"Now don't you fret, dear," Mrs. Penny said. "I have storage space you can have."
"I didn't bring my things to put them into storage. I brought them to use."
"Oh dear," Mrs. Penny said, turning to Daddy.
"It'll be all right," he assured her. "We'll bring in what is most necessary first, and then—"
"Everything is most necessary," Gisselle declared unrelentingly.
"Maybe she can put some of her things in Abby's room too," Mrs. Penny suggested. "Abby's by herself," she added.
"Who's Abby? Where is she?" Gisselle demanded.
"She hasn't arrived yet. She's our other new girl," Mrs. Penny said, directing herself to Daddy, who nodded. "Whatever, don't you worry your little heart, dear. Mrs. Penny is here to make things work and keep her girls happy. I have been doing it for a long time," she said, smiling. Gisselle turned away and pouted.
"Let me start bringing their things in," Daddy said. "Do you want me to help, Daddy?" I asked.
"No. Stay with your sister," he said, raising his eyebrows. I nodded, and he left with Mrs. Penny.
Jacqueline, Kate, Samantha, and Vicki gathered in our doorway.
"Why did you bring so much?" Vicki asked. "Didn't you know you don't need a big wardrobe? We wear uniforms."
"I will not wear a uniform!" Gisselle screamed.
"You have to," Kate said and followed it with a short laugh.
"I don't have to. I can't. I have special problems," Gisselle declared. "I'm sure my father will arrange for my wearing my own clothing, and there just isn't enough closet space in here for all my things. They'll have to remain in the trunks, taking up the little space we have."
Vicki shrugged. "You don't spend all that much time in your room anyway," she pointed out. "Most of the time we're out here doing our work."
"Most of the time you are," Jacqueline said. "Not us. So what part of Louisiana are you girls from?"
"New Orleans," I said. "The Garden District."
"That's beautiful," the doll-like Samantha said. "My daddy took me there last year when we visited New Orleans. Maybe I walked right past your house."
Gisselle turned her wheelchair so she could look more directly at the girls.
"And where are you all from?"
"I'm from Shreveport," Jacqueline said. "Chubs is from Pineville, and Vicki is from Lafayette."
"My father and I live in Natchez," Samantha said. "What happened to your mother?" Gisselle asked. "She was killed two years ago in a car accident," she replied and bit down on her lower lip quickly, all of her dimples evaporating.
"That's how I got crippled," Gisselle said angrily. It was as if she believed all the accidents were the fault of cars and not people. "If you're from Mississippi, how come you're going to school here?" Gisselle asked.
"My father's family is from Baton Rouge."
"Everyone's room is this small?" Gisselle asked, looking around.
"Yes," Jacqueline said.
"How come this Abby gets her own room?" Gisselle demanded.
"It's the way it worked out," Kate said and laughed. "The luck of the draw, maybe."
"Or maybe no one wants to room with her. We haven't met her yet either," Jacqueline said.
"You don't think she's . . ." Kate began.
"No," Jacqueline said. "They don't let them into Greenwood, no matter who protests. This is a private school," she added with some pride.
"Well, she'd better get here soon," Vicki said. "We've got to go to the orientation assembly in an hour."
"What orientation assembly?" Gisselle asked quickly.
"Didn't you read the first page in your packet? The Iron Lady always has a getting-to-know-you and getting-to-know-her assembly."
"Where she reads us the riot act," Jacqueline added. "Fire and brimstone."
"Iron Lady?" I said.
"When you hear and see her, you'll know why we call her that," Jacqueline replied.
"They're not serious about all these stupid rules listed in here, are they?" Gisselle asked, holding up the packet.
"She is, and you had better pay attention to the demerits. Chubs can tell you about that," Jacqueline said, nodding at Kate.
"Why?" I asked.
"I got ten last year and had to wash out the bathrooms for a whole month," she complained. "And don't let anyone tell you girls are neater than boys. They leave the bathrooms disgusting," she said,
"You won't ever see me washing any bathrooms," Gisselle said.
"I doubt she would punish you that way," Vicki said.
"Why?" Gisselle demanded sharply. "Because I'm in a wheelchair?"
"Of course," Vicki said, undaunted. Gisselle considered a moment and then smiled. "Maybe this isn't so bad then. Maybe I can get away with a lot more than the rest of you."
"I wouldn't count on it," Jacqueline said.
"Why?"
"After you meet the Iron Lady, you'll see yourself."
"It's not all bad," Samantha said, "This is a good school. And we have fun."
"What about boys?" Gisselle inquired. Samantha blushed. She seemed frozen at the border separating childhood and adolescence, someone shocked and confused by her own sexuality. Later, I would discover that she was overly protected and spoiled by her father.
"What about them?" Vicki asked.
"Do you ever get to meet any?" Gisselle spelled it out.
"Of course. At the socials. Boys from proper boys' schools are invited. We have a dance once a month."
"How peachy! Once a month, just like a period," Gisselle quipped.
"What?" Samantha said, her little heart-shaped face in shock. Kate giggled and Jacqueline smirked.
"A period," Gisselle repeated. "You know what that is, or haven't you gotten yours yet?"
"Gisselle," I cried, but not before Samantha's face had turned bright crimson as the other girls laughed.
"Oh, how nice," Mrs. Penny said, following Daddy and our driver in with some of our things, "the girls are already getting along. I told you everything would be all right," she said to Daddy.
3
Getting Along
A half-hour before we all had to leave for the main building to attend Mrs. Ironwood's assembly, Abby Tyler and her parents arrived. I thought she was the prettiest of us all. About my height; but slim with dainty features like Audrey Hepburn, Abby had turquoise eyes and thick ebony hair, the strands brushed straight to her shoulders. Her rich, dark complexion was almost mocha, suggesting she had spent a great deal more time than the rest of us at the beach.
She spoke with a soft, melodic voice, her accent clipped and different, with some French intonation, obviously influenced by her mother's side. When she smiled at me, I felt there was something sincere about her. Like us, she was tentative and unsure of herself, being a Greenwood student for the first time.
After she was introduced to all the girls, Mrs. Penny asked her if she minded having some of Gisselle's things in her room. I knew that Gisselle didn't want to appear that she was asking anyone for anything, but Abby was very cooperative.
"Oh, no," she said, smiling at Gisselle. "Come in and use whatever space you want."
"I hate the idea of having to go from room to room to get my own things," Gisselle whined.
"You just tell me what you want when you want it and fetch it for you," I said quickly.
"Or I'll be glad to bring it to you," Abby offered. She glanced at me with an understanding and sympathetic look in her eyes, and I felt an immediate kinship with this soft-spoken, dark-haired girl.
"Sure, I have to go around and beg people to get me my own things," Gisselle continued, her voice shrill. I was afraid that at any moment she would burst into one of her tantrums and embarrass Daddy.
"You don't have to beg. That's a ridiculous thing to say. Asking for something isn't begging," I said.
"I don't mind getting things for you," Abby said. "Really, I don't."
"Why not?" Gisselle snapped back instead of being grateful. "Are you practicing
to become somebody's maid?" The blood drained from Abby's face.
"Gisselle! Why can't you be gracious and accept someone's kindness?"
"Because I don't want to be dependent on the kindness of others," she cried back at me. "I want to depend on my own legs."
"Oh dear," Mrs. Penny said, pressing her palms to her plump cheeks. "I just want everyone to be happy."
"It's all right, Mrs. Penny. If Abby is willing to share the space in her room with my sister, my sister will be happy," I said, glaring down at Gisselle.
Frustrated, she turned on Daddy after all our things had been brought in, and she started to complain to him about having to wear a uniform, especially when she set eyes on it: a drab gray skirt and a drab gray blouse with thick-heeled black shoes. The dress code on the second page of our booklet also specified that makeup, even lipstick, was forbidden, as was any ostentatious show of jewelry.
"I'm trapped in this horrible wheelchair all day," Gisselle protested, "and now I have to wear those horrible, uncomfortable clothes too. I felt the material. It's too rough for my skin. And those ugly shoes will hurt my feet. They're too heavy."
"I'll go speak to someone about it," Daddy said and rushed out. Fifteen minutes later, he returned to tell Gisselle that, under the circumstances, she had been given permission to wear whatever made her comfortable.
Gisselle sank into her wheelchair and sulked. Despite every effort she made to complicate things and make our arrival at Greenwood difficult, someone figured out a way to placate her and make things smooth.
Daddy was ready to say his goodbyes.
"I know you two are going to do well here. All I ask," he said, gazing down at Gisselle, "is that you give it a fair chance."
"I hate it already," she fired back. "The room's too small. I have to go too far to class. What do I do when it rains?"
"What anyone else does, Gisselle. Open an umbrella," he replied. "You're not a piece of fragile china and you won't melt," he said.
"We'll be all right, Daddy," I promised.
"You will," Gisselle snapped. "I won't."
"We both will," I insisted.
"I've got to go and you two have things to do now," Daddy said. He leaned over to give Gisselle a kiss and a hug. She turned away and wouldn't return his kiss, not even a quick peck on the cheek. I saw how sad and unhappy that made him feel, so I gave him a bigger-than-usual kiss and hug.
"Don't worry," I whispered, my arms still clinging around his neck. "I'll watch over her and make sure she doesn't drop the potato too fast," I added, which Daddy knew was an old Cajun expression for giving up. He laughed.
"I'll call you two in a day or so," he promised. He said goodbye to the other girls and left with Abby's parents, who had spent most of their time talking with Mrs. Penny. As soon as they were gone, Vicki declared that we had to leave for the main building and the assembly. That started Gisselle on her tirade about the distance she had to travel from the dorm to the main building.
"They should provide a car for me and drive me to and from the school," she declared.
"It's really not that far, Gisselle."
"Easy for you to say," she countered. "You can run if you want to."
"I'll be glad to push you along," Samantha volunteered. Gisselle glared at her.
"Ruby pushes me," she said sharply.
"Well, if there's ever a time when Ruby can't, I will," Samantha volunteered happily.
"Why? Does it amuse you?" Gisselle fired.
"No," Samantha said, taken aback. She looked quickly from one of us to the other. "I only meant . . ."
"We'd better get going," Vicki said, looking nervously at her watch. "No one comes late to one of Mrs. Ironwood's assemblies. If you do, she screams at you in front of the whole school and gives you two demerits."
We started out, Abby walking alongside me and behind Gisselle.
"What brought you to Greenwood for your senior year?" I asked her.
"My parents moved and they didn't like the school I was supposed to attend," she explained quickly, but she shifted her eyes away too, and for the first time I felt she wasn't being completely honest. I thought that whatever her real reasons were, they were probably painful ones like ours, and I didn't pursue it.
"That's a very pretty locket," she said when she turned back to me.
"Thank you. My boyfriend gave it to me this morning before we left for Greenwood. His picture and mine are in it. Take a look," I said, pausing and leaning over.
"Why are you stopping?" Gisselle demanded, even though she had been listening in on our conversation and knew very well why.
"Just a moment. I want to show Abby Beau's picture."
"What for?"
I snapped open the locket, and Abby glanced quickly at the pictures.
"Very handsome," she remarked.
"Which is why he's probably with someone else by now," Gisselle said. "I told her to expect it."
"Did you leave any boyfriends behind too?" I asked, ignoring Gisselle but pushing her forward.
"Yes," Abby said sadly.
"Well, maybe he'll come to visit you and write you and even call," I suggested.
She shook her head. "No, he won't."
"Why not?"
"He just won't," she said. I paused, but she quickened her pace to catch up with the other girls.
"What's with her?" Gisselle asked.
"Homesick, I suppose," I said.
"I can't blame her. Even an orphan could get homesick here," she added and laughed at her clever exaggeration. I didn't laugh. I had come here thinking I was the one who would have the most mysterious background and the most secrets to keep hidden, but in less than an hour I had discovered that that was not to be so. It seemed like there might be more doors locked in Abby's past than in mine. I wondered why, and I wondered if I would ever be permitted to find out.
"Catch up with the others," Gisselle ordered. "You push me like an old lady."
We caught up, and as we continued on our way to the main building, our conversation turned to what we did during our summer, the movies we had seen, the places we had been, and the singers and actors we thought were dreamboats. Gisselle dominated each topic, forcefully expressing her opinions, opinions that Samantha especially clung to, basking in her words and looks like a small flower hungry for the warmth and light of the sun. But I noticed that Abby remained very quiet, listening with a gentle smile on her lips.
When we arrived at the main building, everyone decided to accompany Gisselle up the gangway and into the building, which was something that, I saw, pleased her. She was being treated as if she were someone special, not just someone handicapped.
Two male teachers, Mr. Foster and Mr. Norman, were at the two entrances to the auditorium, quickly ushering the girls inside.
"We go to the left," Vicki directed.
"Why?" Gisselle demanded. Now that she had to accept the fact that she would be here at Greenwood, she would demand to know why something couldn't be white if it was black. As Grandmère Catherine would say if she were here, "Gisselle is determined to be the pebble in everyone's shoe."
"It's where our assigned seats are located," Vicki replied. "It's explained in your packet. Didn't you read any of it yet?"
"No, I didn't read any of it yet," Gisselle said, imitating Vicki's condescending tone. "Anyway, I can't have an assigned seat. I'm in a wheelchair, or haven't you noticed?"
"Of course I noticed. Even so, you should remain with us," Vicki continued patiently. "It's the way Mrs. Ironwood has organized assemblies. We are seated according to our dorm and quad."
"And what else is in this precious packet? When we should go to the bathroom?"
Vicki blanched and turned to lead the way. When we reached our row, everyone filed in. Gisselle remained in the aisle in her wheelchair, and I took the outside 'seat so I could sit next to her. Abby sat beside me. All around us, the girls laughed and chatted, many gazing our way with interest and curiosity. But no matter who smiled at Gis
selle, she refused to smile back. When the girl on the aisle seat across from us kept turning toward her, Gisselle nearly snapped her head off.
"What are you staring at? Didn't you ever see anyone in a wheelchair before?"
"I wasn't staring."
"Gisselle," I said softly, putting my hand on her arm, "don't make a scene."
"Why not? What difference will it make?" she retorted.
Jacqueline waved to some friends, as did Vicki and Kate and Samantha. Then Jacqueline began pointing out other girls and giving us abbreviated opinions.
"That's Deborah Stewart. She's so stuck up, she gets a nosebleed every day. And that's Susan Peck. Her brother goes to Rosedown, and he's so good-looking everyone plays up to Susan in the hope she will introduce them to her brother when his school attends one of our socials. Oh, there's Camille Ripley. She looks like she got her parents to give her that nose job, doesn't she, Vicki?"
"I forgot what she looked like," Vicki said dryly.
Suddenly a ripple of silence began to pass through the assembly of girls. It started toward the rear and made its way toward the front, accompanying the arrival of Mrs. Ironwood, who marched down the aisle.
"There's the Iron Lady," Jacqueline said in a loud whisper and nodded in her direction. Abby, I, and Gisselle turned to see her start up the short stairway to the stage at the front of the auditorium.
Mrs. Ironwood looked no more than five-six or seven. She was stout, with gray hair pulled severely back and tied in a thick bun. She had a pair of pearl-framed glasses on a silver chain around her neck, the glasses resting on her bosom. Dressed in a dark blue vest with a white blouse beneath it and an ankle-length skirt, she walked firmly in her thick-heeled black shoes, her shoulders back, her head high, until she reached the podium at the center of the stage. When she turned to face the assembly, not a sound was heard. Someone coughed but quickly choked it to an end.
"How come she doesn't have to wear that ugly uniform too?" Gisselle muttered.
"Shh," Vicki said.
"Good afternoon, girls, and welcome back to Greenwood for what I expect will be another successful year for all of you." She paused, put on her glasses, and opened her folder.
Then she looked up, seemingly turning our way and gazing directly at us. Even from this distance, I could see how steely cold her eyes were. She had thick eyebrows and a firm mouth set in a jaw that seemed made of granite.
Pearl in the Mist l-2 Page 5
