a tight fitting silver outfit designed to resemble a suit
of armor, such as those worn by medieval knights. He
had the helmet in his arms. He fastened his gaze on
me and his face went from a look of surprise and
astonishment to a smile of happy amazement. Before a word was spoken, Daphne Dumas
came up beside him. She wore a bright blue tunic with
long, tight sleeves, the skirt of which had a long train
and an embroidered gold fringe. It fit closely down to
her hips, but was wider after. It was buttoned in front
from top to bottom. Over it, she wore a cloak, low at
the neck and fastened with a diamond clasp at the
right breast. She looked like a princess from a fairy
tale.
She was nearly six feet tall herself and stood as
correct as a fashion model. With her beautiful looks, her 'slim, curvaceous figure, she could have easily been one. Her pale reddish blond hair lay softly over her shoulders, not a strand disobedient. She had big, light blue eyes and a mouth I couldn't have drawn more perfectly. It was she who spoke first after she
took a good look at me.
"Is this some sort of joke, Beau, something you
and Gisselle concocted for Mardi Gras?"
"No, madame," Beau said.
"It's no joke," my father said, stepping into the
room and not swinging his eyes from me for an
instant. "This is not Gisselle. Hello," he said. "Hello." We continued to stare at each other,
neither able to shift his gaze, he appearing as eager to
visually devour me as I was to devour him.
"You found her on our doorstep?" Daphne
asked Beau.
"Yes, madame," he replied. "She was turning
away, losing her courage to knock on the front door
and present herself," he revealed. Finally, I swung my
eyes to Daphne and saw a look in her face that seemed
to suggest she wished I had.
"I'm glad you came along, Beau," Pierre said.
"You did the right thing. Thank you."
Beau beamed. My father's appreciation and
approval were obviously very important to him. "You came from Houma?" my father asked. I
nodded and Daphne Dumas gasped and brought her
hands to her chest. She and my father exchanged a
look and then Daphne gestured toward Beau with her
head.
"Why don't you see how Gisselle is getting
along, Beau?" Pierre asked firmly.
"Yes, sir," Beau said, and quickly marched
away. My father moved in 'closer and then sat on the
sofa across from me. Daphne closed the two large
doors softly and turned in expectation.
"You told them your last name is Landry?" my
father began. I nodded.
"Mon Dieu," Daphne said. She swallowed hard
and reached for the edge of a high back velvet chair to
steady herself.
"Easy," my father said, rising quickly to go to
her. He embraced her and guided her into the chair.
She sat back, her eyes closed. "Are you all right?" he
asked her. She nodded without speaking. Then he
turned back to me.
"Your grandfather. . . his name is Jack?" Yes."
"He's a swamp trapper, a guide?"
I nodded.
"How could they have done this, Pierre?"
Daphne cried softly. "It's ghastly. All these years!" "I know, I know," my father said. "Let me get
at the core of this, Daphne." He turned back to me, his
eyes still soft, but now troubled, too. "Ruby. That is
your name?" I nodded. "Tell us what you know about
all this and why you have presented yourself at this
time. Please," he added.
"Grandmere Catherine told me about my
mother. . how she became pregnant and then how
Grandpere Jack arranged for my sister's . . . "--I
wanted to say "sale," but I thought it sounded too
harsh--". . . my sister's coming to live with you.
Grandmere Catherine was not happy about the
arrangements. She and Grandpere Jack stopped living
together soon afterward."
My father shifted his eyes to Daphne, who
closed and opened hers. Then he fixed his gaze on me
again.
"Go on," he said.
"Grandmere Catherine kept the fact that my
mother was pregnant with twins a secret, even from
Grandpere Jack. She decided I was to live with her
and my mother, but. . ." Even now, even though I had never set eyes on my mother or heard her voice, just mentioning her death brought tears to my eyes and
choked back the words.
"But what?" my father begged.
"But my mother died soon after Gisselle and I
were born," I revealed. My father's cheeks turned
crimson. 1 saw his breath catch and his own eyes tear
over, but he quickly regained his composure, glanced
at Daphne again, and then turned back to me. "I'm sorry to hear that," he uttered, his voice
nearly cracking.
"Not long ago, my Grandmere Catherine died.
She made me promise that if something bad happened
to her, 1 would go to New Orleans and present myself
to you rather than live with Grandpere Jack," I said.
My father nodded.
"1 knew him slightly, but I can understand why
your grandmother didn't want you to live with him,"
he said.
"Don't you have any other relatives . . aunts,
uncles?" Daphne asked quickly.
"No, madame," I said. "Or at least, none that I
know of in Houma. My grandfather talked of his
relatives who live in other bayous, but Grandmere
Catherine never liked us to associate with them." "How dreadful," Daphne said, shaking her
head. 1 wasn't sure if she meant my family life or the
present situation.
"This is amazing. I have two daughters," Pierre
said, allowing himself a smile. It was a handsome
smile. I felt myself start to relax. Under his warm gaze
the tension drained out of me. I couldn't help thinking
he was so much the father I'd always wanted, a softspoken, kindly man.
But Daphne flashed him a cool, chastising look. "Double the embarrassment, too," she reminded
him.
"What? Oh, yes, of course. I'm glad you've
finally revealed yourself," he told me, "but it does
present us with a trifle of a problem."
"A trifle of a problem? A trifle!" Daphne cried.
Her chin quivered.
"Well, somewhat more serious, I'm afraid." My
father sat back, pensive.
"I don't mean to be a burden to anyone," I said,
and stood up quickly. "I'll return to Houma. There are
friends of my grandmere's ."
"That's a fine idea," Daphne said quickly.
"We'll arrange for transportation, give you some
money. Why, we'll even send her some money from time to time, won't we, Pierre? You can tell your
grandmother's friends that--"
"No," Pierre said, his eyes fixed so firmly on
me, I felt like his thoughts were traveling through
them and into my heart. "I can't send my own
daughter away."
"But it's not as if she is your daughter in
actuality, Pierre. You haven't known her a day since
her birth and neither have I. She's been brought up in
&n
bsp; an entirely different world," Daphne pleaded. But my
father didn't appear to hear her. With his gaze still
fixed on me, he spoke.
"I knew your grandmother better than I knew
your grandfather. She was a very special woman with
special powers," he said.
"Really, Pierre," Daphne interrupted. "No, Daphne, she was. She was what Cajuns
call. . . a Traiteur, right?" he asked me. I nodded. "If
she thought it was best for you to come here, she must
have had some special reasons, some insights,
spiritual guidance," Pierre said.
"You can't be serious, Pierre," Daphne said.
"You don't put any validity in those pagan beliefs.
Next thing, you'll be telling me you believe in Nina's
voodoo."
"I never reject it out of hand, Daphne. There are
mysteries that logic, reason, and science can't
explain," he told her. She closed her eyes and sighed
deeply.
"How do you propose to handle this. . . this
situation, Pierre? How do we explain her to our
friends, to society?" she asked. I was still standing,
afraid to take a step away, yet afraid to sit down again,
too. I clung so hard to my little b. t of possessions, my
knuckles turned white while my father thought. "Nina wasn't with us when Gisselle was
supposedly born," he began.
"We had that mulatto woman, Tituba,
remember?"
"I remember. I remember hating her. She was
too sloppy and too lazy and she frightened me with
her silly superstitions," Daphne recalled. "Dropping
pinches of salt everywhere, burning clothing in a
barrel with chicken droppings . . . at least Nina keeps
her beliefs private."
"And so we let Tituba go right after Gisselle
was supposedly born, remember? At least, that was
what we told the public."
"What are you getting at, Pierre? How does that
relate to this trifling problem?" she asked caustically. "We never told the truth because we were
working with private detectives," he said.
"What? What truth?"
"To get back the stolen baby, the twin sister
who was taken from the nursery the same day she was
born. You know how some people believe that
missing children are voodoo sacrifices, and how some
voodoo queens were often accused of kidnapping and
murdering children?" he said.
"I always suspected something like that,
myself," Daphne said.
"Precisely. No one's ever proven anything of
the sort, however, but there was always the danger of
creating mass hysteria over it and causing vigilantes
to go out and abuse people. So," he said, sitting back,
"we kept our tragedy and our search private. Until
today, that is," he added, pressing his hands together
and smiling at me.
"She was kidnapped more than fifteen years
ago and has returned?" Daphne said. "Is that what
we're to tell people, tell our friends?"
He nodded. "Like the Prodigal Son, only this
case, it's the Prodigal Daughter, whose fake
grandmother got a pang of conscience on her
deathbed and told her the truth. Miracle of miracles,
Ruby has found her way home."
"But, Pierre . ."
"You'll be the talk of the town, Daphne.
Everyone will want to know the story. You won't be
able to keep up with the invitations," he said. Daphne
just stared at him a moment and then looked up at me. "Isn't it amazing?" my father said. "Look at
how identical they are."
"But she's so. . . unschooled," Daphne moaned. "Which, in the beginning, will make her more
of a curiosity. But you can take her under your wing
just as you took Gisselle," my father explained, "and
teach her nice things, correct things, make her over. . .
like Pygmalion and Galatea," he said. "Everyone will
admire you for it," he told her.
"I don't know," she said, but it was with much
less resistance. She gazed at me more analytically.
"Maybe scrubbed up with decent clothes . . ." "These are decent clothes!" I snapped. I was
tired of everyone criticizing my garments.
"Grandmere Catherine made them and the things she
made were always cherished and sought after in the
bayou."
"I'm sure they were," Daphne said, her eyes
sharp and cold. "In the bayou. But this is not the bayou, dear. This is New Orleans. You came here because you want to live here . . be with your father," she said, looking at Pierre before looking back at me.
"Right?"
I looked at him, too. "Yes," I said. "I believe in
Grandmere Catherine's wishes and prophecies." "Well, then, you have to blend in." She sat back
and thought a moment. "It will be quite a challenge,"
she said, nodding. "And somewhat of an interesting
one."
"Of course it will be," Pierre said.
"Do you think I could ever get her to the point
where people really wouldn't know the difference
between them?" Daphne asked my father. I wasn't
sure I liked her tone. It was still as if I were some
uncivilized aborigine, some wild animal that had to be
housebroken.
"Of course you could, darling. Look at how
well you've done with Gisselle, and we both know
there's a wild streak in her, don't we?" he said,
smiling.
that part of her, the Cajun part," Daphne said
disdainfully.
"I am not wild, madame," I said, nearly spitting my words back at her. "My grandmere Catherine taught me only good things and we went to church
regularly, too."
"It's not something people teach you, per se,"
she replied. "It's something you can't help, something
in your heritage," she insisted. "But Pierre's blue
blood and my guidance have been strong enough to
conquer that part of Gisselle. If you will help, if you
really want to become part of this family, I might be
able to do it with you, too.
"Although, she's had years and years of poor
breeding, Pierre. You must remember that." "Of course, Daphne," he said softly. "No one
expects miracles overnight. As you said so yourself
just a moment ago--it's a challenge." He smiled. "I
wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you were capable of
making it happen, darling."
Placated, Daphne sat back again. When she
thought deeply, she pursed her lips and her eyes
glittered. Despite the things she had said, I couldn't
help but admire her beauty and her regal manner.
Would it be so terrible to look and act like such a
woman? I wondered, and become someone else's
fairy-tale princess? A part of me that wouldn't be
denied cried, Please, please, cooperate, try, and the part of me that felt insulted by her remarks sulked
somewhere in the dark corners of my mind. "Well, Beau already knows about her," Daphne
said.
"Exactly," my father said. "Of course, I could
ask him to keep it all a secret, and I'm sure he would
die in a duel before revealing it, but things are
&nb
sp; revealed accidentally, too, and then what would we
do? It could unravel everything we've done up until
now."
Daphne nodded.
"What will you tell Gisselle?" she asked him,
her voice somewhat mournful now. "She'll know the
truth about me, that I'm not really her mother." She
dabbed at her eyes with a light blue silk handkerchief. "Of course you're really her mother. She hasn't
known anyone else to be her mother and you've been
a wonderful mother to her. We'll tell her the story just
as I outlined it. After the initial shock, she'll accept
her twin sister and hopefully help you, too. Nothing
will change except our lives will be doubly blessed,"
he said, smiling at me.
Was this where I got my blind optimism? I
wondered. Was he a dreamer, too?
"That is," he added after a moment, "if Ruby agrees to go along with it. I don't like asking anyone to lie," he told me, "but in this case, it's a good lie, a lie which will keep anyone from being hurt," he said,
shifting his eyes toward Daphne.
I thought a moment. I would have to pretend, at
least to Gisselle, that Grandmere Catherine had been
part of some kidnapping plot. That bothered me, but
then I thought Grandmere Catherine would want me
to do everything possible to stay here--far away from
Grandpere Jack.
"Yes," I said. "It's all right with me."
Daphne sighed deeply and then quickly
regained her composure.
"I'll have Nina arrange one of the guest rooms,"
she said.
"Oh, no. I want her to have the room that
adjoins Gisselle's. They will be sisters right from the
beginning," my father emphasized. Daphne nodded. "I'll have her prepare it right away. For tonight,
she can use some of Gisselle's night garments.
Fortunately," she said, smiling at me with some
warmth for the first time, "you and your sister look to
be about the same size." She gazed down at my feet.
"Your feet look fairly close as well, I see."
"You'll have to go on a shopping spree tomorrow though, darling. You know how possessive
Gisselle is with her clothes," my father warned. "She should be. A woman should take pride in
her wardrobe and not be like some college coed,
sharing her garments down to her very panties with
some roommate." She rose gracefully from the high
back chair and shook her head slightly as she gazed at
me. "What a Mardi Gras evening this turned out to
be." She turned to Pierre. "You're positive about all