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"Coming, coming. Philip," he called, and the driver came around to put my paintings in the trunk of the limousine. "Careful," he told him. Then he took down our address. "You will be hearing from me," he said as he got into his limousine again. Grandmere Catherine and I stood beside each other and watched the long car go off until it disappeared around the bend.
"Fifty dollars, Grandmere!" I said, waving the money. Mrs. Thibodeau was quite impressed, but my grandmother looked more thoughtful than happy. I thought she even looked a little sad.
"It's begun," she said in a voice barely above a whisper, her eyes fixed in the direction the limousine had taken. "What has, Grandmere?"
"The future, your future, Ruby. This fifty dollars is just the beginning. Be sure you say nothing about it if your Grandpere Jack should stumble by," she instructed. Then she returned to Mrs. Thibodeau to continue their discussion about couchemals and other evil spirits that lurk about unsuspecting folks.
But I couldn't contain my excitement. I was terribly impatient with the rest of the day, eager to see it hurry along until Paul was to come. I couldn't wait to tell him, and I laughed to myself thinking I could buy him the crushed ice tonight, instead of him buying it for me. Only, I knew he wouldn't let me pay. He was too proud.
The only thing that kept me from exploding with impatience was the business we did. We sold all our blankets, sheets, and towels and Grandmere sold a half-dozen jars of herbal cures. We even sold a pickled frog. All of Grandmere Catherine's gumbo was eaten. In fact, she had to go in and start to make some more for our own dinner. Finally, the sun dropped below the trees and Grandmere declared our day at the roadside had ended. She was very pleased and sang as she worked on our dinner.
"I want you to have my money, Grandmere," I told her.
"We made enough today. I don't need to take your painting money, Ruby." Then she narrowed her eyes on me. "But give it to me to hide. I know you'll feel sorry for that swamp bum and give him some if not all of it one day. I'll put it in my chest for safekeeping. He wouldn't dare look in there," she said.
Grandmere's oak chest was the most sacred thing in the house. It didn't need to be under lock and key. Grandpere Jack would never dare set his hands on it; no matter how drunk he was when he came here. Even I did not venture to open the lid and sift through the things within, for they were her most precious and personal keepsakes, including things that belonged to my mother when she was a little girl. Grandmere promised that everything in it would some day belong to me.
After we had eaten and had cleaned up, Grandmere sat in her rocking chair on the galerie, and I sat near her on the steps. It wasn't as muggy and hot as the night before because there was a brisk breeze. The sky had only a few scattered clouds so the bayou was well lit by the yellowish white light of the moon. It made the limbs of the trees in the swamp look like bones and the still water glisten like glass. On a night like this, sounds traveled over the bayou quickly and easily. We could hear the happy tunes coming from Mr. Bute's accordion and the laughter of his wife and children, all gathered on their front galerie.
Somewhere, way in the distance down left toward town, a car horn blared, while behind us, the frogs croaked in the swamp. I had not told Grandmere Catherine that Paul was coming, but she sensed it.
"You look like you're sitting on pins and needles tonight, Ruby. Waiting for something?"
Before I could reply, we heard the soft growl of Paul's motor scooter.
"No need to answer," Grandmere said. Moments later, we saw the small light on his motor scooter, and Paul rode into our front yard.
"Good evening, Mrs. Landry, They said, walking up to us. "Hi, Ruby."
"Hello," Grandmere Catherine said, eying him cautiously.
"We have a little relief from the heat and humidity tonight," he said, and she nodded. "How was your day?" he asked me.
"Wonderful! I sold all five of my paintings," I declared quickly.
"All of them? That is wonderful. We'll have to celebrate with two ice cream sodas instead of just crushed ice. If it's all right with you, Mrs. Landry, I'd like to take Ruby to town," he added, turning to Grandmere Catherine. I saw how his request troubled her. Her eyebrows rose and she leaned back in her rocker. Her hesitation made Paul add, "We won't be long."
"I don't want you to take her on that flimsy motor thing," Grandmere said, nodding toward the scooter. Paul laughed.
"I'd rather walk on a night like this anyway, wouldn't you, Ruby?"
"Yes. All right, Grandmere?"
"I suppose. But don't go anywhere but to town and back and don't talk to any strangers," she cautioned.
"Yes, Grandmere."
"Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to her
," Paul assured Grandmere. Paul's assurance didn't make her look less anxious, but he and I started toward town, our way well lit by the moon. He didn't take my hand until we were out of sight.
"Your grandmere worries so much about you," Paul said. "She's seen a lot of sadness and hard times. But we had a good day at the stall."
"And you sold all your paintings. That's great."
"I didn't sell them so much as get them into a New Orleans gallery," I said, and told him everything that had happened and what Dominique LeGrand had said.
Paul was silent for a long moment. Then he turned to me, his face strangely sad. "Someday, you'll be a famous artist and move away from the bayou. You'll live in a big house in New Orleans, I'm sure," he predicted, "and forget all us Cajuns."
