Ruby

19

Fate Keeps On Happening

The following morning I felt like a shadow of myself. With a heart that had a hollow thump, with legs that seemed to glide over the hallways and down the stairs, I went to breakfast. Martin came to take Gisselle to school, but she didn't ask me and I didn't want to go along with them. Beau had to go to school with his parents so I just walked to school, resembling someone in a trance—face forward, eyes moving neither left nor right.

When I arrived at school, I felt like a pariah. Even Mookie was afraid to associate with me and didn't, as usual, meet me at the locker before homeroom to chatter about homework or television shows. I was the victim in all this, the one who had been horribly embarrassed, but no one seemed to feel sorry for me. It was almost as if I had contracted some terrible, infectious disease and instead of people worrying about me, they were worried about themselves.

Later in the day, I ran into Beau rushing down the corridor to class. He and his parents had had their meeting with Dr. Storm.

"I'm on probation," he told me with a frown. "If I do anything else, break the slightest school rule, be suspended and kicked off the baseball team."

"I'm sorry, Beau. I didn't mean for you to do something and get yourself in trouble."

"That's all right. I hated what they did to you," he said, and then he looked down and I knew what was coming. "I had to promise my parents I wouldn't see you for a while. But that's a promise I don't intend to keep," he added, his beautiful blue eyes blazing with defiance and anger.

"No, Beau. Do what they say. You'll only get yourself into more trouble and I'll be blamed for it. Let some time pass."

"It's not fair," he complained.

"What's fair and what isn't doesn't seem to matter, especially where rich Creole reputations are concerned," I told him bitterly. He nodded. The warning bell for the next period sounded.

"I'd better not be late for class," he said.

"Me neither." I started away.

"I'll call you," he cried, but I didn't turn back. I didn't want him to see the tears that had clouded my eyes. I choked them back, took a deep breath, and went on to my next class. In all my classes, I sat quietly, took notes, and answered questions only when I was asked directly. When the period ended and the class was dismissed, I always left the room alone, holding back until most of the students had gone.

The worst time was lunch. No one was eager to sit with me and when I took a seat at a table, the students who were already sitting there moved to another table. Beau sat with his baseball teammates and Gisselle sat with her usual friends. I knew everyone was looking at me, but I didn't return their glances and stares.

Mookie finally had enough nerve to speak to me, but I wished she hadn't, for she brought only bad news.

"Everyone thinks you deliberately did a striptease. Is it true you're good friends with a prostitute?" she asked quickly. A hot rush of blood heated my face.

"First, I didn't do any striptease, and no, I am not good friends with a prostitute. The girls and boys who pulled this horrible prank on me are just spreading stories to try to cover up their own guilt, Mookie. I thought you, of all people, would see that," I snapped.

"Oh, I believe you," she said. "But everyone's talking about you and when I tried to tell my mother you weren't as bad as people were saying, she got furious with me and forbid me to be friends with you. I'm sorry," she added. What she said to me made me stiffen.

"So am I," I replied, and gobbled down the rest of my lunch so I could leave quickly.

At the end of the school day, I went to see Mr. Saxon, the dramatics instructor, and told him I was resigning from the school play. It was obvious from the look on his face that he had heard all about the episode with the photograph.

"That's really not necessary, Ruby," he said, but he looked relieved that I had come forward with the idea. I could tell he had already anticipated my bringing an unwelcome notoriety to the cast which would take away from the performances. People would come just out of curiosity to see the wicked little Cajun girl.

"But if your mind is made up, I do appreciate your doing this before it gets to be too late for me to replace you," he added.

Without saying another thing, I dropped the script on his desk and left to walk home.

Daddy didn't come to dinner that evening. When I came down I found Gisselle and Daphne sitting alone. With her eyes fixed angrily on me, Daphne quickly explained that he had fallen into one of his fits of melancholia.

"The combination of some unfortunate business ventures with the disastrous recent events have pushed him into a deep depression," she continued.

I gazed at Gisselle who continued eating as if she had heard this a hundred times before.

"Shouldn't we call a doctor, get him some medicine?" I asked.

"There is no medicine except filling his life with cheerful news," she replied pointedly. Gisselle jerked her head up. "I got a ninety on a history test yesterday," she boasted.

"That's very nice, dear. I'll be sure to tell him," Daphne said.

I wanted to say that I had gotten a ninety-five on the same test, but I was sure Gisselle, and maybe even Daphne, would interpret it as my attempt to belittle Gisselle's accomplishment, so I remained silent.

Later that evening, Gisselle stopped by my room. As far as I could tell, even though poor Daddy was quite distraught over all that had occurred, she was completely without guilt or regrets. I had the urge to scream at her and see her poise collapse! I wanted her smiles to peel off like bark from a tree, but I remained silent, afraid of only causing more trouble.

"Deborah Tallant is having a party this weekend," she announced. "I'm going with Martin, and Beau's coming along with us," she added with sadistic pleasure. She looked like she was really enjoying pouring salt on my wounds. "I know he regrets giving me up so quickly now, but I'm not going to make things easy for him. I'm going to let him turn and turn out there like a ball on a string. You know how," she said with an oily, evil smile. "I'll kiss Martin passionately right in front of him, dance so closely with Martin that we look attached . . . that sort of thing."

"Why are you so cruel?" I asked her.

"I'm not so cruel. He deserves it. Anyway, I wish I could take you to the party, but I had to specifically promise Deborah I wouldn't. Her parents wouldn't like it," she said.

"I wouldn't go if she invited me," I replied. A cynical smile twisted her lips.

"Oh, yes you would," she said, laughing. "Yes, you would."

She left me, infuriated. I sat there steaming for a while and then felt myself calm down to a quiet indifference. I lay back in my bed reminiscing and finding some comfort in my beautiful memories living with Grandmère Catherine in the bayou. Paul came to mind and I suddenly felt terrible about the way I had left without saying good-bye to him, even though at the time, it seemed to be the best thing to do.

I sat up quickly and ripped a sheet of paper out of my notebook. Then I went to my desk and began writing him a letter. As I wrote, the tears filled my eyes and my heart contracted into a tight lead fist in my chest.

Dear Paul,

It has been some time now since I left the bayou, but you haven't been out of my thoughts. First, I want to apologize for leaving without saying good-bye to you. The reason why I didn't is simple—it would have been too painful for me, and I was afraid, too painful for you. I'm sure you were just as confused and disturbed about the events that occurred in our pasts as I was, and probably, you were just as angry about it. But fate is something we cannot change. It would be easier to hold back the tide.

Even so, I imagine you've spent a lot of time wondering why I just upped and left the bayou. The immediate reason was Grandpère Jack was arranging my marriage to Buster Trahaw and you know I'd rather be dead than married to him. But there were deeper, even more important reasons, the most important one being that I found out who my real father was and decided to do what Grandmère Catherine had asked as a dying wish—go to him and start a new life.

I have. I now live in an entirely different world in New Orleans. We're rich; we live in a grand house with maids and cooks and butlers. My father is very nice and very concerned about me. One of the first things he did when he discovered my artistic talent was to create a studio for me and hire a college art teacher to give me private lessons. However, the biggest surprise for you to learn is that I have a twin sister!

I wish I could tell you that all is wonderful, that being rich and having so many beautiful things has made my life better. But it hasn't.

My father's life has not been smooth either. The tragedies that befell his younger brother and some of the other things that happened to him have made him a deeply disturbed and sad man. I was hoping that I could change things for him and bring him enough happiness to cure his depression and sadness, but I haven't been successful yet and now I am not sure I can ever be.

In fact, at this very moment I wish I could return to the bayou, return to the time before you and I learned all the terrible things about our own pasts, return to the time before Grandmère Catherine died. But I can't. For better or for worse, as I said, this is my fate and I must learn how to deal with it.

Right now, all I want to do is ask you to forgive me for leaving without saying good-bye, and ask you when you have a chance, in a quiet moment, either in or out of church, to say a little prayer for me.

I do miss you.

God bless.

Love,

Ruby

I put the letter into an envelope and addressed it. The next morning, I mailed it on my way to school. The day wasn't much different from the one before, but I could see that as time went by, the excitement and interest other students had in me and what had occurred would wane. There was nothing as dead as old news. Not that those who had been friendly and interested in me started to be those things again. Oh, no. That would take much longer and only if I made a great effort. For the present, I was treated as if I were invisible.

I saw Beau a few times and every time, he looked at me, he had an expression of shame and regret on his face. I felt more sorry for him than he did for me and tried to avoid him as much as possible so things wouldn't be so hard for him. I knew there were girls and even boys who would rush home to tell their parents if Beau defiantly returned to my side. In a matter of hours, the phones at his house would ring off the hook and his parents would be enraged at him.

But on the way home from school that afternoon, I was surprised when Gisselle and Martin drove up to the curb and called to me. I paused and went over to Martin's car.

"What?" I asked.

"If you want, you can come with us," Gisselle offered, as if she were handing out charity. "Martin's got some good stuff and we're going over to his house. No one's home," she said. I could smell the aroma of the marijuana and knew that they had already started having their so-called good time.

"No, thanks," I said.

"I'm not going to invite you to do things if you keep saying no," Gisselle threatened. "And you'll never get back into the swing of things and have friends again."

"I'm tired and I want to begin my final term paper," I explained.

"What a drag," Gisselle moaned.

Martin puffed on his joint and smiled at me.

"Don't you want to laugh and cry again?" he asked. That set them both laughing and I pulled myself away from the window just as he accelerated and shot off, his tires squealing as he made the turn at the end of the block.

I walked home and went right to my room to do what I had said, begin my homework. But less than an hour later, I heard some shouting coming from downstairs. Curious, I walked out of my room and went to the head of the stairs. Below, in the entryway stood two city policemen, both with their hats off. A few moments later, Daphne came rushing forward, Wendy Williams hurrying with her coat. I took a few steps down.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Daphne paused in front of the policemen.

"Your sister," she screamed. "She's been in a bad car accident with Martin. Your father's meeting me at the hospital."

"I'll come with you," I cried, and ran down the steps to join her.

"What happened?" I asked, getting into the car with her.

"The police said Martin was smoking that dirty . . . filthy . . . drug stuff. He crashed right into the back of a city bus."

"Oh no." My heart was pounding. I had seen only one car accident before in my life. A man in a pickup truck had gotten drunk and drove off an embankment. When I saw the accident, his bloodied body was still hanging out of the smashed front window, his head dangling.

"What's wrong with you young people today?" Daphne cried. "You have so much, and yet you do these stupid things. Why?" she shrilled. "Why?"

I wanted to say it was because some of us have too much, but I bit down on those thoughts, knowing she would take it as a criticism of her role as mother.

"Did the policemen say how bad they were hurt?" I asked instead.

"Bad," she replied. "Very bad . . ."

Daddy was already waiting for us in the hospital emergency room. He looked terribly distraught, aged and weakened by the events.

"What have you learned?" Daphne asked quickly. He shook his head.

"She's still unconscious. Apparently, she hit the wind-shield. There are broken bones. They're doing the X rays now."

"Oh, God," Daphne said. "This, on top of everything else."

"What about Martin?" I asked. Daddy lifted his shadowy, sad eyes to me and shook his head. "He's not . . . dead?"

Daddy nodded. My blood ran cold and drained down to my ankles, leaving a hollow ache in my stomach.

"Just a little while ago," he told Daphne. She turned white and clutched his arm.

"Oh, Pierre, how gruesome."

I backed up to a chair by the wall and let myself drop into it. Stunned, I could only sit and stare at the people who rushed to and fro. I waited and watched as Daddy and Daphne spoke with doctors.

When I was about nine, there was a four-year-old boy in the bayou, Dylan Fortier, who had fallen out of a pirogue and drowned. I remember Grandmère Catherine had been called to try to save him and I had gone along with her. The moment she looked at his little withered form on the bank of the canal, she knew it was too late and crossed herself.

At the age of nine, I thought death was something that happened only to old people. We young people were invulnerable, protected by the years we were promised at birth. We wore our youth like a shield. We could get sick, very sick; we could have accidents, even serious ones, or we could be bitten by poisonous things, but somehow, someway there was always something that would save us.

The sight of that little boy, pale and gray, his hair stuck on his forehead, his little fingers clenched into tiny fists, his eyes sewn shut, and his lips blue was a sight that haunted me for years afterward.

All I could think of now was Martin's impish smile when he had pulled away from the curb. What if I had gotten into the car with them, I wondered? Would I be in some hospital emergency room or would I have prevailed and gotten Martin to slow down and drive more carefully?

Fate . . . as I had told Paul in my letter . . . could not be defeated or denied.

Daphne returned first, her face full of agony and emotional fatigue.

"How is she?" I asked, my heart thumping.

"She's regained consciousness, but something is wrong with her spine," she said in a dead, dry tone. She was even paler and held her right palm over her heart.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"She can't move her legs," Daphne said. "We're going to have an invalid in the family. Wheelchairs and nurses," she said, grimacing. "Oh, I feel sick," she added quickly. "I'm going to the bathroom. See to your father," she commanded with a wave of her hand.

I looked across the hallway and saw him looking like someone who had been hit by a train. He was standing with the doctor. His back was against the wall and his head was down. The doctor patted him on the shoulder and then walked off, but Daddy didn't move. I rose slowly and started toward him. He raised his head as I approached, the tears streaming from his eyes, his lips quivering.

"My little girl," he said, "my princess . . . is probably going to be crippled for life."

"Oh, Daddy," I shook my head, my own tears rivaling his in quantity now. I rushed to him and embraced him and he buried his face in my hair and sobbed.

"It's my fault," he sobbed. "I'm still being punished for the things I've done."

"Oh, no, Daddy. It's not your fault."

"It is. It is," he insisted. "I'll never be forgiven, never. Everyone I love will suffer."

As we clung to each other tightly, all I could think was . . . this is definitely not his fault. It was my fault . . . my fault. I've got to get Nina to take me back to Mama Dede. I've got to undo the spell.

Daphne and I returned home first. By now, it seemed like half the city had heard of the accident. The phones were ringing off the hook. Daphne went directly up to her suite, telling Edgar to take down the names of those who called, explaining that she wasn't able to speak to anyone just yet. Daddy was even worse, immediately retreating to Uncle Jean's room the moment he stepped through the door. I had a message that Beau had called and I called him back before I went to see Nina.

"I can't believe it," he said, trying to hold back his tears. "I can't believe Martin's dead."

I told him what had happened earlier, how they had approached me on the way home.

"He knew better; he knew you couldn't drive and smoke that stuff or drink."

"Knowing is one thing. Listening to wisdom and obeying it is another," I said dryly.

"Things must be terrible at your house, huh?"

"Yes, Beau."

"My parents will be over to see Daphne and Pierre tonight, I'm sure. I might come along, if they let me," he said.

"I might not be here."

"Where are you going tonight?" he asked, astonished. "There's someone I have to see."

"Oh."

"It's not another boy, Beau," I said quickly, hearing the disappointment in his voice.

"Well, they probably won't let me come anyway," he said. "I'm feeling sick to my stomach, myself. If I hadn't had baseball practice . . . I would probably have been in that car."

"Fate just didn't point its long, dark finger at you," I told him.

After we spoke I went to find Nina. She, Edgar, and Wendy were consoling each other in the kitchen. As soon as she lifted her eyes and met mine, she knew why I had come.

"This is not your fault, child," she said. "Those who welcome the devil man into their hearts invite the bad gris-gris themselves."

"I want to see Mama Dede, Nina. Right away," I added. She looked at Wendy and Edgar.

"She won't tell you any different," she said.

"I want to see her, Nina," I insisted. "Take me to her," I ordered. She sighed and nodded slowly.

"If the madame or monsieur want something, get it to them," Wendy promised. Nina rose and got her pocketbook. Then we hurried out of the house and met the first streetcar. When we arrived at Mama Dede's, her mother seemed to know why. She and Nina exchanged knowing looks. Once in, we waited in the living room for the voodoo queen to enter. I couldn't take my eyes off the box I knew contained the snake and Gisselle's ribbon.

Mama Dede made her entrance as the drums began. As before, she went to the settee and turned her gray eyes toward me.

"Why you come back to Mama, child?" she asked.

"I didn't want anything this terrible to happen," I cried. "Martin's dead and Gisselle is crippled."

"What you want to happen and what you don't want to happen don't make no difference to the wind. Once you throw your anger in the air, it can't be pulled back."

"It's my fault," I moaned. "I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have asked you to do something."

"You came here because you were meant to come here. Zombi bring you to me to do what must be done. You didn't cast the first stone, child. Papa La Bas, he find an open door into your sister's heart and curled himself up comfortable. She let him cast the stones with her name on it, not you."

"Isn't there anything we can do to help her now?" I pleaded.

"When she drive Papa La Bas from her heart completely, you come back and Mama see what Zombi want to do. Not until then," she said with finality.

"I feel terrible," I said, lowering my head. "Please, find a way to help us."

"Give me your hand, child," Mama Dede said. I looked up and gave her my hand. She held it firmly, hers feeling warmer and warmer.

"This all is meant to be, child," she said. "You were brought here by the wind Zombi sent. You want to help your sister now, make her a better person, drive the devil from her heart?"

"Yes," I said.

"Don't be afraid," she said, and pulled my hand slowly toward the box. I looked desperately at Nina who simply closed her eyes and began to rock, mumbling some chant under her breath. "Don't be afraid," Mama Dede repeated, and opened the top of the box. "Now you reach down and take out your sister's ribbon. Take it back and nothing more be happening than has."

I hesitated. Reach into a box that contained a snake? I knew pythons weren't poisonous, but still . . .

Mama Dede released me and sat back, waiting. I thought about Daddy, the sadness in his eyes, the weight on his shoulders and slowly, with my eyes closed, I lowered my hand into the box. My fingers nudged the cold, scaly skin of the sleeping serpent. It began to squirm, but I continued moving my fingers around frantically until I felt the ribbon. Quickly, I seized it and pulled my hand out.

"Be praised," Nina said."

"That ribbon," Mama Dede said. "It's been to the other world and back. You keep it precious, as precious as Rosary beads, and maybe someday, you'll make your sister better." She stood up and turned toward Nina. "Go light me a candle at Marie Laveates grave."

Nina nodded.

"I'll do that, Mama."

"Child," she said, turning back to me, "the good and the bad, they are sisters, too. Sometimes they twist around each other like strands of rope and make knots in our hearts. Unravel the knots in your own heart first; then help your sister unravel hers."

She turned and walked out through the curtain. The drums got louder.

"Let's go home," Nina said. "Now there's much to do."

When we returned, things hadn't changed very much, except that Edgar had added another dozen or so names to the list of those who had called. Daphne was still resting in her suite and Daddy was still in Uncle Jean's room. But suddenly, a little while later, Daphne emerged looking refreshed and elegant, ready to greet those good friends who were coming to console her and Daddy. She got him to come down to have a little dinner.

I sat quietly and listened while Daphne lectured him firmly about getting himself together.

"This isn't the time to fall apart, Pierre. We have some terrible burdens now and I don't intend to carry them on my shoulders alone the way I've been carrying so many other things," she said. He nodded obediently, looking like a little boy again. "Get a hold of yourself," she ordered. "We have people to greet later and I don't want to add anything to the embarrassment we already have to endure."

"Shouldn't we worry more about Gisselle's condition than how it's all embarrassing us?" I said sharply, unable to contain my anger. I hated the way she spoke down to Daddy, who was already weak and defeated.

"How dare you speak to me that way," she snapped, pulling herself up in the chair.

"I don't mean to be insolent, but—"

"My advice to you, young lady, is to walk the straightest, most narrow line you can these next few weeks. Gisselle hasn't been the same since your arrival and I'm sure the bad things you've done and influenced her to do had something to do with what's happened now."

"That's not true! None of that is true!" I cried. I looked at Daddy.

"Let's not bicker amongst ourselves," he pleaded. He turned to me with his eyes bloodshot from hours and hours of sorrowful crying. "Not now. Please, Ruby. Just listen to your mother." He gazed at Daphne. "At times like this, she is the strongest member of our family. She's always been," he said in a tired, defeated voice.

Daphne beamed with pride and satisfaction. For the remainder of our short meal, we all ate in silence. Later that evening, the Andreas did arrive but without Beau. Other friends followed. I retreated to my room and prayed that God would forgive me for the vengeance I had sought. Then I went to sleep, but for endless hours, I dwelled fitfully on the rim of sleep, never finding the peaceful oblivion I desperately sought.

An odd thing happened to me at school the next day. The drama and impact of the horrible automobile accident put the entire student body into a state of mourning. Everyone was subdued. Girls who knew Martin well were in tears, comforting each other in the hallways and bathrooms. Dr. Storm got on the public address system and offered prayers and condolences. Our teachers made us do busywork, many unable to carry on as usual and sensitive to the fact that the students weren't with it either.

But the odd thing was I became someone to console and not be ignored or despised. Student after student came up to me to talk and express his or her hope everything would turn out well for Gisselle. Even her good friends, Claudine and Antoinette especially, sought my company and seemed repentant for the pranks and the nasty things they had done and said about me.

Most of all, Beau was at my side. He was a great source of comfort. As one of Martin's best friends, he was the one the other boys came to when they wanted to express their sorrow. At lunch, most of the other students gathered around us, everyone speaking in soft, subdued voices.

After school, Beau and I went directly to the hospital and found Daddy having a cup of coffee in the lounge. He had just met with the specialists.

"Her spine was damaged. It's left her paralyzed from the waist down. All of the other injuries will heal well," he said.

"Is there any possibility she'll be able to walk?" Beau asked softly.

Daddy shook his head. "Most unlikely. She's going to need lots of therapy, and lots of tender loving care," he said. "I'm arranging for a live-in nurse for a while after she comes home."

"When can we see her, Daddy?" I asked.

"She's still in intensive care. Only immediate family can see her," he said, looking at Beau. Beau nodded.

I started for the intensive care room.

"Ruby," Daddy called. I turned. "She doesn't know about Martin," he said. "She thinks he's just badly injured. I didn't want to tell her yet. She's had enough bad news."

"Okay, Daddy," I said, and entered. The nurse showed me to Gisselle's bed. The sight of her lying there, her face all banged up and the IV tubes in her arm made my heart ache. I swallowed back my tears and approached. She opened her eyes and looked up at me.

"How are you, Gisselle?" I asked softly.

"How do I look?" She smirked and turned away. Then she turned back. "I guess you're happy you didn't get into the car with us. I guess you want to say, I told you so, huh?"

"No," I said. "I'm sorry this happened. I feel just terrible about it."

"Why? Now no one will wonder which one of us is you and which one is me. I'm the one who can't walk. That's easy to tell," she said. "I'm the one who can't walk." Her chin quivered.

"Oh, Gisselle, you'll walk again. I'll do everything I can to help you," I promised.

"What can you do . . . mumble some Cajun prayer over my legs? The doctors were here; they told me the ugly truth."

"You can't give up hope. Never give up hope. That's what . . ." I was going to say, that's what Grandmère Catherine taught me, but I hesitated.

"Easy for you to say. You walked in here and you'll walk out," she moaned. Then she took a deep breath and sighed. "Have you seen Martin? How's he doing?"

"No, I haven't seen him. I came right to see you," I said and bit down on my lower lip.

"I remember telling him he was going too fast, but he thought it was funny. Just like you, he thought everything was funny all of a sudden. I bet he's not laughing now. You go see him,"" she said. "And be sure he knows what's happened to me. Will you go?"

I nodded.

"Good. I hope he feels terrible; I hope . . . oh, what's the difference what I hope?" She gazed up at me. "You're happy this happened to me, aren't you?"

"No. I never wanted this much. I . . ."

"What do you mean, 'this much'? You wanted some-thing?" She studied my face a moment. "Well?"

"Yes," I said. "I admit it. You were so mean to me, got me into so much trouble and did so many bad things to me, I went to see a voodoo queen."

"What?"

"But she told me it wasn't my fault. It was yours because you had so much hate in your heart," I added quickly.

"I don't care what she said. I'll tell Daddy what you did and he'll hate you forever. Maybe now he'll send you back to the swamps."

"Is that what you want, Gisselle?"

She thought a moment and then smiled, but such a tight, small smile, it sent chills down my spine.

"No. I want you to make it up to me. From now on until I say, you make it up to me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Anything I ask," she said. "You better."

"I already said I would help you, Gisselle. And I'm going to do it because I want to, not because you threaten me," I told her.

"You're making the pain come back into my head," she moaned.

"I'm sorry. I'll go."

"Not until I tell you to go," she said. I stood there, looking down at her. "All right. Go. But go to Martin and tell him what I told you to tell him and then come back later tonight and tell me what he said. Go on," she commanded, and grimaced with pain. I turned and started away. "Ruby!" she called.

"What?"

"You know the only way we can be twins again?" she asked. I shook my head. She smiled. "I'll tell you. Get crippled," she said, and closed her eyes.

I lowered my head and walked out. Mama Dede's prescription was going to be much more difficult than I could ever imagine. Unravel the sisters of hate and love in Gisselle's heart? I might as well try to hold back night, I thought, and went to join Daddy and Beau who waited in the lounge.

Two days later Gisselle was told about Martin. The news struck her dumb. It was as if she believed that all that had happened to her, the injuries, the paralysis, was nothing more than a dream that would soon end. The doctors would give her some pills and send her home to resume her life, just the way she had been living it. But when she was told Martin was dead and in fact the funeral was being held that very day, she withered, grew pale and small, and sealed her lips. She didn't cry in front of Daphne or Daddy and when they left and I remained with her, she didn't cry in front of me either. But as soon as I started away to go with my parents to the funeral, I heard her first sob. I ran back to her.

"Gisselle," I said, stroking her hair. She spun around and looked up at me, but not with gratitude for my returning to comfort her, but with blazing, angry eyes.

"He liked you better, too. He did!" she whined. "Whenever we were together, he talked about you. He was the one who wanted you to come along with us. And now he's dead," she added, as if that were somehow my fault.

"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to change it," I told her.

"Go back to your voodoo queen," she snapped, and turned away from me.

I stood there a moment and then hurried to catch up with Daddy and Daphne.

Martin's funeral was enormous. Many of the students attended. Beau and Martin's teammates were the pallbearers. I felt sick and horrible inside and was glad when Daddy took my hand and led us away.

It rained all that day and the next few. I thought the grayness would never leave our hearts and lives, but one morning I awoke to sunshine and when I arrived at school, I found the cloud of sorrow had moved off. Everyone was back into his or her niche. Claudine appeared to take over the leadership role Gisselle once enjoyed, but I didn't care, for I spent little time with Gisselle's friends. My interest was only in doing well in school and spending whatever time I could with Beau.

Finally, the day arrived when Gisselle could be brought home from the hospital. She had begun some therapy there, but, according to what Daphne said, she was still quite uncooperative. Daddy hired the private nurse, a Mrs. Warren, who had worked in veterans' hospitals and was very familiar with patients who had suffered paralyzing injuries. She was about fifty years old, tall with short dark brown hair and hard, almost manly features. I knew she had strong forearms, for I saw the way her veins bulged the first time she lifted Gisselle to make her more comfortable. She brought some of the military manner with her, barking orders at the servants and snapping at Gisselle as if she were a recruit and not an invalid. I was there when Gisselle complained, but Mrs. Warren wasn't one to tolerate it.

"The time for feeling sorry for yourself has passed," she declared. "Now's the time to work on getting yourself as self-sufficient as possible. You're not going to become a blob in that chair either, so get those thoughts out of your head. Before I'm finished, you'll learn how to do most everything for yourself and you will. Is that understood?"

Gisselle just stared at her a moment and then turned to me.

"Ruby, hand me my hand mirror," she said. "I want to fix my hair. I'm sure some of the boys will be over to see me once they've learned I'm home."

"Get it yourself," Mrs. Warren snapped. "Just wheel yourself over and get it."

"Ruby will get it for me," Gisselle countered. "Won't you, Ruby?" She fixed her steely eyes on me.

I went for the mirror.

"You're not helping her by doing that," Mrs. Warren said.

"I know," I said. But I brought Gisselle the mirror anyway.

"She'll turn the lot of you into her slaves. I warn you."

"Ruby doesn't mind being my slave. We're sisters, right, Ruby?" Gisselle said. "Tell her," she commanded.

"I don't mind," I said.

"Well, I do. Now get out of here while I'm conducting the therapy," she snapped at me.

"I'll tell Ruby when to leave and when not to leave," Gisselle shouted. "Ruby, stay."

"But, Gisselle, if Mrs. Warren thinks it's better for me to go, I'd better go."

Gisselle folded her arms and peered at me with narrow slits. "Don't you move from that spot," she ordered.

"Now see here . . ." Mrs. Warren said.

"All right," Gisselle said, smiling. "You're excused now, Ruby. Oh, and please call Beau and tell him I'm expecting him in an hour."

"Make that two hours," Mrs. Warren advised. I nodded and left. For once I agreed wholeheartedly with Daphne: life was going to get far more complicated and unpleasant with Gisselle as an invalid. The accident, her horrible injury, and the aftermath had done nothing to change her personality. Just as before, she still thought everything was coming to her, even more so now. I realized I should never have confessed to her. She had only taken the opportunity to make me into her slave.

If I had any idea that Gisselle's condition would make her feel less secure about herself when it came to boys, that idea popped out of my head the moment I saw how she reacted when Beau and some of his teammates arrived to visit her. Like some empress who was too divine to have her feet touch the earth, she insisted Beau carry her from room to room, place to place rather than wheel her about. She gathered the young men around her, asking Todd Lambert to massage her feet as she spoke, mainly to complain about Mrs. Warren and the terrible ordeal everyone was putting her through.

"I swear," she said. "If you boys don't visit me every day, I'll go stark raving mad. Will you? Will you promise?" she asked, batting her eyelids at them. Of course, they did. While they were still there, she had to order me about, demanding glasses of water or a pillow for her back, snapping at me as though I really were her little slave.

Afterward, when Beau had carried her back upstairs to her room and each and every one of the boys had been given a kiss good-bye, he and I finally had a moment alone.

"I can see it's going to be particularly hard on you from now on," he said.

"I don't care."

"She doesn't deserve you," he said softly, and leaned toward me to kiss me good-bye. Just at that moment, we heard Daphne's footsteps clicking up the corridor. She marched out of the shadows firmly, but some of the darkness still hovered around her furious eyes. She paused a few feet away from us, her arms folded under her bosom, and glared.

"I want to see you this instant, Ruby," she said. "Beau, I'd like you to leave."

"Leave?"

"This instant," she said, her voice cracking like a bullwhip.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked softly.

"I'll discuss that with your parents," she said. He looked at me and then walked out quickly to join his waiting buddies.

"What's wrong?" I asked Daphne.

"Follow me," she ordered. She pivoted and marched back down the hallway. I tagged along, my heart thumping with anticipation. She paused at the doorway of my studio and turned to me.

"If Beau hadn't deserted Gisselle for you, she would never have been in that car with Martin," she declared. ―Why did he leave a sophisticated young Creole girl for an unschooled Cajun so quickly, I've wondered. It came to me last night," she said. "Like divine inspiration. And sure enough, my heartfelt suspicions proved true." She threw the studio door open. "Inside."

"Why?" I asked, but did what she demanded. She stared furiously at me a moment and then followed me in and walked directly to my easel. There she threw back some of my current drawings until she came to the drawing I had done of Beau nude. I gasped.

"This is too good to come just from your sinful imagination," she declared. "Isn't it? Don't lie," she added quickly. I took a deep breath.

"I've never lied to you, Daphne," I said. "And I won't lie to you now."

"He posed?"

"Yes," I confessed. She nodded. "But—"

"Get out and don't dare set foot in this studio again. The door will be locked forever, as far as I'm concerned. Go," she commanded, her arm extended, finger pointing.

I turned and hurried away. Who was the true invalid in this house, I wondered, Gisselle or me?