"Is he in there now?"
She looked at the door.
"Yes," she said.
"I want to talk to him."
"He's not in the talking mood. The fact is, he's not himself. You don't want to talk to him or even see him like this. It would upset him afterward more than it would upset you now. Just go to sleep. You can talk to him in the morning," she said, and narrowed her eyes as a new thought crossed her suspicious mind. "Why is it so important for you to talk to him now anyway? What is it you want to tell him that you can't tell me? Have you done something else that's terrible?"
"No," I replied quickly.
"Then what did you want to say to him?" she pursued.
"I just wanted . . to comfort him."
"He has his priests and his doctors for that," she said. I was surprised she didn't say he had her, too. "Besides, if your stomach's bothering you so much you had to come home, how can you sit around talking to someone?" she followed quickly like a trial lawyer.
"It feels a little better," I said. She looked skeptical again. "But you're right. I'd better go to sleep," I added. She nodded and I walked to my room. She remained in the hallway watching me until I went inside.
I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to describe not only what had happened tonight, but the truth about the night with the rum and all the nasty things Gisselle had said and done at school, but I thought once I had drawn so sharp and clear a battle line between us, Gisselle and I would never be the sisters we were meant to be. She would hate me too much. Despite all that had already happened between us, I still clung to the hope that we would bridge the gap that all these years and different ways of living had created. I knew that right now I wanted that to happen more than Gisselle did, but I still thought she would eventually want it as much. In this hard and cruel world, having a sister or a brother, someone to care for you and love you was not something to throw away nonchalantly. I felt confident that someday, Gisselle would understand that.
I went to bed and lay there listening for my father's footsteps. Some time after midnight, I heard them: slow, ponderous steps outside my door. I heard him pause and then I heard him go on to his own room, exhausted, I was sure, from all the sorrow he had expressed in the room he had turned into a memorial to his brother. Why was his sorrow so long and so deep? I wondered. Did he blame himself?
The questions lingered in the darkness waiting for a chance to leap at the answers, like the old marsh hawk, patiently waiting for its prey.
I closed my eyes and rushed headlong into the darkness within me, the darkness that promised some relief.
The next morning it was my father who woke me, knocking on my bedroom door and poking his head in, his face so bright with smiles I wondered if I had dreamt the events of the night before. How could he move from such deep mental anguish to such a jolly mood? I wondered.
"Good morning;" he said when I sat up and ground the sleep out of my eyes with my small fists.
"Hi."
"Daphne told me you came home last night because you didn't feel well. How are you this morning?"
"Much better," I said.
"Good. have Nina prepare something soothing and easy to digest for you to have for breakfast. Just take it easy today. You've made quite a beginning with your art instructor, your schoolteachers. . . you deserve a day off, a day to do nothing but indulge yourself. Take a lesson from Gisselle," he added with a laugh.
"Daddy," I began. I wanted to tell him everything, to confide in him and develop the sort of relationship in which he wouldn't be afraid to confide in me.
"Yes, Ruby?" He took another step into my bedroom. "We never talked any more about Uncle Jean. I mean, I would like to go see him with you some day," I added. What I really meant to say was I wanted to share the burden of his sorrow and pain. He gave me a tight smile.
"Well, that's very kind of you, Ruby. It would be a blessed thing to do. Of course," he said, widening his smile, "he would think you were Gisselle. It will take some lengthy explanation to get him to even fathom that he has two different nieces."
"Then he can understand things?" I asked.
"I think so. I hope so," he said, his smile fading. "The doctors aren't as convinced of his improvements as I am, but they don't know him as I know him."
"I'll help you, Daddy," I said eagerly. "I'll go there and read to him and talk to him and spend hours and hours with him, if you like," I blurted.
"That's a very nice thought. The next time I go, I will take you along," he said.
"Promise?"
"Of course, I promise. Now let me go downstairs and order your breakfast," he said. Oh," he said, turning at the doorway, "Gisselle has phoned already to tell us she will be spending the day with the girls, too. She wanted to know how you were doing. I said I would tell you to call them later, and if you were up to it, I'd bring you back."
"I think I'll just do what you suggested, Daddy, and relax here."
"Fine," he said. "About fifteen minutes?" "Yes. I'm getting up," I said. He smiled and left.
Maybe what I had suggested I would do would be a wonderful thing. Maybe that was the way to get Daddy out of the melancholia Daphne had described and I had witnessed last night. To Daphne, it was all simply too embarrassing. She had no tolerance for it, and Gisselle certainly couldn't care less. Maybe this was one of the reasons Grandmere Catherine sensed I belonged here. If I could help lift the burden of Daddy's sadness, I could give him something a real daughter should.
Buoyed by these thoughts, I rose quickly and dressed to go down to breakfast. As was proving to be more the rule than the exception, Daddy and I had breakfast together while Daphne remained in bed. I asked Daddy why she rarely joined us.
"Daphne likes to wake up slowly. She watches a little television, reads, and then goes through her detailed morning ministrations, preparing to face each day as if she were making a debut in society," he replied, smiling. "It's the price I pay to have such a beautiful and accomplished wife," he added.
And then he did something rare: he talked about my mother, his eyes dreamy, his gaze far-off.
"Now Gabrielle, Gabrielle was different. She woke like a flower opening itself to the morning sunlight. The brightness in her eyes and the rush of warm blood to her cheeks were all the cosmetics she required to face a day in the bayou. Watching her wake up was like watching the sun rise."
He sighed, quickly realized what he was doing and saying, and snapped the newspaper in front of his face.
I wanted him to tell me so much more. I wanted to ask him a million questions about the mother I had never known. I wanted him to describe her voice, her laugh, even her cry. For now it was only through him that I could know her. But every reference he made to her and every thought he had of her was quickly followed by guilt and fear. The memory of my mother was locked away with so many other forbidden things in the closets of the Dumas past.
After breakfast, I did what my father
suggested--I curled up on a bench in the gazebo and read a book. Off, over the Gulf, I could see rain clouds, but they were moving in a different direction. Here, sunlight rained down, occasionally interrupted by the slow journey of a thin cloud nudged by the sea breeze. Two mockingbirds found me a curiosity and landed on the gazebo railing, inching their way closer and closer to me, flying off and then returning. My soft greetings made them tilt their heads and flick their wings, but kept them feeling secure, while a gray squirrel paused near the gazebo steps to sniff the air between us.
Every once in a while, I closed my eyes and lay back and imagined I was floating in my pirogue through the canals, the water lapping softly around me. If there was only some way to marry the best of that world with this one, I thought, my life would be perfect. Maybe that was what Daddy had dreamt would happen when he began his love affair with my mother.
"So there you are," I heard a voice cry out, and I opened my eyes to see Beau approaching. "Edgar said he thought he saw you go out here."
"Hi, Beau
. I completely forgot that I suggested you come by today," I said, sitting up.
He paused at the gazebo steps. "I've just come from Claudine's," he said. The look on his face told me he already knew more than I anticipated.
"You know what they did to me, don't you?"
"Yes. Billy told me. The girls were all still asleep, but I had a few words with Gisselle," he replied.
"I suppose everyone's laughing about it," I said. His eyes answered before he did. They were full of pity for me.
"A bunch of sharks, that's all they are," he snapped, the blue in his eyes turning steel cold. "They're jealous of you, jealous of the way everyone has taken to you at school, jealous of your
accomplishments," he said, and drew closer. I looked away, the tears welling up.
"I'm so embarrassed, I don't know how I'll go to school," I said.
"You'll go with your head high and ignore their sneers and their laughs," he proclaimed.
"I'd like to be able to say I could do that, Beau, but--" "But nothing. I'll pick you up in the morning and we'll walk in together. But before that . ."
"What?"
"I came over here to ask you to dinner," he stated with a polite formality, pulling his shoulders back to assume his young Creole gentleman image.
"Dinner?"
"Yes, a formal dinner date," he said. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I had never been on a dinner date before, formal or informal, but I kept silent. "I have already taken the liberty of making reservations at Arnaud's," he added with some pride. I assumed from the way he spoke, this was to be a very special evening.
"I'll have to ask my parents," I said.
"Of course." He looked at his watch. "I have a few errands to run, but I'll call you about noon to confirm the time."
"All right," I said breathlessly. A dinner date, a formal date with Beau . . . everyone would hear about this, too. He wasn't just being nice to me in school or just giving me a ride home.
"Good," he said, smiling. "I'll call you." He started away. "Beau."
"Yes?"
"You're not doing this just to make me feel better after what they did, are you?" I asked.
"What?" He started to laugh and then turned serious. "Ruby, I just want to be with you and would have asked you for a date whether they pulled that stupid joke on you or not," he declared. "Stop underestimating yourself," he added, turned and walked off leaving me in a whirlpool of mixed emotions that ranged from happiness to terror that I would make an absolute fool of myself and simply add to what had already been done to make me look like I didn't belong.
.
"What?" Daphne said, looking up sharply from her cup of coffee. "Beau asked you to dinner?"
"Yes. He's calling at noon to see if it's all right for me to go," I said. She looked at my father, who had been sitting with her on the patio, having another cup of coffee. He shrugged.
"Why is that so surprising?" he asked.
"Why? Beau has been seeing Gisselle," she replied.
"Daphne, darling, they weren't engaged. They're just teenagers. Besides," he added, beaming a smile at me, "you hoped the time would come when people would accept Ruby as one of us. Apparently, the way you've dressed her, the advice and instruction you have given her on how to carry herself and speak to people, and the good example you set has had remarkable results. You should be proud, not surprised," he added.
Daphne's eyes narrowed as she thought.
"Where is he taking you?" she asked.
"Arnaud's," I said.
"Arnaud's!" She put her coffee cup down sharply. "That's not just any restaurant. You have to wear the proper things. Many of our friends go to that restaurant and we are friendly with the owners."
"So," my father said. "You'll advise her how to dress." Daphne wiped her lip with the napkin and considered. "It's time you went to a beautician and had something done with your hair and your nails," she decided.
"What's wrong with my hair?"
"You need your bangs trimmed and I'd like to see it conditioned. I'll make an appointment for this afternoon. They always find time for me at a moment's notice," she said confidently.
"That's very nice," my father said.
"Then you've made a full recovery from your stomach problem?" Daphne asked me pointedly.
"Yes."
"She looks fine," my father said. "I'm very proud of the way you're adjusting now, Ruby, very proud."
Daphne glared at him.
"You and I haven't been to Arnaud's in months," she remarked.
"Well, I'll make a note of that and we'll go soon. We don't want to go the same night Ruby does. It might make her uncomfortable," he added. She continued to glare.
"I'm glad you're worried about her discomfort, Pierre. Maybe you'll start thinking about mine now," she said, and he reddened.
"Go on upstairs, Ruby," she commanded. "I'll be right up to choose your clothes."
"Thank you," I said. I glanced quickly at my father who looked like a little boy who had just been reprimanded, and then I hurriedly left and went up to my room. Why was it that every nice thing that happened to me here always brought along some unpleasantness? I wondered.
Shortly afterward, Daphne came marching into my room.
"You have a two o'clock at the beauty parlor," she said, going to my closet. She threw open the sliding doors and stood back, considering. "I'm glad I thought to buy this," she said, plucking a dress from its hanger, "and the matching shoes." She turned and looked at me. "You're going to need a pair of earrings. I'll let you borrow one of mine and a necklace, too, just so you don't look underdressed."
"Thank you," I said.
"Take special care with them," she warned. She put the dress aside and focused her gaze on me with suspicion again. "Why is Beau taking you to dinner?"
"Why? I don't know. He said he wanted to take me. I didn't ask him to take me, if that's what you mean," I replied.
"No, that's not what I mean. He and Gisselle have been seeing each other for some time now. You come onto the scene and suddenly, he leaves her. What's been going on between you and Beau?" she demanded.
"Going on? I don't know what you mean, Mother."
"Young men, especially young men of Beau's age, are rather sexually driven," she explained. "Their hormones are raging so they look for girls who are more promiscuous, more obliging."
"I'm not one of those girls," I snapped.
"Whether it's true or not," she continued, "Cajun girls have reputations."
"It's not true. The truth is," I fumed, "so-called Creole girls of good breeding are more promiscuous."
"That's ridiculous and I don't want to hear you say such a thing," she replied firmly. I looked down. "I warn you," she continued, "if you did or if you do anything to embarrass me, embarrass the Dumas . . ."
I wrapped my arms around myself and turned away so she couldn't see the tears that clouded my eyes.
"Be ready at one-thirty to go to the beauty parlor," she finally said, and left me trembling with frustration and anger. Was it always going to be this way? Every time I accomplished something or something nice happened to me, she would decide it was because of some indecent reason?
It wasn't until Beau called at noon that I felt better about myself and the promise of the evening. He repeated how much he wanted to take me and was very happy to hear I could go.
"I'll pick you up at seven," he said. "What color is your dress?"
"It's red, like the red dress Gisselle wore to the Mardi Gras Ball."
"Great. See you at seven."
Why he wanted to know the color of my dress didn't occur to me until he came to the door at seven with the corsage of baby white roses. He looked dashing and handsome in his tuxedo. Daphne made a point to appear when Edgar in-formed me Beau had arrived.
"Good evening, Daphne," he said.
"Beau. You look very handsome," she said.
"Thank you." He turned to me and presented the corsage. "You look great," he said. I sa
w how nervous he was under Daphne's scrutinizing gaze. His fingers trembled as he opened the box and took out the corsage. "Maybe you'd better put this on her, Daphne. I don't want to stick her."
"You never have trouble doing it for Gisselle," Daphne remarked, but she moved forward and attached the corsage.
"Thank you," I said. She nodded. "Give my regards to the maitre d'," she told Beau.
"I will."
I took Beau's arm and eagerly let him lead me out the front door and to his car.
"You look great," he said after we got in.
"So do you."
"Thanks." We pulled away.
"Gisselle didn't come back from Claudine's yet," I told him.
"They're having a party," he said.
"Oh. They called to invite you?"
"Yes." He smiled. "But I told them I had more important things to do," he added, and I laughed, finally feeling as if the heavy cloud of anxiety had begun to move off. It felt good to relax a little and enjoy something for a change.
I couldn't help but be nervous again when we entered the restaurant. It was filled with many fine and distinguished looking men and women, all of whom gazed up from their plates or turned from their conversations to look us over when we entered and were shown our table. I went through the litany of things Daphne had recited to me on the way to and from the beauty parlor--how to sit up straight and hold my silverware, which fork was for what, putting the napkin on my lap, eating slowly with my mouth closed, letting Beau order our dinners,..
"And if you should drop something, a knife, a spoon, don't you pick it up. That's what the waiters and busboys are there to do," she said. She kept adding new thoughts. "Don't slurp your soup the way they eat gumbo in the bayou."
She made me feel so self-conscious, I was sure I would do something disgraceful and embarrass Beau and myself. I trembled walking through the restaurant, trembled after we were seated, and trembled when it was time to chose my silverware and begin to eat.
Beau did all he could to make me feel relaxed. He continually complimented me and tried telling jokes about other students we both knew. Whenever something was served, he explained what it was and how it had been prepared.
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