The Gilda Stories (13 page)

“But tell me of your escape. Bird spoke of that to Sorel.”

Gilda didn't want to reach so deeply inside. She related the bare facts of her decision to escape and the simplicity of it.

“But Bird said you had to kill a man to get away?” There was a curl of excitement to her question.

“Yes.”

“How old were you then?”

“Much too young to have to kill someone. It's not something I care to dwell on, Eleanor, as I'm certain you can understand. At any rate, my life at Woodard's was much more interesting.”

With that she began to talk of the women at Woodard's, and how she and Bird used to infuriate the shopkeepers with their language games. Gilda and Eleanor passed several more hours talking and laughing. The room was beginning to fill with noisy patrons and smoke.

“I think it's time I return you to Sorel before he sends out the Vigilance Society to rescue you from my clutches.” Eleanor waved and caught the attention of a waiter whom she instructed to alert the coachman. “I hope we can have many other adventures together.”

Gilda felt the soft fluttering of her heart as Eleanor's voice dropped to an almost imperceptible level. “Yes, I'd like that.”

“I will plan an outing to the opera next time. You might as well get a whiff of California culture. We've the best houses anywhere, I'm told. The dressmaker should have completed her tasks within the month. We can test our design skills on the public.”

Alone in the carriage returning to Sorel's, Gilda tried to imagine what an opera house would be like and how she would look in the gown she had ordered. When she entered the salon Anthony met her at the door. The room was considerably quieter than the room at Eleanor's and somehow did not have the overhanging cloud of smoke.

“Sorel's gone to his room to read for the evening, but he asked that you have some wine if you wish.” Gilda felt let down that Sorel was not around. She turned to leave. “I think I'll go out on my own for a while. Perhaps when I come back.”

Gilda left and was down the driveway before Anthony could speak. She walked aimlessly for some time before realizing she was back on the dock where she'd been earlier with Eleanor to catch the ferry. It was almost deserted, but the sound of music and voices from nearby taverns prevented it from feeling totally abandoned. Gilda looked out across the bay. She could see little past the fogenshrouded harbor.

She turned away from the disquieting tidal waters and leaned back on the railing, listening to the darkness. A man several yards away walked toward one of the pubs. She let her mind draw him down the pier to her. When he emerged from the fog he had a look of vague surprise. She pulled him to her and held him in her mind's control, then sliced the flesh on his neck and took the blood while listening for his thoughts. She insinuated herself inside his preoccupations, seeking out one that might benefit from her aid. When she had slipped an idea of her own in among his, she felt the loosening of his unconscious, Gilda closed the wound and leaned him gently against the gate. She sped away from him, then slowed to enjoy the feeling of the damp mist on her skin. Gilda strolled casually, ignoring the fact that she was one of the few women on the street. The men who moved around her looked curious but said nothing. They were startled by her dark skin and the force of her stride.

Once back in the salon, Gilda sat at Sorel's table and waited for Anthony. The bartender smiled at her in greeting. Some of the patrons didn't give her more than a glance. Gilda was comforted by even these casual indications of her place within the household.

“Are you well?” Anthony asked as he stood beside the table.

“Yes. I was just listening to thoughts.”

“Sorel was worried when you didn't return.”

“I'm sorry. He needn't have worried. Eleanor and I had a wonderful evening, visiting our childhoods.”

“She rarely talks about that time, of her parents, or the fire in which they died.”

“I think she's changing, Anthony. She spoke of them, of her uncle, and even took me to a secret place she's known since her childhood. Whatever has haunted her seems to be surfacing, ready to be expelled.”

“I wish it were true, for Sorel's sake as well as hers.”

Gilda was surprised to hear the note of desperation in Anthony's voice.

“Eleanor has meant much to Sorel. It's a great sadness for him that she's turned out to be so difficult. She's not been able to be happy and has insisted on making others miserable. Sorel feels quite responsible. In some ways, he is. In any case he'll never leave California while Eleanor is so unpredictable. This thing with Samuel and his wife has almost undone him.” Anthony sat down beside Gilda, exhausted by the words.

“And what exactly is this thing with Samuel? It's a mystery no one wishes to clear, it seems. What am I supposed to believe: your innuendos or Sorel's?”

“There are facts, Gilda. Eleanor took Samuel's wife. She did this against all reason. And, in a fit of childishness, she took Samuel as well. We tried to warn each of them, but to little effect. When his wife was found, Samuel swore Eleanor had taken her life. Eleanor was not the one who took the final drop of blood from her, who hacked her head from her body. But we assume Samuel did this to be with Eleanor. She continues to taunt him as if these were children's games with no consequence. The danger I speak of is the chance that you will become tied to Eleanor before you see what else there may be for you. And with Eleanor comes Samuel. The stink of his horror and guilt is there for all of us. You've no need to take this into your life.”

“But I've told you, she's grown wiser. These were horrible events, yes, but the results of her inexperience, her fears. When I made my way from the plantation, before I was found and brought to Woodard's, I had to act rashly to save my life. I killed a man. I've no regret that he is dead and that I survived. Only that the choice had to be made at all. This does not mean I have the soul of a murderer. Eleanor needs the time to learn who she is in this life just as I do.”

“She has as much time as she needs. As do we all.”

When the evening deepened, Gilda went to her room to take her rest. She double-bolted the inner and outer doors, checked the windows, and hung her outfit across the chair. Sitting at the desk and writing in her journal, she realized how much she missed having her trunk with her. She put it in storage when she left Woodard's but knew that now she might send for it. The metal cross her mother had given her, the frayed clothes she had worn when she was found and brought to Woodard's, the comforter from her bed there—all these were simple items she had no real need for, but which represented the family as she knew it.

Gilda finally laid down on the covered Mississippi soil, her enthusiasm for the evening muted by the solemnity of her talk with Anthony. Deep inside her, however, was the kernel of excitement and curiosity—new dresses, the opera, and Eleanor at her side. Gilda closed her eyes with some difficulty and asked the night to take her.

By the time her dresses were ready and Eleanor had announced what evening they would attend the opera, Gilda had spent additional time with Sorel in which the budding relationship between the two women was not the topic. But there remained an undercurrent of sadness in Sorel whenever Eleanor or her driver appeared at the salon to call for Gilda.

Eleanor and Gilda were both surprised when Sorel announced that he and Anthony were also attending the opera the same evening and asked that they meet beforehand in his salon. Gilda's formal gown was a stunning success, but no more so than Eleanor's red gown in a design suggesting modesty in spite of the scarlet hue.

Gilda was fascinated by the soft weight of the skirt at her own waist and the light reflecting on the fabric. For once, she had little concern for what others were thinking as they observed her. In the lobby of the theater she was much too busy looking at them. The glitter of jewelry was a sight she had never imagined. It seemed a foolish competition with the light off the bay and the electric lights that circled it.

The four of them were an elegant ensemble. Gilda was so excited by being with Sorel, Anthony, and Eleanor together that she could hardly pay attention to the singing. She tried to understand the meaning of the ear-shattering sounds and ponderous movements around the stage but realized that any appreciation she had for the opera would be achieved later, under less distracting circumstances. The music and movement stirred her, but not in the way it was intended. It brought to the surface long-buried memories of the songs the workers sang on the plantation.

She felt the monumental elegance of the rhythms and the urgency that had been missing from her life for some time. She had not heard music such as that since her escape. Sometimes the women at Woodard's would sing around the piano, country songs from their childhoods, or bawdy songs from the wharf, but nowhere did she hear sounds as compelling as those she had run away from. She added music to her growing list of reasons to remain with Sorel for a while. And for the first time she had something to look forward to.

After the program was over, the four of them hurried away from the bustling audience. They offered greetings to the many people who recognized Sorel but did not stay to talk with anyone. Eleanor was met by her driver and reluctantly left Gilda with Sorel and Anthony. Once back in Sorel's rooms the three—Sorel, Anthony, and Gilda—sat quietly in front of his fire, each listening to individual thoughts.

Sorel spoke first. “I'm pleased we were able to spend this time with you and Eleanor. You seem to have had a salutary effect on her.”

“I think she's needed someone closer to her own age…” Gilda started.

The three of them laughed uproariously and spent another hour talking of the opera and its audience. Gilda excused herself when she began to feel the need to go out for the blood. She wanted time alone to think of the music and clothes she'd seen. She went to her room and donned the dark breeches, jacket, and cap she wore when she went out at night. In spite of her enthusiasm for the evening's gowns and jewels, returning to the clothes she had worn on the road soothed her.

As the weeks passed, Gilda most often hunted for the blood alone. Occasionally she shared the time with Anthony simply because they enjoyed walking the city together. Eleanor had asked once if she would like to join her to search for the blood, but Gilda said no. Afterward Gilda was uncertain why she responded this way. Her trips with Eleanor remained, for the most part, afternoon forays to dressmakers or other merchants where one or both of them made purchases.

Sorel promised to arrange other theater excursions in the coming weeks, but Eleanor remained noncommital. Gilda visited Eleanor's salon frequently, and they sat together talking of their pasts for hours, ignoring the patrons around them. With Eleanor, Gilda saw much of the surrounding countryside and learned about the medicinal plants, flowers, and animals that existed on the edge of the city.

Coming downstairs one evening to await Eleanor's coach, Gilda entered the salon hoping to spend some time with Sorel before she went out for the evening. Her trunk had arrived intact and sat comfortably in her room. With its arrival, Gilda felt her place here secured.

She had examined the soft leather case and its practical knife, wondering where Bird kept the old knife she had given her in exchange for this one. The rough cross from Gilda's mother had an odd attachment for her. She knew it was a Christian symbol although her mother had not really believed in their God. She had clung to the dim memories of the gods of her homeland. The cross was more a signpost. It marked a time in life, like the signs erected at crossroads. She had packed the comforter at the last moment, not really sure why. It was a crude thing made by one of the girls, the hem not quite finished because of the need to wrap it for some holiday. Gilda's things now seemed natural additions to her room.

Sorel joined her in the salon as soon as he heard she was there but waited for her to speak. Gilda wasn't certain how to express her sense of satisfaction. She spoke anyway. “I understand more now why Bird felt as she did. I understand it's only a turn, that our roads can meet in the future. I don't have to run after her. My life is wherever I am.”

Although his voice remained even, Sorel looked angry as he said, “So you've given up your search?”

“No, I've just come to believe, as you said, Bird will seek me out when she's ready. I still await word.”

“And in the meantime?” Sorel asked.

“I will stay with you, if I may. Learn the lessons that remain for me. There are still many ways that I must become accustomed to.” Gilda felt Anthony just behind her and looked up at him. He was staring intently at Sorel, as if he wished to still his speaking. Gilda was unnerved by what appeared to be discord between the two men.

She went on in the hope of making Sorel understand the clarity she had recently begun to feel. “I've no doubt Bird will return to my life, but I must not suspend my progress until that time. Perhaps I don't need her at this moment as much as I'd thought.”

“Don't think that you replace one with the other: Bird with Eleanor. Let me assure you that Eleanor is in no way suitable as a substitute for anyone, least of all Bird.” Sorel's voice was tight with anxiety. “She will fail you in ways that Bird never could.”

“She's not tried to leave me.”

“In time you might wish that she did.” Sorel took a deep breath before going on. “I love her as my own, but you will see she has only her own interests in her heart. There's no room for any other. I cannot talk of her as if she's no concern to me, but look honestly at her as I've done. The women who brought you into this world were honest, honorable, devoted people. The gift of life was in them before they joined this family. Eleanor is beautiful, charming, clever, but she does not have that gift. She may never have it. Becoming one of us merely bestows the power of long life. It cannot light the fire of living in one who has no spark of it.”