Lies Agreed Upon (30 page)

Emily decided to go back to Texas to get Joanne away from the haunting memories, acknowledged Sam. Joanne was deeply affected by the incident. She was “scairt of her own shadow” and screamin
g from nightmares every night. Emily intended a temporary move, but each time she talked about returning to New Orleans, Joanne became hysterical. So Emily sold off most of her Cabrera holdings. She kept only her Garden District house, the land with its garden, and her interest in Sam’s restaurant. Perhaps she hoped to return in time, but she never came to the city for more than brief visits and always without her daughter. At some point, Sam assumed, Emily had changed back to her maiden name, “like wipin’ out any word gonna remind Joanne of that time, even Guy’s name.” Emily eventually sold the Garden District house and her shares in the restaurant, retaining only the land with its garden.

“God, I just realized why my mother always hated libraries and the smell of old books,” Tess murmured to herself. “Why did my mother say she’d tried to stop the suicide? I assume she came out from under the desk and surprised Desmond in the act of putting a gun to his head.”

“That’s what peoples say,” nodded Sam. “Joanne won’t talk about it, and we didn’ push her. She was all sprayed with blood like she was real close when it happened, and the police found her l’il fingerprints on the gun, like she was tryin’ to grab it. Brave chile.”

Tess shuddered, picturing the scene described by Sam, but the gun lying on the floor by the dead man’s hand suddenly struck her. “Why did Desmond have a gun with him in the library? Did he hide it from Dreux? The suicide seems bizarre if the two friends were chatting hap
pily a few minutes earlier.”

“Only tellin’ you the story passed to me,”
responded Sam “I heard Desmond got one of them Saturday night specials for ‘protection’ since he liked to carry lotta cash when he’s out. Remember, he was fixin’ to go out with Dreux. Why that Dreux didn’ guess Desmond was in a low mood is a mystery
—
but maybe he didn’ wanna admit he walked away from a desperate man with a gun in his hand. Me, I think he was lyin’. Emily recalled he got blood spray on him like he was close when the gun went off, not on the stair like he claimed. Since the only prints on that gun come from Desmond and Joanne, the police let it be, prob’ly figurin’ Dreux was jus’ coverin’ up how he did less to stop his buddy than a chile.”

“Desmond must have been extremely distraught to shoot himself in front of a child,” Jon
remarked. “Surely, the sudden appearance of a little girl should have made him pause, not pull the trigger.”

“No sane man woulda done it,” agreed Sam. “But who says Desmond was in his right mind? Desmond
was a mean and miserable cripple, and he blamed Guy for it. Maybe seein’ Guy’s daughter suffer made him happy.” Sam leaned upon his cane with an exhausted air. “It’s a mystery. Ain’t there plenty sorrow and pain from nature and accident? I don’t know why peoples gotta torture each other, but they do.”

The three fell silent, and the garden responded with a soft rustling caress of scented breeze, offering the balm of its oblivious, sunny beauty.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this when we first met?” Tess finally asked Sam.

“Well, I learnt Joanne kilt herself. It
was a real shock. No, it didn’ seem like somethin’ Joanne’d do. And you say it happened right after the refinery sent Dreux to try to buy this property. That set me back, too. She never woulda sold without tellin’ me, I swear. You seemed grievin’ and angry, so I thought it’s better to tell you the truth in this beautiful place, this place your momma saved for your legacy,” explained Sam. “I believe your momma was keepin’ it for you, no matter what Dreux’s gonna tell you.”

Tess shifted her attention back to the serene floral vista and asked wistfully, “Did my mother come here?” She could understand why her grandmother and mother might have wan
ted to keep the knowledge of a tragic past from her, but why had they hidden this beautiful part of her heritage?

“I guess Emily brung Joanne out here when she was small,” answered Sam. “After
Desmond’s suicide, Joanne never traveled here. Miz Emily’d visit on her own to walk in the garden. She axed me to move the stone benches outta the belvedere so she could sit and enjoy. I remember jus’ one trip after Joanne got widowed when they both come. I think they had you along.”

It must have been the
trip that included the bayou-house visit, Tess concluded with surprise, but she could not remember being in the city or seeing the garden. Tess blinked and refocused her attention on Sam’s narrative.

“After a while, when Emily was ailin’, Joanne begun managin’ the property, rentin’ out acres,” he was saying. “She always axed me to handle it for her. She told me flat out she’s
not gonna set foot in New Orleans while Miz Emily’s alive. But she musta had reason for keepin’ this place. I figured she’s holdin’ it for you.”

“Maybe,” murmured Tess
, but she was dubious. “She probably kept the garden to please my grandmother while she lived, but I think she may have planned on a more lucrative use for this property once my grandmother died. I know she recently had a geological survey done. Maybe she hoped to find oil or gas. Maybe that’s why Dreux wants it now.”

“Could be. Seems like this little piece of earth
has caused lotta feudin’. It was fightin’ over it sent the Donovans stormin’ off the day of the fire,” murmured Sam, staring sightlessly at the pageantry of the roses.

“That's right! You were here when the house burned
. In fact, Gloria Donovan said you were the one who noticed the fire and roused the house so that everyone got out safely. Can you tell me about that night? What, or who, caused the fire do you think?” asked Tess, drawing closer to the old man as he leaned over his cane in the perfumed shadows.

“Well, I know what caused it, but not who,” sighed Sam, shaking his head slowly and looking toward the entreating
harem slave as she writhed eternally on the threshold of the vanished house. Behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, his eyes were apparently gazing backward in time, and he began to speak softly. “That day I was real excited as I recollec’. Mr. Armand had a fancy party plan for ole Ben's birthday. I was hopin’ to see famous guests
—
a judge, a senator, and ‘barons of industry’ that Armand been courtin’ or owin’. 

“
Then Elaine Donovan and her two sulky chirren showed up, and right off she's wrasslin’ with Armand and Ben about the land. She got this idea about buyin’ more acres for her refinery. She’s even offerin’ to pay rent or share profits she’s so eager to get some Cabrera dirt. But Armand and Ben outright said no. They already hated how Elaine’s derrick and smokestacks messed up the view. Elaine pretty much called them fools for throwin’ away a chance to make money when money’s so scarce. She stomped out yellin’, ‘You so in love with this damn white elephant, you gonna feed it with your las’ dime. If you don’t got this house, you gonna be singin’ a differen’ tune.' Now Armand recalled those words after the house burnt down
—
like her angry wish made it happen. He vowed to never let her get a pinch of his soil, but Roman sold some acres to her in the end, only not the land under the house and garden.” Sam nodded, like a man pronouncing “Amen” at the end of a psalm.

“So what caused the fire and how did you sense danger in time to save everyone?” pushed Tess.

“Well, like I said, I was real excited to help my poppa set up for the party,” nodded Sam. “That night, I kep’ thinkin’ about this and that, worryin’ I forgot somethin’. I didn’ fall asleep for worryin’.”

Sam described how he finally became so anxious that he got up and went down to the kitchen to check on everything. Sam opened the kitchen door to make sure nothing had been left outside and immediately noticed a strong odor of gasoline. It smelled as if someone had poured a tank of gasoline on the door and the bushes near the door. Then he smelled smoke. Alarmed, he peered into the dark, but he could
not see any fire. Following the scent of smoke, he began walking through the house looking for the source of the burning odor. Suddenly, he saw red flickering light coming from the front windows. He turned around in fright and headed toward the stairs to alert his father. As he reached the back servants’ stairs, he saw the same red dancing light coming from the kitchen. In horror, he assumed someone had poured gasoline around the house and set fires. He ran upstairs and roused his father, and together they got everybody
—
the Cabreras and their employees
—
downstairs. The fire was leaping around the exterior, but Paul Beauvoir had kept his head and carried wool blankets from the winter storage closet, which he gave to the frightened crowd. He told them to cover their heads and run out two by two.

As a result, Paul and S
am watched everyone exit safely except for Ben. Ben was frantic with worry because he could not find “his charity case, that Eddie Roy Haas character.” Paul and Sam were shouting and dragging at him, when the fire decided to convince the balky old man. The flames had become so hot that window glass began to shatter, sucking flames into the big drapes, which turned into swaying torches. The blazing curtains’ sparked the old furniture into bonfires. Ben stopped resisting, and the three men ran out through the roaring, crackling din, enveloped in smoke so thick they could barely breathe or see.

“We got singe
d, but we come out safe. Oowee, that was some night,” said Sam.

“Who do you think intentionally set that fire?”
wondered Tess.

“You gotta
look at that Eddie Haas ’cause he was a mean one with a grudge agains’ the world in gen’ral and maybe Cabreras in partic’lar,” opined Sam. “And I always suspicioned Dan Donovan. He was a sneaky one with a chip on his shoulder. He mighta been tryin’ to please his momma
—
hopin’ that if the house is gone, the Cabreras gonna sell to her. Maybe his momma Elaine was behind it. I never unnerestimate her.”

Tess contemplated Sam's suspicions. Eddie Roy was not in the house that night, and his callous behavior was consistent with an arsonist. Dan Donovan was roaming that same night, according to Miss Gloria, and returned stinking of gasoline
. Had Dan gone to the window in Gloria's room to revel in the distant glow of his handiwork? Perhaps his mother was an accomplice, given her sarcastic remarks about the survival of the Cabreras. A truly cynical person might even suspect Sam of setting the fire so that he and his father could play the heroes and ingratiate themselves permanently with the Cabreras.

“I guess we’ll never know who torched the house,” Tess finally commented, with a sy
mpathetic smile for Sam’s youthful heroics. “At least you rescued this remnant of its past beauty.”

Sam shifted and removed his fedora, setting it carefully beside him on the stone bench. He lifted his face and took a deep breath of the warm, perfumed air.
“Y’all go on and walk aroun’ some. It’s a shame to waste this nice day and these beautiful flowers sittin’ here with me. Go up and take the view from that belvedere. It’s still sound, only a bit worn down like me. I’m gonna sit here and rest.” The old man smiled at his young companions and made a shooing motion with one hand.

“Sounds like a good idea, Grampaw. We’ll just take a quick stroll,” said Jon
, clearly eager to shift the mood. “Shall we, Tess?”

“Sure,” Tess smiled, but it was a slightly strained effort.
The reminder of her mother’s early trauma had lodged painfully in her gorge and was not going to be swallowed easily. As they began to amble down the stone pathway toward the belvedere, Tess saw Jon glance surreptitiously at his watch and recalled that his time was constrained. To his credit, however, Jon did not try to rush her as Tess made slow progress through the garden. As she stopped to sniff especially fragrant roses and fingered the sun-warmed velvet of the blooms, she began to feel the painful lump in her throat dissolve.

She
finally turned to her patient companion and asked, “What in the world am I going to do with this place?”

Jon looked at her seriously and then scanned the garden with unconcealed admiration, as much for his grandfather’s surprising creative expression as for the impressive floral pageant. “I’m torn. This is a lovely garden, but it’s pretty useless since no one has enjoyed it except Grampaw and a crew of workmen for the last 50 years. I guess it would be better to find a nice big pool of
oil under this place, but I’d hate for Grampaw to know his life’s work was tossed away.”

“I agree. I w
ouldn’t mind becoming a petro heiress with sweet monthly checks,” smiled Tess, but added wistfully, “only there’s even less beauty than energy in the world. I wish I could find a way to conserve and exploit this place at the same time. My grandmother chose one route, and I bet my mother was about to go the opposite way. As usual, I long for somewhere in the middle.”

They moved on in a pensive but companionable silence to the belvedere. But as Jon b
egan to mount the steps leading into the lower arcade, he stopped and frowned as he ran a hand over the band of brilliantly colored tiles encircling the nearest pillar. His fingers lingered curiously on gouge scars. Some long-vanished vandal had pried out several tiles. 

Tess noticed many similar patches of destruction. It was especially painful because the tiles’ beauty was undiminished by time
; their blue, green, crimson and gold patterns were still vibrant over a century after installation. The interior walls bookending the structure had been covered in tile work, floor to ceiling, but now there were long strips of missing design. “Why steal the tiles?” she wondered sadly.