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But time has a way of drawing the poisons in us to the surface. The evil that nestled under Grandpere Jack's heart seeped out and changed him--or, as Grandmere was fond of saying, "turned him into what he was: a no-account rogue who belongs with the things that slither and crawl."
Perhaps he had turned to his rotgut whiskey as a way of denying what he was or what he saw reflecting back at him when he leaned over his pirogue and gazed into the water. Whatever it was, the demons inside him got their way, and finally they dragged him down into the waters he had once loved and cherished and even worshiped. The bayou out of which he'd made his life had claimed his life.
I cried for the man he was when Grandmere Catherine first fell in love with him, just as I imagined she had cried for him when he had stopped being that man.
Despite Paul's pleading, I insisted on staying in the shack. If I didn't force myself to do it the first night, I would find reason not to the next and the next after that, I thought. I made my old bed as
comfortable as I could and, after everyone had gone and I had said good night to Paul and promised to be waiting for him in the morning, I went to sleep and passed out quickly from total exhaustion.
It didn't take an hour or so after sunrise for all of Grandmere Catherine's old friends to learn of my return. They thought I had come back intending to look after Grandpere Jack. I rose early and began to clean the shack, working on the kitchen first. There was little to eat, but before an hour had passed, Grandmere's old friends began arriving, each bringing me something. Everyone was shocked at the condition of the shack, of course. None had been inside since Grandmere's death and my departure. Cajun women throw themselves at someone else's chores as if they are all of one family when that person is in need. By the time I turned around, they were all scrubbing down the floors and walls, shaking out the rugs, dusting the furniture, washing windows. It brought tears of joy to my eyes. No one had cross-examined me as to where I had been and what I had been doing. I was back, I needed their help, and that was all that mattered. Finally, I felt I really had come home.
Paul came by with armloads of things his parents had sent over and thing. The knew I would need. He went around the shack with a hammer and nails and tacked down as many loose boards as he could find. Then he took a shovel and began to fill in the dozens and dozens of holes Grandpere had dug, searching for the treasure he imagined Grandmere Catherine had buried. I saw how the women watched him work and whispered to themselves, smiling and glancing my way. If they only knew the truth, I thought, if they only knew. But there were still secrets to be kept locked up in our own hearts; there were still people we loved and had to protect.
Grandpere Jack's funeral was a quick and simple one. Father Rush advised me to have it conducted as soon as possible.
"You don't want to attract Jack Landry's sort to your home, Ruby. You know that kind only looks for an excuse to imbibe and cause a ruckus. Best leave him at peace and pray for him on your own."
"Will you say a mass for him, Father?" I asked.
"That we will. The good Lord has compassion enough to forgive even a man as lowdown as Jack Landry, and it is not for us to judge anyway," he said.
After the burial, Grandmere Catherine's friends returned to the house and only then began to ask some questions about my whereabouts since Grandmere Catherine's passing. I told them I had been with relatives in New Orleans but that I'd missed the bayou. It wasn't untrue, and it was enough to satisfy their curiosity.
Paul went about the grounds and the shack, continuing
to do handyman's work, while the women sat and talked into the evening hours. He lingered until they all bid me good night, all still smiling and chattering about him.
"You know what they think," he said when we were finally alone. "That you returned to be with me."
"I know."
"What are you going to do when you start to show?"
"I don't know yet," I said.
"The easiest thing to do is marry me," he said firmly, his blue eyes full of hope.
"Oh Paul, you know why that can never be."
"Why not? The only thing we can't do is have children of our own, but we don't have to now. You've got our baby in your oven," he said.
"Paul, it wouldn't be right to even think of such a thing. And your father . . ."
"My father wouldn't say a word," Paul snapped, and I couldn't remember when I last saw him so dark and angry. "If he did, he'd have to confess to the world what sins he committed. I'll make a good life for you, Ruby. Honest I will. I'm going to be a rich man, and I've got a prime piece of land on which to build my house. Maybe it won't be as fancy as the house you lived in in New Orleans, but . . ."
"Oh, it's not fancy houses or riches that I want, Paul. I told you once before that you should look to find yourself a wife with whom you can build your own family. You deserve your own family."
"You're my family, Ruby. You've always been my family."
I looked away so he wouldn't see the tears in my eyes. I didn't want to hurt him.
"Can't you love me without having children with me?" he asked. It sounded more like pleading.
"Paul, it's not only that . ."
"You do love me, don't you?"
"I love you, Paul, but I haven't thought of you the way you want me to since . . . since we learned the truth about ourselves."
