Pearl in the Mist l-2

by V. C. Andrews

  Mrs. Miller, our school nurse, sat me down and asked me to describe all my symptoms. She looked very concerned.

  "I've been more tired than usual," I admitted when she inquired about my energy.

  "Have you noticed yourself going to the bathroom more frequently to urinate?"

  I thought a moment. "Yes," I said. "I have."

  She nodded. "What else?"

  "I get dizzy once in a while, just be walking along and things start to spin on me."

  "I see. I assume you keep track of your period," she said, "and at least have an approximate idea of when it should arrive."

  My heart stopped.

  "You've missed one?" she asked quickly when she saw the look on my face.

  "Yes, but . . . that's happened to me occasionally before."

  "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately and noticed any changes in your body, especially your breasts?" she asked.

  I had noticed tiny new blood vessels, but I told her I thought that was because I was still developing. She shook her head.

  "You're about as developed as you're going to be," she said. "I'm afraid it sounds like you're pregnant, Ruby," she declared. "Only you know if that's a possibility. Is it?"

  I felt as if she had dowsed me with a pail of ice water. For a moment my whole body became numb, and the muscles in my face wouldn't work. I couldn't reply. I didn't think my heart was even beating. It was as if I had turned to stone right before her eyes. "Ruby?" she asked again.

  And I just started to cry.

  "Oh dear," she said. "You poor dear."

  She put her arm around me and led me to one of the cots. She told me to lie down and rest. I remember that as I lay there burying myself with a mountain of self-pity, hating Fate, cursing Destiny, I wondered why love was made to be so wonderful if it could put me in such a state of affairs. It seemed like a cruel joke had been played on me, but of course, I had no one to blame but myself. I didn't even blame Beau, knowing somehow that I had had the power to say no, to turn him away, but had chosen not to do so.

  A little while later, after my crying had subsided, Mrs. Miller pulled up a chair beside me and sat down.

  "We'll have to inform your family," she said. "This is a very personal problem, and you and your family will have to make some important decisions."

  "Please," I said, seizing her hand, "don't tell anyone."

  "I won't tell anyone but your family and, of course, Mrs. Ironwood."

  "No, please. I don't want anyone to know just yet."

  "I can't do that. It's too much of a responsibility, dear. Surely after the initial shock, your family will give you support, and you and your family will make the right decisions."

  "Decisions?" There seemed to be only one decision—suicide, or at least running away.

  "Whether to have the baby, to have an abortion, to inform the father . . . decisions. So you see, there's too much responsibility for us to keep it a secret. Others have to know. If we didn't tell them, we would be remiss. I would be irresponsible and certainly held to account. The least that would happen is I would be fired."

  "Oh, I don't want that, Mrs. Miller. I'm already responsible for one person losing her job here. I don't want another person on my conscience. Of course, do what you have to do and don't worry about me," I said.

  "Now, now, dear. We'll still worry about you. Other girls have been in this predicament, you know. It's not the end of the world, although it might seem so to you right now." She smiled. "You'll be all right," she promised, patting my hand. "Just rest. do what has to be done and do it discreetly."

  She left and I lay there, hoping the ceiling would fall in on me and cursing the day I had decided to leave the bayou.

  Nearly an hour later, Mrs. Ironwood arrived with Mrs. Miller to inform me that Daphne was sending the limousine for me. I could se the glint of self-satisfaction in her eyes as she spoke.

  "Get yourself together and go back to the dorm. Pack your things, all your things. You won't be coming back to Greenwood," she commanded.

  "At least there's one good thing to come of this," I said.

  She turned bright crimson and hoisted her shoulders. "I'm not surprised. It was only a matter of time before you destroyed yourself. Your sort always does," she snapped, then left before I could reply.

  I didn't care anymore anyway. Ironically, Gisselle had been right: Greenwood was a horrible place as long as that woman ran and administered it. I left the building and returned to the dorm to complete my packing. I had most of it done by midday, when Gisselle came running over during the lunch hour. She burst into the quad screaming my name. When she saw my suitcases packed, my closet and dresser drawers emptied, her mouth dropped.

  "What's going on?" she demanded, and I told her. For once, she was speechless. She sat on my bed.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "What can I do? I'm going home. The limousine should be here shortly."

  "But that's not fair. I'll be left here all alone."

  "All alone? You have the other girls, and you never wanted to do things with me anyway, Gisselle. We're sisters, but up here we were strangers most of the time."

  "I'm not staying here. I won't," she insisted.

  "That's between you and Daphne," I said.

  She went fuming out of my room to make her phone call, but she didn't return to pack her things, so I imagined Daphne had denied her request. At least for now.

  Half an hour later Mrs. Penny, her face sallow, came to inform me that the limousine had arrived, She was sincerely sad for me, and she helped me carry some of my things out to the car.

  "I'm very disappointed in you," she said. "And so is Mrs. Ironwood."

  "Mrs. Ironwood is not disappointed, Mrs. Penny. You work for an ogre. Someday you'll admit that to yourself and then you'll leave too."

  "Leave?" She looked like she would laugh. "But where would I go?"

  "Anyplace where people aren't hypocritical and mean to each other, where you're not judged on the basis of your bank account, where nice and talented people like Miss Stevens aren't persecuted for being honest and caring."

  She stared at me a moment, and then with her face as serious as I had ever seen it, she said, "There isn't any such place, but if you find it, send me a postcard and tell me how to get there."

  She left me and walked back to the dorm to return to her duties as the surrogate mother for all of these girls. I got into the limousine and we drove away.

  And I never looked back.

  Edgar came out and helped the driver carry all my things up to my room when I arrived. He informed me that Daphne wasn't home.

  "But madame asked that you remain in the house and speak to no one until she returns," he said. I wondered if he knew why I had come back. He knew it was something terrible, but he didn't reveal whether he knew any details. Nina was another story. She took one look at me when I entered the kitchen to greet her and said, "You be with child, girl."

  "Daphne told you."

  "She be ranting and raving so loud, even the dead in ovens over at St. Louis Cemetery musta heard her. Then she come in here and told me herself."

  "It's my fault, Nina."

  "It takes two to make baby magic," she said. "It ain't be your only fault."

  "Oh Nina, what am I going to do? I not only make mistakes that ruin my own life, I make the kind that ruin other people's lives too."

  "Someone powerful put a fix on you. None of Nina's good gris-gris stop it," she said thoughtfully. "You best go to church and ask St. Michael for help. He be the one who help you conquer your enemies," she advised.

  We heard the front door open and close and then the sound of Daphne's heels clicking down the corridor sharply. This was followed by Edgar's arrival.

  "Madame Dumas is here, mademoiselle. She wants to see you in the office," he told me.

  "I'd rather see the devil," I muttered.

  Nina's eyes widened with fear.

  "You say that no more, hear? Papa La
Bas, he got big ears."

  I went to the office. Daphne was behind the desk on the telephone. She raised her eyebrows when I appeared and nodded toward the chair in front of the desk while she kept talking.

  "She's home now, John. I can send her up immediately. I am relying on your discretion. Of course. I appreciate that. Thank you."

  She cradled the phone slowly and sat back. To my surprise, she shook her head slowly and smiled.

  "I must be honest," she began. "I always expected I would be sitting here confronting Gisselle in this situation, not you. Despite your background, you gave both me and your father the impression that you were the more sensible one, wiser, certainly more intelligent.

  "But," she continued, "as you now know, being more book smart doesn't make you a better person, does it?"

  I tried to swallow but couldn't.

  "How ironic. I, who had every right to bear a child, who could provide the best for him or her, was unable to conceive, and you, like some rabbit, just go and make a baby with your boyfriend as nonchalantly as you would eat a meal or take a walk. You're always talking about how unfair this is and unfair that is. Well, how do you like the hand I've been dealt? And then, like salt on a wound, I have to have you enter this house, become part of this family, and confront you with child when you have no right to be pregnant."

  -"I didn't mean it to happen," I said.

  She threw her head back and laughed.

  "How many times since Eve conceived Cain and Abel have women uttered that stupid sentence?" Her eyes became dark slits. "What did you think would happen? You thought you could be as hot as a goat or a monkey and make your boyfriend that hot and not ever pay the consequences? Did you think you were me?"

  "No, but . . ."

  "Forget the buts," she said. "The damage, as they say, has been done. And now, like always, it's left to me to right the wrong, correct and fix things. It was the same when your father was alive, believe me.

  "The limousine is outside," she continued. "The driver has his instructions. You don't need anything. Just go out and get into the car," she commanded.

  "Where am I going?"

  She stared a moment.

  "A friend of mine who's a doctor is at a clinic outside the city. He's expecting you. He will perform an abortion and, barring any unforeseen complications, send you directly home. You'll spend a few days recuperating upstairs and then you'll return to public school here. I've already begun to concoct a cover story. The death of your father has left you so depressed you can't continue away from home. Lately you've been walking around here with a long face all the time. People will accept it."

  "But . . ."

  "I told you—there are no buts. Now don't keep the doctor waiting. He's doing me a very delicate favor."

  I stood up.

  "One other thing," she added. "Don't bother to call Beau Andreas. I've just come from his home. His parents are about as upset with him as I am with you and have decided to send him away for the remainder of the school year."

  "Away? Where?"

  "Far away," she said. "To live with relatives and go to school in France."

  "France!"

  "That's correct. I think he's grateful that's the only punishment he's to endure. If he should ever speak to you or write to you and his parents find out, he will be disinherited. So if you want to destroy him too, try to contact him.

  "Now go," she added with a tired voice. "This is the first and the last time I will cover up your faux pas. From here on in, you alone will suffer for whatever indiscretions you commit. Go!" she ordered, pointing her arm toward the door, her long forefinger jabbing the air. It felt as if she had jabbed it into my heart.

  I turned and walked out. Without pausing, I left the house and got into the limousine. I never felt more confused or more lost. Events seemed to be carrying me along on their own. I was like someone who had lost all choice. It was as if a strong current had come streaming down the bayou canal, whisking me away in my pirogue, and no matter how I tried to pole myself in another direction, I couldn't. I could only sit back and let the water carry me to the predetermined end.

  I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until the driver said, "We're here, mademoiselle."

  We must have driven for at least half an hour or so and now we were in some small town in which all the stores were closed. Knowing Daphne, I had expected to be brought to an expensive-looking modern hospital, but the limousine pulled up behind a dark, dilapidated building. It didn't look like a clinic, or even a doctor's office.

  "Are we at the right place?" I asked.

  "It's where I was told to bring you," the driver said. He got out and opened the rear door. I stepped out slowly. The back door of the building squeaked open and a heavy woman with hair the color and texture of a kitchen scrub pad looked out.

  "This way," she commanded. "Quickly."

  As I drew closer, I saw she wore a nurse's uniform. She had roller-pin forearms and very wide hips that made it look like her upper body had been added as an afterthought. There was a mole on her chin with some hairs curling up around it. Her thick lips tightened with impatience.

  "Hurry up," she snapped.

  "Where am I?" I asked.

  "Where do you think you are?" she replied, stepping back for me to enter. I did so cautiously. The rear entryway opened to a long, dimly lit corridor with walls of faded yellow. The floor looked scuffed and dirty.

  "This is a . . . clinic?" I asked.

  "It's the doctor's office," she said. "Go in the first door on the right. The doctor will be right with you."

  She marched ahead of me and disappeared into another room on the left. I opened the door of the first room on the right and saw an examination table with stirrups. There was a sheet of tissue paper over the table. On the right was a metal table, and on that was a tray of instruments. There was a sink against the far wall with what looked like previously used instruments soaking in a pan of water. The walls of the room were the same dull yellow as the corridor walls. There were no pictures, no plaques, not even a window. But there was another door, which opened, and a tall, thin man with bushy eyebrows and thin coal-black hair flattened over the top of his head and cut short at the sides stepped in. He wore a light blue surgical gown.

  He looked at me and nodded, but he didn't say hello. Instead he walked to the sink and began to scrub his hands.

  "Just sit up on the table," he ordered with his back to me.

  The heavy woman came in and began to organize the surgical tools. The doctor turned around to look at me. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

  "The table," he said again, nodding at it.

  "I thought . . . I would be brought to a hospital," I said.

  "Hospital?" He looked at the nurse, who shook her head without speaking. She didn't look up, nor did she look at me. "This is your first time, right?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said, my voice cracking. My heart was pounding, and I felt the beads of sweat forming on my neck and brow.

  "Well, it won't take long," he said. His nurse picked up an instrument that looked like Grandpère Jack's hand drill. I felt my stomach do a flip-flop.

  "This is a mistake," I said. "I'm supposed to go to a clinic."

  I backed away, shaking my head. Neither the doctor nor the nurse had even introduced themselves.

  "This can't be right," I said.

  "Now look here, young lady. I'm doing your mother a favor. I left my house, rushed my dinner to come down here. There's no time for foolishness."

  "Foolishness is what got you here," the heavy woman said, scowling. "You play, you pay," she added. "Get on the table."

  I shook my head.

  "No. This isn't right. No," I said again. I backed myself to the door and found the knob. "No."

  "I have no time for this," the doctor warned.

  "I don't care. This isn't right." I turned around to pull open the door. In an instant I was down the dingy corridor and out the rear entrance. My driver was still
sitting in the car behind the wheel, his cap over his eyes, his head back, sleeping. I rapped on the window and he jumped.

  "Take me home!" I screamed.

  He got out quickly and opened the rear door.

  "Madame told me it would be awhile," he said, confused.

  "Just drive," I screamed. He shrugged but got back into the car and pulled away. Moments later we were back on the highway. I looked back at the dark, murky town. It was as if I had gone in and out of a nightmare.

  But when I turned and looked ahead, the reality of what awaited me hit me like a gust of hurricane wind. Daphne would be furious; she would make my life even more miserable. We approached a fork in the road. The arrow on the sign pointed left to indicate the direction of New Orleans, but it also had an arrow pointing right, toward Houma.

  "Stop!" I ordered.

  "What?" The driver pressed his foot down on the brake and turned around. "What now, mademoiselle?" he asked.

  I hesitated. My whole life seemed to flash by me: Grandmère Catherine waiting for me when I returned from school, running up to her with my pigtails flying, embracing her and trying to tell her as fast as I could about all the things that I had learned and done at school. Paul in a pirogue coming out from a bend and waving to me, and me rushing down to the shore to join him, a picnic lunch under my arms. Grandmère Catherine's last words, my promises, walking off to get on the bus to New Orleans. Arriving at the mansion in the Garden District. Daddy's soft, loving eyes, the excitement in his face when he realized who I was.. All of it rushed by in moments.

  I opened the car door.

  "Mademoiselle?"

  "Just go back to New Orleans, Charles," I told him.

  "What?" he said in disbelief.

  "Tell Madame Dumas . . . tell her she is finally rid of me," I said, and started walking toward Houma.

  Charles waited, confused. But when I disappeared in the darkness, he pulled away and the sleek limousine went on without me, its rear lights growing smaller and smaller until it was completely gone, and I was alone on the highway.

  A year before I had left Houma thinking I was going home.

  The truth was that right now I was returning to the only home I had ever known.