Ruby l-1

by V. C. Andrews

  "We never told the truth because we were working with private detectives," he said.

  "What? What truth?"

  "To get back the stolen baby, the twin sister who was taken from the nursery the same day she was born. You know how some people believe that missing children are voodoo sacrifices, and how some voodoo queens were often accused of kidnapping and murdering children?" he said.

  "I always suspected something like that, myself," Daphne said.

  "Precisely. No one's ever proven anything of the sort, however, but there was always the danger of creating mass hysteria over it and causing vigilantes to go out and abuse people. So," he said, sitting back, "we kept our tragedy and our search private. Until today, that is," he added, pressing his hands together and smiling at me.

  "She was kidnapped more than fifteen years ago and has returned?" Daphne said. "Is that what we're to tell people, tell our friends?"

  He nodded. "Like the Prodigal Son, only this case, it's the Prodigal Daughter, whose fake grandmother got a pang of conscience on her deathbed and told her the truth. Miracle of miracles, Ruby has found her way home."

  "But, Pierre . . ."

  "You'll be the talk of the town, Daphne. Everyone will want to know the story. You won't be able to keep up with the invitations," he said. Daphne just stared at him a moment and then looked up at me.

  "Isn't it amazing?" my father said. "Look at how identical they are."

  "But she's so. . . unschooled," Daphne moaned.

  "Which, in the beginning, will make her more of a curiosity. But you can take her under your wing just as you took Gisselle," my father explained, "and teach her nice things, correct things, make her over . . . like Pygmalion and Galatea," he said. "Everyone will admire you for it," he told her.

  "I don't know," she said, but it was with much less resistance. She gazed at me more analytically. "Maybe scrubbed up with decent clothes . . ."

  "These are decent clothes!" I snapped. I was tired of everyone criticizing my garments. "Grandmère Catherine made them and the things she made were always cherished and sought after in the bayou."

  "I'm sure they were," Daphne said, her eyes sharp and cold. "In the bayou. But this is not the bayou, dear. This is New Orleans. You came here because you want to live here . . . be with your father," she said, looking at Pierre before looking back at me. "Right?"

  I looked at him, too. "Yes," I said. "I believe in Grandmère Catherine's wishes and prophecies."

  "Well, then, you have to blend in." She sat back and thought a moment. "It will be quite a challenge," she said, nodding. "And somewhat of an interesting one."

  "Of course it will be," Pierre said.

  "Do you think I could ever get her to the point where people really wouldn't know the difference between them?" Daphne asked my father. I wasn't sure I liked her tone. It was still as if I were some uncivilized aborigine, some wild animal that had to be housebroken.

  "Of course you could, darling. Look at how well you've done with Gisselle, and we both know there's a wild streak in her, don't we?" he said, smiling.

  "Yes. I have managed to harness and subdue that part of her, the Cajun part," Daphne said disdainfully.

  "I am not wild, madame," I said, nearly spitting my words back at her. "My Grandmère Catherine taught me only good things and we went to church regularly, too."

  "It's not something people teach you, per se," she replied. "It's something you can't help, something in your heritage," she insisted. "But Pierre's blue blood and my guidance have been strong enough to conquer that part of Gisselle. If you will help, if you really want to become part of this family, I might be able to do it with you, too.

  "Although, she's had years and years of poor breeding, Pierre. You must remember that."

  "Of course, Daphne," he said softly. "No one expects miracles overnight. As you said so yourself just a moment ago—it's a challenge." He smiled. "I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you were capable of making it happen, darling."

  Placated, Daphne sat back again. When she thought deeply, she pursed her lips and her eyes glittered. Despite the things she had said, I couldn't help but admire her beauty and her regal manner. Would it be so terrible to look and act like such a woman? I wondered, and become someone else's fairy-tale princess? A part of me that wouldn't be denied cried, Please, please, cooperate, try, and the part of me that felt insulted by her remarks sulked somewhere in the dark corners of my mind.

  "Well, Beau already knows about her," Daphne said.

  "Exactly," my father said. "Of course, I could ask him to keep it all a secret, and I'm sure he would die in a duel before revealing it, but things are revealed accidentally, too, and then what would we do? It could unravel everything we've done up until now."

  Daphne nodded.

  "What will you tell Gisselle?" she asked him, her voice somewhat mournful now. "She'll know the truth about me, that I'm not really her mother." She dabbed at her eyes with a light blue silk handkerchief.

  "Of course you're really her mother. She hasn't known anyone else to be her mother and you've been a wonderful mother to her. We'll tell her the story just as I outlined it. After the initial shock, she'll accept her twin sister and hopefully help you, too. Nothing will change except our lives will be doubly blessed," he said, smiling at me.

  Was this where I got my blind optimism? I wondered. Was he a dreamer, too?

  "That is," he added after a moment, "if Ruby agrees to go along with it. I don't like asking anyone to lie," he told me, "but in this case, it's a good lie, a lie which will keep anyone from being hurt," he said, shifting his eyes toward Daphne.

  I thought a moment. I would have to pretend, at least to Gisselle, that Grandmère Catherine had been part of some kidnapping plot. That bothered me, but then I thought Grandmère Catherine would want me to do everything possible to stay here—far away from Grandpère Jack.

  "Yes," I said. "It's all right with me."

  Daphne sighed deeply and then quickly regained her composure.

  "I'll have Nina arrange one of the guest rooms," she said.

  "Oh, no. I want her to have the room that adjoins Gisselle's. They will be sisters right from the beginning," my father emphasized. Daphne nodded.

  "I'll have her prepare it right away. For tonight, she can use some of Gisselle's night garments. Fortunately," she said, smiling at me with some warmth for the first time, "you and your sister look to be about the same size." She gazed down at my feet. "Your feet look fairly close as well, I see."

  "You'll have to go on a shopping spree tomorrow though, darling. You know how possessive Gisselle is with her clothes," my father warned.

  "She should be. A woman should take pride in her wardrobe and not be like some college coed, sharing her garments down to her very panties with some roommate." She rose gracefully from the high back chair and shook her head slightly as she gazed at me. "What a Mardi Gras evening this turned out to be." She turned to Pierre. "You're positive about all this. This is what you want to do?"

  "Yes, darling. With your full cooperation and guidance, that is," he said, rising. He kissed her on the cheek. "I guess I'll have to make it all up to you doubly now," he added. She looked into his eyes and gave him a small, tight smile.

  "The cash register has been ringing for the last five minutes without a pause," she said, and he laughed. Then he kissed her gently on the lips. From the way he gazed at her, I could see how important it was for him to please her. She appeared to bask in the glow of his devotion. After a moment she turned to leave. At the doorway, she paused.

  "You will be telling it all to Gisselle?"

  "In a few minutes," he said.

  "I'm going to bed. This has all been too shocking and has drained me of most of my energy right now," she complained. "But I want to have the strength for Gisselle in the morning."

  "Of course," my father said.

  "I'll see to her room," Daphne declared and left us.

  "Sit down. Please," my father asked.
I took my seat again and he sat down, too. "You want something to drink . . . eat?"

  "No, I'm fine. Nina gave me something to drink before."

  "One of her magical recipes?" he asked, smiling.

  "Yes. And it worked."

  "It always does. I meant it when I said I have respect for spiritual and mysterious things. You'll have to tell me more about Grandmère Catherine."

  "I'd like that."

  He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly, his eyes down. "I'm sorry to hear about Gabrielle. She was a beautiful young woman. I had never and have never met anyone like her. She was so innocent and free, a true pure spirit."

  "Grandmère Catherine thought she was a swamp fairy," I said, smiling.

  "Yes, yes. She might very well have been. Look," he said, growing very serious very quickly, "I know how disturbing and how troubling this all must be to you. In time, you and I will get to know each other better and I'll try to explain it. I won't be able to justify it or turn the bad things that happened into good things. I won't be able to change the events of the past or make mistakes go away, but I hope I will at least get you to see why it happened the way it did. You have a right to know all that," he said.

  "Gisselle knows nothing then?" I asked.

  "Oh, no. Not a hint. There was Daphne to consider. I had hurt her enough as it was. I had to protect her, and there was no way to do that without creating the fabrication that Gisselle was her child.

  "One lie, one mistake, usually creates the need for another and another, and before you know it, you've spun a cocoon of deception around yourself. As you see, I'm still doing that, still protecting Daphne.

  "Actually, I was fortunate and am fortunate to have Daphne. Besides being a beautiful woman, she's a woman capable of great love. She loved my father and I believe, she accepted all this because of her love for him, as much as her love for me. In fact, she accepted some responsibility."

  His head bowed down into the cradle of his hands.

  "Because she was unable to get pregnant herself?" I asked. He lifted his eyes quickly.

  "Yes," he said. "I see you know a lot more than I thought. You seem like a very mature girl, perhaps a lot more mature than Gisselle.

  "Anyway," he continued, "throughout it all, Daphne has maintained her dignity and poise. That's why I think she can teach you a great deal and why, in time, I hope you will accept her as your mother.

  "Of course," he added, smiling, "first, I have to get you to accept me as your father. Any healthy man can make a baby with a woman; but not every man can be a father," he said.

  I saw there were tears in his eyes when he spoke. As he talked, I sensed every molecule of his being was striving to reach out and force me to understand even what he himself must have found inexplicable.

  I bit down on my tongue to keep from asking any questions. It was difficult to breathe, not to be drowned by everything that was happening so fast.

  "What's in your bag?" he inquired.

  "Oh, just some of my things and some pictures."

  "Pictures?" His eyebrows rose with interest.

  "Yes." I opened the bag and took out one of the pictures of my mother. He took it slowly and gazed at it for a long moment.

  "She does seem like a fairy goddess. My memory of those days is like the memory of a dream, pictures and words that float through my brain on the surface of soap bubbles ready to burst if I try too hard to remember the actual details.

  "You and Gisselle look a lot like her, you know. I don't deserve the good fortune of having two of you to remind me of Gabrielle, but I thank whatever Fate has brought you here," he said.

  "Grandmère Catherine," I said. "That's who you should thank." He nodded.

  "I'll spend as much time with you as I can. I'll show you New Orleans myself and tell you about our family."

  "What do you do?" I asked, realizing I didn't even know that much about him. The way I asked, the way my eyes widened at the sight of all these expensive furnishings in this mansion made him laugh.

  "Right now I make my money in real estate investments. We own a number of apartment buildings and office buildings and we're involved in a number of developments. I have offices downtown.

  "We are a very old and established family, who can actually trace their lineage back to the original Mississippi Trading Company, a French colonial company. My father did a genealogy which I will have to show you some day," he added, smiling. "And he proved that we can trace our lineage back to one of the hundred Fines a la Casette or casket girls."

  "What were they?" I asked.

  "Women back in France who were carefully chosen from among good middle-class families and each given only a small chest containing various articles of clothing, and sent over to become wives for the Frenchmen settling the area. They didn't have all that much more than you're carrying in your small bag," he added.

  "However," he continued, "the Dumas family history isn't filled only with reputable and highly prized things. We had ancestors who once owned and operated one of the elegant gambling houses and even made money on the bordellos in Storyville. Daphne's family has the same sort of past, but she isn't as eager to own up to it," he said.

  He rubbed his hands together and stood up.

  "Well, we'll have plenty of time to talk about all this. I promise. Right now, I imagine you're tired. You'd like a bath and a chance to relax and go to sleep. In the morning, you can begin your new life, one that I hope will be wonderful for you. May I kiss you and welcome you to what will become your new home and family," he asked.

  "Yes," I said and closed my eyes as he brought his lips to my cheek.

  My father's first kiss . . . how many times had I dreamt about it, had I seen him in my dreams approach my bed and lean down to kiss me good night, the mysterious father of my paintings who stepped off the canvas and pressed his lips to my cheek and stroked my hair and drove away all the demons that hover in the shadows of our hearts . . . the father I had never known.

  I opened my eyes and looked up into his and saw the tears. His eyes were filled with sorrow and pain, and it seemed he aged a little as he stared at me with much regret.

  "I'm glad I've finally found you," I said. In an instant, that sorrow that washed over his beautiful eyes disappeared and his face beamed.

  "You must be very special. I don't know why I should be this fortunate." He took my hand and led me out of the living room, talking about some of the other rooms, the paintings, the artworks as we approached the winding stairway.

  Just as we reached the upstairs landing, a door was thrust open down right and Gisselle stepped out with Beau Andreas right beside her.

  "What are you doing with her?" she demanded.

  "Take it easy, Gisselle," our father said. "I'll be explaining it all to you in a moment."

  "You're putting her in the room next to mine?" she asked, grimacing.

  "Yes."

  "This is horrible, horrible!" she screamed, and stepped back into her room before slamming the door.

  Beau Andreas, who had come out, looked embarrassed. "I think I'd better be going," he said.

  "Yes," my father told him.

  Beau started away and Gisselle jerked open her door again.

  "Beau Andreas, how dare you leave this house without me!" she cried.

  "But . . ." He looked at my father. "You and your family have things to discuss, to do and—"

  "It can wait until morning. It's Mardi Gras," Gisselle declared, and glared at our father. "I've been waiting all year to attend this ball. All my friends are there already," she moaned.

  "Monsieur?" Beau said. My father nodded.

  "It can wait until morning," he said.

  Gisselle swept back the strands of hair she had shaken over her shoulders in her rage and marched out of her room, glaring at me as she walked by to join Beau Andreas. He looked uncomfortable, but let her take his arm, and then the two of them marched down the stairs, Gisselle pounding each step as she descended.

&
nbsp; "She has been so looking forward to this ball," my father explained. I nodded, but my father felt the need to continue to justify her behavior. "It wouldn't do any good to force her to stay. She would be less apt to listen and understand. Daphne does so much better with her when she's like this anyway," he added.

  "But I'm sure," he said as we continued toward my new bedroom, "in time she will be overjoyed and excited about getting a sister. She's been an only child too long. She's a bit spoiled. Now," he said, "I have another young lady to spoil, too."

  The moment we stepped into my new room, I felt that spoiling had begun. It had a dark pine canopy queen-size bed, the canopy made of fine pearl-colored silk with a fringe border. The pillows were enormous and fluffy looking, the bedspread, pillowcases, and top sheet all in chintz, the flowers full of Color and glazed. The wallpaper duplicated the floral pattern in the linens. Above the headboard was a painting of a beautiful young woman in a garden setting feeding a parrot. There was a cute black and white puppy tugging at the hem of her full skirt. On each side of the bed were two nightstands, each with a bell shaped lamp. But beside a matching dresser and armoire, the room had a vanity table with an enormous oval mirror in an ivory frame, the frame covered with hand painted red and yellow roses. And in the corner beside it, an old French birdcage hung.

  "I have my own bathroom?" I asked, gazing through the open doorway on my right. The plush bathroom had a large tub, sink, and commode, all with brass fixtures. There were even flowers and birds hand painted on the tub and sink.

  "Of course. Twin sister or not, Gisselle is not the sort you share a bathroom with," my father said, smiling. "This door," he added, nodding at the door on my left, "joins the two rooms. I hope the day will soon come when the two of you will move back and forth through it eagerly."

  "So do I," I said. I went to the windows and gazed out at the grounds of the estate. I saw that I faced the pool and the tennis court. Through the open window, I could smell the green bamboo, gardenias, and blooming camellias.

  "Do you like it?" my father asked.

  "Like it? I love it. It's the most wonderful room I've ever seen," I declared. He laughed at my exuberance.