"If you can walk around here, dance and make a mess, you can walk to and from your classes," Daphne told her. "I've already called your
housemother and given her the good news," she added, "so by now everyone knows about your miraculous recovery. Now I hope your schoolwork undergoes a similarly miraculous recovery."
"But Mother," Gisselle pleaded, "the teachers hate me at Greenwood."
"I'm sure they hate you here as well," Daphne said. "Remember what I told you: If you misbehave there, it's off to a stricter school, one with barbed wire around it," she quipped, leaving Gisselle standing with her mouth open. That was Daphne's version of a motherly goodbye.
We rode back in funereal silence, Gisselle sniveling from time to time and sighing deeply. I tried to sleep most of the way. When we arrived at the dorm, it was as if we were homecoming heroines--or at least Gisselle was. For the moment it brought a blush of pleasure to her cheeks. Mrs. Penny was out front with the girls of our quad to greet Gisselle and witness the wonder of her miraculous recovery. The moment she saw them, her mood changed.
"Ta-da!" she announced, stepping out of the car. Mrs. Penny clapped her hands together and rushed down to hug her. All the girls gathered around, each firing question after question: How did it happen? When did you first realize? Did it hurt? What did the doctors say? What did your mother say? How far have you walked?
"I'm still a bit weak," Gisselle declared, and she leaned on Samantha. "Can someone get my jacket?" she asked weakly. "I left it on the seat."
"I will," Vicki said, hurrying to do so.
I raised my eyes to the sky. Why was it that no one but me could see through Gisselle's facade? Why were they all so eager to be taken in by her, fooled and made fools of by her? They deserved her mistreatment; they deserved to be taken advantage of and used and manipulated, I thought, and I made a promise to myself right then and there that I would close my eyes to everything but my art.
So it was with genuine excitement that I hurried to class our first day back. I was looking forward to my first session with Miss Stevens. I was sure she would ask me to stay after class and we would talk and talk about our holidays. In my mind and deep in my putaway heart, Miss Stevens had become my older sister. One day soon, I thought, I would even tell her so..
But the moment I entered the building and started down the corridor toward homeroom, I sensed something was wrong. I felt it when I observed the small clumps of girls whispering here and there, all of them appearing to gaze my way as I passed them. Without knowing why, my heart began to pitterpatter, and an uneasiness couched itself in my stomach, making it feel as if a hive of bees were buzzing around inside. I had come to school ahead of the others, so I had some time. It had been my intention to stop by and say hello to Miss Stevens before homeroom anyway. I hurried down to the art suite and rushed through the doorway, expecting to see her standing there in her smock, her hair up, her face full of smiles.
But instead I confronted an elderly man in an artist's smock. He was seated at the desk, sifting through some student drawings. He looked up, surprised, and I gazed around the room.
"Well, good morning," he said.
"Good morning. Isn't Miss Stevens here yet?" I asked.
His smile faded. "Oh. I'm afraid Miss Stevens won't be here anymore. My name is Mr. Longo. I'm her replacement."
"What?" For a moment the words seemed utterly ridiculous. I just stood there with this wide, incredulous smile on my face, my heart still racing.
"She won't be coming back," he said more firmly. "You're an art student, I take it?"
I shook my head.
"It can't be true. Why won't she be coming back? Why?" I demanded.
He sat up. "I don't know the details, Mademoiselle . . ."
"Dumas. What details?"
"As I said, I do not know, but . . ."
I didn't wait for him to finish. I spun around and ran out of the room. I ran down the corridor, confused, the tears streaming down my cheeks. No Miss Stevens? She was gone? How could she do this without telling me? Why wouldn't she tell me? My hysteria grew. I didn't even know where I was running; I was just running from one end of the building to the other. I turned a corner and headed back toward the front. When I was nearly there, I heard Gisselle's shrill ripple of laughter. More girls had gathered around her to hear the story of her miraculous recovery. I stopped running and walked slowly toward them. The group parted so that Gisselle and I faced each other.
"I just heard," she said.
I shook my head. "What did you hear?"
"Everyone's talking about it this morning. Your Miss Stevens was fired."
"That can't be. She's a wonderful teacher. It can't be."
"I guess it wasn't her teaching that got her fired," Gisselle said, and she looked knowingly at the others, who also wore smug smiles.
"What was it? What? Was she fired for helping me at the hearing?" I demanded. I turned on them. "Someone tell me. Who knows?"
There was a moment of silence. Then Deborah Peck stepped forward. "I don't know the exact details," she said, gazing back at the others, "but the charge against her had to do with her immorality."
"What? What immorality?" They only smiled widely in response. I spun on Gisselle.
"Don't blame me," she cried. "The Iron Lady found out about her on her own."
"Found out what? There was nothing to find out."
"Found out why she never goes out with men," Deborah said. "And why she wanted to teach in an all girls' school," she replied. There was a titter of laughter. My heart stopped and then started again, this time pounding angrily.
"Those are lies, all lies."
"She left, didn't she?" Deborah said. The warning bell rang. "We'd better get to homeroom. No one wants to get a demerit the first day back."
The group started to break up.
"Lies!" I screamed at them.
"Stop making a fool of yourself," Gisselle said. "Just go to class. Aren't you happy? You're back at your precious Greenwood!"
"You did this!" I accused. "Somehow, some way, you did this, didn't you?"
"How could I do this?" She raised her arms and turned to Vicki, Samantha, Jackie, and Kate. "I wasn't even here when it all happened. See? See how she's always blaming me for everything?"
They all turned and gazed at me. I shook my head and stepped back, and then I turned and ran down the corridor to Mrs. Ironwood's office. Mrs. Randle looked up with surprise as I burst through the doorway.
"I want to see Mrs. Ironwood," I said.
"You have to make an appointment, dear," Mrs. Randle replied.
"I want to see her now!" I ordered.
She sat back, shocked at my insistence. "Mrs. Ironwood is very busy with her work reopening the school at this moment, and--"
"NOW!" I screamed.
Mrs. Ironwood's door opened and she stood there glaring at me.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Why was Miss Stevens fired?" I demanded. "Was it because she came to my assistance at the hearing? Was it?"
Mrs. Ironwood looked at Mrs. Randle, then straightened her shoulders.
"First," she began, "this is not the time nor the place to discuss such matters, even if it were proper to do so with a student, which it is not. Second, who do you think you are storming in here and making demands on me?"
"It's not fair," I said. "Why take it out on her? It's not fair. She was a wonderful teacher. Don't you want good teachers? Don't you care?"
"Of course I care, and I care about your insolence too," she said. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and stood there. She seemed to soften. "The conduct of faculty affairs is none of your business, but I will tell you that Miss Stevens was not fired. She resigned."
"Resigned?" I shook my head. "She would never . ."
"I assure you, she resigned." The homeroom bell rang. "That was the final bell. You're late for homeroom, two demerits," she snapped, then spun around and went back into her office, closing the door behind her
and leaving me confused and lost in her wake.
"You'd better get to your homeroom, mademoiselle, before you make things even worse for yourself," Mrs. Randle warned.
"She wouldn't resign," I insisted, but I turned and walked back to my homeroom.
Later in the day, however, I tapped into the line of gossip and learned that Miss Stevens had indeed resigned.
She had been accused of immoral behavior and given the opportunity to resign and not be charged and dragged through a nasty hearing. The word was that one of the students had come forward and confessed to having been seduced by Miss Stevens. No one knew who the student was, of course, but I had my suspicions.
Gisselle couldn't have looked more satisfied, and Mrs. Ironwood had gotten her pound of flesh.
17
A Waking Nightmare
.
During the days that followed, I resembled a
somnambulist. I walked the corridors and grounds of Greenwood, my eyes focused on nothing, my gait slow. I barely heard anyone speaking to me or around me. I didn't know whether the sun was shining or not. One afternoon I was surprised to arrive at the dorm and discover I was wet, that it had rained and I hadn't even been aware of it.
Every day that I returned to the dorm after classes I hoped I had a message from Miss Stevens, but there were never any. I imagined she was afraid of getting me into any trouble; she was that considerate. I felt so. sorry for her, driven away by the most scurrilous, foul lies. I knew that even though Mrs. Ironwood had let her resign, she would find ways to paint Miss Stevens with the stain of immoral behavior and hurt her chances to find another job.
Finally, one afternoon when I returned, I did find a letter, but it was from Louis.
Dear Ruby,
I'm sorry it took so long for me to write to you, but I didn't want to attempt it until I could do it entirely myself. What you are reading now is a letter written solely by me, with me seeing every single letter and word I put down. Finally, I no longer have to depend on anyone to do the simplest of tasks for me. I don't have to trust anyone with my secret thoughts or put aside my embarrassment and ask for the most basic favors. I am whole again, and once again, thanks to you.
The doctors tell me my eyesight has restored itself nearly one hundred percent. I'm doing some eye muscle exercises and wearing corrective lenses for the time being. But I don't spend that much of my day doting on myself anymore. No, I spend most of it at the conservatory, where I am working with the greatest music teachers in the world, I am sure. And they are all impressed with me.
Tonight I will be giving a recital at the school's hall, and besides all the teachers and their wives, there will be dignitaries from the city. I'm trying not to be nervous, and do you know what helps me overcome it? Thinking about you and the wonderful talks we used to have.
And guess what? They are going to let me play some of your symphony. As I play I will think about your laughter and your soft voice encouraging me. I do miss you a great deal and look forward to seeing you again. Or should I say, see you completely for the first time?
I received a letter from my grandmother, and as usual, she included some news about the school. Why did the art teacher, Miss Stevens, resign? Wasn't she your favorite teacher at Greenwood? All Grandmother says about it is that she was quickly replaced.
Write back when you have a chance, and good luck with your school exams.
As always,
Your dearest friend, Louis
I put his letter aside and tried to compose a reply that wouldn't reveal how depressed and unhappy I was, but every time I began to explain why Miss Stevens was gone, I broke out in tears and those tears fell on the stationery. Finally I just jotted off a quick note, claiming I was in the middle of exams and would write him in more detail soon.
Meanwhile, it wasn't until the middle of the second week that I heard from Beau. He apologized for not calling me.
"I had to attend a family gathering and was away for the entire weekend," he claimed. Then he added, "You can't imagine how Daphne carried on about New Year's Eve when she met my parents at a restaurant last night. She made it sound as if we were all part of an orgy."
"I can imagine."
"Why do you sound so down? Is it because you miss me, because if you do. ."
"No, Beau," I said, and I told him about Miss Stevens. "You think it was Gisselle?"
"I'm positive it was Gisselle," I said. "She once threatened to do the exact same thing if I revealed the secret about her not being crippled anymore."
"Did you confront her?"
"Naturally, she denies it," I said. "It doesn't matter now. The damage has been done, and she has won what she wanted: I hate it here."
"Complain to Daphne," he suggested. "Maybe she'll let you come home."
"I doubt it," I said. "It doesn't matter anyway. I just do my work and plod on. I'm not doing much artwork. The new teacher is nice, but he's not Miss Stevens."
"Well, be up there this weekend," Beau promised.
"Saturday, late in the morning."
"Okay."
"Ruby, I hate to hear how sad you are. It makes me sad too," he said.
I was crying, but I didn't let him hear. I nodded, caught my breath, and told him I had to go finish up some homework.
He did drive up on Saturday, and the sight of him getting out of his car in front of the dorm put some sunshine in my heart. I had gone into the dorm kitchen and prepared a picnic lunch of po'boy sandwiches and apple juice. When the other girls set their eyes on him, they expressed their approval with cheers and giggles. With a blanket folded under my arm, I rushed out to meet him and go off to another part of the campus.
"Daphne was supposed to send permission for Gisselle and me to leave the campus on weekends, but she didn't," I explained, "so we can't leave the grounds."
"It's all right. It's nice here," he said, looking around.
We walked around the campus and then spread the blanket on the lawn. We both lay back on our hands and looked up at the blue sky with its puffs of creamy white clouds and talked softly. Our talk wasn't of much at all at the start. He rattled on about some of his friends back in New Orleans, the prospects for the upcoming baseball season, and his-college plans.
"You've got to get back to your art," he told me. "Miss Stevens would be very upset, I'm sure."
"I know. But right now everything I do is mechanical. I feel like a robot, getting up, getting dressed, going to school, doing my homework, studying, going to sleep. But you're right," I told him. "I do have to get back to what is most important to me."
I sat up. He played with a blade of grass and then tried to tickle me with it. I was very selfconscious about everything we did, however. We were in plain view of everyone. There was no privacy for us at Greenwood, and I could imagine even Mrs. Ironwood gaping out of a window watching us, just waiting for us to do something she considered wrong.
We ate our sandwiches, talked some more, and then went for another walk. I showed him parts of the school itself, the library, the auditorium, and cafeteria. All the while I felt we were being watched, being followed. I didn't want to take him back to my dorm. I was happy we had been able to avoid Gisselle. We ended up walking toward the Clairborne mansion. Beau thought it was an impressive old house, especially because of how it was set back, with woods between the house and the school.
It was getting late, so we started back toward the dorm and his car, but on the way, we spotted a path that went deeper into the woods, and Beau thought we should explore and see where it would take us. I was reluctant at first, still having this sense of being watched. I even looked behind and around us, studying the pockets of shadows created by the late-afternoon sun, but I saw no one nor heard anyone. So I let him pull me along. We went farther and farther into the small wooded area until we heard the distinct sound of water rushing over rocks. When we came around a turn, there it was: a small but vigorous little stream that had created a waterfall.
"It's very pretty he
re," Beau said. "You've never been here before?"
"No, and no one's mentioned it."
"Let's sit awhile. I'm in no rush to go back to New Orleans anyway," he said. I didn't like the way he said it.
"Your parents know you've come up here to see me, don't they, Beau?"
"Sorta," he said, smiling.
"What's that mean, `sorta'?"
"I said I was going for a ride," he replied with a shrug. "Just a ride? But you drove all the way to Baton Rouge!"
"It's a ride, isn't it?" he said, laughing.
"Oh Beau, you're going to get into trouble with them again, aren't you?"
"It's worth it to see you, Ruby." He stepped up to me to put his hands on my shoulders and bring his lips to mine. Here in the solitude of the woods, he felt free to be more affectionate. I couldn't help but be nervous, however. We were still on Greenwood grounds, and in my dark imagination, I envisioned the Iron Lady hovering behind a tree with a pair of binoculars. Beau sensed my agitation and felt the tension in my body.
"What's wrong? I thought you would be more anxious to see me," he said, with obvious
disappointment.
"It's not you, Beau. It's me. I'm not comfortable here, even though you're beside me. I still feel . . . as my grandpere Jack used to say, like I've stepped on the back of a sleeping alligator."
Beau laughed. "There's no one here but us and the birds," he said, kissing me again. "No alligators." He kissed my neck. "Let's put down our blanket and rest awhile," he coaxed.
I let him take the blanket out from under my arm and watched him spread it over a patch of grass. He sprawled out and beckoned to me. I looked around again, and when I hesitated, he reached up to take my hand and pull me down to him.
In his arms I did forget where I was for the moment. Our kisses were long and passionate. He moved his hands smoothly up my arms and over my breasts. Soon the rush of my own blood competed with the rush of the water over the rocks, the sounds from within me becoming as loud as the sounds without. I felt swept away by Beau's caresses, each kiss, each touch moving the dark sadness off my brow and chasing the gloom from my heart, until I was kissing him as hard and as passionately as he was kissing me. I felt his hands under my blouse, my garments moving away so that we would be closer, skin touching skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. I opened myself to him eagerly and he was there, touching me, holding me, chanting his love and his promises. From somewhere in the forest, I heard the sound of a woodpecker. His tap, tap, tap grew faster and louder, until it sounded as if he was tearing down the whole forest. The water rushed on beside us. My moans grew stronger and more frequent, until we both came crushing down on each other's hunger, satisfying one another with the surrender of our very being.
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