Pearl in the Mist

10

Orphaned Again

As far as I was concerned, Daddy's funeral began with our ride back to New Orleans. Even Gisselle became dark and quiet just before we were to leave, her usual banter of complaints reduced to a few grievances about the speed with which she had to get her things together and the manner in which she was transferred from her wheelchair to the limousine Daphne had sent. The driver hadn't been told that one of his passengers was handicapped and was quite unprepared for the experience. He didn't know how to fold the chair and get it as well as our luggage into the trunk. Fortunately, Buck Dardar came by to help, which immediately cheered up my sister and, for the moment, returned a look of flirtatious delight to her eyes.

"Thank goodness your Mr. Mud happened by," she declared loud enough for Buck to hear as he assisted with the folding of the wheelchair. "Otherwise poor Daddy would be buried a week before we left here."

I flashed a furious gaze at her, but she rolled it away with one of her flighty little laughs and then poked her head out of the window to flutter her eyelashes at Buck as she thanked him profusely for coming by.

"I can't thank you properly just now," she told him. "We have to leave right away, but when we come back . . ."

Buck glanced toward me and then hurried back to his tractor to continue his work on the grounds. The chauffeur got in and we were off. All of the other students were in class. Gisselle had managed to tell her clique about Daddy and then sponge up their condolences and sympathy. Miss Stevens was the only person I had told. She was very upset, her eyes actually filling with tears when she gazed into my devastated face.

"Now I'm really an orphan, just like you," I told her.

"But you have your stepmother and your sister."

"It's the same as being an orphan," I replied.

She bit down on her lower lip and nodded without challenging my declaration. "You'll always have family here," she said, hugging me. "Be strong."

I thanked her and returned to the dorm to pack my things.

Now the limousine was carrying us off on a journey that seemed more like a nightmare, a trip through what, to me at least, was an endlessly dark tunnel whose walls were woven from the fabric of my most dreaded fears, the foremost of which was the-fear of being alone. From the moment I was old enough to understand that my mother had died and my father had, I was told, deserted me, I felt this cavernous pit in my heart, this great sense of being tethered to the shore by only a slim line of woven hemp. More than one night I was awakened by the nightmarish vision of myself being tossed about while I slept at the bottom of my pirogue. The storm that whipped through the bayou lashed at the slim line of hemp until it ripped it in two and sent me rushing downstream into the night and the unknown.

Of course, Grandmère Catherine's reassuring embrace and soothing words put me at ease. She was my slim line of hemp, she was my only sense of security; and when she died, I would have felt lost and at the mercy of these terrible winds of Fate had she not given me new hope just before her passing by telling me my father's name and encouraging me to go to him. Like a hobo looking for a handout of love, I went knocking on his door, but my heart was cheered by the overwhelming manner in which he had accepted and welcomed me into his home and his own heart. Once again I felt secure, and my dreams of being lost in a raging storm all but disappeared.

Now Daddy was gone too. Those prophetic paintings I had done as a young girl, paintings in which I envisioned my mysterious father drifting away, had all unfortunately come true. The dark shadows were rushing back, the wind began its howling. Numb to the very core of my soul, I sat in the limousine and stared out at the scenery that flowed by with a gray fluidity that made it seem as if the dreary world were draining down behind us and we would soon be left dangling in empty space.

Finally, unable to keep silent a moment longer, Gisselle poured forth a new stream of complaints.

"Daphne's going to really lord it over us now," she moaned. "Anything we've inherited will be in trust. We'll have to do whatever she says, whatever she wants." She waited for me to join her with my own rendition of grievances, but I remained silent, gazing out, listening to her ramble on, but barely acknowledging her presence. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I don't care, Gisselle. It's not important right now," I muttered.

"Not important?" She laughed. "Just wait until we get home and you find out how right I am. Then we'll see how important it is," she declared. "How could he die?" she screamed shrilly, not because she was saddened by our daddy's death but because she was angry at him for succumbing to it. "Why didn't he see he wasn't well and go to a doctor? Why wasn't he well anyway? He wasn't old."

"He had more heartache to contend with than a man twice his age," I said sharply.

"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean, Ruby? Huh? What exactly is Miss Goody Two-Shoes saying now?"

"Nothing," I said with a sigh. "Let's not argue today. Please, Gisselle."

"I'm not arguing. I'd just like to know what you meant, that's all. Did you mean it's all my fault, because if you did . . ."

"No, I didn't mean that. Daddy had a lot on his mind besides you and me. He had poor Uncle Jean and Daphne and his business problems . . ."

"That's right," she said, liking my explanation. "He did. But still, he should have taken better care of himself. Look at how he's left us now. I'm crippled and I have no father. You think Daphne's going to give me the things I want when I want them? Never. You heard her when we left. She believes Daddy spoiled us, spoiled me!"

"Let's not jump to any conclusions," I said in a tired, small voice. "Daphne must be devastated too. Maybe . . . maybe she'll be different. Maybe she'll need us and love us more."

Gisselle made her eyes small as she thought about what I had said. I knew she was simply trying to figure out how to take advantage of the situation if what I said were true, how she could impose upon Daphne's great grief and maneuver to get what she wanted. She sat back to think about it some more, and the remainder of our ride went quietly, even though it seemed to take twice as long. I fell asleep for a while and woke up to see Lake Pontchartrain looming ahead. Soon the skyline of New Orleans came into view, and we were traveling through the city streets.

Everything looked different to me. It was as if Daddy's death had changed the world. The quaint narrow streets, the buildings with their scrolled iron balconies, the little gar dens in the alleyways, the cafes, the traffic, and the people all seemed foreign. It was as if the soul of the city had left along with Daddy's soul.

Gisselle did not have the same reaction. The moment we entered the Garden District, she wondered aloud if she would soon see her old friends.

"I'm sure they've all heard about Daddy. They're bound to come visiting us. I can't wait," she said. "I'll find out all the gossip." She smiled gleefully.

How could she be so selfish? I wondered. How could her mind and her heart not be filled with gloom? How could she not be thinking about Daddy's smile, Daddy's voice, Daddy's embrace? And how could she not be weighed down with a sorrow that turned her very bones to stone and made her blood run cold? Would I have turned out this way had I been the first baby born and the one given to the Dumas family? Did the evil of that act settle in her tiny heart like a lump of coal and infect her every thought and feeling? Would that have happened to me?

As if he had been standing at the door for hours and hours, Edgar was there when we drove up. He looked years older, his shoulders slumped, his face pale. He hurried down to help with our things.

"Hello, Edgar," I said.

His lips trembled as he tried to greet me, but just the pronunciation of my name, a name Daddy had loved to call, made his eyes tear and his tongue stumble.

"Get me out of here already!" Gisselle screamed. The chauffeur hurried around to the trunk and Edgar went to help him with Gisselle's wheelchair. "Edgar!"

"Oui, mademoiselle, I'm coming," he replied, hobbling around the rear of the car.

"So's Christmas."

They got the wheelchair unfolded and Gisselle into it. The moment we entered the house, I felt the cold gloom that permeated the very walls. All the lights were subdued, the shades still drawn. A tall, thin man in a black suit and tie emerged from the parlor. He had a narrow face that brought his nose and even his chin to a point, reminding me of a pelican. His bald head was spotted but shiny, with two tufts of light brown hair just above his ears. He seemed to slink along, gliding over the floor, moving with barely a sound.

"Madame wanted the wake to be held here," Edgar warned us. "This is Monsieur Boche, the undertaker."

Monsieur Boche's smile was sickly smooth. His lips lifted off his gray teeth as though his mouth was a curtain hinged at the corners. He pressed his long hands together and then slid his right palm over his left hand, giving me the impression he had to wipe it dry before extending it to greet us.

"Mademoiselles," he said. "My deepest condolences. I am Monsieur Boche, and I am here to see that all your bereavement needs are satisfied. If there's anything you want, simply—"

"Where's my daddy?" I demanded with more authority than I had intended. Even Gisselle's eyes widened.

"Right this way, mademoiselle," he said, bowing and turning with one smooth motion.

"Ugh," Gisselle said. "I don't want to look at him now."

I spun on her. "He was your father. You won't look on him ever again."

"He's dead," Gisselle complained. "How can you want to look into a coffin?"

"Don't you want to say goodbye?" I asked.

"I said goodbye. Edgar, take me to my room," she demanded.

"Very good, mademoiselle." He lifted his eyes to me and then turned Gisselle toward the stairway. I followed Monsieur Boche to the ,parlor where Daddy lay in his open coffin. Over it and around it were dozens and dozens of multicolored roses. The room reeked of the scent. Beside the coffin, large candles flickered. The sight of it all put a lump in my throat. It was true; none of this was a dream.

I turned because I felt Daphne's eyes on me. She was sitting in a high-backed chair. Bedecked in black with a black veil pulled off her face, she sat like a dowager queen, expecting me to kneel at her feet and kiss her hand. She didn't look as pale and sick with grief as I had anticipated. Although she had kept rouge off her cheeks, she still wore her favorite shade of lipstick and had some eyeliner on. Her hair was pinned back with pearl combs, and she did have an elegance about her that was intimidating.

"Where's Gisselle?" she demanded.

"She wanted to go to her room," I replied.

"Nonsense," she said and rose from the chair. "She's to come directly in here." She walked out and I approached the coffin. I heard Daphne shout her orders to Edgar, demanding that he bring Gisselle back down the stairs.

My heart was pounding; my legs felt wobbly. I gazed down at Daddy. He was dressed in his black tuxedo, and except for his pasty-white complexion, he looked like he was just taking a catnap. Monsieur Boche stepped up beside me so silently that I nearly jumped when he whispered into my ear.

"He looks good, doesn't he? One of my best jobs," he bragged. I glared at him with such fury, he simply bowed and retreated quickly, floating away on those oily feet. Then I reached into the coffin and took hold of Daddy's right hand. It didn't feel like a hand anymore, but I willed the cold, hard sensations out of my mind and forced myself to think of him smiling, warm and loving.

"Goodbye, Daddy," I said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me the most. I'm sorry I didn't have you with me when I grew up. I'm sorry we had so short a time together. I know my mother loved you very much and I know you loved her. I think I've inherited the best of that love. I will miss you forever and ever. I hope you're with Mommy and you've made your peace and the two of you are floating happily along in a pirogue somewhere in the bayou of heaven."

I leaned over and kissed his cheek, desperately ignoring the sensation that I was kissing a cold face. Then I knelt down and said a little prayer for him. I stepped away from the coffin just as Gisselle was being wheeled in, her complaints loud and clear.

"I'm tired. It was a long, boring trip. Why do I have to come in here?"

"Be quiet," Daphne ordered. She nodded at Edgar, which meant he should leave, and then she returned to her high-backed chair. Gisselle glared at me and then at her and pouted. "Bring her closer," Daphne commanded me in an icy tone. I went to Gisselle's chair and rolled it toward Daphne. "Sit down," she said, nodding at the chair across from her. I did so quickly.

"Why can't we just rest first?" Gisselle moaned.

"Shut up," Daphne snapped. Even Gisselle was frightened and impressed with her sharpness. With her mouth open, she sat back. Daphne glared at her with eyes that seemed able to penetrate into her thoughts. "For a long time, I've had to put up with your whining and crying and moaning. Well, that's over with, you hear? Look over there," she said, nodding toward Daddy. "You see what comes of worrying about everyone else's problems, everyone else's needs, everyone else's likes and dislikes? You die young, that's your reward.

"Well, it's not going to be mine. There are going to be some serious changes around here now, and it's best you two understand that immediately. I'm still a very young woman. I don't intend to let these events age and sicken me, and that's just what they would do if we continued the way things were."

"Events?" I said.

"Yes, events. Everything's an event." She turned her lips into a twisted smile. "Oh, don't start with your histrionics, Ruby. I know you better than you think." Her smile faded and was replaced by a look of firm anger. "You came here from the swamps and you won your place in your father's heart, conniving, reminding him of his great romance in the bayou, just so you would get your piece of inheritance. I'm sure that grandmother of yours put you up to it."

I felt the blood rush into my cheeks, but before I could respond, she continued.

"Don't worry, I don't blame you for it," she said. "I would probably have done the same thing if I had been in your moccasins. Well, what's done is done. You're in your father's will and you will get your piece. Both of you will," she added, turning to Gisselle. "And it will start when you're both twenty-one. Until then, everything you've inherited is in trust, with me as the executor. I will be the one to decide what you get now and what you don't. I will be the one who tells you where you will go and what you will do."

Gisselle smirked. "You always wanted to be the boss, Mother," she said, nodding.

"I always was, you little fool. Did you really believe it was your father who was running the business? He had no real business sense. He didn't have the heart for it. He could never make the tough decisions if it involved taking from someone or cutting someone out. He was too soft to be in business. If it weren't for me, we wouldn't have half what we have; and now you two are going to inherit a big piece of that. Too much of it, if you ask me, but that's the way it is.

"I don't expect you two to be grateful, but I do expect you to be obedient and cooperative," she continued. "The funeral will be over in two days," she said, pulling herself up even firmer in the seat. "After that, you are to return to Greenwood."

"Oh, but Mother," Gisselle moaned.

"Yes, you are," Daphne hammered. "I don't have the strength or the patience to deal with you two and your problems on a day-to-day basis right now. I want you to return, to do well, to obey all the rules and not get into a bit of trouble, you hear? I warn you: If you cause even an iota of aggravation, I'll have the two of you sent to an even stricter place. If you really annoy me, I will see about nullifying your inheritances, understand? Then they'll stick you into a home for crippled people and you'll really be sorry. And you," she said, focusing her anger at me, "you will be sent back to the bayou to live with whatever Cajun relatives are left."

Gisselle lowered her head and grimaced. I simply glared at Daphne. She had become the ice queen. Freezing water ran through her veins. I was sure that if I touched her, she'd feel colder than Daddy now felt. I should have realized she would be like this. Gisselle had been right: Daphne despised the sight of us more than she had loved Daddy.

"Take your sister upstairs now and prepare yourselves to greet the many mourners who will come here shortly to pay their respects. Make sure you both dress properly and act properly."

"Has Uncle Jean been told about Daddy?" I asked.

"Of course not," she replied. "What would be the point?"

"He has a right to know. It's his brother."

"Please, the man doesn't know what day it is, where he's at, or even his own name anymore."

"But . . ."

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."

"Oh, you've seen him there?"

"Not exactly," I said. This nurse hadn't been working here when I had been forced to stay, so she didn't remember me. But I saw no point in bringing all that back.

With Beau still right beside me, I walked down to Uncle Jean, who sat staring at his hands. His golden hair was disheveled, and he wore a pair of creased pants and a creased white shirt with some food stains on the front of it.

"Hello, Uncle Jean," I said, sitting down beside him. I took his hands into mine and he turned, first to look up at Beau and then to look at me. I saw a note of recognition in his blue-green eyes and a small smile start at the corners of his mouth.

"Do you remember me? . . . Ruby? I'm Pierre's other daughter. I'm the one who's been sending you all the letters." His smile widened. "I've come home from school because . . . because there's been a tragedy, Uncle Jean, and now I've come to tell you because I think you have a right to know. I think you should know." I looked up at Beau, to see if he thought I should continue or not. He nodded. Uncle Jean was still gazing at me, his eyes moving slightly from side to side as he studied my face.

"It's Daddy, Uncle Jean . . . he's . . . his heart gave out on him and he's . . . he's dead," I said. "That's why he hasn't been here to see you; that's why you've been moved to this ward. But I'm going to complain about it to Daphne and I'm going to see to it that they get you back in your room. At least I'll try," I said.

Gradually, the small smile that had been on his lips wilted, and his lips began ever so slightly to tremble. I put my hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently.

"Daddy would have wanted me to come here, Uncle Jean. I'm sure. He was very unhappy about what had happened between the two of you and he was very sad about your sickness. He wanted so much to see you get better. He loved you very much. He really did," I said.

Uncle Jean's lips quivered more. His eyes began to blink, and then I felt a trembling in his hands. Suddenly, he shook his head, softly at first, and then more vigorously.

"Uncle Jean . . ."

He opened his mouth and then closed it, shaking his head harder. The nurse and the attendant drew closer. I looked up at them when Uncle Jean began to make an unintelligible sound.

"Aaaaaaa . . . ″

"Jean," the nurse said, rushing over to him. "What did you tell him?" she demanded.

"I had to tell him his brother—my father—has died," I said.

"Oh dear. Easy, Jean," she said.

His shoulders began to shake and he opened and closed his mouth to make the ugly sound.

"You two had better go now," the nurse said.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble, but I thought he should know."

"It's all right. He'll be all right," she assured us, but she was anxious for us to leave.

I stood up, and Uncle Jean gazed up at me with desperation. He was silent for a moment, and I decided to hug him quickly and did so.

"I'll be back another time, Uncle Jean," I promised through my tears and then turned away. Beau followed me toward the door. We were nearly there when Uncle Jean screamed.

"P-P-Pierre!"

I turned to see him bury his head in his hands. The nurse eased him back on the bed and lifted his legs up so he was lying quietly.

"Oh, Beau," I said. "I shouldn't have come. Daphne was right. I shouldn't have told him."

"Of course you should have come. Otherwise he would have felt deserted when Pierre never showed up. At least now he understands why and he knows he still has you," Beau said, putting his arm around me.

I let my head fall against his shoulder and then I let him take me out and home to where Daddy lay waiting for his final goodbyes.