Landry 02 Pearl in the Mist (22 page)

I hurried out the side entrance and down the drive to the sidewalk to wait for him at three. He was right on time. I got into his car quickly and in moments we were speeding off to the institution in which my father's poor younger brother languished in a world of confusion and mental anguish. I couldn't help but be nervous and afraid. Beau knew that Daphne had once tried to have me confined in the same place as a way of getting me out of her life.
"I know how frightening that place must be to you. You sure you can do this?" he asked.
"No," I said. "But I feel I have to for Daddy. It's something he would want me to do."
A little more than half an hour later, we pulled up to the four-story, gray stucco structure with bars on its windows. I got out of the car slowly and with Beau at my side entered the institution. The nurse behind the glass enclosure directly before us didn't look up until we were practically at her desk.
"I'm Ruby Dumas," I said. "I want to see my uncle Jean."
"Jean Dumas?" she said. "Oh yes. We just moved him to his new facilities this morning."
"New facilities? He's still here, isn't he?"
"He's here, but he is no longer housed in a private room. He's in a ward now."
"But . . . why?" I asked.
She smirked. "Because whoever is paying for him has stopped paying the extra stipend, and he is covered only by basic insurance." she replied.
I looked at Beau. "She didn't waste a minute, did she?" I said. "Can we see my uncle, please?" I asked the nurse.
"Yes. Just a moment." She pushed a button, and a few moments later a male attendant appeared. "Take these people to Ward C to visit Jean Dumas."
"Lord Dumas," he said, smiling. "Sure. Right this way," he said, and we followed him through a door and down a corridor.
"Why do you call him Lord Dumas?" Beau asked.
"Oh, it's just a little joke among the staff. Despite his problems, Jean loves his clothes and looks after his appearance. At least he used to."
"What do you mean, 'used to'?" I asked.
"Since he's been moved and even a little before, he stopped caring. The doctors are concerned. Usually we take him to the game room after lunch, but he's been a bit more depressed lately, so he goes back to the ward."
I glanced at Beau. "What is this ward like?" I wondered aloud.
The attendant paused. "It ain't the Ritz," he said.
That was an understatement. The men's ward simply consisted of a dozen beds in a row, each with its own metal locker. There were three windows spaced out on one side and two on the other, all the windows lined with bars. The floor was cement and the walls were a dull brown color. The lighting was dull, but we could see Uncle Jean at the far end, sitting at the edge of his bed. A nurse had just given him something and was coming toward us.
"I have a couple of visitors for Jean," the attendant told her.
"He's a bit more down today. He wouldn't even eat much lunch. I had to give him some medicine. Are you relatives?" she asked us.
"I am his niece, Ruby."
"Oh," she said, smiling. "The Ruby who sends him letters from time to time?"
"Yes," I replied, happy he was getting them.
"He cherishes those letters, although I sometimes wonder if he actually reads the words. Sometimes he sits with one for hours and hours, just staring at it. When he was in his own room, I would read him one occasionally. They've been very nice letters."
"Thank you. Is he getting worse?"
"I'm afraid so. The move and all hasn't helped, either. He used to be so proud of the way he kept his room."
"I know," I said. "I remember."
"Oh, you've seen him there?"
"Not exactly," I said. This nurse hadn't been working here when I had been forced to stay, so she didn't remember me. But I saw no point in bringing all that back.
With Beau still right beside me, I walked down to Uncle Jean, who sat staring at his hands. His golden hair was disheveled, and he wore a pair of creased pants and a creased white shirt with some food stains on the front of it.
"Hello, Uncle Jean," I said, sitting down beside him. I took his hands into mine and he turned, first to look up at Beau and then to look at me. I saw a note of recognition in his blue-green eyes and a small smile start at the corners of his mouth.
"Do you remember me? . . . Ruby? I'm Pierre's other daughter. I'm the one who's been sending you all the letters." His smile widened. "I've come home from school because . . . because there's been a tragedy, Uncle Jean, and now I've come to tell you because I think you have a right to know. I think you should know." I looked up at Beau, to see if he thought I should continue or not. He nodded. Uncle Jean was still gazing at me, his eyes moving slightly from side to side as he studied my face.
"It's Daddy, Uncle Jean . . . he's . . . his heart gave out on him and he's . . . he's dead," I said. "That's why he hasn't been here to see you; that's why you've been moved to this ward. But I'm going to complain about it to Daphne and I'm going to see to it that they get you back in your room. At least I'll try," I said.
Gradually, the small smile that had been on his lips wilted, and his lips began ever so slightly to tremble. I put my hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently.
"Daddy would have wanted me to come here, Uncle Jean. I'm sure. He was very unhappy about what had happened between the two of you and he was very sad about your sickness. He wanted so much to see you get better. He loved you very much. He really did," I said.
Uncle Jean's lips quivered more. His eyes began to blink, and then I felt a trembling in his hands. Suddenly, he shook his head, softly at first, and then more vigorously.
"Uncle Jean . . ."
He opened his mouth and then closed it, shaking his head harder. The nurse and the attendant drew closer. I looked up at them when Uncle Jean began to make an unintelligible sound.
"Aaaaaaa . ."
"Jean," the nurse said, rushing over to him. "What did you tell him?" she demanded.
"I had to tell him his brother--my father--has died," I said.
"Oh dear. Easy, Jean," she said.
His shoulders began to shake and he opened and closed his mouth to make the ugly sound.
"You two had better go now," the nurse said.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble, but I thought he should know."
"It's all right. He'll be all right," she assured us, but she was anxious for us to leave.
I stood up, and Uncle Jean gazed up at me with desperation. He was silent for a moment, and I decided to hug him quickly and did so.
"I'll be back another time, Uncle Jean," I promised through my tears and then turned away. Beau followed me toward the door. We were nearly there when Uncle Jean screamed.
"P-P-Pierre!"
I turned to see him bury his head in his hands. The nurse eased him back on the bed and lifted his legs up so he was lying quietly.
"Oh, Beau," I said. "I shouldn't have come. Daphne was right. I shouldn't have told him."
"Of course you should have come. Otherwise he would have felt deserted when Pierre never showed up. At least now he understands why and he knows he still has you," Beau said, putting his arm around me.
I let my head fall against his shoulder and then I let him take me out and home to where Daddy lay waiting for his final goodbyes.

11
The Gloves Are Off
.
I told Beau to pull up to the walk a block before

my house.
"I feel like Gisselle, sneaking around like this,"
I said, "but I'd rather Daphne didn't see you dropping
me off."
He laughed. "That's all right. Sometimes
Gisselle's scheming comes in handy. Too bad she
can't learn from you as well." He leaned over to give
me a quick kiss on the lips before I stepped out of the
car.
"I'll be here tonight," he called after me. I
waved and ran up the walk to sneak back in through
the side entrance.
The house was very still when I entered. I went
around quietly and started up the stairs, which seemed
to creak extra loudly just because I was trying to be
discreet. I was nearly to the top when Daphne called
up to me. I turned and glared down at her. Bruce
Bristow was at her side.
"Where were you?" she demanded, her hands
on her hips. She wore one of her business suits, rouge,
lipstick, and eyeliner, but she had her hair unpinned. "I went to see Uncle Jean," I confessed. I had
made up my mind that I wouldn't lie if she caught me,
and anyway, I wanted to question why she had cut
back on the funds for Jean at the institution and had
him transferred.
"You did what? Get down here this instant," she
demanded, stabbing her right forefinger toward the
floor. She spun around and marched into the sitting
room behind her. Bruce gazed up at me, that
somewhat impish smile couched comfortably in the
corners of his mouth. Then he turned to follow
Daphne. I was nearly halfway down when Gisselle
called from the top of the stairway, where she had
wheeled herself to watch my confrontation with our
stepmother.
"I would have covered for you," she said, "but
you didn't even tell me where you were going." She
turned her head. "I couldn't even make anything up
when she came around looking for you."
"That's all right. I'm not happy about lying and
sneaking around anyway."
"Too bad," she said. "Now you're getting into
trouble." She gave me an oily smile of glee before
spinning around in her chair to return to her room. I
continued downstairs quickly and entered the sitting room. Daphne was seated on the sofa, but Bruce was standing beside her, his hands clasped before him. He was scowling, which was a face he wore more for her
sake than for mine.
"Get in here," Daphne said when I paused just
inside the doorway. I approached her, my heart
pounding. "I thought I told you not to go to Jean. I
thought I told you not to tell him anything," she said
quickly.
"Daddy would have wanted him to know," I
replied. "And besides, if I hadn't told him, he would
have been waiting for Daddy and wondering why he
never came."
She smirked. "I'm sure he doesn't wonder about
anything." Her eyes became thin slits and her lips
tightened for a moment. "Who took you? Beau?" I
didn't respond, and she nodded with that cold smile.
"His parents are not going to be happy to hear that he
was party to this disobedience. Since you've been at
Greenwood, he hasn't been in any trouble, but as soon
as you return . . ."
"Please don't get him into trouble. He wasn't
party to anything. He was just nice enough to drive
me up there."
She shook her head and gazed at Bruce, who
mirrored her disdain.
"Anyway," I continued, gathering my courage,
"now I know the real reason why you didn't want me
to go to see him." I spoke so sharply that Bruce's
eyebrows lifted. "Secretly you had Uncle Jean moved
from his private room into a ward."
She sat back and crossed her arms under her
bosom.
"Secretly?" She laughed a hollow, thin laugh
before looking at Bruce and then turning to me with a
frown. "I don't have to do anything secretly. I don't
need your or your sister's or anyone else's permission
to do anything that regards this family."
"Why did you do it?" I cried. "We can afford to
have him in his own room."
"A private room was a waste of money. I
always thought it so," she said. "Not that I have to
explain myself to you or your sister."
"But he's regressing now. The staff says so. He
no longer cares about himself the way he used to
and--"
"He wasn't making any real progress either
way. All Pierre was doing was soothing his own
troubled conscience by lavishing the extra money on
Jean. It was a ridiculous expenditure:"
^-
"It wasn't," I insisted. "I saw the difference; you
haven't."
"Since when did you get a degree in mental
illness?" she shot back. Then she smiled coldly again,
a smile that put chills into my spine. "Or have you
inherited some magical powers from your faithhealing grandmere?"
A heat came into my face. Daphne never
missed an opportunity to mock my grandmere's
memory. She loved ridiculing the Cajun world. I took
a deep breath and stood my ground firmly.
"No, I simply inherited compassion and human
kindness," I said. My words cut so deeply, she
winced. Bruce no longer had a smile on his face,
impish or otherwise. He shifted his weight from one
leg to the other and gazed apprehensively at Daphne. "That will be enough of that," she said slowly,
her eyes as dark as shadows in the swamp. "You
disobeyed me. I want you to understand right from the
start what it means to be insubordinate. Your father is
no longer here to make excuses for you." She pulled
herself back and her shoulders up to pass sentence on
me. "You are to go upstairs and remain in your room
until it is time to attend your father's funeral. I will
have Martha bring up your meals, and you are not to
see anyone."
"But the wake. . . greeting mourners . . ." "We'll make excuses for you, tell people you
aren't feeling well, and that way prevent everyone
from knowing about your misbehavior," she said
curtly.
"But it wasn't misbehavior," I insisted. "I have a
right to see Uncle Jean, and he should have been told
about Daddy, and you shouldn't have had them move
him into the ward."
For a moment, my continued defiance disarmed
her. Then she gathered all her bitterness and leaned
forward.
"When you are twenty-one," she replied, her
eyes somewhat wider, "you will be able to make
financial decisions without my interference or
opinions. You can take your entire inheritance and
waste it on Jean, for all I care. Until then, I'm the only
one who makes the decisions about how to spend the
Dumas fortune. I have an expert in these matters," she
said, nodding toward Bruce, "so I don't need to hear
from you. Do you understand? Do you?" she
hammered when I didn't reply.
"No," I said, nailing my feet to the floor in
defiance. "I don't understand how you could do this to poor Uncle Jean, who has no life, who has nothing but
his own troubled mind."
"Good. So you don't understand." She sat back
again. "Whatever," she said, waving her hand. "But
for now, march yourself upstairs and close the door
behind you or I'll call Beau's parents and have them
bring him over here right now to hear what you and he
did," she threatened, "and then punish you twice as
severely."
My eyes burned with the hot tears of anger and
frustration.
"But I have to be at the wake. . . . I should be--
"
"You should listen to what you are told to do,"
she said firmly, punching out the words. She extended
her arm, her forefinger pointing toward the stairway.
"Now march!"
I lowered my head.
"Can't you find some other way to punish me?"
I begged, the tears running down my cheeks. "No. I don't have the time, nor do I have the
energy to sit here and dream up ways to reward you
for insubordination, especially when you are
disobedient under these circumstances. I have a
husband to bury. I don't have time to be a nursemaid to spoiled, defiant young girls. Just do what I say. Do
you hear!" she shrilled.
I sucked in my breath, turned, and walked out
slowly, my stomach feeling as if I had swallowed a
gallon of swamp mud. When I got to my room, I
threw myself on my bed and sobbed. I realized I
wouldn't be able to help Uncle Jean; I couldn't even
help myself.
"So where did you go?" Gisselle asked from the
doorway. I turned slowly and wiped the tears from my
cheeks. "Over to Lake Pontchartrain?" she asked, a
smile of lewd suggestion washing over her lips. "To
neck?"
"No. Beau took me to see Uncle Jean," I said,
and described what I had found. "And so she's had
him moved into a ward where he has only his bed and
a beat-up metal locker," I concluded.
She shrugged, barely showing any interest. "It
doesn't surprise me. I told you what Daphne was
capable of doing, but you just don't listen. You think
the world's all birds and roses. She's going to cut back
plenty on what we get too. You'll see," she said. She
wheeled herself closer and lowered her voice to a
whisper. "It's better that we stay here rather than
return to Greenwood. Put your brilliant mind and your time to figuring out a way to get her to let us stay,"
she said.
"Let us stay?" I laughed so madly I even
frightened myself. "She can't stand the sight of us.
You're the one who's dwelling in a world of illusion if
you think Daphne would even consider having us
around now."
"Well, that's just great," Gisselle moaned. "You
just want to give up?"
"It's the way it is," I said with a tone of fatalism
that shocked her. She remained there staring in at me
as if she expected me to snap out of my mood and tell
her the things she wanted to hear.
"Aren't you going to get washed and dressed for
the wake?" she finally asked.
"Because I disobeyed Daphne and went to the
institution to see Uncle Jean, I am not permitted to go
to the wake. I'm being punished."
"Can't go to the wake? That's your punishment?
Why can't I be punished too?" she cried.
I spun around on her so abruptly she wheeled
herself back.
"What's wrong with you, Gisselle? Daddy loved
you."
"He did until you arrived. Then he practically
forgot about me," she moaned.
"That's not true."
"It is, but it doesn't matter anymore. Oh well,"
she said, sighing deeply and fluffing her hair.
"Someone's got to entertain Beau when he arrives. I
guess I'll fill in." She smiled and rolled herself back to
her room.
I got up and gazed out the window, wondering
if I wouldn't be better off just running away. I might
have seriously considered it if I didn't recall some of
the promises I had made to Daddy. I had to remain
here to look after Gisselle, as best I could, to succeed
at my art and become a credit to his memory.
Somehow, I would overcome the obstacles Daphne
was sure to place in my path, I vowed, and some day I
would do just what she had said I would do: I would
help Uncle Jean.
I returned to my bed and lay there thinking and
dozing off until I heard Gisselle go to the stairway and
have Edgar help her down to attend the wake. Then I
got down on my knees and recited the prayers I would
have recited at Daddy's coffin.
Martha brought up a tray of food for me, and
even though she had explicit orders from Nina
commanding me to eat, I just picked and nibbled, my appetite gone, my stomach too tight and nervous to
accept much more.
214
Hours later, I heard a gentle knock on my door.
I was lying there in the dark, with just the moonlight
spilling through my window illuminating the room. I
leaned over, flicked on a lamp, and told whoever it
was to enter. It was Beau, with Gisselle right behind
him.
"Daphne doesn't know he's up here," she said
quickly, a capricious smile on her face. How she so
enjoyed doing forbidden things, even if it meant doing
something for me. "Everyone thinks he's wheeling me
around the house. There are so many people here, we
won't be missed. Don't worry."
"Oh Beau, you'd better not stay here. Daphne
threatened to bring your parents to the house and get
you in trouble because you drove me to the
institution," I warned.
"I'll risk it," he said. "Why was she so angry
anyway?"
"Because I found out what she had done to my
uncle," I said. "That's the main reason."
"It's so unfair for you to suffer anything at this
time," he said, and our eyes locked for a moment. "I could leave you two alone for a while,"
Gisselle suggested when she saw the way we were
gazing at each other. "I'll even go to the top of the
stairway and be a love sentry."
I was about to protest, when Beau thanked her.
He closed the door softly and came to sit beside me on
the bed and put his arm around my shoulders. "My poor Ruby. You don't deserve this." He
kissed my cheek. Then he looked around my room
and smiled. "I remember being in here once before . .
when you tried some of Gisselle's pot, remember?" "Don't remind me," I said, smiling for the first
time in a long time. "Except I do remember you were
a gentleman and you did worry about me."
"I'll always worry about you," he said. He
kissed my neck and then the tip of my chin before
bringing his lips to mine.
"Oh Beau, don't. I feel so confused and troubled
right now. I want you to kiss me, to touch me, but I
keep thinking about why I am here, the tragedy that
has brought me back."
He nodded. "I understand. It's just that I can't
keep my lips off you when I'm this close," he said. "We'll be together again and soon. If you don't
get up to Greenwood during the next two weeks, I'll
see you when we return for the holidays."
"Yes, that's true;" he said, still holding me close
to him. "Wait until you see what I'm getting you for
Christmas. We'll have great fun, and we'll celebrate
New Year's together and--"
Suddenly the door was thrust open and Daphne
stood there, glaring in at us.
"I thought so," she said. "Get out," she told
Beau, holding up her arm and pointing.
"Daphne, I. . ."
"Don't give me any stories or any excuses. You
don't belong up here and you know it.
"And as for you," she said, spinning her gaze at
me, "this is how you mourn the death of your father?
By entertaining your boyfriend in your room? Have
you no sense of decency, no self-control? Or does that
wild Cajun blood run so hot and heavy in your veins,
you can't resist temptation, even with your father
lying in his coffin right below you?"
"We weren't doing anything!" I cried. "We--" "Please, spare me," she said, holding up her