Southern Ruby

by Belinda Alexandra

  The loss of his mother was a terrible blow to Clifford. I tried to help him the way he had helped me grieve for Leroy — with patience, respect and unconditional love — but I felt helpless before the world-weary eyes that had once shone and the grim line of his mouth that had replaced his ever-ready smile.

  Maman, too, keenly felt the loss of her friend. She put Helen’s picture on a shelf in her room and collected fresh flowers every day from the garden to place in a vase next to it.

  Kitty and Eddie joined us each evening for dinner, looking for solace in family. It seemed inconceivable that the matriarch of the house, always so energetic and vital, was no longer there to play a part in our lives. How could she have died so suddenly when she still had so much life ahead of her? Her empty chair and table on the back porch filled me with sadness and I asked Ned to move them to the attic. We never used the porch again after that.

  One day as Maman and I walked in the garden, she said, ‘The house is so quiet without Helen. It will be good when the little one arrives. What we need is some noise!’

  I squeezed her arm, grateful for her encouragement. But the truth was, the happiness my pregnancy had brought had been so fleeting it felt like a mere drop in an ocean of grief.

  In the end, it was Dale who brought us solace.

  Clifford and I were dressing for breakfast one morning when we heard the music to ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ playing downstairs. At first I thought Mae or Philomena had turned the radio on early. Then we realised the sound was coming from the music room. Someone was playing the piano. But who?

  We went downstairs to investigate and to our surprise found Dale, still in his pyjamas, sitting on the stool and moving his hands over the keys. I gasped. He wasn’t picking at the keyboard as if the instrument was a toy. His face was scrunched with intense concentration and his tiny hands moved nimbly. The early morning sunshine bathed him in a soft light that gave him a halo. He looked like an angel sweetening the air with music.

  ‘Good Lord,’ I whispered to Clifford, ‘I can’t play as well as that and I’ve had lessons.’

  ‘It’s no surprise that our son is gifted,’ he replied. ‘There’s an old soul behind those bright-as-a-button eyes.’

  When I told Maman what had happened, she showed Dale some easy classical pieces and he picked them up straight away.

  ‘My grandson barely talks,’ she told me proudly, ‘but he can play Bach!’

  Clifford consulted with a music professor at Tulane University, who advised us to wait until Dale was five before giving him formal lessons, but to expose him to all types of music in the meantime and let him explore the keyboard himself.

  The exercise became an enjoyable diversion for us all. Maman would sit with him at the piano for an hour a day, playing simple duets, while Clifford and I took him to concerts and to see street parades.

  One Sunday, when we were in City Park listening to a Dixieland band, I was momentarily distracted by an ice cream vendor. I asked Clifford for some change, and it was only when I went to pass the ice cream cone to Dale that I realised I’d let go of his hand.

  ‘No!’ I cried, frantically looking around.

  To my great surprise, I saw Dale mounting the stairs to the stage. Clifford quickly grabbed him, kissed him on the cheek so he wouldn’t cry, and brought him back to me.

  ‘He definitely favours jazz,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘Of course he does,’ I replied. ‘After all, he was born in the month of Mardi Gras. He heard all the street bands while still in my womb!’

  Shortly after the day in City Park, Maman and Dale were having a piano lesson together when Maman stumbled as she got up from the stool. I thought she must have tripped on the skirt of her dress and felt around her ankle to make sure she hadn’t sprained it. When I looked up at her, I could see she was distressed but trying not to show it.

  ‘What’s the matter, Maman?’ I asked. ‘Do your feet hurt?’

  She shook her head bravely. ‘They feel a little numb.’

  ‘Since when? Did you tell Doctor Monfort?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, looking away. ‘I’m just getting old.’

  ‘Maman, you’re hardly old!’

  Doctor Monfort dropped the bombshell when he came to see me after carrying out some tests on Maman.

  ‘There’s protein in her urine,’ he said with a pained expression. ‘That means her kidneys are beginning to fail.’

  My heart splintered at his words. ‘Is there a medication or a treatment?’

  Doctor Monfort grimaced. ‘I’m afraid it’s irreversible. I will give her some medicines for now, but as the kidneys worsen the only thing that will keep her going is dialysis at the hospital. But that is an ordeal and will only hold off the inevitable for a while. I’d recommend you let nature take its course. She could go on for another six months, or maybe even another six years. Only God knows. Make the most of the time you have left together.’

  ‘Does she know about her kidneys?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘She took it well, Ruby — although I didn’t elaborate too much on how much time she might have left.’ Placing his hand on my shoulder he added, ‘You have looked after your mother devotedly. I was amazed that she recovered from having her lung removed, and that’s a credit to you. Her disease is like water. You and I have done everything we can to hold it back, but eventually the water will wear down the rock and something will give. It looks like her kidneys have taken the brunt.’

  After Doctor Monfort left, I sank down on a chair in the parlour and rested my head in my hands. How could I lose Maman when another child was coming along? I needed her. She was everything to me.

  I became aware of someone else in the room and looked up to see Mae. Her eyes were glistening with tears and her lips were trembling.

  ‘You heard what Doctor Monfort said?’ I asked.

  She nodded and sniffed. ‘It ain’t right,’ she whispered. ‘It ain’t right. God takes the good ones too early.’

  I stood up and clasped her hands. ‘It’s to your credit, Mae, that Maman has lived this long. It’s you who has been watching her diet, monitoring her sugar levels and administering her medicines. You’re the one who’s slept with one eye open and checked on her several times each night to make sure she’s breathing. I owe you everything, Mae. I owe Maman’s life to you.’

  Mae cried harder and I could no longer hold back my own tears.

  ‘You give yourself credit too, Mrs Ruby,’ she said, gripping my hands tighter. ‘You created a good life for your mama. You’ve given her a wonderful home and a lot of happiness, and you worked hard for it. If it wasn’t for you, we’d have all ended up in the street.’

  I hugged her, my heart filled with both sorrow and gratitude. She had always been there for me and I knew that whatever happened in the future I would always take care of her.

  After I’d composed myself, I went to see Maman. She was sitting in the armchair in her room and gazing out of the window. Her feet were propped up on an ottoman. She looked serene, not at all like someone who had been given a death sentence. Perhaps Doctor Monfort had been wrong. As he’d said, after Maman’s lung was removed he was surprised that she had survived. Maybe she would defy the odds again.

  She smiled at me and showed me a picture from the sewing magazine she had on her lap. ‘Look at this beautiful baby quilt,’ she said, her cheeks glowing. ‘The kittens and puppies on it are just darling. I bet I’ll have time to finish one like it before your little one is born.’

  My heart felt like it had been tied into knots, but I smiled and sat down beside her. ‘That is the most adorable quilt I’ve ever seen. Tell me what you need and I’ll ask Mae to go get it for you.’

  She took my hand. I could see she wanted to say something about her illness, and I did too, but we were both too full for words. So we simply sat together and talked about what colours would be best for the quilt like nothing bad was happening at all.

  Clifford stayed up wit
h me all night as I poured out my grief and fears to him. ‘Oh, God, I hope she won’t suffer,’ I told him. ‘If she suffers, I don’t think I could bear it.’

  He held me and kissed my forehead. ‘Ruby, you are going to have to calm yourself for the sake of the baby. It won’t do the little one any good for you to wring yourself out like this. Take it one day at a time. Enjoy your mother while she is still here. You know the people we love can leave us at any time without warning.’

  Our eyes met. I took his hands and pressed them to my chest. ‘Yes, that’s true. You and I should know that as well as anybody.’

  The following morning, Clifford kissed me before he left for his office and told me he’d be back at noon to check on us all. I strolled around the garden to ease my grief. The baby was moving around a lot now and I walked slowly. The roses Ned had planted the year Clifford and I married were in their full raspberry bloom and smelled intoxicating. I went to the potting shed for some secateurs to cut a few blooms for Maman.

  I returned inside and set her place at the dining table with fine porcelain plates with a gold scroll pattern around their rims.

  Since Maman had come to live with us in the Garden District, we hadn’t talked very much about the past. When Clifford and I announced our engagement, she’d asked me if I was going to invite Uncle Rex and Aunt Elva to the wedding. I’d had no choice then but to confess to her that I’d broken ties with them because Uncle Rex had been stealing money from us. But I changed the story so that it was Clifford who had rescued us from our debts.

  Maman had turned pale at the revelation. ‘I should never have believed it if the news hadn’t come from you,’ she said. And she never mentioned them again.

  Since that time Uncle Rex had died, and I’d heard that Eugenie had married and moved to Vermont because her new husband couldn’t stand her mother. What Aunt Elva was doing with herself these days, I didn’t know. I didn’t care to know either.

  Mae came into the dining room and saw me setting the table for Maman. ‘I checked on her earlier this morning,’ she told me. ‘She was sleeping like a baby.’

  While waiting for Maman to get up, I went to the nursery to see Dale. Philomena was watching him draw a picture of a face with crayons.

  ‘That’s Daddy!’ he said proudly.

  ‘He loves his daddy, doesn’t he?’ said Philomena, smiling. ‘He’s his father’s shadow. He’s got his daddy’s hands and he even walks a little like him.’

  I’d heard of some women getting jealous when their child favoured their husband, but it delighted me to know Dale and Clifford were so close. I’d hardly seen my father when I was growing up. I was glad Dale had a good role model.

  Maman usually came down for breakfast around ten o’clock. I waited until half past before I became concerned. Was she upset about the news she’d received the day before? Were her feet bothering her and that was why she hadn’t come down?

  I put her breakfast on a tray and Mae carried it up the stairs while I followed with the roses in a vase. I knocked gently on Maman’s door but there was no answer. My hand trembled as I pushed it open. Please, God, I prayed. Please don’t let anything have happened.

  Maman was lying in bed. I moved towards her and saw that her eyes were closed and her face was waxy. I reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Maman?’

  Her eyes flickered open but the light had gone out of them. ‘What’s the matter, Maman? Aren’t you feeling well?’

  I took her hand and flinched when I felt how cold it was. Her lips seemed to be turning blue before my eyes. What was happening? Yesterday she’d had sore feet and some protein in her urine, but Doctor Monfort had said there were months, even years, before she declined. Was Maman upset about what he’d told her? I’d have to rally her somehow. I’d heard of people willing themselves to death after getting a bad prognosis.

  ‘Doctors are wrong sometimes,’ I whispered to her. ‘You know that. Now what about you have some breakfast and get started on that quilt you were talking about?’

  I nodded to Mae, who placed the tray on the bedside table. I put the roses next to it. Maman ignored the food but reached out to touch the flowers.

  ‘They’re so beautiful,’ she said. ‘I’ve always loved flowers.’

  I tugged back the bedclothes so I could help her sit up against her pillows. Her body looked sunken, as if all the air had gone from it overnight. Was something else failing other than her kidneys? Please, God, not now. Please give us more time.

  Maman smiled weakly. ‘I’m so proud of you, Ruby. So very proud. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to make the quilt like I promised.’

  ‘She’s talking gibberish,’ said Mae. ‘I’ll go get her insulin. It looks like she’s having a turn.’

  I sighed, relieved. That’s what it was. Only a turn.

  ‘Maman, you’ll be all right,’ I assured her. ‘Mae’s getting your insulin now.’ I kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll open the window and let some fresh air in. That’s what you need.’

  The window took a bit of pushing to open it because the sash was old, but I eventually succeeded. Warm air scented with jasmine wafted into the room. The smell of it calmed my thumping heart. Philomena was playing ball in the garden with Dale, who was trying to catch it but missing every time and laughing just the same. I smiled. He was the light of my life.

  I turned back to Maman and saw that she’d sunk down on her pillows. I thought at first she must have fainted, then I noticed the room had turned quiet. It wasn’t a tranquil silence, but one that signified absence. I stared at her chest. It wasn’t moving at all. Doctor Monfort had always warned me that people with my mother’s condition could slip away very quickly from a sudden cardiac arrest. That was why Mae always checked on her several times a night. But that simply could not have happened. Not now!

  ‘Maman?’

  But even as I gently shook her to revive her, I knew it was hopeless. My dear, sweet Maman, my reason for so many of the things I had done in my life, was gone.

  A month after Maman’s funeral, I went into labour. I didn’t feel like someone strong enough to give birth; I was as fragile as an eggshell. During the contractions I called out for Maman and grabbed the sides of the hospital bed until my knuckles turned white. Unlike Dale’s birth, I didn’t worry about the baby. All I could think about was that the woman who had brought me into the world was dead.

  After six hours of a labour I barely registered, Louise was born. She was as pink as a blossom and turned to me with a puckered mouth as if waiting for a kiss. But while the nurse fussed over her and Doctor Delcambre said she was one of the prettiest babies he’d ever seen, all I felt was numb.

  When I came home from hospital, Kitty came to visit me bringing a bouquet of Chantilly roses.

  ‘Where’s Dale?’ she asked, taking a vase from the bureau and filling it with water. ‘He usually bolts down the stairs to see me.’

  ‘Clifford took him to the park. Poor thing. Louise wouldn’t settle and I don’t think anybody within a mile got any sleep last night. Dale was as quiet as a mouse when he was a baby.’

  Kitty looked at me steadily. ‘And where is my little niece? Aren’t you keen to show her off to her aunt?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, leading the way upstairs to the nursery. ‘I’ve just fed her so she’s probably asleep.’

  ‘She’s taking after you then. Every time Eddie and I came to visit you at the hospital, you were sleeping like a log. We decided we’d best come pay our respects when you got home.’

  What Kitty said was true: I had slept a lot at the hospital. It was my way of disappearing into my grief. I knew the nurses would wake me when Louise needed to be fed.

  We walked into the nursery and peered into the bassinette. Louise was awake, staring around at the world with her shiny eyes. Lord! I thought. Does this child never get tired?

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Kitty picked Louise up and cradled her. ‘Oh my,’ she said, kissing Louise’s chubby cheek
, ‘she is a pretty little thing!’

  I rubbed my arms. I loved Louise, of course I did. She was my daughter. But I didn’t feel the same overwhelming love for her that I had for Dale. Perhaps I was too upset about Maman to properly bond with her.

  Kitty pressed Louise to her chest. There was a strong resemblance between them around the jawline and chin: Louise could easily have been Kitty’s child. Kitty would have been a wonderful mother and adored all her children equally. Life was unfair sometimes.

  ‘It’s nice that you gave her Mother’s middle name,’ Kitty said. ‘She would have liked that.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said, turning away and straightening the cover on the change table. Perhaps Kitty was wondering why I hadn’t named my daughter Desiree after Maman? But I wasn’t ready for that. Every time I looked at Louise I would have been reminded of the day Maman died.

  ‘My mother sure loved your mother,’ I said to change the subject. ‘Even though they were like chalk and cheese. I remember the day Maman, who’d always been so traditional, said to me, “I think us white folks should do more to help the coloured ones, don’t you?”’

  Kitty laughed. ‘Mother had a way with persuasion. You didn’t even know she was getting you on board until you were standing there with a pen and a clipboard and challenging people to sign petitions.’

  ‘We could say the same thing about her daughter!’

  Kitty smiled. ‘Well, you must have read my mind. I do have something I want to discuss with you. The Urban League is holding a fundraising dinner next Mardi Gras and I need someone to help me sell the tickets.’ She winked. ‘I might be persuasive, but you have real charm. I reckon you could sell ice to an Eskimo.’

  I supported all that Clifford and Kitty were doing to better the lives of coloured people, but I’d never gotten involved myself. I was afraid that if I stirred up too many of the wrong people, they might start nosing about and find out things about me that would do more damage than good to the cause.