Forbidden Fruit
Authors: Erica Spindler
ERICA SPINDLER
and
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
Spindler delivers “a high adventure of love's triumph over twisted obsession.”
âPublishers Weekly
“Outstanding! This complex tale with its powerful characters and intense plot will glue you to your seat. Erica Spindler gives us an unforgettable twisted tale of passion, love, obsession and murder. This story is definitely a keeper, one you will want to take out and read again and again. A first-rate romantic thriller!”
âRendezvous
“In a story that masterfully sweeps generations and wraps readers up into mystery and excitement, Erica Spindler will delight.”
âRomantic Times
“A tremendous saga about the lives of three generations of women and the men who love them.”
âAffaire de Coeur
“â¦a tantalizing contemporary love story as steamy as its New Orleans setting. Vastly entertaining!”
âPaperback Forum
“Ms. Spindler keeps you on the edge of your seatâ¦.”
â
Rendezvous
IN SILENCE
DEAD RUN
BONE COLD
ALL FALL DOWN
CAUSE FOR ALARM
SHOCKING PINK
FORTUNE
RED
ERICA SPINDLER
SEE JANE DIE
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
To Melissa Senate
For all the years and all the books
My heartfelt thanks to the following people for their part in bringing
Forbidden Fruit
to life:
Linda Kay West
Lieutenant John Jackson
Sergeant Michael Pfeiffer
Metsy Hingle
Jan Hamilton Powell
Karen Stone
Cary Weissert
Dianne Moggy
Melissa Senate
Nathan Hoffman
Evan Marshall
and
MIRA Books
Vacherie, Louisiana
1959
H
ope Pierron sat in the window seat of her third floor bedroom and gazed out at the Mississippi River. She smiled to herself, anxiousness and excitement coiling in the pit of her gut. She controlled both with icy determination. She had waited all her life for this day; now that it had come, she would not reveal herself by appearing too eager.
She pressed a hand to the sun-warmed glass, wishing she could break it, leap out and fly to freedom. How many times during her fourteen years, years spent trapped within the red walls of this house, had she wished the same thing? To be a bird, to leap from the window and fly to freedom?
After today, she wouldn't need to wish for wings. After today, she would be free of this house. Of the stigma of sin. Free of her mother and all who she had known.
Today she would be reborn.
Hope closed her eyes, thinking of her future, yet picturing her past and this hated house, instead. The Pierron House had been a fixture on River Road, a part of the culture of southern Louisiana since the summer of 1917. That had been just before the demise of Storyville, when her grandmother Camellia, the first Pierron madam, had moved her daughter and her girls here.
Surprisingly, neither hue nor cry had erupted then, nor when the gentlemen began calling. All these years later, this house, the activities within, were still accepted, just as the heat and mosquitos of August were acceptedâwith resigned dismay and sugar-sweet disdain.
Hope supposed one could expect no less; after all, this was Louisiana, a place where food, drink and other sensory intoxicants were as much a part of day-to-day living as mass and confession. Louisianians accepted their penance with as much
joie de vivre
as they did their pleasure; they understood that in a strange way, The Pierron House represented both.
The building itself, a Greek Revival structure with twenty-eight imposing Doric columns and sweeping wraparound galleries, was an architectural wonder. Ironically, when the afternoon sun struck it just so, the house glowed a virginal, almost holy white. When the sun set, however, the illusion of holiness ended. The house came alive with the music of men the likes of Jelly Roll Morton and Tony Jackson, the walls rang with the laughter of those who had come to taste the forbidden fruit and of those who sold it.
Every evening of her life she had been forced to hear that laughter, had been forced to witness the regularity with which her mother's girls led their gentlemen up the serpentine staircase. Cloaked in a sinfully plush, bloodred carpet, those stairs led to the six large bedrooms on the second floor, bedrooms outfitted opulently with silks and brocades and large, soft beds.
Beds designed to make a man feel like a king or, on a particularly good night, a god.
For as long as she could remember, Hope had known what went on in those bedrooms. Just as she had known who and what she wasâthe whore's daughter, a trick baby, tainted by sin.
From secret places and small, unnoticed peepholes, Hope had watched with a mixture of fascination and horror the things that men and women did with each other. And sometimes, while the couple writhed on the bed, she would rock back and forth, her thighs pressed tightly together, her breath coming in small, uneven gasps.
Those were the times The Darkness held her in its grip, clamoring for unholy release.
Afterward, guilty and ashamed, Hope would punish herself. The way she touched herself, the things she watched, were wrong. Sinful. She had learned of her sin at mass and in catechism, as she sat alone because none of the other children would come near her. Yet, outside the church walls and inside these, such behavior was laudedâespecially by the men who laughed by night and averted their eyes by day.
At the creak of the stairs that led to her bedroom, Hope turned away from her window and faced the door. A moment later, her mother appeared in the doorway.
Lily Pierron was an incredible beauty, same as all the Pierron women had been. Her face and figure seemed not to have aged with the years; her hair was the same velvety blue-black it had been in Hope's childhood. The other whores commented on it behind her mother's back; Hope had heard them whispering. They speculated that Lily had made a pact with the devil. They speculated that all the Pierron women had.
All except Hope. Hope was not nearly as beautiful as her motherâher own hair was a deep brown instead of black, her eyes a watery rather than brilliant blue, her features sharp instead of soft.
She was not as beautiful because The Darkness was not as strong in her.
“Hello, Mama,” Hope murmured, fixing a sweet, sad smile on her mouth.
The older woman returned her melancholy smile and took a step into the room. “You look so grown-up standing there like that. For a moment, I hardly recognized you.”
Hope's heart began to thud against the wall of her chest. “It's just me, Mama.”
Her mother laughed softly and shook her head. “I know. But it seems only yesterday you were a baby.”
And only an eternity of yesterdays that she was a prisoner of this place.
“To me, too, Mama.”
Lily crossed to the bed and the suitcase that lay open on top of it. Hope saw the effort it took her mother to keep from falling apart, and wondered if her mother noticed that her daughter's eyes were dry, her hands and voice steady. She wondered what her mother would say if she knew the truth, if she knew that her only daughter planned to never see her again.
“Is this the last one?” her mother asked. “The car will be here any moment.”
“Yes. I've already taken the others down.”
Lily carefully tucked the final few items into the case, then closed the bag and fastened the clasps. “There.” She lifted her swimming gaze to Hope's. “All ready toâ¦go.” Her throat closed over the last, and the word came out choked.
Hope forced herself to cross to her mother. She caught Lily's hands with her own and brought them to her cheek. “It's going to be all right, Mama. Memphis isn't that far.”
“I know. It's just thatâ” Her mother drew in a ragged breath. “How am I going to manage without you? You're the best thingâ¦the only good thing in my life. I'm going to miss you desperately.”
Hope curved her arms around her mother, fighting a smile. She hid her face against her mother's shoulder. “I'm going to miss you, too. So much. Maybe I shouldn't go. Maybe I should stay and helpâ”
“No! Never!” Lily cupped Hope's face. “You will not end up like me. I won't allow it, do you hear? This is your chance to escape. It's what I've always wanted for you. It's why I named you Hope.” She tightened her fingers. “You were always my hope for the future. You mustn't stay.”
This time Hope couldn't contain her smile. “I'll make you proud, Mama. You wait and see.”
“I know you will.” Lily dropped her hands. “Everything's set. St. Mary's Academy is expecting you. You're from Meridian, Mississippi, the only child of wealthy parents.”
“Who travel abroad,” Hope filled in. She laced her fingers together, nervous suddenly. “What if someone discovers the truth? What if one of my classmates is from Meridian? What ifâ”
“No one will discover the truth. My friend has seen to everything. Not one other girl from Mississippi attends the academy. Even the headmistress believes you're Hope Penelope Perkins. No one will question your story. Feel better now?”
Hope searched her mother's expression, then nodded. She knew her mother's “friend” to be none other than the Governor of Tennessee. He and her mother went way back; Lily knew manyâif not allâof his darkest secrets. Secrets she would go to her grave with. Of course, such loyalty sometimes demanded returnâin the form of favors.
The sound of a horn sliced through the humid afternoon. Hope's heart flew to her throat, and she raced to the window. Three stories below, the airport shuttle idled in the driveway while Tom, the houseman, helped the driver load the bags.
Lily followed her to the window. “Dear Lord, it's time already.” She laid her hands on Hope's shoulders, her cheek against her hair. “I don't know how I'm going to bear this.”
Hope sucked in a deep breath, joy a living thing inside her. Almost free.
Just a few more minutes and she would never see her mother or this hated house again.
She struggled to keep from laughing out loud.
Her mother sighed, dropped her hands and took a step away. “We'd better go.”
“Yes, Mama.” Hope collected the suitcase, then she and her mother started for the stairs. Her mother's girls were waiting for them in the foyer. They each hugged and kissed Hope, they each wished her well and made her promise to write.
The youngest of the groupâa girl not much older than Hopeâhanded her an apple, lush and red and ripe. “In case you get hungry,” she said softly, her eyes bright with tears.
Hope took the girl's offering though the fruit burned like acid against her palm. She longed to fling it away and run, but forced herself to meet the whore's eyes and smile. “Thank you, Georgie. It was sweet of you to think of me.”
Hope stepped outside, her mother beside her. The breeze off the River was hot and slow, but sweet still; it washed over her, cleansing her of the stench of the house and its history. Her history.
Her mother drew her into her arms and clung to her. “My darling, darling baby, I will miss you so much.”
Hope fought the urge to tear herself from her mother's arms and race to the waiting vehicle. She allowed her mother to kiss her one last time, promising herself that she would never again have to endure her vile touch.
The touch of sin.
The driver cleared his throat. Hope said a silent thank-you and eased from her mother's grasp. “I have to go, Mama.”
“I know.” Lily curved her arms around her middle, battling tears. “Call me when you arrive.”
“I will,” Hope lied. “I promise.”
She started for the car, counting the steps. With each she felt as if another piece of her past was falling away from her, like layers of smothering clothing, ones made of wet, rotting wool.
The driver opened the door. She moved to get in, then stopped and looked over her shoulder at The House, at her mother standing in its shadow, at the whores, clustered in the doorway. Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile.
Today she was reborn as Hope Penelope Perkins. Today she left The Darkness behind.
Letting the apple slip from her fingers, she turned and stepped into the car.