"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 tryin
g 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.