"I don't mind your being selfish, Louis, and talking about your progress. I'd rather not talk about the tragedy and what I've just been through. It's still too fresh and painful."
"Of course," he said. "I only meant to be a sympathetic listener." He smiled. "Someone on whose shoulder you could cry. After all, I cried on yours, didn't I?"
"Thank you. It's nice of you to offer, especially in light of your own problems."
"We're better off not worrying about ourselves, and to do that, we have to worry about others," he said. "Oh, don't I sound like some wise old man. I'm sorry, but I've had a lot of time to sit and meditate these past few years. Anyway," he said, pausing to sit up straight, "I've decided to give in and go to the clinic in Switzerland next month. The doctors have promised me that I would stay there only a short time, but in the interim, I could attend the music
conservatory and continue with my music."
"Oh Louis, how wonderful!"
"Now," he said, taking my hand into his and softening his voice, "I have asked my doctor why my eyes have suddenly come alive again and he assures me it's because I have found someone I could trust." He smiled. "My doctor is really more what you-would call a psychiatrist," he said quickly. "The way he describes my condition is that my mind dropped a black curtain over my eyes and kept it there all this time. He said I wouldn't let myself get better because I was afraid of seeing again. I felt safer locked in my own world of darkness, permitting my feelings to escape only through my fingers and into the piano keys.
"When I described you and the way I felt about you, he agreed with me that you have been a major part of the reason why I am regaining my sight. As long as I have you nearby . . as long as I can depend on you to spend time with me . . ."
"Oh Louis, I can't bear to have so much responsibility." He turned red.
"I just knew you would say something like that. You're too sweet and unselfish. Don't you worry. The responsibility is all mine. Of course," he added, sotto voce, "my grandmother is not at all pleased with all this. She was so angry she wanted to employ another doctor. She had my cousin over here to speak to me to try to convince me I felt the way I felt because I am so vulnerable. But I told them . . . I told them how it was impossible for you to be the sort of girl they were describing: someone who connives and takes advantage.
"And then I told them . . ." He paused, his face becoming firm. "No, I didn't tell them--I demanded-- that you be permitted to visit me whenever you can before I go off to the clinic. In fact, I made it very clear that I would not go if I didn't see you as often as I wanted, and . . . of course, as often as you wanted to see me.
"But you do want to see me, don't you?" he asked. His tone sounded more like a pleading.
"Louis, I don't mind coming up here whenever I can, but . . ."
"Oh, wonderful. Then it's settled," he declared. "I'll tell you what I will do: I will continue to write an entire symphony. I'll work all this month, and it will be dedicated to you."
"Louis," I said, my eyes tearing, "I must tell you . ."
"No," he said, "I've already decided. In fact, I have some of it already written. That's what I was playing when you arrived. Will you listen to it?"
"Of course, Louis, but . . ."
He got up and went to the piano before I could say another word and began playing.
My heart was troubled. Somehow I had gotten myself into Louis's world so deeply, it seemed impossible to climb out without hurting him terribly. Perhaps after he went off to the clinic and when his eyesight returned fully, I could get him to understand that I was involved with someone else romantically. At that time he could endure the disappointment and go on, I thought. Until then, I could do nothing but listen to his beautiful music and encourage him to continue with his efforts to regain his sight.
His symphony was beautiful. His melodies rose and fell with such grace that I felt swept away. I relaxed with my eyes closed and let his composition take me back through time until I saw myself as a little girl again, running over the grass, Grandmere Catherine's laughter trailing behind me as I squealed with delight at the birds that swooped over the water and the bream that jumped in the ponds.
"Well," Louis said when he finished playing, "that's all I have written so far. How's it coming?"
"It's beautiful, Louis. And it's very special. You will become a famous composer, I'm sure."
He laughed again.
"Come," he said. "I asked Otis to have some Cajun coffee and some beignets shipped up from the Cafe du Monde in New Orleans waiting for us in the glass-enclosed patio. You can tell me all about your twin sister and the terrible things she's been doing," he added. He held out his arm for me to pass my arm under and then we left the music studio. I looked back once as we walked through the corridor. In the shadows behind us, I was sure I saw Mrs. Clairborne standing and staring. Even at this distance, I felt her displeasure.
But it wasn't until the next morning at school that I was to discover how determined she and her niece, Mrs. Ironwood, were to get me out of Louis's life.
13
False Accusations
.
My homeroom teacher had just begun to read
the day's announcements when a messenger arrived from Mrs. Ironwood's office with the order for me to appear immediately. I glanced at Gisselle and saw that she looked just as confused and as curious about it as everyone else. Without a word I left and walked quickly down the corridor. When I reached Mrs. Ironwood's office, I found Mrs. Randle standing in the inner-office doorway, a tablet in her hand.
"Come right in," she said, stepping back to let me enter.
With my heart pounding so hard I thought it would crack open my chest, I walked into Mrs. Ironwood's office. She was seated behind her desk, her back rigid, her lips pursed, her eyes more filled with fury than I had ever seen them. She had her hands on the desk, palms down over some documents.
"Sit down," she commanded. She nodded at Mrs. Randle, who stepped in after me and then closed the door. Mrs. Randle then moved quickly to a seat beside the desk and put her notepad down. Her hand was poised with her pen clutched in her fingers.
"What's wrong?" I asked, not able to stand the long, ominous silence that had fallen over me.
"I can't recall summoning another student to my office as frequently in so short a time as I have had to summon you," Mrs. Ironwood began, her dark eyebrows knitted together. She glanced at Mrs. Randle for confirmation and Mrs. Randle nodded slightly, closing and opening her eyes at the same time.
"That's not my fault," I said.
"Hmmm," Mrs. Ironwood muttered. She looked at Mrs. Randle as though the two of them heard voices I didn't hear "It's never their faults," she said with a smirk, and Mrs. Randle nodded again, closing and opening her eyes as before. She resembled a puppet, the strings of which were in Mrs. Ironwood's hands.
"Well, why have you sent for me?" I asked.
Before replying, Mrs. Ironwood pulled her shoulders back and up even straighter and firmer. "I have asked Mrs. Randle in here to take notes, since I am about to commence a formal expulsion hearing."
"What? What have I done now?" I cried. I looked at Mrs. Randle, who this time kept her eyes down. I returned my gaze to Mrs. Ironwood, who was staring at me with such intensity, I thought I felt her gaze pass through me like a beam of heat.
"What haven't you done? is more like it." She shook her head and looked down at me from the height of her contempt. "Right from the start, from the background on you that your stepmother so frankly confessed, from the arrogance and disdain you exhibited during our initial conference, from your attitude about our rules, violating the off-grounds restrictions almost immediately, from the manner in which you defied my wishes, I knew your attendance at Greenwood was a mistake of gargantuan
proportions and destined for horrible failure.
"Punishments, warnings, even friendly advice did little or no good. Your kind rarely changes for the better. It's in your blood to fail."
"Exactly what am I being accused of doing?" I fired back defiantly.
Instead of replying immediately, she cleared her throat and put on her pearl-framed reading glasses. Then she lifted the papers under her hands to read from them.
"This is to formally commence step one of the expulsion procedure as outlined in the governing bylaws of Greenwood School as set down by the board of directors. The student under question,' " she read, and looked over her glasses at me, "one Ruby Dumas, has, on the date described herein, been summoned to be informed of her hearing and to hear the charges levied against her by the administration of Greenwood Schools.
"'Number one,' " she began in an even more authoritative voice, " 'she has willfully and knowingly trespassed on a well-designated off-limits location on the Greenwood campus and remained at this location after curfew.' "
"What?" I cried, looking again at Mrs. Randle, who had her head lowered and was scribbling rapidly on her notepad. "What location?"
"'Number two, she has willfully and knowingly participated in immoral behavior on school property while under school supervision.' "
"Immoral behavior?"
"The above charges will be levied and adjudicated at a formal expulsion hearing this afternoon at four P.M. in this office."
She lowered the papers and then her glasses.
"I am to instruct you as to our procedure. A panel consisting of two faculty members and your student body president, Deborah Peck, will hear the charges and the proofs and render judgment. I will oversee the proceedings, of course."
"What charges? What proofs?"
"I've read you the charges," she said.
"I haven't heard anything specific. Where am I supposed to have gone that's off-limits on the campus? The mansion? Is that what this is about?" I demanded. Her cheeks reddened as she shot a quick glance at Mrs. Randle and then looked at me.
"Hardly," she replied. "You were seen at the boathouse after hours."
"Boathouse?"
"Where you went to have an illicit rendezvous with an employee, Buck Dardar."
"What? Who saw me?"
"A member of this faculty, a well-respected, long-time member of this faculty, I might add."
"Who? Can't I know the name of my accuser?" I demanded when she hesitated.
"Mrs. Gray, your Latin teacher. So there is no question she would be able to recognize you," she concluded.
I shook my head. "When?"
She looked at the papers as if it was a great effort to do so and said, "You were seen entering the boathouse at seven-thirty last night."
"Last night?"
"And you remained after curfew," she added. "The remaining details of Mrs. Gray's testimony will be given at the formal hearing."
"It's a mistaken identity. I couldn't have been in the boathouse at seven-thirty last night. Just call Buck in here and ask him," I advised.
She smirked. "Don't you think I had enough sense to do just that? He was called in here first thing this morning, and he did write out a confession," she said, holding up another document, "corroborating what our eyewitness saw."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "He's mistaken or he's lying. You'll see when he comes to the hearing and sees me and realizes . . ."
"Buck Dardar is no longer on these grounds. He has been relieved of his duties and he has already left the school," she said.
"What? He's been fired because of these false charges against me? But that's not fair."
"I assure you," she said, smiling coldly, "he thought my offer to him was quite fair. You girls are all under age. If not for the potential scandal, I would have turned him over to the police."
"But this isn't true. Just ask your aunt where I was last night."
"My aunt?" She pulled herself in like an accordion. "You want me to involve Mrs. Clairborne in this loathsome and vulgar affair? How dare you suggest such a thing. Is there no bottom to the depth of your immorality?"
"But I was at the mansion last night, and I was back in the dorm well before the curfew."
"I assure you," Mrs. Ironwood said slowly, "Mrs. Clairborne would never consent to give such testimony." She looked so confident and smug about it.
"But then just call Louis . ."
"A blind man? You want to bring him into this too? Are you out to disgrace this distinguished family? Is that your motive? Some sort of sick Cajun jealousy?"
"Of course not, but this is all a mistake," I cried.
"That's for our panel to decide at four o'clock. Be here on time." She closed her eyes and then opened them. "You can bring someone to speak in your defense." She paused and leaned forward, a curt smile on her lips. "Of course, if you want to avoid all this unpleasantness, you can confess and admit to these charges and accept your expulsion."
"No," I said, infuriated. "I want to face my accusers. I want everyone who is party to these lies to have to look into my eyes and understand what they're doing."
"Suit yourself." She sat back again. "I knew you would be defiant to the end, and I had little hope of making things easier for your family, even after the tragedy your stepmother has just recently endured. I feel sorry for you, but you are probably better off returning to your own kind."
"Oh, there's no question I'm better off doing that, Mrs. Ironwood," I said. "My kind doesn't look down on people just because they don't happen to be rich or descendants of some noble family. My kind don't plot and connive," I snapped. My tears were hot under my lids, but I kept them locked in my eyes so as not to give her the satisfaction of seeing me brought down. "But I won't be paddled out of here in a canoe built out of fabrications and hateful deceit."
She gazed at Mrs. Randle, who quickly looked down at her notepad again.
"For the record," Mrs. Ironwood dictated, "let it be noted that the student, Ruby Dumas, denies all charges and wishes to go forward with the formal hearing. She has been informed of her rights--"
"Rights? What rights do I have here?" I said with a sarcastic laugh.
"She has been informed of her rights," Mrs. Ironwood repeated pointedly. "Do you have all this, Mrs. Randle?"
"Yes," she replied quickly.
"Let her sign the notes as prescribed by the bylaws," Mrs. Ironwood said. Mrs. Randle turned her pad toward me and pushed it closer, handing me a pen at the same time.
"You sign right here," she instructed, pointing to a line drawn at the bottom of the page. I plucked the pen out of her fingers and started to sign.
"Don't you want to read it first?" Mrs. Ironwood asked.
"What for?" I said. "This is all a well-rehearsed play, with the outcome predetermined."
"Then why continue it?" she demanded quickly.
Yes, I wondered, why continue it? Then I thought about Grandmere Catherine and about all the times she was called to face the hardest of challenges, the unknown, the dark; and how she always went willingly to do battle for what was right and what was good, no matter how terrible the odds against her success were.
"I will continue it so that all those who are part of this conspiracy can face me and have me lay heavy on their consciences," I replied.
Mrs. Randle's eyes widened with surprise and a little appreciation, appreciation she was sure Mrs. Ironwood did not see.
"You can return to your classes now," Mrs. Ironwood said. "You have been told to appear at four. If you should fail to appear, you will be judged in absentia."
"I have no doubt of that," I said and got up. My legs wanted to wobble, but I closed my eyes and willed a stream of hard, cold strength from my proud heart down through my veins and to the bottoms of my feet. With my shoulders straight and my head high, I turned and walked out of Mrs. Ironwood's office, not faltering until I set myself down in my desk in my first class and realized just what it was that was about to happen now. A kind of paralyzing numbness gripped me.
I moved like a zombie throughout the day. I told no one about my meeting with Mrs. Ironwood and what I had been accused of and what that meant, but I didn't have to
whisper a word to a living soul. As soon as Deborah Peck was informed she would be sitting in on an expulsion hearing, the news wove its way through every corridor and every classroom faster than an eel in the swamp going after its supper. By midafternoon, everyone knew and everyone was talking about me. Just before my last class period, Gisselle cornered me in the hallway, first to chastise me for not coming directly to her with my problem, and then to express her pleasure because if I were forced out of Greenwood, so was she.
"I didn't tell you just because of the way you're acting right now, Gisselle," I said. "I knew how you would gloat and be pleased."
"Why are you bothering with the hearing? Let's just call Daphne and tell her to send the limousine."
"Because it's a pack of lies, that's why, and I don't intend to let the Iron Lady get away with it, if I can help it," I replied. "I won't be driven out of here on a rail, tarred and feathered."
"Well you can't stop it, and you're just being Cajun stubborn and Cajun stupid. You don't go to that hearing, Ruby," she ordered. "Did you hear what I said? You don't go"
"Let me go to my class, Gisselle. I don't want to add a lateness to everything else and give her any more reason to pick on me," I said, starting around the wheelchair.
She seized the sleeve of my blouse. "Just don't go, Ruby."
I pulled my arm free.
"I'm going," I said, my eyes so full of fire my cheeks felt singed.
"You're wasting your time," she called after me. "And it's not worth it! This place isn't worth it!" she screamed. I walked faster and entered the art room just at the bell. One look at Miss Stevens's face told all: She knew and she was very upset for me. She was so upset she put the others to busy work and pulled me aside at the rear of the room, where she asked me to tell her everything.
"I'm not guilty, Miss Stevens. These are trumped-up charges. I couldn't have been at the boathouse last night. Mrs. Gray is mistaken."