Landry 01 Ruby

by V. C. Andrews

  Gray, honey. Annie Gray can keep a secret better than

  a bank safe."

  I swallowed my tears and vanquished my throat

  lump so I could tell her about Grandmere Catherine,

  her death, Grandpere Jack's moving in and his quickly

  arranging for my marriage to Buster. She listened

  quietly, her eyes sympathetic until I finished. Then

  they blazed furiously.

  "That old monster," she said. "He be Papa La

  Bas," she muttered.

  "Who?"

  "The devil himself," she declared. "You got

  anything that belongs to him on you?"

  "No," I replied. "Why?"

  "Fixin'," she said angrily. "I'd cast a spell on

  him for you. My great-Grandmere, she was brought

  here a slave, but she was a mamaloa." Voodoo queen,

  and she hand me down lots of secrets," she whispered,

  her eyes wide, her face close to mine. "Ya, ye, ye Ii

  konin tou, gris-gris," she chanted. My heart began to

  pound.

  "What's that mean?"

  "Part of a voodoo prayer. If I had a snip of your

  grandpere's hair, a piece of his clothing, even an old

  sock . . . he never be bothering you again," she

  assured me, her head bobbing.

  "That's all right. I'll be fine now," I said, my

  voice no more than a whisper either.

  She stared at me a moment. The white part of

  her eyes looked brighter, almost as if there were two

  tiny fires behind each orb. Finally, she nodded again,

  patted my hand reassuringly and sat back.

  "You be all right, you just don't lose that black

  cat bone I gave you," she told me.

  "Thank you." I let out a breath. The bus

  bounced and turned on the highway. Ahead of us, the

  road became brighter as we approached more lighted

  and populated areas en route to the city that now

  loomed before me like a dream.

  "I tell you what you do when we arrive," Annie

  said. "You go right to the telephone booth and look up

  your relatives in the phone book. Besides their

  telephone number, their address will be there. What's

  their name?"

  "Dumas," I said.

  "Dumas. Oh, honey, there's a hundred Dumas

  in the book, if there's one. Know any first names?" "Pierre Dumas."

  "Probably at least a dozen or so of them," she

  said, shaking her head. "He got a middle initial?" "I don't know," I said.

  She thought a moment.

  "What else do you know about your relatives,

  honey?"

  "Just that they live in a big house, a mansion," I

  said. Her eyes brightened again.

  "Oh. Maybe the Garden District then. You don't

  know what he does for a living?"

  I shook my head. Her eyes turned suspicious as

  one of her eyebrows lifted quizzically.

  "Who's Pierre Dumas? Your cousin? Your

  uncle?"

  "No. My father," I said. Her mouth gaped open

  and her eyes widened with surprise.

  "Your father? And he never set eyes on you

  before?"

  I shook my head. I didn't want to go through the

  whole story, and thankfully, she didn't ask for details.

  She simply crossed herself and muttered something

  before nodding.

  "I'll look in the phone book with you. My

  grandmere told me, I have a mama's vision and can

  see my way through the dark and find the light. I'll

  help you," she added, patting my hand. "Only, one

  thing must be to make it work," she added.

  "What's that?"

  "You've got to give me a token, something valuable to open the doors. Oh, it ain't for me," she added quickly. "It's a gift for the saints to thank them for help in the success of your gris-giis. I'll drop it by

  the church. Whaecha got?"

  "I don't have anything valuable," I said. "You got any money on you?" she asked. "A little money I've earned selling my artwork,"

  I told her.

  "Good," she said. "You give me a ten dollar bill

  at the phone booth and that will give me the power.

  You lucky you found me, honey. Otherwise, you'd be

  wanderin' around this city all night and all day. Must

  be meant to be. Must be I be your good gris-gris." And with that she laughed again and again

  began describing how wonderful her new life in New

  Orleans was going to be once her aunt got her the

  opportunity to sing.

  When I first saw the skyline of the city, I was

  glad I had found Annie Gray. There were so many

  buildings and there were so many lights, I felt as if I

  had fallen into a star laden sky. The traffic and people,

  the maze of streets was over-whelming and

  frightening. Everywhere I looked out the bus window,

  I saw crowds of revelers marching through the streets,

  all of them dressed in bright costumes, wearing masks and hats with bright feathers and carrying colorful paper umbrellas. Instead of masks, some had their faces made up to look like clowns, even the women. People were playing trumpets and trombones, flutes and drums. The bus driver had to slow down and wait for the crowds to cross at almost every corner before finally pulling into the bus station. As soon as he did so, our bus was surrounded by partygoers and musicians greeting the arriving passengers. Some were given masks, some had ropes of plastic jewels cast over their heads and some were given paper umbrellas. It seemed if you weren't celebrating Mardi

  Gras, you weren't welcome in New Orleans. "Hurry," Annie told me as we started down the

  aisle. As soon as I stepped down, someone grabbed

  my left hand, shoved a paper umbrella into my right,

  and pulled me into the parade of brightly dressed

  people so that I was forced to march around the bus

  with them. Annie laughed and threw her hands up as

  she started to dance and swing herself in behind me.

  We marched around as the bus driver unloaded the

  luggage. When Annie saw hers, she pulled me out of

  the line and I followed her into the station. People

  were dancing everywhere, and everywhere I looked,

  there were pockets of musicians playing Dixieland

  Jazz. "There's a phone booth," she said, pointing. We

  hurried to it. Annie opened the fat telephone book. I

  had never realized how many people lived in New

  Orleans. "Dumas, Dumas," she chanted as she ran her

  finger down the page. "Okay, here be the list.

  Quickly," she said, turning back to me. "Fold the ten

  dollar bill as tightly as you can. Go on."

  I did what she asked. She opened her purse and

  kept her eyes closed.

  "Just drop it in here," she said. I did so and she

  opened her eyes slowly and then turned to the phone

  book again. She did look like someone who had fallen

  into a trance. I heard her mumble some gibberish and

  then she put her long right forefinger on the page and

  ran it down slowly. Suddenly, she stopped. Her whole

  body shuddered and she closed and then opened her

  eyes. "It's him!" she declared. She leaned closer and

  nodded. "He does live in the Garden District, big

  house, rich." She tore off a corner of the page and

  wrote the address on it. It was on St. Charles Avenue. "Are you sure?" I asked.

  "Didn't you see my finger stop on the page? I


  didn't stop it; it was stopped!" she said, eyes wide. I

  nodded.

  "Thank you," I said.

  "You welcome, honey. Okay," she said, picking

  up her suitcase. "I got to get me going. You be all

  right now. Annie Gray said so. I'll send for you when

  I start singing some-where," she said, backing away. "Annie don't forget you. Don't forget Annie!"

  she cried. Then she spun around once with her right

  hand high, the colorful bracelets clicking together.

  She threw me a wide smile as she danced her way off,

  falling in with a small group of revelers who marched

  out..the door and into the street.

  I gazed at the street address on the tiny slip of

  paper in the palm of my hand. Did she really have

  some kind of prophetic power or was this incorrect, an

  address that would get me even more lost than I

  imagined? I looked back at the opened telephone

  book, thinking maybe I should know where the

  addresses for any other Pierre Dumas were, and was

  shocked to discover, there was only one Pierre

  Dumas. What sort of magic was required for this? I

  wondered.

  I laughed to myself, realizing I had paid for my

  company and entertainment. But who knew how

  much of what Annie had told me was true and how

  much wasn't? I wasn't one to be skeptical about supernatural mysteries, not with a Traiteur for a

  grandmother.

  Slowly, I walked to the station entrance. For a

  moment, I just stood there gaping out at the city. I

  looked around and floundered, filled with trepidation.

  Part of me wanted to march right back to the bus.

  Maybe I'd be better off in Houma living with Mrs.

  Thibodeau or Mrs. Livaudis, I thought. But the

  laughter and music from another group of revelers

  coming off a different bus interrupted my thoughts.

  When they reached me, one of them, a tall man

  wearing a white and black wolf mask paused at my

  side.

  "Are you all alone?" he asked.

  I nodded. "I just arrived."

  A light sprang into his light blue eyes, the only

  part of his face not hidden by the mask. He was tall

  with wide shoulders. He had dark brown hair and a

  young voice causing me to think he was no more than

  twenty-five.

  "So did I. But this is no night to be all alone,"

  he said. "You're very pretty, but it's Mardi Gras. Don't

  you have a mask to go with that umbrella?" "No," I said. "Someone gave me this as soon as

  I got off the bus. I didn't come for the Mardi Gras. I

  came--"

  "Of course you did," he interrupted. "Here," he

  said, digging into his bag and coming up with another

  mask, a black one with plastic diamonds around its

  edges. "Put on this one and come along with us." "Thank you, but I've got to find this address," I

  said. He looked at my slip.

  "Oh, I know where this is. We won't be far

  from it. Come along. Might as well enjoy yourself on

  the way," he added. "Here, put on the mask. Everyone

  must wear a mask tonight. Go on," he insisted, resting

  his sharp gaze on me. I saw a smile form around his

  eyes and I took the mask.

  "Now you look like you belong," he said. "Do you really know this address?" I asked. "Of course, I do. Come on," he said, taking my

  hand. Perhaps Annie Gray's voodoo magic was

  working, I thought. I found a stranger who could take

  me right to my father's door. I took the stranger's hand

  and hurried out with him to catch up with the group.

  There was music all around us and people hawking

  food and costumes and other masks as well. The

  whole city had been turned into a grand fais dodo, I

  thought. There wasn't a sad face anywhere, or if there

  was, it was hidden behind a mask. Above us, people were raining down confetti from the scrolled iron balconies. Columns and columns of revelers wound around every corner. Some of the costumes the women wore were scant and very revealing. I feasted visually on everything, turning and spinning at this carnival of life: people kissing anyone who was close enough to embrace, obvious strangers hugging and clinging to each other, jugglers juggling colorful balls,

  sticks of fire, and even knives!

  As we danced down the street, the crowds

  began to swell in size. My newly found guide spun

  me around and threw his head back with laughter.

  Then he bought some sort of punch for us to drink and

  a poor boy shrimp sandwich for us to share. It was

  filled with oysters, shrimp, sliced tomatoes, shredded

  lettuce, and sauce piquante. I thought it was delicious.

  Despite my nervousness and trepidation on arriving in

  New Orleans to meet my real family, I was having a

  good time.

  "Thank you. My name's Ruby," I said. I had to

  shout even though he was next to me. That's how loud

  the laughter, the music, and the shouts of others

  around us were. He shook his head and then brought

  his lips to my ear.

  "No names. Tonight, we are all mysterious," he said in a loud whisper. He followed that with a quick kiss on my neck. The feel of his wet lips stunned me for a moment. I heard his cackle and then I stepped

  back.

  "Thank you for the drink and the sandwich, but

  I've got to find this address," I said. He nodded,

  swallowing the rest of his drink quickly.

  "Don't you want to see the parade first?" he

  asked.

  "I can't. I've got to find this address," I

  emphasized.

  "Okay. This is the way," he told me, and before

  I could object, he seized my hand again and led me

  away from the procession of frolickers. We hurried

  down one street and then another before he told me

  we had to take a shortcut.

  "We'll go right through this alley and save

  twenty minutes at least. There's a mob ahead of us." The alley looked long and dark. It had ash cans

  and discarded furniture strewn through it, and there

  was the acrid stench of garbage and urine. I didn't

  move.

  "Come on," he urged, and pulled me behind

  him, ignoring my reluctance. I held my breath, hoping

  now to get through it quickly. But less than halfway

  through the alley, he stopped and turned to me. "What's wrong?" I asked, a chill so cold in my

  stomach it was as if I had swallowed an ice cube

  whole.

  "Maybe we shouldn't hurry so. We're losing the

  best of the night. Don't you want to have fun?" he

  asked, stepping closer. He put his hand on my

  shoulder. I stepped back quickly.

  "I've got to get to my relatives and let them

  know I've arrived," I said, now feeling foolish for

  allowing myself to be pulled into a dark alley with a

  stranger who wouldn't show me his face nor tell me

  his name. How could I have been so desperate and

  trusting?

  "I'm sure they don't expect you so soon on a

  Mardi Gras night. Tonight is a magical night.

  Everything is different," he said. "You're a very pretty

  girl." He lifted the mask from his face, but I couldn't

  see him well in the shadows. Before I could flee, he

 
embraced me and pulled me to him.

  "Please," I said, struggling. "I must go. I don't

  want to do this."

  "Sure you do. It's Mardi Gras. Let yourself

  loose, abandon yourself," he told me, and pressed his

  lips to mine, holding me so tightly, I couldn't pull away. I felt his hands move down my back and begin to scoop up my skirt. I turned and struggled, but his long arms had mine pinned against my sides. I started to scream and he squelched it by pressing his mouth into mine. When I felt his tongue jet out and rub over mine, I gasped. His hands had found my panties and he was tugging them down as he swung me about. I felt myself growing faint. How could he keep his mouth over mine so long? Finally, he pulled his head back and I gulped air. He turned me around, pressing me toward what looked like an old, discarded mattress

  on the alley floor.

  "Stop!" I cried, twisting and turning to break

  free. "Let me go!"

  "It's party time!" he cried, and laughed that dry

  cackle again. But this time, as he brought his face

  toward me, I managed to pull my right hand out from

  under his arm and claw his cheeks and nose. He

  screamed and threw me back in a rage.

  "You bitch!" he cried, wiping his face. I

  cowered in the dark as he lifted his head and released

  another sick laugh. Had I fled from Buster Trahaw

  only to put myself into a worse predicament? Where

  was Annie Gray's magical protection now? I

  wondered as the stranger started toward me, a dark, dangerous silhouette, a character who had escaped

  from my worst nightmares to invade my reality. Fortunately, just as he reached out for me, a

  group of street celebrants turned into our alley, their

  music reverberating off the walls. My attacker saw

  them coming, lowered his mask over his face, and ran

  in the opposite direction, disappearing into the

  darkness as if he had fled back to the world of dark

  dreams.

  I didn't waste a moment. I scooped up my bag

  and ran toward the revelers, who shouted and laughed,

  trying to hold me back so I would join them. "NO!" I cried and broke loose to tear through

  them and out of the alley. Once onto a street, I ran and

  ran to get myself as far away from that alley as I

  could, my feet slapping the pavement so hard, my

  soles stung. Finally, out of breath, my shoulders

  heaving, my side aching, I stopped. When I looked up

  I was happy to see a policeman on the corner. "Please," I said, approaching him. "I'm lost. I

  just arrived and I've got to find this address." "Some night to come to New Orleans and get