She rose, towering over us, her beauty hardened so that she looked statuesque, poured into a mold.
"Just do what I tell you to do and worry about yourselves. It seems to me," she added, looking at Gisselle and then back at me, "that there's enough there to worry about," She gave us her wintry smile before turning to leave.
Gisselle wagged her head and groaned.
"I told you so, didn't I? Didn't I?" she complained. "Now she's sending us back to
Greenwood. I didn't even have a chance to tell her why she shouldn't. Maybe later, you can say something. She'll listen more to you. I just know it."
"I don't want to stay here," I said, furious. "As bad as Greenwood is, I'd rather be there than here with her."
"Oh, damn you for being so stupid. She won't bother us after a while. She'll do her own things and leave us alone. We'll be better off here, and you can be with Beau."
"I don't want to think about that right now. I just want to think about Daddy," I said, and began to push her out.
"Daddy's dead. He can't help us. He can't help himself!"
Edgar was waiting at the foot of the stairs to assist with Gisselle.
"Where's Nina?" I asked him.
"She's in her room. She spends most of her time there now," he said, and he shifted his eyes so I would understand that Nina had turned to her voodoo for solace and protection. We heard someone on the stairs and looked up to see the new maid, Martha Woods, a stout, elderly woman with gray hair chopped at her ears, dark brown eyes, and a rather large mouth with a thick lower lip. She had neglected to pluck some face hairs that were curled back on her chin.
"Oh, this is Mademoiselle Gisselle and Mademoiselle Ruby," she said, clapping her hands together. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you before, but I've been preparing your rooms. Everything's spick-and-span clean and organized," she declared. "And madame insists we all keep it that way."
"Oh no," Gisselle groaned. "Just take me to my room, Edgar."
"I'll help," Martha said.
"Edgar can do it himself," Gisselle snapped. "Just go wash a toilet someplace."
Martha gasped and looked at me.
"I'm going to see Nina," I muttered, and hurried away. I found her seated in her soft-cushioned chair, surrounded by lit blue candles. She wore her red tignon in her hair with the seven knots all pointing straight up. When she saw me, her eyes took on some of the light and she smiled. She rose to hug me.
"Nina be thinking about you all day," she said. She gazed around fearfully. "This house be filled with evil spirits crawling through every crack since Monsieur Dumas's death. Nina have this ready for you." She reached down to get a leg bone that was on the small table. "This be mojo, the leg bone of a black cat killed exactly at midnight. Strong gris-gris. Put this in your room."
"Thank you, Nina," I said, taking it.
"Someone must've burned a candle against poor Monsieur Dumas. The evil spirits snuck into the house when Nina be sleeping one night and they go and sink their teeth into him." She looked guilty.
"Oh Nina, it wasn't your fault. My father had too much on his mind and didn't watch his health. He would be the last to blame you, Nina."
"Nina tried. I pray to Virgin Mary. I go to cemetery and make the four corners, stopping at each corner to make wish for Monsieur Dumas to be healthy again. I say prayer before the statue of St. Expedite, but the bad gris-gris find a welcome mat," she said, making her eyes small. She nodded. "The door be left open."
"Daphne," I said.
"Nina speak no ill about the madame."
I smiled. "I missed you, Nina. I could have used some of your candles and powders at Greenwood."
She smiled back at me. "I cook all day to make food for the wake. You be sure you eat. You gonna need your strength," she said.
"Thank you, Nina." We hugged again, and then I went up to my room to call Beau and let him know I was home and needed him at my side, desperately.
"I'm sorry that this is the reason that brought you home," Beau said, "but I can't wait to see you."
"I can't wait to see you either," I echoed.
"My parents and I are coming to pay our respects. I'll be there soon," he told me.
After we spoke, I changed into something appropriate for the wake and went next door to see if Gisselle had done the same. She hadn't even started; she was still on the telephone, catching up on news with her old friends.
"Daphne wants us downstairs to greet the mourners," I told her. She grimaced and continued gossiping as if I weren't in the room. "Gisselle!"
"Oh, wait a minute, Collette." She put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned roughly toward me. "What do you want?"
"You've got to dress and come downstairs. People will be arriving."
"So? I don't know why I've got to rush about now. This is worse than . . than being at Greenwood," she said and turned back to her phone conversation. Whatever patience I had left evaporated. I pivoted and marched out of her room. Gisselle was Daphne's problem, I told myself. She was the one who'd brought her up, who'd given her these values and taught her how to be self-centered. They deserved each other.
People had begun to stream in: neighbors, business associates, employees, and, of course, Daphne's social acquaintances. Most went up to Daddy's coffin, knelt, and said a prayer, after which they joined Daphne, who was greeting people with a quiet elegance that indeed made her seem like someone with royal blood. I noticed that Bruce Bristow, Daddy's business manager, was constantly at Daphne's side, ready to do her every bidding. Occasionally I saw her lean over and whisper something to him. Sometimes he would smile, and sometimes he would nod and go off or approach one of the distinguished mourners, shake his hand, and bring him to Daphne.
Bruce wasn't much older than my daddy, if he was older at all. He was taller and a bit stouter, with dark brown hair and sideburns. I had met him only two or three times before, and I was always a little bothered by the way he drank me in with those hazel eyes, smiling coyly as he lowered his gaze down to my breasts, fixed his eyes there for a moment, and then lowered and lowered his gaze again until he was practically looking at my feet before lifting his eyes to travel upward ever so slowly. I always felt
uncomfortable in his presence, felt as if I had been undressed in his imagination and stood totally naked before him.
Also, he had a nickname for me from the very first time he set eyes on me. He called me La Ruby, as though I were the jewel I had been named after. And then, when he took my hand to kiss it, his lips would linger for a moment longer than they should, sending a nervous tingle up my arm.
During a moment when she had no one speaking to her, Daphne marched across the parlor to me.
"Where's your sister? Why isn't she down here already?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.
"I don't know, Mother," I said. "I told her to get dressed, but she won't get off the telephone."
"March yourself up there and get her down here this instant," she commanded.
"But . ."
"I know," she said with a crooked smile, "that you are just sitting here waiting for your precious boyfriend Beau to arrive with his parents." Her smile faded. "If you don't get Gisselle down here, I'll see to it you don't spend a moment alone with him. Not now, not ever."
"Why do I have to be responsible for Gisselle? She--"
"Because you're her dear twin sister, whole, with no handicap," she replied, smiling again. "And it's only an opportunity for you to do a good deed, perform a blessing. I'd like all these people to see how well you look after your more unfortunate sister. Now do it!" she ordered. Just as she did so, Beau and his parents entered the parlor. The sight of him lifted the crust of ice from my heart. "First things first," Daphne said, throwing a gaze Beau's way. "Go get Gisselle."
"Very well, Mother," I said, getting up.
Beau looked at his parents and then hurried to me. "Ruby," he said, taking my hand and speaking loud enough in his formal tone to please his parents and those around them. "
I'm so sorry about Pierre. Please accept my deepest regrets."
"Thank you, Beau. I have to go help Gisselle for a moment. Please excuse me."
"Of course," he said, backing up.
"I'll be right back," I mouthed, and hurried upstairs to find my stubborn sister plucking
chocolates from a box on the night stand beside the bed as she talked to one of her old boyfriends.
"Gisselle!" I cried, anger and frustration flooding my face. She turned with surprise. "Your absence has become an embarrassment for Mother and for me, as well as for Daddy's memory." I stormed across the room and seized the receiver. She screamed in protest when I slammed it down in its cradle. "You're going to put on your black dress right now and come right down with me."
"How dare you!"
"Now!" I screamed, and turned her around roughly in her chair, pushing her toward the bathroom. "Wash off that makeup while I get your dress, or I swear," I said, "I'll push you down the stairs."
She took one look at my infuriated face and gave in. Of course, she was as uncooperative as could be, forcing me to do all the work in removing what she was wearing and putting on the proper dress and shoes, but finally I was able to wheel her to the top of the stairway.
"I hate things like this," she whined. "What am I supposed to do, sit there sobbing?"
"Just let people offer their condolences and sit quietly. If you're hungry, you can eat something."
"I am hungry," she said. "Yes. That's a good reason to go down."
Edgar came up and helped me get her down the stairway in the lift. We got her into the downstairs wheelchair and I rolled her into the parlor. Many more mourners had arrived. Everyone turned our way, some of the women smiling softly and sadly. Those who had brought their children sent them to us to offer their sympathies. Finally Beau joined us, leaning down to kiss Gisselle.
"Well, it's about time," she told him. "And you don't have to kiss me as if I'm someone's old grandmother."
"I gave you the proper kiss," he replied, his eyes full of laughter when they were turned to me.
"I bet you'll give Ruby the proper kiss later," she said.
I saw that Daphne was watching us, nodding with satisfaction.
After a while Gisselle became involved with some of the other young people, and Beau and I were able to slip away. We went out to the gazebo.
"It's been so long since I was alone with you," he said. "I feel a little nervous."
"Me too," I confessed.
"It's so hard to believe that Pierre is dead. I haven't been by for some time, so I didn't see how he had changed, but my father said he just knew something bad was going to happen to him. He always had this tired, troubled look and had lost his mirth. He wasn't joining his gentlemen friends for their usual card games, or attending the theater. They rarely saw him and Daphne out at any of the fine restaurants."
"If only we hadn't been sent away to school," I moaned. "I might have seen what was happening and done something. The last time he called me, he sounded so tired, but he insisted it was nothing."
Beau nodded. "Are you going back to
Greenwood?"
"Daphne insists we do."
"I thought she might. Don't worry. I'll get up there to visit you often now. The football season is winding down."
"At least that will make it more bearable," I told him. "And the holidays are coming in a few weeks and we'll be back home."
He nodded and took my hand. We sat on the bench and looked out at the partly cloudy night that permitted only a few stars to show their brilliance. "Before I leave, I've got to go see my uncle Jean, Beau. He's got to know what's happened to Daddy. He probably wonders why Daddy doesn't come to visit him. It's not fair. Daphne doesn't care to tell him; she says he won't understand, but I've seen him; I know he will."
"I'll take you," Beau promised.
"You will?"
"Yes. Just say when," he said firmly.
"What about your parents? Won't they be angry?"
"They don't have to know. When?"
"Tomorrow. We'll go as soon as you can."
"I'll cut practice. The coach will understand, I'll come by about three o'clock," he said.
"Daphne won't let me go. I'm sure. I'll just meet you outside the gate. I hate doing sneaky things, but she makes me."
"It's all right," Beau said, slipping his arm around my shoulders. It felt so good to be in his arms. "It's all right to do something sneaky if it's going to result in something good."
"Oh Beau, I'm all alone now. I really am," I cried with a little more desperation than I had intended.
His eyes filled with sadness. "No you're not. You have me, Ruby. You'll always have me," he swore.
"Don't make promises, Beau," I said, putting my forefinger on his lips. "It's better not to make a promise than to make one you can't keep."
"I can keep this one, Ruby," he pledged. "And I'll seal it with a kiss."
He brought his lips to mine. They felt so good, but I felt guilty for enjoying his kiss while Daddy lay dead in the parlor. My mind and heart should be directed only to him, I thought and pulled back.
"We'd better return before we're missed, Beau."
"Okay. Tomorrow, at three," he repeated.
Although the mourners left relatively early, it seemed very late to me. I hadn't realized how tiring emotional sadness could be. Beau and his parents were some of the last people to leave. He winked conspiratorially at me and continued to act formal and proper as we said our goodbyes.
After everyone had gone, Bruce Bristow and Daphne went into Daddy's office to discuss some necessary business affairs, and Gisselle and I went up to our rooms. I could hear her talking to her old friends on the telephone late into the evening. In fact, the drone of her voice and silly laughter sent me into a welcomed sleep.
Daphne didn't come down to breakfast, but the priest arrived at lunch to discuss the final
arrangements for the funeral. Some of Gisselle's friends came to visit her, more out of curiosity than loyalty, I thought. I let them go off on their own and retreated to what had been my art studio. I recalled how happy and excited Daddy was when he had first brought me to see it. And then my heart fluttered with the tingle of excitement that warmed my breasts when I thought about the day I began painting Beau in the nude. One thing led to another so quickly and so intently that even now I could experience the deliciously ecstatic descent I had taken into the depths of my own sexuality when I embraced him and kissed him and surrendered to his own driving desires. I was so lost in these memories, I almost missed our rendezvous in front of the house.
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."