'Where we going now, Daddy?'
'Just get in. I know how to deal with the likes of him,' he said.
Ten minutes later we turned up the long driveway to the Tate mansion, which was known as The Shadows because of the grand moss-draped oaks, willows, cypress, and magnolia trees that surrounded it and kept it in long, cool silhouettes most of the day. I had seen it only from the road before this. Our family was never invited to the famous parties that the Tates held there, nor was Mama ever called upon to treat Monsieur or Madame Tate.
As we continued up the long driveway, my heart throbbed in triple time and I shrank into a tighter ball, fearful of what Daddy had in mind to do next. Daddy's battered truck rattled over the gravel, kicking up dust clouds behind us. The grounds were so immaculate and neatly trimmed, I felt as if we were tracking mud over a new carpet.
All the oak trees had beds of azaleas and camellias under them. Queen Anne's lace bordered both sides of the driveway. To the right toward the canal, I saw the seemingly endless vegetable gardens and fruit trees. A short, stout black man with stark white hair and a tall, lean black woman with her ebony hair pinned up were harvesting crops. They looked our way for a moment and then went back to their labor.
I turned toward the house.
Before us the two-and-a-half-story structure rose with a majestic confidence that bespoke its grandeur and richness. It had classic columns rising from the ground to the entablature that supported the roof. There were upper and lower galleries and shutter-enclosed stairs. When we turned toward the front, I saw that the bayou side had a recessed galerie with brick arches below and turned Doric columns above. Ferns and palm leaves worked their way up and around the brick. There were three gabled dormers on the roof over the upper front galerie, each with four rows of paneled windows. The chimney rose from the rear of the building.
'What are we going to do here, Daddy?' I asked. Daddy turned off the truck engine and glared at the house for a moment.
'I know about the Tates,' he said. 'Octavious had nothing until he married Gladys White. She wears the britches in this family. Get out,' he said.
I stepped down gingerly. This close, the house looked even more intimidating. Late morning shadows curved and then soaked the front in shade so thick, I felt as if we were stepping across one world and into another when we approached the tall, paneled door flush with fixed glass panes. Clumps of purple wisteria dangled from the scrolled iron railing above us. A half dozen silver bells on leather strings were hung over the door.
Daddy rattled them hard and then he let them fall against the door. A few moments later, a tall, spindly- looking, almond-complected, balding man with a long, thin nose and very thin lips opened the door. He wore a butler's uniform, but he had his tie loosened and apparently was just finishing chewing something. He swallowed quickly and raised his light brown eyebrows. They lifted at the middle as if there were an invisible hook hoisting them into his crinkled forehead.
'Yes?' he said, unable to hide his disapproval of the way Daddy was dressed, his hair wild, his shirt half in and half out, and his dungarees worn nearly clear through at the knees.
'I want to see Madame Tate,' Daddy said.
'Really? And who wishes to see Madame?' the butler asked. He spoke with his head pulled back a bit so that the underside of his nose was clearly visible. There was a small but distinct dimple at the tip. He had a nasal tone and tucked his lips in at the corners after he spoke.
'Jack Landry and his daughter, Gabrielle,' Daddy said.
'And I don't mean to be turned away,' he added.
'Really? What is the nature of your visit, monsieur?'
'That's private.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, really, really. You going to get her or am I going to get her?' Daddy asked.
The butler's eyes widened and those eyebrows were jerked even higher.
'One moment, please,' he said, and closed the door.
'Snobby, rich . . . dirty . . .' Daddy mumbled. He looked around and nodded. 'They think they own everything and everybody and can do whatever they please. Well, they ain't met Jack Landry head-on yet,' he said.
'I think we should go home, Daddy,' I said softly.
'Home? We ain't going nowhere till I get some satisfaction,' he remarked. He shook the bells again. A moment later the butler opened the door, but this time standing beside him was Gladys Tate.
She looked formidable, towering, her shoulders back, her spine a steel rod. Her eyes were burning with indignation.
She looked like she had been interrupted doing something very important or was about to leave the house for an important appointment. She wore a polka-dot dark blue dress with a thin scarf. There was a matching polka-dot belt with a large bow at her waist.
This close up, confronting her, I realized how stunningly beautiful she was, but also how hard those slate-cold brown eyes could be. Steely faced, she stepped forward.
'How dare you have me summoned like this? What is it you want?' She threw me a glance, her mean look so sharp, I thought it could cut glass.
'I have business with you,' Daddy said, undaunted.
'My husband handles the business.'
'Not this business. This business is private,' Daddy insisted.
'Really, monsieur, I don't think—'
