"You'd better go quickly," he added, his eyes dark. What could she want now? I wondered. What could she possibly accuse me of doing this time?
Filled with rage, I pounded through the corridor and walked into the principal's office. Mrs. Randle looked up from her desk, but this time she didn't look annoyed or upset with me. She looked sympathetic.
"Go right in," she told me. My fingers trembled a bit on the doorknob. I turned it and entered, surprised to discover Gisselle sitting there in her wheelchair, her handkerchief clutched in her hand, her eyes bloodshot.
"What is it?" I cried, looking from her to Mrs. Ironwood, who was standing by her window.
"It's your father," she replied. "Your stepmother has just called me."
"What?"
"Daddy's dead!" Gisselle screamed. "He had a heart attack!"
Somewhere deep inside myself, a scream became a cry, the sort of cry that lingered over the water, that wove itself around the trees and bushes, that made day turn into night, that made sunny skies turn gray, and that turned raindrops into tears.
Behind my eyelids, slammed shut to lock out the faces and the moment, I recalled an old nightmare I had often had as a child. In it I was running over the marshland, chasing after a pirogue that was picking up speed to round a turn in the bayou and carrying away the mysterious man I wanted to call Daddy.
The word got stuck in my throat, and a moment later he was gone.
And once again I was all alone.
10
Orphaned Again
.
As far as I was concerned, Daddy's funeral
began with our ride back to New Orleans. Even Gisselle became dark and quiet just before we were to leave, her usual banter of complaints reduced to a few grievances about the speed with which she had to get her things together and the manner in which she was transferred from her wheelchair to the limousine Daphne had sent. The driver hadn't been told that one of his passengers was handicapped and was quite unprepared for the experience. He didn't know how to fold the chair and get it as well as our luggage into the trunk. Fortunately, Buck Dardar came by to help, which immediately cheered up my sister and, for the moment, returned a look of flirtatious delight to her eyes.
"Thank goodness your Mr. Mud happened by," she declared loud enough for Buck to hear as he assisted with the folding of the wheelchair. "Otherwise poor Daddy would be buried a week before we left here."
I flashed a furious gaze at her, but she rolled it away with one of her flighty little laughs and then poked her head out of the window to flutter her eyelashes at Buck as she thanked him profusely for coming by.
"I can't thank you properly just now," she told him. "We have to leave right away, but when we come back . . ."
Buck glanced toward me and then hurried back to his tractor to continue his work on the grounds. The chauffeur got in and we were off. All of the other students were in class. Gisselle had managed to tell her clique about Daddy and then sponge up their condolences and sympathy. Miss Stevens was the only person I had told. She was very upset, her eyes actually filling with tears when she gazed into my devastated face.
"Now I'm really an orphan, just like you," I told her.
"But you have your stepmother and your sister."
"It's the same as being an orphan," I replied.
She bit down on her lower lip and nodded without challenging my declaration. "You'll always have family here," she said, hugging me. "Be strong."
I thanked her and returned to the dorm to pack my things.
Now the limousine was carrying us off on a journey that seemed more like a nightmare, a trip through what, to me at least, was an endlessly dark tunnel whose walls were woven from the fabric of my most dreaded fears, the foremost of which was thefear of being alone. From the moment I was old enough to understand that my mother had died and my father had, I was told, deserted me, I felt this cavernous pit in my heart, this great sense of being tethered to the shore by only a slim line of woven hemp. More than one night I was awakened by the nightmarish vision of myself being tossed about while I slept at the bottom of my pirogue. The storm that whipped through the bayou lashed at the slim line of hemp until it ripped it in two and sent me rushing downstream into the night and the unknown.
Of course, Grandmere Catherine's reassuring embrace and soothing words put me at ease. She was my slim line of hemp, she was my only sense of security; and when she died, I would have felt lost and at the mercy of these terrible winds of Fate had she not given me new hope just before her passing by telling me my father's name and encouraging me to go to him. Like a hobo looking for a handout of love, I went knocking on his door, but my heart was cheered by the overwhelming manner in which he had accepted and welcomed me into his home and his own heart. Once again I felt secure, and my dreams of being lost in a raging storm all but disappeared.
Now Daddy was gone too. Those prophetic paintings I had done as a young girl, paintings in which I envisioned my mysterious father drifting away, had all unfortunately come true. The dark shadows were rushing back, the wind began its howling. Numb to the very core of my soul, I sat in the limousine and stared out at the scenery that flowed by with a gray fluidity that made it seem as if the dreary world were draining down behind us and we would soon be left dangling in empty space.
Finally, unable to keep silent a moment longer, Gisselle poured forth a new stream of complaints.
"Daphne's going to really lord it over us now," she moaned. "Anything we've inherited will be in trust. We'll have to do whatever she says, whatever she wants." She waited for me to join her with my own rendition of grievances, but I remained silent, gazing out, listening to her ramble on, but barely acknowledging her presence. "Didn't you hear what I said?"
"I don't care, Gisselle. It's not important right now," I muttered.
"Not important?" She laughed. "Just wait until we get home and you find out how right I am. Then we'll see how important it is," she declared. "How could he die?" she screamed shrilly, not because she was saddened by our daddy's death but because she was angry at him for succumbing to it. "Why didn't he see he wasn't well and go to a doctor? Why wasn't he well anyway? He wasn't old."
"He had more heartache to contend with than a man twice his age," I said sharply.
"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean, Ruby? Huh? What exactly is Miss Goody Two-Shoes saying now?"
"Nothing," I said with a sigh. "Let's not argue today. Please, Gisselle."
"I'm not arguing. I'd just like to know what you meant, that's all. Did you mean it's all my fault, because if you did . . ."
"No, I didn't mean that. Daddy had a lot on his mind besides you and me. He had poor Uncle Jean and Daphne and his business problems . . ."
"That's right," she said, liking my explanation. "He did. But still, he should have taken better care of himself. Look at how he's left us now. I'm crippled and I have no father. You think Daphne's going to give me the things I want when I want them? Never. You heard her when we left. She believes Daddy spoiled us, spoiled me!"
"Let's not jump to any conclusions," I said in a tired, small voice. "Daphne must be devastated too. Maybe . . . maybe she'll be different. Maybe she'll need us and love us more."
Gisselle made her eyes small as she thought about what I had said. I knew she was simply trying to figure out how to take advantage of the situation if what I said were true, how she could impose upon Daphne's great grief and maneuver to get what she wanted. She sat back to think about it some more, and the remainder of our ride went quietly, even though it seemed to take twice as long. I fell asleep for a while and woke up to see Lake Pontchartrain looming ahead. Soon the skyline of New Orleans came into view, and we were traveling through the city streets.
Everything looked different to me. It was as if Daddy's death had changed the world. The quaint narrow streets, the buildings with their scrolled iron balconies, the little gar dens in the alleyways, the cafes, the traffic, and the people all seemed foreign. It was as if the
soul of the city had left along with Daddy's soul.
Gisselle did not have the same reaction. The moment we entered the Garden District, she wondered aloud if she would soon see her old friends.
"I'm sure they've all heard about Daddy. They're bound to come visiting us. I can't wait," she said. "I'll find out all the gossip." She smiled gleefully.
How could she be so selfish? I wondered. How could her mind and her heart not be filled with gloom? How could she not be thinking about Daddy's smile, Daddy's voice, Daddy's embrace? And how could she not be weighed down with a sorrow that turned her very bones to stone and made her blood run cold? Would I have turned out this way had I been the first baby born and the one given to the Dumas family? Did the evil of that act settle in her tiny heart like a lump of coal and infect her every thought and feeling? Would that have happened to me?
As if he had been standing at the door for hours and hours, Edgar was there when we drove up. He looked years older, his shoulders slumped, his face pale. He hurried down to help with our things.
"Hello, Edgar," I said.
His lips trembled as he tried to greet me, but just the pronunciation of my name, a name Daddy had loved to call, made his eyes tear and his tongue stumble.
"Get me out of here already!" Gisselle screamed. The chauffeur hurried around to the trunk and Edgar went to help him with Gisselle's
wheelchair. "Edgar!"
"Oui, mademoiselle, I'm coming," he replied, hobbling around the rear of the car.
"So's Christmas."
They got the wheelchair unfolded and Gisselle into it. The moment we entered the house, I felt the cold gloom that permeated the very walls. All the lights were subdued, the shades still drawn. A tall, thin man in a black suit and tie emerged from the parlor. He had a narrow face that brought his nose and even his chin to a point, reminding me of a pelican. His bald head was spotted but shiny, with two tufts of light brown hair just above his ears. He seemed to slink along, gliding over the floor, moving with barely a sound.
"Madame wanted the wake to be held here," Edgar warned us. "This is Monsieur Boche, the undertaker."
Monsieur Boche's smile was sickly smooth. His lips lifted off his gray teeth as though his mouth was a curtain hinged at the corners. He pressed his long hands together and then slid his right palm over his left hand, giving me the impression he had to wipe it dry before extending it to greet us.
"Mademoiselles," he said. "My deepest condolences. I am Monsieur Boche, and I am here to see that all your bereavement needs are satisfied. If there's anything you want, simply--"
"Where's my daddy?" I demanded with more authority than I had intended. Even Gisselle's eyes widened.
"Right this way, mademoiselle," he said, bowing and turning with one smooth motion.
"Ugh," Gisselle said. "I don't want to look at him now."
I spun on her. "He was your father. You won't look on him ever again."
"He's dead," Gisselle complained. "How can you want to look into a coffin?"
"Don't you want to say goodbye?" I asked.
"I said goodbye. Edgar, take me to my room," she demanded.
"Very good, mademoiselle." He lifted his eyes to me and then turned Gisselle toward the stairway. I followed Monsieur Boche to the ,parlor where Daddy lay in his open coffin. Over it and around it were dozens and dozens of multicolored roses. The room reeked of the scent. Beside the coffin, large candles flickered. The sight of it all put a lump in my throat. It was true; none of this was a dream.
I turned because I felt Daphne's eyes on me. She was sitting in a high-backed chair. Bedecked in black with a black veil pulled off her face, she sat like a dowager queen, expecting me to kneel at her feet and kiss her hand. She didn't look as pale and sick with grief as I had anticipated. Although she had kept rouge off her cheeks, she still wore her favorite shade of lipstick and had some eyeliner on. Her hair was pinned back with pearl combs, and she did have an elegance about her that was intimidating.
"Where's Gisselle?" she demanded.
"She wanted to go to her room," I replied.
"Nonsense," she said and rose from the chair. "She's to come directly in here." She walked out and I approached the coffin. I heard Daphne shout her orders to Edgar, demanding that he bring Gisselle back down the stairs.
My heart was pounding; my legs felt wobbly. I gazed down at Daddy. He was dressed in his black tuxedo, and except for his pasty-white complexion, he looked like he was just taking a catnap. Monsieur Boche stepped up beside me so silently that I nearly jumped when he whispered into my ear.
"He looks good, doesn't he? One of my best jobs," he bragged. I glared at him with such fury, he simply bowed and retreated quickly, floating away on those oily feet. Then I reached into the coffin and took hold of Daddy's right hand. It didn't feel like a hand anymore, but I willed the cold, hard sensations out of my mind and forced myself to think of him smiling, warm and loving.
"Goodbye, Daddy," I said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me the most. I'm sorry I didn't have you with me when I grew up. I'm sorry we had so short a time together. I know my mother loved you very much and I know you loved her. I think I've inherited the best of that love. I will miss you forever and ever. I hope you're with Mommy and you've made your peace and the two of you are floating happily along in a pirogue somewhere in the bayou of heaven."
I leaned over and kissed his cheek, desperately ignoring the sensation that I was kissing a cold face. Then I knelt down and said a little prayer for him. I stepped away from the coffin just as Gisselle was being wheeled in, her complaints loud and clear.
"I'm tired. It was a long, boring trip. Why do I have to come in here?"
"Be quiet," Daphne ordered. She nodded at Edgar, which meant he should leave, and then she returned to her high-backed chair. Gisselle glared at me and then at her and pouted. "Bring her closer," Daphne commanded me in an icy tone. I went to Gisselle's chair and rolled it toward Daphne. "Sit down," she said, nodding at the chair across from her. I did so quickly.
"Why can't we just rest first?" Gisselle moaned.
"Shut up," Daphne snapped. Even Gisselle was frightened and impressed with her sharpness. With her mouth open, she sat back. Daphne glared at her with eyes that seemed able to penetrate into her thoughts. "For a long time, I've had to put up with your whining and crying and moaning. Well, that's over with, you hear? Look over there," she said, nodding toward Daddy. "You see what comes of worrying about everyone else's problems, everyone else's needs, everyone else's likes and dislikes? You die young, that's your reward.
"Well, it's not going to be mine. There are going to be some serious changes around here now, and it's best you two understand that immediately. I'm still a very young woman. I don't intend to let these events age and sicken me, and that's just what they would do if we continued the way things were."
"Events?" I said.
"Yes, events. Everything's an event." She turned her lips into a twisted smile. "Oh, don't start with your histrionics, Ruby. I know you better than you think." Her smile faded and was replaced by a look of firm anger. "You came here from the swamps and you won your place in your father's heart, conniving, reminding him of his great romance in the bayou, just so you would get your piece of
inheritance. I'm sure that grandmother of yours put you up to it."
I felt the blood rush into my cheeks, but before I could respond, she continued.
"Don't worry, I don't blame you for it," she said. "I would probably have done the same thing if I had been in your moccasins. Well, what's done is done. You're in your father's will and you will get your piece. Both of you will," she added, turning to Gisselle. "And it will start when you're both twentyone. Until then, everything you've inherited is in trust, with me as the executor. I will be the one to decide what you get now and what you don't. I will be the one who tells you where you will go and what you will do."
Gisselle smirked. "You always wanted to be the boss, Mother," she said, nodding.
"I always was, you little fool. Did you really believe it was your father who was running the business? He had no real business sense. He didn't have the heart for it. He could never make the tough decisions if it involved taking from someone or cutting someone out. He was too soft to be in business. If it weren't for me, we wouldn't have half what we have; and now you two are going to inherit a big piece of that. Too much of it, if you ask me, but that's the way it is.
"I don't expect you two to be grateful, but I do expect you to be obedient and cooperative," she continued. "The funeral will be over in two days," she said, pulling herself up even firmer in the seat. "After that, you are to return to Greenwood."
"Oh, but Mother," Gisselle moaned.
"Yes, you are," Daphne hammered. "I don't have the strength or the patience to deal with you two and your problems on a day-to-day basis right now. I want you to return, to do well, to obey all the rules and not get into a bit of trouble, you hear? I warn you: If you cause even an iota of aggravation, I'll have the two of you sent to an even stricter place. If you really annoy me, I will see about nullifying your
inheritances, understand? Then they'll stick you into a home for crippled people and you'll really be sorry. And you," she said, focusing her anger at me, "you will be sent back to the bayou to live with whatever Cajun relatives are left."
Gisselle lowered her head and grimaced. I simply glared at Daphne. She had become the ice queen. Freezing water ran through her veins. I was sure that if I touched her, she'd feel colder than Daddy now felt. I should have realized she would be like this. Gisselle had been right: Daphne despised the sight of us more than she had loved Daddy.
"Take your sister upstairs now and prepare yourselves to greet the many mourners who will come here shortly to pay their respects. Make sure you both dress properly and act properly."
"Has Uncle Jean been told about Daddy?" I asked.
"Of course not," she replied. "What would be the point?"
"He has a right to know. It's his brother."
"Please, the man doesn't know what day it is, where he's at, or even his own name anymore."
Landry 02 Pearl in the Mist Page 19
