Landry 01 Ruby

by V. C. Andrews

  player, easily discernable in his Mardi Gras costume:

  a tight fitting silver outfit designed to resemble a suit

  of armor, such as those worn by medieval knights. He

  had the helmet in his arms. He fastened his gaze on

  me and his face went from a look of surprise and

  astonishment to a smile of happy amazement. Before a word was spoken, Daphne Dumas

  came up beside him. She wore a bright blue tunic with

  long, tight sleeves, the skirt of which had a long train

  and an embroidered gold fringe. It fit closely down to

  her hips, but was wider after. It was buttoned in front

  from top to bottom. Over it, she wore a cloak, low at

  the neck and fastened with a diamond clasp at the

  right breast. She looked like a princess from a fairy

  tale.

  She was nearly six feet tall herself and stood as

  correct as a fashion model. With her beautiful looks, her 'slim, curvaceous figure, she could have easily been one. Her pale reddish blond hair lay softly over her shoulders, not a strand disobedient. She had big, light blue eyes and a mouth I couldn't have drawn more perfectly. It was she who spoke first after she

  took a good look at me.

  "Is this some sort of joke, Beau, something you

  and Gisselle concocted for Mardi Gras?"

  "No, madame," Beau said.

  "It's no joke," my father said, stepping into the

  room and not swinging his eyes from me for an

  instant. "This is not Gisselle. Hello," he said. "Hello." We continued to stare at each other,

  neither able to shift his gaze, he appearing as eager to

  visually devour me as I was to devour him.

  "You found her on our doorstep?" Daphne

  asked Beau.

  "Yes, madame," he replied. "She was turning

  away, losing her courage to knock on the front door

  and present herself," he revealed. Finally, I swung my

  eyes to Daphne and saw a look in her face that seemed

  to suggest she wished I had.

  "I'm glad you came along, Beau," Pierre said.

  "You did the right thing. Thank you."

  Beau beamed. My father's appreciation and

  approval were obviously very important to him. "You came from Houma?" my father asked. I

  nodded and Daphne Dumas gasped and brought her

  hands to her chest. She and my father exchanged a

  look and then Daphne gestured toward Beau with her

  head.

  "Why don't you see how Gisselle is getting

  along, Beau?" Pierre asked firmly.

  "Yes, sir," Beau said, and quickly marched

  away. My father moved in 'closer and then sat on the

  sofa across from me. Daphne closed the two large

  doors softly and turned in expectation.

  "You told them your last name is Landry?" my

  father began. I nodded.

  "Mon Dieu," Daphne said. She swallowed hard

  and reached for the edge of a high back velvet chair to

  steady herself.

  "Easy," my father said, rising quickly to go to

  her. He embraced her and guided her into the chair.

  She sat back, her eyes closed. "Are you all right?" he

  asked her. She nodded without speaking. Then he

  turned back to me.

  "Your grandfather. . . his name is Jack?" Yes."

  "He's a swamp trapper, a guide?"

  I nodded.

  "How could they have done this, Pierre?"

  Daphne cried softly. "It's ghastly. All these years!" "I know, I know," my father said. "Let me get

  at the core of this, Daphne." He turned back to me, his

  eyes still soft, but now troubled, too. "Ruby. That is

  your name?" I nodded. "Tell us what you know about

  all this and why you have presented yourself at this

  time. Please," he added.

  "Grandmere Catherine told me about my

  mother. . how she became pregnant and then how

  Grandpere Jack arranged for my sister's . . . "--I

  wanted to say "sale," but I thought it sounded too

  harsh--". . . my sister's coming to live with you.

  Grandmere Catherine was not happy about the

  arrangements. She and Grandpere Jack stopped living

  together soon afterward."

  My father shifted his eyes to Daphne, who

  closed and opened hers. Then he fixed his gaze on me

  again.

  "Go on," he said.

  "Grandmere Catherine kept the fact that my

  mother was pregnant with twins a secret, even from

  Grandpere Jack. She decided I was to live with her

  and my mother, but. . ." Even now, even though I had never set eyes on my mother or heard her voice, just mentioning her death brought tears to my eyes and

  choked back the words.

  "But what?" my father begged.

  "But my mother died soon after Gisselle and I

  were born," I revealed. My father's cheeks turned

  crimson. 1 saw his breath catch and his own eyes tear

  over, but he quickly regained his composure, glanced

  at Daphne again, and then turned back to me. "I'm sorry to hear that," he uttered, his voice

  nearly cracking.

  "Not long ago, my Grandmere Catherine died.

  She made me promise that if something bad happened

  to her, 1 would go to New Orleans and present myself

  to you rather than live with Grandpere Jack," I said.

  My father nodded.

  "1 knew him slightly, but I can understand why

  your grandmother didn't want you to live with him,"

  he said.

  "Don't you have any other relatives . . aunts,

  uncles?" Daphne asked quickly.

  "No, madame," I said. "Or at least, none that I

  know of in Houma. My grandfather talked of his

  relatives who live in other bayous, but Grandmere

  Catherine never liked us to associate with them." "How dreadful," Daphne said, shaking her

  head. 1 wasn't sure if she meant my family life or the

  present situation.

  "This is amazing. I have two daughters," Pierre

  said, allowing himself a smile. It was a handsome

  smile. I felt myself start to relax. Under his warm gaze

  the tension drained out of me. I couldn't help thinking

  he was so much the father I'd always wanted, a softspoken, kindly man.

  But Daphne flashed him a cool, chastising look. "Double the embarrassment, too," she reminded

  him.

  "What? Oh, yes, of course. I'm glad you've

  finally revealed yourself," he told me, "but it does

  present us with a trifle of a problem."

  "A trifle of a problem? A trifle!" Daphne cried.

  Her chin quivered.

  "Well, somewhat more serious, I'm afraid." My

  father sat back, pensive.

  "I don't mean to be a burden to anyone," I said,

  and stood up quickly. "I'll return to Houma. There are

  friends of my grandmere's ."

  "That's a fine idea," Daphne said quickly.

  "We'll arrange for transportation, give you some

  money. Why, we'll even send her some money from time to time, won't we, Pierre? You can tell your

  grandmother's friends that--"

  "No," Pierre said, his eyes fixed so firmly on

  me, I felt like his thoughts were traveling through

  them and into my heart. "I can't send my own

  daughter away."

  "But it's not as if she is your daughter in

  actuality, Pierre. You haven't known her a day since

&nb
sp; her birth and neither have I. She's been brought up in

  an entirely different world," Daphne pleaded. But my

  father didn't appear to hear her. With his gaze still

  fixed on me, he spoke.

  "I knew your grandmother better than I knew

  your grandfather. She was a very special woman with

  special powers," he said.

  "Really, Pierre," Daphne interrupted. "No, Daphne, she was. She was what Cajuns

  call. . . a Traiteur, right?" he asked me. I nodded. "If

  she thought it was best for you to come here, she must

  have had some special reasons, some insights,

  spiritual guidance," Pierre said.

  "You can't be serious, Pierre," Daphne said.

  "You don't put any validity in those pagan beliefs.

  Next thing, you'll be telling me you believe in Nina's

  voodoo."

  "I never reject it out of hand, Daphne. There are

  mysteries that logic, reason, and science can't

  explain," he told her. She closed her eyes and sighed

  deeply.

  "How do you propose to handle this. . . this

  situation, Pierre? How do we explain her to our

  friends, to society?" she asked. I was still standing,

  afraid to take a step away, yet afraid to sit down again,

  too. I clung so hard to my little b. t of possessions, my

  knuckles turned white while my father thought. "Nina wasn't with us when Gisselle was

  supposedly born," he began.

  "We had that mulatto woman, Tituba,

  remember?"

  "I remember. I remember hating her. She was

  too sloppy and too lazy and she frightened me with

  her silly superstitions," Daphne recalled. "Dropping

  pinches of salt everywhere, burning clothing in a

  barrel with chicken droppings . . . at least Nina keeps

  her beliefs private."

  "And so we let Tituba go right after Gisselle

  was supposedly born, remember? At least, that was

  what we told the public."

  "What are you getting at, Pierre? How does that

  relate to this trifling problem?" she asked caustically. "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.

  "Grandmere 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

  Grandmere 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 grandmere 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 Grandmere Catherine had been

  part of some kidnapping plot. That bothered me, but

  then I thought Grandmere Catherine would want me

  to do everything possible to stay here--far away from

  Grandpere 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