Landry 02 Pearl in the Mist (4 page)

"What's that?" Gisselle asked when she saw the locket lying between my breasts.
"A gift from Beau."
"Let me see it," she said, leaning forward to take the locket in her fingers. I had to lean over so she wouldn't snap the chain off my neck.
"Be careful," I said.
She opened it and saw our pictures. Her mouth dropped open and she looked back through the window at Beau, who stood talking with Edgar.
"He never gave me anything like that. In fact," she said angrily, "he never gave me anything."
"Maybe he thought you had everything you wanted," I said
She dropped the locket back on my chest and flopped back in the seat to pout. Daddy got into the car and looked at us.
"All set?" he asked.
"No," Gisselle said. "I'll never be set for this."
"We're all set, Daddy," I said. I looked through the window at Beau and mouthed, "Goodbye. I love you." He nodded. Daddy started the engine and we began to pull away.
I looked back through the rearview mirror and saw Nina and Wendy on the galerie, waving. I waved to them and to Edgar and to Beau. Gisselle refused to turn around and wave goodbye to anyone. She sat with her eyes forward, hatefully.
When we reached the gate, I lifted my gaze slowly up the front of the great house until my eyes focused on a window in which the curtains had been drawn back. I studied it, and as the shadows moved away, I saw Daphne standing there gazing down at us.
She was wearing a smile of deep satisfaction.

2
Further from the Bayou
.
As we drove out of the Garden District and

headed for the highway that would take us to Baton Rouge, Gisselle grew unexpectedly quiet. She pressed her face to the window and gazed out at the olivegreen streetcar that rattled down the esplanade, and she looked hungrily at the people who were sitting out in the sidewalk cafes as if she could smell the coffee and the freshly baked breads. New Orleans always seemed busy with tourists, men and women with cameras around their necks and guidebooks in their hands, gazing up at the mansions or at the statues. Some parts of the city had a quiet, lazy rhythm, and other parts were bustling and busy. But the city had character, a life of its own, and it was impossible to live here and not become part of it or stop it from becoming part of you.

When we passed under the long canopy of spreading oaks and passed the great homes and yards filled with camellias and magnolia trees, I too suddenly felt melancholy. The feeling surprised me. I hadn't realized that I had grown to think of this as home. Perhaps because of Daddy, because of Nina and Edgar and Wendy, and certainly because of Beau, I felt a sense of belonging now. I realized I would miss this part of the world that I had come to claim as mine almost a year ago.

I would miss Nina's good cooking and her superstitions and rituals to ward off evil. I would miss the chatter I overheard between her and Edgar when they argued about the power of an herb or the evil eye. I would miss Wendy's singing to herself as she worked, and I would miss Daddy's bright, warm smile when he greeted me every morning.

Despite the clouds of tension Daphne had kept hovering over us from the moment I arrived in New Orleans, I knew I would miss the great house with its enormous entryway, its impressive paintings and statues, its rich, antique furniture. What a thrill it was for me during my early days to leave my room and descend that grand stairway like a princess in a castle. Would I ever forget that first night when Daddy brought me to what would be my room and he opened the door on that enormous bed with the fluffy pillows and linen all in chintz? I would miss the painting above my bed, the picture of the beautiful young woman in a garden setting feeding a parrot. I would miss my large closets and my large bathroom with a tub I could soak in for hours and hours.

I had become so comfortable in our mansion, and yes, I had to confess, somewhat spoiled. Having grown up in a Cajun toothpick house built out of cypress with a tin roof, a home where the rooms were no bigger than some of the closets in the House of Dumas, I was bound to fall into awe when I
confronted what was rightly my home too. I would surely miss the evenings when I sat out on the patio and read while the bluejays and mockingbirds flitted around me and settled on the railings of the gazebo to stare. I would miss smelling the ocean in a breeze and occasionally hearing a foghorn in the distance.

And yet I had no right to be unhappy, I thought. Daddy was spending a great deal of money to send us to this private school, and he was doing it so we wouldn't have gray, sad days, so that we would enjoy our teenage years unmolested by the dark burdens of past sins, sins we had yet to understand or even discover. Maybe in time, some joy would return to Daddy's life. Perhaps then we could all be together again.

There I was, believing in blue skies when there were only clouds on the horizon, believing in forgiveness where there was only anger, jealousy, and selfishness. If only Nina really had a magical ritual, a chant, an herb, an old bone we could wave over the house and its inhabitants and turn out the dark shadows that lived in our hearts.

We made a turn and had to come to a stop to wait for a funeral procession to go by, something that accented my sudden mood of despair.

"Oh great," Gisselle complained.
"Just be a moment," Daddy said.
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.

"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."
"Now we don't have to attend history class," Gisselle said.
Daddy frowned. It seemed he could do nothing to cheer her up. He looked at me and I winked, which made him smile.
"How did you find this school anyway?" she suddenly inquired. "Why couldn't you find one closer to New Orleans?"
"Daphne is the one who found it, actually. She keeps up on this sort of thing. It's a highly respected school and it's been around for a long time, with a long tradition of excellence. It's financed through donations and tuition from wealthy Louisianans, but mainly from an endowment granted to it from the Clairborne family through its sole surviving member, Edith Dilliard Clairborne."
"I bet she's a dried-up hundred-year-old relic," Gisselle said.
"She's about seventy. Her niece Martha Ironwood is the chief administrator. What you would call the principal. So you see, you're right in what we call the rich old Southern tradition," Daddy said proudly.
"It's a school without boys," Gisselle said. "We might as well check into a nunnery."
Daddy roared with laughter. "I'm sure it's nothing like that, honey. You'll see."
"I can't wait. This is such a long, boring ride. Put on the radio at least," Gisselle demanded. "And not one of those stations that play that Cajun music. Get the top forties," she ordered.
Daddy did so, but instead of brightening her outlook it lulled her to sleep, and for the remainder of the trip, Daddy and I had some quiet conversations. I loved it when he was willing to tell me about his trips to the bayou and his romance with my mother.
"I made a lot of promises to her that I couldn't keep," he said regretfully, "but one promise I will keep: I will see that you and Gisselle have the best of everything, especially the best opportunities. Of course," he added, smiling, "I didn't know you existed. I've always thought your arrival in New Orleans was a miracle I didn't deserve. No matter what's happened since," he added pointedly.
How I had come to love him, I thought as my eyes watered with happy tears. It was something Gisselle couldn't understand. More than once she had tried to get me to hate our father. I thought it was because she was jealous of the relationship that had quickly developed between us. But she was forever reminding me that he had deserted my mother in the bayou after he had made her pregnant while he was married to Daphne. Then he compounded his sins by agreeing to let his father purchase the baby.
"What kind of a man does such a thing?" she would ask, stabbing at me with her questions and accusations.
"People make mistakes when they're young, Gisselle."
"Don't believe it. Men know what they're doing and what they want from us," she'd said with her eyes small, the look cynical.
"He's been sorry about it ever since," I had said. "And he's trying to do what he can to make up for it. If you love him, you will do whatever you can to make his suffering less."
"I am," she'd said joyfully. "I help him by getting him to buy me whatever I want whenever I want it."
She's incorrigible, I thought. Not even Nina and one of her voodoo queens could recite a chant or find a powder to change her. But someday, something would. I felt sure of that; I just didn't know what it would be or when.
"There's Baton Rouge ahead," Daddy announced some time later. The spires of the capitol building loomed above the trees in the downtown area. I saw the huge oil refineries and aluminum plants along the east bank of the Mississippi. "The school is higher up, so you'll have a great view."
Gisselle woke up when he turned off the Interstate and took the side roads, passing a number of impressive-looking antebellum homes that had been restored: two-story mansions with columns. We passed one beautiful home that had Tiffany glass windows and a bench swing on the lower galerie. Two little girls were on it, both with golden brown pigtails and dressed in identical pink dresses and black leather saddle shoes. I imagined they were sisters, and my mind started to create a fantasy in which I saw myself and Gisselle growing up together in such a home with Daddy and our real mother. How different it all could have been.
"Just a little farther," Daddy said and nodded toward a hill. When he made another turn, the school came into view. First we saw the large iron letters spelling out the word GREENWOOD over the main entrance, which consisted of two square stone columns. A wrought-iron fence ran for what looked like acres to the right and to the left. I saw some buttonbush along the foot of the fence, its dark green leaves gleaming around the little white balls of white. Along a good deal of the fence were vines of trumpet creepers with orange blossoms.
From both sides of our car we could see rolling green lawns and tall red oak, hickory, and magnolia trees. Gray squirrels leapt gracefully from branch to branch as if they could fly. I saw a red woodpecker pause on a branch to look our way. There were stone walkways with short hedges and fountains
everywhere, some with little stone statues of squirrels, rabbits, and birds.
An enormous garden led to the main building-rows and rows of flowers, tulips, geraniums, irises, golden trumpet roses, and tons of white, pink, and red impatiens. Everything looked trimmed and manicured. The grass was so perfect it looked cut by an army of grounds workers armed with scissors. Not a branch, not a leaf, nothing appeared out of place. It was as if we had ventured into a painting.
Above us the main building loomed. It was a two-story structure of antique brick and gray-painted wood. Dark green ivy vines worked their way up around the brick to frame the large panel windows. A wide stone stairway led up to the large portico and great front doors. There was a parking lot to the right with signs that read RESERVED FOR FACULTY and RESERVED FOR VISITORS. Right now the lot was nearly full of cars. There were parents and young girls meeting and greeting each other, old friends obviously renewing friendships. It was an explosion of excitement. The air was full of laughter, the faces full of smiles. Girls hugged and kissed each other, and all began talking at once.
Daddy found a spot for us and the van, but Gisselle was ready to pounce with a complaint.
"We're too far from the front, and how am I supposed to get up that stairway every day? This is horrible."
"Just hold on," Daddy said. "They told me there is an approach built for people in wheelchairs."
"Great. I'm probably the only one. Everyone will watch me being wheeled up every morning."
"There must be other handicapped girls here, Gisselle. They wouldn't build an entryway just for you," I assured her, but she just sat there scowling at the scene unfolding before us.
"Look. Everyone knows everyone else. We're probably the only strangers at the school."
"Nonsense," Daddy said. "There's a freshman class, isn't there?"
"We're not freshmen. We're seniors," she reminded him curtly.
"Let me go find out how to proceed first," Daddy said, opening his door.
"Proceed home, that's how," Gisselle quipped. Daddy waved to our van driver, who pulled up alongside our car. Then he went to speak to a woman in a green skirt and jacket who was holding a clipboard.
"All right," Daddy said, returning. "This is going to be easy. The gangway is off right there. First you go to registration, which is being held in the main lobby, and then we'll go to the dormitory."
"Why don't we go to the dormitory first?" Gisselle demanded. "I'm tired."
"I was told to bring you here first, honey, so you can get your information packet about your classes, a map of the grounds, that sort of thing."
"I don't need a map of the grounds. be in my room all the time, I'm sure," Gisselle said.
"Oh, I'm sure you won't," Daddy replied. "I'll get your chair out, Gisselle."
She pressed her lips together and sat back with her arms folded tightly under her bosom. I got out. The sky was crystalline blue and the clouds were puffy and full, looking like cotton candy. There was a magnificent view of the city below and beyond, a view of the Mississippi River with its barges and boats moving up and down. I felt like we were on top of the world.
Daddy helped Gisselle into her chair. She was stiff and uncooperative, forcing him to literally lift her. When she was situated in it, he started to wheel her toward the gangway. Gisselle kept her gaze ahead, her face twisted in a smirk of disapproval. Girls smiled at us and some said hello, but Gisselle pretended not to see or hear.
The gangway took us through a side entrance into the wide main lobby. It had marble floors and a high ceiling, with great chandeliers and a large tapestry depicting a sugar plantation on the far-right wall. The lobby was so large the voices of the girls echoed in it. They were all standing in three long lines, which line they were in depending on the first initial of their last names. The moment Gisselle set eyes on the crowd, she moaned.
"I can't sit here like this and wait," she complained loudly enough for a number of girls nearby to overhear. "We don't have to do this at our school in New Orleans! I thought you said they knew about me and would take my problems into
consideration."
"Just a minute," Daddy said softly. Then he went to speak to a tall thin man in a suit and tie who was directing the girls into the proper lines and helping them to fill out some forms. He looked our way after Daddy spoke to him, and a moment later he and Daddy went to the desk upon which was the sign A-H. Daddy spoke to the teacher behind our desk, and she then gave him two packets. He thanked her and the tall man and quickly returned to our side.
"Okay," Daddy said, "I've got your registration folders. You're both assigned to the Louella Clairborne House."
"What kind of name for a dorm is that?" Gisselle said.
"It was named after Mr. Clairborne's mother. There are three dorms, and Daphne assured me that you two are in the best of the three."
"Great."
"Thank you, Daddy," I said, taking my packet from him. I felt guilty getting the preferential treatment along with Gisselle and avoided the jealous gazes of the other girls who were still waiting in line.
"Here's your packet," Daddy said. He put it into Gisselle's lap when she didn't reach for it. Then he turned her around and wheeled her out of the building.
"They told me there's an elevator to get you up and down in the main building. The bathrooms all have facilities for handicapped people, and your classes are all pretty much on the same floors so you won't have great difficulty getting from one to the other in time," Daddy said.
Reluctantly, Gisselle opened the packet as we descended the gangway. On the first page was a letter of welcome from Mrs. Ironwood, strongly advising that we read each and every page of the orientation materials and concern ourselves especially with the rules.