Pierce had been so amused. Pierce adored Mona, which was a surprising thing, because in general Pierce liked innocent, cheerful people like his cousin and fiancee, Clancy Mayfair.
Mona wasn't innocent, except in the most serious sense of the word. That is, she didn't think she was bad, and she didn't mean to do bad. She was just sort of a...pagan.
And freedom she had all right, for her pagan ways, and the confession of accelerated sexual activity had also been calculated. Within weeks of Mona's decision to go active, the phone had been ringing off the hook with stories of Mona's various liaisons. "Do you know that child likes to do it in the cemetery!" Cecilia had cried.
But what could Gifford do? Alicia loathed the very sight of Gifford now. She would not let Gifford in the house, though Gifford went there all the time of course. Ancient Evelyn told no one what she saw or didn't see.
"I told you all about my boyfriends," Mona had said. "Don't choose to worry about this!"
At least Ancient Evelyn did not tell those tales night and day, of how she and Julien had danced together to the music of the Victrola. And it may not have ever reached Mona's tender ears that her great-grandmother had had an affair with Cousin Stella. After all, not even clever Mr. Lightner had known about that! Not a word in his history about Stella's ladies!
"That was my grand time," Ancient Evelyn had told Gifford and Alicia with relish. "We were in Europe, and Stella and I were together in Rome when it happened. I don't know where Lionel was, and that horrid nurse, she was out with baby Antha. I never experienced such love as with Stella. Stella had been with many women, she told me that night. She couldn't even count them. She said the love of women was like the creme de la creme. I think it is. I would have done it again, if ever there had been anyone who stole my heart as Stella stole it. I remember when we came back from Europe, we went to the French Quarter together. Stella kept this little place, and we slept in the big bed and then ate oysters and shrimps and drank wine together. Oh, those weeks in Rome had been too brief. Oh..." And on and on it had gone, until they were back to the Victrola again; Julien had given it to her. Stella understood. Stella never asked for it back. It was Mary Beth who had come up to Amelia Street and said, "Give me Julien's Victrola." He had been dead six months, and she'd been tearing through his rooms.
"Of course I didn't give it to her." Then Ancient Evelyn would take Gifford and Alicia into her room, and crank up the little Victrola. She would play so many old music-hall songs, and then the arias from La Traviata. "I saw that opera with Stella in New York. How I loved Stella."
"My dear," she had once said to all of them--Alicia, Gifford and little Mona, who might have been too young then to understand--"sometime or other you must know the soft yielding and precious love of another woman. Don't be a fool. It's nothing abnormal. It's sugar with your coffee. It's strawberry ice cream. It's chocolate."
No wonder Alicia had become what everyone called a perfect slut. She had never known what she was doing. She'd slept with the sailors off the ships, with the army men, with anyone and everyone, until Patrick had swept her off her feet. "Alicia, I'm going to save you."
Their first night had been one long drunk, until dawn, and then Patrick had announced he was taking Alicia in hand. She was a lost soul, little thing, he would care for her. He got her pregnant with Mona. But those had been the years of champagne and laughter. Now they were just plain drunks; there was nothing left of romance. Except Mona.
Gifford checked her watch--the tiny gold wristwatch that Ancient Evelyn had given her. Yes, less than one hour more of Mardi Gras, and then at the witching hour it would be Ash Wednesday, and she could go home--back to New Orleans.
She'd wait until morning, probably, maybe even noon. Then she'd drive into the city, cheerfully oblivious to the hideous stream of traffic exiting New Orleans in the other direction, and be home by four o'clock. She'd stop in Mobile at St. Cecilia's to get the ashes on her forehead. Merely thinking of the little church, of her saints, and her angels, comforted her, and allowed her to close her eyes. Ashes to ashes. One hour more of Mardi Gras, and then I can go home.
What had been so scary about Mardi Gras, Ryan had wanted to know.
"That you would all gather there at First Street, just as if Rowan were opening the front door! That's what was so scary."
She thought again of that medal. Must go make certain it was in her purse. Later.
"You have to realize what this house means to this family," Ryan had said to her. Ryan! As if she had no idea growing up as she had only ten blocks away, with Ancient Evelyn reciting history to her daily. "I'm not speaking of this Mayfair Witches tale now. I'm speaking of us, this family!"
She turned her head in against the back of the couch. Oh, if she could only stay in Destin forever. But that wasn't possible and never would be. Destin was for hiding out, not really living. Destin was just a beach and a house with a fireplace.
The small white phone nestled into the pillows beside her gave a sudden and jarring peal. For a moment she couldn't remember where it was. The receiver fell off the hook as she grappled for it, then put it to her ear.
"This is Gifford," she said wearily. And thank God it was Ryan who answered:
"I didn't wake you up?"
"No," she said with a sigh. "When do I ever sleep anymore? I've been waiting. Tell me everything went all right up there, tell me Michael is better, tell me no one got hurt or..."
"Gifford, for heaven's sakes. What are you thinking when you say something like that, that a litany will change what may have already taken place? You're flinging charms at me. What good will it do? Do you want to hear the words that are scheduled to come out of my mouth? What am I supposed to do? Break it to you gently if someone got stomped to death by a mounted policeman or crushed by the wheels of a float?"
Ah, everything was fine. Nothing was wrong at all. Gifford could have hung up then, but that wouldn't have been very considerate of Ryan, who would now break it down for her into a series of small reports, the central theme of which was: "Everything went fine, you fool, you should have stayed in town."
"After twenty-six years, you don't know what I'm thinking," she said halfheartedly, not really wanting to argue, or even to talk anymore. Her exhaustion was hitting her now, now that Mardi Gras was truly almost over.
"No, I sure as hell don't know what you're thinking," he said evenly. "I don't know why you're in Florida, instead of here with us."
"Skip to the next subject," said Gifford blandly.
"Michael is fine, just fine. Everybody is fine. Jean caught more beads than anybody else in the family; Little CeeCee won the costume award, and Pierce definitely wants to marry Clancy any minute! If you want your son to do things right and proper, you'd better get back here and start talking about the wedding to Clancy's mother. She's certainly not listening to me."
"Did you tell her we'd pay for the wedding?"
"No, I didn't get to that."
"Get to it. That's all she wants to hear. Talk about Michael again. What did you all tell him about Rowan?"
"As little as we could."
"Thank God for that."
"He's just not strong enough to hear the whole story."
"Who knows the whole story?" asked Gifford, bitterly.
"But we are going to have to tell him, Gifford. We can't put it off much longer. He has to know. He is on the mend, physically. Mentally, I can't say. No one can say. He looks...so different."
"Older, you mean," she said dismally.
"No, just different. It isn't just his graying hair. It's the look in his eye, his way of behaving. He's so gentlemanly and placid, so patient with everyone."
"You don't need to upset him," said Gifford.
"Well, you leave it to me," said Ryan, using one of his favorite phrases, which was always brought out with exquisite tenderness. "Just take care of yourself up there. Don't go into the water alone."
"Ryan, the water's freezing. I've had a fire going all day. It was clea
r, though, clear and blue and quiet. Sometimes I think I could stay here forever. Ryan, I'm sorry. I just couldn't go up to First Street, I just couldn't be in that house."
"I know, Gifford, I know. But be assured, the kids thought it was the best Mardi Gras ever. Everybody loves being back at First Street. Just about everybody was there, too, at some time or other during the day. I mean at least six or seven hundred of the family trooped in and out. I frankly lost count. Remember the Mayfairs from Denton, Texas? Even they came. And the Gradys from New York. It was wonderful of Michael to let it all go on as usual. Gifford, I don't mean this reproachfully, but if you'd seen how well it went, you'd understand."
"What about Alicia?" Gifford asked, meaning, Did Alicia make it through sober? "Were she and Patrick all right?"
"Alicia never made it up to the house. She was completely drunk by three p.m. Patrick shouldn't have come. Patrick's sick. We have to get him some medical attention."