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I thanked her and returned to the dorm to pack my things.
Now the limousine was carrying us off on a journey that seemed more like a nightmare, a trip through what, to me at least, was an endlessly dark tunnel whose walls were woven from the fabric of my most dreaded fears, the foremost of which was thefear of being alone. From the moment I was old enough to understand that my mother had died and my father had, I was told, deserted me, I felt this cavernous pit in my heart, this great sense of being tethered to the shore by only a slim line of woven hemp. More than one night I was awakened by the nightmarish vision of myself being tossed about while I slept at the bottom of my pirogue. The storm that whipped through the bayou lashed at the slim line of hemp until it ripped it in two and sent me rushing downstream into the night and the unknown.
Of course, Grandmere Catherine's reassuring embrace and soothing words put me at ease. She was my slim line of hemp, she was my only sense of security; and when she died, I would have felt lost and at the mercy of these terrible winds of Fate had she not given me new hope just before her passing by telling me my father's name and encouraging me to go to him. Like a hobo looking for a handout of love, I went knocking on his door, but my heart was cheered by the overwhelming manner in which he had accepted and welcomed me into his home and his own heart. Once again I felt secure, and my dreams of being lost in a raging storm all but disappeared.
Now Daddy was gone too. Those prophetic paintings I had done as a young girl, paintings in which I envisioned my mysterious father drifting away, had all unfortunately come true. The dark shadows were rushing back, the wind began its howling. Numb to the very core of my soul, I sat in the limousine and stared out at the scenery that flowed by with a gray fluidity that made it seem as if the dreary world were draining down behind us and we would soon be left dangling in empty space.
Finally, unable to keep silent a moment longer, Gisselle poured forth a new stream of complaints.
"Daphne's going to really lord it over us now," she moaned. "Anything we've inherited will be in trust. We'll have to do whatever she says, whatever she wants." She waited for me to join her with my own rendition of grievances, but I remained silent, gazing out, listening to her ramble on, but barely acknowledging her presence. "Didn't you hear what I said?"
"I don't care, Gisselle. It's not important right now," I muttered.
"Not important?" She laughed. "Just wait until we get home and you find out how right I am. Then we'll see how important it is," she declared. "How could he die?" she screamed shrilly, not because she was saddened by our daddy's death but because she was angry at him for succumbing to it. "Why didn't he see he wasn't well and go to a doctor? Why wasn't he well anyway? He wasn't old."
"He had more heartache to contend with than a man twice his age," I said sharply.
"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean, Ruby? Huh? What exactly is Miss Goody Two-Shoes saying now?"
"Nothing," I said with a sigh. "Let's not argue today. Please, Gisselle."
"I'm not arguing. I'd just like to know what you meant, that's all. Did you mean it's all my fault, because if you did . . ."
"No, I didn't mean that. Daddy had a lot on his mind besides you and me. He had poor Uncle Jean and Daphne and his business problems . . ."
"That's right," she said, liking my explanation. "He did. But still, he should have taken better care of himself. Look at how he's left us now. I'm crippled and I have no father. You think Daphne's going to give me the things I want when I want them? Never. You heard her when we left. She believes Daddy spoiled us, spoiled me!"
"Let's not jump to any conclusions," I said in a tired, small voice. "Daphne must be devastated too. Maybe . . . maybe she'll be different. Maybe she'll need us and love us more."
Gisselle made her eyes small as she thought about what I had said. I knew she was simply trying to figure out how to take advantage of the situation if what I said were true, how she could impose upon Daphne's great grief and maneuver to get what she wanted. She sat back to think about it some more, and the remainder of our ride went quietly, even though it seemed to take twice as long. I fell asleep for a while and woke up to see Lake Pontchartrain looming ahead. Soon the skyline of New Orleans came into view, and we were traveling through the city streets.
Everything looked different to me. It was as if Daddy's death had changed the world. The quaint narrow streets, the buildings with their scrolled iron balconies, the little gar dens in the alleyways, the cafes, the traffic, and the people all seemed foreign. It was as if the soul of the city had left along with Daddy's soul.
Gisselle did not have the same reaction. The moment we entered the Garden District, she won
dered aloud if she would soon see her old friends.
"I'm sure they've all heard about Daddy. They're bound to come visiting us. I can't wait," she said. "I'll find out all the gossip." She smiled gleefully.
How could she be so selfish? I wondered. How could her mind and her heart not be filled with gloom? How could she not be thinking about Daddy's smile, Daddy's voice, Daddy's embrace? And how could she not be weighed down with a sorrow that turned her very bones to stone and made her blood run cold? Would I have turned out this way had I been the first baby born and the one given to the Dumas family? Did the evil of that act settle in her tiny heart like a lump of coal and infect her every thought and feeling? Would that have happened to me?
As if he had been standing at the door for hours and hours, Edgar was there when we drove up. He looked years older, his shoulders slumped, his face pale. He hurried down to help with our things.
"Hello, Edgar," I said.
His lips trembled as he tried to greet me, but just the pronunciation of my name, a name Daddy had loved to call, made his eyes tear and his tongue stumble.
"Get me out of here already!" Gisselle screamed. The chauffeur hurried around to the trunk and Edgar went to help him with Gisselle's
wheelchair. "Edgar!"
"Oui, mademoiselle, I'm coming," he replied, hobbling around the rear of the car.
"So's Christmas."
They got the wheelchair unfolded and Gisselle into it. The moment we entered the house, I felt the cold gloom that permeated the very walls. All the lights were subdued, the shades still drawn. A tall, thin man in a black suit and tie emerged from the parlor. He had a narrow face that brought his nose and even his chin to a point, reminding me of a pelican. His bald head was spotted but shiny, with two tufts of light brown hair just above his ears. He seemed to slink along, gliding over the floor, moving with barely a sound.
"Madame wanted the wake to be held here," Edgar warned us. "This is Monsieur Boche, the undertaker."
