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Half a dozen black men in black suits played
brass instruments and swayed to their music. The mourners who followed carried furled umbrellas, most swaying to the same rhythm. I knew that if Nina were with us, she'd see this as a bad omen and cast one of her magical powders in the air. Later, she'd burn a blue candle, just to be sure. Instinctively I reached down-and fingered the charmed dime she had given me.
"What's that?" Gisselle asked. "Just something Nina gave me as a good luck charm," I said.
Gisselle smirked. "You still believe in that stupid stuff? It embarrasses me. Take it off. I don't want my new friends knowing you're so backward and you're my sister," she ordered.
"You believe in what you want to believe in, Gisselle, and I'll believe in what I want."
"Daddy, will you tell her she can't bring those silly charms and things to Greenwood. She'll embarrass the family." She turned back to me. "It's going to be hard enough keeping your background a secret," she claimed.
"I'm not asking you to keep anything about me secret, Gisselle. I'm not ashamed of my past."
"Well you should be," she said in a humph, glaring at the train of the funeral procession as if annoyed that someone had had the audacity to die and have his or her funeral just when she wanted to pass.
As soon as the procession did go by, Daddy continued and we turned toward the exit that would take us to the interstate and Baton Rouge. It was then that the reality of what was happening pinched Gisselle again.
"I'm leaving all my friends. It takes years to make good friends, and now they're gone."
"If they were such good friends, how come not one came by to say goodbye to you?" I asked.
"They're just angry about it," she replied.
"Too angry to say goodbye?"
"Yes," she snapped. "Besides, I spoke to everyone on the telephone last night."
"Since your accident, Gisselle, most of them hardly have anything to do with you. There's no sense in pretending. They're what are known as fair-weather friends."
"Ruby's right, honey," Daddy said.
"Ruby's right," Gisselle mimicked. "Ruby's always right," she muttered under her breath.
When Lake Pontchartrain came into view, I gazed out at the sailboats that seemed painted on the water and thought about Uncle Jean and Daddy's confession that what was thought to have been a horrible boating accident was really something Daddy had done deliberately in a moment of jealous rage. He had spent every day since and would continue to spend every day hereafter regretting his action and suffering under the weight of the guilt. But now that I had lived with Daddy and Daphne for months, I felt certain that what had happened between him and Uncle Jean was primarily Daphne's fault and not Daddy's. Perhaps that was another reason why she wanted me out of sight. She knew that whenever I looked at her, I saw her for what she was: deceitful and cunning.
"You two are going to enjoy attending school in Baton Rouge," Daddy said, flicking a gaze at us in his rearview mirror.
"I hate Baton Rouge," Gisselle replied quickly.
"You were really there only once, honey," Daddy told her. "When I took you and Daphne there for my meeting with the government officials. I'm surprised you remember any of it. You were only about six or seven."
"I remember. I remember I couldn't wait to go home."
"Well now you'll learn more about our capital city and appreciate what's there for you. I'm sure the school will have excursions to the government buildings, the museums, the zoo. You know what the name 'Baton Rouge' means, don't you?" he asked.
"In French it means 'red stick," I said.
Gisselle glared. "I knew that too. I just didn't say it as quickly as she did," she told Daddy.
"Oui, but do you know why it's called that?" I didn't and Gisselle certainly had no idea, nor did she care. "The name refers to a tall cypress tree stripped of its bark and draped with freshly killed animals that marked the boundary between the hunting grounds of the two Indian tribes at the time," he explained.
"Peachy," Gisselle said. "Freshly killed animals, ugh."
"It's our second-largest city and one of the country's largest ports."
"Full of oil smoke," Gisselle said.
"Well, the hundred miles or so of coastline to New Orleans is known as the Petrochemical Gold Coast, but it's not just oil up here. There are great sugar plantations too. It's also called the Sugar Bowl of America."
