Ruby (22 page)

"But what about the ball?"
"The ball? How can you go running off to the
ball now?" he asked, nodding in my direction. "But I bought this new dress especially for it
and I have a wonderful mask and . . ." She embraced
herself and glared at me. "How can this happen!" she
cried, the tears now streaming down her cheeks. She
clasped her hands into small fists and slapped her
arms against her sides. "And tonight of all nights!" "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I didn't realize it was
Mardi Gras when I started for New Orleans today,
but--"
"You didn't realize it was Mardi Gras!" she
chortled. "Oh, Beau."
"Take it easy, Gisselle," he said, returning to
embrace her. She buried her face in his shoulder for a
moment. As he stroked her hair, he gazed at me, still
smiling. "Take it easy," he soothed.
"I can't take it easy," Gisselle insisted, and
stamped her foot again as she pulled back. She glared
at me angrily now. "It's just some coincidence, some
stupid coincidence someone discovered. She was sent
here to. . . to embezzle money out of us. That's it, isn't
it?" she accused.
I shook my head.
"This is too much to be a coincidence, Gisselle.
I mean, just look at the two of you," Beau insisted. "There are differences. Her nose is longer and
her lips look thinner and. . . and her ears stick out
more than mine do."
Beau laughed and shook his head.
"Someone sent you here to steal from us, didn't
they? Didn't they?" Gisselle demanded, her fists on
her hips again and her legs spread apart.
"No. I came myself. It was a promise I made to
Grandmere Catherine."
"Who's Grandmere Catherine?" Gisselle asked,
grimacing as if she had swallowed sour milk.
"Someone from Storyville?"
"No, someone from Houma," I said.
"And a Traiteur," Beau added. I could see he
was enjoying Gisselle's discomfort. He enjoyed
teasing her. "Oh, this is just so ridiculous. I do not
intend to miss the best Mardi Gras all because some . .
. Cajun girl who looks a little like me has arrived and
claims to be my twin sister," she snapped.
"Looks a little. ." Beau shook his head. "When I
first saw her, I thought it was you."
"Me? How could you think that. . that," she
said, gesturing at me, "this . . . this person was me?
Look at how she's dressed. Look at her shoes!" "I thought it was your costume," he explained. I
wasn't happy hearing my clothes described as
someone's costume. "Beau, do you think I'd ever put
on something as plain as that, even as a costume?" "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I
asked, assuming an indignant tone myself.
"It looks homemade," Gisselle said after she
condescended to gaze at my skirt and blouse once
more.
"It is homemade. Grandmere Catherine made
both the skirt and blouse."
"See," she said, turning back to Beau. He
nodded and saw how I was fuming.
"I'd better go fetch your parents."
"Beau Andreas, if you leave this house without
taking me to the Mardi Gras Ball . . ."
"I promise we'll go after this is straightened
out," he said.
"It will never be straightened out. It's a horrible,
horrible joke. Why don't you get out of here!" she
screamed at me. "How can you send her away?" Beau
demanded.
"Oh, you're a monster, Beau Andreas. A
monster to do this to me," she cried, and ran back to
the stairway.
"Gisselle!"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I told you I shouldn't have
come in. I didn't mean to ruin your evening." He looked at me a moment and then shook his
head.
"How can she blame me? Look," he said, "just
go into the living room and make yourself
comfortable. I know where Pierre and Daphne are. It
won't take but a few minutes and they'll come here to
see you. Don't worry about Gisselle," he said, backing
up. "Just wait in the living room." He turned and
hurried out, leaving me alone, never feeling more like
a stranger. Could I ever call this house my home? I
wondered as I started toward the living room. I was afraid to touch anything, afraid even to
walk on the expensive looking big Persian oval rug
that extended from the living room doorway, under
the two large sofas and beyond. The high windows
were draped in scarlet velvet with gold ties and the
walls were papered in a delicate floral design, the
hues matching the colors in the soft cushion high back
chairs and the sofas. On the thick mahogany center
table were two thick crystal vases. The lamps on the
side tables looked very old and valuable. There were
paintings on all the walls, some landscapes of
plantations and some street scenes from the French
Quarter. Above the marble fireplace was the portrait
of a distinguished looking old gentleman, his hair and
full beard a soft gray. His dark eyes seemed to swing
my way and hold.
I lowered myself gently in the corner of the
sofa on my right and sat rigidly, clinging to my little
bag and gaping about the room, looking at the statues,
the figurines in the curio case, and the other pictures
on the walls. I was afraid to look at the portrait of the
man above the fireplace again. He seemed so
accusatory.
A hickory wood grandfather's clock that looked as old as time itself ticked in the corner, its numbers all Roman. Otherwise, the great house was silent. Occasionally, I thought I heard a thumping above me and wondered if that was Gisselle storming back and
forth in her room.
My heart, which had been racing and drumming
ever since I let Beau Andreas lead me into the house,
calmed. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Had
I done a dreadful thing coming here? Was I about to
destroy some-one else's life? Why was Grandmere
Catherine so sure this was the right thing for me to
do? My twin sister obviously resented my very
existence? What was to keep my father from doing the
same? My heart teetered on the edge of a precipice,
ready to plunge and die if he came into this house and
rejected me.
Shortly after, I heard the sound of Edgar
Farrar's footsteps as he raced down the corridor to
open the front door. I heard other voices and people
hurrying in.
"In the living room, monsieur," Beau Andreas
called, and a moment later my eyes took in my real
father's face. How many times had I sat before my
mirror and imagined him by transposing my own
facial features onto the blank visage I conjured before me? Yes, he had the same soft green eyes and we had the same shaped nose and chin. His face was leaner, firmer, his forehead rolled back gently under the shock of thick chestnut hair brushed back at the sides
with just a small pompadour at the front.
He was tall, at least six feet two, and had a slim
but firm looking torso with shoulders that sloped
gracefully into his arms, the physique of a tennis
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
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