Pearl in the Mist

16

A Brave Front

Despite my gloomy feelings, I tried not to walk about with downcast eyes and let everyone know just how unhappy I was. Gisselle's friends were very excited about the New Year's Eve party, and I had never seen Daphne so friendly and outgoing toward them. She came into the living room in the afternoon and made suggestions for the decorating. Of course, all the girls were in awe of her. I could see from the way they gazed at her that they thought she was akin to a movie star: beautiful, rich, elegant, and full of style.

But Gisselle kept herself the center of attention, revealing the miraculous recovery of her limbs and promising to dance for the first time since the accident. She got Edgar to bring in a ladder and then had the girls string streamers from one side of the ceiling to the other. They blew up balloons and placed them in a net to be released at midnight. While they worked, they gossiped about the boys who would be attending the party, and Gisselle described the girls of Greenwood, bragging about the things she had taught them concerning sex and boys. From time to time, she shifted her eyes toward me to see if I would contradict her, but I was barely listening after a while.

I was looking forward to spending the evening with Beau. I took my time choosing my dress and settled on a strapless black velvet gown with a deep, sweetheart neckline. The dress fit snugly at the waist and then had a full skirt that ended about six inches above my ankles. I had planned to wear a string of pearls around my neck but decided at the last minute simply to wear Beau's chain and ring, excited by the way the gleaming jewelry heightened that part of my bosom and cleavage. When I closed my eyes, I could almost feel his fingers softly gliding down, over my collarbone toward my breasts.

I put on a pair of delicate gold and pearl hoop earrings and decided to wear the ring that Louis had given me. Gisselle and I had each been given half a dozen different perfumes. I chose one that suggested the fresh aroma of blossoming roses. I had decided to wear my hair down but pinned back at the sides. My bangs needed a bit of trimming and I smiled to myself, recalling how Grandmère Catherine used to do it for me and even sit talking to me for what seemed like hours and hours while she brushed my long ruby hair, telling me again and again how she used to do the same thing for my mother.

Gisselle surprised me by choosing a dress similar to mine in dark blue. She bedecked herself with far more jewelry, wearing two strings of pearls, long dangling pearl earrings, a gold bracelet on one wrist and Bruce's charm bracelet Christmas gift on the other, as well as half a dozen rings spaced over her two hands. She wore a gold anklet as well. She left her hair down as well, not even pinning the sides, and she had caked on makeup, eyeliner, and lipstick so thick, she could kiss for hours before reaching her skin.

"How do I look?" she asked after coming to my doorway.

"Very nice," I replied. I knew that if I criticized her she would only resent it and rant and rave about how jealous I was.

"'Nice'? What's that like, 'neat'?" she said, grimacing. She studied me a moment, making comparisons. "Why don't you put on more makeup? I can still see those freckles on your cheeks."

"They don't bother me," I said. "Or Beau," I added pointedly.

"They used to," she remarked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. When I didn't bite, she stopped smiling. "I'm going down."

"Be right there," I said. A short while later, I found her seated in her wheelchair in the center of the living room, gazing about with satisfaction.

"This is going to be the greatest party ever," she declared. "You'll never forget this New Year's Eve." She stared at me a moment. "Did you ever have a good New Year's Eve in the swamps?"

"Yes."

"Doing what, fishing?" she asked disdainfully.

"No. We would have a party in the town. All of Main Street would be closed down, and the merchants as well as other people would set out food. There were fireworks and continuous music making for a grand fais dodo."

"Fais dodo, I forgot. You danced in the streets?" she asked.

I nodded, remembering. "It was as if we had all become one family, celebrating," I said wistfully.

"Sounds . . . stupid," she said, but I could see she was trying to convince herself.

"You don't need to spend a lot of money and have expensive clothing to have a good time, Gisselle. A real good time starts here," I said, pointing to my heart.

"I would have pointed someplace else," she retorted, and laughed.

"What's so funny?" Daphne asked as she and Bruce entered the living room. They were dressed and ready to leave. Bruce did look handsome in his tuxedo, and I had to admit that Daphne was never more striking. She wore a long narrow gown in the deepest, richest burgundy color that had a beaded rhinestone bodice and a bolero jacket with a beaded collar. The bodice of the gown dipped in one graceful swoop over the tops of her breasts, revealing just enough cleavage to be enticing. She wore no necklace to take away from the jeweled clothing, but she had rhinestone earrings. Her hair was up in a French knot with bangs. "Cajun New Year's Eve," Gisselle quipped.

"Oh," she said, nodding as if to say she understood why that would be a topic for humor. "Well, we just stopped by to wish you two a happy new year. Remember, I don't want to see a lot of drinking and wildness. Respect the house. Enjoy yourselves, but be ladies," she added.

"Of course we will, Mother. You have a good time too," Gisselle said.

Daphne looked at me. "You both look very nice," she said.

"Thank you," I replied.

"Can I give my soon-to-be stepdaughters a New Year's Eve kiss now?" Bruce asked.

"Sure," Gisselle said. He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek. She had closed her eyes, expecting a kiss on the lips. He approached me, smiling, and put his hands on my shoulders.

"You are as beautiful as always," he said softly, and then leaned in to kiss me. I turned just in time to direct him from my lips to my cheek. He stared at me for a moment and then laughed.

"Happy new year, girls," he cried, then joined Daphne to leave for their gala affair.

"Good riddance," Gisselle muttered. "Let's have a drink alone before the others arrive," she said and wheeled herself to our bar. "What do you want, rum and coke?" She started to get up to make them.

"I'll pour my own drinks, thank you," I said, recalling how Gisselle tried to get me drunk before.

"Good. Make mine too then," she said, sitting down again. I did so and handed it to her. "Well, dear Sister, here's to a happier year than the one we just had. May it be filled with fun, fun, fun."

"For everyone we love," I added. She shrugged.

"Sure, for everyone we love." We drank and, a moment later, heard the doorbell.

"Here we go," Gisselle cried, wheeling herself toward the doorway. She was keeping herself in the wheelchair just so she could make her standing and walking look that much more dramatic later.

All of Gisselle's guests arrived a little early. Word about the party's prospects had spread quickly. By the time Beau appeared, everyone was there, and most of them had had more than one drink. The music was blaring, and some of the food had already been eaten.

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined you would be," Beau told me when I greeted him at the door. We kissed and then entered the party. Everyone was talking loudly; some had already had more to drink than they could tolerate and were acting silly.

"Looks like one of Gisselle's typical parties," Beau cried over the noise. We danced, ate something, and had our drinks along with everyone else.

At ten o'clock, as she had planned, Gisselle had the music turned down and announced her intention to dance for the first time since the accident. John stood by her as she pretended to struggle out of the chair. She fell into his arms, regained her composure, and took what she wanted everyone to think were her first dance steps. The party guests clapped and whistled as Gisselle and John moved over the dance floor. Not long afterward, Gisselle told one of the girls to turn the lights low and the real partying began. Everyone paired off.

"I don't care where you go in the house," Gisselle announced, "as long as it doesn't look like you've been there. The upstairs is off-limits, of course."

"Let's get away from all this," Beau said. When no one was looking, we slipped out. He paused, wondering where we should go. I pulled him forward and we scampered up the stairs and into my room.

"I don't want to spend my New Year's Eve with them anyway," I told Beau. "They're like strangers to me now."

"Me too," he said. We kissed and then both of us gazed at my bed. I sat down and Beau sat beside me.

"I can put on my radio," I said. I got up quickly and turned the dial, searching for a good station. I don't know why I was suddenly so nervous, but I was. My fingers trembled around the knob and I felt a tingling in my stomach. It was almost as if Beau and I were on our first date. I finally settled on a station that was broadcasting from the grand ballroom of one of the downtown hotels. We could hear the excitement of the people dancing as well as the music. The announcer came on to tell everyone how close we were to midnight.

"Why is New Year's Eve so special?" 1 asked.

Beau thought a moment.

"I suppose it gives people a chance to hope for better things." He laughed. "I used to have this toy, a magic slate. You wrote or drew on it and then, just by pulling up the plastic cover, everything you did disappeared and you could start new. Maybe everyone feels that on New Year's Eve: They can pull up the magic sheet and rewrite their lives."

"I wish I could. But I wish I could go back much further back than just one year."

He nodded, his eyes soft and sympathetic.

"Well-to-do young people like Gisselle and myself, like all those downstairs drinking too much, couldn't even begin to understand how hard your life has been, Ruby." He reached up and took my hand, his eyes still fixed on me. "You're like a wildflower. The rest of us have been cared for, nourished, given the best of everything, while you've had to struggle. But you know what, Ruby? The struggle has given you more strength and more beauty. Just like that wildflower, you've blossomed high and above the ordinary, the weeds. You're special. I always knew you were, right from the first moment I set eyes on you."

"Oh Beau, that's so sweet."

He pulled me toward him and I let myself fall against him, our lips meeting, his hands around my shoulders. Then, gently, gracefully, he turned himself and me so that we were side by side on my bed. He kissed my hair, my forehead, my eyes, the tip of my nose, before pressing his lips to mine again. When our tongues touched, I felt myself soften everywhere.

"You smell so good," he whispered. "I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a garden."

He dropped his hands below my shoulders and found the zipper on my dress. As he lowered it and the garment became loose around my bosom, I moaned and let my head fall back to the pillow. He brought his lips to my chin and then moved over my throat and down into the valley between my breasts.

"Beau, we're not being careful," I whispered, but I held him to me as if I wanted to disagree with myself and contradict everything I knew was right.

"I know," he said. "We will," he promised, but he started to slip my dress over my shoulders and down my arms. I let the bodice fall to my waist. Beau sat back and peeled off his sports jacket, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt while I stared up at him, his face now illuminated by the moonlight that came pouring through my window. He looked ghostlike, part of a dream, my wildest fantasy personified. I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until I felt him over me, his shirt stripped off. He toyed with my bra until he had it unfastened and then his lips were against my naked breasts, kissing each of them softly, until I pulled him away and put my lips to his.

His hands were under my dress, groping for my panties. I should have stopped him then, but instead I let him slip my panties off, and then I heard him moan and whisper my name as he brought his hard manliness to me.

"Beau," I cried weakly.

"It's good, Ruby. It's beautiful. It's meant to be. Otherwise we wouldn't love each other as much as we do."

I didn't resist. I let him enter me and touch me even more deeply than he had touched me before. I rose and fell, imagining myself in a pirogue near the ocean where the water would ripple with waves. Each time I was lifted, I felt myself become lighter. I thought I would eventually float off like a balloon.

I don't know how many times Beau cried my name. I can't remember what I was saying, but this time our lovemaking was so intense, it brought tears to my eyes. For a few moments it was as though we had melted into each other. We were that hot. I embraced him so tightly, one would have thought I was afraid of being thrown out of my bed.

We reached our climaxes simultaneously, ravishing each other with kisses, moving our lips over one another's faces like two people starving for affection, for the touch of another human being, hungry for love. We smothered our cries against one another's neck and shoulders and wound ourselves down with deep gasps, our hearts pounding against one another's, both of us so surprised at our passion we could only laugh.

"Feel this," Beau said, placing my palm over his heart. "And you feel mine."

We lay beside each other, our heartbeats tapping against our hands, the rhythms traveling down our arms and back into our own hearts.

We lay side by side, silent for a long while. Then Beau sat up and leaned over me, gazing down at me.

"You're wonderful," he said. "I love you. I can't say it enough."

"Do you, Beau? And will you love me forever and ever?"

"I can't see why not or how I could stop," he said, and kissed me softly.

On the radio, the announcer, in a very excited voice, began a countdown. "Ten, nine, eight . . ."

Beau took my hand and we recited the rest of the numbers together.

"Five, four, three, two, one—HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

"Auld Lang Syne" began to play on the radio.

"Happy New Year, Ruby."

"Happy New Year, Beau."

We kissed again and held each other, and for a moment it did seem like nothing in this world was strong enough to tear us apart. I hadn't felt this happy and this contented for a long time. It was a good feeling. I had hungered for it more than I had realized.

We got dressed, fixed our hair, and straightened ourselves up so that we looked almost as prim and neat as we had at the beginning of the evening. Then we left to go downstairs to see what Gisselle and her friends were up to.

I wish we hadn't. It looked like two boys had rushed down the corridor to get to a bathroom and hadn't made it. They were vomiting and spitting over the same area, alternating their moaning with stupid laughter. The house reeked from the sickeningly sweet stench of wine and whiskey.

All of the party decorations had been pulled down in a mad frenzy at the midnight hour. Balloons had been popped and lay everywhere. The living room was a mess. What's more, it looked like—and we later found out this was so—there had been a food fight. Drinks had been spilled on the floor; there was cake and pieces of po'boy sandwiches on the furniture, mustard and mayonnaise smeared on the walls and over the tables; there was even some of it smeared on the windows.

Some of the party guests were sprawled on the floor, wrapped in each other's arms, laughing and giggling stupidly. Others, feeling their overindulgence, sat with their eyes closed, their hands on their stomachs. Two boys were still at the bar, challenging each other with drinks. Naturally, the music had been turned up until it was nearly deafening.

"Where's Gisselle?" I screamed. Some gazed at me indifferently. Antoinette broke out of the arms of the boy who was sleeping on her shoulder and walked over to us.

"Your sister left the party about an hour ago with John."

"Left the party? Where did they go?"

Antoinette shrugged.

"Did she leave the house?"

"I don't think so," Antoinette said, and laughed. "She wasn't feeling any pain. Oh. Happy New Year, Beau," she said, leaning over to kiss him.

"Happy New Year," he replied, kissing her quickly on the cheek. She backed up, disappointed, and returned to her drunken partner.

"She didn't go up to her room," I told Beau. "We would have heard her for sure. Daphne is going to be furious when she comes in and sees this. We'd better find Gisselle and have her order these people to clean up and leave."

"Doesn't look too promising," Beau said, gazing around. "But let's see if we can find her."

We went through most of the downstairs area, found a couple entwined in Daphne's office and shooed them out, but we didn't locate Gisselle. I ran upstairs to check the other bedrooms and came down to report no one there. We went through the kitchen and even looked down by Edgar's and Nina's rooms.

"Maybe she went out to the cabana," Beau suggested. We checked but found no one there or around the pool. "Where could she be? She must have left the house," Beau reasoned.

"There's only one place we haven't checked, Beau."

"Where?"

I took his hand and led him back into the house. We stepped over a boy sprawled across the hallway floor asleep and went down to my studio. As we approached the door, I heard Gisselle's giggling. I looked at Beau and thrust the door open. For a moment, neither of us believed what we were seeing.

John was naked on the sofa and Gisselle, dressed only in her bra and panties, was painting him. She had smeared red and green paint over his shoulders and chest and made long streaks of yellow down his legs, but at this moment she was dabbing black over his private parts. John was obviously too drunk to care. He laughed with her.

"Gisselle!" I screamed. "What are you doing?"

She turned and swayed for a moment as she tried to focus on us.

"Oh . . . look who's here . . . the lovers," she muttered, and then laughed again.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Doing?" She looked down at John, who had his eyes closed and wore a dumb smile on his face. "Oh. I'm painting John. I told him I had just as much art talent as you did, and if you could paint Beau, I could paint him. John agreed." She laughed and poked him. "Didn't you, John?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Get your ass off that sofa," Beau commanded, "and get dressed, you idiot."

John lifted his head. "Oh, hi, Beau. Is it New Year's Day yet?"

"For you it's the end of the year if you don't get up and get dressed and fast."

"Huh?"

"Gisselle, did you see what your friends did to the house? How long have you been away from the party?"

"How long have you been away, dear Sister?" she countered, smiling licentiously and swaying.

"They've wrecked the house! There are kids vomiting in the halls. The walls are smeared with food—"

"Oops. Sounds like an emergency."

"Beau," I cried. He rushed forward and grabbed John by the arms, pulling him up. Then he shoved him toward the rear of the studio and forced him to start putting on his clothes.

"Get dressed, Gisselle, and march down to the party. You've got to get them to start cleaning up before Daphne returns."

"Oh, stop worrying about Daphne. Daphne—she's going to be very nice to us now because she wants to marry Bruce and make us look like a happy, respectable New Orleans family. You were always too frightened of Daphne. You're frightened of your own Cajun shadow," she quipped.

I stepped up to her and thrust her dress into her face.

"I'm not too frightened to break your neck. Put on this dress. Now!"

"Stop yelling. It's New Year's Eve. We're supposed to be having a good time. You had a good time, didn't you?"

"I didn't wreck anything. Look at my studio!" I cried. Gisselle had spilled paints, torn canvases, and smeared clay over the tables and tools.

"The servants will clean up after us. They always do," she said. She started to put on her dress.

"Not this mess and the mess in the living room. Even a slave would rebel," I said. But it didn't matter what I said.

Gisselle was too drunk to listen or care. She wobbled, laughed, and got herself together. Beau managed to get John dressed, and then we pulled the two of them out of the studio and marched them back to the party. Even Gisselle was surprised at the extent of the damage. Some of the kids, realizing what had been done, had already left. The ones who remained were not in the best condition to help clean up and restore the living room.

"Happy New Year!" Gisselle cried. "I guess we better try to clean up." She giggled and started to gather up glasses, but she took too many too fast and dropped them, breaking three.

"She's worthless," I told Beau.

"I'll get her to sit down and stay in one place," he said. While he did that, I tried to get some of the kids to help me pick up plates and glasses that were left on the floor. We found some under the sofas, some behind the chairs, glasses on the bookshelves and under tables.

I went into the kitchen and got a pail of soapy water with some sponges. When I returned, I found that more of the party guests had deserted. Those who were left tried to help. Antoinette and I went around the room and scrubbed as much as we could off the walls, but some of the food had made deep stains. It was overwhelming.

"It's going to take an army to fix this, Beau," I cried. He agreed.

"Let's just get them all out of here," he said. We announced the party had ended. Beau helped some of the boys out of the house, making sure the ones who were driving were the most sober. After everyone was gone, we surveyed what was left to be done. Gisselle was sprawled out on the living-room floor by the settee, snoring.

"You'd better go too, Beau," I told him. "You don't want to be here when Daphne arrives."

"Are you sure? I could testify about it and . . ."

"And say what, Beau? That we were upstairs in my room making love while Gisselle and her friends wrecked the house?"

He nodded. "Oh boy," he said. "What are you going to say?"

"Nothing. It's better than lying," I replied.

He shook his head.

"You want me to help you get her upstairs?" he asked, nodding toward Gisselle.

"No, leave her there."

I walked him to the door, where we kissed good night.

"I'll call tomorrow . . . sometime," he said, raising his eyebrows. I watched him leave and then I closed the door and walked back to the living room to wait for the inevitable storm that would soon break and rage over my head.

I sat in the easy chair across from Gisselle, who was still sprawled out and dead to the world on the floor. She had vomited but was too out of it to notice or care. The clock ticked and bonged at two. I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until I felt someone shaking me roughly. I looked up into Daphne's enraged face and for a moment forgot where I was and what had happened. She wouldn't let that moment last long.

"What did you do! What did you do!" she screamed down at me, her mouth twisted and her eyes wide. Bruce stood in the doorway shaking his head, his hands on his hips.

"I didn't do anything, Daphne," I said, sitting up. "This is what Gisselle and her friends call a good time. I'm only a backward Cajun. I wouldn't know what a good time is."

"What are you saying? This is how you repay me for being understanding and kind to you?" she shrilled.

Gisselle's loud moan spun Daphne around.

"Get up!" she screamed over her. "Do you hear me, Gisselle? Get up this minute!"

Gisselle's eyes fluttered, but they didn't open. She groaned and went quiet again.

"Bruce!" Daphne cried, turning to him.

He sighed and stepped forward. Then he knelt down, put his arms under Gisselle, and, not without great effort, lifted her off the floor.

"Take her upstairs this minute," Daphne commanded. "Upstairs?"

"This minute, do you hear? I can't stand the sight of her."

"I'll use the wheelchair," he said, and dropped her in it, disregarding the piece of cake smeared over the back of the seat. She sat limply, her head on her shoulder, and moaned again. Then Bruce wheeled her out the way Grandpère Jack would wheel a wagonful of cow manure, his head back and his arms extended so the stench would be as far away from him as possible. The moment Bruce and Gisselle were out of the room, Daphne was on me again.

"What went on here?"

"They had a food fight," I said. "They drank too much. Some of them couldn't hold their liquor and threw up. The others were too drunk to be careful. They broke glasses, dropped food, fell asleep on the floor. Gisselle told them they could go anywhere in the house but upstairs. I found a couple in your office."

"My office! Did they touch anything?"

"Just themselves, I imagine," I said dryly. I yawned.

"You're happy this happened, aren't you? You think this proves something."

I shrugged. "I've seen people get drunk and sloppy in the bayou," I said, thinking about Grandpère Jack. "Believe me, I have, and drunken rich young Creoles are no different."

"I was depending on you to keep things in order," she said, shaking her head.

"Me? Why always me? Why not Gisselle? She was brought up better, wasn't she? She was taught about all the finer things in life, given all this!" I cried, holding out my arms.

"She's crippled."

"No she's not. You saw she's not."

"I don't mean her legs, I mean . . . her . . . her . . ."

"She's just the spoiled, selfish young lady you created," I said.

Daphne stood there fuming.

"I don't care about making appearances anymore," she said. "When she wakes up, you can tell her that, come hell or high water, you and she are going back to Greenwood. That's final." She looked about. "I'll have to contract with a cleaning agency to come in here and clean and repair this house, and the expense will come out of y'all's spending money. Tell her that too."

"Maybe you should tell her yourself."

"Don't you be insolent." She nodded. "I know why you let this go on. You were probably not even here when it all happened, were you? You and your loverboy were probably somewhere else, weren't you?" she accused. I felt my face turning crimson. It convinced her she was right. "Well, I'm not surprised," she said. "So much for giving people second chances."

"I'm sorry this happened, Daphne," I said. I didn't want her to find a way to blame Beau. "I really am. I couldn't stop it from happening. Gisselle was in charge. These were all her friends. I'm not trying to pass the blame. That's just the way it was. They wouldn't have listened to me no matter what. Whenever I complain about something they do, Gisselle laughs at me and calls me names. She turns them against me, and I have no power or authority over them."

"This is your house too, you know," Daphne said pointedly.

"You've never let me feel that way. But I'm still sorry this happened," I said.

"Just go to sleep. We'll deal with it tomorrow. Up until now, this was one of the best New Year's Eves I've had in a long time."

She started out.

"Happy New Year to you too," I mumbled, then went up to bed.

Gisselle didn't stir until after twelve the next day, but neither did Daphne. I had breakfast with Bruce.

"She's pretty angry," he said. "but I'll calm her down. I don't think I can keep her from sending you both back to Greenwood, however."

"I don't care," I said. At this point I just wanted to get away. After breakfast, I went out on the patio by the pool and slept in the sun. A little after one o'clock, I felt a shadow move over me and opened my eyes to see Gisselle. She looked devastated. Her hair was disheveled, her face was as pale as a dead fish. She wore a pair of sunglasses and a robe, under which she was still dressed in last night's lingerie.

"Daphne said you blamed it all on me," she said.

"I just told her the truth."

"Did you tell her you were upstairs with Beau all night?" "We weren't upstairs all night, but I didn't have to tell her. She figured it out."

"Couldn't you make something up, blame it on one of our guests or something?"

"Who would believe such a story, Gisselle? What's the difference? You didn't care very much last night when I tried to get you and your friends to clean up. Maybe if we had, it wouldn't have been as bad."

"Thanks," she said. "You know what she said now, don't you? We have to go back to Greenwood. She won't listen to anything I say. I've never seen her so angry."

"Maybe it's for the best."

"You would say that. You don't care: You're having a good time at Greenwood, doing well in your work, enjoying your Miss Stevens and Louis."

"Louis is gone, and I would hardly say I was having a good time at a school where the principal tried to expel me because of something you did," I reminded her.

"So why do you want to go back?"

"I'm just tired of fighting with Daphne. I don't know. I'm just tired."

"Just stupid is more like it. Stupid and selfish."

"Me? You're calling me selfish?"

"You are." She pressed her hands to her temples. "Oh, my head. It feels like someone's playing tennis in it. Don't you have a hangover?" she asked.

"I didn't drink all that much."

"You didn't drink all that much," she mimicked. "Miss Goody Two-Shoes strikes again. I hope you're happy," she moaned. She spun around, but she didn't rush away. She had to walk slowly to keep her head from pounding.

I smiled. Just desserts, I thought; she'd been taught a lesson. Only I knew that whatever promises she had made and however she swore to repent, she would forget it all as soon as her pain subsided.

Two days later we had our things packed for the trip back to Greenwood, only this time the wheelchair was left at home. Gisselle wanted to bring it along, claiming she wasn't confident enough to walk all the time, but to Daphne's credit, she didn't buy the story. She wasn't going to let Gisselle revert to her former ways, drawing on everyone's sympathy, using her condition as an excuse for her bad behavior.

"If you can walk around here, dance and make a mess, you can walk to and from your classes," Daphne told her. "I've already called your housemother and given her the good news," she added, "so by now everyone knows about your miraculous recovery. Now I hope your schoolwork undergoes a similarly miraculous recovery."

"But Mother," Gisselle pleaded, "the teachers hate me at Greenwood."

"I'm sure they hate you here as well," Daphne said. "Remember what I told you: If you misbehave there, it's off to a stricter school, one with barbed wire around it," she quipped, leaving Gisselle standing with her mouth open. That was Daphne's version of a motherly goodbye.

We rode back in funereal silence, Gisselle sniveling from time to time and sighing deeply. I tried to sleep most of the way. When we arrived at the dorm, it was as if we were homecoming heroines—or at least Gisselle was. For the moment it brought a blush of pleasure to her cheeks. Mrs. Penny was out front with the girls of our quad to greet Gisselle and witness the wonder of her miraculous recovery. The moment she saw them, her mood changed.

"Ta-da!" she announced, stepping out of the car. Mrs. Penny clapped her hands together and rushed down to hug her. All the girls gathered around, each firing question after question: How did it happen? When did you first realize? Did it hurt? What did the doctors say? What did your mother say? How far have you walked?

"I'm still a bit weak," Gisselle declared, and she leaned on Samantha. "Can someone get my jacket?" she asked weakly. "I left it on the seat."

"I will," Vicki said, hurrying to do so.

I raised my eyes to the sky. Why was it that no one but me could see through Gisselle's facade? Why were they all so eager to be taken in by her, fooled and made fools of by her? They deserved her mistreatment; they deserved to be taken advantage of and used and manipulated, I thought, and I made a promise to myself right then and there that I would close my eyes to everything but my art.

So it was with genuine excitement that I hurried to class our first day back. I was looking forward to my first session with Miss Stevens. I was sure she would ask me to stay after class and we would talk and talk about our holidays. In my mind and deep in my putaway heart, Miss Stevens had become my older sister. One day soon, I thought, I would even tell her so..

But the moment I entered the building and started down the corridor toward homeroom, I sensed something was wrong. I felt it when I observed the small clumps of girls whispering here and there, all of them appearing to gaze my way as I passed them. Without knowing why, my heart began to pitter-patter, and an uneasiness couched itself in my stomach, making it feel as if a hive of bees were buzzing around inside. I had come to school ahead of the others, so I had some time. It had been my intention to stop by and say hello to Miss Stevens before homeroom anyway. I hurried down to the art suite and rushed through the doorway, expecting to see her standing there in her smock, her hair up, her face full of smiles.

But instead I confronted an elderly man in an artist's smock. He was seated at the desk, sifting through some student drawings. He looked up, surprised, and I gazed around the room.

"Well, good morning," he said.

"Good morning. Isn't Miss Stevens here yet?" I asked.

His smile faded. "Oh. I'm afraid Miss Stevens won't be here anymore. My name is Mr. Longo. I'm her replacement."

"What?" For a moment the words seemed utterly ridiculous. I just stood there with this wide, incredulous smile on my face, my heart still racing.

"She won't be coming back," he said more firmly. "You're an art student, I take it?"

I shook my head.

"It can't be true. Why won't she be coming back? Why?" I demanded.

He sat up. "I don't know the details, Mademoiselle . . ."

"Dumas. What details?"

"As I said, I do not know, but . . ."

I didn't wait for him to finish. I spun around and ran out of the room. I ran down the corridor, confused, the tears streaming down my cheeks. No Miss Stevens? She was gone? How could she do this without telling me? Why wouldn't she tell me? My hysteria grew. I didn't even know where I was running; I was just running from one end of the building to the other. I turned a corner and headed back toward the front. When I was nearly there, I heard Gisselle's shrill ripple of laughter. More girls had gathered around her to hear the story of her miraculous recovery. I stopped running and walked slowly toward them. The group parted so that Gisselle and I faced each other.

"I just heard," she said.

I shook my head. "What did you hear?"

"Everyone's talking about it this morning. Your Miss Stevens was fired."

"That can't be. She's a wonderful teacher. It can't be."

"I guess it wasn't her teaching that got her fired," Gisselle said, and she looked knowingly at the others, who also wore smug smiles.

"What was it? What? Was she fired for helping me at the hearing?" I demanded. I turned on them. "Someone tell me. Who knows?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Deborah Peck stepped forward. "I don't know the exact details," she said, gazing back at the others, "but the charge against her had to do with her immorality."

"What? What immorality?" They only smiled widely in response. I spun on Gisselle.

"Don't blame me," she cried. "The Iron Lady found out about her on her own."

"Found out what? There was nothing to find out."

"Found out why she never goes out with men," Deborah said. "And why she wanted to teach in an all girls' school," she replied. There was a titter of laughter. My heart stopped and then started again, this time pounding angrily.

"Those are lies, all lies."

"She left, didn't she?" Deborah said. The warning bell rang. "We'd better get to homeroom. No one wants to get a demerit the first day back."

The group started to break up.

"Lies!" I screamed at them.

"Stop making a fool of yourself," Gisselle said. "Just go to class. Aren't you happy? You're back at your precious Greenwood!"

"You did this!" I accused. "Somehow, some way, you did this, didn't you?"

"How could I do this?" She raised her arms and turned to Vicki, Samantha, Jacki, and Kate. "I wasn't even here when it all happened. See? See how she's always blaming me for everything?"

They all turned and gazed at me. I shook my head and stepped back, and then I turned and ran down the corridor to Mrs. Ironwood's office. Mrs. Randle looked up with surprise as I burst through the doorway.

"I want to see Mrs. Ironwood," I said.

"You have to make an appointment, dear," Mrs. Randle replied.

"I want to see her now!" I ordered.

She sat back, shocked at my insistence. "Mrs. Ironwood is very busy with her work reopening the school at this moment, and—"

"NOW!" I screamed.

Mrs. Ironwood's door opened and she stood there glaring at me.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Why was Miss Stevens fired?" I demanded. "Was it because she came to my assistance at the hearing? Was it?"

Mrs. Ironwood looked at Mrs. Randle, then straightened her shoulders.

"First," she began, "this is not the time nor the place to discuss such matters, even if it were proper to do so with a student, which it is not. Second, who do you think you are storming in here and making demands on me?"

"It's not fair," I said. "Why take it out on her? It's not fair. She was a wonderful teacher. Don't you want good teachers? Don't you care?"

"Of course I care, and I care about your insolence too," she said. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and stood there. She seemed to soften. "The conduct of faculty affairs is none of your business, but I will tell you that Miss Stevens was not fired. She resigned."

"Resigned?" I shook my head. "She would never . . ."

"I assure you, she resigned." The homeroom bell rang. "That was the final bell. You're late for homeroom, two demerits," she snapped, then spun around and went back into her office, closing the door behind her and leaving me confused and lost in her wake.

"You'd better get to your homeroom, mademoiselle, before you make things even worse for yourself," Mrs. Randle warned.

"She wouldn't resign," I insisted, but I turned and walked back to my homeroom.

Later in the day, however, I tapped into the line of gossip and learned that Miss Stevens had indeed resigned.

She had been accused of immoral behavior and given the opportunity to resign and not be charged and dragged through a nasty hearing. The word was that one of the students had come forward and confessed to having been seduced by Miss Stevens. No one knew who the student was, of course, but I had my suspicions.

Gisselle couldn't have looked more satisfied, and Mrs. Ironwood had gotten her pound of flesh.