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I wondered if either Abby or Gisselle had noticed the odd thing about the clocks.
I lifted my gaze to the large teardrop diamond earrings that dripped from her lobes. Her dress had sleeves with frilly lace cuffs that reached the base of her palms. Over her left wrist she wore a diamond and gold bracelet. The long, bony fingers of both her hands were filled with precious-jewel rings, some set in platinum, some in gold and others in silver.
Even in her pictures, Mrs. Clairborne had a narrow face that seemed out of place on her portly body; only in person, it seemed even more so. Because of the way her long, thin nose protruded, her dark eyes seemed to be set even more deeply than they were. She had a wide, thin mouth, so thin that when her lips were pressed together, it looked like a pencil line drawn from inside one cheek to the inside of the other. Her complexion, unaided by any cosmetic touch whatsoever, was pasty white, spotted with brown aging marks on her forehead and cheeks.
I quickly decided that the artists who had done her portraits had used their imaginations almost as much as they had used her as a model.
She stepped forward and leaned on her cane.
"Welcome, girls," she said. "Please, be seated."
Abby and I quickly did so, and Mrs. Clairborne walked directly to her chair, tapping her cane after each step as if to confirm it. She nodded at Mrs. Penny, who sat on the other settee, and then Mrs. Clairborne sat down and hooked her cane over the right arm of the chair before gazing at Gisselle for a moment and then looking at Abby and me.
"I like to have a personal relationship with each of my Greenwood girls," she began. "Our school is special in that we do not, as most public schools are prone to do, treat the students as if they were numbers, statistics. And so, I would like each of you," she said, "to introduce yourself to me and tell me a little about yourself. And then I will tell you why I decided a long time ago to ensure that Greenwood continue, and what I hope will be accomplished there now and in the years to follow." She had a firm, hard voice, as deep as a man's at times. "Afterward," she continued, "tea will be served."
She finally softened her expression, even though it was more of a grimace to me than a true warm smile.
"Who would like to begin?" she asked. No one spoke up. Then she fixed her gaze on me. "Well, since we're all so shy, why don't we start with the twins, just so we won't make any mistakes as to who is who."
"I'm the crippled one," Gisselle declared with a smirk. There was an unheard gasp, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Mrs. Clairborne turned to her slowly.
"I hope only physically," she said.
Gisselle's face filled with blood and her mouth fell open. When I looked at Mrs. Penny, I saw she wore an expression of satisfaction. Mrs. Clairborne was heroic in her eyes, and she couldn't be put off balance. I imagined girls a lot smarter than Gisselle had tried and found themselves just as she found herself right now: eating her own words.
"I'm Ruby Dumas and this is my sister, Gisselle." I started quickly so I could fill the embarrassing silence. "We're seventeen years old and we're from New Orleans. We live in what is known as the Garden District. Our father is an investor in real estate."
Mrs. Clairborne's eyes grew small. She nodded slowly, but she studied me so intently I felt I was sitting on a mound of swamp mud and slowly sinking.
"I'm quite -familiar with the Garden District, a most beautiful area of the city. There was a time," she said a bit wistfully, "when I used to go to New Orleans quite often." She sighed and then turned to Abby, who described where she and her family now lived and her father's work as an accountant.
"You have no brothers or sisters then?"
"No, madame."
"I see." She sighed again, deeply. "Are you all comfortable in your rooms?"
"They're small," Gisselle complained.
"You don't find them cozy?"
"No, just small," Gisselle insisted.
"Perhaps that's because of your unfortunate condition. I'm sure Mrs. Penny will do everything she can to make you as comfortable as can be while you are attending Greenwood," Mrs. Clairborne said, gazing at Mrs. Penny, who nodded.
"And I'm sure you will find Greenwood a wonderful place in which to be educated. I always say our students come here as little girls and leave as young women, not only highly educated, but morally strengthened.
"I feel," she continued, her face thoughtful, still, "that Greenwood is one of the last bastions of the moral fiber that once made the South the true capital of gentility and grace. Here you girls will get a sense of your tradition, your heritage. In other places, especially in the Northeast and the West, radicals are invading every aspect of our culture, thinning it out, diluting what was once pure cream and turning it into skim milk."
She sighed.
"There is so much immorality and such a lack of respect for what was once sacred in our lives. That comes only when we forget who and what we are, from where we have evolved. Do you all understand?"
None of us spoke. Gisselle looked
overwhelmed. I gazed at Abby, who returned my glance quickly with a knowing look.
"Oh well, enough of this deep, philosophical chatter," Mrs. Clairborne said and then nodded toward the doorway, where two maids stood, waiting for the signal to bring in the tea, cakes, and pralines. The conversation became lighter. Gisselle, after a little urging, told the story of her accident, putting the blame entirely on faulty brakes. I described my love of art, and Mrs. Clairborne suggested I look over some of the paintings in the hallways. Abby was the, most reticent to talk about herself, of course, something I saw that Mrs. Clairborne noticed but didn't pursue.
