artist. I did a great deal of bragging in Baton Rouge.
There are at least a dozen rich oil men eager to buy
one of your paintings."
"Oh, Paul, you shouldn't do that. I'm not that
good."
"Yes you are," he insisted, and rose. "I have to
stop at the cannery and speak to my father, but I'll be
home early."
"Good, because I invited Jeanne and James to
dinner. She called earlier and sounded like she wanted
to see us very much," I said.
"Oh? Fine." He leaned over to kiss me, but he
was much more tentative about it and his kiss was
much more perfunctory: a quick snap of his lips
against my cheek, the way he would kiss his sister or
his mother. A new wall had fallen between us, and
there was no telling how thick it might become in the
days and months to follow.
After he had left I sat there on the verge of
tears. Although I was sure it wasn't his intention, the
more he demonstrated his love for me, the more guilty
I felt for loving and being with Beau. I told myself I
had warned Paul. I told myself I had never made the same sort of vows he had made, marrying myself to some pure and religious idea of a relationship that rivaled a priest or a nun's marriage to the church. I told myself I was a full-blooded woman whose passions raged through her veins with just as much intensity as any other woman's and I could not quiet
them down nor shut them away.
What's more, I didn't want to. Even at this
moment, I longed to be in Beau's arms again, and I
longed for his lips on mine. Filled with frustration, I
sucked in my breath and swallowed back my tears. It
wasn't the time to weaken and sob on pillows. It was
the time to be strong and face whatever challenges
malicious Fate threw my way.
I could use some good gris-gris, I thought. I
could use one of Nina Jackson's fast-luck powders or
Dragon Blood Sticks. Some time ago, she had given
me a dime to wear around my ankle. It was to bring
me good luck. I had taken it off and put it away, but I
remembered where it was, and when I took Pearl up
for her afternoon nap, I found it and fastened it around
my ankle again.
I knew many would laugh at me, but they had
never seen Grandmere Catherine lay her hands on a
fevered child and cause his or her temperature to go down. They had never felt an evil spirit fly by in the night, fleeing from Grandmere Catherine's words and elixirs. And they had never heard the mumbo jumbo of a Voodoo Mama and then saw the results. It was a world filled with many mysteries, peopled by many spirits, both good and bad, and whatever magic one could conjure to find health and happiness was fine with me, no matter who laughed or who ridiculed it. Most of the time, they were people who believed in nothing anyway, people like my sister who believed only in their own happiness. And I, better than most people my age, already knew how vulnerable and how
fleeting that happiness could be.
That night I saw how eager Paul was for us to
have an enjoyable dinner with his sister and her
husband. He wanted to do all that he could to drive
away the dark shadows that had fallen between us and
lingered in the secret corners of our hearts. He
stopped by the kitchen and asked Letty to make
something extra special and he served our most
expensive wines, both he and James drinking quite a
bit. At dinner our conversation was light and
punctuated by many moments of laughter, but I could
see Jeanne was troubled and wanted to have a private
talk. So as soon as dinner ended and Paul suggested we all go into the living room, I said I wanted to show
Jeanne a new dress I had bought in New Orleans. "We'll be right down," I promised.
"You just want to skip our political talk, that's
all," Paul accused playfully. But when he looked at
me closer, he saw why I wanted to take Jeanne
upstairs and he put his arm around James and led him
away.
Jeanne burst into tears the moment we were
alone. "What is it?" I asked, embracing her. I led her
to the settee and handed her a handkerchief.
"Oh, Ruby, I'm so unhappy. I thought I would
have a marriage as wonderful as yours, but it's been
disappointing. Not the first two weeks, of course," she
added between sobs, ,"but afterward, when we settled
down, the romance just seemed to die. All he cares
about is his career and his work. Sometimes he doesn't
come home until ten or eleven o'clock and I have to
eat dinner all alone, and then when he does arrive, he's
usually so exhausted, he wants to go right to sleep." "Did you tell him how you feel about it?" I
asked, sitting beside her.
"Yes." She sucked in her gasps and stopped
sobbing. "But all he says is he's just starting his career
living.'
"I told him Paul works for a living. I don't know
anyone who works harder. He doesn't take anything
for granted, right, Ruby?"
"Paul thinks there are twenty-five hours in
every day, not twenty-four," I said, smiling.
"Yet somehow he manages to keep the romance
in your marriage, doesn't he? A person would just
have to look at you two together and he or she would
see how devoted you are to each other and how much
you care about each other's feelings. No matter how
hard Paul works, he always has time for you, doesn't
he? And you don't mind his being away so much,
right?"
I shifted my eyes away quickly so she couldn't
read the truth in them and then I folded my arms
across my chest in Grandmere Catherine's way and
filled my face with deep thought. She waited
anxiously for my reply, her hands twisting in her lap. "Yes," I finally replied, "but maybe that's
because I'm so involved in my art."
She nodded and sighed.
"That's what James said. He said I should find
something to do so I don't dote upon him so much, but
I wanted to dote on him and our marriage. That's why
I got married!" she exclaimed. "The truth is," she
continued, dabbing at her cheeks with the
handkerchief, "the passion is already gone."
"Oh, Jeanne, I'm sure that's not so."
"We haven't made love for two straight weeks,"
she revealed. "That's a long time for a husband and
wife, right?" she followed, fixing her eyes on me for
my reaction.
"Well . . ." I looked down and smoothed out my
skirt so she wouldn't see my face again. Grandmere
Catherine used to say my thoughts were as obvious as
a secret written in a book with a glass cover. "I don't
think there's any set time or rate of lovemaking, even
for married people. Besides," I replied, now thinking
about Beau, "it's something that both have to want
spontaneously, impulsively."
"James," she said, gazing at her entwined
fingers, "believes in the rhythm method because he's
such a devout Catholic. I have to take my temperature
before we make love. You don't do that, do you?" I shook my head. I knew that a woman's body
temperature was supposed to reflect when she was most apt to become pregnant, and that was considered an acceptable method of birth control, but I had to admit, taking your temperature before sleeping
together would diminish the romance.
"So you see why I'm so unhappy?" she
concluded.
"Doesn't he know just how deeply unhappy you
are?" I asked. She shrugged. "You should talk to him
more about it, Jeanne. No one else can help you two
but you two."
"But if there's no passion . . ."
"Yes, I agree. There must be passion, but there
must be compromise, too. That's what marriage is," I
continued, realizing how true it was for Paul and me,
"compromise --two people sacrificing willingly for
the good of each other. They must care as much for
each other as they do for themselves. But it works
only if both do it," I said, thinking about Daddy and
his devotion to Daphne.
"I don't think James wants to be like that,"
Jeanne worried.
"I'm sure he does, but it doesn't happen
overnight. It takes time to build a relationship." She nodded, slightly encouraged. "Paul and you
have certainly spent a long time together. Is that why
your marriage is so perfect?" she asked.
A strange aching began in my heart. I hated
how one lie led to another and then another, building
one upon the other until we were buried under a
mountain of deceit.
"Nothing is perfect, Jeanne."
"Paul and you are as close as can be. Look how
the two of you were toward each other from the first
hoping James would worship me as much as Paul
worships you. I suppose I shouldn't compare him to
my brother."
"No one should worship anyone, Jeanne," I said
softly, but the way she viewed Paul and me and the
way others saw us made me feel ever so guilty for
loving Beau on the side. What a shock it would be if
the truth were to be known, I thought, and how
devastating it would be to Paul.
Talking like this with Jeanne made me realize
that my relationship with Beau would go nowhere. It
might even destroy Paul little by little. I had made my
choice, accepted his kindness and devotion, and now I
had to live with that choice. I couldn't be selfish
enough to do anything else.
"Maybe I will have another long talk with James," Jeanne said. "Maybe you're right--maybe it takes time." "Anything worthwhile does," I said
softly.
She was so involved with her own problems,
she couldn't see the longing in my eyes. She seized
my hands in hers. "Thank you, Ruby. Thank you for
listening and caring."
We hugged and she smiled. Why was it so easy
to help other people feel happy, but so hard to help
myself? I wondered.
"There really is a new dress to show you," I
said, and took her to my closet. Afterward, we joined
Paul and James in the living room and had some afterdinner cordials. Jeanne smiled at me when James put
his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. He
whispered something in her ear and she turned
crimson. Then they announced they were tired and
had to go home. At the doorway, Jeanne leaned over
to thank me again. From the look in her eyes, I saw
she was excited and happy. Paul and I remained on
the gallery and watched them go to their car and drive
away.
It was a rather clear evening, so that we could
look up at the star-studded sky and see constellations
from one horizon to the other. Paul took my hand. "Want to sit outside awhile?" he asked. I
nodded and we went to the bench. The night was
filled with the monotonous symphony of cicadas
interrupted by the occasional hoot of an owl. "Jeanne wanted some big-sister advice tonight,
didn't she?" he asked.
"Yes, but I'm not sure I'm the one she should
have been asking."
"Of course you are." After a pause he added,
"James asked me for advice, too. Made me feel older
than I am." He turned to me in the darkness, his face
cloaked in the shadows. "They think we're Mr. and
Mrs. Perfect."
"I know."
"I wish we were." He took my hand again. "So
what are we going to do?"
"Let's not try to come up with all the answers
tonight, Paul. I'm tired and confused myself." "Whatever you say." He leaned over to kiss me
on the cheek. "Don't hate me for loving you so much,"
he whispered. I wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to
soothe his troubled soul, but all I could do was shed
some tears and stare into the night with my heart
feeling like a lump of lead.
Finally we both went in and up to our separate bedrooms. After I put out my light, I stood by my window and gazed into the evening sky. I thought about Jeanne and James hurrying home after a wonderful meal, wine, and conversation, excited about each other, eager to hold each other and cap the
evening with their lovemaking.
While in his room, Paul embraced a pillow, and
in mine, I embraced my memories of Beau.
Shortly after Paul left for work the next
morning, Beau called. He was so excited about our
next rendezvous, barely squeezing in a breath as he
described his plans for our day and evening, that at
first I couldn't get in a word.
"You don't know how this has changed my
life," he said. "You've given me something to look
forward to, something to cheer me through the most
dreary days and nights."
"Beau, I have some bad news," I finally
inserted, and told him about Mrs. Flemming's
daughter. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to postpone
things."
"Why? Just come in with Pearl," he pleaded. "No. I can't," I said.
"It's more than that, isn't it?" he asked after a
pause.
"Yes," I admitted, and told him about Paul. "Then he knows about us?"
"Yes, Beau."
"Gisselle has been very suspicious lately, too,"
he confessed. "She's even uttered some veiled threats
and some not so veiled threats."
"Then maybe it's best we cool things down," I
suggested. "We must think of all the people we might
hurt, Beau."
"Yes," he said in a cracked voice.
If words had weight, the telephone lines
between New Orleans and Cypress Woods would sag
and tear apart, I thought.
"I'm sorry, Beau."
I heard him sigh deeply. "Well, Gisselle keeps
asking to go to the ranch for a few days. I guess I'll
take her next week. The truth is, I hate living in this
house without you, Ruby. There are too many
memories of us together here. Every time I walk past
your room, I stop and stare at the door and
remember."
"Talk Gisselle into selling the house, Beau.
Start new somewhere else," I suggested.
"She doesn't care. Nothing bothers her. What
have we done to each other, Ruby?" he asked. I swallowed back the throat lumps, but fugitive
tears trickled down my cheeks. For a moment I
couldn't find my voice.
"We fell in love, Beau. That's all. We fell in
love."
"Ruby . . ."
"I've got to go, Beau. Please."
"Don't say good-bye. Just hang up," he told me,
and I did so, but I sat at the phone and sobbed until I
heard Pearl wake from her nap and call to me. Then I
wiped my eyes, took a deep breath, and went on to fill
my days and nights with as much work as I could
find, so I wouldn't think and I wouldn't regret. A quiet resignation fell over me. I began to feel
like a nun, spending much of my time in quiet
meditation, painting, reading, and listening to music.
Caring for Pearl was a full-time job now, too. She was
very active and curious about everything. I had to go
about and make the house child-proof, placing
valuable knick-knacks out of her reach, being sure she
couldn't get into anything dangerous. Occasionally
Molly would look after her for me for a few hours
while I shopped or had some quiet time alone. Paul was busier than ever; deliberately so, I
thought. He was up at the crack of dawn and gone some days before I came down for breakfast. Sometimes he couldn't get back in time for dinner. He told me his father was doing less and less at the
cannery, and talking about retirement.
"Maybe you should hire a manager, then," I
suggested. "You can't do it all."
"I'll see," he promised, but I saw that he
enjoyed being occupied. Just like me, he hated leisure
because leisure made him reflect on what his life was
really like now.
I thought it would go on like this forever until
we were both old and gray, rocking side by side on
the gallery and looking out at the bayou, wondering
what life would have been like had we not made some
of the decisions we had made when we were young
and impulsive. But one night after dinner toward the
end of the month, the phone rang. Paul had already
settled himself in his favorite easy chair and had the
journal opened to the business pages. Pearl was asleep
and I was reading a novel. James appeared in the
doorway.
"It's for Madame," he announced. Paul looked
up curiously. I shrugged and rose.
"Maybe it's Jeanne," I suggested. He nodded.
But it was Beau, who sounded like a voice without a body. . . a wisp of himself, so soft and stunned, I