"I don't know what time he started up the stairs last night, but he got dizzy and fell, and I'm afraid he broke his right leg just under the knee. It's a small fracture, but the doctor had to set it and apply a cast and give him a painkiller. That's why he's asleep, mademoiselle."
I knew Aubrey was being kind to say Daddy had gotten dizzy. Surely he had risen from the sofa in his office and, still quite drunk, started up the stairs. "Does he know where I am?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. He found the note you pinned to him. It was still on him when he fell down the stairs. I heard the commotion and found him there. We got the doctor immediately, and he decided it would be all right for monsieur to remain at home. I took the liberty of calling Mrs. Hockingheimer and she will attend to his needs. I expect her arrival at any moment."
"That's good, Aubrey. When my father wakes up, please tell him I called and I will call again later today. Tell him . . . tell him my mother is still here and I hope to find her soon. Then we'll both come home."
"Very good, mademoiselle."
"Bye, Aubrey." I cradled the receiver slowly.
"More problems?" Jack asked and I told him. He shook his head. "A lot has surely fallen on you, Pearl. Sure you want to stay here?"
"I've got to find my mother," I said and then thought I should call the hospital and ask after Pierre. The nurse at the ICU nurses' station was curt. My brother was still going in and out of a comatose sleep. His last sleep had lasted eight hours, and he had been conscious for less than a half hour. The doctors hadn't seen him yet this morning. The nurse advised me to call back in the afternoon.
My face wrinkled with worry as I sat down again. "Anything else I can do for you?" Jack asked after I gave him the hospital report.
"No. You'd better get back to work. I'll go visit my aunt Jeanne and then return." I told Jack where Aunt Jeanne lived, and he gave me directions and drew a small map on a napkin. Then he gave me the trailer telephone number.
"Just call here if you get into any trouble or need anything at all," he said.
"Thank you, Jack."
"You look like you could use a good hug," he said and did it before I could protest, not that I wanted to. He held me close and I laid my head on his shoulder. "Things will get better," he promised. "You'll see. And for good, logical reasons," he added with a smile. His words brought a desperately needed smile to my own lips, and then I left to see Aunt Jeanne.
Jack's directions were perfectly clear. I arrived at Aunt Jeanne's house a little over a half hour later. Aunt Jeanne's husband, James, was a successful attorney, but her family, the Tates, were one of the wealthiest in the bayou anyway. Her home, although not as large and grand as Cypress Woods, was impressive.
I entered the grounds through an avenue of large oaks and cedars, the canopy of thick leaves and branches casting long, cool shadows over the drive and giving me the feeling I was traveling through a tunnel into another world. Acres and acres of lawns and gardens surrounded the house. A small pond lay off to my left, the water now covered with an island of lily pads. The house itself was a long one-story structure with a gallery that ran across the entire front and one side of the house. French doors connected the front rooms to the galerie.
I parked my car and stepped out slowly. I heard the whir of lawn mowers trimming the grounds behind the house and saw a gardener pruning flowers in a garden on the far right. The flower beds were a-bloom with hibiscus and blue and pink hydrangeas. In the middle of the garden stood a three-tier fountain. Gray squirrels scurried around the gardener, some so close he could have reached out to pet them. He gazed up at me, but went right back to pruning as if an unseen overseer were scrutinizing his work.
The morning sky was streaked with long, thin clouds resembling mist floating over the light blue background, but I could see thunderheads off toward the Gulf, and I surmised that it was raining in New Orleans. As I stepped forward, a pair of cardinals paraded across the gallery roof and paused to look my way. Aunt Jeanne's home was certainly set in an idyllic location, magical and peaceful, I thought. I moved quickly up the steps and rapped on the door with the brass knocker. A moment later the butler greeted me.
"I'm here to see Mrs. Pitot," I said.
"And who should I say is calling, mademoiselle?" he asked. He was much younger than Aubrey, perhaps only thirty-five or forty, and had light brown hair and hazel eyes. He was slender with a pointed nose and pencil-thin lips drawn taut in anticipation of my response.
"Pearl Andreas," I said. He nodded and stepped back to permit me to entry. I paused after he closed the door behind me.
"One moment, sil vous plait," he said.
I gazed around the entryway. It was a bright house with windows everywhere to let in the sunshine. It had beautiful cypress floors and eggshell white walls decorated with pastoral paintings and scenes of fishermen in the canals. A bleached oak grandfather clock stood just ahead of me, and across from it was a fan of ivory and gold leaf painted with senoritas in ball gowns.
A few moments later, in a bright pink robe and Japanese slippers, Aunt Jeanne came sweeping down the corridor, her face beaming. Her unpinned dark brown hair hung down over her shoulders.
"Pearl! What a wonderful surprise!" She held out her hands and when I took them, she drew me to her for a hug. "Is your father with you?"
"No, Aunt Jeanne," I said.
She grimaced with concern. "Your mother is still missing?" I nodded and she shook her head and sighed. "How dreadful for all of you on top of everything else that's happened. How is Pierre?"
"Not well. Very bad, in fact. It's why I'm here. I've got to find Mommy. Pierre needs her. I was hoping you might have heard from her."
"Not a word, not a syllable. I'm sorry. No one I've asked has seen or heard anything. But surely she'll turn up," she added. "Come," she said taking my hand again, "Mother and I were just having a late breakfast. Are you hungry?"
"No," I said. I hadn't expected to see Mrs. Tate. My legs began to tremble and my heart pound.
"How do you like our home?"
"It's beautiful and so peaceful," I said.
"Yes. I just love to share it with people I love. You must stay here tonight. Promise you will," she followed.
"I can't," I said. "But maybe another night," I added quickly when her smile faded.
"Well, if you promise that, I'll let you get away with not staying tonight. Come meet Mother." As she pulled me along I gazed into the first room, a pleasant sitting room done in teacup blue.
"Many of our furnishings are antique," Aunt Jeanne explained. "James loves to buy and restore things. It's his hobby. He gets more excited over a valuable find in someone's old barn than he does over his law cases. You see that sofa?" she said, pointing. "It's upholstered with material from a homespun bedspread, and that chair beside it dates from the early 1800s. In his office James has an original French Creole plantation desk made of rosewood and walnut. And his walls are covered with knives and swords and helmets that date back to the Spanish occupation of Louisiana. Ooh," she said pausing to hug me again, "I'm so happy you're finally here. Even though it's under terrible circumstances."
"Thank you, Aunt Jeanne," I said and took a deep breath as we entered the dining room.
Mrs. Tate had her back to us. She was seated at the table in a wheelchair and chewing slowly on a piece of toast. Aunt Jeanne brought me around so Mrs. Tate didn't have to turn her head.
"Look who's here, Mother."
Gladys Tate's head seemed to have sunk back in her neck because of the arthritis. Her short gray hair was so thin that her scalp was visible in spots. Her face was etched with wrinkles on her forehead, along her chin, and around her dark, watery eyes. Her pink and blue robe made her look even more shriveled and thin. It hung off her small shoulders and dangled around her. My eyes were quickly drawn to her hands. The fingers were swollen at the knuckles and curled like claws. The obvious attention given to her nails seemed bizarre, as did the rest of her makeup. Her face powder had been dabbed on so heavily, and her lipstick was too thick, giving her a clownish appearance. Overkill to detract from her pasty pallor, I thought.