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"I don't mean to unload all my misery on you, Paul," I wrote toward the end.
But even to this day when I think of someone in whom I can confide my innermost feelings. I think of you. I suppose I should think of Beau, but there are things a girl would rather tell a brother than she would her boyfriend, I suppose. I don't know. I'm so confused right now. Gisselle is getting her way after all. I now hate it here and I am on the verge of calling Daddy and asking him to do the very thing she wanted me to do from the start--get us out of Greenwood. The only person I will miss will be Miss Stevens.
On the other hand, I'm tempted to stay, here and put up with it, just so Gisselle won't get her way. I don't know what to do. I don't know what's right anymore. The good suffer and the bad don't so often, I wonder if the world is filled with more bad gris-gris than good. I miss Grandmere Catherine so; I miss her wisdom and her strength. Anyway, I'm looking forward to your visiting us in New Orleans during the Christmas holidays as you promised. I've already told Daddy, and he's looking forward to seeing you too. I think anyone or anything that reminds him of our mother fills him with an inner happiness and peace he will reveal only to us through his smile.
Write soon.
Love, Ruby
It wasn't until I started to fold the letter to put it in an envelope that I saw the stains from my teardrops.
The next morning I got up, dressed, and had my breakfast silently, barely looking or speaking to anyone except Vicki, who asked me if I was ready for our social studies test. We talked about it on the way to the main building. Throughout the day, I couldn't help but feel that everyone's eyes were on me. News about Abby had spread quickly, and it was only natural that the other girls would wonder and watch to see how I reacted and behaved. I decided not to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing me unhappy, something I was more easily able to do when I entered Miss Stevens's art class.
She taught her lesson and we all began our work. It wasn't until the bell rang to end the period that she came over to me to talk about Abby. I told her how Abby seemed relieved and even happier now that it was over.
She nodded. "Whatever doesn't destroy you, makes you stronger. Hardships have a way of toughening us, if they don't kill us," she said, smiling. "Look at you and the hard things you've had to endure."
"I'm not a tough person, Miss Stevens."
"You're tougher than you think you are."
I looked down at my desk. "1 was thinking about asking my father to take Gisselle and me out of Greenwood," I said.
"Oh no. I'd hate to lose you. You're the most talented student I have, and probably ever will have. Things will get better for you. They have to," she promised. "Try not to think of the bad things. Lose yourself in your art. Make art everything," she advised.
I nodded. "I'll try."
"Good. And don't forget, I'll be here for you whenever you need me."
"Thank you, Miss Stevens."
Buoyed by our little talk, I did turn from the dark and unhappy events to look forward to Daddy's arrival on Wednesday and Beau's arrival on Saturday. At least two of the people I loved most in the world would soon be with me and would bring rays of sunshine back into the world that had become dismal and gray.
And then when I returned to the dorm, I found that a letter had arrived from Paul, even before mine to him had been posted. His was full of optimism and happy news: how well he had been doing in school, how much his family's business had improved, and how his father was giving him more and more responsibility.
Although I still have time to take my pirogue and pole up the bayou to do some fishing at my secret spots. Yesterday I just lay back in the canoe and watched the sun turn red as it began to fall between the branches of the sycamores. The scattered light made the Spanish moss look like sheets of silk. Then the nutrias started to come out more boldly. The dragonflies did their ritualistic dances over the water, and the bream and white crappie rose and fell in the canals as if I, fishing pole and all, weren't even there. A snowy egret swooped down so low I thought it was going to land on my shoulder before it veered and went farther downstream.
I turned to see a white-tailed deer poke its head through the branches of a cottonwood on shore and watched me drift for a while before disappearing in the willow.
All of this made me think of you and our wonderful late afternoons together, and I wondered how it must be for you to live someplace else now, away from the bayou. It made me sad, until I remembered how completely you absorbed everything and then, with that wonderful artistic talent, brought it out again to last forever on some canvas. How lucky will be the ones who buy your paintings.
Looking forward to seeing you, Paul
His letter filled me with a delicious sort of happiness, the kind that mixed melancholy with joy, memories with hope. I felt aloof, above the fray. I must have had a smile of such deep satisfaction on my face that evening at dinner. I saw how Gisselle kept gazing at me with frus
tration.
"What's wrong with you?" she finally demanded. All the girls around us who had been talking spiritedly stopped to look and listen.
"Nothing. Why?"
"You look stupid sitting there with that grin on your face, like you know something we don't," she said.
I shrugged. "I don't," I said. Then I thought a moment and put down my fork. I folded my hands in front of me and fixed my gaze on all of them. "Except I know that many of the things you all think are so important, things like family lineage and great wealth, don't guarantee happiness."
"Oh no?" Gisselle whined. "Then what does?"
"Liking yourself," I said, "for who you really are and not what others want you to be." Then I got up and went back to my room.
