Free Landry 05 Tarnished Gold by V. C. Andrews Page B

palm. I kept my eyes low. Suddenly he turned sharply to me.
"You didn't offer yourself to this man, didja, Gabriel?"
"Oh no, Daddy."
"You was just swimming in your pond and he come on you?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"And you tried to get away, but he wouldn't let you?" "He took my clothes," I said.
"That low-down . . . rich . ." Daddy's eyes got so small, I didn't think he could see the road. The tires squealed as we went around a turn.
"Where are we going, Daddy?"
"You just keep your head low and your mouth closed until I tell you to speak, understand, Gabriel?"
"Yes, Daddy."
A short while later, we drove over the gravel in front of the Tate Cannery. Daddy brought the truck to a sharp stop, the wheels sliding and jerking.
"Come on," he said, opening the door.
I got out slowly. Daddy came around the truck and seized my left hand. He marched us up to the office door and pulled so hard on the knob, the door nearly came off the jamb. Mr. Tate's secretary, Margot Purcel, looked up from her desk sharply. She was typing an invoice, but when her eyes fell on Daddy, they widened and she looked terrified.
"Where is he?" Daddy demanded.
"Sir?"
"Don't you 'sir' me. Where's Tate?"
"Mr. Tate's on the telephone in his office," she said. "Can I tell him why you want to see him?"
She started to rise.
Daddy glared at her and just tugged me once toward the inner office door.
"Sir!"
Daddy opened the door and pushed me in ahead of him. Then he slammed the door behind us.
Octavious Tate sat behind a large, dark hickory desk. He wore a cream shirt and tie and had his suit jacket over the back of the chair. The fan in the corner hummed and created a nice breeze that circulated around the office. The shades on the - east side were drawn to block out the late morning sunlight, but the shades were up on the west side, so we could see the trucks loading up and men working.
Mr. Tate was on the phone, but he told whomever he was speaking to that he would call him back and quietly returned the black receiver to its cradle. Then he sat back.
"What is this?" he asked so calmly, I wondered for the moment if I had indeed dreamed everything.
"You know what this is," Daddy said.
Mr. Tate shifted his eyes to me, but I did what Daddy had told me to do and looked down.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Landry. I'm a busy man. You've got no right to come busting in my office. If you don't turn around and just march out that door,
Daddy walked up to his desk and slapped his hand down. Then he leaned over until his face wasn't a foot from Mr. Tate's.
"That's my daughter standing there and she's pregnant with your baby. You done raped her in the swamp, Tate."
"What? Now . . . see . . . see here," Mr. Tate stammered. "I did no such thing."
Daddy straightened up and gave him a crooked smile.
"Everyone knows my daughter ain't no liar." He stepped to the side. "This the man who jumped you, Gabriel?" he asked.
I lifted my head slowly and looked at Mr. Tate. He curled his lips in and stared at me.
"Yes," I said softly.
"Well?" Daddy said.
"I don't care what she claims. It's ridiculous."
"You're going to pay, Tate. It's either going to be easy or hard, but you're going to pay."
Mr. Tate swallowed hard and then gathered his strength. He lifted the receiver again. "I'm going to call the police and have you arrested if you're not out of this office in ten seconds," he threatened.
"Okay then," Daddy said. "It will be hard."
He spun around, scooped my hand into his, and jerked the office door open. Without closing it behind us, he marched us out. Margot Purcel stood up and looked toward the inner office as we went past her and out the door.
"Get in the truck," Daddy said.
"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