Ruby l-1

by V. C. Andrews

  "Of course it's all right. This is your home. Go where you like. Well now, Gisselle understands what's happened and wants to greet you as if for the first time," he said, and smiled. I looked at Gisselle who sighed and stepped forward.

  "I'm sorry for the way I behaved," she began. "I didn't know the story. No one ever told me anything like this before," she added, shifting her eyes toward our father, who looked sufficiently apologetic. "Anyway, this changes things a lot. Now that I know you really are my sister and you've gone through a terrible time."

  "I'm glad," I said. "And you don't have to apologize for anything. I can understand why you'd be upset at me suddenly appearing on your doorstep."

  She seemed pleased, gashed a look at father and then turned back to me.

  "I want to welcome you to our family. I'm looking forward to getting to know you," she added. It had the resonance of something memorized, but I was happy to hear the words nevertheless. "And don't worry about school. Daddy told me you were concerned, 'But you don't have to be. No one is going to give my sister a hard time," she declared.

  "Gisselle is the class bully," our father said, and smiled.

  "I'm not a bully, but I'm not going to let those namby-pambies push us around," she swore. "Anyway, you can come into my room later and talk. We should really get to know each other."

  "I'd like that."

  "Maybe you want to go along with Ruby and Daphne to shop for Ruby's new wardrobe," our father suggested.

  "I can't. Beau's coming over." She flashed a smile at me. "I mean, I'd call him and cancel, but he so looks forward to seeing me, and besides, by the time I get ready, you and Mother could be half finished. Come out to the pool as soon as you get back," she said.

  "I will."

  "Don't let Mother buy those horribly long skirts, the ones that go all the way down to your ankles. Everyone's wearing shorter skirts these days," she advised, but I couldn't imagine telling Daphne what or what not to buy me. I was grateful for anything. I nodded, but Gisselle saw my hesitation.

  "Don't worry about it," Gisselle said. "If you don't get things that are in style, let you borrow something for your first day at school."

  "That's very nice," our father said. "Thanks for being so understanding, honey."

  "You're welcome, Daddy," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. He beamed and then rubbed his hands together.

  "I have a set of twins!" he cried. "Both grown and beautiful. What man could be luckier!"

  I hoped he was right. Gisselle excused herself to go up and get dressed and I walked out to the front of the house with my father to wait for Daphne.

  "I'm sure you and Gisselle will get along marvelously," he said, "but there's bound to be a few hills and valleys in any relationship, especially an instant sister relationship. If you have any real problems, come see me. Don't bother Daphne about it," he said. "She's been a wonderful mother for Gisselle, despite the unusual circumstances, and I'm sure she will be wonderful for you, too; but I feel I should bear most of the responsibilities. I'm sure you understand. You seem very mature, more mature than Gisselle," he added,

  What a strange predicament, I thought. Daphne wanted me to come to her and he wanted me to come to him, and each appeared to have good reason. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to trouble either.

  I heard Daphne's footsteps on the stairway and gazed up. She wore a flowing black skirt, a white velvet blouse, low black heels and a string of real pearls. Her blue eyes glistened and her smile spread to show even white teeth. She carried herself so elegantly.

  "There are few things I like to do better than shop," she declared. She kissed my father on the cheek.

  "Nothing makes me happier than seeing you and Gisselle happy, Daphne," he told her. "And now, I can add Ruby."

  "Go to work, darling. Earn money. I'm going to show your new daughter how to spend it," she retorted.

  "And you won't find a better teacher when it comes to that," he quipped. He opened the door for us and we went out.

  I still felt this was all too good to be true and that any moment I would wake up in my little room in the bayou. I pinched myself and was happy to feel the tiny sting that assured me it was all real.

  13

  I Can't Be You

  I felt as if I were caught in a whirlwind because of the way my new stepmother went about taking me shopping. As soon as we were finished in one boutique, Daphne whisked me out the door to go to another or to a department store. Whenever she decided something looked nice on me or looked appropriate, she ordered it packed immediately, sometimes buying two, three, and four of the same blouse, the same skirt, even the same pair of shoes, but in different colors. The trunk and the backseat of the car quickly filled up. Each purchase took my breath away and she didn't seem at all concerned about the prices.

  Everywhere we went, the salespeople appeared to know Daphne and respect her, We were treated like royalty, some clerks throwing aside anything they were doing the instant Daphne and I marched into their stores. Most assumed I was Gisselle and Daphne did not bother to explain.

  "It's not important what these people do and don't know," she told me when a saleslady called me Gisselle. "When they call you Gisselle, just go along for now. The people who matter will be told everything quickly."

  Although Daphne didn't have much respect for the sales people, I noticed how careful they were when they made suggestions, and how concerned they were that Daphne might not approve. As soon as Daphne settled on a color or a style, all of them nodded and agreed immediately, complimenting her in chorus on the choices she had made for me.

  She did seem very informed. She knew the latest styles, the designers by name, and the garments that had been featured in fashion magazines, knowing things about clothes that even the salespeople and store owners didn't know yet themselves. Being chic and up-to-date was obviously a high priority for my stepmother, who became upset if the salesperson brought colors that didn't coordinate perfectly or if a sleeve or hem was wrongly cut. Most of the time between stores and traveling in the car, she lectured to me about style, the importance of appearance, and being sure everything I wore matched and coordinated.

  "Every time you go out of the house and into society, you make a statement about yourself," she warned, "and that statement reflects on your family.

  "I know that living in the bayou you were used to plain clothes, to practical clothes. Being feminine wasn't as important. Some of the Cajun women I've seen who work side by side with their men are barely distinguishable from them. If it weren't for their bosoms—"

  "That's not so, Daphne," I said. "Women in the bayou can dress very pretty when they go to the dances and the parties. They may not have rich jewels, but they love beautiful clothes, too, even though they don't have these expensive stores. But they don't need them," I said, my Cajun pride unfurling like a flag. "My Grandmère Catherine made many a gorgeous dress and—"

  "You've got to stop doing that, Ruby, and especially remember not to do it in front of Gisselle," she snapped. A small flutter of panic stirred in my chest.

  "Stop doing what?"

  "Talking about your Grandmère Catherine as if she were some wonderful person," she explained.

  "But she was!"

  "Not according to what we've told Gisselle and what we are telling our friends and society. As far as everyone is to know, this old lady, Catherine, knew you were kidnapped and sold to her family. It's nice that she had remorse on her deathbed and told you the truth so you could return to your real family, but it would be better if you didn't show how much you loved her," she proclaimed.

  "Not show how much I loved Grandmère? But—"

  "You would only make us look like fools, especially your father," she said. She smiled. "If you can't say anything bad, don't say anything at all."

  I sat back. This was too much of a price to pay, even though I knew Grandmère Catherine would tell me to do it. I bit down on my lower lip to keep from voicing any more protest.

  "Lies
are not deadly sins, you know," she continued. "Everyone tells little lies, Ruby. I'm sure you've done it before."

  Little lies? Is that what she considered this story and all the stories that had to follow as a result? Little lies?

  "We all have our illusions, our fantasies," she said, and threw me a quick glance of devilment. "Men, especially, expect it," she added.

  What kind of men was she talking about? I wondered. Men who expected their women to lie, to fantasize? Could men be that different in the city world from what they were in the bayou?

  "That's why we dress up and make up our faces to please them. Which reminds me, you have nothing for your vanity table," she said, and decided to take me to her cosmetic store next and buy me whatever she decided was appropriate for a teenager. When I explained I had never worn any makeup, even lipstick, she asked the saleswoman to give me a demonstration, finally revealing to someone that I wasn't Gisselle. Daphne abbreviated the story, relating it as if it were nothing extraordinary. Nevertheless, the tale flew through the large store and everyone fluttered about us.

  They sat me before a mirror and showed me how to use the rouge, matched up shades of lipstick to my complexion, and taught me how to pluck my eyebrows.

  "Gisselle sneaks on eyeliner," Daphne said. "But I don't think that's necessary."

  We went through perfumes next, Daphne actually letting me make the final decision this time. I favored one that reminded me of the scent of the fields in the bayou after a summer rain; although I didn't tell Daphne that was the reason. She approved, bought me some talcum powders, some bubble bath, and fragrant shampoo, besides new hairbrushes and combs, bobby pins, ribbons, nail polish, and files. Then she bought a smart, red leather case for me to put all my toiletries in.

  After that, she decided we must get my spring and summer coats, a raincoat, and some hats. I had to model a dozen of each in two different stores before she decided which suited me best. I wondered if she put Gisselle through all this every time she took her shopping. She appeared to anticipate my question when she saw me grimace after she had turned down six coats in a row.

  "I'm trying to get you things that are similar but yet distinct enough to draw some differences between you and your twin. Of course, it would be nice for you to have some matching outfits, but I don't think Gisselle would approve."

  So Gisselle had some say when it came to her own wardrobe, I concluded. How long would it be before I did, too?

  I never thought shopping, especially a shopping spree like this in which everything purchased was purchased for me, would be exhausting; but when we left the last department store in which Daphne had bought me dozens of pairs of undergarments, slips, and a few bras, I was happy to hear her say we were finished for now.

  "I'll pick up other things for you from time to time when I go shopping for myself," she promised. I looked back at the pile in the rear of the automobile. It was so high and so thick it was impossible to see through the back window. I couldn't imagine what the total cost had been, but I was sure it was an amount that would be staggering to Grandmère Catherine. Daphne caught me shaking my head.

  "I hope you're happy with it all," she said.

  "Oh, yes," I said. "I feel like . . . like a princess.‖

  She raised her eyebrows and looked at me with a small, tight smile.

  "Well, you are your daddy's little princess, Ruby. You had better get used to being spoiled. Many men, especially rich Creole men, find it easier and more convenient to buy the love of the women around them, and many Creole women, especially women like me, make it easy for them to do so," she said smugly.

  "But it's not really love if someone pays for it, is it?" I asked.

  "Of course it is," she replied. "What do you think love is . . . bells ringing, music in the breeze, a handsome, gallant man sweeping you off your feet with poetic promises he can't possibly keep? I thought you Cajuns were more practical minded," she said with that same tight smile. I felt my face turn zed, both from anger and embarrassment. Whenever she had something negative to say, I was a Cajun, but whenever she had something nice to say, I was a Creole blue blood, and she made Cajuns sound like such clods, especially the women.

  "Up until now, I bet you've only had poor boyfriends. The most expensive gift they could probably give you was a pound of shrimp. But the boys who will be coming around now will be driving expensive automobiles, wearing expensive clothing, and casually be giving you presents that will make your Cajun eyes bulge," she said, and laughed.

  "Look at the rings on my hand!" she exclaimed, lifting her right hand off the steering wheel. Every finger had a ring on it. There seemed to be one for every valuable jewel: diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires all set in gold and platinum. Her hand looked like a display in a jewelry shop window.

  "Why I bet the amount of money I have on this hand would buy the houses and food for a year for ten swamp families."

  "They would," I admitted. I wanted to add and that seems unfair, but I didn't.

  "Your father wants to buy you some nice bracelets and rings himself, and he noted that you have no watch. With beautiful jewelry, nice clothes, and a little makeup, you will at least look like you've been a Dumas for your whole life. The next thing I'll do is take you through some simple rules of etiquette, show you the proper way to dine and speak."

  "What's wrong with how I eat and talk?" I wondered aloud. My father hadn't appeared upset at breakfast or lunch.

  "Nothing, if you lived the rest of your life in the swamps, but you're in New Orleans now and part of high society. There will be dinner parties and gala affairs. You want to become a refined, educated, and attractive young woman, don't you?" she asked.

  I couldn't help wanting to be like her. She was so elegant and carried herself with such an air of confidence, and yet, every time I agreed to something she said or did something she wanted me to do, it was as if I were looking down upon the Cajun people, treating them as if they were less important and not as good.

  I decided I would do what I had to do to make my father happy and blend into his world, but I wouldn't harbor any feelings of superiority, if I could help it. I was only afraid I would become more like Gisselle than, as my father wished, Gisselle would become more like me.

  "You do want to be a Dumas, don't you?" she pursued.

  "Yes," I said, but not with much conviction. My hesitation gave her reason to glance at me again, those blue eyes darkening with suspicion.

  "I do hope you will make every effort to answer the call of your Creole blood, your real heritage, and quickly block out and forget the Cajun world you were unfairly left to live in. Just think," she said, a little lightness in her voice now, "it was just chance Gisselle was the one given the better life. If you would have emerged first from your mother's womb, Gisselle would have been the poor Cajun girl."

  The idea made her laugh.

  "I must tell her that she could have been the one kidnapped and forced to live in the swamps," she added. "Just to see the look on her face."

  The thought brought a broad smile to hers. How was I to tell her that despite the hardships Grandmère Catherine and I endured and despite the mean things Grandpère Jack had done, my Cajun world had its charm, too?

  Apparently, if it wasn't something she could buy in a store, it wasn't significant to her, and despite what she told me, love was something you couldn't buy in a store. In my heart I knew that to be true, and that was one Cajun belief she would never change, elegant, rich life at stake or not.

  When we drove up to the house, she called Edgar out to take all the packages up to my room. I wanted to help him, but Daphne snapped at me as soon as I made the suggestion.

  "Help him?" she said as if I had proposed burning down the house. "You don't help him. He helps you. That's what servants are fore my dear child. I'll see to it that Wendy hangs everything up that has to be hung up in your closet and puts everything else in your armoire and vanity table. You run along and find your sister and do whatever it i
s girls your age do on your days off from school."

  Having servants do the simplest things for me was one of the hardest things for me to get used to, I thought. Wouldn't it make me lazy? But no one seemed concerned about being lazy here. It was expected of you, almost required.

  I remembered that Gisselle said she would be out at the pool, lounging with Beau Andreas. They were there, lying on thick cushioned beige metal framed lounges and sipping from tall glasses of pink lemonade. Beau sat up as soon as he set eyes on me and beamed a warm smile. He was wearing a white and blue terry cloth jacket and shorts and Gisselle was in a two-piece dark blue bathing suit, her sunglasses almost big enough to be called a mask.

  "Hi," Beau said immediately. Gisselle looked up, lowering and peering over her sunglasses as if they were reading glasses.

  "Did Mother leave anything in the stores for anyone else?" she asked.

  "Barely," I said. "I've never been to so many big department stores and seen so much clothing and shoes." Beau laughed at my enthusiasm.

  "I'm sure she took you to Diana's and Rudolph Vita's and the Moulin Rouge, didn't she?" Gisselle said.

  I shook my head.

  "To tell you the truth, we went in and out of so many stores and so quickly, I don't remember the names of half of them," I said with a gasp. Beau laughed again and patted his lounge. He pulled his legs up, embracing them around the knees.

  "Sit down. Take a load off," he suggested.

  "Thanks." I sat down next to him and smelled the sweet scent of the coconut suntan lotion he and Gisselle had on their faces.

  "Gisselle told me your story," he said. "It's fantastic. What were these Cajun people like? Did they turn you into their little slave or something?"

  "Oh, no," I said, but quickly checked my enthusiasm. "I had my daily chores, of course."

  "Chores," Gisselle moaned.

  "I was taught handicrafts and helped make the things we sold at the roadside to the tourists, as well as helping with the cooking and the cleaning," I explained.

  "You can cook?" Gisselle asked, peering over her glasses at me again.