9
A Friend in Need
1'd advise you to get yourself back to your social," Mrs. Ironwood warned. She had stepped up and now hovered behind me like a hawk about to pounce. The sky had turned stormy and foreboding in the distance, heralding rain and wind. For a moment I continued to stare into the darkness of the road, hoping to see Abby reappear, but I saw nothing. I stood like an island with the sea eddying around me, so miserable and unhappy. "Did you hear what I said?" she snarled.
With my head down, I turned back toward the building and walked past Mrs. Ironwood without so much as glancing at her
"Never have I seen such behavior," she continued, following me and chanting. "Never. Never. Never have one of my girls so openly embarrassed the school."
"How could having a bright, beautiful, and kind student like Abby ever be an embarrassment? I hope she will be proud of her heritage, just like I am of my Cajun past," I shot back. She hoisted her shoulders and glared down at me with her stone-cold eyes. Silhouetted against the increasingly foreboding sky, she had become as ominous and as dark as one of Nina's voodoo spirits.
"When people go where they don't belong, they only make problems for themselves," she declared with her imposing, authoritative tone.
"Abby belongs here more than anyone else," I cried. "She's the smartest, nicest . . . ″
"This is not the time nor the place to discuss such matters, and anyway, it is no concern of yours," she spit out, using her words like tiny knives to cut away my complaints. "Your concern should be about yourself and your own behavior. I thought I made that quite clear the last time we had a talk."
I stared at her a moment as a terrible anger washed over me. Grandmère Catherine had taught me to respect my elders, but surely she had never anticipated me having to show a woman like Mrs. Ironwood respect. Her age and her position shouldn't shield her from justifiable criticism, I thought, even if it came from someone as young as I was, but I bit down on my lower lip to keep my fiery words locked inside my mouth.
The Iron Lady seemed to enjoy my struggle to keep control. She glared back at me, waiting, hoping to see me become insubordinate so she could justify a harsher punishment, perhaps even have me expelled and keep me from ever seeing Louis again, which, I suspected, had become her real motive.
I swallowed back my tears and fury, spun away from her, and returned to the ballroom, where I found the last dance in progress. Most of the girls glanced my way with interest, most with smiles on their faces. Whatever they uttered to their male companions brought laughter. It sickened me to see such joviality after what had been done to Abby.
Over by the tables, Gisselle held court, surrounded now by more followers and admirers, including Jonathan Peck. Her laughter was so shrill it could be heard over the music.
"I bet that's the first time a girl's turned down the Greenwood dance trophy," she said as I approached, more for my benefit than anyone else's. There was more laughter.
"Oh, here's my sister. Give us a report, Ruby. Where's the quadroon gone?"
"Her name is Abby," I fired back. "And thanks to you she left."
"What do you mean, thanks to me? All I did was read the results of the vote, and why would anyone run off after winning?" Gisselle asked with an expression of utter innocence. The others nodded and smiled, gleefully anticipating my response.
"You know very well why, Gisselle. You did a very mean thing tonight."
"Don't tell me you condone the presence of mixed bloods at Greenwood," Jonathan remarked. He pulled his shoulders back and pressed down the sides of his hair with his palms as if he were standing in front of a mirror instead of a dozen admiring females. I turned on him.
"What I don't condone is the presence of cruel and vicious people at Greenwood, nor do I condone the presence of snobs and arrogant young men who think they're somehow God's gift when in truth they're more in love with themselves than they could ever be with anyone else," I retorted.
Jonathan's face flushed red. "Well, I see where you stand when it comes to associating with people of a lower class. Perhaps you're in the wrong place too," he said, looking to the young men and women who had gathered around us for support. Almost all nodded in agreement.
"Maybe I am," I said, hot tears burning under my eyelids. "I'd rather be in a swamp surrounded by alligators than here with people who look down on other people because of their family background."
"Oh, stop being such a goody-goody," Gisselle complained. "She'll get over it."
I drew closer to her, my eyes so filled with fury that the girls around her parted to make way. Hovering over her chair, I folded my arms under my breasts and spit my question down at her.
"What did you do, Gisselle? Listen with your ear to our door?"
"You think I'm so interested in your private talks? You think there's anything you've done that I haven't read about or seen?" she replied, reddening under my accusation. "I don't have to put my ear to the door to know what goes on between you and your quadroon friend. But," she said, smiling and sitting back, "if you would care to confess, to describe what it was like sleeping beside her . . ."
"Shut up!" I screamed, unable to hold back my flood of emotion. "Shut your filthy mouth before I—"
"Look how she's threatening her crippled sister," Gisselle cried, cringing dramatically. "You see how helpless I am, how helpless I've been. Now you all know what it's like to be a crippled twin and have to live day in and day out watching your sister have fun, go wherever she wants, do whatever she wants."
Gisselle covered her face in her hands and began to sob. Everyone glared at me angrily.
"Oh, what's the use?" I moaned, and turned away just as the music came to an end.
Mrs. Ironwood was immediately at the microphone. "It looks like a storm's brewing," she advised. "The boys should move right to the waiting buses and the girls should head back to their dorms immediately."
Everyone started toward the exits, but Miss Stevens hurried to my side.
"Poor Abby. What they did to her was horrible. Where did she go?" she asked.
"I don't know, Miss Stevens. She ran down the driveway and down the road. I'm worried about her, but Mrs. Ironwood wouldn't let me go after her."
"I'll get into my jeep and see if I can find her," Miss Stevens promised. "You go back to the dorm and wait for me."
"Thank you. There really is a bad storm coming, and she might get caught in it. Please, if you find her, tell her I had nothing to do with what Gisselle did tonight. Please, tell her."
"I'm sure she doesn't think that anyway," Miss Stevens said, with a smile of kindness. We saw Mrs. Ironwood watching us from the side as we followed the crowd out of the ballroom.
A streak of lightning cut a white gash in the dark and foreboding sky. Some of the girls squealed with excitement. Some of the Rosewood boys stole quick goodbye kisses before mounting their buses. Jonathan Peck had a crowd of at least half a dozen doting Greenwood girls around him, waiting and hoping for him to press his precious lips to theirs, or at least to their cheeks.
Another crack of thunder caused more shouting and scurrying about. I saw Miss Stevens hurry away to get to her jeep and I looked hopefully down the driveway for a sign of Abby before I turned to walk quickly back to our dorm. Perhaps she had circled around and gone back herself, I anticipated; but when I arrived, I found our room empty. I went back to the main lobby to wait for Miss Stevens. All the other girls arrived, bubbling over with excitement about the dance and the boys they had met. I ignored them, and for the most part, they ignored me.
The storm came over the campus rapidly, blowing in from the river. Soon the wind was turning and twisting the branches of the great oak trees. The world outside grew darker and darker and the rain began to fall in sheets, thumping on the windows and bouncing off the walkways. The railings around the galerie were dripping in a continuous stream, and the lightning continued to flash in the dark, illuminating the school and the grounds for a split second of white light and then leaving it in darkness again. What if Miss Stevens hadn't found Abby? I imagined her terrified under a tree somewhere on the road that led up to Greenwood. Perhaps she had made it to one of those nice houses that were on that road, and the people had been kind enough to take her in until the storm ended.
Nearly an hour had gone by before I looked through the lobby windows and saw the headlights of a car. Miss Stevens's jeep pulled up in front of our dorm and Miss Stevens emerged, her raincoat pulled up and over her head as she ran toward the dorm. I greeted her at the front door.
"Has she returned?" she asked me, and my heart sank.
"No."
"No?" She shook the water from her hair. "I drove up and down the road. I went miles more than she could have gone even if she had run the whole way, but I didn't see any sign of her. I was hoping she had turned back on her own."
"What could have happened to her?"
"Maybe someone stopped for her."
"But where would she go, Miss Stevens? She doesn't know anyone in Baton Rouge."
She shook her head, her face revealing worry as both of us thought of the same sort of terrible possibilities that might befall a beautiful young girl, wandering alone at night in a storm on a quiet highway.
"Maybe she just found shelter somewhere and is waiting for the storm to end," she offered.
Mrs. Penny came up beside us, her hands twisting, her face full of concern.
"I just had a call from Mrs. Ironwood, who wanted to know if Abby had returned. Where did she go, Ruby?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Penny."
"She left the grounds, and at night! . . . In a storm!"
"It wasn't something she wanted to do, Mrs. Penny."
"Oh dear," she moaned. "Oh dear. We've never had these sorts of problems at Greenwood before. It has always been such a delightful job for me, such a delightful experience."
"I'm sure everything will be all right," Miss Stevens told her. "Just leave the front door unlocked for her."
"But I always lock the door after curfew. I have all these others girls to think about too. What am I to do?"
"Don't worry about the door, Mrs. Penny. I'm going to sit right here and wait for Abby to return," I said, planting myself on the sofa in the lobby.
"Oh dear," she said. "And social evenings were always such a wonderful time."
"If you need me, call me," Miss Stevens said in a low voice. "Call me if she returns anyway. I'd like to know she's all right."
"Thank you, Miss Stevens," I said after she gave me her phone number. I followed her to the door to see her off. She squeezed my hands between hers.
"Everything will work out. You'll see," she promised, to boost my morale. I struggled to form a smile and watched her put her coat over her head again as she prepared to run the gamut between the dorm and her jeep. The rain was still coming down that strong. I waited at the door until she drove away. A few moments later, Mrs. Penny came up behind me and locked the doors.
"I've got to call Mrs. Ironwood," she told me. "She's going to be very angry. Let me know if she returns soon, will you, dear?"
I nodded, then returned to the sofa and sat staring at the door and listening to pounding raindrops that seem to fall just as hard on my heart as they did on the walls and roof of the dorm. I fell asleep on and off, waking abruptly a few times when I thought I heard someone at the door, but it proved to be only the wind. Exhausted from worry and fatigue, I finally got up and went to our room. I didn't even get out of my clothing. I collapsed on my bed, sobbing for Abby for a while, and then fell into a deep sleep, not waking up again until I-heard the girls moving through the lounge preparing to go to breakfast. I turned quickly to look at Abby's bed, and my heart sank at the sight of it, untouched.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up and thought a moment. Then I went to the bathroom and dabbed ice-cold water on my face. I heard Gisselle's ripple of laughter and pulled open the door to confront her as she was being wheeled by.
"Good morning, Sister, dear," she said, looking up at me and smiling. She appeared fresh and happy and full of gloating satisfaction. "You look like you stayed up too late. Is your . . . friend back?"
"No, Gisselle. She never came back."
"Oh no! What will we do with the trophy?" she wondered aloud, and looked at Jacki, Katie, and Samantha, who flashed smiles back at her, but then those smiles evaporated quickly when they gazed at me. At least they showed some remorse, Samantha looking the saddest.
"It's not funny anymore, Gisselle. Something terrible might have happened to her last night. Where would she go? What would she do?"
"Maybe she found refuge in a sharecropper's shack. Who knows?" she said, smiling. "It might even be one of her long-lost relatives." She laughed hysterically. "Let's go," she commanded Samantha. "I'm ravishingly hungry this morning.”
Embarrassed and disgusted over the fact that this was my sister, I lowered my head and returned to my room. I had little appetite and wasn't looking forward to sitting down at breakfast with the girls, who would only be waiting to hear and see what I would do and say. Nevertheless, I changed my clothes. Just as I was about to go to the dining room Mrs. Penny arrived. One look at her face told me she knew about Abby. The fingers of her hands were locked around each other as if she were holding onto herself for dear life.
"Good morning, dear," she said.
"What's happened, Mrs. Penny? Where's Abby?"
"Mrs. Ironwood just called to tell me that her parents will be stopping by later today to pick up her things," she said in one gasp and sighed.
"Then she's all right? They've found her?"
"Apparently she went into the city last night and called them. Now she'll be leaving the school. She would have been expelled for going off the school grounds in the middle of the night anyway," she added.
"Oh, she would have been expelled, Mrs. Penny, but not for running off," I said, shaking my head, and fixing my angry gaze on our housemother. "That wouldn't have been Mrs. Ironwood's true reason?'
Mrs. Penny lowered her eyes and shook her head sadly. "We never had such problems," she muttered. "It's so troubling?' She looked up and quickly gazed around the room. "Anyway, I know how you girls are always bunching your things together. I wanted you to separate whatever is yours from whatever is hers so that they can come and go quickly as possible. This won't be pleasant for anyone, especially for me" she added.
"I imagine not. All right. I'll take care of it," I promised, and began sorting things out, packing Abby's things in her suitcases and boxes so it would be that much easier for her parents, the tears dripping of my cheeks as I worked.
By the time the girls had returned from breakfast, I had most everything organized and was sitting dumbly on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. Gisselle paused in the doorway, Samantha right behind her.
"What's going on?" she demanded, looking at the packed suitcases and boxes. "Mrs. Penny wouldn't say a word."
I raised my head slowly, my eyes bloodshot.
"Abby's parents are coming for her things. She's leaving Greenwood. Are you satisfied now?" I demanded sharply. Samantha bit down on her lower lip and shifted her eyes away quickly.
"It's better for all concerned," Gisselle said. "It would have happened eventually anyway."
"If she had to leave, she should have left because she wanted to, not because she was embarrassed by you and your followers in front of the whole student body and all those boys," I complained.
"It's the risk someone like that takes when she tries to be one of us," Gisselle replied, without a note of contrition in her voice. She was so self-satisfied, so confident, it made me sick to my stomach.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," I said and turned away from her.
"Fine with me," she said and had Samantha wheel her away.
But early in the afternoon, just before Abby's parents arrived, Samantha came to my door alone. She had left Gisselle in the lobby with the others and come back to fetch something for her.
"What do you want?" I demanded sharply.
"Gisselle wanted me to get a record out of the box stored in Abby's closet," she said meekly. "She's loaning it to one of the girls from B quad."
I turned my back as she came into the room and knelt down to search through the boxes on the closet floor. She quickly located what she wanted and started out. Then she stopped in the doorway and turned back to me.
"I'm sorry about Abby," she said. "I didn't expect something like this would happen."
"Well what did you expect would happen when someone is exposed like that in front of all those people? And why? What did she ever do to you or to any of the other girls to deserve that?"
Samantha looked down.
"How did my sister find out about her?" I asked after a moment. "Did she listen at the door to our conversations?" Samantha shook her head. "Well, how then?"
Samantha gazed to her right first before turning back to answer.
"When she came in here to get something else of hers that Abby was keeping in her closet, she looked at her letters from her parents," Samantha revealed. "But please don't tell her I told you. Please," she begged, real fear in her eyes.
"Why, what will she reveal about you?" I asked sharply. Samantha's anxiety made her eyes wide and her otherwise cherry cheeks white.
"You shouldn't have told her anything about yourself you didn't want anyone to know," I chastised.
Samantha nodded, that piece of advice coming too late. "Anyway," she said. "I'm sorry about Abby."
I wasn't in a forgiving mood, but I saw she was sincere, so I nodded. She stood there a few more moments and then hurried away.
Shortly afterward, Abby's parents arrived.
"Mrs. Tyler," I cried, jus ping to my feet when she and her husband appeared in the doorway. "How's Abby?"
"She's just fine" Mrs. Tyler said, her face firm, her lips tight. "My daughters got more grit in her than anyone else at this precious school," she added bitterly. Abby's father shifted his eyes from me quickly.
"I must go to her, Mrs. Tyler. She must know I nothing to do with this horrible incident."
Mrs. Tyler raised her eyebrows. "It was your twin sister who did the dirty work, as I understand," she said.
"Yes, but we're two different people, even though we are twins, Mrs. Tyler. Abby knows that."
I saw from the way she gazed at her husband that Abby had said that too.
"Where are her things?" Mrs. Tyler demanded.
"Everything's set aside. All of her things are there." I pointed to where I had organized everything. Her father looked grateful. "How can I talk to her? When can I see her?"
"She's in the car outside," Mr. Tyler revealed.
"Abby's here?"
"She didn't want to come in here with us," her mother said.
"I don't blame her," I said as I hurried past them and out. In the lobby the girls were keeping their comments under their breaths while Abby's parents were in the building. Even Gisselle's voice was subdued. I didn't pause to look at them. Instead, I rushed out the front door. I saw Abby sitting in her parents' automobile and hurried down the steps and over to it. She rolled down the window as I approached.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi. I'm sorry I kept running away from you last night, but I just couldn't stop once I had started. All I wanted to do was get out of there."
"I know, but I was so worried about you. Miss Stevens went driving around looking for you, because Mrs. Ironwood wouldn't let me leave the grounds."
She smirked and muttered, "The Iron Lady."
"Where were you?"
"I hid for a while until the rain slowed some and then I got ride into the city and called my parents."
"Oh, Abby, I'm so sorry. It's so unfair. My sister is more horrible than I ever h lined. I found out she snooped into your things and read some letters from your parents."
"That doesn't surprise me. Anyway, it wasn't all just her doing, I'm sure," Abby said. "Although she did seem to relish her part, didn't she?" she added. I nodded. She smiled at me and got out of the car. "Let's take a little walk," she suggested.
"What are you going to do now?" I asked.
"Enroll in the public school. In a way this was a good thing. My parents have decided to stop trying to ignore who I am and who they are. No more moving all around the country, no more pretending to be someone I'm not." She gazed around at the campus. "No more fancy schools."
"I've had my fill of fancy schools too."
"Oh no, you're doing well here, Ruby. All of our teachers like you and you have a great relationship with Miss Stevens. You'll do great things with your artwork. Take advantage of the opportunities and ignore the rest."
"I don't like being in a place where there is so much hypocrisy. Grandmère Catherine wouldn't want me here."
Abby laughed. "From the way you described her to me, I think she'd tell you to dig in like a clam, shut yourself off from the phonies like an oyster, and clamp down on what you want like an alligator. Besides," Abby said in a whisper, "you know how to get the bad gris-gris off you. My mistake was last night, when I didn't wear the blue skirt with the good gris-gris sewn in." She winked and we laughed. It felt good, only I realized I wouldn't be hearing her laughter anymore; I wouldn't be having our girl-to-girl talks anymore, and we wouldn't be sharing our dreams and fears anymore. Gisselle was right to have been jealous: Abby had been the sister I never had, the sister Gisselle, despite our identical faces, would never be.
"I wish there was something more I could do for you," I moaned.
"You've done a lot. You've been a good friend, and we can still be good friends. We'll write to each other. Unless Mrs. Ironwood has your mail screened," she added.
"It wouldn't surprise me."
"I'll tell you what you can do for me," Abby said, suddenly animated. "Next time you're called into Mrs. Ironwood's office, for any reason, see if you can find one of her hairs lying about on the desk or floor. Put it in an envelope and send it to me and I’ll give it to a moma to use to make a doll into which I can stick pins."
We laughed, but Abby wasn't just kidding. Behind us, her parents were completing loading the car. We paused and watched them a moment.
"I'd better get going," she said.
"I'm glad I got a chance to see you."
"It's really why I came along," she revealed. "Goodbye, Ruby."
"Oh Abby."
"No tears or you'll start me crying and give Gisselle and her friends just what they want," she said with defiance. "They probably all have their noses to the windows right now, watching us."
I looked back at the dorm. I swallowed my sobs down quickly and nodded. "Probably," I said.
"Don't get too involved with Louis," she warned, her eyes small and thoughtful. "I know you feel sorry for him, but there are a great many ghosts wandering through the Clairborne family's dreams."
"I know. I won't."
"Well . . . ″
We hugged quickly and she started toward the car. "Hey," she called back, smiling. "Don't forget to say goodbye to Mr. Mud for me."
I laughed. "I will."
"I'll write as soon as I can," she promised.
Her father slammed the trunk closed and her mother got into the car. She got in also and her father sat behind the wheel. Then he started the engine and pulled away. As they went by, Abby turned to wave. I waved back until the car was gone. Then, with a chest that felt full of cement, I returned to the dorm and my half-emptied room.
The remainder of the day felt like a period of mourning. Last night's storm had passed, but it had left thick, long clouds behind it, clouds that hovered threateningly above Baton Rouge and the surrounding area well into the night. I went to dinner mainly because I hadn't eaten anything all day. The girls were quite exuberant and loud, some still discussing Abby, but most were on to other things as if Abby hadn't even existed. Gisselle certainly was. She was waxing on and on about boys she had known who were so handsome they made Jonathan Peck look like Frankenstein's monster. According to what she was telling everyone, she had dated practically every heartthrob in America.
Disgusted and emotionally exhausted, I retreated from dinner as soon as I was able and sat alone in my room. I decided to write a letter to Paul. It went on for pages and pages as I described all that had happened, all that Gisselle had done.
"I don't mean to unload all my misery on you, Paul," I wrote toward the end.
But even to this day when I think of someone in whom I can confide my innermost feelings. I think of you. I suppose I should think of Beau, but there are things a girl would rather tell a brother than she would her boyfriend, I suppose. I don't know. I'm so confused right now. Gisselle is getting her way after all. I now hate it here and I am on the verge of calling Daddy and asking him to do the very thing she wanted me to do from the start—get us out of Greenwood. The only person I will miss will be Miss Stevens.
On the other hand, I'm tempted to stay, here and put up with it, just so Gisselle won't get her way. I don't know what to do. I don't know what's right anymore. The good suffer and the bad don't so often, I wonder if the world is filled with more bad gris-gris than good. I miss Grandmère Catherine so; I miss her wisdom and her strength. Anyway, I'm looking forward to your visiting us in New Orleans during the Christmas holidays as you promised. I've already told Daddy, and he's looking forward to seeing you too. I think anyone or anything that reminds him of our mother fills him with an inner happiness and peace he will reveal only to us through his smile.
Write soon.
Love, Ruby
It wasn't until I started to fold the letter to put it in an envelope that I saw the stains from my teardrops.
The next morning I got up, dressed, and had my breakfast silently, barely looking or speaking to anyone except Vicki, who asked me if I was ready for our social studies test. We talked about it on the way to the main building. Throughout the day, I couldn't help but feel that everyone's eyes were on me. News about Abby had spread quickly, and it was only natural that the other girls would wonder and watch to see how I reacted and behaved. I decided not to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing me unhappy, something I was more easily able to do when I entered Miss Stevens's art class.
She taught her lesson and we all began our work. It wasn't until the bell rang to end the period that she came over to me to talk about Abby. I told her how Abby seemed relieved and even happier now that it was over.
She nodded. "Whatever doesn't destroy you, makes you stronger. Hardships have a way of toughening us, if they don't kill us," she said, smiling. "Look at you and the hard things you've had to endure."
"I'm not a tough person, Miss Stevens."
"You're tougher than you think you are."
I looked down at my desk. "1 was thinking about asking my father to take Gisselle and me out of Greenwood," I said.
"Oh no. I'd hate to lose you. You're the most talented student I have, and probably ever will have. Things will get better for you. They have to," she promised. "Try not to think of the bad things. Lose yourself in your art. Make art everything," she advised.
I nodded. "I'll try."
"Good. And don't forget, I'll be here for you whenever you need me."
"Thank you, Miss Stevens."
Buoyed by our little talk, I did turn from the dark and unhappy events to look forward to Daddy's arrival on Wednesday and Beau's arrival on Saturday. At least two of the people I loved most in the world would soon be with me and would bring rays of sunshine back into the world that had become dismal and gray.
And then when I returned to the dorm, I found that a letter had arrived from Paul, even before mine to him had been posted. His was full of optimism and happy news: how well he had been doing in school, how much his family's business had improved, and how his father was giving him more and more responsibility.
Although I still have time to take my pirogue and pole up the bayou to do some fishing at my secret spots. Yesterday I just lay back in the canoe and watched the sun turn red as it began to fall between the branches of the sycamores. The scattered light made the Spanish moss look like sheets of silk. Then the nutrias started to come out more boldly. The dragonflies did their ritualistic dances over the water, and the bream and white crappie rose and fell in the canals as if I, fishing pole and all, weren't even there. A snowy egret swooped down so low I thought it was going to land on my shoulder before it veered and went farther downstream.
I turned to see a white-tailed deer poke its head through the branches of a cottonwood on shore and watched me drift for a while before disappearing in the willow.
All of this made me think of you and our wonderful late afternoons together, and I wondered how it must be for you to live someplace else now, away from the bayou. It made me sad, until I remembered how completely you absorbed everything and then, with that wonderful artistic talent, brought it out again to last forever on some canvas. How lucky will be the ones who buy your paintings.
Looking forward to seeing you, Paul
His letter filled me with a delicious sort of happiness, the kind that mixed melancholy with joy, memories with hope. I felt aloof, above the fray. I must have had a smile of such deep satisfaction on my face that evening at dinner. I saw how Gisselle kept gazing at me with frustration.
"What's wrong with you?" she finally demanded. All the girls around us who had been talking spiritedly stopped to look and listen.
"Nothing. Why?"
"You look stupid sitting there with that grin on your face, like you know something we don't," she said.
I shrugged. "I don't," I said. Then I thought a moment and put down my fork. I folded my hands in front of me and fixed my gaze on all of them. "Except I know that many of the things you all think are so important, things like family lineage and great wealth, don't guarantee happiness."
"Oh no?" Gisselle whined. "Then what does?"
"Liking yourself," I said, "for who you really are and not what others want you to be." Then I got up and went back to my room.
I reread Paul's letter, made a list of things I wanted to do before Daddy and Beau's visits, completed my homework, and went to sleep. I lay there with my eyes open, staring up into the dark ceiling and imagining I was in the pirogue with Paul, drifting. I thought I could even see the first star.
In the morning I awoke filled with all sorts of plans for pictures I wanted to do under Miss Stevens's guidance. Her love of nature was as strong as mine, and I knew she would appreciate my visions. I washed and dressed eagerly and was one of the first at the breakfast table, something else that seemed to annoy Gisselle. I saw she was becoming more and more intolerant and impatient with Samantha too, snapping at her for not doing things fast enough for her.
Our quad had cleanup duty again. Gisselle, of course, was excused from the chores, but she made it more difficult for me and the others by lingering at the table. It nearly made us all late for school, and I had an English test to take.
I was ready for the test and eager to take it, but right in the middle of the exam, a messenger came into the room. She went right to Mr. Risel and whispered in his ear. He nodded, then looked out at the class and announced that I was wanted at Mrs. Ironwood's office.
"But my exam . . . ″ I muttered.
"Just bring up what you've completed," he said. "But . . . ″
"You'd better go quickly," he added, his eyes dark. What could she want now? I wondered. What could she possibly accuse me of doing this time?
Filled with rage, I pounded through the corridor and walked into the principal's office. Mrs. Randle looked up from her desk, but this time she didn't look annoyed or upset with me. She looked sympathetic.
"Go right in," she told me. My fingers trembled a bit on the doorknob. I turned it and entered, surprised to discover Gisselle sitting there in her wheelchair, her handkerchief clutched in her hand, her eyes bloodshot.
"What is it?" I cried, looking from her to Mrs. Ironwood, who was standing by her window.
"It's your father," she replied. "Your stepmother has just called me."
"What?"
"Daddy's dead!" Gisselle screamed. "He had a heart attack!"
Somewhere deep inside myself, a scream became a cry, the sort of cry that lingered over the water, that wove itself around the trees and bushes, that made day turn into night, that made sunny skies turn gray, and that turned raindrops into tears.
Behind my eyelids, slammed shut to lock out the faces and the moment, I recalled an old nightmare I had often had as a child. In it I was running over the marshland, chasing after a pirogue that was picking up speed to round a turn in the bayou and carrying away the mysterious man I wanted to call Daddy.
The word got stuck in my throat, and a moment later he was gone.
And once again I was all alone.