I'm not referring to getting pregnant with you. You are too beautiful, too wonderful, to be anything but good; but after you were born, we were alone in the bayou."
"You told me this, Mommy. You don't have to explain."
"I want to explain. I need to explain. I didn't agree to marry your uncle Paul just because your father was off in Europe living the rich young man's life."
"But you thought he had become engaged and there was no hope of you two ever marrying," I reminded her.
"Yes, yes, but Paul was my half brother. True, we didn't learn that truth until we were both teenagers and after Paul had already fallen in love with me, but that didn't excuse it."
"Excuse what, Mommy? Look how we were living when you returned to the bayou. Why shouldn't you have agreed to live at Cyprus Woods? You said everyone thought I was his child anyway."
"Yes, they did, and he did little to convince them otherwise."
"Why are you telling me all this again?"
"Because I gave in to him and let him talk me into marrying him. We actually were married by a priest."
"But you told me that was just a marriage of convenience, that you and Paul were like roommates."
"Not always," she said. "There was a time when we pretended we were other people, people from the past, and . . . I sinned.
"I didn't do penance; I didn't ask forgiveness. I pretended it didn't happen, but the sin was part of my shadow and followed me from the bayou. Slowly that shadow moved over this house and this family until it claimed my poor Jean."
"Oh, Mommy, no," I said. I shook my head. It hurt me to learn this, but I couldn't believe God would punish Jean for Mommy's sin.
She closed her eyes. "I'm so tired, but I don't sleep. I see only Jean's face, see only Beau rushing from the swamp with him in his arms. And when I looked back, I saw that shadow smiling triumphantly at me."
She opened her eyes and seized my hand. "Jean is still here, still with us, still in this house. I want you to go back to Nina's house and see her sister. I want you to tell her what's happened and get her to bring the right charms here."
"Mommy, you're talking nonsense. Daddy wouldn't let us bring charms into this house anyway."
"You've got to do it, Pearl," she said, her eyes wide. "Will you promise?" she demanded. I saw she wouldn't rest until she had my word.
"Okay, Mommy. I promise."
"Good. Good," she said, releasing my hand and closing her eyes again. "Now I can sleep."
I sat there for a while staring at her until her breathing became slow and regular. Then I got up quietly and slipped from her room, thinking about the heavy burden of guilt Mommy had kept buried in the vault of her memory. Surely it had weighed down her heart before, but she had been able to pretend it had never happened. She had been lonely and afraid, I told myself. Everyone she loved but Paul had deserted her. I could never blame her for anything evil. Never.
Mommy was like an invalid for the next few days, never leaving her room, getting up only to bathe and change her nightgown. Daddy and I visited Pierre often in the psychiatric ward. Daddy did a little work, but by early evening, he was usually in his study drinking bourbon to help him sleep.
One afternoon about four days later, I went to the hospital first. I started talking to Pierre the same way I always did: first reviewing the things that had happened at the house, the people who called, the friends of Pierre's and Jean's who had asked about him. I talked and talked and stroked his hand and kissed his cheek and told him how much Mommy needed him. And then the nurse's aide brought in some juice and as usual, I tried to get Pierre to take something by mouth.
It looked as if I would fail as I had so many times before, when suddenly his lips opened and his clenched teeth unlocked. Excited, I started to feed him the juice in tiny increments. He took some on his tongue, and then he swallowed and took some more.
"That's good, Pierre. That's wonderful. We'll get you off this I.V."
I rushed out to tell the nurse, who called Dr. LeFevre. By the time Daddy arrived, Pierre had drunk most of the juice. He wasn't speaking and he wasn't moving, but at least there had been this small change.
Daddy was overjoyed. "We've got to get home to tell Ruby. Maybe now she'll get up and come to see him," he said.
We hurried home; a shaft of bright light and hope had finally pierced the dark clouds over us. When we pulled into our driveway, we saw a tall, slim black woman leaving the house. She wore a long red skirt, sandals, and a bone-white blouse. Her bracelets were made of animal bones, and her dangling earrings were silver embedded with what looked like cats' eyes. She glanced our way, but didn't pause. I saw she had a scar across her right cheek with a triangular cut at the top end of it right beneath her sharp cheekbone.
"Who the hell is that?" Daddy muttered.
The woman disappeared around our gate. We hurried inside and up the stairs. Mommy wasn't in the bedroom, but a can of brimstone was burning on each nightstand. The scent of sulfur permeated the air.
"What the . ." Daddy snuffed them out quickly. "Where is she? What is she doing?"