the front door of the mansion while he spoke.
'Well,' he said, 'I guess this here's good-bye for a while, Gabrielle. I know you'll be in good hands. Don't take no guff from no one, hear?'
'Yes, Daddy.'
'Your mother will be visiting you shortly and bring back a report.'
'Okay, Daddy,' I said in a voice that seemed smaller and younger even to me.
'Okay,' he said. 'Best you hop out and go up there by yourself like she said.' He leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.
''Bye, Daddy,' I said, and opened the truck door. It groaned with a metallic complaint that seemed to echo over the whole property. Even the bullfrogs paused to listen.
'Soon I'll have me a new truck without dents and squeaks,' Daddy bragged.
I closed the truck door and carried my bag and myself up the galerie steps to the front door of the house, but before I could shake the bells, the door was thrust open with such force, I thought it had created a draft of air that would suck me inside the dimly lit entryway. Gladys Tate stood there dressed in a dark blue robe over her ivory lace nightgown. She held a small kerosene lantern in her hand. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and her face, now without a drop of makeup, looked as if candle wax had been melted and smeared over her forehead and cheeks, giving her a ghostly white complexion. The tiny flame in the lantern flickered.
'Get in, quick,' she croaked. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, she closed the door and turned toward the stairs. 'Follow me.'
Without another word, she led me up, hustling me along so I wouldn't have a second to pause and gaze around. I half expected to see Octavious, too, but he was nowhere in sight. When we reached the upstairs landing, she turned left and took me down a short corridor to a narrow door. She dipped into a bathrobe pocket to produce a set of keys and unlocked the door. She stood for a moment listening. Satisfied, she reached in and threw a switch to illuminate a short stairway that led to an attic landing where there was a second door.
'What's up there?' I asked.
'What do you mean, what's up there? Your room's up there. Where did you think I would put you, in my bedroom or with Octavious?' she retorted. Even in the dim light, I could see the grotesque smile.
'No, madame, but . . .'
'But what?'
'Nothing,' I said.
'Just watch your step and step very lightly. Tiptoe,' she advised, and started up the short, steep stairway, practically floating on air herself. When she reached the second door, she inserted a second key and unlocked it. I entered behind her. She set the lantern down on a bare, rectangular cypress plank table carefully and turned it up to reveal the claustrophobic small room that had one window facing the rear of the house. Now it had a shade drawn and a curtain closed over that.
The walls had once been papered in a flowery print, but that had long since faded so that the flowers were barely visible in the eggshell background, a background I was sure had once been bright white. On my right were a set of shelves now full of dolls of all sizes and apparently some from different countries. There were cobwebs between many of the dolls, and their faces and doll clothing were faded almost as badly as the wallpaper.
Directly in front of me was the short box spring mattress in a low, dark oak bed frame with no headboard. There was a tiny night table to its right, and adjacent to that, a dresser no more than three and a half feet tall, if that.
'Once,' Gladys Tate said, 'this was my playroom. Some of my cutouts, puzzles, toy dishes, pots and pans, as well as some other children's games are in that closet.' She nodded toward the narrow cabinet just to the right of the small dresser. 'It's not the Waldorf, but it will serve our purpose,' she added, and turned to me. Her words were cold and uncaring. The purpose could easily be to punish someone for misbehaving.
Without replying, I set my bag down on the table and went to the bed. I sat on it and heard the mattress squeak like a family of rats. Although it was too dark to see it, I expected there was enough dust in here to fill a pillow.
'I changed that linen myself today,' Gladys bragged. 'It's the same linen, blanket, and pillow I used when I used to sleep in here. I always took good care of my things and they lasted. I expect you will take good care of everything, too,' she said, and I gazed around, wondering what it was she expected me to take good care of a small lantern, tiny furniture, faded wallpaper, old toys. . . .
'Of course, I couldn't have my maids clean this room without drawing some suspicion. You'll have to do most of that, but you'll have plenty of time for it, won't you?' she said.
'Where's the bathroom facilities?' I asked without replying to her comment.
'Bathroom facilities? You're used to an outhouse, aren't you?'
'Yes, but how can I go to an outhouse if you don't want anyone to know I'm up here?'
'Exactly,' she said, and crossed to the small closet. She took out a chamber pot. 'You'll use this. Once a night, after everyone's asleep, I'll come by and tell you and you can carry it down to the bathroom at the bottom of the attic stairway and to the right. You can wash and bathe then, too. I don't want you coming down with any diseases and endangering my child,' she added.
My child? I thought. She was getting into that frame of mind very quickly. I was impressed with her determination. 'It's stuffy in here,' I said. 'Is that window open?'
'Yes.'
'We need to open the curtain and pull up the shade then,' I said, 'to get some breeze.' I started toward it.
'You can do that now, but you must remember to draw the shade in the morning. We don't want anyone spotting you up here. Don't ever, ever look out that window during daylight hours, understand? You'll ruin everything if you are seen.'
