to another room for the time being or put me into one of the guest rooms, but the bed had been prepared and was waiting. After I entered the room, the door was kept locked and only Octavious and Mama were to be permitted into the room. Gladys insisted the curtains be kept closed, and of course, she ordered us to keep our voices down.

Gladys was impressed with how difficult it was for me to come down the stairs to her room and the effort it took to get me comfortably situated in the bed.

Mama told her it could be hours or could be days. "There's a strong possibility it's false labor and
it'll take the remaining weeks it was meant to take.
We'll have to wait and see," Mama said.
Nevertheless, Gladys told Octavious to go out
and forbid the servants to come up the stairs. "In fact," she decided after a moment's thought,
"discharge them, all of them, immediately;"
"Discharge them?"
"Give them all a week's holiday," she insisted. "But what am I to say is the reason?"
"You don't have to give them a reason,
Octavious," she replied haughtily., "They work for us.
We give the orders. Just do it," she snapped, and
waved her hand at him as if he were one of her
servants, too. If there were any doubts as to which of
them ran the house and their lives,, those doubts. died. "But . ." Octavious looked to Mama.
"I told you the bleeding doesn't always, mean
the birthing's coming shortly,' Mama explained.. "A
week, two weeks, who knows?"
"I don't care," she told Mama, and turned back
to
^,
Octavious. "Just have everyone out of the house. I
don't want anyone to suspect anything. I've come all
this way convincing people it is I who is giving birth.
I don't want to risk any mistakes, any accidental
discoveries," Gladys insisted.
"Which reminds me," she said, turning her
steely eyes to me. "How did your mother know to come? How did you send for her?" she demanded.
"And don't tell me you told some bird to go fetch her." Fearful, I looked at Mama. Would Gladys Tate
cast us out now, and with us all the effort, the
suffering and loneliness, I endured for the sake of the
baby and my family?
"Better tell her everything, honey," Mama said. "There was this boy," I began..
"Boy? What boy?" she pounced, her eyes
widening.
"I saw him doing handstands on the lawn
behind the house, and he saw me in the window. But
he won't tell anyone I'm here. He promised," I added
quickly.
"What boy is this?" she asked Octavious.
"Whom is she babbling about?" He shrugged. "What's his name?" she asked me.
"Henry," I said.
"The deaf-mute," Octavious said, realizing.
"Porter's son."
"Get rid of them," Gladys snapped. "Today. I
want the whole family off the property."
"But, Madame Tate," I cried. "He's harmless.
He won't tell anyone anything, and he did help by
getting Mama. Don't punish his family because of
me." "I want them off my property before the sun
goes down, Octavious. Do you understand?" she said,
ignoring my pleas. He nodded.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of them," he assured
her, but she didn't look calmed.
"You were not supposed to let anyone know
you were here," she flared at me, looking red and very
angry. "That was our bargain. Why do you think I've
been going through all this discomfort and pain?" "Pain? What pain?" Mama asked.
"Pain! Pain! I'm supposed to be the one giving
birth. I can't be without aches and pains, can I? When
you pretend as well and as accurately as I have
pretended, you actually feel it. No one knows how
much I've endured," she cried, her face in an ugly
grimace. "I'm the one who's making all the sacrifices
here just to make everything look right." She put her
hands through her hair, looking as though she might
tug out strands of it, and turned on Octavious, who
stood by, watching with fear and amazement on his
face, too.
"Why are you still here? Get rid of them!
Now! All of this is your fault. All of it!"
"All right, all right," he said, holding up his
hands. "Calm down. I'll do it."
He ran from the room. I turned away so no one
would see my tear-filled eyes. I shouldn't have looked
out that window and I shouldn't have laughed and
shown myself to Henry. Because of me, Henry and his
family would be thrown out and have to go searching
for a new place to live and work.
It seemed like anything and everything I did
now would hurt someone. Was it because I had been
touched by evil, deeply stained in my very soul?
Perhaps no act, no matter how unselfish, could
cleanse me of the pollution. Maybe I was better off
staying away from the people I loved, I thought sadly.
Look at what I had done to this innocent, handicapped
boy. If I hadn't panicked, if I had waited for Gladys
Tate instead of sending Henry for Mama, Henry's
family wouldn't be destitute. I deserve to be
miserable, I thought. Somehow, I make everyone else
more miserable.
Mama saw the regret and guilt in my face and
knew I was suffering remorse. "If she said the boy
wouldn't tell anyone, he won't," she told Gladys.
"Becoming hysterical over everything isn't going to
help the situation right now."
"I am not hysterical," Gladys insisted in a raspy
whisper, but her eyes still looked like two hot coals. Mania shook her head. "I don't want Gabriel
upset at this juncture. I want her to have a clear mind
and concentrate. If indeed the baby's coming, we ain't
out of the woods. Not by a long shot," she said, and
for the first time, Gladys considered the baby's wellbeing rather than her own.
"Something can happen to my baby?" she asked
anxiously.
"A baby crosses from one world into another.
Nature pushes him out of the safe, happy one and into
this turmoil. The road's always fraught with some
danger. We don't need to add any of our own to it." Suddenly Gladys Tate's eyes became two slits.
The blood rushed to the surface of her cheeks and her
shoulders lifted. She looked from Mama to me and
then to Mama again, shaking her head very slowly as
she took a step back. Then her smile came crooked
and mean, her cold brown eyes shooting devilish
electric sparks.
"You want the baby to die, don't you?" she said,
nodding to validate her own suspicions. "Sure. You
made this happen too soon with one of your secret
herbal concoctions. You backward Cajun faith healers
believe in all sorts of superstitions. You probably
think the baby will curse you or something. Isn't that true? The baby's death would solve the problem for
you, wouldn't it?"
"What? Of course not," Mama said. "What a
terrible and ridiculous thing to say. If anyone is
thinking like a backwards Cajun, it's you!" Mama
retorted.
But Gladys continued to nod, convinced of her
own suspicions. "I heard stories about
traiteur
ladies
killing babies because they thought the babies were
born with evil souls. When they wash them off,, they
deliberately drown them or they suffocate them when
no one's looking."
"Those are stupid lies. No
traiteur
would take a
life. We are here to ease pain and suffering and drive
away bad things?'
You said it There. You said it," she accused,
pointing her right forefinger at Mama. "Drive away
bad things. If you think a baby's bad . . "
"A baby can't be bad," Mama insisted. "The
baby can't be blamed for its own birth," she explained,
"especially if the mother was raped," she added
pointedly, but Gladys didn't look convinced. "I'll be right here, every minute," she said,
"watching your every move."
"Fine," Mama said. "You do that."
Gladys folded her arms across her chest and
dropped herself into the pink cushion chair across
from me.
"You can make yourself useful if you're going
to stay here all the time," Mama told her. "Get me a
basin of warm water and some clean washcloths. I
want to bathe Gabriel."
Gladys Tate stared at us as if she hadn't heard a
word. In fact, it was more like she was looking
through us. Her eyes had turned glassy and she didn't
move a muscle. There was just a slight twitch under
her right eye. Mama studied her for a moment and
then looked at me and lifted her eyebrows. She patted
my hand and went to the bathroom. herself to get what
she wanted. I threw a glance at Gladys and saw she
hadn't moved, hadn't shifted her eyes. They looked
like they had turned to glass. It added chills to my
already tense and shuddering body.
Mama washed me down and made me as
comfortable as she could. All the while Gladys glared
silently at us. She didn't change expression or move
until Octavious returned. When he did, she spun on
him as he approached.
"Well?" she said.
"They're all packed and gone. I gave them an extra week's wages so they wouldn't complain." He turned to Mama. "Your husband said to tell you he
had to go," Octavious said.
"To play
bourre
for sure," she whispered to me.
"The new money's burning a hole in his pocket.
Couldn't even wait to see how you were," she added,
choking back her anger. "Probably better he's not here
anyway. He'd only drive us all mad," she added, more
to calm herself than me.
I nodded, smiling. A small pain had begun in
my groin and traveled into my stomach and around to
my back, but I didn't say anything about it because it
wasn't as bad as the early ones were yet.
"Well," Octavious said, looking from Gladys to
Mama, "maybe I should bring something up for you to
eat and drink. This may take a while, eh?"
"Bring some ice tea," Gladys ordered, "and
make sure the front door is locked. Draw all the
curtains closed, too. And don't answer any phone calls
or make any."
Octavious closed his eyes as if he had a terrible
headache and then opened them and turned to Mama. "What can I get you?" he asked.
"Just cold water," Mama told him. She had
brought along what she wanted for herself and for me. He nodded and left, and soon after, the pain
began to build.
"Mama," I said, "it's starting again."
"Okay, honey. Just squeeze my hand when you
hurt. I want to know how bad it really is."
She pulled Grandmere Landry's silver pocket
watch out of her bag and put it beside me on the bed. "What's that?" Gladys demanded, looking over
Mama's shoulder.
"Just a watch to tell me how long her
contractions last and how much time between them.
That's how I know how close we are to the birth." "Oh," Gladys said, and placed her palms over
her fake stomach. "It tightens, doesn't it? It gets as
tight and as hard as a rock."
Mama just looked at her, nonplussed, which
caused something in Gladys Tate's eyes to snap. A
crimson tint came into the crests of her cheeks. "I've got to know every detail, don't I? People
ask questions. I want to be able to describe the birth as
if I really did have the baby."
"Yes, it gets hard," Mama said. "In the
beginning for a very short time and then longer and
longer as you get closer to delivering the baby." "Yes," Gladys said, and grimaced as if she
really did suffer a contraction.
Mama sighed and turned back to me with a
small smile on her lips. She rolled her eyes. I wanted
to smile back, but the pain grew longer and more
severe.
"Take deep breaths," Mama advised.
"Is it coming? Is it coming?" Gladys asked,
excitedly.
"Not yet, no," Mama said. "I told you. I'm not
sure this is real labor yet, and besides, babies don't
come busting into this world that fast, especially when
a woman's giving birth for the first time."
"Yes," Gladys said, more to herself than to us.
"My first time."
She waddled over to her own bed and sat down,
her hands on her padded stomach. She closed her eyes
and bit down on her lower lip. Mama wiped my face
with a cold washcloth. I forced a smile and gazed at
Gladys, who looked like she was breaking into a
sweat herself. Watching her actions, her silent moans,
her deep breaths, distracted me from my own. pain for
the moment. Mama just shrugged and shook her head. Mama said the contractions were a good five
minutes apart and didn't last long enough to be that
significant yet, but it went on for hours. All the while Gladys Tate lay in her bed beside mine. She ate nothing, drank a little ice tea, but for the most part, just watched me and mimicked my every action, my
every groan.
As the sun began to go down and the room
darkened, my labor pains grew longer and with
shorter and shorter intervals. I saw from Mama's face
that she thought something significant was happening
now.
"I'm going to give birth soon, aren't 1, Mama?"
She nodded. "I believe so, honey."
"But it's too soon, isn't it, Mama? I'm barely
eight months."
She nodded, but made no comment. Worry and
concern were etched in the ripples along her forehead
and the darkness that entered her eyes. My heart
pounded. In fact, it had been beating so hard and so
fast for so long, I was worried it would just give out.
These thoughts brought more cold sweats. I squeezed
Mama's hand harder and she tried to keep me calm.
She gave me tablespoons of one of her herbal
medicines that kept me from getting nauseous. Gladys
Tate insisted on knowing what it was, and when
Mama explained it, Gladys insisted she be given
some.
"I want to be sure it's not some Cajun poison
that works on babies," she said.
Mama checked her anger and let her have a
tablespoon. Gladys swallowed it quickly and chased it
down with some ice tea. Then she waited to see what
sort of reaction she would have. When she said
nothing, Mama smirked.
"I guess it ain't poison," Mama said, but Gladys
looked unconvinced.
Suddenly it began to rain, the drops drumming
on the window, the wind coming up to blow sheet
after sheet of the downpour against the house. There
was a flash of lightning and then a crash of thunder
that seemed to shake the very foundation of the great
house and rock my bed as well. We could hear the
rain pounding the roof. It seemed to pound right
through and into my heart.
Mama asked Gladys to turn on the lamps. As if
it took all her effort to rise from the bed and cross the
room, she groaned and stood up with an exaggerated
slowness. As soon as she had the lights on, she
returned to her bed and watched me enduring my
labor, closing her eyes, mumbling to herself and
sighing.
"How long can this last?" she finally inquired
with impatience.
"Ten, fifteen, twenty hours," Mama told her. "If
you have something else to do . . ."
"What else would I have to do? Are you mad or
are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Forget I said anything," Mama muttered, and
turned her attention back to me.
Suddenly, at the end of one contraction, I felt a