The Willows (9 page)

Leading the way up the winding
staircase as if she were the mistress of the house, Edith calmly
warned her to expect some changes in the sleeping arrangements.
“You,” she announced, stopping before the front room, “will now
sleep in here.”

This time Gwen did protest. “Oh, no, I
shall stay in my own room, thank you all the same.”

“
You can’t. The roof leaks
terribly in the rear quarters.”

“
Then find me another room.
I can’t fit all my lovely furnishings in this cubicle.”

“
Your things are gone,”
Edith told her, having the good grace to blush. “I’m afraid uncle
John sold them after you left for Boston.”

As stiff as starch, Gwen marched into
the tiny room. That last was a major blow, she had no wish for her
cousin to see how it hurt. After all, it would take for more than a
bad mood for daddy to so ruthlessly sell the pretty, delicate
furniture mama once lavished on her.

There is a perfectly reasonable
explanation, she tried to tell herself. Perhaps daddy plan to
replace them with newer, finer furnishings. Must have forgiven her;
she simply could not bear it if he had not.

Pasting a smile on her face, she
studied her new surroundings. The room was small as she remembered,
but the window seat was charming. One could wish its cushions were
in better condition, though.

“
I sure hope Delfie and
Sadie hurry up here to help me,” she said, determine to act as if
nothing were wrong. “The way I feel now, it will take half a dozen
servants to get me out of this dress.”

“
We don’t have a single
servant to spare. You’ll have to undress yourself.” Edith retort
bordered on rudeness.

“
Undress myself?” When
turned with surprise. “You must be joking. I cannot possibly remove
this gown without help.”

Edith shrugged. “You better learn how,
and soon. there is no one to help you.”

“
Oh?” Gwen had been prepared
to be brave, to grin and bear all these unpleasant surprises, but
enough was enough. “I hope you don’t expect me to believe the
service are busy cleaning. There’s enough dust in the front hallway
to lay a carpet.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing her
cousin lush before Edith squared her shoulders. “What I hope you to
believe,” she tossed out as she marched off, “is that your days of
playing princess are over.”

Furious, Gwen stared at her cousins
retreating back. Who did they think they were, she and uncle
Jervis, deciding what should or should not be done in her father’s
house? If Gwen wanted the services of one-hundred servants, they
had no right to deny her.

Flouncing her skirt-no easy thing and
its wilted condition-she went straight for the bell pull. As she
yanked it, she decided this room wasn’t adequate at all. The heavy
oak furniture was far from what she’d have chosen, and Edith knew
it. From the bulky armoire, to the battered keyhole desk, these
were clearly pieces rescued from a long and well deserved exile in
the attic.

When several minutes went by and no
servant answered her summons, she decided it was high time someone
front of her daddy. He should know what was happening in his own
household, how his own daughter cannot get a servants to help her
undress.

She was downstairs and at his study
door, and a poised to knock, before she remembered his cold
reception. Bad mood or not, what would she do… How would she cope…?
If he snarled at her and ordered her off?

Hearing voices in the library, she
remembered how uncle Jervis and Lance had retired therefore a chat.
Perhaps she might better talk to her uncle; with a guest to
overhear, he might prove more amenable to her needs. If worse came
to worst, she could always appeal to Lance. Surely heard charming
Lancelot would not fail to come to her rescue.

As she entered the library, both men
stood abruptly, their expressions startled. “Why, Gwen, we thought
you were resting.” For all goals gaze slid from her to his guest.
“Didn’t we, Lance?”

Lance was too busy stomping out his
cigarette and setting down his bourbon to answer. Did he hope to
hide that he’d been smoking and drinking? As if women didn’t know
what men did when they indulged in their chats.

“
I would love to rest,” she
told uncle Jervis, “but I fail to see how that’s possible in this
heavy dress. I need help removing it. What’s happened to all my
father’s household that this mistress can’t get help from her
servants?”

An awkward silence ensued, during which
the men again exchanged glances.

“
I will tell you another
thing,” she went on in a bid to gain Lance’s sympathy. “Edith has
moved me out of my bedroom. She claims my pretty furnishings are
gone, sold by daddy, but I think it’s an excuse to stick me with
all the hideous stuff from the attic.”

Where he should be outraged, or at the
least, defensive, her article seemed merely uneasy. “What is it?”
She asked, glancing from him to Lance. “Why do you to keep looking
at each other?”

Uncle Jervis stared at his glass, then
downed the bourbon and one drink. “I suppose you should know. The
truth is, I’m afraid we have all been reduced to cast offs from the
attic. We’ve been forced to practice, er, certain
economies.”

Gwen focused on the word is least
understood. “Economies?”

“
Edith could not send any
servants to help you. There are none to spare. Lavinia as all she
can handle with the cooking and cleaning. As for Homer, well, he is
getting on in years.”

“
But what of Lilah and
Delfie and-“

“
Sold, like the
furniture.”

With dismay, he thought of Delfie, her
childhood playmates and later maid, now serving as someone else’s
servant. “But they were like family. Surely you could have sold the
field hands instead.”

“
There are no field
servants. There are no fields. The Willows hasn’t harvests a decent
sugar crop in well over three years.”

Gwen not contain her gasp. Daddy might
lose interest in the house, in life itself, but for him to neglect
his precious sugarcane was an omen of impending
disaster.

“
You have to understand,”
uncle Jervis said gently, “your mother’s death hit him hard. I knew
he was letting things slide steadily, but I did not discover how
bad it was until last March, when I talked John into giving me the
legal power to help run the estate.”

“
Why didn’t you tell me?
Warned me?”

“
I wanted to, honey, but I
thought, if it breaks my heart so to think of he Willows going to
the creditors, what will it do to our Gwen?”

“
Creditors?” She asked,
horrified.

His silence told her more than she
cared to know. “Why didn’t you warn me?” She asked, turning to
Lance.

“
Your uncle wished to tell
you himself. In person.” He raised his hands as if to deny himself
of guilt. “A letter can be so impersonal, after all, and so easily
misunderstood.”

There was no misunderstanding this.
Financial ruin, that’s what they faced, and social demise lurked
around the corner. Easy now, to understand the whispers and
chatters last night. Everyone knew that he had the let the Willows
go to rack and ruin; and no one could miss the fact that his
daughter would soon be a social outcast.

“
But I thought daddy brought
me home to be married…” She nonetheless protested. He had brought
her home, merely sell her off save the plantation? T there were
men, she knew-old and dreadful unpleasant-who were only too happy
to pay for a young bride. “Does this mean…” She swallowed hard,”… I
am to be spinster?”

“
Now, now, you’re not to
worry your pretty little head over this.” Once more, uncle Jervis
looked at Lance. “You just go on about your business and trust your
menfolk. We will think of something, never fear. The land is still
good. If I could dig up the funds by new cane, and perhaps a few
servants to plant and harvest it, I can promise you, I will have
the Willows back on its feet in no time.

“
Here, here,” Lance cheered,
raising his glass to be refilled. “That is the spirit. You know, of
course, that you can count on me to help.”

Watching uncle Jervis fill his glass,
Gwen knew it insisted more panic. All well and good to stand here
to toasting each other, but in truth, what could they do? Lance had
not a penny either.

It is a nightmare, she thought in a
daze. A bad dream, and any moment, she would wake to find Mrs.
Tibbs calling for her. How frightening, that she suddenly preferred
to be back in a cramped cabin with that awful woman.

She had to escape from the stuffy room,
to be out in the fresh air where she could think
straight.

Both men looked mildly surprised when
she announced this wish. Lance offered a token protest, but soon
both he and her uncle seemed more interested in their drinks than
in preventing her departure, Gwen muttered her goodbyes and left
the room.

This cannot be
happening
, she continued to chant in her
mind as she walked away from the house. Uncle Jervis had a tendency
to overdramatize; surely things weren’t as bad as he had complied.
Thinking back, she realized there had been no Stinting during their
stay in the city. If money were short, why book first-class passage
up river?

“
Keeping up pretenses,” she
could almost hear Missy Mae proclaim. Just like the Allentons, her
uncle hoped to trick his creditors into believing nothing was
wrong.

But everything was wrong. She could see
proof of this as she passed the empty fields, which by now should
be green with prospering crop. Nor did anyone stir in the quiet
servant compound as she came upon it? Proving uncle Jervis had not
lied about it. A soft breeze whispered through the oaks overhead,
making it sound as if the spirits of those servants still
lingered.

Gwen remembered the yearly Christmas
celebrations, when daddy would bring drinks for the men and toys
for the children? While him and mother dispensed their treats to
the women. Each cabin had welcomed them, for each week, Mama had
come down here to attend to the hurt and the sick, and often, Gwen
accompanied her. How proud she’d felt, standing next to Amanda,
every man, woman, and child in the compound had adored her. They
would have walked on fire to keep her from harm.

But they’d been unable to help her that
night, Gwen thought with an ugly pang. And because of it, always
gone-mother, the servants, and for all the intense and
purposes-even father.

Here, breathing the cooler air but need
the oaks, she had time to truly consider his reception. She could
no longer hide from the truth. More than a bad mood had caused him
to reject her. He blame her for what happened to mother, and
probably always would.

A tear slid down her cheek
and she wiped it away.
You’re a
McCloud
, she could almost hear him
admonish,
stop acting so
maudlin.

She was right, rather than be moaning
as lack of reception, she should be trying to work her way around
him. No sense dwelling on the past she cannot change; she might
better be thinking about what she could do to improve the
future.

Yes, she thought, gaining spirit.
Somehow, she would find they key to saving Roseland, and when she
did, her daddy would be grateful, he would hardly even remember
that Mama was gone.

She thought of the old sharecroppers’
cabins, up ahead on the path. Back when he’d first come to
Louisiana, daddy had leased part of Roseland to the small farmers,
using the rent to help defray the costs of starting up the
plantation. Once the fields began producing a steady sugar crop and
there was no further need for income, he’d stopped renewing the
leases, until one by one, the renters had gone away. Where were
they now? Gwen wondered could they, or other farmers, be induced to
again rent this land?

With growing excitement, she quickened
her pace, anxious to see the cabins. If the homes were habitable,
they could raise the money they needed for the Willows by leasing
out land again. Admittedly, she had no idea where to find such
farmers, but hadn’t uncle Jervis assured that she could trust her
menfolk see the details?

Beneath her feet, the path became
muddier and more overgrown with every step. Funny, she hadn’t
realized how near to the marshland this area was, but then, she’d
never been allowed near the cabins as a child. “They’re not our
kind,” daddy had told her, when she asked if she could play with
the children there. “I won’t have my little Princess sorting with
common dirt farmers.”

Swatting off the memory even as she
swatted at a buzzing mosquito, she reminded herself that she did
hardly been consorting with these people. She’d be offering them a
place to live and to farm, and exchange for much needed revenue for
the Willows. It would not matter if this land was close to the
Bayou, that she hated the swamp and everything in it. There was no
reason she never ever come here at all.

Rounding the curve in the path, he came
upon the small colony of cabins. It, too, was damp and overgrown,
as if the swamp had already reclaimed it. There were people
desperate for land, she told herself stubbornly, people who would
not mind the work to clear it.