Ruby (24 page)

that much more than you're carrying in your small
bag," he added.
"However," he continued, "the Dumas family
history isn't filled only with reputable and highly
prized things. We had ancestors who once owned and
operated one of the elegant gambling houses and even
made money on the bordellos in Storyville. Daphne's
family has the same sort of past, but she isn't as eager
to own up to it," he said.
He rubbed his hands together and stood up. "Well, we'll have plenty of time to talk about all
this. I promise. Right now, I imagine you're tired.
You'd like a bath and a chance to relax and go to
sleep. In the morning, you can begin your new life,
one that I hope will be wonderful for you. May I kiss
you and welcome you to what will become your new
home and family," he asked.
"Yes," I said and closed my eyes as he brought
his lips to my cheek.
My father's first kiss. . . how many times had I
dreamt about it, had I seen him in my dreams
approach my bed and lean down to kiss me good
night, the mysterious father of my paintings who
stepped off the canvas and pressed his lips to my
cheek and stroked my hair and drove away all the
demons that hover in the shadows of our hearts . . . the
father I had never known.
I opened my eyes and looked up into his and
saw the tears. His eyes were filled with sorrow and
pain, and it seemed he aged a little as he stared at me
with much regret.
"I'm glad I've finally found you," I said. In an
instant, that sorrow that washed over his beautiful
eyes disappeared and his face beamed.
"You must be very special. I don't know why I
should be this fortunate." He took my hand and led
me out of the living room, talking about some of the
other rooms, the paintings, the artworks as we
approached the winding stairway.
Just as we reached the upstairs landing, a door
was thrust open down right and Gisselle stepped out
with Beau Andreas right beside her.
"What are you doing with her?" she demanded. "Take it easy, Gisselle," our father said. "I'll be
explaining it all to you in a moment."
"You're putting her in the room next to mine?"
she asked, grimacing.
"Yes."
"This is horrible, horrible!" she screamed, and
stepped back into her room before slamming the door. Beau Andreas, who had come out, looked
embarrassed. "I think I'd better be going," he said. "Yes," my father told him.
Beau started away and Gisselle jerked open her
door again.
"Beau Andreas, how dare you leave this house
without me!" she cried.
"But . . ." He looked at my father. "You and
your family have things to discuss, to do and--" "It can wait until morning. It's Mardi Gras,"
Gisselle declared, and glared at our father. "I've been
waiting all year to attend this ball. All my friends are
there already," she moaned.
"Monsieur?" Beau said. My father nodded. "It can wait until morning," he said.
Gisselle swept back the strands of hair she had
shaken over her shoulders in her rage and marched out
of her room, glaring at me as she walked by to join
Beau Andreas. He looked uncomfortable, but let her
take his arm, and then the two of them marched down
the stairs, Gisselle pounding each step as she
descended.
"She has been so looking forward to this ball,"
my father explained. I nodded, but my father felt the
need to continue to justify her behavior. "It wouldn't
do any good to force her to stay. She would be less apt
to listen and understand. Daphne does so much better
with her when she's like this anyway," he added. "But I'm sure," he said as we continued toward
my new bedroom, "in time she will be overjoyed and
excited about getting a sister. She's been an only child
too long. She's a bit spoiled. Now," he said, "I have
another young lady to spoil, too."
The moment we stepped into my new room, I
felt that spoiling had begun. It had a dark pine canopy
queen-size bed, the canopy made of fine pearl-colored
silk with a fringe border. The pillows were enormous
and fluffy looking, the bedspread, pillowcases, and
top sheet all in chintz, the flowers full of Color and
glazed. The wallpaper duplicated the floral pattern in
the linens. Above the headboard was a painting of a
beautiful young woman in a garden setting feeding a
parrot. There was a cute black and white puppy
tugging at the hem of her full skirt. On each side of
the bed were two nightstands, each with a bell shaped
lamp. But beside a matching dresser and armoire, the
room had a vanity table with an enormous oval mirror
in an ivory frame, the frame covered with hand
painted red and yellow roses. And in the corner beside
it, an old French birdcage hung.
"I have my own bathroom?" I asked, gazing
through the open doorway on my right. The plush
bathroom had a large tub, sink, and commode, all with
brass fixtures. There were even flowers and birds
hand painted on the tub and sink.
"Of course. Twin sister or not, Gisselle is not
the sort you share a bathroom with," my father said,
smiling. "This door," he added, nodding at the door on my left, "joins the two rooms. I hope the day will soon come when the two of you will move back and forth
through it eagerly."
"So do I," I said. I went to the windows and
gazed out at the grounds of the estate. I saw that I
faced the pool and the tennis court. Through the open
window, I could smell the green bamboo, gardenias,
and blooming camellias.
"Do you like it?" my father asked.
"Like it? I love it. It's the most wonderful room
I've ever seen," I declared. He laughed at my
exuberance.
"It will be something fresh to see someone
appreciate everything around here again. So often,
things are taken for granted," he explained.
"I'll never take anything for granted again," I
promised.
"We'll see. Wait until Gisselle works you over.
Well, I see you've been brought a nightgown to use
and there's a pair of slippers beside the bed." He
opened a closet and there was a pink silk robe hanging
in it. "Here's a robe, too. You'll find all you need in
the bathroom--new toothbrush, soaps, but should you
need anything, just ask. I want you to treat this house
as your home as soon as you can," he added. "Thank you."
"Well, get comfortable and have a nice sleep. If
you get up before the rest of us do, which is quite
possible the morning after Mardi Gras, just go down
to the kitchen and Nina will fix you some breakfast." I nodded and he said good night, closing the
door softly behind him as he left.
For a long moment I simply stood there gaping
at everything. Was I really here, transported over time
and distance into a new world, a world where I would
have a real mother and father, and as soon as she
could accept it, a real sister, too?
I went into the bathroom and discovered the
soaps scented with the fragrance of gardenias and the
bottles of bubble bath powder. I drew myself a hot
bath and luxuriated in the silky smoothness of the
sweet-smelling bubbles. Afterward, I put on Gisselle's
scented nightgown and crawled under the soft sheet
and down bedspread.
I felt like Cinderella.
But just like Cinderella, I couldn't help feeling
trepidation; I couldn't help being frightened by the
ticking of the clock that swung its hands around to
clasp them finally on the hour of twelve, the
bewitching hour.
Would it burst my bubble of happiness and turn
my carriage into a pumpkin?
Or would it tick on and on, making my claim to
a fairy-tale existence that much more secure with each
pass-ing minute?
Oh, Grandmere, I thought as my heavy eyelids
began to shut, I'm here. I hope you're resting more
comfortably because of it.

12
Blue-Blood Welcome
.
I awoke to the sweet singing of blue jays and

mockingbirds and for the first few moments, forgot where I was. My trip to New Orleans and all that had subsequently followed now seemed more like a dream. It must have rained for a while during the night for although the sun was beaming brightly through my windows, the breeze still smelled of rain and wet leaves as well as the redolent scents of the myriad of flowers and trees that surrounded the great house.

I sat up slowly, drinking in my beautiful new room in the light of day. If anything, it looked even more wonderful. Although the furniture, the fixtures, and everything down to a jewelry box on the vanity table were antique, it all looked brand-new, too. It was almost as if this room had been recently prepared, everything polished and cleaned in anticipation of my arrival. Or that I had gone to sleep for years when all these things were brand-new and woken up without realizing time had stood still.

I rose from bed and went to the windows. The sky was a patchwork quilt of soft vanilla clouds and light blue. Below the grounds people were vigorously at work clipping hedges, weeding flower beds, and mowing lawns. Someone was on the tennis court sweeping off the myrtle leaves and tiny branches that had probably been torn and blown in the rain, and another man was scooping the oak and banana tree leaves out of the pool.

It was a wonderful day to start a new life, I decided. With my heart full of joy, I went to the bathroom, brushed my hair, and got dressed in a gray skirt and blouse I had brought in my little bag. I put all my precious possessions in the nightstand drawer and then slipped on my moccasins and left my room to go down to breakfast.

It was very quiet in the house. All the other bedroom doors were shut tight, but as soon as I reached the top of the stairway, I heard the front door thrust open and slammed closed and saw Gisselle come charging into the house, unconcerned about how much noise she was making or whom she might waken.

She threw off her cloak and a headdress of bright feathers, dropping it all on the table in the entryway, and then started for the stairway. I watched her walk halfway up with her head down. When she lifted it and saw me gazing down at her, she stopped.

Ball?" I asked, astounded.
"Oh, I forgot all about you," she said, and
followed it with a silly, thin laugh. There was
something about the way she wobbled that led me to
believe she had been drinking. "That's how good a
time I had," she added with a flare. "And Beau was
good enough not to mention your shocking
appearance all night." Her expression turned sour,
indignant as my question to her sunk in. "Of course
I'm just coming home. Mardi Gras goes until dawn.
It's expected. Don't think you can tell my parents
anything they don't know and get me in trouble," she
warned.
"I don't want to get you in trouble. I was just .
surprised. I've never done that."
"Haven't you ever gone to a dance and enjoyed
yourself, or don't they have such things in the bayou?"
she asked with disdain.
"Yes. We call them
fais dodos
," I told her. "But
we don't stay out all night."
"
Fais dodos
? Sounds like a good old time, twostepping to the sounds of an accordion and a
washboard." She smirked and continued to climb the
stairs toward me.
"They're usually nice dances with lots of good
things to eat. Was the ball nice?" I asked.
"Nice?" She paused on the step just below me
and laughed again. "Nice?
Nice
is a word for a school
party or an afternoon tea in the garden, but for a
Mardi Gras Bail? It was more than nice; it was
spectacular. Everyone was there," she added, stepping
up. "And everyone ogled me and Bean with green
eyes. We're considered the handsomest young Creole
couple these days, you know. I don't know how many
of my girlfriends begged me to let them have a dance
with Beau, and all of them were dying to know where
I had gotten this dress, but I wouldn't tell them." "It is a very pretty dress," I admitted.
"Well, don't expect I'll let you borrow it now
that you've stormed into our lives," she retorted,
gathering her wits about her. "I still don't understand
how you got here and who you are," she added with
ice in her voice.
"Your father . . . our father will explain," I said.
She flicked me another of her scornful glances before
throwing her hair back.
"I doubt anyone can explain it, but I can't listen
now anyway. I'm exhausted. I must sleep and I'm certainly not in the mood to hear about you right now." She started to turn but paused to look me over from foot to head. "Where did you get these clothes? Is everything you have handmade?" she asked
contemptuously.
"Not everything. I didn't bring much with me
anyway," said.
"Thank goodness for that." She yawned. "I've
got to get some sleep. Beau's coming by late in the
afternoon for tea. We like reviewing the night before,
tearing everyone to shreds. If you're still here, you can
sit and listen and learn."
"Of course I'll still be here," I said. "This is my
home now, too."
"Please. I'm getting a headache," she said,
pinching her temples with her thumb and forefinger.
She turned and held her arm out toward me, her palm
up. "No more. Young Creole women have to replenish
themselves. We're more . . . feminine, dainty, like
flowers that need the kiss of soft rain and the touch of
warm sunlight. That's what Beau says." She stopped
smiling at her own words and glared at me. "Don't
you put on lipstick before you meet people?" "No. I don't own any lipstick," I said.
"And Beau thinks we're twins."
Unable to hold back, I flared. "We are!" "In your dreams maybe," she countered, and
then sauntered to her bedroom. After she entered and
closed her door, I went downstairs, pausing to admire
her headdress and cloak. Why did she leave it here?
Who picked up after her? I wondered.
As if she heard my thoughts, a maid came out
of the living room and marched down the corridor to
retrieve Gisselle's things. She was a young black
woman with beautiful, large brown eyes. I didn't think
she was much older than I.
"Good morning,." I said.
"Mornin'. You're the new girl who looks just
like Gisselle?" she asked.
"Yes. My name's Ruby."
"I'm Wendy Williams," she said. She scooped
up Gisselle's things, her eyes glued to me, and then
walked away.
I started down the corridor to the kitchen, but
when I reached the dining room, I saw my father
already seated at the long table. He was sipping coffee
and reading the business section of the newspaper.
The moment he saw me, he looked up and smiled. "Good morning. Come on in and sit down," he
called. It was a very big dining room, almost as big as a Cajun meeting hall, I thought. Above the long table hung a shoo-fly, a great, wide fan unfurled at dinnertime and pulled to and fro by a servant to provide a breeze and do what it was named for: shoo away flies . . . I imagined it was there just for decoration. I had seen them before in rich Cajun
homes where they had electric fans.
"Here, sit down," my father said, tapping the
place on his left. "From now on, this is your seat.
Gisselle sits here on my right and Daphne sits at the
other end."
"She sits so far away," I remarked, gazing down
the length of the rich, cherry wood table, polished so
much I could see my face reflected in its surface. My
father laughed.
"Yes, but that's the way Daphne likes it. Or
should I say, that's the proper seating arrangement.
So, how did you sleep?" he asked as I took my seat. "Wonderfully. It's the most comfortable bed
I've ever been in. I felt like I was sleeping on a
cloud!"
He smiled.
"Gisselle wants me to buy her a new mattress.
She claims hers is too hard, but if I get one any softer,
she'll sink to the floor," he added, and we both laughed. I wondered if he had heard her come in and
knew she had just returned from the ball. "Hungry?" "Yes," I said. My stomach was rumbling. He hit
a bell and Edgar appeared from the kitchen.
"You've met Edgar, correct?" he asked. "Oh, yes. Good morning, Edgar," I said. He
bowed
"Good morning, mademoiselle."
"Edgar, have Nina prepare some of her
blueberry pancakes for Mademoiselle Ruby, please.
You'd like that, I expect?"
"Yes, thank you," I said. My father nodded
toward Edgar. "Very good, sir," Edgar said, and
smiled at me.
"Some orange juice? It's freshly squeezed," my
father said, reaching for the pitcher.
"Yes, thank you."
"I don't think Daphne needs to worry about
your manners. Grandmere Catherine did a fine job,"
he complimented. I couldn't help but shift my eyes
away for a moment at the mention of Grandmere. "I
bet you miss her a great deal."
"Yes, I do."
"No one can replace someone you love, but I
hope I can fill some of the emptiness I know is in your heart," he said. "Well," he continued, sitting back, "Daphne is going to sleep late this morning, too." He winked. "And we know Gisselle will sleep away most of the day. Daphne says she'll take you shopping midafternoon. So that leaves just the two of us to spend the morning and lunch. How would you like me
to show you around the city a bit?"
"I'd love it. Thank you," I said.
After breakfast, we got into his Rolls Royce
and drove down the long driveway. I had never been
in so luxurious an automobile before and sat gaping
stupidly at the wood trim, running the palm of my
hand over the soft leather.
"Do you drive?" my father asked me.
"Oh, no. I haven't even ridden in cars all that
much. In the bayou we get around by walking or by
poling pirogues."
"Yes, I remember," he said, beaming a broad
smile my way. "Gisselle doesn't drive either. She
doesn't want to be bothered learning. The truth is she
likes being carted around. But if you would like to
learn how to drive, I'd be glad to teach you," he said. "I would. Thank you."
He drove on through the Garden District, past
many fine homes with grounds just as beautiful as ours, some with oleander-lined pike fences. There were fewer clouds now which meant the streets and beautiful flowers had fewer shadows looming over them. Sidewalks and tiled patios glittered. Here and there the gutters were full of pink and white camellias
from the previous night's rain.
"Some of these houses date back to the
eighteen-forties," my father told me and leaned over
to point to a house on our right. "Jefferson Davis,
President of the Confederacy, died in that house in
1899. There's a lot of history here," he said proudly. We made a turn and paused as the olive green
streetcar rattled past the palm trees on the esplanade.
Then we followed St. Charles back toward the inner
city.
"I'm glad we had this opportunity to be alone
for a while," he said. "Besides my showing you the
city, it gives me a chance to get to know you and you
a chance to get to know me. It took a great deal of
courage for you to come to me," he said. The look on
my face confirmed his suspicion. He cleared his throat
and continued.
"It will be hard for me to talk about your
mother when someone else is around, especially
Daphne. I think you understand why."
I nodded.
"I'm sure it's harder for you to understand right
now how it all happened. Sometimes," he said,
smiling to himself, "when I think about it, it does
seem like something I dreamt."
It was as though he were talking in a dream.
His eyes were glazed and far away, his voice smooth,
easy, relaxed.
"I must tell you about my younger brother,
Jean. He was always much different from me, far
more outgoing, energetic, a handsome Don Juan if
there ever was one," he added, breaking into a soft
smile. "I've always been quite shy when it came to
members of the genteel sex.
"Jean was athletic, a track star and a wonderful
sailor. He could make our sailboat slice through the
water on Lake Pontchartrain even if there wasn't
enough breeze to nudge the willows on the bank. "Needless to say, he was my father's favorite,
and my mother always thought of him as her baby.
But I wasn't jealous," he added quickly. "I've always
been more business minded, more comfortable in an
office crunching numbers, talking on the telephone,
and making deals than I have been on a playing field
or in a sailboat surrounded by beautiful young
women.
"Jean had all the charm. He didn't have to work
at making friends or gaining acquaintances. Women
and men alike just wanted to be around him, to walk
in his shadow, to be favored with his words and
smiles.
"The house was always full of young people
back then. I never knew who would be encamped in
our living room or eating in our dining room or
lounging at our pool."
"How much younger than you was he?" I asked. "Four years. When I graduated from college,
Jean had begun his first year and was a track star in
college already, already elected president of his
college class, and already a popular fraternity man. "It was easy to see why our father doted on him
so and had such big dreams for him," my father said,
and he made a series of turns that took us deeper and
deeper into the busier areas of New Orleans. But I
wasn't as interested in the traffic, the crowds, and the
dozens and dozens of stores as I was in my father's
story.
We paused for a traffic light.
"I wasn't married yet. Daphne and I had really
just begun to date. In the back of his mind, our father was already planning out Jean's marriage to the daughter of one of his business associates. It was to be a wedding made in Heaven. She was an attractive young lady; her father was rich, too. The wedding
ceremony and reception would rival those of royalty." "How did Jean feel about it?" I asked. "Jean? He idolized our father and would do
anything he wanted. Jean thought of it all as
inevitable. You would have liked him a great deal,
loved him, I should say. He was never despondent and
always saw the rainbow at the end of the storm, no
matter what the problem or trouble."
"What happened to him?" I finally asked,
dreading the answer.
"A boating accident on Lake Pontchartrain. I
rarely went out on the boat with him, but this time I
let him talk me into going. He had a habit of trying to
get me to be more like him. He was always after me to
enjoy life more. To him I was too serious, too
responsible. Usually, I didn't pay much attention to his
complaints, but this time, he argued that we should be
more like brothers. I relented. We both drank too
much. A storm came up. I wanted to turn around
immediately, but he decided it would be more fun to
challenge it and the boat turned over. Jean would have been all right, I'm sure. He was a far better swimmer
than I was, but the mast struck him in the temple." "Oh no," I moaned.
"He was in a coma for a long time. My father
spared no expense, hired the best doctors, but none of
them could do anything. He was like a vegetable." "How terrible."
"I thought my parents would never get over it,
especially my father. But my mother became even
more depressed. Her health declined first. Less than a
year after the tragic accident, she suffered her first
heart attack. She survived, but she became an
invalid."
We continued onward, deeper into the business
area. My father made one turn and then another and
then slowed down to pull the vehicle into a parking
spot, but he didn't shut off the engine. He faced
forward and continued his remembrances.
"One day, my father came to me in our offices
and closed the door. He had aged so since my
brother's accident and my mother's illness. A once
proud, strong man, now he walked with his shoulders
turned in, his head lowered, his back bent. He was
always pale, his eyes empty, his enthusiasm for his
business at a very low ebb.
" 'Pierre,' " he said, I don't think your mother's
long for this world, and frankly, I feel my own days
are numbered. What we would like most to see is for
you to marry and start your family.'
"Daphne and I were planning on getting
married anyway, but after his conversation with me, I
rushed things along. I wanted to try to have children
immediately. She understood. But month after month
passed and when she showed no signs of becoming
pregnant, we became concerned.
"I sent her to specialists and the conclusion was
she was unable to get pregnant. Her body simply
didn't produce enough of some hormone. I forget the
exact diagnosis.