Rising Tides (38 page)

“I don’t plan to stand for any grand gestures. If this doesn’t go the way I expect, I’ll challenge this will.”

“I was your mother’s attorney, Ferris, a scribe and never a creative force. But I’ll tell you this. I’ve enjoyed your discomfort.” Spencer smiled again, but this time his eyes didn’t. “I’ve enjoyed it very much.”

Ferris left without another word.

Spencer waited ten minutes, until he was sure every one must have gathered. He remembered days when his hands had always been warm and his step quick. Now his hands were cold and his steps hesitant, but he walked into the room without aid and took his customary place at the front.

Dawn was pale and drawn. She hadn’t slept well last night; that much was easy to tell. Cappy looked calmer than he had ever seen her. Her hands were composed in her lap. She sat close to her daughter, as if to offer protection if it was needed.

Ben had aligned himself with Nicky, Jake and Phillip. They sat together, across the room from Dawn and her parents. Spencer was sorry to see that. He had hoped… What had he hoped? What had Aurore hoped? That Ben and Dawn would find their way back to some thing? That telling the truth at last would set the world spinning correctly on its axis?

He had warned her that telling the truth might set things spinning out of control.

Pelichere came in and closed the door behind her. She stood in front of it. He wondered who would win if Peli determined that any one of them shouldn’t leave the room.

“I’m going to read a letter,” he said. “It’s from Aurore to you. After that, I’ll dispense with the legal nice ties and tell each of you what Aurore wanted you to have. All of you will receive copies of the will.”

“Will we finally be free to go?” Ferris asked sarcastically.

“The way the storm seems to be building, you will be encouraged to.”

Spencer’s fingers were so cold that unfolding the letter he had carried in a locked briefcase was difficult. The script was elegant but uncertain. Aurore had penned it herself a month before her death. She had wanted the words to be truly her own.

“There’s no salutation.” That had surprised Spencer, until he realized that Aurore hadn’t known how to address this strange gathering. Some were family. Some were family who had never been acknowledged. And some were friends. In her own way, she had loved them all.

He began to read. “‘By now you’ve learned so much about my life, perhaps more than you should know. These were things I couldn’t tell you before I died, be cause I wasn’t courageous enough to witness the result. But then, if I had been a woman with courage, these things would never have been hidden at all.’”

Spencer turned to Nicky. “‘Nicky, you were always Nicolette to me because in my heart you always remained the child I couldn’t keep. I would like to tell you that I loved you, and that I did what was best. I would like to tell you that the day I heard the false report of your death was one of the most terrible days of my life. But I would also have to tell you more. That
my love wasn’t strong enough to overcome the hardships of raising you. That my fury at your father destroyed my chances of overcoming my fears so I could attempt to make a home for you.’”

Nicky’s face was expressionless. Spencer guessed she was absorbing Aurore’s words, and that in the coming years she would sort through her feelings, perhaps to forgive Aurore. But Aurore had not expected forgive ness.

Jake took Nicky’s hand. Spencer read on. “‘I will tell you that, in my heart, I have always been the mother of three children. When you and Hugh fell in love, I grieved for you both. I can only hope that now you’ll find it in your heart to forgive him for leaving you. At my urging, he didn’t tell you why. I thought that would cause less pain than the truth. And now, of course, the truth has hurt you, too.

“‘I will die knowing that despite my mistakes and despite no assistance from me, you have become the woman I never was. Your father’s blood runs in your veins. There is little of me in you. For this, my dearest, you must be forever grateful.

“‘Phillip—”’ Spencer turned slightly “‘—there is little I can say to you here that I haven’t already said. On the day we met, I saw that you were much like your grandfather. Perhaps I can repeat here what I’ve said be fore, that Rafe would be proud of you, just as I have been.

“‘Cappy—’” Cappy looked up, almost as if she were surprised Aurore had included her “‘—I stole your daughter and shut you out of my life. I refused to recognize your strengths and encouraged your weaknesses. My most important legacy to you is recognition of this. I turn Dawn over to your care now, as I should have from the very beginning. And I ask your forgiveness.”’

Cappy’s expression softened. Dawn reached for her hand, and Cappy grasped it. Spencer felt a first surge of hope.

“‘Pelichere—’” he smiled, and she smiled in return “‘—you and your mother were my real anchors. You taught me about loyalty and trust and saying what must be said. If I haven’t told you often enough how grateful I am, please know it now.

“‘Ben…”’ Spencer took a deep breath. He was growing very tired, and there was more to come. “‘I would like to have known you better.’” Spencer saw Dawn’s head snap up. She stared across the room at Ben, and his gaze met hers. He had been watching her all along. “‘Please take the gift I leave you and use it wisely. It will require that you sort fact from fiction, truth from lies. I believe you’re ready.

“‘Dawn—’” Dawn continued to watch Ben “‘—I loved you for yourself, not just for what you represented to me. But I must correct a wrong I’ve done. Once I told you to have courage. Only a few years later I told you not to choose between the people you loved. I realize now, as I didn’t then, that I asked you for the impossible. I release you to follow your own heart, to show courage and to make courageous choices. And I have faith in your ability.’”

Spencer saw that Dawn had grown visibly paler. He leaned against the wall and gathered his strength.

“Is that all?” Ferris asked.

“Yes. That’s the entire letter. And now to the be quests.” Spencer saw that Ferris wanted to say more. But what was there to say? Ferris’s mother had not addressed him.

“I’ll dispense with the smaller bequests to people who aren’t present. They include small gifts to old friends and to household staff, a trust to provide pensions to staff who have been with the family for a certain number of years. There are a number of gifts to charity.

“Pelichere, Aurore has left you this property on Grand Isle and everything contained here, except what ever family mementos Dawn and Cappy would like to have. She’s also left you a sum large enough to maintain the house and provide you with an income for life. She hopes you’ll allow Ti’ Boo’s other children and grandchildren to have use of the house, too.”

“Anytime,” she said. Her eyes were suspiciously moist.

“Cappy, Aurore has left you all of her jewelry, the house on Prytania and everything inside it.”

He looked up again. “Mrs. Reynolds, Aurore has left you two-thirds of her shares in Gulf Coast Shipping, which clearly makes you the majority stockholder.” He watched Nicky’s eyes widen. “The remainder of her shares are to be split evenly between Phillip and Dawn.”

Ferris shot out of his chair. “What kind of stupidity is this? No matter what relationship my mother claimed to Nicky Reynolds, Nicky is
not
her legitimate daughter. The law states that her legitimate child is entitled to one-third of her estate. You’re saying that none of her shares of Gulf Coast are coming to me!”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” Spencer didn’t pause. “Aurore also set up identical trust funds for Dawn and Phillip, the details of which I’ll share with them at an other time. Suffice it to say the funds are generous and accessible.” He saw Dawn’s gaze flick to Phillip. Phillip smiled. He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Ben, Aurore has left you Gulf Coast Publishers, the small press attached to Gulf Coast Shipping. Until now, Gulf Coast has only published maritime journals and books, but she expresses hope that you’ll use it in new ways, and that you’ll include Phillip and Dawn in your decision-making.”

Ben whistled softly under his breath.

“And now, Senator…” Spencer said. “Before her death, your mother consolidated every remaining asset. The family owns a great deal of property, much of it ac quisitions of your father’s. Your share of Henry Gerritsen’s property, which she had use of after his death, now reverts to you. Additionally, anything that in some way belonged to Henry Gerritsen is now yours, every investment he initiated and every piece of property they owned jointly. Exactly to the penny, you’ll receive one-third of what your mother was worth, and not one thing more.”

Ferris stood very still.

“The formal part of this will-reading is now concluded. But I’m afraid there’s something more. There’s a private stipulation to your part of the inheritance, Senator. It’s not to be found in the will, but rather in a note that your mother has asked me to explain and in a gift she’s left you.”

He cleared his throat. “The note states that upon receiving your portion of her estate, you are to use it to establish a fund that will benefit the people of Louisiana. The choice of how you do this will be up to you, but you’ll need my consent, or the consent of my associates after my death. And we’ll watch you very care fully. If this seems too complex, you may donate the entire sum to one of the Negro colleges in New Orleans, but you must do it in your own name. Additionally, your mother requires that you resign from the state senate immediately and guarantee never to run for another office again.”

Spencer watched Ferris closely. He looked as if he might fly into a thousand pieces. Then he began to laugh.

Spencer took a box out of his pocket and stepped for ward. He handed it to Ferris. “There’s one more stipulation. Your mother requires that you find a way to turn back to the people of Louisiana the profits of certain oil leases that Largo Haines,
whom you represented in the transaction, obtained illegally. If you don’t, the facts surrounding those leases will be made available to the New Orleans papers.”

Ferris’s laughter ended abruptly. He grabbed the box and jerked the top off of it, as if he expected to find proof of something inside. Spencer knew what was there. He looked away.

“Hugh’s rosary.” Cappy leaned over to gaze into her husband’s hand. “It’s the rosary he always carried, the one he received at his ordination.”

Ferris stared at the object. “What is this?” He started toward Spencer. “What do you mean by giving this to me?”

“The rosary is a gift from your mother.” Spencer didn’t back away. “You see, your brother was carrying it on the night he was murdered. She thought it appropriate that you should have it, since you were responsible for his death.”

“S
pencer, what are you talking about?” Dawn leaped to her feet and advanced on him.

Spencer stared steadily at Ferris and didn’t reply.

“He’s a crazy old man,” Ferris said.

For a moment, Dawn almost believed her father. Then she discerned something in his voice, some discordant note. She realized it was fear; it spread to her. “Spencer, please. What are you saying?”

“Will you tell the story at last, Senator?”

“I had no reason to want my brother dead! Everyone knows Hugh and I didn’t agree on certain issues, but I’m not a monster. I would never have had him murdered!” Ferris turned to Dawn. “Tell me you believe me.”

She couldn’t look at him. She had heard fear, and now she heard how quickly he could cover it. “Spencer, please,” she pleaded. “Tell me what you meant.”

Spencer looked older than he had moments before. He held out a trembling hand. She grasped it for a moment, but she didn’t know which of them needed strength.

“Father Hugh was an embarrassment to you, Senator,”
Spencer said, looking at Dawn as he spoke. “His views on civil rights jeopardized your relationship with Largo Haines and eroded your political support in Plaquemines. That was bad enough, but it got worse. One day you realized that Father Hugh was asking questions about a corporation headed by Haines that was leasing thousands of acres of valuable oil land from the Bonne Chance levee board and, in return, leasing it to an oil company for a substantial royalty on oil production.”

“So what? That’s done all the time,” Ferris said.

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s being done quite regularly. But this time Earl Long, in his last term as governor, began an investigation. There were rumors that some members of the Bonne Chance levee board had been blackmailed to make them turn over the land. Just as the investigation was getting under way, it hit one snag, then another. The snags lasted until the next election and a new ad ministration, at which time the investigation was discontinued.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Ferris demanded.

“Father Hugh was called to administer the last rites to a man in his parish. On his deathbed, the man confessed to Father Hugh. He told him that he had been part of a plot to bribe the investigators. He had hand-delivered a large sum of money to a state senator to pass on to the investigators in Baton Rouge. That senator was you.”

“And on the confession of a dying man, I was tried and convicted?”

Spencer dropped Dawn’s hand and turned to Ferris. “Your brother wasn’t that naive. He went in search of proof that your ties to Largo Haines were more than political. He learned that you had done the technical work of setting up the land corporation, and you were receiving substantial legal fees. Your brother understood bureaucracies and how to get information.

In a short time, he had proof that you were the go-between for Largo and the investigators. But you know all this, because Father Hugh came to you to ask you for the truth.”

“This is a lie! A lie to discredit me, and nothing more!”

Dawn saw beads of sweat forming on her father’s brow. Someone came to stand beside her. For a moment she thought it was Ben; then she realized it was Phillip.

“The rest of the story’s mine to tell,” Phillip said. “You see, your mother did some investigation after Father Hugh’s death. She discovered that after you realized what Father Hugh knew, you went to see Largo, and you told him that your brother was close to exposing you both. Largo told you that Father Hugh would have to be silenced, and that the perfect opportunity had presented itself. I wasn’t there, of course, so I don’t know if you tried to change his mind, but I do know that Father Hugh died the next day. And you did nothing to stop his murder.”

Dawn faced Phillip. “What proof do you have?”

Spencer answered. “At first Aurore wasn’t suspicious that your father was involved, Dawn, but she knew that Largo Haines had the Bonne Chance sheriff in his pocket, and that there would never be a real investigation into your uncle’s death. A man was fingered and convicted, and that was that. She knew there had to be more.”

“All right! I’ll admit that Hugh came to me,” Ferris said.

The room was suddenly very still. Dawn could hear only the wind growing fiercer every moment.

“He came to me.” Ferris’s voice broke. “I asked him not to expose me. I told him he didn’t understand everything, and that if he went to the press, I’d never be able to clear my name. Even when it came to trial and I was found innocent, people would always remember I was part of a scandal….”

“Since when has that stopped voters in this state?” Phillip asked.

“Do you think this is funny?” Ferris said.

“No. I think you knew that your brother was going to die.”

“Hugh was always sure he was right. About every thing. He refused to wait until he had more facts. He asked me to resign from office, and he told me if I didn’t, he would take what he knew to the papers, and they would finish his investigation.”

“And so you had him killed.”

“No!”

“But it was discussed in your presence,” Phillip said. “I know, because I’ve been to Angola to see the man who was convicted of shooting your brother. He was a bad mistake, Senator. He’s not happy, and he’s vocal. He was promised more for pulling the trigger than Largo Haines delivered. I guess Largo thought that once the poor fool was in prison, he’d be out of the way for years. He didn’t take into account what prison can do to a man. He was so rattled he was even willing to talk to a black journalist. Now that’s desperate, wouldn’t you say?”

“Phillip.” Dawn waited until he was looking at her. She saw compassion, and that frightened her even more. “He told you that my father…”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

She faced Ferris. There were a million questions, a universe of questions, and she couldn’t ask any of them.

“You’d take a murderer’s word over mine?” Ferris asked.

“Tell me you weren’t there,” she said. “That’s all. Just tell me you weren’t with Largo when he decided to murder my uncle, but look at me when you do, Daddy. And let me see the truth.”

“I wasn’t there!” He gazed steadily at her. For a moment
she saw nothing but indignation. She wanted to believe him so badly that she almost did. Then, for one instant, his control flickered. She saw what had been expertly veiled on the night of her uncle’s death. A sob started somewhere deep inside her.

“Your mother learned the truth, Senator,” Spencer said. “And she spent most of the last year of her life trying to decide what to do about it. Her bequest to you isn’t the money you have to give away or the political career you have to abandon. It’s all the years ahead of you. You have the rest of your life to consider what you’ve done, and change. But if you don’t, if you try to keep your inheritance or continue your political career, then, quite possibly, the rest of your years will be spent in prison.”

“A very neat trap,” Ferris said.

“It’s a beginning or an end for you. She left you that choice.”

“No, it’s neither,” Ferris said. “Because I’m leaving here, and I’m going to fight you all the way. What you have are lies and fabrications. And I won’t be black mailed for something I didn’t do.”

“You won’t be blackmailed. The truth will be told.”

“Cappy!” Ferris turned to his wife. “Get your things. We’re getting out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Cappy said. Dawn realized her mother was standing at her side. “I’ve shut my eyes for years, Ferris, but I won’t shut my eyes to this.”

“Don’t tell me you believe them? Don’t you see how I’ve been set up?”

“You’ve set yourself up. For the last time.”

He turned his back on her. “Dawn?”

Dawn still wanted to believe him, despite what she knew was
the truth. She searched for something in his face, something with which to convince herself that it was all a mistake.

“Come with me,” he pleaded. “I need you. Come with me. For God’s sake, I’m your father!”

Outside, the wind moaned, just as it had the night so long before, when her great-grandfather condemned Marcelite and her children to death, as it must have moaned the night her grandmother disavowed both the man she loved and her unborn child. In that moment, all the choices of generations of Le Danoises, Cantrelles and Gerritsens seemed clearly outlined before her.

She shook her head slowly. “The man who was my father in all the ways that matter was murdered one year ago.”

He looked stricken; then his face contorted with anger. “All right, be damned! All of you!” He whirled and started for the door. Pelichere moved to one side. Moments later, the slam of the front door resounded through the room.

Cappy began to cry. Dawn put her arms around her mother and held her until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s sit down,” Nicky said.

For a moment, Dawn saw Aurore in the empathy in Nicky’s eyes. Nicky put her arms around both women and guided them to a sofa.

Pounding rattled the front door. Dawn held her mother tighter while Pelichere went to investigate.

Moments later, she realized that Ben was squatting on the floor beside her. “Dawn…”

She knew that if he comforted her, she would fall apart. “Don’t say anything,” she said. “Please. I’m not ready to hear anything you have to say.”

“I’m sorry, but I followed Peli to the door. The state police
are evacuating the island. We’ve got to be out of here right away. Betsy turned, and she’s headed right for us.”

She could hardly think about what that meant.

“I’m not leaving till this house is shut up,” Pelichere said, coming back into the room. “This is my house, and every window’s going to be covered before I go.”

“I’ll stay and help,” Ben said. “But let’s get moving.”

“No.” Dawn turned her mother over to Nicky’s care. She got to her feet. “I’ll stay with Peli. I know every nook and cranny, and where to find everything we’ll need. Ben, you take Spencer. I want him out of here as fast as possible. He’s already been through too much.”

“And so have you,” he said. “Let me stay, please, and you take him.”

“No. I’m going to help Peli. I need to do this. My grandmother loved this house. It’s the least I can do for her.”

“Jake and I will take your mother somewhere safe,” Nicky said from the sofa.

“Dawn, I’ll stay and help you close up.” Phillip came to stand beside her. “Then I’ll follow you in my car.”

Her eyes met his. “I’d feel better if you did.”

She hadn’t been sure her mother was aware what was happening, but Cappy rose. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

“I’ll be okay. You and Nicky and Jake take care of each other now.” Dawn turned to leave, but Ben took her hand. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. I’ll put the radio on and head wherever the authorities say is safest. I’ll be fine.”

“Will you?”

She realized he was asking about so much more than the
hurricane. For a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. Then she nodded.

He smiled sadly and dropped her hand. The church bell in the tower of Our Lady of the Isle began to toll a warning.

Ferris cursed the heavy traffic that kept him from speeding toward Bonne Chance. He didn’t give a fuck about a storm, or anything else that tried to keep him from getting to Largo. Largo’s home was an old plantation house with brick walls as thick as the trouble Aurore was making from her grave. Largo’s house had withstood every Delta disaster for two hundred years. Ferris would hole up there even if the hurricane turned. Then he and Largo could plan what to do.

The storm didn’t worry him. Betsy was just like every woman he had known. Since the very beginning, she hadn’t been able to make up her mind. She might rage and threaten, but in the end, she would burn out. And when she was no longer a force, he and Largo would emerge and somehow put an end to his mother’s extortion. He would still have his inheritance and his political career. A dead woman and a storm had no power over him.

Half a mile from the bridge that crossed Caminada Pass, the traffic slowed to a standstill. His eyes flicked to the gas gauge. He hadn’t filled up on his trip back from Bonne Chance a few days before, but unless he was forced to sit in traffic all the way to Leeville, he was probably going to be all right.

He fidgeted, pounding the steering wheel in frustration. Only after he had crept two hundred yards in fifteen minutes did he finally give in and switch on his radio.

The hurricane had turned, after all.

He swore until he ran out of breath. He had left Grand Isle in time and wasn’t in danger, but now there was no way he
could make it to Bonne Chance. The roads south would be barricaded.

Largo might very well be heading out of Plaque mines himself. He kept an apartment on Saint Charles Avenue in New Orleans, but he also owned a house in Baton Rouge, for use when the legislature was in session. Ferris decided to head to Baton Rouge himself. He had his own apartment, even if Largo went elsewhere.

The wind buffeted his car as he inched across the bridge. He thought about the way Dawn, as a little girl, had always hidden her face when they crossed this narrow strip of water. She had been so frightened, and it had always annoyed him. But as she grew older, she had annoyed him less and less. Dawn, who had chosen his brother over him. Dawn, who had been Ferris’s only real weakness, because he had loved her as he had once loved his brother.

He had never given Hugh enough credit. In the end, Hugh had gotten both God and Ferris’s daughter. And even from the grave, he had almost managed to bring ruin on Ferris. A year after his death, he was still a threat, although Ferris intended to get the best of him yet.

It was all such a shame. Together they could have been a force. Between them, they could have expanded Gulf Coast’s interests and the Gerritsen political horizons until the Gerritsen name was as much a part of the Louisiana vocabulary as Long continued to be. Ferris had told Hugh as much the last time he saw him. Not the day that Hugh had come to him with proof about the oil leases. He had seen his brother once more after that, on the night he learned Hugh would have to die.