"What could that be?" He smiled widely in anticipation.
"Nina's going to burn some brimstone for us, to bless our love and keep the evil spirits from destroying it."
"What?"
"Come on," I said, taking his hand. "It doesn't hurt to be safe."
He laughed as we hurried down the corridor to Nina's room. I knocked on the door and entered when she said for us to come in. Beau nearly gasped at the sight of the small room cluttered with voodoo paraphernalia: dolls and bones, chunks of what looked like black cat fur, strands of hair tied with leather string, twisted roots, and strips of snakeskin. The shelves were crowded with small bottles of multicolored powders, stacks of yellow, blue, green, and brown candles, jars of snake heads, and a picture of the woman I knew to be Marie Laveau sitting on what looked like a throne. Nina often burned white candles around it at night when she chanted her prayers.
"Who's that?" Beau asked.
"You be New Orleans boy and you don't know that be Marie Laveau, Voodoo Queen?"
"Oh yes. I've heard of her." He glanced at me and bit down on his lower lip.
Nina went to her shelves to fetch a small ceramic jar. She and I had performed a similar ceremony when I had first arrived from the bayou.
"You both hold it," she commanded. She lit a white candle and mumbled a prayer. Then she brought the candle to the ceramic jar and dipped the flame toward the contents so the brimstone would burn, but it didn't catch on. She glanced at me and looked worried and then tried again, holding the candle longer until a small stream of smoke twisted its way up. Beau grimaced because the stench was unpleasant, but I had been expecting it and held my breath.
"Both close your eyes and lean over so the smoke touches your faces," she prescribed. We did so. We heard her mumble something.
"Hey, this is getting hot," Beau complained. His fingers slipped and I fumbled with the jar to keep from dropping it. Nina plucked it from my hand and held it firmly.
"The heat be nothing," she chastised, "compared to the heat of evil spirits." Then she shook her head. "Nina hope it be enough brimstone smoke."
"It's enough," Beau assured her.
"Thank you, Nina," I said, seeing how uncomfortable he was. She nodded, and Beau urged me toward the door.
"Yes, thank you, Nina," he added. He pulled me out. "Don't laugh, Beau Andreas."
"I'm not laughing," he said, but I saw he was very happy we had left and were returning to the parlor.
"My Grandmère taught me never to laugh at anyone's beliefs, Beau. No one has a monopoly on the truth when it comes to spiritual things."
"You're right," he said. "And anyway, whatever makes you comfortable and happy makes me comfortable and happy. I mean that," he promised, and kissed me.
A moment later Gisselle wheeled herself in, looking very full of herself. All the talk at breakfast had been about her wonderful recuperation. Edgar and Nina were told, but both looked so unimpressed Gisselle suspected I had told them.
"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked Beau coyly.
"As a matter of fact, you are," he replied, smiling.
"Too bad. Did you tell him yet?" she asked me.
"Tell me what?"
"I guess you haven't, because it's not as important to you as it is to everyone else." She turned to Beau, took a dramatic breath, and announced, "I'm regaining the use of my legs."
"What?" Beau looked at me, but I said nothing.
"That's right. My paralysis is going away. Soon I will be competition for Ruby again, and she's not too happy about that, are you, Sister dear?"
"I've never been in competition with you, Gisselle," I retorted.
"Oh no? What do you call your hot romance with my old boyfriend here?" she snapped.
"Hey, I think I might have something to say about all this," Beau told her. "And besides, Ruby and I were seeing each other way before the accident."
She smirked and then laughed her thin, sardonic laugh. "Men think they've made a decision, but the truth is, we have them wound around our little finger. You were always a bit too conservative for me, Beau. It was my decision to leave you behind. I was the one who made it possible for you two to meet and . . ."—she twisted her lips into her condescending smile—"get to know each other."
"Yeah, right," Beau said, peeved.
"Anyway, New Year's Eve, I’ll be dancing again and I expect to dance with you. You won't mind, will you, Sister dear?"
"Not in the least," I said. "That is, if Beau doesn't." She didn't like my tone, and her smile evaporated quickly. "I've got to call John and give him the good news. It might break his heart. He so enjoyed my helplessness last night."
"Just don't recuperate that fast then," I suggested, but instead of getting angry, she laughed.
"Maybe I won't. Don't knock it unless you try it," she added with narrowed eyelids. Then she laughed again and wheeled herself out.
"Is she telling the truth about her recovery?"
"No."
"She can't move her legs?"
"Yes, but she could do it weeks, maybe even months ago." I quickly related the incident at school and why I was blamed.
"Well, I’ll be damned. You've had your share of surprises," Beau said.
"There's more."
"Oh?"
"Daphne is permitting me to take Uncle Jean his Christmas gift. She said you could go with me, if you like."
"Really?" He shook his head in amazement and sat back. Then I told him why she was being so nice to Gisselle and me. "Married? So soon?" he said.
"She said after a proper period of mourning, but who knows what she considers proper."
"My parents had suspicions," he told me in a whisper.
"The two of them have been seen everywhere together." He looked down and then up again to add, "There were suspicions even before your father's death."
"I don't doubt it. I don't care what she does with herself now, and I don't want to talk anymore about it," I said angrily.
"Well then, why don't we just go visit Jean today and have lunch at one of the roadside restaurants on the way back," he suggested.
I went to get Uncle Jean's gift and told Daphne we were leaving.
"Make sure he knows that's from me," she said.
But when we arrived at the institution and were brought to him in the lounge, I knew immediately that not only wouldn't he understand who the gift was from, he wouldn't even realize he had visitors. Uncle Jean had become little more than a shadow of his former self. Like one of Nina's zombies, he sat staring blankly ahead, his eyes turned inward, where he could revisit all the places and times he had formerly experienced. When I spoke to him and held his hand, there was only a slight blinking and a tiny light in his eyes.
"He's like a clam closing its shell!" I moaned to Beau. "He barely hears me."
We sat in the lounge. It had started raining on our trip out, and the rain built a frantic tattoo on the window we now gazed through. It matched the rhythm of my heart. Uncle Jean looked so much thinner, the bones in his nose and cheeks more prominent, He looked like someone who was dying slowly from within.
I tried again, talking about Christmas, some of the things I had done at school, the decorations at the house. But his expression didn't change, and he wouldn't turn his eyes to me. After a while, I gave up. I leaned over and kissed him goodbye on the cheek. His eyelids fluttered and his lips trembled, but he said nothing, nor did he really look at me.
On the way out, I stopped to talk to his nurse.
"Does he ever speak?"
"He hasn't for a while now," she admitted. "But sometimes," she added, smiling, "they do return. There are new medications coming out every day."
"Would you see that he puts on his new shirts? He used to be so proud of his clothes," I said sadly. She promised she would, and Beau and I retreated. Visiting Uncle Jean had made this Christmas Day even more gloomy than the dark clouds and rain. I barely spoke, and I had little appetite when we stopped for lunch. Beau carried most of
the conversation, describing plans for us for the near future.
"I've already decided: We'll both apply to Tulane. That way we'll be in New Orleans and together. My teachers think I should look toward a career in medicine because I do so well in the biological sciences. Doctor Andreas . . . how does that sound?"
"It sounds wonderful, Beau."
"Well, your Grandmère was a healer. We've got to keep up the tradition. practice medicine and you'll paint and become one of New Orleans's leading artists, People will come from everywhere to buy your pictures. On Sundays after church, we'll walk along the streets in the Garden District and I'll brag to our baby that his mother has a picture in that house and that, and two more in that. . . ."
I smiled. Grandmère Catherine would have liked Beau, I was sure.
"Good. You're smiling again. You're ravishingly beautiful when you're happy, Ruby. I want to keep you continuously happy for as long as I live," he said. His words brought the blood to my face again and the warmth to my heart.
When he brought me home, I found Daphne in Daddy's office, talking on the phone. Apparently, even on Christmas Day, she was all business. She was dressed in a smart, light blue tweed skirt and vest with a white lace silk blouse and had her hair tied in a French knot.
"And how is Jean?" she asked with half interest as she moved some papers around.
"He's become a vegetable," I said. "Won't you reconsider and put him back in his own room?"
She sat back and stared at me a moment. "I'll make you a trade," she said.
"Trade?" What could I possibly have that she wanted? I wondered.
"I'll move Jean back into private quarters if you convince Gisselle to return to Greenwood. I don't want her in my hair during this particularly difficult period."
"She won't listen to me," I moaned. "She hates the restrictions and the rules."
Daphne gazed down at her paperwork again.
"That's my offer," she said coldly. "Find a way."
I stood there for a moment. Why should Uncle Jean's welfare be tied to Gisselle's selfish wishes? How could anything be more unfair? More pessimistic than a nutria locked in the jaws of an alligator, I lowered my head and left her, never missing Daddy more.
I spent the remainder of Christmas Day in my art studio, working on the drawing and painting for Miss Stevens. The studio and my artistic work was the only refuge in this house of deceit. I had chosen to draw the view from my studio, to capture the sprawling oak tree and the gardens. I decided to have a red-winged blackbird strutting proudly on the wall in the background. It was good to lose myself in my work. While I painted I played Louis's symphony, and I didn't hear Bruce come in behind me.
"Ah, so here is where La Ruby hides herself," he said. I spun around. He stood there with his hands on his hips, looking over the studio and nodding. He had changed into a pair of dark gray wool slacks and a shirt made of the softest white Egyptian cotton. "Very nice. And that looks like it's going to be a pretty picture," he said, gazing at my easel.
"It's too soon to tell," I replied modestly.
"Well, I'm no art critic, but I know the value of good art on the market, of course." He focused his gaze intently on me for a moment and then smiled and stepped closer. "I was hoping to have a short tête-à-tête with both you and Gisselle today. I've already spoken to your sister, who has begged me to use my influence with Daphne to permit her to remain and return to public school here in New Orleans. Apparently, if I win her that favor, she will accept me into the family with open arms.
"And now," he said, inching toward me, "what can I do to win the same acceptance from you?"
"I have no requests for anything for myself, but if you want to do something to please me, get Daphne to move Uncle Jean back into his private room."
"Ah ha, a selfless demand. You are what you seem to be after all, aren't you, La Ruby? . . . A spotless jewel, genuine, virtuous. Are you as innocent as you appear, as innocent as the flowers and animals in your pictures?"
"I'm no angel, Bruce, but I don't like to see anyone in unnecessary pain, and that's what Uncle Jean is in right now. If you want to do something good, help him."
He smiled and reached out to touch my hair. I cringed and started to step back, but he put his hand on my arm just above the elbow.
"You and Gisselle are twins," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "but a man would have to be blind not to see the differences. I'd like to be someone you can love and trust. You know, I've always admired you, La Ruby. But you've been tossed from one world to another, and just when you needed a true guardian, you lost him. Will you let me be your guardian, your protector and champion? I'm a man of great taste. I can make you into the princess you deserve to be. Trust me," he said, raising his hand to my shoulder. He was so close I could see the tiny beads of sweat over his upper lip and smell the aroma of the last cigar he smoked. He held me firmly in his grasp and then brought his lips to my forehead. I heard him inhale as he took in the scent of my hair. I let him embrace me, but I didn't return his affection.
"That's all right," he said, feeling my stiffness and stepping back. "I don't blame you for being cautious. I'm the new man in your life and you don't really know all that much about me. But I intend to spend as much time with you as you will permit so we can get to know each other as intimately as possible. Will that be all right?"
"You're my stepmother's new husband-to-be," I said, as if that were enough of an answer.
He nodded. "I'll speak to Daphne. Maybe I can find a sensible financial arrangement and get her to do what you want. I can't make promises, but I'll try for you."
"Thank you."
"La Ruby," he said with that deep, licentious smile on his lips. He looked around again. "You have a nice hideaway. After I've married Daphne, perhaps you will let me share it with you from time to time, n'est-ce pas?"
I nodded, even though I detested the thought.
"Good," he said. "We're going to be a wonderful family, even more highly respected than we are now, and you and your sister will be the crème de la crème of New Orleans. That's a promise," he said. "I'll let you go back to your wonderful work. We'll speak later."
I watched him leave and then sat down because my heart was still thumping so hard, I thought I might faint.
Despite Bruce's promise, nothing more was said about Uncle Jean during the days between Christmas and New Year's Eve. Feeling trapped by Daphne's offer, I tried on a number of occasions to get Gisselle to reconsider her demand to remain in New Orleans.
"You've made new friends, and they all look up to you and depend on you now," I told her just before we were about to go to sleep. It was the night before New Year's Eve. "You're their leader."
"You can have that honor," she replied.
"But think of what you can do now that you'll be walking. And there's the Valentine's dance coming up too."
"Peachy. The Valentine's dance. Don't get too close and don't hold hands too long. And just when you get to meet someone, you have to say goodbye. And that stupid curfew, even on the weekends."
"Daphne's going to permit us to go off the campus. We'll meet boys in the city."
"You wouldn't do that," she said. "You're too head over heels in love with Beau. Wait a minute." She scrutinized me with her suspicious eyes. "Why are you trying to get me to go back to Greenwood? What's going on?"
"Whenever you want, I'll take trips into Baton Rouge with you," I promised, ignoring her question.
"There's more to this, Ruby. What is it? You better tell me. One thing's for sure, I'll never go back if you don't tell me the truth."
I sighed and leaned back against her door jamb.
"I asked Daphne to move Uncle Jean back to his private room. He's nothing more than a vegetable now. He's lost all desire to live, to communicate. He's retreated into his own world."
"So what? He was nuts anyway."
"He wasn't. He was making progress. If he had a loving family around him again . . ."
"Oh, st
op being Miss Goody Two-Shoes. What does that have to do with my returning to Greenwood?"
"Daphne said if I got you to go back, she would return Uncle Jean to his room."
"I thought there was something behind your sweet-talk. Well, you can forget it," she said, turning away to look at herself in her vanity mirror. "I'm not going back to Greenwood. Right now I'm enjoying John, and I don't intend to give him up just so my crazy uncle can have his own room in a nut house." She smiled. "Daphne's going to let me stay for sure then. She doesn't want me to upset the apple cart. Good. Thanks for telling me."
"Gisselle . . ."
"I said I'm not going back. That's final," she hammered. "Now stop thinking about sad things and help me plan out our New Year's Eve party. I've invited nearly twenty friends. Claudine and Antoinette are coming over to help decorate the living room tomorrow. For refreshment, I thought we'd have those twelve-foot po'boy sandwiches. We'll work up a fruit punch and wait until Daphne and Bruce leave. Then we'll spike it with rum. What do you think?"
"I don't care," I said glumly.
"You better not be a lump of swamp mud around here tomorrow night. I'm warning you not to spoil the fun."
"That's the last thing in the world I would want to do, Gisselle, spoil your fun. Heaven forbid," I spit out, then left her room before I pulled out each and every strand of hair on her head.
16
A Brave Front
Despite my gloomy feelings, I tried not to walk about with downcast eyes and let everyone know just how unhappy I was. Gisselle's friends were very excited about the New Year's Eve party, and I had never seen Daphne so friendly and outgoing toward them. She came into the living room in the afternoon and made suggestions for the decorating. Of course, all the girls were in awe of her. I could see from the way they gazed at her that they thought she was akin to a movie star: beautiful, rich, elegant, and full of style.
But Gisselle kept herself the center of attention, revealing the miraculous recovery of her limbs and promising to dance for the first time since the accident. She got Edgar to bring in a ladder and then had the girls string streamers from one side of the ceiling to the other. They blew up balloons and placed them in a net to be released at midnight. While they worked, they gossiped about the boys who would be attending the party, and Gisselle described the girls of Greenwood, bragging about the things she had taught them concerning sex and boys. From time to time, she shifted her eyes toward me to see if I would contradict her, but I was barely listening after a while.
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