"Sorry," she said. "I just turned my back for a moment to get something, and the next thing I knew, she was charging up the stairs and past me."
I stared at her. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if the truth wasn't that she really had made herself quite visible so Daphne would know she and Beau had come up, but it didn't matter. The damage was done, and if Gisselle was responsible or not, the result was the same. The distance between Beau and me had been stretched a little farther by my stepmother, who seemed to exist for one thing: to make my life miserable.
Daddy's funeral was as big as any funeral I had ever seen, and the day seemed divinely designed for it: low gray clouds hovering above, the breeze warm but strong enough to make the limbs of the sycamores and oaks, willows and magnolias wave and bow along the route. It was as if the whole world wanted to pay its last respects to a fallen prince. Expensive cars lined the streets in front of the church for blocks, and there were droves of people, many forced to stand in the doorway and on the church portico. Despite my anger at Daphne, I couldn't help but be a little in awe of her, of the elegant way she looked, of the manner in which she carried herself and guided Gisselle and me through the ceremony, from the house to the church to the cemetery.
I wanted so much to feel something intimate at the funeral, to sense Daddy's presence, but with Daphne's eyes on me constantly and with the mourners staring at us as if we were some royal family obligated to maintain the proper dignity and perform according to their expectations, I found it hard to think of Daddy in that shiny, expensive coffin. At times, even I felt as if I were attending some sort of elaborate state show, a public ceremony devoid of any feeling.
When I did cry, I think I cried as much for myself and for what my world and life would now be without the father Grandmère Catherine had brought back to me with her final revelations. This precious gift of happiness and promise had been snatched away by jealous Death, who always lingered about us, watching and waiting for an opportunity to wrench us away from all that made him realize how miserable his own destiny was eternally to be. That was what Grandmère Catherine had taught me about Death, and that was what I now so firmly believed.
Daphne shed no tears in public. She seemed to falter only twice: once in the church, when Father McDermott mentioned that he had been the one to marry her and Daddy; and then at the cemetery, just before Daddy's body was interred in what people from New Orleans called an oven. Because of the high water table, graves weren't dug into the ground, as they were in other places. People were buried above ground in cement vaults, many with their family crests embossed on the door.
Instead of sobbing, Daphne brought her silk handkerchief to her face and held it against her mouth. Her eyes remained focused on her own thoughts, her gaze downward. She took Gisselle's and my hand when it was time to leave the church, and once again when it was time to leave the cemetery. She held our hands for only a moment or two, a gesture I felt was committed more for the benefit of the mourners than for us.
Throughout the ceremony, Beau remained back with his parents. We barely exchanged glances. Relatives from Daphne's side of the family stayed closely clumped together, barely raising their voices above a whisper, their eyes glued to our every move. Whenever anyone approached Daphne to offer his or her final condolences, she took his hands and softly said "Merci beaucoup." These people would then turn to us. Gisselle imitated Daphne perfectly, even to the point of intoning the same French accent and holding their hands not a split second longer or shorter than Daphne had. I simply said "Thank you," in English.
As if she expected either Gisselle or me to say or do something that would embarrass her, Daphne observed us through the corner of her eye and listened with half an ear, especially when Beau and his parents approached us. I did hold onto Beau's hand longer than I held onto anyone else's, despite feeling as if Daphne's eyes were burning holes in my neck and head. I was sure Gisselle's behavior pleased her more than mine did, but I wasn't there to please Daphne; I was there to say my last goodbye to Daddy and thank the people who really cared, just as Daddy would have wanted me to thank them: warmly, without pretension.
Bruce Bristow remained very close by, occasionally whispering to Daphne and getting some order from her. When we had arrived at the church, he offered to take my place and wheel Gisselle down the church aisle. He was there to wheel her out and help get her into the limousine and out of it at the cemetery. Of course, Gisselle enjoyed the extra attention and the tender loving care, glancing up at me occasionally with that self-satisfied grin on her lips.
The highlight of the funeral came at the very end, just as we were approaching the limousine for our ride home. I turned to my right and saw my half brother, Paul, hurrying across the cemetery. He broke into a trot to reach us before we got into the car.
"Paul!" I cried. I couldn't contain my surprise and delight at the sight of him. Daphne pulled herself back from the doorway of the limousine and glared angrily at me. Others nearby turned as well. Bruce Bristow, who was preparing to transfer Gisselle from her chair into the car, paused to look up when Gisselle spoke.
"Well, look who's come at the last moment," she said.
Even though it had only been months, it seemed ages since Paul and I had seen each other. He looked so much more mature, his face firmer. In his dark blue suit and tie, he appeared taller and wider in the shoulders. The resemblances in Paul's, Gisselle's, and my face could be seen in his nose and cerulean eyes, but his hair, a mixture of blond and brown—what the Cajuns called chatin—was thinner and very long. He brushed back the strands that had fallen over his forehead when he broke into a trot to reach me before
I got into the limousine.
Without saying a word, he seized me and embraced me.
"Who is this?" Daphne demanded. The final mourners who were leaving the cemetery turned to watch and listen, too.
"It's Paul," I said quickly. "Paul Tate."
Daphne knew about our half brother, but she refused to acknowledge him or ever make any reference to him. She had no interest in hearing about him the one time he had come to see us in New Orleans. Now she twisted her mouth into an ugly grimace.
"I am sorry for your sorrow, madame," he said. "I came as quickly as I could," he added, turning back to me when she didn't respond. "I didn't find out until I called the school to speak with you and one of the girls in your dorm told me. I got into my car right away and drove straight to the house. The butler gave me directions to the cemetery."
"I'm glad you've come, Paul," I said.
"Can we all get into the car and go home," Daphne complained, "or do you intend to stand in a cemetery and talk all day?"
"Follow us to the house," I told him, joining Gisselle. "He looks very handsome," she whispered after we were seated. Daphne just glared at the two of us.
"I don't want any more visitors in the house today," Daphne declared when we turned into the Garden District. "Visit with your half brother outside and make it short. I want the two of you to start packing your things to return to school tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Gisselle cried.
"Of course, tomorrow."
"But that's too soon. We should stay home at least another week out of respect for Daddy."
Daphne smiled wryly. "And what would you do with this week? Would you sit and meditate, pray and read? Or would you be on the telephone with your friends, having them come over daily?"
"Well, we don't have to turn into nuns because Daddy died," Gisselle retorted.
"Precisely. You'll go back to Greenwood tomorrow and resume your studies. I've already made the arrangements," Daphne said.
Gisselle folded her arms under her breasts and sat back in a sulk. "We should run away," she muttered. "That's what we should do."
Daphne overheard and smiled. "And where would you run to, Princess Gisselle? To your half-witted uncle Jean in the institution?" she asked, glancing at me. "Or would you join your sister and return to the paradise in the swamps, to live with peo
ple who have crawfish shells stuck in their teeth?"
Gisselle turned away and gazed out the window. For the first time all day, tears flowed from her eyes. I wished I could think it was because she really missed Daddy now, but I knew she was crying simply because she was frustrated with the prospect of returning to Greenwood and having her visit with her old friends cut short.
When we arrived at the house, she was too depressed even to visit with Paul. She let Bruce put her into the chair and take her in without saying another word to me or to Daphne. Daphne gazed back at me from the doorway when Paul drove in behind us.
"Make this short," she ordered. "I'm not fond of all sorts of Cajuns coming to the house." She turned her back on me and went inside before I could respond.
I went to Paul as soon as he emerged from his vehicle and threw myself into his comforting arms. Suddenly, all the sorrow and misery I had been containing within the confines of my battered heart broke free. I sobbed freely, my shoulders shaking, my face buried in his shoulder. He stroked my hair and kissed my forehead and whispered words of consolation. Finally I caught my breath and pulled back. He had a handkerchief ready and waiting to wipe my cheeks, and he let me blow my nose.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I couldn't help it, but I haven't really been able to cry for Daddy since I came home from school. Daphne's made things so hard for all of us. Poor Paul," I said, smiling through my tear-soaked eyes. "You have to be the one to endure my flood of tears."
"No. I'm glad I was here to bring you any comfort. It must have been horrible. I remember your father well. He was so young and vibrant when I last saw him, and he was very kind to me, a real Creole gentleman. He was a man with class. I understood why our mother would have fallen in love with him so deeply."
"Yes. So did I." I took his hand and smiled. "Oh Paul, it's so good to see you." I looked at the front door and then turned back to him. "My stepmother won't let me have visitors in the house," I said, leading him to a bench over which was an arch of roses. "She's sending us back to Greenwood tomorrow," I told him after we had sat down.
"So soon?"
"Not soon enough for her," I said bitterly. I took a deep breath. "But don't let me focus only on myself. Tell me about home, about your sisters, everyone."
I sat back and listened as he spoke, permitting myself to fall back through time. When I lived in the bayou, life was harder and far poorer, but because of Grandmère Catherine, it was much happier. Also, I couldn't help but miss the swamp, the flowers and the birds, even the snakes and alligators. There were scents and sounds, places and events I recalled with pleasure, not the least of which was the memory of drifting in a pirogue toward twilight, with nothing in my heart but mellow contentment. How I wished I was back there now.
"Mrs. Livaudis and Mrs. Thibodeaux are still going strong," he said. "I know they miss your Grandmère." He laughed. It sounded so good to my ears. "They know I've kept in contact with you, although they don't come right out and say so. Usually they wonder aloud in my presence about Catherine Landry's Ruby."
"I miss them. I miss everyone."
"Your Grandpère Jack is still living in the house and still, whenever he gets drunk, which is often, digging holes and looking for the treasure he thinks your Grandmère buried to keep from him. I swear, I don't know how he stays alive. My father says he's part snake. His skin does look like he's been through a tannery, and he comes slithering out of shadows and bushes when you least expect him."
"I almost ran away and returned to the bayou," I confessed.
"If you ever do . . . I'll be there to help you," Paul said. "I'm working as a manager in our canning factory now," he added proudly. "I make a good salary, and I'm thinking of building my own house."
"Oh Paul, really?" He nodded. "Have you met someone then?"
His smile faded. "No."
"Have you tried?" I pursued. He turned away. "Paul?"
"It's not easy finding someone to compare to you, Ruby. I don't expect it to happen overnight."
"But it has to happen, Paul. It should. You deserve someone who can love you fully. You deserve a family of your own someday too."
He remained silent. Then he turned and smiled. "I really enjoyed your letters from school, especially all the things you've told me about Gisselle."
"She's been more than a handful, and I just know things are going to get worse now that Daddy's gone, but he left me promising to look after her. I'd rather look after a barrel of green snakes," I said. Paul laughed again, and I felt the weight of sorrow lift from my breast. It was as if I could suddenly breathe again.
But before we could continue, we saw Edgar approaching. He looked glum.
"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but Madame Dumas wants you to come into the house and go directly to the parlor now," he said, raising his eyebrows to indicate how sternly she had given the command.
"Thank you, Edgar. I'll be right along," I said. He nodded and left us.
"Oh Paul, I'm so sorry you've come so far to spend so short a time with me."
"It's all right," he said. "It was worth it. A minute with you is like an hour back home without you anyway," he added.
"Paul, please," I said, taking his hands into mine. "Promise me you'll look for someone to love. Promise me you'll let someone love you. Promise."
"All right," he said. "I promise. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, Ruby, even fall in love with someone else, if I could."
"You can; you must," I told him.
"I know," he said in a whisper. He looked like I had forced him to swallow castor oil. I wanted to stay with him, to talk and remember the good times, but Edgar was standing in the doorway as a way of showing me Daphne was being very insistent.
"I've got to go inside before she makes a scene that embarrasses us both, Paul. Have a safe trip back and call and write to me at school."
"I will," he said. He kissed me quickly on my cheek and hurried to his car, forcing himself not to look back. I knew it was because he had tears in his eyes and he didn't want me to see them.
I felt an ache in my heart when he drove off, and for a moment I could see that look in his face again on the day he learned the truth about us, the truth we both wished had been buried in the swamp with the sins of our fathers.
I sucked in my breath and hurried to the front entrance to see what new rules and orders Daphne wanted to lay on my sister's and my head now, now that we had no one to stand between her and us and protect us anymore.
She was waiting in the parlor, sitting back in her chair. Gisselle had been wheeled in and she waited too, fidgeting and looking very unhappy. I was surprised to see Bruce seated at the dark pine secretary. Would he be present at all our family discussions now?
"Sit down," Daphne ordered, nodding at the chair beside Gisselle. I took it quickly.
"Is Paul gone?" Gisselle asked.
"Yes."
"Quiet, the two of you. I didn't gather you here to discuss some Cajun boy."
"He's not a boy; he's a young man," I said. "And the manager of his father's factory."
"Fine. I hope he becomes king of the swamp. Now," she said, putting her hands on the arms of the chair, "the two of you will be leaving early in the morning, so I wanted to get some matters straightened out and some business conducted before I retire to my suite. I'm exhausted from all this."
"Then why do we have to leave tomorrow?" Gisselle whined. "We're exhausted too."
"It's settled: You're leaving," Daphne said, her eyes big. She calmed herself again and continued. "First, I'm cutting in half the amount of money your father was sending you. You have little or no use for spending money while you attend Greenwood anyway."
"That's not true!" Gisselle countered. "In fact, if you give us permission to leave the grounds—"
"I'm not about to do that. Do you think I'm a fool?" She glared at Gisselle as if she expected an answer. "Do you?" she taunted.
"No," Gisselle said, "but it's boring having to stay on the grounds, especially on the
weekends. Why can't we take taxis to the city, go to a movie, go shopping?"
"You're there to study and work, not vacation. If you need more money for some emergency, you can phone Bruce at the office and explain what it is and he'll see to it the money is delivered—taken from your trust, of course.
"Neither of you need anything new in your wardrobe. Your father overindulged you both when it came to clothing. He insisted I take you shopping when you first arrived, Ruby. Remember?"
"I thought you wanted to do that," I said softly.
"I did what I had to do to maintain some social dignity. I couldn't have you living here and looking like a runaway Cajun, could I? But your father didn't think I had bought enough. There was never enough for his precious twins. Between both your closets, I could open a department store. Bruce knows our bills. Isn't that so, Bruce?"
"Quite true," he said, nodding and smiling.
"Explain the trust to them simply and quickly, Bruce, if you please," Daphne told him.
He pulled himself up and gazed at some documents on the desk. "Quite simply, all your basic needs are provided for: your schooling, your travel expenses, necessities, and some money for luxuries, gifts, et cetera. As it is required, it is drawn out when Daphne signs for it. If you need an extra stipend, put it in writing and send it to the office, and I'll look into it."
"Put it in writing? What are we, employees now?" Gisselle demanded.
"Hardly employees," Daphne said, her voice hard, her smile faint and sardonic. "Employees have to work for what they get."
She and Bruce exchanged a look of satisfaction before she turned back to us.
"I want to reiterate what I told you about your behavior at Greenwood. Should I be called by the principal because of some misbehavior, the consequences will be dire for you, I assure you."
"What could be more dire than having to stay at Greenwood?" Gisselle muttered.
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