Cousin Tony
Robert Boucheron
Ash Wednesday, late in the afternoon, a thin gray man in a dun-colored raincoat staggered out the door of a rural airport. Two large suitcases rumbled at his heels. Ahead, plowed fields and pastures stretched for miles in all directions.
A dark young man stood and smoked beside a yellow sedan. He wore headphones and stared at the passenger, who had a black smudge on his forehead.
“They got me,” he said, “right between the eyes.”
Wordlessly, the taxi driver hoisted the suitcases into the trunk, dropped his cigarette on the ground, and got in the car. The passenger sprawled in the back seat and stared out the window as if at a television screen. He had left New Orleans at the crack of dawn, threaded his way through a maze of corridors and security checks, and endured the cramped quarters of a jumbo jet and a propeller plane. Around midday, he had swallowed two crackers and a cup of ice water.
After an eternity of landscape, they entered Hapsburg, a Virginia courthouse town, all red brick and boxwood. There was no traffic. The driver found the address and rolled to a stop. He sprang from his seat, heaved the suitcases from the trunk, and stood them on the sidewalk beside a wrought-iron fence. The passenger gave him wad of bills.
“Too much!” The driver tried to give some money back.
“Keep the change. I only look like a worn-out hack. In reality, I’m a handsome tipper.”
With much thrusting back and forth, they compromised. The driver got in and eased away, shaking his head.
The man grasped the suitcase handles and toiled up the front walk. The house was substantial, built in the 1920s in a neocolonial style. The entry porch boasted two white columns with an arch and gable above, a perfect aedicule. The brass knocker made a resounding thump. The door swung open to reveal a ten-year old girl dressed in a spangled leotard. She wielded an aluminum baton.
“Cousin Tony!” she shrieked. “He’s here!” She dropped the baton in the middle of the hall and threw her arms around him.
“What a welcome! Don’t stand in the open door. You’ll catch your death in that outfit. How is my adorable Bug?”
Two middle-aged adults converged in the hall, as Bug rapidly recounted her life to this moment and tugged at Cousin Tony’s raincoat.
“Don’t tear it off me, you hussy! Eleanor, Armistead, so kind of you to shelter me once more. And Emily, just look at you! In the very flower of youth!”
A girl of sixteen descended the stair. Emily was a rose, fresh and graceful. She took Cousin Tony’s outstretched hand like a dance partner. As his other hand directed, she made a full turn, laughing with pleasure.
Eleanor Clough took the raincoat. Armistead Clough fetched the suitcases. Emily simply stood there, and Bug danced a jig.
“Elizabeth, stop that mad prancing,” Eleanor said. “And pick up your baton, please, before someone trips over it.”
“I hope the trip wasn’t too tiring,” Armistead said.
“Yes, sir. Flying may take less time, but one longs for the days of train travel. The service, the seats, the clickety-clack. You girls have no idea.”
“The romance of the rails,” Bug said. “You told us last year.”
“Armistead will take you up to your room,” Eleanor said, “the same one as before. Dinner will be ready when you are. I left towels on the bed.”
“What a relief to freshen up! I will only be a minute.”
“Girls, no pestering. You have two whole weeks. Cousin Tony, would you like a cocktail?”
“A small glass of sherry would not be amiss.”
“Can I take it up on a silver tray?” Bug asked, hopping up and down.
“Ask your father. He’s in charge of drinks.”
Bug bounded up the stair after Armistead, who was struggling with the suitcases.
“Daddy . . .”
“No, you may not. Let the man catch his breath.”
Cousin Tony followed them to a large bedroom with flowered wallpaper and a carved four-poster bed. He was winded from climbing the stair and smiled weakly. Armistead shooed his daughter out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.
“He looks completely worn out,” he said to his wife in the kitchen. She ladled a hearty stew into a tureen, as he poured glasses of sherry.
“He always does after Mardi Gras.”
“How old is he?”
“Around seventy-five, maybe older.”
“Tell me again why he’s here?”
“He and Mother are cousins of some kind. Their family is Boulonnais, and his given name is Antoine. Everyone called him Tony Baloney. As long as I can remember, he visited the first two weeks of Lent, ‘to rest and recuperate.’ As children, we loved to listen to his stories.”
“And when Adele moved to Shady Grove, you inherited him.”
She clapped a lid on the tureen. “If you don’t want him here, say so. I’ll make an excuse for next year.”
“I’m a grumpy, middle-aged banker, not an ogre.” He picked up a tray of glasses.
Thirty minutes later, the family sat at the dining room table. Cousin Tony had washed his face and run a wet comb through his hair, which clung in gray strands to his scalp.
“Eleanor, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said. “Everything is sumptuous.”
“I set the table,” Bug said.
“Young lady,” Armistead warned.
“Was Mardi Gras as crowded as last year?” Eleanor asked.
“So far as I could see. Every year it grows. Another parade, more floats and marchers. The hotels are packed, the streets are jammed with people, and you can’t go anywhere. Business grinds to a halt.”
“Except for bars and restaurants,” Armistead said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you make costumes again?” Emily asked.
“I designed, sewed, padded, fitted, altered, and accessorized. My fingers are worn down to nubbins. But that’s what I was placed on this earth to do, to make others look fabulous.”
“Who was your client this year?” Armistead asked.
“The Krewe of Xerxes. It’s a private club, very exclusive. Their theme is Ancient Persia, liberally interpreted.”
“Someday, I’d like to go to New Orleans, to see for myself,” Emily said.
“You must,” Cousin Tony said, “with a proper escort.”
“Can I go, too?” Bug asked.
“Maybe when you’re older,” Eleanor said. “You’ve seen pictures.”
“It’s not the same. I want to hear the music.”
“Cousin Tony, you hardly touched your plate,” Eleanor said. “Can I get you something else?”
“A thousand pardons, my dear. I gorged myself on airline snacks and cannot do justice to your delicious meal. If you permit, I will retire directly.”
Armistead pushed his chair back and offered to assist.
“Sir, you overwhelm me,” Cousin Tony said. He shook off his host’s arm, wended his way out of the dining room, and slowly climbed the stair.
The next day, the girls went off to school, and Eleanor took up a breakfast tray. Cousin Tony lay in bed, dozing and leafing through a magazine. His suitcases were open, their contents strewn across the room. He picked at a slice of toast and wet his lips with a cup of tea.
“I’m afraid my appetite is tardy. It was always fickle. And look at me, lazy bones.”
“You came to rest,” Eleanor said, “not to worry.”
“Thank you, Eleanor. You were always my favorite.”
Cousin Tony roused himself by noon. Eleanor had to go out, so she left a sandwich on a plate, with a note: “Help yourself to anything you want.” He made a cup of tea, nibbled the sandwich, and stared out the window. The sun was out, but the garden had nothing to admire. He glanced at the weekly newspaper. The front page carried a story about the county landfill and how new regulations might impact it.
“If that’s the most burning issue in this town . . .” he said.
Back in his room, Cousin Tony spent the afternoon unpacking. He shook out the hanging items and smoothed the folded items. Eleanor had cleared out the dresser and closet, which was liberally stocked with wooden and padded hangers. A more thoughtful hostess could not exist. By four-thirty, everything was stowed away, and the suitcases were shoved in the dark recess of the closet. An antique jewelry chest sat on the bed beside Cousin Tony. He was presentable in a pale blue cotton shirt and charcoal gray trousers, with matching oxblood leather belt and loafers.
When the girls returned from school, they went straight to his room. Emily was almost as excited as her younger sister.
“What did you bring us from Mardi Gras?” Bug asked.
“You’ll never guess,” he said.
“Bead necklaces?”
“Doubloons and pieces of eight?”
“Much better than that.” He patted the chest.
“Pirate treasure?”
“You’re getting warm.”
In an agony of suspense, Bug looked up and extended her arms beseechingly. Emily twitched with laughter.
“Both of you close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say.”
He turned a little key in the chest. He drew out a diamond necklace, draped it on Emily’s neck, and fastened the clasp. Then he took a tiara of pearls and placed it on Bug’s forehead.
“All right, you can look now.”
The girls stared at each other in amazement, then rushed for the mirror that hung over the dresser. Bug was too short to see more than the tip of the tiara.
“It’s not fair,” she wailed.
“Stand on this,” Cousin Tony said, moving a stool.
“It’s beautiful,” Emily said.
“Eyes tight. There’s more.”
Cousin Tony selected jeweled rings and slipped them on the girls’ fingers. Bracelets and bangles followed, gold and diamond earrings, a sapphire necklace for Bug, and a tiara set with a constellation of diamonds for Emily.
“There,” he said. “Covered with gold and gems, almost as precious as you are.”
Bug danced sedately in place, as she imagined a princess would do, while Emily gazed in the mirror, transfixed.
“These belonged to my grandmother Antoinette Guyon. She was the Queen of Mardi Gras the year of her engagement, and therefore entitled to gifts from her court. In those days, such gifts were genuine jewels, the finest to be had in New Orleans. Sterling silver was considered low class. Antoinette received pure gold, flawless diamonds, and other valuable gems, the very same ones you are wearing.”
The girls murmured in awe.
“The engagement was announced at Epiphany or Twelfth Night, when the balls and private parties commenced. The festivities reached a peak at Mardi Gras, then abruptly ceased, just as today. The wedding was celebrated shortly after Easter. My grandmother passed the jewels on to her daughter, who was of course my mother. Unfortunately, my sister died in infancy, so Mother passed them on to me. Now, as you know, I never married. You girls are the next unmarried kin, so the treasure passes to you.”
“Can I show Mama?” Bug asked.
Below them, the front door opened. Armistead Clough announced that he was home.
“I want to show Daddy,” Emily said.
“Off you go.”
The girls ran out of the room. Cousin Tony stayed seated on the bed beside the empty treasure chest. Voices floated up through the house. In a few minutes the girls did also, bedecked in their finery.
“Mama says I may wear one thing to dinner,” Bug said. “Or two if it’s the pair of the earrings. The rest has to go back for safe keeping.”
“Same here,” Emily said. “What should I wear?”
“The necklace, without question. Diamonds suit you.”
“Pick for me!” Bug said.
“A difficult decision. Your wrists and fingers are almost as thin as mine, so the rings and bracelet slide off. Never fear, you will grow into them. The tiara is adjustable. Anyway, it reveals your true personality.”
Bug giggled as he made the adjustment. She remained in a high state of glee all through dinner, earning a reprimand and nearly losing dessert. Emily was radiant. Her father could hardly take his eyes off her. Her mother saw with alarming clarity that Emily had become a woman.
Cousin Tony played with his fork and sipped a glass of water. He entertained the Cloughs with stories of life in New Orleans, the same ones he had told Eleanor decades before. No matter how far-fetched, they always ended with the phrase:
“And every word is true, St. Peter be my witness.”
For most of his stay, he kept to his room. They made an outing to Shady Grove to see Eleanor’s mother, but the visit was not a success. Adele had grown increasingly vague over the past year. She recognized her daughter, but not Emily and Elizabeth.
“Such lovely girls to volunteer in a place like this.”
She dismissed the wizened stranger.
“No, you must be mistaken. Cousin Tony was witty and dashing. He danced divinely and had flaxen hair. All the girls adored him. I wonder who got him in the end?”
The two girls exchanged a look. Before they could burst into laughter, Eleanor cut in.
“Mother, Cousin Tony stayed in New Orleans and has a career as a designer.” She glanced at him for confirmation. “He still comes to visit at the start of Lent.”
“And Eleanor graciously takes me in, Cousin Addie. Let not gray locks deceive you.”
She peered at him and shook her head.
“The years have not been kind,” he said.
At the end of two weeks, Cousin Tony packed his suitcases, produced his return flight ticket, and telephoned for a taxi. Armistead had left for the bank, and the girls were in school.
“Are you sure you won’t stay longer?” Eleanor asked.
“I feel wonderfully restored. Your ministrations have worked to marvelous effect. Thank you again, Eleanor.”
“Please take care. Come back next year.”
“If circumstances permit.”
“And on behalf of the girls, thank you for the gifts.”
“They deserve all the love in the world. You did well, Eleanor.”
The taxi arrived, the same one that delivered Cousin Tony. The same driver fetched his suitcases, then reinserted his earphones for the interminable drive to the airport.
That evening, Armistead and Eleanor talked as they got ready for bed.
“How did the departure go?”
“He looked as tired as when he came. He ate no more than a few mouthfuls. I’ll make sure the girls write thank-you notes.”
“For costume jewelry, it looks convincing. Does Bug understand the difference?”
“Maybe not. She’s under his spell. Even Emily would like to believe that it’s real.”
Through spring and summer, Emily and Bug played dress-up with the jewelry. Then it migrated to the attic, where outdated clothes, cardboard boxes, old photographs, and Christmas decorations were stored. Emily had already left childhood behind. Her attention was fixed on boys, dating, and the intricacies of calculus. Like her father, she excelled at mathematics. Bug focused on baton twirling. A born athlete, she practiced every day and scorned any pursuit not twirling-related.
In autumn, the annual rummage sale at St. Giles Episcopal Church was an early indicator of the holiday season, the leading edge of the storm. The Clough family always donated something. Standing in the attic, her arms full of coats and dresses, Eleanor noticed the antique chest with its key in the embossed lock. The girls had not been near it for months. She added it to her pile. At the dinner table that night, she brought up the subject.
“The Mardi Gras loot from Cousin Tony, is it all right if that goes to the rummage sale?”
Emily did a double-take.
“I forgot all about it,” she said. “Sure.”
Bug looked up blankly and opened her mouth. A pea fell on her plate.
“Do not talk with food in your mouth,” Eleanor said.
Bug nodded assent.
Several days later, Vernita Swank pulled Eleanor aside in the vestibule of St. Giles. It was Sunday morning, after the service. The choir had performed admirably, and the rector stood in the open door, shaking hands and greeting his flock.
“Thank you for the generous offering, Eleanor. I’m the coordinator for the rummage sale this year. As we sorted through the wonderful array of items, the box of jewelry caught everyone’s eye. To err on the side of caution, I asked Lenny Abraham to look at it. He has the shop in Winchester, you know. Good imitations can cost quite a bit, and I wanted to price it fairly. Lenny came back all excited: ‘Where did you get this? Do you know what this is worth? It’s all 24-carat gold, real diamonds and emeralds, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.’”
“I had no idea. What did you do?”
“We took the jewelry to People’s Bank and put it in a safe deposit box. Your husband is the president, I know, but he was busy at the time. I thought you should be informed.”
“Thank you, Vernita. I’m stunned.”
“We cannot accept such a donation, of course. I can only imagine how the mix-up occurred.”
That night, Eleanor phoned New Orleans. A man’s voice answered, low and gruff.
“Hello, I was trying to reach Tony Boulonnais.”
“He ain’t here.”
“Can you tell me when he’ll return? Can I leave a message?”
“No.”
“Did I dial the wrong number?”
“No, this is his number. Who are you?”
“Eleanor Clough in Virginia. I’m his cousin.”
“Oh, you the lady he visited in February.”
“Yes. And who are you?”
“Luther. A friend.”
“Did something happen?”
“Well, uh . . . Tony passed away.”
“Passed away?”
“In the hot summer.”
“What did he die of?”
“Stomach cancer. Ate him up from inside. I told him not to go on no trip. You couldn’t tell that man nothing.”
“Sorry.”
“He’s in a better place now.”
“The reason I called. . . He left some jewelry with us. We didn’t realize what it was until today. It’s quite valuable, worth a fortune. Do you know anything about it?”
“I never saw it, but I sure enough heard about it. He told that story about his grandmother being Queen of Mardi Gras.”
“So the story wasn’t true?”
“Half what he said was made up. The other half came out of a book.”
“Then where did the jewelry come from?”
“Lady, if I knew that, we wouldn’t be shooting the breeze this way. I’d be a rich sonofabitch somewhere the hell out of Louisiana.”
“Tony never mentioned you.”
“That don’t surprise me. He wasn’t exactly open, given the social situation. You know, black and white, and that other.”
“I wanted to send the jewelry back to Tony. I thought he would need it more than my daughters. Should I send it to you?”
“If he gave that jewelry to your girls, he meant it. Don’t matter where it came from. For all we know, he got it in trade.”
“Trade?”
“Favors of a sexual nature. Tony was sought-after in days gone by, much in demand. That was before my time.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Seems like you don’t know a dying man when you see one.”
Eleanor was speechless.
“I need to go now. Whatever you do, you watch those girls.”
Luther hung up before she could reply.
A dark young man stood and smoked beside a yellow sedan. He wore headphones and stared at the passenger, who had a black smudge on his forehead.
“They got me,” he said, “right between the eyes.”
Wordlessly, the taxi driver hoisted the suitcases into the trunk, dropped his cigarette on the ground, and got in the car. The passenger sprawled in the back seat and stared out the window as if at a television screen. He had left New Orleans at the crack of dawn, threaded his way through a maze of corridors and security checks, and endured the cramped quarters of a jumbo jet and a propeller plane. Around midday, he had swallowed two crackers and a cup of ice water.
After an eternity of landscape, they entered Hapsburg, a Virginia courthouse town, all red brick and boxwood. There was no traffic. The driver found the address and rolled to a stop. He sprang from his seat, heaved the suitcases from the trunk, and stood them on the sidewalk beside a wrought-iron fence. The passenger gave him wad of bills.
“Too much!” The driver tried to give some money back.
“Keep the change. I only look like a worn-out hack. In reality, I’m a handsome tipper.”
With much thrusting back and forth, they compromised. The driver got in and eased away, shaking his head.
The man grasped the suitcase handles and toiled up the front walk. The house was substantial, built in the 1920s in a neocolonial style. The entry porch boasted two white columns with an arch and gable above, a perfect aedicule. The brass knocker made a resounding thump. The door swung open to reveal a ten-year old girl dressed in a spangled leotard. She wielded an aluminum baton.
“Cousin Tony!” she shrieked. “He’s here!” She dropped the baton in the middle of the hall and threw her arms around him.
“What a welcome! Don’t stand in the open door. You’ll catch your death in that outfit. How is my adorable Bug?”
Two middle-aged adults converged in the hall, as Bug rapidly recounted her life to this moment and tugged at Cousin Tony’s raincoat.
“Don’t tear it off me, you hussy! Eleanor, Armistead, so kind of you to shelter me once more. And Emily, just look at you! In the very flower of youth!”
A girl of sixteen descended the stair. Emily was a rose, fresh and graceful. She took Cousin Tony’s outstretched hand like a dance partner. As his other hand directed, she made a full turn, laughing with pleasure.
Eleanor Clough took the raincoat. Armistead Clough fetched the suitcases. Emily simply stood there, and Bug danced a jig.
“Elizabeth, stop that mad prancing,” Eleanor said. “And pick up your baton, please, before someone trips over it.”
“I hope the trip wasn’t too tiring,” Armistead said.
“Yes, sir. Flying may take less time, but one longs for the days of train travel. The service, the seats, the clickety-clack. You girls have no idea.”
“The romance of the rails,” Bug said. “You told us last year.”
“Armistead will take you up to your room,” Eleanor said, “the same one as before. Dinner will be ready when you are. I left towels on the bed.”
“What a relief to freshen up! I will only be a minute.”
“Girls, no pestering. You have two whole weeks. Cousin Tony, would you like a cocktail?”
“A small glass of sherry would not be amiss.”
“Can I take it up on a silver tray?” Bug asked, hopping up and down.
“Ask your father. He’s in charge of drinks.”
Bug bounded up the stair after Armistead, who was struggling with the suitcases.
“Daddy . . .”
“No, you may not. Let the man catch his breath.”
Cousin Tony followed them to a large bedroom with flowered wallpaper and a carved four-poster bed. He was winded from climbing the stair and smiled weakly. Armistead shooed his daughter out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.
“He looks completely worn out,” he said to his wife in the kitchen. She ladled a hearty stew into a tureen, as he poured glasses of sherry.
“He always does after Mardi Gras.”
“How old is he?”
“Around seventy-five, maybe older.”
“Tell me again why he’s here?”
“He and Mother are cousins of some kind. Their family is Boulonnais, and his given name is Antoine. Everyone called him Tony Baloney. As long as I can remember, he visited the first two weeks of Lent, ‘to rest and recuperate.’ As children, we loved to listen to his stories.”
“And when Adele moved to Shady Grove, you inherited him.”
She clapped a lid on the tureen. “If you don’t want him here, say so. I’ll make an excuse for next year.”
“I’m a grumpy, middle-aged banker, not an ogre.” He picked up a tray of glasses.
Thirty minutes later, the family sat at the dining room table. Cousin Tony had washed his face and run a wet comb through his hair, which clung in gray strands to his scalp.
“Eleanor, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said. “Everything is sumptuous.”
“I set the table,” Bug said.
“Young lady,” Armistead warned.
“Was Mardi Gras as crowded as last year?” Eleanor asked.
“So far as I could see. Every year it grows. Another parade, more floats and marchers. The hotels are packed, the streets are jammed with people, and you can’t go anywhere. Business grinds to a halt.”
“Except for bars and restaurants,” Armistead said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you make costumes again?” Emily asked.
“I designed, sewed, padded, fitted, altered, and accessorized. My fingers are worn down to nubbins. But that’s what I was placed on this earth to do, to make others look fabulous.”
“Who was your client this year?” Armistead asked.
“The Krewe of Xerxes. It’s a private club, very exclusive. Their theme is Ancient Persia, liberally interpreted.”
“Someday, I’d like to go to New Orleans, to see for myself,” Emily said.
“You must,” Cousin Tony said, “with a proper escort.”
“Can I go, too?” Bug asked.
“Maybe when you’re older,” Eleanor said. “You’ve seen pictures.”
“It’s not the same. I want to hear the music.”
“Cousin Tony, you hardly touched your plate,” Eleanor said. “Can I get you something else?”
“A thousand pardons, my dear. I gorged myself on airline snacks and cannot do justice to your delicious meal. If you permit, I will retire directly.”
Armistead pushed his chair back and offered to assist.
“Sir, you overwhelm me,” Cousin Tony said. He shook off his host’s arm, wended his way out of the dining room, and slowly climbed the stair.
The next day, the girls went off to school, and Eleanor took up a breakfast tray. Cousin Tony lay in bed, dozing and leafing through a magazine. His suitcases were open, their contents strewn across the room. He picked at a slice of toast and wet his lips with a cup of tea.
“I’m afraid my appetite is tardy. It was always fickle. And look at me, lazy bones.”
“You came to rest,” Eleanor said, “not to worry.”
“Thank you, Eleanor. You were always my favorite.”
Cousin Tony roused himself by noon. Eleanor had to go out, so she left a sandwich on a plate, with a note: “Help yourself to anything you want.” He made a cup of tea, nibbled the sandwich, and stared out the window. The sun was out, but the garden had nothing to admire. He glanced at the weekly newspaper. The front page carried a story about the county landfill and how new regulations might impact it.
“If that’s the most burning issue in this town . . .” he said.
Back in his room, Cousin Tony spent the afternoon unpacking. He shook out the hanging items and smoothed the folded items. Eleanor had cleared out the dresser and closet, which was liberally stocked with wooden and padded hangers. A more thoughtful hostess could not exist. By four-thirty, everything was stowed away, and the suitcases were shoved in the dark recess of the closet. An antique jewelry chest sat on the bed beside Cousin Tony. He was presentable in a pale blue cotton shirt and charcoal gray trousers, with matching oxblood leather belt and loafers.
When the girls returned from school, they went straight to his room. Emily was almost as excited as her younger sister.
“What did you bring us from Mardi Gras?” Bug asked.
“You’ll never guess,” he said.
“Bead necklaces?”
“Doubloons and pieces of eight?”
“Much better than that.” He patted the chest.
“Pirate treasure?”
“You’re getting warm.”
In an agony of suspense, Bug looked up and extended her arms beseechingly. Emily twitched with laughter.
“Both of you close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say.”
He turned a little key in the chest. He drew out a diamond necklace, draped it on Emily’s neck, and fastened the clasp. Then he took a tiara of pearls and placed it on Bug’s forehead.
“All right, you can look now.”
The girls stared at each other in amazement, then rushed for the mirror that hung over the dresser. Bug was too short to see more than the tip of the tiara.
“It’s not fair,” she wailed.
“Stand on this,” Cousin Tony said, moving a stool.
“It’s beautiful,” Emily said.
“Eyes tight. There’s more.”
Cousin Tony selected jeweled rings and slipped them on the girls’ fingers. Bracelets and bangles followed, gold and diamond earrings, a sapphire necklace for Bug, and a tiara set with a constellation of diamonds for Emily.
“There,” he said. “Covered with gold and gems, almost as precious as you are.”
Bug danced sedately in place, as she imagined a princess would do, while Emily gazed in the mirror, transfixed.
“These belonged to my grandmother Antoinette Guyon. She was the Queen of Mardi Gras the year of her engagement, and therefore entitled to gifts from her court. In those days, such gifts were genuine jewels, the finest to be had in New Orleans. Sterling silver was considered low class. Antoinette received pure gold, flawless diamonds, and other valuable gems, the very same ones you are wearing.”
The girls murmured in awe.
“The engagement was announced at Epiphany or Twelfth Night, when the balls and private parties commenced. The festivities reached a peak at Mardi Gras, then abruptly ceased, just as today. The wedding was celebrated shortly after Easter. My grandmother passed the jewels on to her daughter, who was of course my mother. Unfortunately, my sister died in infancy, so Mother passed them on to me. Now, as you know, I never married. You girls are the next unmarried kin, so the treasure passes to you.”
“Can I show Mama?” Bug asked.
Below them, the front door opened. Armistead Clough announced that he was home.
“I want to show Daddy,” Emily said.
“Off you go.”
The girls ran out of the room. Cousin Tony stayed seated on the bed beside the empty treasure chest. Voices floated up through the house. In a few minutes the girls did also, bedecked in their finery.
“Mama says I may wear one thing to dinner,” Bug said. “Or two if it’s the pair of the earrings. The rest has to go back for safe keeping.”
“Same here,” Emily said. “What should I wear?”
“The necklace, without question. Diamonds suit you.”
“Pick for me!” Bug said.
“A difficult decision. Your wrists and fingers are almost as thin as mine, so the rings and bracelet slide off. Never fear, you will grow into them. The tiara is adjustable. Anyway, it reveals your true personality.”
Bug giggled as he made the adjustment. She remained in a high state of glee all through dinner, earning a reprimand and nearly losing dessert. Emily was radiant. Her father could hardly take his eyes off her. Her mother saw with alarming clarity that Emily had become a woman.
Cousin Tony played with his fork and sipped a glass of water. He entertained the Cloughs with stories of life in New Orleans, the same ones he had told Eleanor decades before. No matter how far-fetched, they always ended with the phrase:
“And every word is true, St. Peter be my witness.”
For most of his stay, he kept to his room. They made an outing to Shady Grove to see Eleanor’s mother, but the visit was not a success. Adele had grown increasingly vague over the past year. She recognized her daughter, but not Emily and Elizabeth.
“Such lovely girls to volunteer in a place like this.”
She dismissed the wizened stranger.
“No, you must be mistaken. Cousin Tony was witty and dashing. He danced divinely and had flaxen hair. All the girls adored him. I wonder who got him in the end?”
The two girls exchanged a look. Before they could burst into laughter, Eleanor cut in.
“Mother, Cousin Tony stayed in New Orleans and has a career as a designer.” She glanced at him for confirmation. “He still comes to visit at the start of Lent.”
“And Eleanor graciously takes me in, Cousin Addie. Let not gray locks deceive you.”
She peered at him and shook her head.
“The years have not been kind,” he said.
At the end of two weeks, Cousin Tony packed his suitcases, produced his return flight ticket, and telephoned for a taxi. Armistead had left for the bank, and the girls were in school.
“Are you sure you won’t stay longer?” Eleanor asked.
“I feel wonderfully restored. Your ministrations have worked to marvelous effect. Thank you again, Eleanor.”
“Please take care. Come back next year.”
“If circumstances permit.”
“And on behalf of the girls, thank you for the gifts.”
“They deserve all the love in the world. You did well, Eleanor.”
The taxi arrived, the same one that delivered Cousin Tony. The same driver fetched his suitcases, then reinserted his earphones for the interminable drive to the airport.
That evening, Armistead and Eleanor talked as they got ready for bed.
“How did the departure go?”
“He looked as tired as when he came. He ate no more than a few mouthfuls. I’ll make sure the girls write thank-you notes.”
“For costume jewelry, it looks convincing. Does Bug understand the difference?”
“Maybe not. She’s under his spell. Even Emily would like to believe that it’s real.”
Through spring and summer, Emily and Bug played dress-up with the jewelry. Then it migrated to the attic, where outdated clothes, cardboard boxes, old photographs, and Christmas decorations were stored. Emily had already left childhood behind. Her attention was fixed on boys, dating, and the intricacies of calculus. Like her father, she excelled at mathematics. Bug focused on baton twirling. A born athlete, she practiced every day and scorned any pursuit not twirling-related.
In autumn, the annual rummage sale at St. Giles Episcopal Church was an early indicator of the holiday season, the leading edge of the storm. The Clough family always donated something. Standing in the attic, her arms full of coats and dresses, Eleanor noticed the antique chest with its key in the embossed lock. The girls had not been near it for months. She added it to her pile. At the dinner table that night, she brought up the subject.
“The Mardi Gras loot from Cousin Tony, is it all right if that goes to the rummage sale?”
Emily did a double-take.
“I forgot all about it,” she said. “Sure.”
Bug looked up blankly and opened her mouth. A pea fell on her plate.
“Do not talk with food in your mouth,” Eleanor said.
Bug nodded assent.
Several days later, Vernita Swank pulled Eleanor aside in the vestibule of St. Giles. It was Sunday morning, after the service. The choir had performed admirably, and the rector stood in the open door, shaking hands and greeting his flock.
“Thank you for the generous offering, Eleanor. I’m the coordinator for the rummage sale this year. As we sorted through the wonderful array of items, the box of jewelry caught everyone’s eye. To err on the side of caution, I asked Lenny Abraham to look at it. He has the shop in Winchester, you know. Good imitations can cost quite a bit, and I wanted to price it fairly. Lenny came back all excited: ‘Where did you get this? Do you know what this is worth? It’s all 24-carat gold, real diamonds and emeralds, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.’”
“I had no idea. What did you do?”
“We took the jewelry to People’s Bank and put it in a safe deposit box. Your husband is the president, I know, but he was busy at the time. I thought you should be informed.”
“Thank you, Vernita. I’m stunned.”
“We cannot accept such a donation, of course. I can only imagine how the mix-up occurred.”
That night, Eleanor phoned New Orleans. A man’s voice answered, low and gruff.
“Hello, I was trying to reach Tony Boulonnais.”
“He ain’t here.”
“Can you tell me when he’ll return? Can I leave a message?”
“No.”
“Did I dial the wrong number?”
“No, this is his number. Who are you?”
“Eleanor Clough in Virginia. I’m his cousin.”
“Oh, you the lady he visited in February.”
“Yes. And who are you?”
“Luther. A friend.”
“Did something happen?”
“Well, uh . . . Tony passed away.”
“Passed away?”
“In the hot summer.”
“What did he die of?”
“Stomach cancer. Ate him up from inside. I told him not to go on no trip. You couldn’t tell that man nothing.”
“Sorry.”
“He’s in a better place now.”
“The reason I called. . . He left some jewelry with us. We didn’t realize what it was until today. It’s quite valuable, worth a fortune. Do you know anything about it?”
“I never saw it, but I sure enough heard about it. He told that story about his grandmother being Queen of Mardi Gras.”
“So the story wasn’t true?”
“Half what he said was made up. The other half came out of a book.”
“Then where did the jewelry come from?”
“Lady, if I knew that, we wouldn’t be shooting the breeze this way. I’d be a rich sonofabitch somewhere the hell out of Louisiana.”
“Tony never mentioned you.”
“That don’t surprise me. He wasn’t exactly open, given the social situation. You know, black and white, and that other.”
“I wanted to send the jewelry back to Tony. I thought he would need it more than my daughters. Should I send it to you?”
“If he gave that jewelry to your girls, he meant it. Don’t matter where it came from. For all we know, he got it in trade.”
“Trade?”
“Favors of a sexual nature. Tony was sought-after in days gone by, much in demand. That was before my time.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Seems like you don’t know a dying man when you see one.”
Eleanor was speechless.
“I need to go now. Whatever you do, you watch those girls.”
Luther hung up before she could reply.
