Pearl in the Mist

by V. C. Andrews

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.

  "There are other schools, farther away, with

  rules far stricter than the rules at Greenwood." "You mean reform schools," Gisselle said. "Gisselle," I said, "stop arguing. It's no use." She gazed at me with her teary eyes.

  I shook my head. "She almost had me

  committed once. She's capable of anything." "That's enough," Daphne snapped. "Go up and

  pack your clothes and remember my warnings about

  your behavior at school. I don't want to hear a bad

  word. It's enough that Pierre went and died and left

  me to be guardian over the offspri
ng resulting from

  his wild indulgences. I don't have the time nor the

  emotional strength for it."

  "Oh, you have the strength, Daphne," I said.

  "You have the strength."

  She stared at me a moment and then put her

  hand on her chest. "My heart is beating a mile a

  minute, Bruce. I have to go up. Will you see to it that

  they do what they're told and the limousine is here to

  take them to school in the morning?"

  "Of course," he said.

  I rose quickly and pushed my sister out of the

  parlor. Maybe she realized it now; maybe she

  understood that when Daddy died, we had become

  orphans, albeit orphans from a rich family, but poorer

  than the poorest when it came to having someone to

  love and someone to love us.

  12

  Dark Clouds

  .

  Despite what Gisselle had heard and seen in the

  parlor the day before, she somehow blamed me, insisting I hadn't done enough to persuade Daphne to let us remain at home and return to school in New Orleans.

  "At least you have something there you like," she moaned before we went to sleep the night before. "You have your precious Miss Stevens and your artwork to occupy yourself, and you can run up to the Clairborne mansion to tease Mrs. Clairborne's blind grandson, but all I have is this group of stupid, immature girls with which to amuse myself."

  "I don't tease, Louis," I said. "I feel sorry for him. He's someone who's suffered great emotional pain."

  "And what about me? Haven't I suffered great emotional pain? I nearly died; I'm crippled. We're sisters. Why don't you feel sorry for me?" she cried.

  "I do," I said, but it was half a lie, Despite Gisselle's being confined to a wheelchair, I found it more and more difficult to sympathize with her plight. Most of the time, Gisselle managed to get what she wanted no matter what, and usually at someone else's expense.

  "No you don't! And now I've got to go back to that . . that hellhole," she groaned.

  She threw a tantrum and wheeled herself about her room, knocking things off the dresser and scattering clothing everywhere. Poor Martha had to come in and straighten it all out before Daphne discovered what Gisselle had done.

  In the morning she sat rigidly in her wheelchair, as stiff as she would be had she been calcified, not moving a limb and making the transference from chair to chair to car that much more difficult. She refused to eat a morsel of breakfast and kept her lips so tightly pressed together, they looked stitched closed. Although Gisselle was doing all this for our stepmother's benefit, Daphne witnessed none of her tantrum. She merely sent down orders for Edgar, Nina, and the chauffeur and reminders with warnings attached for us. Bruce Bristow arrived just before we were to leave to make sure our departure went smoothly and on schedule. It was the only time Gisselle uttered a word.

  "Who are you now," she taunted, "Daphne's little gofer? Bruce, go for this; Bruce, go for that." She laughed at her own derisive comment. Bruce's face turned pink, but he simply smiled and then went to see to the luggage. Frustrated and furious, Gisselle gave up and sat back with her eyes closed, resembling one of the patients strapped in a straitjacket in Uncle Jean's institution.

  The trip back to Greenwood was almost as depressing as our journey home to Daddy's funeral. It was far more bleak, the dark gray skies following us all the way, with some light sprinkles dotting the windshield and creating a need for the monotonous sweep of the wipers. Gisselle closed up as tightly as a clam in her corner of the rear seat, not so much as gazing out the window once we left New Orleans. Occasionally, she would throw me a hard look.

  For my part I found myself looking forward to doing just what Gisselle had said: returning to work with Miss Stevens and throwing all my energies and attention into the development of my artistic talents. After spending days under Daphne's glaring eyes and oppressive thumb, I actually welcomed the sight of Greenwood when we pulled up the drive and saw the girls scurrying about the grounds after class, all of them laughing, giggling, talking with an animation I now envied. Even Gisselle permitted herself to brighten a bit. I knew she wouldn't show her defeat and disappointment to her disciples.

  In fact, once she was back in our dorm, she immediately reverted to her previous demeanor and behavior, refusing to acknowledge anyone's expression of sympathy, acting as if Daddy's death and funeral had been just a terrible inconvenience. She wasn't in her room two minutes before she opened fire on her new whipping boy, her roommate Samantha, screaming at her for having the nerve to move some of her things while she was away. All of us heard the commotion and came out to see what was happening. Samantha was in tears in the doorway where Gisselle had driven her during her tirade.

  "How dare you touch my cosmetics? You stole some of my perfume, didn't you? Didn't you?" she hammered. "I know there was more in the bottle."

  "I didn't."

  "Yes you did. And you tried on some of my clothes too." She spun around in her chair and glared at me. "Look at what I have to put up with since you forced me to move out of your room and share a room with her!" Gisselle screamed.

  I nearly burst out laughing at the lie. "Me? I told you to move? You were the one who wanted to move, Gisselle. You were the one who insisted," I said. Vicki, Kate, and Jacki all looked at me sympathetically because they knew what I said was the truth. But none was willing to come to my defense and risk Gisselle's wrath.

  "I did not!" Gisselle yelled, her face so red with anger and frustration, she looked like the top of her head would blow off. She pounded the arms of her wheelchair with her fists and shook her body from side to side so vigorously, I thought she would topple over. "You wanted to be with that quadroon so bad you drove me out." She pulled her eyes back under her trembling lids and foamed at the lips, gagging and choking. Everyone thought she was going into a convulsion, but I had seen her behave this way many times before.

  "All right, Gisselle," I said with a tone of defeat, "calm down. What do you want?"

  "I want her out of here!" she demanded, pointing her right forefinger at Samantha, who looked as confused and frightened as a baby bird driven out of its nest.

  "Do you want to move back in with me, then? Is that what you want?" I asked, slowly closing and opening my eyes.

  "No. I'll live by myself and take care of myself," she insisted, wrapping her arms around her body and sitting back firmly in her chair. "Just as long as she's out of here."

  "You can't toss people in and out of your room like you would one of your stuffed animals, Gisselle," I chastised. She turned her head slowly and fixed her eyes on little Samantha, burning her gaze into the diminutive strawberry blonde, who stepped farther back.

  "I'm not tossing her out. She wants to leave, don't you, Samantha?"

  Samantha turned helplessly and gazed at me.

  "You can move in with me, Samantha," I said, "if my sister is so positive she can be on her own."

  Now that Daphne had forced us to return to Greenwood, I knew that all Gisselle was out to do was make everyone else's life as miserable as her own.

  "Sure," she whined, "take someone else's side, just like you always do. We're twins, but do you ever act like we are? Do you?"

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

  "All right, what is it you want, Gisselle? Do you want Samantha to move out or don't you?"

  "Of course I do! She's a pathetic little . . . virgin!" she thundered. Then she twisted her lips into a wry smile before adding, "Who dreams of sleeping with Jonathan Peck." She wheeled toward her. "Isn't that what you told me, Samantha? Don't you wonder what it would be like to have Jonathan touch your precious little breasts and kiss you below your belly button? And bring the tip of his tongue--"

  "Stop it, Gisselle," I screamed. She smiled at Samantha, who now had large tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't know how to react, how to deal with this violent betra
yal.

  "Get your things together, Samantha," I told her, "and bring them into my room."

  "And I want any of my things that were left in there brought into MY room," Gisselle commanded. "Kate will help, won't you, Kate?" she asked, smiling at her.

  "What? Oh, sure."

  Gisselle widened her smile for me, glared at Samantha, and then twirled her wheelchair about to return to her room, mumbling loudly about having to check all her things now to see what else Samantha had stolen or used.

  "I didn't take any of her things. Honest," Samantha exclaimed again.

  "Just move out, Samantha, and don't try to explain or defend yourself," I advised.

  I didn't mind having a new roommate and I thought it would serve Gisselle right to have to struggle on her own for a while. Maybe then she would appreciate the help everyone else gave her. But whether it was out of spite or out of defiance, she surprised me by unpacking her own things, changing her dress and shoes for dinner, and fixing her own hair. Kate was given the privilege of wheeling her about now that Samantha was persona non grata. At least for a while, it looked like things would calm down.

  After dinner that night, while Vicki was helping me catch up with the work I had missed in the classes she and I shared, Jacki came to my doorway to tell me I had a phone call. I hurried out, assuming it was either Beau or Paul, but it turned out to be Louis.

  "I found out from Mrs. Penny about your father," he began. "I wanted to call you in New Orleans, but my cousin wouldn't give me the telephone number. She said it was inappropriate. Anyway, I'm sorry."

  "Thank you, Louis."

  "I know what it means to lose a parent," he continued. He was silent for a moment and then he changed his tone of voice. "I've been making slow but definite progress with my eyesight," he said. "I can distinguish shapes even better and more clearly. There's still a gray haze over everything, but my doctors are very optimistic."

  "I'm happy for you, Louis."

  "Can I see you soon? That sounds so great to say, 'see you.' Can I?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Come tomorrow. For dinner," he said excitedly. "I'll have the cook prepare a shrimp gumbo."

  "No, I can't for dinner. I have serving duty, and it wouldn't be right to ask anyone to take my place."

  "Then come after dinner."

  "I'll probably have loads of schoolwork to catch up on," I said.

  "Oh." Disappointment dripped through the phone. "Just give me a little while to catch up on everything," I pleaded.