Pearl in the Mist l-2

by V. C. Andrews

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Uncle Jean . . ."

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

  "Aaaaaaa . . . ″

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

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

  "Oh dear. Easy, Jean," she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "P-P-Pierre!"

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

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

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

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

  11

  The Gloves Are Off

  I told Beau to pull up to the walk a block before my house.

  "I feel like Gisselle, sneaking around like this," I said, "but I'd rather Daphne didn't see you dropping me off."

  He laughed. "That's all right. Sometimes Gisselle's scheming comes in handy. Too bad she can't learn from you as well." He leaned over to give me a quick kiss on the lips before I stepped out of the car.

  "I'll be here tonight," he called after me. I waved and ran up the walk to sneak back in through the side entrance.

  The house was very still when I entered. I went around quietly and started up the stairs, which seemed to creak extra loudly just because I was trying to be discreet. I was nearly to the top when Daphne called up to me. I turned and glared down at her. Bruce Bristow was at her side.

  "Where were you?" she demanded, her hands on her hips. She wore one of her business suits, rouge, lipstick, and eyeliner, but she had her hair unpinned.

  "I went to see Uncle Jean," I confessed. I had made up my mind that I wouldn't lie if she caught me, and anyway, I wanted to question why she had cut back on the funds for Jean at the institution and had him transferred.

  "You did what? Get down here this instant," she demanded, stabbing her right forefinger toward the floor. She spun around and marched into the sitting room behind her. Bruce gazed up at me, that somewhat impish smile couched comfortably in the corners of his mouth. Then he turned to follow Daphne. I was nearly halfway down when Gisselle called from the top of the stairway, where she had wheeled herself to watch my confrontation with our stepmother.

  "I would have covered for you," she said, "but you didn't even tell me where you were going." She turned her head. "I couldn't even make anything up when she came around looking for you."

  "That's all right. I'm not happy about lying and sneaking around anyway."

  "Too bad," she said. "Now you're getting into trouble." She gave me an oily smile of glee before spinning around in her chair to return to her room. I continued downstairs quickly and entered the sitting room. Daphne was seated on the sofa, but Bruce was standing beside her, his hands clasped before him. He was scowling, which was a face he wore more for her sake than for mine.

  "Get in here," Daphne said when I paused just inside the doorway. I approached her, my heart pounding. "I thought I told you not to go to Jean. I thought I told you not to tell him anything," she said quickly.

  "Daddy would have wanted him to know," I replied. "And besides, if I hadn't told him, he would have been waiting for Daddy and wondering why he never came."

  She smirked. "I'm sure he doesn't wonder about anything." Her eyes became thin slits and her lips tightened for a moment. "Who took you? Beau?" I didn't respond, and she nodded with that cold smile. "His parents are not going to be happy to hear that he was party to this disobedience. Since you've been at Greenwood, he hasn't been in any trouble, but as soon as you return . . ."

  "Please don't get him into trouble. He wasn't party to anything. He was just nice enough to drive me up there."

  She shook her head and gazed at Bruce, who mirrored her disdain.

  "Anyway," I continued, gathering my courage, "now I know the real reason why you didn't want me to go to see him." I spoke so sharply that Bruce's eyebrows lifted. "Secretly you had Uncle Jean moved from his private room into a ward."

  She sat back and crossed her arms under her bosom.

  "Secretly?" She laughed a hollow, thin laugh before looking at Bruce and then turning to me with a frown. "I don't have to do anything secretly. I don't need your or your sister's or anyone else's permission to do anything that regards this family."

  "Why did you do it?" I cried. "We can afford to have him in his own room."

  "A private room was a waste of money. I always thought it so," she said. "Not that I have to explain myself to you or your sister."

  "But he's regressing now. The staff says so. He no longer cares about himself the way he used to and—"

  "He wasn't making any real progress either way. All Pierre was doing was soothing his own troubled conscience by lavishing the extra money on Jean. It was a ridiculous expenditure.″

  "It wasn't," I insisted. "I saw the difference; you haven't."

  "Since when did you get a degree in mental illness?" she shot back. Then she smiled coldly again, a smile that put chills into my spine. "Or have you inherited some magical powers from your faith-healing Grandmère?"

  A heat came into my face. Daphne never missed an opportunity to mock my Grandmère's memory. She loved ridiculing the Cajun world. I took a deep breath and stood my ground firmly.

  "No, I simply inherited compassion and human kindness," I said. My words cut so dee
ply, she winced. Bruce no longer had a smile on his face, impish or otherwise. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and gazed apprehensively at Daphne.

  "That will be enough of that," she said slowly, her eyes as dark as shadows in the swamp. "You disobeyed me. I want you to understand right from the start what it means to be insubordinate. Your father is no longer here to make excuses for you." She pulled herself back and her shoulders up to pass sentence on me. "You are to go upstairs and remain in your room until it is time to attend your father's funeral. I will have Martha bring up your meals, and you are not to see anyone."

  "But the wake . . . greeting mourners . . ."

  "We'll make excuses for you, tell people you aren't feeling well, and that way prevent everyone from knowing about your misbehavior," she said curtly.

  "But it wasn't misbehavior," I insisted. "I have a right to see Uncle Jean, and he should have been told about Daddy, and you shouldn't have had them move him into the ward."

  For a moment, my continued defiance disarmed her. Then she gathered all her bitterness and leaned forward.

  "When you are twenty-one," she replied, her eyes somewhat wider, "you will be able to make financial decisions without my interference or opinions. You can take your entire inheritance and waste it on Jean, for all I care. Until then, I'm the only one who makes the decisions about how to spend the Dumas fortune. I have an expert in these matters," she said, nodding toward Bruce, "so I don't need to hear from you. Do you understand? Do you?" she hammered when I didn't reply.

  "No," I said, nailing my feet to the floor in defiance. "I don't understand how you could do this to poor Uncle Jean, who has no life, who has nothing but his own troubled mind."

  "Good. So you don't understand." She sat back again. "Whatever," she said, waving her hand. "But for now, march yourself upstairs and close the door behind you or I'll call Beau's parents and have them bring him over here right now to hear what you and he did," she threatened, "and then punish you twice as severely."

  My eyes burned with the hot tears of anger and frustration.

  "But I have to be at the wake. . . . I should be—"

  "You should listen to what you are told to do," she said firmly, punching out the words. She extended her arm, her forefinger pointing toward the stairway. "Now march!"

  I lowered my head.

  "Can't you find some other way to punish me?" I begged, the tears running down my cheeks.

  "No. I don't have the time, nor do I have the energy to sit here and dream up ways to reward you for insubordination, especially when you are disobedient under these circumstances. I have a husband to bury. I don't have time to be a nursemaid to spoiled, defiant young girls. Just do what I say. Do you hear!" she shrilled.

  I sucked in my breath, turned, and walked out slowly, my stomach feeling as if I had swallowed a gallon of swamp mud. When I got to my room, I threw myself on my bed and sobbed. I realized I wouldn't be able to help Uncle Jean; I couldn't even help myself.

  "So where did you go?" Gisselle asked from the doorway. I turned slowly and wiped the tears from my cheeks. "Over to Lake Pontchartrain?" she asked, a smile of lewd suggestion washing over her lips. "To neck?"

  "No. Beau took me to see Uncle Jean," I said, and described what I had found. "And so she's had him moved into a ward where he has only his bed and a beat-up metal locker," I concluded.

  She shrugged, barely showing any interest. "It doesn't surprise me. I told you what Daphne was capable of doing, but you just don't listen. You think the world's all birds and roses. She's going to cut back plenty on what we get too. You'll see," she said. She wheeled herself closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's better that we stay here rather than return to Greenwood. Put your brilliant mind and your time to figuring out a way to get her to let us stay," she said.

  "Let us stay?" I laughed so madly I even frightened myself. "She can't stand the sight of us. You're the one who's dwelling in a world of illusion if you think Daphne would even consider having us around now."

  "Well, that's just great," Gisselle moaned. "You just want to give up?"

  "It's the way it is," I said with a tone of fatalism that shocked her. She remained there staring in at me as if she expected me to snap out of my mood and tell her the things she wanted to hear.

  "Aren't you going to get washed and dressed for the wake?" she finally asked.

  "Because I disobeyed Daphne and went to the institution to see Uncle Jean, I am not permitted to go to the wake. I'm being punished."

  "Can't go to the wake? That's your punishment? Why can't I be punished too?" she cried.

  I spun around on her so abruptly she wheeled herself back.

  "What's wrong with you, Gisselle? Daddy loved you."

  "He did until you arrived. Then he practically forgot about me," she moaned.

  "That's not true."

  "It is, but it doesn't matter anymore. Oh well," she said, sighing deeply and fluffing her hair. "Someone's got to entertain Beau when he arrives. I guess I'll fill in." She smiled and rolled herself back to her room.

  I got up and gazed out the window, wondering if I wouldn't be better off just running away. I might have seriously considered it if I didn't recall some of the promises I had made to Daddy. I had to remain here to look after Gisselle, as best I could, to succeed at my art and become a credit to his memory. Somehow, I would overcome the obstacles Daphne was sure to place in my path, I vowed, and some day I would do just what she had said I would do: I would help Uncle Jean.

  I returned to my bed and lay there thinking and dozing off until I heard Gisselle go to the stairway and have Edgar help her down to attend the wake. Then I got down on my knees and recited the prayers I would have recited at Daddy's coffin.

  Martha brought up a tray of food for me, and even though she had explicit orders from Nina commanding me to eat, I just picked and nibbled, my appetite gone, my stomach too tight and nervous to accept much more.

  Hours later, I heard a gentle knock on my door. I was lying there in the dark, with just the moonlight spilling through my window illuminating the room. I leaned over, flicked on a lamp, and told whoever it was to enter. It was Beau, with Gisselle right behind him.

  "Daphne doesn't know he's up here," she said quickly, a capricious smile on her face. How she so enjoyed doing forbidden things, even if it meant doing something for me. "Everyone thinks he's wheeling me around the house. There are so many people here, we won't be missed. Don't worry."

  "Oh Beau, you'd better not stay here. Daphne threatened to bring your parents to the house and get you in trouble because you drove me to the institution," I warned.

  "I'll risk it," he said. "Why was she so angry anyway?"

  "Because I found out what she had done to my uncle," I said. "That's the main reason."

  "It's so unfair for you to suffer anything at this time," he said, and our eyes locked for a moment.

  "I could leave you two alone for a while," Gisselle suggested when she saw the way we were gazing at each other. "I'll even go to the top of the stairway and be a love sentry."

  I was about to protest, when Beau thanked her. He closed the door softly and came to sit beside me on the bed and put his arm around my shoulders.

  "My poor Ruby. You don't deserve this." He kissed my cheek. Then he looked around my room and smiled. "I remember being in here once before . . . when you tried some of Gisselle's pot, remember?"

  "Don't remind me," I said, smiling for the first time in a long time. "Except I do remember you were a gentleman and you did worry about me."

  "I'll always worry about you," he said. He kissed my neck and then the tip of my chin before bringing his lips to mine.

  "Oh Beau, don't. I feel so confused and troubled right now. I want you to kiss me, to touch me, but I keep thinking about why I am here, the tragedy that has brought me back."

  He nodded. "I understand. It's just that I can't keep my lips off you when I'm this close," he said.

  "We'll be togeth
er again and soon. If you don't get up to Greenwood during the next two weeks, I'll see you when we return for the holidays."

  "Yes, that's true;" he said, still holding me close to him. "Wait until you see what I'm getting you for Christmas. We'll have great fun, and we'll celebrate New Year's together and—"

  Suddenly the door was thrust open and Daphne stood there, glaring in at us.

  "I thought so," she said. "Get out," she told Beau, holding up her arm and pointing.

  "Daphne, I . . . ″

  "Don't give me any stories or any excuses. You don't belong up here and you know it.

  "And as for you," she said, spinning her gaze at me, "this is how you mourn the death of your father? By entertaining your boyfriend in your room? Have you no sense of decency, no self-control? Or does that wild Cajun blood run so hot and heavy in your veins, you can't resist temptation, even with your father lying in his coffin right below you?"

  "We weren't doing anything!" I cried. "We—"

  "Please, spare me," she said, holding up her hand and closing her eyes. "Beau, get out. I used to think a great deal more of you, but obviously you're just like any other young man . . . You can't pass up the promise of a good time, no matter what the circumstances."

  "That's not so. We were just talking, making plans."

  She smiled icily. "I wouldn't make any plans that included my daughter," she said. "You know how your parents feel about your being with her anyway, and when they hear about this . . ."

  "But we didn't do anything," he insisted.

  "You're lucky I didn't wait a few more moments. She might have had you with your clothes off, pretending to be drawing you again," she said. Beau flushed so crimson I thought he would have a nosebleed.

  "Just go, Beau. Please," I begged him. He looked at me and then started for the door. Daphne stepped aside to let him pass. He turned to look back once more and then shook his head and hurried away and down the stairs. Then Daphne turned back to me.

  "And you almost broke my heart down there before, pleading to have me let you attend the wake . . . like you really cared," she added, and closed the door between us, the click sounding like a gunshot and making my heart stop. Then it started to pound and was still pounding when Gisselle opened the door a few moments later.