"I take your silence to mean it's a deal. Fine." She turned and wheeled herself to the door to unlock it. "Now, I do need some rest before dinner. Oh, and thanks for straightening up my room. I have been too hard on myself, trying to be independent. I might call on you to do little things for me from time to time. As long as we stay here," she added.
"Of course, once we're gone from this place . . ."
"You're blackmailing me," I finally accused. "That's what you're doing."
"I'm just trying to get along as easily and as comfortably as I can. If you were a good sister and if you really cared about me, you would do what I want for a change."
"So you're going to stay in that wheelchair and let everyone think you're still crippled?"
"As long as it suits me," she said.
"I hope it suits you forever," I snapped, and marched to the door. "I feel sorry for you, Gisselle. You hate yourself so much, you don't even realize it."
"Just remember what I said," she retorted, her eyes small and spiteful. "I meant it."
I opened the door to get a breath of fresh air as much as to get away from my twin sister, whose vicious, selfish face, despite the resemblances, made it clear we were truly strangers.
14
Unexpected Gifts
From my expulsion hearing until the start of our holiday break, I did the best I could to avoid and ignore Gisselle. It was obvious that she took delight in holding the dark cloud of her threat over me, and if I should so much as stare distastefully at her while she pretended to struggle along in her wheelchair or cried out for one of her entourage to do something for her, she would give me that icy smile and ask, "How is Miss Stevens?" I would simply shake my head in disgust and either walk away or return to what I was reading or doing.
Because of this constant tension between us at Greenwood, I looked forward eagerly to the holiday break. I knew that back in New Orleans Gisselle would amuse herself with her friends, and I could avoid her even more. Of course, I was anxious to see Beau, who was phoning me almost every night, but before I left, I knew that I had to visit Louis. He called to tell me he had decided that he would rather begin his stay at the clinic in Switzerland and attend the music conservatory during the holidays than remain at the Clairborne mansion for what he called another dreary Christmas. He anticipated an even more cheerless time because of my absence and his grandmother's and his cousin's lingering displeasure over what he had done for me at the hearing.
So I went up to the mansion to have dinner with him the night before the school vacation commenced. His grandmother did not appear anywhere in the house, not even to peer at me through a partially open doorway, much less come to the table. Louis and I sat alone in the large dining room, with the candles burning, and had a delicious duck dinner, followed by a French chocolate silk pie.
"I have two presents for you," Louis declared at the end of the meal.
"Two!"
"Yes. I've been to the city for the first time in . . . I don't even remember how long . . . and bought you this," he said, and then he produced a small box from his dinner-jacket pocket.
"Oh Louis, I feel terrible. I haven't brought you anything."
"Of course you have. You brought me your company, your concern, and you've given me the desire to want to see and be productive again. There's no way to measure the value of such a gift, but I assure you," he said, taking my hand for a moment, "it's worth far more than anything I could possibly give you in return."
He felt for my hand and then brought it to his lips and kissed my fingers.
"Thank you," he said in a deep whisper. Then he sat back and smiled. "And now open your first gift and don't swallow any reactions. I don't see clearly yet, but I can hear very well."
I laughed and untied the tiny ribbon so I could peal off the pretty paper without tearing it. Then I opened the small box and looked at what had to be a full carat ruby set in a gold ring. I gasped.
"Is it as beautiful as I have been told?" he asked.
"Oh Louis, it's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen! It must have cost a fortune."
"If it doesn't fit, I'll have it sized for you. Put it on," he said, and I did.
"It fits perfectly, Louis. How did you do it?"
"I've memorized every part of you that I have touched," he said. "It was easy. I felt the finger of the saleswoman in the store and told her you were two sizes smaller." He smiled proudly.
"Thank you, Louis." I leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek. His expression changed into a serious one instantly. Then he brought his fingers to his cheek as if he could feel the warmth of my lips still lingering.
"And now," he said firmly, bracing himself for my words, "you must tell me if what I see with my heart is true."
I held my breath. If he was going to ask me if I loved him . . .
"You love someone else," he said instead. "Don't you?" I turned from him and looked down, but he reached out to lift my chin.
"Don't look away, please. Tell me the truth."
"Yes, Louis, I do. But how did you know this?"
"I heard it in your voice, in the way you held back whenever you spoke softly to me. I felt it just now in your kiss, which was the kiss of a good friend and not the kiss of a lover."
"I'm sorry, Louis, but I never meant to . . . "
"I know," he said, finding my lips with his fingers. "Don't think you need make excuses. I don't blame you for anything and I don't expect anything more from you. I am still forever in your debt. I hope only that whoever you love is deserving of your love and will love you as strongly as I would."
"So do I," I said.
He smiled.
"Now let's not get melancholy. As we French Creoles say, Je ne regrette rien, eh? I regret nothing. Besides, we can always be good friends, can't we?"
"Oh yes, Louis. Always."
"Good." He beamed a bright smile. "I can't ask for any better Christmas present. And now," he said, rising, "your second gift. Mademoiselle Dumas," he requested, holding up his arm for me to take, "permit me to escort you, s′il vous plâit."
I took his arm and we walked out of the dining room and into the music study. He brought me to the settee first and then he went to the piano and took his seat. "Your symphony is complete," he announced.
I sat there and listened to him play the most wondrous and beautiful melodies. I felt swept away by the music; it was truly a magic carpet taking me to the most marvelous places in my imagination and in my memory. Sometimes the music reminded me of the sound of the water flowing through the canals in the bayou, especially after a heavy downpour; sometimes I heard the morning songs of birds. I saw sunsets and twilights and dreamt of blazing night skies when the stars were so bright they lingered for hours on the surface of my eyes even as I slept. When the music ended, I was disappointed it was over. Louis had outdone anything I had heard him do before.
I rushed to him and threw my arms around his neck. "That was wonderful! Too wonderful for words!"
"Hey," he said overwhelmed by my reaction.
"It's incredibly beautiful, Louis. Really. I have never heard anything like it."
"I'm so glad you like it. I have something special for you," he said, and he reached under the stool to bring up another gift-wrapped box, this one much larger. I unraveled the ribbon quickly and peeled off the paper to open the lid of the box and look in at a record.
"What is this, Louis?"
"It's my symphony," he said. "I recorded it."
"You recorded it? But how . . ."
I gazed at the label on the record. It read, "Ruby's Symphony, composed and played by Louis Turnbull."
"Louis, I can't believe it."
"It's true," he said, laughing. "They brought the machinery to the house one day and I recorded it right in this studio."
"It must have cost a lot of money."
He shrugged. "I don't care what it cost," he said.
"It's such an honor. I'll play it for anyone who'll listen. How I wis
h Daddy was still alive to hear this," I said. I didn't mean to inject the note of sadness, but I couldn't help it. My heart was so full, and I didn't have anyone I loved with me to share it, not Grandmère Catherine, not Daddy, not Paul or Beau.
"Yes," Louis said, his face darkening. "It's painful not to have people you really love with you when something nice happens. But," he added cheerfully, "all that will end for both of us now. I'm hopeful, aren't you?"
"Yes, Louis."
"Good. Merry Christmas, Ruby, and may you have the healthiest and happiest new year of your life."
"You too, Louis." I kissed him on the cheek again.
That night, when I walked back to the dorm, I felt lightheaded. It was as though I had drunk two bottles of Grandmère Catherine's blackberry wine. All the way back, I was followed by a black-crowned night heron who called to me with its staccato quack.
"Merry Christmas yourself," I called up to it when it swung by to alight on the limb of an oak tree. Then I laughed and hurried into the dorm. From the open doorway of her room, Gisselle saw me enter the quad and wheeled herself out to block my path.
"Have another lovely dinner up at the mansion?" she teased.
"Yes, it was lovely."
"Humph," she said, and then she noticed the box I was carrying. Her eyes brightened with curiosity. "What do you have under your arm?" she demanded.
"A gift from Louis. A record," I said. "It's a symphony he composed and had recorded."
"Oh. Big deal," she said, smirking and starting to back away.
"It is a big deal. He composed it for me and it's called Ruby's Symphony."
She stared at me a moment, her face filling with envy.
"Do you want to hear it?" I asked her. "We'll play it on your phonograph."
"Of course not," she said quickly. "I hate that kind of music. It puts me to sleep." She started to turn when she spotted my ring. This time her eyes nearly popped out of her head.
"Did he give you that too?"
"Yes," I said.
"Beau's not going to like this," she declared after narrowing her eyes. She shook her head. "Another man giving you expensive gifts."
"Louis and I are just good friends. He understands that and accepts it," I said.
"Sure. He goes and spends all this money and time on you, and all you've been giving him is conversation," she replied with a twisted smile on her lips. "Who do you think you're talking to, some dumb Cajun girl who believes in tooth fairies?"
"It's true, and don't you tell anyone anything different," I warned her.
"Or?" she challenged.
"Or I'll . . . break your neck," I threatened. I stepped toward her and she gazed at me with surprise. Then she backed away.
"Some sister," she moaned, loud enough for everyone in the quad to hear. "Threatening her crippled twin with violence. Merry Christmas," she screamed, spinning around in her chair to wheel herself back to her room.
I couldn't help laughing at her this time, which only infuriated her more. She slammed her door shut and I went into my room to pack for our trip home for the holidays.
The next day we had an abbreviated schedule, at the end of which we were all marched into the auditorium to hear Mrs. Ironwood's speech, which was supposed to be a short holiday talk, wishing us all a good vacation and a happy new year, but instead it turned into a heavy series of threats, warning us about failing to do our term papers and reminding us that shortly after our return we would be facing midyear exams.
But nothing she could do could diminish the excitement in the air. Parents were arriving to pick up their daughters, limousines were everywhere, and wherever I looked, girls were hugging each other and wishing each other happy holidays. Our teachers stood around to greet parents and wish students a good holiday too.
Our limousine was one of the last to arrive, which put Gisselle into a small rage. Mrs. Penny felt obligated to stay with her and comfort her, but that just gave Gisselle an ear to fill with her ranting. Shortly before our limousine did arrive, Miss Stevens appeared to say goodbye and to wish me a happy new year.
"I'm going to spend the holidays with one of the sisters from my old orphanage," she told me. "It's something of a tradition. We've spent dozens of Christmases together. She's the closest to being my mother."
Gisselle watched from the portico of the dorm as Miss Stevens and I hugged and kissed.
"I never thanked you enough for what you did for me at the hearing, Miss Stevens. It took courage."
"Sometimes doing the right thing does take more courage, but the feeling it gives you deep inside makes it worth it. That may be something only we artists understand," she said with a wink. "Do something with your spare time at home. Bring me back a picture of a setting in the Garden District," she said, getting into her jeep.
"I will."
"Happy new year, Ruby."
I watched her drive off and felt a sudden wave of sadness rush over me. I wished I could bring Miss Stevens back home with me. I wished I had a real home with parents who would welcome her happily and we could all enjoy the music, the food, the brightness and warmth of Christmas together.
Her jeep disappeared around the turn just as the limousine appeared. Gisselle cried out her joy, but when the driver pulled up to put our things in the trunk, she berated him unmercifully for being so late.
"I left when Madame Dumas told me to leave," he protested. "I'm not late."
Gisselle's mumbling wore down like the gradually lowering thunder of a departing storm in the bayou as we drove away from the school and headed toward New Orleans. When familiar scenery appeared, she brightened with excitement and expectation. I knew she had made phone calls to some of her old girlfriends and they had begun making preliminary plans for parties over the holidays. I just wondered what sort of greeting Daphne would give us.
To my utter surprise, we didn't find the house dark and deserted. Daphne had had the Christmas decorations hung and there was a tree bigger than last year's in the main sitting room, under which was a pile of gifts. Moments after we had arrived and gazed in at the holiday splendor, the front door was thrust open and Daphne came bursting in with a peal of laughter. She wore a white fox jacket, riding pants, and a smart pair of leather boots. She had her hair pinned up under a matching fur hat. Her full carat diamond earrings glittered in her lobes, adding even more brightness to her undeniably vibrant and beautiful face. Her cheeks were flushed, and I had the feeling that she had been drinking. There was no question that whatever period of mourning she had undergone for Daddy's death was over. Bruce, laughing almost as hard, was at her side. The two stopped in the entryway and looked at Gisselle and me.
"Why here are the little dears," Daphne said. "Home for the holidays." She pulled off her silk gloves and Bruce helped her off with her coat and then handed it to Martha, who waited obediently in the wings. "And how are the precious Dumas twins?"
"We're fine," I said sternly. Her buoyancy and happy demeanor annoyed me. This would be a Christmas without Daddy. His passing was still as painful as a raw wound, and yet Daphne behaved as if nothing had changed; if anything had, it was for the better.
"Good. I've decided to have a few holiday dinners, so there will be guests coming and going during your stay here. I myself have been invited to a friend's beach house for New Year's Eve, so I will be depending on you girls to be at your best behavior.
"You can invite friends over and go to proper parties," she declared. Her leniency and generosity took us both by surprise. "We're going to be together for years and years, and it's best to co-exist on the best of terms," she added, gazing at Bruce, who was beaming like someone about to explode with one happy declaration after another. "This is the jolliest time of the year. I've always enjoyed it, and I don't intend to spend a sad moment. Behave yourselves, and we'll all get along just fine.
"All of those gifts under the tree are for the two of you and the servants," she concluded. Neither Gisselle nor I knew how to respond. We gazed at each other with su
rprise and then looked at Daphne.
"Go freshen yourselves up and put on something nice. We're having the Cardins for dinner. You might remember that Charles Cardin is one of our biggest investors. Bruce," she said, turning to him. He snapped to attention and followed her into the study.
"Are my ears on right?" Gisselle asked. "I can't believe what I heard. But this is wonderful. All those gifts for us!" I shook my head. "What's the matter, Ruby?"
"Somehow all this seems wrong," I said. "With Daddy's death so recent."
"Why? We weren't buried in the vault with him. We're still alive and Daphne's right: This is the jolliest time of the year. Let's have fun. Martha!" she shouted. She looked up at me and winked.
"Yes, mademoiselle?"
"Help me up the stairs," Gisselle ordered. How long would she keep up this charade? I wondered, but I wasn't about to expose her and have her spread disgusting, untrue stories about Miss Stevens. I let her moan and groan and struggle like the cripple she wasn't.
However, afraid that Daphne would return to her domineering and restrictive ways, Gisselle was a perfect little lady at dinner that night. I never saw her so polite and charming. She spoke about Greenwood as if she loved the school and bragged about my artwork as though she were a proud sister. Daphne was very pleased and rewarded us by permitting us to be excused as soon as the dinner ended, so that we could call our friends and make plans to invite them over. Daphne, truce, and the Cardins were adjourning to the parlor for after-dinner cordials, but as we all started to leave the dinning room, Daphne called to me.
"I just want to speak with Ruby for a moment," she told her guests and Bruce. "I'll be there momentarily." She nodded toward Bruce and he led the Cardins out. Gisselle wheeled herself into the corridor, peeved at not being part of the conversation.
"I'm very pleased with the two of you," Daphne began. "You're accepting the new order of things sensibly."
Apparently Mrs. Ironwood had not informed her of the hearing or the circumstances surrounding it; or if she had, Daphne was ignoring it since the outcome was favorable, I thought.
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