The Gilda Stories (11 page)

“Yes, he was introduced to me in the salon where Eleanor and I took tea.” Gilda felt a bit like a child explaining herself to a parent.

“I was referring to his approach to you this evening, on this street.”

Gilda did not conceal her surprise. Her honest expression washed away Sorel's mood. His familiar laugh boomed and his eyes began to twinkle in the way that Gilda had, in this short time, already come to anticipate.

“You'll find this is more a village than a city, my dear. Everyone knows everything here; at least they think they do. I only wished to warn you not to let Samuel upset you. He's a very disturbed person.”

“He holds a grudge against you. I found that disturbing. I've taken you at your word and begun to look upon you and Anthony as family, so I wanted to understand his ill feelings toward you… and toward Eleanor.”

“It's a rather unpleasant story. And one in which he is not wholly blameless. He's weak, self-centered.”

“Samuel called Eleanor a deceiver. He says that she killed his wife.”

“Her life has become devoted to the thrill of entrancing others,” Sorel said. “As they grow more enthralled with her, she grows stronger. On its surface a harmless addiction, I suppose, but one she's not managed well.”

“It's difficult to see any of this in the charming woman I've been with all afternoon.”

“I know that. It has been difficult for all of us to see what Eleanor's life has become. We are a small community. Those of us who can withstand that uneasy pulling of the sea's waters swirling about the bay feel firmly rooted here and protective of each other. That has included Eleanor. But this thing with Samuel and his wife is very upsetting for many of us.”

“How could she have killed someone? I don't understand.” Again Gilda felt like a child set down among her elders. The weight of Sorel's manner told her he spoke the truth, yet it was counter to everything she felt about Eleanor.

“I'm sure Bird has talked to you of those of us who live through terror, thrill-seeking. Not everyone has the instinct for love. Eleanor lives through deception, the thrill of conquest. When she is done she moves on to the next and the next. This is a seaport town. Many people visit her salon.”

“This doesn't make any sense to me.”

“It won't until you let yourself understand our world better. We have life, but this does not mean we are better people. In fact, we must struggle even more than mortals do to remain good. How easy it is for goodness to have no meaning when punishment, retribution—or hell—have no meaning. It makes as much sense for Eleanor to choose thrill-seeking or Samuel to choose murder as it does for you and me to choose love and family.”

“But what of Samuel's wife? And why does Samuel feel as he does about you and Anthony?”

“I think we can leave the first question 'til later. I can't bear to talk of death now. Perhaps in a day or two when we've had more time together. As to the second, it is rather simple. Both Anthony and I tried to warn him. To make him let go of his obsession with Eleanor. It is difficult to face the living evidence of your own foolishness on a daily basis. And that brings us to Bird.”

Sorel rose from his chair with a litheness that surprised no one who had spent any time in his company. The glide of his step was so delicate that his feet appeared to barely touch the carpet. His large hand was graceful as it plucked the champagne bottle from its bucket. He gently popped the cork and admired the bubbles as they poured into the slender glasses. Sorel returned to Gilda and handed her the glass in a light but expansive gesture.

“Although most of us have no tolerance for food or drink, all of my children enjoy champagne. It must be an inherited trait—in the blood, perhaps.” His eyes sparkled like the bubbles as he resumed his seat.

“When Bird looked at you she saw how she had failed in her duties,” Sorel began. “It made her bitter. She had the good sense to separate from you, to renew her acquaintance with herself and her own people rather than to stay about longer than she could bear and re-create her bitterness in you. She remained at Woodard's long enough to be certain you were trained in our ways. Eventually the people of that town would have begun to wonder at her enduring youth. You yourself must have seen some of that.”

“Yes, the women sometimes commented on it just beyond my hearing, or so they thought. They attributed it to my blackness. To them the African has a magical power over the appearance of youth.”

“That must explain my enduring good looks then!” Sorel said, laughing.

“Then there are strains of Africa in your blood as well?” Gilda asked, peering more closely at the pale skin and dark eyes.

“In what great, civilized nation are there not?” Sorel leaned forward and tapped the rim of her glass with his own.

“For Bird to move onto her own path was inevitable,” he continued. “I'm afraid she just didn't prepare you properly for it. And that was a result of her own tumultuous feelings—sadness at not living up to her duties to aid a loved one who wished to pass on to the true death, and her need to see her own people from whom she's been separated for so many years. While she has prospered, they have not. She could not but feel these things difficult to explain.”

“But we had always spoken of what was in our hearts to each other. It was to her that I first told the stories of my mother and sisters. The work on the plantation. It was to her that I first described the blood on my fingertips and on the cotton which frightened me so much as a child. And she told me of her mother and her brothers thinking she was a witch, making her leave their camp to keep from contracting the fever. She said these things to me full of pain.”

“Yes, but she spoke to you as a child. Now you are an adult, and it is often impossible to see that transition in our children. Her confidences of the earlier years were ones made to help heal a child. She could not bring herself to turn to you for advice. When she is able she will come to you. Or if you need her dearly enough. I think the most important thing for you to do in the meantime is live. It is a very involving job, which takes much concentration and practice.”

Sorel looked up at the sound of the knock on the door. Anthony entered, whispered in Sorel's ear, then picked up the champagne bottle and poured more wine into their glasses.

“Anthony tells me I have some guests I must address personally. If you like, Anthony can relocate you and the grapes at our table in the salon, and we'll move on to lighter topics.” He rose and hesitated barely a moment for her response and then swept out through the heavy door.

“It's a tiresome city official who likes to make much of his ability to sign—or not sign—permits. He always arrives too early or leaves too late and must have Sorel take notice personally,” said Anthony.

He picked up the bucket with the wine and ice. “And you may want to stop in your room before joining us in the salon. A package was delivered for you.”

“Oh, Anthony, what? What is it?” she asked breathlessly.

“How am I to know? I'm not in the habit of opening the packages of others unbidden.” Gilda rushed around him and up the stairway to the foyer leading to the main stairs. She was running unceremoniously, unaware that those about to enter the gambling room stood gaping at her. She remembered the first time she exchanged gifts with the women at Woodard's. The mystery of wrapped packages still left her breathless. She felt the same as she had when she received her first crinoline or her first pen so many years before.

In her room a brown paper bundle sat securely tied with string wrapped generously around it. She pulled the string to one side like a child, struggling with the wrapping a moment before she remembered her strength. She snapped the ties, then folded the paper back to reveal a lavender wool two-piece dress with black piping. The rich color belied the severity of the cut. A note fell from the folds:

I remembered this old suit from some bygone day and rushed it back to the dressmaker. I promised her much more than she deserved if she was able to complete your personal alterations within four hours. I sent my messenger to oversee the task. Perhaps it was his stern gaze that made her needles fly. I would be most pleased to see you wearing this gift when next we meet. Until then, an eternity, Eleanor.

Gilda clasped the note in her hand as she held the dress in front of her. It was like nothing she'd ever worn before, but clearly the dressmaker had taken her instruction well. The wide skirt had been divided to make a pantlike garment that would not be unduly noticed. She could feel her heart pounding and see by the movement of the note in the mirror how her hand trembled. “Oh, dear mothers, what is this?” Gilda spoke to the silent room.

She laid the dress across the armchair and went back downstairs to the salon. Anthony poured champagne for her as soon as she took her seat at Sorel's table. She looked casually about the room, meeting all eyes that dared to meet hers. She enjoyed listening to their thoughts, or screening them out while listening to her own heartbeat. All was simply passing time until her meeting with Eleanor in two days.

Several hours later, she and Anthony walked back toward Sorel's together. He related some of the history of the town and pointed out the main houses of the area—Duncan's, Ralston's, Sutro's. And then the church, Mission Dolores, whose cool quiet reached out for Gilda. They sat in the churchyard to listen to the fog and boats on the distant bay below.

“Although its name means sadness, I've always enjoyed the solid familiarity of the chapel and its grounds. And it is the sole place where one may be assured of privacy.”

Gilda turned to look at Anthony, catching a concerned tone underlying his words. “What privacy must we need that can't be found at Sorel's?”

“Maybe it's not really isolation from people themselves, but other distractions—wine, colors, music. These often obscure the issues that must be addressed.”

“I haven't known you long, my friend, but I feel you're walking widely around some unpleasant task. Your anxiety arouses my own,” said Gilda.

Anthony looked at her more directly now. “I speak only because I do consider myself your friend, your family now. But I know that you've not been with us long and don't know our ways, or at least the ways some of us have chosen.”

It s been a mere, what, forty years since I made my way to freedom? A rather small time, I understand, in comparison to others. But for me it's much longer than I could ever have hoped to live. Seeing those you love pass from you either under a lash or simply of old age before their time is not something that keeps you young and innocent, as I'm sure you know. When I left New Orleans I traveled for many hundreds of miles in many directions, securing places for my native soil, opening bank accounts, establishing holdings that would endure with time as I had been taught to do. It soon became clear that although the institution of enslavement was no longer sanctioned, our world had not become a more hospitable place for me or my people. Often it was only the gifts that I acquired in this new life that saved me from those we call civilized. My safest, surest moments were spent in the wild with those we call animals. I doubt there's much here for which I am not prepared.”

“I don't think anyone can be prepared for the deliberate murder of a human being. To some here this is a sport. I speak of it now because I know Sorel. We've had the pleasure of each other's company for many years. Even in the face of brutality he has a difficult time speaking of it, although he condemns it with all he knows.”

Gilda felt her back stiffen. “And what murder are we speaking of, specifically?”

“The murder of Samuel's wife.”

“Do you say, as he does, that this was done by Eleanor?”

“No. Although I'm certain she's capable of it.” Anthony rushed on to keep Gilda from interrupting. “Her game is to instigate destruction and watch the pieces topple rather than wield the sword. She thrives on the energy fueled by rampant jealousy and competition. She is one of those who does not bother to remember the faces.”

Gilda sucked in her breath sharply. She heard Bird's voice telling her that death was inevitable for all life. It was the wanton destruction of life to no purpose that was the sin.

She had spoken softly, as if respect could only be truly conveyed in whispers: “There will be a time when death comes at your hand. When this happens, when you must protect yourself or those in your care, the real sin would be in taking life easily. The only way to maintain any humanity is to remember the faces of those who've died. To carry them within ourselves so that whatever good might have remained in their spirits has someplace to dwell. You cannot kill, then forget their faces without forgetting some part of yourself.”

Gilda did not believe that Eleanor was capable of such callousness. Anthony could see the disbelief entrenching itself further behind Gilda's silence. “I don't ask that you believe me. Only remember the things in which we keep faith and believe that it's possible there are others for whom the word
faith
has no meaning. When you see this in someone's face you'll know it.”

“What I see is an immense hunger for companionship, for love.”

“Because that is what you want to see,” Anthony continued. “I say these things not to upset your new-found enjoyment nor to drive you away from us. I say them for the same reason I said them to Samuel—because they are true. His disbelief saved neither his wife nor him.” Anthony stood stiffly. “I've many things to attend to in the salon. I'll tell Sorel you'll be along before he retires.” Anthony disappeared past the headstones into the diffused evening light.

Gilda remained apart from Anthony and Sorel in the days following this conversation. Both men seemed to be watching for her anxiously whenever she appeared. On the afternoon Gilda expected Eleanor to come for her, she dressed in the purple outfit Eleanor had provided. It was firm across her back and fell softly over her thighs. She loved the feel of the material moving around her body, as if a breeze attended her. In spite of her confusion she couldn't resist seeking out Sorel before setting off in her new clothes. She found him in the salon at his table reading a newspaper. When she came through the doors his face lit up—first with simple pleasure that she appeared to be seeking him out and then with excitement at her new appearance. She had pulled her hair back in one braid circling the base of her head at her neck and added combs with small pearls at each side. She no longer resembled the frightened girl Bird had spoken of but was a woman of style and purpose.