Forbidden Fruit

Chapter 9

Glory awakened suddenly but without a start. She didn’t open her eyes but even so, she knew her mother stood beside the bed, staring down at her. Glory felt her presence, felt her gaze burning into her, marking her like a brand.

Seconds ticked past, becoming minutes. Glory kept her eyes shut tight. She didn’t want to alert her mother to the fact that she had awakened, she didn’t want to see her mother’s expression. She knew, from countless times before, just what that expression would be. And how it would make her feel.

Glory began to sweat under her light blanket; her heart thundered so heavily against the wall of her chest, she was certain her mother must be able to see its beat. Time seemed to stop and hold its breath; her every sense, every nerve ending strained, focusing on her mother, waiting and wishing for her to go away.

But her mother didn’t go away. Instead, she moved closer to the bed. Glory heard the soft scrape of her slippers on the floor, felt the mattress move as her mother’s knees connected with it. Her mother bent over her, the rhythm of her breathing changing, deepening to a sort of pant.

Fear turned Glory’s mouth to ash. What if it wasn’t her mother beside the bed? What if it was a stranger gazing down at her, or a monster?

What if it was the devil himself?

A cry raced to her lips; she held it back—barely. The fear squeezed at her. She pictured The Great Red Beast there beside her, waiting for her to open her eyes so he could steal her soul.

Glory curled her fingers tightly into the damp bedsheets, the darkness closing in on her, her imagination creating vivid, frightening movies in her head. Finally, she couldn’t bear the unknown another moment; finally the what ifs overwhelmed her. Terrified, she cracked open her eyes.

And wished with all her heart that she had not.

Her mother stood beside the bed, gazing down at her, her face twisted into an ugly mask, her eyes burning with an emotion, a light, that made Glory’s skin crawl.

Glory shuddered, even as tears built behind her eyes. Her mother looked at her as if she, Glory, was the monster she had feared only moments before. As if she, Glory, was the devil.

Why, Mama? Glory wanted to scream. What about me is so ugly? What have I done to cause you to look at me this way?

She swallowed the words, though not without great effort. A moment later, without so much as blinking, her mother turned and left the room. She snapped the door shut behind her, leaving Glory in total darkness once again.

Glory’s tears came then, hot and bitter. She curled into a tight ball, her face pressed into her pillow to muffle the sound of her shame, her despair. She cried for a long time, until her tears were spent, until all she could manage was a dry, broken sound of grief.

She rolled onto her back, bringing one of her soft, plush animals with her. She clutched it to her chest, remembering the first time she had awakened to find her mother above her, looking at her in that way, her face almost unrecognizable with hate. Glory had been young, so young she couldn’t recall any other details of the experience.

She could recall, however, the way she had felt—ugly and afraid. And alone, so very alone.

The way she felt right now.

Glory hugged the toy tighter to her chest. Why did her mother look at her that way? What had she done to cause her mother’s face to change into one she barely recognized? One that was ugly and frightening?

Why didn’t her mother love her?

It always came back to that, Glory thought, tears welling again, slipping down her cheeks.

At least her father loved her.

Glory clasped that truth to her, much as she did her plush toy, denying the little voice that taunted, the one that insisted he loved her mother more. That didn’t matter, she told herself, thinking of their evening at the hotel, of their dinner at the Renaissance Room and the things he had said about family and heritage.

Glory ran his words through her head, holding on to them, letting them soothe and comfort her. They made her feel less alone, less frightened. She was a part of her mother, a part of her father. She was a part of the St. Germaine family and of the St. Charles.

No one could take that away from her. Not her mother’s burning gaze, not the darkness of her own fear.

She wasn’t alone. With family, she never would be.

Chapter 10

Glory stopped at the library door, looked over her shoulder to make sure her mother wasn’t anywhere about, then ducked inside, partially shutting the door behind her. She tiptoed across the floor, heading toward the shelves containing the forbidden books, the ones her mother had made strictly off limits.

And now she knew why.

She reached the wall of books, glanced behind her one last time, then tipped her head back, scanning the titles on the fourth shelf. Art Through The Ages; The Postimpressionists; Pierre Auguste Renoir: The Last Years; Michelangelo.

Glory stopped on the last. Her grand-mère had called Michelangelo the greatest sculptor of the human form ever. She would bet that book contained what she was looking for. Now, all she had to do was figure out how she was going to get it off the shelf.

She looked around her, eyebrows drawn together in thought. The library ladder was on the opposite wall; the two chairs, big, old leather things, were too heavy for her to move by herself, the sofa too big to even contemplate.

“Darn,” she muttered. “What to do?”

Her gaze lighted on the brass wastepaper basket in the corner. She crossed to it and plucked out the wadded papers, then carried it across the room. She set it upside down in front of the shelf, then climbed onto it. She stretched; the wastebasket wobbled; the book remained out of her reach. Bracing herself with one hand, she stood on tiptoe and reached her other hand as high as she could. She still didn’t come close.

“Darn,” she said again, this time loudly, forgetting stealth.

From behind her came a yawn and the creak of leather. Glory gasped and swiveled, nearly toppling the basket and herself. Danny Cooper, the housekeeper’s six-year-old grandson stared sleepily at her over the top of one of the leather wingbacks.

She glared at him, her heart still racing. “You about scared me to death. What are you doing in here?”

“Staying out of the way.” He yawned again. “Mom had to go to the doctor and Grandma said to be good. She’s always telling me that when I’m here. I wanted to play, but I couldn’t find you.”

“Mama has a headache this morning. Grand-mère took me out for beignets.”

He rested his chin on top of the chair back. “You want to go play?”

Glory tipped her head, studying the six-year-old. She and Danny had played together since he was a toddler, and although he was too young to call her best friend, secretly she thought of him that way.

She hopped off the wastebasket. “I’ve got a better idea. Can you keep a secret?”

“You bet.” He nodded, punctuating his answer.

“I need you to help me get one of those books.” She pointed toward the books on the fourth shelf.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “How come?”

She looked to her left, then to her right. “Grand-mère,” she said in an exaggerated whisper, “took me to the art museum yesterday. And I saw something that—” Her cheeks heated, and she shook her head. “Anyway, when I asked Grand-mère about it, she turned red and said we had to go home. And we had just gotten there, too.”

He lifted his gaze to the shelf of art books. “What you saw is in those books?”

“Uh-huh.” She followed his gaze. “And I want to see it again.”

“I can get Granny to help.”

“No!” Glory held out her hands to stop him. “You can’t.” She brought a finger to her lips and tiptoed over to him. “I’m not supposed to see those books. They’re forbidden.”

“Oh.” His eyes twinkled. “Can I see, too?”

“I’ll let you see, if you’ll help me. But you have to keep it a secret. Can you?”

He nodded solemnly. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“If we’re caught, we’ll get in trouble. Big trouble.” At the thought of her mother discovering her disobedience, a quiver of fear moved through her. Glory caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and glanced at the partially closed library door. Her mother had not gotten up that morning; she never did when she had one of her headaches. Most times, when she had one of her headaches, Glory didn’t see her until dinner. Sometimes not even then.

Reassured, she returned her gaze to Danny’s. She tipped up her chin in challenge. “Can you handle that?”

He straightened and puffed out his narrow chest. “If you can, I can.”

“Good.” Glory rubbed her hands together. “The first thing we need to do is to move this chair over to the shelves. If we both push, I’ll bet we can do it.”

He climbed off the chair and together, giggling, they alternately pushed and pulled it across the room. They parked the chair directly underneath the Michelangelo book; Glory climbed up and a moment later, she closed her fingers over it.

The volume was large and heavy; Glory very nearly couldn’t get it off the shelf. She wiggled it to the edge, then lost her grip and it crashed to the floor, making a huge racket. Glory’s heart skipped a beat. She looked at Danny, he looked at her. They both turned toward the library door, half-frozen with the certainty that they were about to be found out.

One moment became many, and finally Glory was able to draw an even breath. She held a finger to her lips, then scrambled off the chair to retrieve the book. She opened it, flipped through, and found what she had been seeking. The sculpture was called David; he had curly hair and a pretty face.

And he was naked.

Cheeks burning, she lowered her eyes, almost afraid of what she might—or might not—see. But there it was, at the top of the man’s thighs, like pieces of rolled-up fruit or a cannoli.

Glory narrowed her eyes, studying. It looked so weird, so strange and out of place. She touched the photograph lightly, both intrigued and repelled. Did all men look like this? Did all men have a cannoli between their legs?

“No fair!” Danny craned his neck. “Let me see…let me see.”

Glory tore her gaze from the strange and beautiful image, though it took great effort. “Are you sure you’re old enough?”

He lifted his chin. “If you are, I am.”

“I’m two years older than you.”

“But I’m a boy.”

She glared up at him. “Big whip. I’m still older than you are.”

He stuck out his lower lip. “You promised.”

“Oh, all right. But don’t blame me.” Glory handed him the book. He looked at the page, his expression blank. “What?”

“That,” she said, reaching up and pointing.

He tipped his head, studying the image. “What?” he said again.

Cheeks on fire, Glory stood on tiptoe and pointed to the exact place in question, the rolled kernels of flesh at the apex of the man’s thighs. “That!”

“You mean, his penis?”

Glory stared at him aghast. A penis? It was called a penis?

“I have one, too. All boys do.”

All boys had a…penis. Dumbfounded, she climbed back onto the chair and took the book from Danny’s hands. Admittedly, she’d had little contact with boys. She attended an all-girls school, and other than Danny and a couple of distant cousins, she had never been allowed to spend time alone with boys.

Her mother had told her that was because nice girls didn’t associate with boys. But Glory knew that other boys and girls went to school together, that they played together. She had seen them over the estate wall, she had seen them get on the streetcar together, had seen them riding their bicycles, side by side, down the avenue. And she had listened to the other girls at school talk, girls who she had always thought were nice.

Glory frowned. But still, it smarted that little Danny, just out of kindergarten, was privy to this important information. It smarted, too, that he acted so casual about it, as if everyone knew about penises. Everyone but her, that was.

Danny was a boy, Glory remembered suddenly. That’s why he knew. He probably had no idea what girls had. She drew herself up to her full forty-eight inches and told him so.

“Girls have vaginas,” he said, nodding his head for emphasis.

She made a choked sound. “How do you know that?”

“My mom told me. Boys have penises, girls have vaginas. That’s the way God made us, special and unique.”

She drew her eyebrows together, confused and annoyed. “Then, it’s not a secret?”

“Heck, no.” He shook his head. “Everybody knows about ’em. Well, almost everybody,” he amended. “And my friend Nathan, he calls his penis a hooter.”

“Hooter,” she repeated, trying to adjust to all this new information. Why, she wondered, had her mother kept this from her? And why, when she had pointed to the man’s penis at the museum and asked about it, had her grandmère acted so weird, then dragged her off? It made no sense.

Glory looked at Danny, an idea coming to her. “Can I see yours?” she asked, surprising herself. “I mean, I’ve never seen a…a penis before.” The word felt strange on her tongue, and she blushed. “If you show me your penis, I’ll show you my vagina.”

“I don’t know,” he said, pursing his lips. “You might make fun of me. An’ what if we get caught?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t make fun, I promise. You’re my friend, and that wouldn’t be nice. And we’re not going to get caught. I just want to see.”

He thought a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

He pulled down his shorts and underpants. Glory made a sound of surprise and crouched in front of him to get a better look. He did have one. But it looked different than the one in the art book, and not like fruit or a cannoli at all. She narrowed her eyes and leaned closer, studying it. It was much smaller. And bumpier. Like a bumpy little cocktail frank.

A horrified gasp broke the quiet. Glory jerked her head up. Her mother stood in the doorway, her face pinched and white, her eyes wide and wild-looking. Even from across the room, Glory could see that she was shaking.

Glory swallowed hard, fear rising in her like a tidal wave. The book slid from her hands and hit the floor, falling open to the naked David. “Mama, I didn’t—”

“Whore,” her mother interrupted, advancing on her. “Dirty, little slut.”

Glory shook her head. She had only ever seen her mother look at her this way deep in the night, while she stood beside the bed staring down at her. She had never heard her speak those words before. They sounded ugly and they frightened her.

“Mama,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks, “I wasn’t doing anything. I didn’t mean—”

Hope grabbed Glory’s arm and yanked her off the chair. Glory landed on her knees, and her mother jerked her upright. Pain shot through her shoulder, and she cried out.

At her cry, Hope’s rage seemed to escalate instead of diminish. She closed her hands around Glory’s upper arms and shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “I will not allow such pernicious behavior in my house! Do you hear me? It’s evil and dirty. I will not allow it!”

“Mama…I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…it was Danny’s idea…He made me do it…he made me…Please, Mama…please…”

Danny, his shorts down around his thighs, began to cry, too, loud wails of despair.

Mrs. Cooper rushed into the library. “Madam, what’s—” She stopped, taking in the scene, her expression dismayed. “Oh, dear,” she said, hurrying forward. “Danny, love, what have you yourself gotten into?”

Danny’s tears became howls. “Didn’t do it, Granny! Wasn’t me! Wasn’t!”

Hope spun around, her hand raised as if to slap him. Mrs. Cooper darted between them. She pulled up Danny’s pants and gathered him into her arms. “Calm down, Mrs. St. Germaine. Children will be children. They were merely curious and no harm’s been done.”

“Get out!” Hope raged. “And take that…vile little beast with you. I never want to see either of you again. Is that clear?”

Mrs. Cooper reeled back, her expression stunned. “But, madam, certainly you don’t mean—”

“But I do.” She took a step toward the older woman, eyes narrowed. “Get out, now. Get out, for ‘God’s servant is an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. With eyes like blazing fire, he will strike down her children.’”

Mrs. Cooper paled. She took another step back, then turned and ran, Danny howling in her arms. Glory watched them go, a sense of horror stealing over her. This time, she had done something really bad. This time, her mother wouldn’t forgive her. Not ever. She began to shake.

Her mother turned to her, her expression suddenly, terrifyingly calm. “Now then, Glory, come with me.”

Glory shook her head, frozen to the spot with fear, trembling so violently she could hardly stand.

Bright spots of color burned her mother’s cheeks. “Very well.” She curled her fingers around Glory’s arm and half led, half dragged her out of the library and up the stairs. Hope took her to her bedroom, but not to the corner, as Glory expected, but to her private bathroom. She shut and locked the door behind them.

Glory scurried to the corner and huddled in it, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her mother went to the tub and shoved aside the frilly pink shower curtain, bent and twisted the faucets on. A moment later, steam billowed from the tub into the air.

“Mama,” Glory whispered, “I’ll be good. I promise, I will. I’ll be good.”

“You’ve sinned against the Lord. You must be punished. You must be cleansed.” Hope turned to her then, the expression in her eyes straight out of Glory’s nightmares. “Get in the tub.”

Glory shook her head, her teeth chattering. She tightened her arms around herself. “It wasn’t me, Mama. It was Danny. It was his idea. He made me do it. We were just playing.”

Her mother advanced on her. “Like Eve, you can’t be trusted. She took the apple, she tasted. You have The Darkness, Glory.”

Glory pressed herself farther back into the corner. “Please, Mama,” she said again, tears running down her face. “It wasn’t my fault, it was Danny’s. Please, Mama. You’re scaring me.”

“I will cleanse you of The Darkness,” Hope said, her voice devoid of emotion, more terrifying for its absence. She yanked Glory to her feet, stripped her roughly, then dragged her to the tub and forced her into the steaming water.

Glory screamed. Her mother held her down. “This is nothing compared to the burn of hell’s fire. Remember that, daughter.”

Hope bent and rummaged in the basket beside the large, marble tub. She drew out a nailbrush. “I will cleanse you,” she said again. “If I have to, I will scrub the flesh from your bones. You will be clean, daughter.”

The next minutes were a nightmare. Her mother raked the brush over her skin, scrubbing every inch and part of her, alternating between whispered prayer and shouted rage. Glory recognized biblical passages interspersed with words she had never heard before, creating disjointed, frightening thoughts she didn’t understand. Her mother spoke repeatedly of a bad seed and of sin, of darkness and light. She spoke of Glory’s birth, of The Beast and of a mission.

Glory’s skin burned; her most tender places bled. She felt hot, then trembled with the cold. Numbness stole over her; with it her physical pain lessened. Her sobs became whimpers; her whimpers, silent shudders of despair.

Finally, when Glory no longer had the strength to sit upright, her mother drew her from the tub. She dried Glory roughly, slipped a plain cotton gown over her head, then led her to the corner of her bedroom. She forced her onto her knees.

“You must see the evil of your ways.” She curved her fingers around Glory’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “You must see the evil and understand the folly of heeding its call.”

Shuddering, Glory lifted her gaze to her mother’s face. It swam before her eyes.

“The Darkness will not have you, Glory Alexandra St. Germaine. Do you understand me? I will not allow it to have you.”

Without another word, her mother left the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Chapter 11

Glory had no idea how long she remained on her knees in the corner, frozen with shock and grief, frozen with fear that if she moved, her mother would come upon her and fly into another rage.

Her skin burned as if on fire, every place and part of her body. The wooden floor bruised her knees. Her back ached; her head pounded.

But her heart hurt more. Much more.

Her father, not her mother, came for her. He didn’t speak, just scooped her into his arms and carried her to her bed. He sat on its edge and cradled her in his arms, murmuring sounds of love and comfort.

Glory sank into him, too weak to do more. She longed to tell him she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant to be such a bad, wicked girl, but she couldn’t make her mouth form the words. Just as she couldn’t cry, though she felt like weeping. She had cried herself dry hours ago.

The room grew dark. Still her father rocked her. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could block out the image of her mother’s face, twisted with rage, her eyes hot with something that had frightened Glory clear to her core.

And later, much later, as she lay alone in her bedroom, dark save for the closet light her father had left burning for her, she wished she could block out the sound of angry voices. Her mother’s. Her father’s.

Glory dragged the blankets over her head. She had never heard them shout at each other this way. And although she couldn’t make out much that they were saying, she heard her name, many times. She heard her daddy say divorce; she heard her mother laugh in response.

Glory hid her face in her pillow, guilt overwhelming her physical pain. She was to blame for her parents’ fight. If her parents divorced, that, too, would be her fault. She was to blame for kind Mrs. Cooper being fired. It was her fault Danny had cried.

Her fault, it was all her fault.

Guilt and fear mixed inside her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She had lied to her mother about Danny. She had told her mother that it had been Danny’s idea to look at the books, Danny’s idea to pull down his pants.

Glory drew in a strangled breath. She had promised Danny that everything would be all right. That they wouldn’t get caught.

But they had. And then she had lied.

She was bad and wicked, just as her mother said. She wouldn’t blame Danny if he never wanted to be her friend again.

Just as the rest of the household staff no longer wanted to be her friend, she learned the next morning as she sat alone at the breakfast table. They came and went, silently, their eyes averted or downcast. When they did happen to meet her eyes, they looked quickly away.

Glory wrapped her arms around her middle, eyes burning. Usually, the staff joked with her. Usually, they laughed and winked. No more, she thought, tears choking her. They knew that she had lied. They knew she was to blame for Mrs. Cooper’s being fired. They didn’t like her anymore. Now they thought she was bad, too.

Glory gazed at her plate, at her fried eggs, their gooey yellow yolks spilled across the china plate, and her stomach hurt. She hugged herself tighter and thought of Danny, of the way he had looked at her the day before. He had been her friend. He never would have lied about her to save himself.

She had betrayed him.

She hung her head, remembering all the times they had played together, remembering all the times he had made her smile when she was sad. She remembered, too, how Mrs. Cooper would bring her a snack when she had missed lunch because of one of her mother’s punishments, recalled the times the woman had allowed her a bit of something her mother had forbidden.