He stepped up behind me. I knew I had only a few seconds and if I didn't make the most of it now, I would be doomed to go up those stairs. Once up there, I was trapped and at his mercy. Even if I could jump out a window, I wouldn't, for I would be leaving him alone with Pearl. I closed my eyes, prayed, and took the handle of the pot firmly in my fingers. Then I spun around as quickly as I could and heaved the hot contents into Buster's face.
He screamed and I ducked under his arms and shot out of the kitchen. I scooped Pearl up and rushed out the door of the shack, pounding over the gallery and down the stairs. I ran into the night without looking back. I heard his shouts and curses and I heard him flailing about within, knocking over chairs, breaking dishes, smashing a window in his rage. But I didn't stop. I hurried into the darkness.
Pearl was so shocked by my actions, she stopped crying. She was shivering with fear, though, for she felt the trembling in my own body. I was afraid Buster would come running after us, but when he didn't do that, I was afraid he would get into his car and come driving after us, so I stayed in the ditches off the side of the road, ready to lunge into the brush and hide the moment I saw car headlights.
I don't know how I managed not to trip and fall with Pearl in my arms, but I was lucky there was some moonlight peeking in and out of the clouds. It threw enough illumination ahead of me to show me the way. Fortunately, I never saw his car coming. I arrived at Mrs. Thibodeau's house and pounded on her front door.
"Ruby!" she cried as soon as she set eyes on Pearl and me. "What's happened?"
"Oh, Mrs. Thibodeau, please help us. Buster Trahaw just tried to rape me in my house," I cried. She opened her door and hurried us in, locking the door after her.
"You just sit right there in the living room," she said, her face white with shock. "I'll get you some water and then ring up the police. Thank goodness I got one of them phones put in last year."
She brought a glass of water back from the kitchen and took Pearl into her arms. I gulped down the cool liquid and sat back, my eyes closed, my heart still thumping so hard, I thought Mrs. Thibodeau could see it rising and falling against my blouse.
"Poor baby, poor child. Oh, my, my. . . Buster Trahaw, you say. My, my . . ."
Pearl stopped crying. She whimpered a bit and then closed her eyes and fell asleep. I took her back into my arms while Mrs. Thibodeau went back to the kitchen to call the police. A short while later, a patrol car arrived, and when the two policemen came in, I described what had happened to me.
"We've had more than one run-in with that good-for-nothing," one of the officers said. "You just stay right here until we come back."
I wasn't about to move an inch. About an hour later, they returned to tell us they found him still at my shack.
He had done some damage and then dug a bottle of rotgut whiskey out of his car to sit and wait for my return. From what they described, they had to have another pair of policemen come by to help subdue Buster.
"We got him in the cage, where he belongs," the policeman told me. "But you'll have to come down to the police station and swear out a complaint. You can do it now or you can do it in the morning."
"She's exhausted," Mrs. Thibodeau said.
"Morning will be fine," the policeman told us. "You don't want to go back to your house just yet anyway," he added, gazing at Mrs. Thibodeau. "It will take a bit of work."
"Oh, Mrs. Thibodeau," I wailed. "He's ruined the only home I have."
"Now, now, child. You know we'll all be there to help you fix it up again. Don't you fret about it. Just get some sleep so you can be bright and cheerful for Pearl in the morning."
I nodded. She brought me a blanket and I slept on her sofa with Pearl in my arms. I didn't think I could sleep, but the moment I closed my eyes, exhaustion set in firmly, and the next thing I knew, the morning light was warming my face. Pearl moaned when I stirred. Her little eyelids fluttered open and she gazed into my face. The realization that she was safe in my arms brought a smile to her lips. I kissed her and thanked God we had escaped.
After Mrs. Thibodeau made us some breakfast, I left Pearl with her and walked to town to go to the police station. They couldn't have been any nicer to me, getting a seat for me immediately and making sure I was comfortable. A secretary brought me some coffee.
"You don't have to worry about proving anything," the policeman sitting at the desk told me. "Buster doesn't deny what he did. He's still complaining about not getting his money's worth. What's that all about?"
I had to tell what Grandpère Jack had done. I was ashamed of it, but there was no other way. All of the policemen who heard the story nodded in sympathy and disgust. Unfortunately, some of them remembered Grandpère Jack vividly.
"He and Buster are cut from the same cloth," the desk policeman told me. Then he took down my statement and told me not to worry. Buster Trahaw wouldn't bother me again. They'd see to it that he was put away someplace where they lost the key. I thanked them and returned to Mrs. Thibodeau's.
I think the reason some people in the bayou still didn't have phones and television sets in their shacks was that news traveled almost as fast without them here. By the time I picked up Pearl and headed back to our home, there were a dozen or so of our neighbors working on the house. In his rage, Buster had ripped off the front door and broken almost every window.
Miraculously, Grandmère Catherine's old rocker survived, although it looked like he had kicked it over a few times. Two of the kitchen chairs didn't do as well. Both suffered broken legs. Fortunately, he started drinking before he decided to go upstairs, so nothing up there was touched. But he did wreck a good deal of my kitchen. Once the details were known, my neighbors provided.
As I came up to the house, I saw Mr. Rodrigues repairing the front door. I remembered when Grandmère Catherine had been called to his home one night to drive away a couchemal, an evil spirit that lurks about when an unbaptized baby dies, He was very grateful and after that night, couldn't do enough for us.
Inside the house, Ms. Rodrigues and the other women were cleaning up. A collection had already been made to replace the broken dishes and glasses. Before afternoon, it resembled a shingling party, a gathering of neighbors to help finish a roof, after which there would be a feast with everyone providing something. The goodness of my neighbors brought tears to my cheeks.
"Now, you don't cry, Ruby," Mrs. Livaudis said.
"These people here remember the good things your Grandmère Catherine did for them, and they're just happy they can do something for you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Livaudis," I said. She hugged me, as did all the women before they left.
"I don't like leaving you alone," Mrs. Thibodeau said. "You're welcome to come back to my house."
"No, we'll be fine now, Mrs. Thibodeau. Thank you for your help," I said.
"Cajun people don't hurt each other," Mrs. Thibodeau emphasized. "That Buster, he was just a rotten egg from the day he was conceived."
"I know, Mrs. Thibodeau."
"Still, dear, it's not right that a young woman like yourself be left alone here in the swamp with an infant to raise." She shook her head and pursed her lips. "Him who shared the pleasure of making her should share the responsibilities, too," she added.
"I'm all right, Mrs. Thibodeau. Really."
"I hope you don't mind me saying what I think, Ruby, but I know your Grandmère would want me to care, and I do care."
I nodded.
"Well, that's all. I spoke my piece. Now it's up to you young people. Times have changed," she said, wagging her head. "Times and people. Good night, dear." We hugged and she left.
By early evening everyone was gone and things settled down again. I put Pearl to sleep, humming to her awhile, and then went downstairs to have some coffee and sit out on my gallery. Mrs. Thibodeau's words returned. I knew they were the words not only thought by other neighbors, but spoken by them behind my back as well. This incident with Buster Trahaw would only make the topic that much more vocal.
When I had changed dresses, I found the letter I had written to Daphne still in my pocket. More than ever now, I felt I should mail it. I went back into the house and finished putting the address on it and then went out to put it in the mailbox for the postman to pick up in the morning. I sat on the gallery again, finally feeling myself relax.
But moments later, a rippling sensation on the back of my neck gave me the awareness that someone was near and watching. My heart contracted. I held my breath and turned to see someone silhouetted in the shadows. I gasped, but he stepped forward quickly. It was Paul. He had come by boat and walked up from the dock.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said. "I wanted to wait until everyone left. Are you all right?"
"Yes. Now."
"How long after I left yesterday," he asked, coming farther forward into the glow of the gallery light, "was it before Buster came here to attack you?"
"Oh, it was quite a while," I told him. "Nearly dinnertime."
"If I had been here . . ."
"You might have gotten hurt, Paul. I was just lucky to escape."
"I might have gotten hurt or I might have hurt him," he said proudly. "Or . . . he might not have come in," he added. He sat on the gallery step arid leaned against the post. After a moment he said, "A young woman and a baby shouldn't be alone." It was as if he had heard Mrs. Thibodeau's words.
"Paul . . ."
"No, Ruby," he said, turning to me. Even in the subdued light, I could see the fires of determination burning in his eyes. "I want to protect you and Pearl. In the world you think is pure make-believe, you would not have to confront Buster Trahaws. I can promise you that, and Pearl wouldn't either," he pointed out.
"But, Paul, it isn't fair for you," I said in a small, tired voice. All of the resistance was slipping away.
He fixed his eyes on me a moment and then nodded slowly. "My father came here to see you, didn't he? You don't have to answer. I know he did. I saw it in his eyes last night at dinner. He's only worried about the weight of his own conscience. Why do I have to suffer for his sins?" he cried, not waiting for my answer.
"But that's just what he doesn't want you to do, Paul. If you marry me . . ."
"I will be happy. Don't I have a say in my own future?" he demanded. "And don't tell me it's fate or destiny, Ruby. You come to a fork in the canals and you choose one or the other. It's only after you've made your choice that fate or destiny takes control, and maybe not even then. I want to make that first choice and I'm not afraid of the canal I'll be poling our pirogue through as long as you and Pearl are at my side."
I sighed and lay my head back on the chair.
"Can't you be happy with me, Ruby? Even under the conditions we outlined? Can't you? You thought you could. I know you did. Why don't we give it a chance, at least? Why don't you let me try? Forget you, forget me. Let's just do it for Pearl," he said.
I smiled at him and wagged my head. "Dirty pool, Paul Marcus Tate."
"All's fair in love and war," he said, smiling back.
I took a deep breath. Out of the darkness could come all the demons of our childhood fears. Every night we put our heads to our pillows, we wondered what loitered in the shadows about our shacks. We were made stronger by our trepidations, but we were haunted by them nevertheless. I was not so naive to think there would be no other Buster Trahaws waiting, hovering in the days to come, and that was why I put the letter to Daphne in my mailbox.
But what was the world I wanted Pearl to grow up in . . . the rich Creole world, the Cajun swamp world . . . or the magical world Paul was designing for us? To live in that castle of a house where I could spend my time painting in the great attic studio, feeling and actually being above all that was hard and dirty and difficult below, did seem like a long, golden promise come true. Should I run away into my own Wonderland? Maybe Paul was right, maybe his father was worried only about soothing his own troubled conscience. Maybe it was time to think of ourselves and to think of Pearl.
"Okay," I said softly.
"What? What did you say?"
"I said . . . okay. I'll marry you and we'll live in our own private paradise above and beyond the troubles and turmoil mired in our pasts. We'll obey our own covenants and take our own oaths. We'll pole down that canal together."
"Oh, Ruby, I'm so happy," he said. He stood up and came to me, taking my hands into his. "You're right," he said suddenly, a new excitement in his eyes. "We must have our own private ceremony first and foremost. Stand up," he said.
"What?"
"Come on. There's no better church than the front gallery of Catherine Landry's home," he declared. "What should we do?" I asked, laughing.
"Take my hand." He seized mine into his and pulled me to my feet. "That's it. Now face . . . that sliver of a moon up there. Go on. Ready? Repeat after me. I, Ruby Dumas. Go on, do it," he said.
"I, Ruby Dumas . . ."
"Do hereby pledge to be the best friend and companion Paul Marcus Tate could have or want."
I repeated it and shook my head.
"And I promise to devote myself to my art and become as famous as possible."
That was easy to say.
"That's all I will ask of you, Ruby," he whispered. "But I have more to ask of myself," he added, and then he looked up at the moon. "I, Paul Marcus Tate, do hereby pledge to love and protect Ruby and Pearl Dumas, to take them into my special world and make them as happy as it is possible to be on this planet. I pledge to work harder and keep all that is ugly and unpleasant from our doorstep and I pledge to be honest and truthful and understanding of any and all Ruby's needs, no matter what I might feel."
He kissed me quickly on the cheek.
"Welcome to the land of magic," he said. We both laughed, but my heart was pounding as if I had really been part of some sacred and important ceremony. "We should have something . . . a toast to our happiness."
"I found a little of Grandmère Catherine's blackberry brandy in a jar at the bottom of a closet," I said. We went inside and I poured the few precious drops into two glasses. Laughing, we tapped our glasses and swallowed the brandy in a gulp. It did seem fitting that we top our pledge with something my Grandmère had made.
"No ceremony, nothing any priest or judge could say, will top this," Paul declared, "for this comes from the bottom of our hearts."
I smiled. I didn't think I could feel so good so soon after my ordeal with Buster Trahaw.
"How should we get married?" I wondered, and thought about his parents again.
"A simple ceremony . . . Let's just elope," he decided. "I'll come by tomorrow and we'll drive up to Breaux Bridge. There's a retired priest there who will marry us, legal and all. He's an old friend of the family."
"But he'll want to know why your parents aren't at our sides, Paul, won't he?"
"Leave it up to me," he said. "I'm to start taking care of you from the moment I wake up tomorrow until the day I die," he said. "Or as long as you'll have me around to do so," he qualified. "Be ready at seven. Just think," he said, "all the old biddies who have been quacking about us will finally stop."
Paul remained with me talking about the house, the things we had to buy and do even after we moved in. He was so excited, I barely got in a word. He talked until I grew so tired, I couldn't keep my eyes from shutting.
"I'd better get going and let you get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow." He kissed me on the cheek and then I watched him go off toward the canal to take his boat home.
Before I went back into the house, however, I walked out to the mailbox and took back the letter to Daphne. I wouldn't mail it, but I couldn't get myself to tear it up. If I had learned anything in my short life, it was that nothing was forever, nothing was certain. I couldn't close all the doors. Not yet.
But at least tonight, I thought, I would go to sleep easily, dreaming of that great attic and my wonderful studio and all the exciting paintings I would do in the days to come. What a great place for Pearl to grow up in, I thought
when I looked in on her. I fixed her blanket, kissed her cheek, and went to bed looking forward to my dreams.
3
My True Wonderland
Pearl's baby babble woke me. It was a heavily overcast day, so there was no warm sunlight to slip through the curtains and caress my closed eyelids until they fluttered open. As soon as I awoke, the significance of what I was about to do returned. I'm going to elope, I thought. Questions rained down from everywhere. When would I actually move Pearl and myself into Cypress Woods? How would we announce our marriage to the community? Had he informed his family by now? What, if anything, did I want to take from the shack? What kind of a wedding were we about to have?
I rose, but I had the strange sensation that I was caught in a dream. Even Pearl had a distant, quiet look in her eyes and was more patient than normally, not crying for her breakfast, not demanding to be plucked out of her crib and held.
"It's a big day for you, my precious," I told her. "Today I'm giving you a new life, a new name, and an entirely different future, one I hope is full of promise and happiness.
"We've got to pick out a nice dress for you to wear. First, let me feed you, and then you will help Mommy choose her own wedding dress, too.
"My wedding dress," I muttered, my eyes suddenly filling with tears. It was in this shack, in this very room that Grandmère Catherine and I talked about my future wedding.
"I always dreamed," she had said, coming over to me to sit beside me and stroke my hair, "that you would have the magical wedding, the one in the Cajun spider legend. Remember? The rich Frenchman imported those spiders from France for his daughter's wedding and released them into the oaks and pines where they wove their canopy of webs. Over them, he sprinkled gold and silver dust and then they had the candlelight wedding procession. The night glittered all around them, promising them a life of love and hope.
"Someday you will marry a handsome man who could be a prince, and you, too, will have a wedding in the stars," Grandmère had promised.
How sad she would be for the now. How much I was feeling sorry for myself. A young woman's heart should be filled with so much excitement on the morning of her wedding day that she would be afraid she would simply burst, I told myself. Every color should be brighter, every sweet sound, sweeter. It should seem like every single creature that lived around her was delighted, too. There should be happy, deliriously excited voices around her, and everywhere she looked, she should fix her eyes on some preparation, some activity related and solely de-voted to the wonderful ceremony she was about to undertake with the man she loved.
All That Glitters l-3 Page 4
