Landry 02 Pearl in the Mist (28 page)

"It wasn't very pleasant," I said. "I don't like to keep talking about it. A number of people were hurt by all this."
I thought about poor Buck Dardar, who had lost his job, and I bore no anger toward him for signing that false confession. I was sure he had been intimidated and had done it only under the dire threat of being arrested and disgraced. But Mrs. Gray remained a mystery, a mystery that wasn't to be solved until after I had attended her class the next day.
"Ruby," she called as soon as the bell to end the period rang.
I waited for the others to leave before approaching her. "Yes, Mrs. Gray?"
"I want you to know that I didn't make up my story," she said firmly and with such sincerity, I couldn't take my eyes off hers. "I am aware of the testimony Mrs. Clairborne's grandson gave at the hearing, but it doesn't change what I saw and what I said. I don't lie, nor do I conspire against anyone."
"I know, Mrs. Gray," I said. "But I wasn't there. Honest, I wasn't."
"I'm sorry," she said. "But I don't believe you." She turned away and I left with a heavy heart.
Mrs. Gray's face of firmness haunted me for the remainder of the day. It was almost as if Mrs. Ironwood had cast a spell over her and caused her to see what she wanted her to see and say what she wanted her to say. How I wished I had Nina with me for only a few minutes so she could concoct some voodoo ritual or charm to change things.
I recalled Grandmere Catherine once telling me about a man who had lost his five-year-old daughter in a boating accident in the swamp. Even though her body was recovered, he continued to believe she was lost out in the bayou, swearing he heard her calling to him at night and even swearing that he saw her from time to time.
"He wanted so much for it to be true," she told me, "that to him it
was
true, and no one could tell him otherwise."
Maybe Mrs. Gray didn't have that clear a view and wasn't as positive when she first told Mrs. Ironwood, and maybe Mrs. Ironwood convinced her it was I she had seen.
It continued to trouble me. On the way back to the dorm at the end of the day, I stopped to gaze down at the boathouse. If only I could find Buck, I thought, and get him to tell me the truth. Maybe I could get him to tell Mrs. Gray. I hated the fact that she continued to think so poorly of me.
I was surprised to find that Gisselle wasn't back in the dorm yet when I arrived, but Samantha appeared soon after to tell me Gisselle had been made to remain with Mrs. Weisenberg and review her terrible math scores. I knew she would be in a fury when she finally returned.
I had unpacked all the things I had packed just before the hearing and then peeked into Gisselle's room to see if she had done the same. Her room was a mess. In her frustration and rage, she had tossed everything out of her suitcase. Dresses, skirts, and blouses lay over chairs and the bed, and some garments were even on the floor. I started to pick things up, folding and hanging her clothing neatly. As I placed a silk white blouse with pearl buttons on a hanger, I paused, recalling some of Mrs. Gray's testimony.
Didn't she say the girl had unbuttoned her white blouse? I wore no white blouse; I wore only my Greenwood uniform. My eyes drifted down to Gisselle's shoes lined up on the floor of the closet. Something caught my eye. My heart began to pitterpatter as I knelt slowly and picked up the loafers, the bottoms and the sides of which were caked with mud. But how .. .
The sound of my sister's loud voice declaring her complaints about being kept after school preceded her arrival in the quad. I heard her ranting as Kate wheeled her down the corridor. I stood up, holding my breath. My mind was reeling with possibilities, thoughts that seemed too fantastic. Just before she was wheeled to the door of her room, I backed into the closet and closed the sliding door almost all the way.
"Where's my sister?" Gisselle demanded.
"She was in your room," Samantha told her. "Straightening up your clothes."
Gisselle gazed in and smirked.
"Who asked her to? Anyway, she's not in here now." Samantha came up beside her and looked into the room. "Oh. She must have left when I was in the bathroom." "Great. I want her to know just what that horrible Mrs. Weisenberg made me do until I got the answers right."
"Should I look for her?" Samantha asked.
"No. I'll tell her later. I have to get some rest," she said, and wheeled herself into the room, slamming the door behind her. She sat for a moment, staring at her bed. Then she reached back and snapped the lock on the door. I held my breath. As soon as she had locked the door, she stood up without wobbling, without much effort.
And I realized my sister could walk!
I slid open the closet door slowly, without much sound, but she sensed my presence and turned. Her eyes widened in astonishment, but I was sure they weren't as wide as mine.
"What are you doing?" she gasped. "Spying on me?"
"You can stand and you can walk.
Mon Dieu,
Gisselle!" She sat herself back down in the wheelchair.
"So what?" she said after a moment. "I don't want anyone to know it just yet."
"But why? How long have you been able to stand and walk?"
"Awhile," she admitted.
"But why have you kept it a secret?" "I get treated better," she confessed.
"Gisselle . how could you do this? All these people, everyone slaving over you ... Could you walk before Daddy died? Could you?" I demanded when she didn't respond, but she didn't have to respond. I knew she could. "How horrible! You could have made him feel so much better."
"I was going to tell him as soon as we were permitted to go home and leave this terrible place, but as long as I had to stay here, I wasn't going to tell anyone," she said.
"How did it happen? I mean, when did you realize you could stand?"
"I was always trying to do it, and one day I just did." I sat down on her bed, my mind in turmoil.
"Oh, stop making such a big thing over it," she ordered. She stood up and walked to the closet. The sight of her walking so easily seemed so incongruous. It was as if I had fallen into a dream. At full height again and able to use her limbs, Gisselle appeared changed to me. It was as if she had grown taller and stronger while confined to her wheelchair. I watched her brush her hair for a few moments, everything I had suspected now rushing over me.
"It was you, wasn't it?" I cried, pointing at her.
"Me? Whatever are you talking about now, Ruby?" she asked, pretending ignorance.
"It was you who was with Buck Dardar that night, wasn't it? That's why your shoes are caked with mud. You snuck down there and-"
"So what? He was the only game in town, although I must admit, he was quite a good lover. I hated to see him go, but when you were accused of being there, I thought it was perfect. Finally we'd get out of here too. Then your own loverboy had to appear and get you off the hook. Crummy luck."
"Did Buck think you were me? Did you tell him your name was Ruby?"
"I did, but I don't know whether he believed it or not. Let's just say he was happy to pretend I was anyone I wanted to be as long as I appeared."
"How often . . . All those times you kept this door locked," I said, turning to her door. I looked at the window.
"That's right. I would crawl out the window and have my rendezvous. Pretty exciting, huh? I bet you wish you had thought of it now."
"I do not." I pulled myself up. "You're going to march out of here right now and tell the truth," I said. "Especially to Mrs. Gray."
"Oh, am I? Well I'm not ready to let people know I can stand and walk," she said, returning to her chair.
"I don't care if you're ready or not. You will tell," I assured her, but she didn't seem intimidated. She wheeled herself toward me and looked up at me with hard, cold eyes.
"I will not," she said, "and if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll tell Mrs. Ironwood about you and your precious Miss Stevens. That oughta do her in for sure."
"What? What are you saying?"
She smiled.
"Everyone knows about pretty little Miss Stevens who's afraid of boys but who likes to be around girls," she said, smiling. "Especially you, huh?"
It was as if a match had been lit in my stomach. The flame of anger singed my heart and sent smoke into my brain. I gasped.
"That's a disgusting, terrible lie, and if you tell anyone such a thing . ."
"Don't worry. I'll keep your secret as long as you keep mine," she said. "Is it a deal?"
I stared down at her, my mouth open, but words not coming, my tongue numb.
"I take your silence to mean it's a deal. Fine." She turned and wheeled herself to the door to unlock it. "Now, I do need some rest before dinner. Oh, and thanks for straightening up my room. I have been too hard on myself, trying to be independent. I might call on you to do little things for me from time to time. As long as we stay here," she added.
"Of course, once we're gone from this place . . ."
"You're blackmailing me," I finally accused. "That's what you're doing."
"I'm just trying to get along as easily and as comfortably as I can. If you were a good sister and if you really cared about me, you would do what I want for a change."
^-
So you're going to stay in that wheelchair and let everyone think you're still crippled?"
"As long as it suits me," she said.
"I hope it suits you forever," I snapped, and marched to the door. "I feel sorry for you, Gisselle. You hate yourself so much, you don't even realize it."
"Just remember what I said," she retorted, her eyes small and spiteful. "I meant it."
I opened the door to get a breath of fresh air as much as to get away from my twin sister, whose vicious, selfish face, despite the resemblances, made it clear we were truly strangers.

14
Unexpected Gifts
.
From my expulsion hearing until the start of our

holiday break, I did the best I could to avoid and ignore Gisselle. It was obvious that she took delight in holding the dark cloud of her threat over me, and if I should so much as stare distastefully at her while she pretended to struggle along in her wheelchair or cried out for one of her entourage to do something for her, she would give me that icy smile and ask, "How is Miss Stevens?" I would simply shake my head in disgust and either walk away or return to what I was reading or doing.

Because of this constant tension between us at Greenwood, I looked forward eagerly to the holiday break. I knew that back in New Orleans Gisselle would amuse herself with her friends, and I could avoid her even more. Of course, I was anxious to see Beau, who was phoning me almost every night, but before I left, I knew that I had to visit Louis. He called to tell me he had decided that he would rather begin his stay at the clinic in Switzerland and attend the music conservatory during the holidays than remain at the Clairborne mansion for what he called another dreary Christmas. He anticipated an even more cheerless time because of my absence and his grandmother's and his cousin's lingering displeasure over what he had done for me at the hearing.

So I went up to the mansion to have dinner with him the night before the school vacation commenced. His grandmother did not appear anywhere in the house, not even to peer at me through a partially open doorway, much less come to the table. Louis and I sat alone in the large dining room, with the candles burning, and had a delicious duck dinner, followed by a French chocolate silk pie.

"I have two presents for you," Louis declared at the end of the meal.
"Two!"
"Yes. I've been to the city for the first time in . . . I don't even remember how long . . . and bought you this," he said, and then he produced a small box from his dinner-jacket pocket.
"Oh Louis, I feel terrible. I haven't brought you anything."
"Of course you have. You brought me your company, your concern, and you've given me the desire to want to see and be productive again. There's no way to measure the value of such a gift, but I assure you," he said, taking my hand for a moment, "it's worth far more than anything I could possibly give you in return."
He felt for my hand and then brought it to his lips and kissed my fingers.
"Thank you," he said in a deep whisper. Then he sat back and smiled. "And now open your first gift and don't swallow any reactions. I don't see clearly yet, but I can hear very well."
I laughed and untied the tiny ribbon so I could peal off the pretty paper without tearing it. Then I opened the small box and looked at what had to be a full carat ruby set in a gold ring. I gasped.
"Is it as beautiful as I have been told?" he asked.
"Oh Louis, it's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen! It must have cost a fortune."
"If it doesn't fit, I'll have it sized for you. Put it on," he said, and I did.
"It fits perfectly, Louis. How did you do it?"
"I've memorized every part of you that I have touched," he said. "It was easy. I felt the finger of the saleswoman in the store and told her you were two sizes smaller." He smiled proudly.
"Thank you, Louis." I leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek. His expression changed into a serious one instantly. Then he brought his fingers to his cheek as if he could feel the warmth of my lips still lingering.
"And now," he said firmly, bracing himself for my words, "you must tell me if what I see with my heart is true."
I held my breath. If he was going to ask me if I loved him . . .
"You love someone else," he said instead. "Don't you?" I turned from him and looked down, but he reached out to lift my chin.
"Don't look away, please. Tell me the truth."
"Yes, Louis, I do. But how did you know this?"
"I heard it in your voice, in the way you held back whenever you spoke softly to me. I felt it just now in your kiss, which was the kiss of a good friend and not the kiss of a lover."
"I'm sorry, Louis, but I never meant to . ."
"I know," he said, finding my lips with his fingers. "Don't think you need make excuses. I don't blame you for anything and I don't expect anything more from you. I am still forever in your debt. I hope only that whoever you love is deserving of your love and will love you as strongly as I would."
"So do I," I said.
He smiled.
"Now let's not get melancholy. As we French Creoles say,
Je ne regrette rien,
eh? I regret nothing. Besides, we can always be good friends, can't we?"
"Oh yes, Louis. Always."
"Good." He beamed a bright smile. "I can't ask for any better Christmas present. And now," he said, rising, "your second gift. Mademoiselle Dumas," he requested, holding up his arm for me to take, "permit me to escort you,
sil vous plait."
I took his arm and we walked out of the dining room and into the music study. He brought me to the settee first and then he went to the piano and took his seat. "Your symphony is complete," he announced.
I sat there and listened to him play the most wondrous and beautiful melodies. I felt swept away by the music; it was truly a magic carpet taking me to the most marvelous places in my imagination and in my memory. Sometimes the music reminded me of the sound of the water flowing through the canals in the bayou, especially after a heavy downpour; sometimes I heard the morning songs of birds. I saw sunsets and twilights and dreamt of blazing night skies when the stars were so bright they lingered for hours on the surface of my eyes even as I slept. When the music ended, I was disappointed it was over. Louis had outdone anything I had heard him do before.
I rushed to him and threw my arms around his neck. "That was wonderful! Too wonderful for words!"
"Hey," he said overwhelmed by my reaction.
"It's incredibly beautiful, Louis. Really. I have never heard anything like it."
"I'm so glad you like it. I have something special for you," he said, and he reached under the stool to bring up another gift-wrapped box, this one much larger. I unraveled the ribbon quickly and peeled off the paper to open the lid of the box and look in at a record.
"What is this, Louis?"
"It's my symphony," he said. "I recorded it."
"You recorded it? But how . . ."
I gazed at the label on the record. It read, "Ruby's Symphony, composed and played by Louis Turnbull."
"Louis, I can't believe it."
"It's true," he said, laughing. "They brought the machinery to the house one day and I recorded it right in this studio."
"It must have cost a lot of money."
He shrugged. "I don't care what it cost," he said.
"It's such an honor. I'll play it for anyone who'll listen. How I wish Daddy was still alive to hear this," I said. I didn't mean to inject the note of sadness, but I couldn't help it. My heart was so full, and I didn't have anyone I loved with me to share it, not Grandmere Catherine, not Daddy, not Paul or Beau.
"Yes," Louis said, his face darkening. "It's painful not to have people you really love with you when something nice happens. But," he added cheerfully, "all that will end for both of us now. I'm hopeful, aren't you?"
"Yes, Louis."
"Good. Merry Christmas, Ruby, and may you have the healthiest and happiest new year of your life."
"You too, Louis." I kissed him on the cheek again.
That night, when I walked back to the dorm, I felt lightheaded. It was as though I had drunk two bottles of Grandmere Catherine's blackberry wine. All the way back, I was followed by a black-crowned night heron who called to me with its staccato quack.
"Merry Christmas yourself," I called up to it when it swung by to alight on the limb of an oak tree. Then I laughed and hurried into the dorm. From the open doorway of her room, Gisselle saw me enter the quad and wheeled herself out to block my path.
"Have another lovely dinner up at the mansion?" she teased.
"Yes, it was lovely."
"Humph," she said, and then she noticed the box I was carrying. Her eyes brightened with curiosity. "What do you have under your arm?" she demanded.
"A gift from Louis. A record," I said. "It's a symphony he composed and had recorded."
"Oh. Big deal," she said, smirking and starting to back away.
"It is a big deal. He composed it for me and it's called Ruby's Symphony."
She stared at me a moment, her face filling with envy.
"Do you want to hear it?" I asked her. "We'll play it on your phonograph."
"Of course not," she said quickly. "I hate that kind of music. It puts me to sleep." She started to turn when she spotted my ring. This time her eyes nearly popped out of her head.
"Did he give you that too?"
"Yes," I said.
"Beau's not going to like this," she declared after narrowing her eyes. She shook her head. "Another man giving you expensive gifts."
"Louis and I are just good friends. He understands that and accepts it," I said.
"Sure. He goes and spends all this money and time on you, and all you've been giving him is conversation," she replied with a twisted smile on her lips. "Who do you think you're talking to, some dumb Cajun girl who believes in tooth fairies?"
"It's true, and don't you tell anyone anything different," I warned her.
"Or?" she challenged.
"Or I'll ... break your neck," I threatened. I stepped toward her and she gazed at me with surprise. Then she backed away.
"Some sister," she moaned, loud enough for everyone in the quad to hear. "Threatening her crippled twin with violence. Merry Christmas," she screamed, spinning around in her chair to wheel herself back to her room.
I couldn't help laughing at her this time, which only infuriated her more. She slammed her door shut and I went into my room to pack for our trip home for the holidays.
The next day we had an abbreviated schedule, at the end of which we were all marched into the auditorium to hear Mrs. Ironwood's speech, which was supposed to be a short holiday talk, wishing us all a good vacation and a happy new year, but instead it turned into a heavy series of threats, warning us about failing to do our term papers and reminding us that shortly after our return we would be facing midyear exams.
But nothing she could do could diminish the excitement in the air. Parents were arriving to pick up their daughters, limousines were everywhere, and wherever I looked, girls were hugging each other and wishing each other happy holidays. Our teachers stood around to greet parents and wish students a good holiday too.
Our limousine was one of the last to arrive, which put Gisselle into a small rage. Mrs. Penny felt obligated to stay with her and comfort her, but that just gave Gisselle an ear to fill with her ranting. Shortly before our limousine did arrive, Miss Stevens appeared to say goodbye and to wish me a happy new year.
"I'm going to spend the holidays with one of the sisters from my old orphanage," she told me. "It's something of a tradition. We've spent dozens of Christmases together. She's the closest to being my mother."
Gisselle watched from the portico of the dorm as Miss Stevens and I hugged and kissed.
"I never thanked you enough for what you did for me at the hearing, Miss Stevens. It took courage."
"Sometimes doing the right thing does take more courage, but the feeling it gives you deep inside makes it worth it. That may be something only we artists understand," she said with a wink. "Do something with your spare time at home. Bring me back a picture of a setting in the Garden District," she said, getting into her jeep.
"I will."
"Happy new year, Ruby."
I watched her drive off and felt a sudden wave of sadness rush over me. I wished I could bring Miss Stevens back home with me. I wished I had a real home with parents who would welcome her happily and we could all enjoy the music, the food, the brightness and warmth of Christmas together.
Her jeep disappeared around the turn just as the limousine appeared. Gisselle cried out her joy, but when the driver pulled up to put our things in the trunk, she berated him unmercifully for being so late.
"I left when Madame Dumas told me to leave," he protested. "I'm not late."
Gisselle's mumbling wore down like the gradually lowering thunder of a departing storm in the bayou as we drove away from the school and headed toward New Orleans. When familiar scenery appeared, she brightened with excitement and expectation. I knew she had made phone calls to some of her old girlfriends and they had begun making preliminary plans for parties over the holidays. I just wondered what sort of greeting Daphne would give us.
To my utter surprise, we didn't find the house dark and deserted. Daphne had had the Christmas decorations hung and there was a tree bigger than last year's in the main sitting room, under which was a pile of gifts. Moments after we had arrived and gazed in at the holiday splendor, the front door was thrust open and Daphne came bursting in with a peal of laughter. She wore a white fox jacket, riding pants, and a smart pair of leather boots. She had her hair pinned up under a matching fur hat. Her full carat diamond earrings glittered in her lobes, adding even more brightness to her undeniably vibrant and beautiful face. Her cheeks were flushed, and I had the feeling that she had been drinking. There was no question that whatever period of mourning she had undergone for Daddy's death was over. Bruce, laughing almost as hard, was at her side. The two stopped in the entryway and looked at Gisselle and me.
"Why here are the little dears," Daphne said. "Home for the holidays." She pulled off her silk gloves and Bruce helped her off with her coat and then handed it to Martha, who waited obediently in the wings. "And how are the precious Dumas twins?"
"We're fine," I said sternly. Her buoyancy and happy demeanor annoyed me. This would be a Christmas without Daddy. His passing was still as painful as a raw wound, and yet Daphne behaved as if nothing had changed; if anything had, it was for the better.
"Good. I've decided to have a few holiday dinners, so there will be guests coming and going during your stay here. I myself have been invited to a friend's beach house for New Year's Eve, so I will be depending on you girls to be at your best behavior.
"You can invite friends over and go to proper parties," she declared. Her leniency and generosity took us both by surprise. "We're going to be together for years and years, and it's best to co-exist on the best of terms," she added, gazing at Bruce, who was beaming like someone about to explode with one happy declaration after another. "This is the jolliest time of the year. I've always enjoyed it, and I don't intend to spend a sad moment. Behave yourselves, and we'll all get along just fine.
"All of those gifts under the tree are for the two of you and the servants," she concluded. Neither Gisselle nor I knew how to respond. We gazed at each other with surprise and then looked at Daphne.
"Go freshen yourselves up and put on something nice. We're having the Cardins for dinner. You might remember that Charles Cardin is one of our biggest investors. Bruce," she said, turning to him. He snapped to attention and followed her into the study.
"Are my ears on right?" Gisselle asked. "I can't believe what I heard. But this is wonderful. All those gifts for us!" I shook my head. "What's the matter, Ruby?"
"Somehow all this seems wrong," I said. "With Daddy's death so recent."
"Why? We weren't buried in the vault with him. We're still alive and Daphne's right: This is the jolliest time of the year. Let's have fun. Martha!" she shouted. She looked up at me and winked.
"Yes, mademoiselle?"
"Help me up the stairs," Gisselle ordered. How long would she keep up this charade? I wondered, but I wasn't about to expose her and have her spread disgusting, untrue stories about Miss Stevens. I let her moan and groan and struggle like the cripple she wasn't.
However, afraid that Daphne would return to her domineering and restrictive ways, Gisselle was a perfect little lady at dinner that night. I never saw her so polite and charming. She spoke about Greenwood as if she loved the school and bragged about my artwork as though she were a proud sister. Daphne was very pleased and rewarded us by permitting us to be excused as soon as the dinner ended, so that we could call our friends and make plans to invite them over. Daphne, truce, and the Cardins were adjourning to the parlor for after-dinner cordials, but as we all started to leave the dinning room, Daphne called to me.