Ruby (13 page)

All that night I sat at her side, waiting for her to awaken. She moaned and groaned a few times, but she never woke up until morning when I felt her nudge my leg. I was asleep in the chair beside the bed.
"Grandmere," I cried. "How are you?"
"I'm all right, Ruby. Just weak and tired. How did I get home and in bed? I don't remember."
"Mr. Balzac and his son Jean brought you in their truck and carried you in."
"And you sat up all night watching over me?" she asked.
"Yes."
"You poor dear." She struggled to smile. "I missed your jambalaya. Was it good?"
"Yes, Grandmere, although I was too worried about you to eat much. What happened to you?"
"The strain of what I had to do, I suppose. That poor little boy was bitten by a cottonmouth, but on the bottom of his foot where it was hard to see. He was running barefoot through the marsh grass and must have disturbed one," she said.
"Grandmere, you've never been this exhausted after a treater mission before."
"I'll be all right, Ruby. Please, just get me some cold water," she said.
I did so. She drank it slowly and then closed her eyes again.
"I'll just rest some more and then get up, dear," she said. "You go on and have something for breakfast. Don't worry. Go on," she said. Reluctantly, I did so. When I returned to look in on her, she was fast asleep again.
Before lunch, she woke up, but her complexion was waxen, her lips blue. She was too weak to sit up by herself. I had to help her and then she asked me to help her get dressed.
"I want to sit on the galerie," she said.
"I must get you something to eat."
"No, no. I just want to sit on the galerie."
She leaned fully on me to stand and walk. I was never so frightened about her. When she sat back in the rocker, she looked as though she had collapsed again, but a moment later, she opened her eyes and gave me a weak smile.
"I'll just have a little warm water and honey, dear."
I got it for her quickly and she sipped it and rocked herself gently.
"I guess I'm more tired than I thought," she said, and then she turned and gazed at me with such a far-off look in her eyes, a small flutter of panic stirred in my chest. "Ruby, I don't want you to be afraid, but I wish you would do something for me now. It would make me feel less . . . less anxious about myself," she said, taking my hand in hers. Her palms felt cold, clammy.
"What is it, Grandmere?" I could feel the tears aching to emerge from my eyes. They stung behind my lids. My throat felt like closing up for good and my heart shrunk until it was barely beating. My blood ran cold, my legs had turned to lead bars.
"I want you to go to the church and fetch Father Rush," she said.
"Father Rush?" The blood drained from my face. "Oh, why, Grandmere? Why?"
"Just in case, dear. I need to make my peace. Please, dear. Be strong," she begged. I nodded and swallowed back my tears quickly. I would not cry in front of her, I thought, and then I kissed her quickly.
Before I turned to leave, she seized my hand again and held me close.
"Ruby, remember your promises to me. Should something happen to me, you won't stay here. Remember."
"Nothing's happening to you, Grandmere."
"I know, honey, but just in case. Promise again. Promise."
"I promise, Grandmere."
"You'll go to him, go to your real father?"
"Yes, Grandmere."
"Good," she said, closing her eyes. "Good." I gazed at her a moment and then ran down the galerie steps and hurried to town. On the way my tears gushed. I cried so hard, my chest began to ache. I arrived at the church so quickly, I didn't remember. the journey.
Father Rush's housekeeper answered the doorbell. Her name was Addie Cochran and she had been with him so long, it was impossible to remember when she wasn't.
"My grandmere Catherine needs Father Rush," I said quickly, an edge of panic in my voice.
"What's wrong?"
"She's . . . she's very . . . she's . ."
"Oh, dear. He's just at the barber's.I'll go tell him and send him up."
"Thank you," I said, and I turned and ran all the way home, my chest wanting to burst open, the needles in my side poking and sticking me fiercely when I arrived. Grandmere was still on the galerie in her rocker. I didn't realize she wasn't rocking until I reached the steps. She was just sitting still with her eyes half-closed and on her thin white lips was a faint smile. It scared me, that funny, happy smile.
"Grandmere," I whispered fearfully. "Are you all right?" She didn't reply, nor did she turn my way. I touched her face and realized she was already cold.
Then I fell to my knees on the galerie floor in front of her and embraced her legs. I was still holding on to her and crying when Father Rush finally arrived.

7
The Truth Will Out
.
Anyone would have thought that the news of

Grandmere Catherine's passing must have been caught up in the wind that whipped through the bayou for so many people to have heard about it so quickly; but the loss of a spiritual healer, especially a spiritual healer with Grandmere's reputation, was something special and very important to the Cajun community. Before late morning some of Grandmere Catherine's friends and our neighbors already were arriving. By early afternoon, there were dozens of cars and trucks in front of our house as more and more people stopped by to pay their respects, the women bringing gumbos and jambalaya in big cast iron pots, plus dishes and pans of cake and beignets. Mrs. Thibodeau and Mrs. Livaudis took charge of the wake and Father Rush made the funeral arrangements for me.

Layer after layer of long gray clouds streamed in from the southwest, making for a hazy, peekaboo sun. The heavy air, dark shadows, and the subdued swamp life all seemed appropriate for a day as sad as this one was. The birds barely flitted about; the marsh hawks and herons remained curious but statuelike in their stillness as they watched the gathering that had commenced and continued throughout the day.

No one had seen Grandpere Jack for some time so Thaddeus Bute poled a pirogue out to his shack to give him the dreadful news. He returned without him and mumbled something to the mourners that made people shake their heads and gaze my way with pity. Toward supper Grandpere Jack finally arrived, as usual, resembling someone who had been wallowing in mud. He wore what must have been his best pair of trousers and shirt, but the trousers had holes in the knees and his shirt looked like he had to beat it on a rock in order to soften it enough to slip his arms through the sleeves and button it, wherever there were buttons, that is. Of course, his boots were caked with grime and blades of marsh grass.

He had taken no time to brush down his wild white hair or trim his beard even though he must have known there would be loads of people here. Thick little puffs of hair grew out of his ears and nose. His bushy eyebrows curved up and to the side on his leather tan face, the deeper wrinkles looking like they had a bed of dirt glued there for months. The acrid odors of stale whiskey, swamp earth, fish, and tobacco seemed to arrive at the house long moments before he did. I smiled to myself thinking how Grandmere Catherine would be screaming at him to keep his distance.

But she wasn't going to be screaming at him anymore. She was laid out in the sitting room, her face never so peaceful and still. I sat off to the right of the coffin, my hands folded in my lap, still quite dazed by the reality of what was happening, still disbelieving, hoping it was all a terrible nightmare that would soon end.

The quiet chatter that had begun earlier came to an abrupt pause when Grandpere Jack arrived. As soon as he strode into the house, the people gathered at the doorways parted and stepped back as if they were terrified he might touch them with his polluted hands. None of the men offered theirs to him, nor did he seek any handshakes. Women grimaced after a whiff of him. His eyes shifted quickly from one face to another and then he stepped into the sitting room and froze for a moment at the sight of Grandmere Catherine laid out in her coffin.

He looked at me sharply and then fixed his eyes on Father Rush. For a few moments, it seemed Grandpere Jack didn't trust what his own eyes were telling him or what people were doing here. It looked like the words were on the tip of his tongue and any moment he might ask, "Is she really dead and gone or is this just some scam to get me out of the swamp and cleaned up?" With that skeptical glint in his eyes, he approached Grandmere Catherine's coffin slowly, hat in hand. About a foot or so away, he stopped and gazed down at her, waiting. When she didn't sit up and start screaming at him, he relaxed and turned back to me.

"How you doin', Ruby?" he asked.
"I'm all right, Grandpere," I said. My eyes were blood-shot but dry, for I had exhausted a reservoir of tears. He nodded and then he spun around and glared back at some of the women who were gazing at him with a veil of disgust visibly drawn over their faces.
"Well, what are you all lookin' at? Can't a man mourn his dead wife without you busybodies gaping at him and whispering behind his back? Go on with ya and give me some privacy," he cried.
Outraged and stunned, Grandmere Catherine's friends spun around and, with their heads bobbing, hurried out like a flock of frightened hens to gather on the galerie. Only Mrs. Thibodeau, Mrs. Livaudis, and Father Rush remained in the sitting room with Grandpere Jack and me.
"What happened to her?" Grandpere demanded, his green eyes still lit with fury.
"Her heart just gave out," Father Rush said, gazing warmly at Grandmere. He shook his head gently. "She spent all her energy on helping others, comforting and tending to the sick and the troubled. It finally took its toll on her, God bless her," he added.
"Well, I told her a hundred times if I told her once, to stop parading up and down the bayou to tend to everybody's needs but our own, but she wasn't one to listen. Stubborn to the day she died," Grandpere declared. "Just like most Cajun women," he added, staring at Mrs. Thibodeau and Mrs. Livaudis. They pulled back their shoulders and stiffened their necks like two peacocks.
"Oh, no," Father Rush said, smiling angelically, "you can't keep a soul as great as Mrs. Landry's soul from doing what she can to help the needy. Charity and compassion were her constant companions," he added.
Grandpere grunted. "Charity begins at home I told her, but she never listened to me. Well, I'm sorry she's gone. Don't know who's goin' to send fire and damnation my way. Don't know who's goin' to nag me and chastise me for doin' this or that," Grandpere declared, shaking his head.
"Oh, I expect someone will always be around to chastise you good, Jack Landry," Mrs. Thibodeau replied, nodding at him with her lips tightly pursed.
"Huh?" Grandpere stared at her a moment, but Mrs. Thibodeau had been around Grandmere Catherine too long not to have learned how to stare him down. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth and then shifted his eyes away and grunted again. "Yeah, I suppose," he said. The aromas from the kitchen caught his interest. "Well, I guess you ladies cooked up somethin', didn't you?" he asked.
"There's a spread in the kitchen, gumbo on the stove, and a pot of hot coffee brewing," Mrs. Livaudis said with visible reluctance.
"I'll get you something to eat, Grandpere," I said, rising. I had to do something, keep moving, keep busy.
"Why, thank you, Ruby. That's my only grandchild, you know," he told Father Rush. I snapped my head around sharply and glared at Grandpere. For a moment his eyes twinkled with that impish look and then he smiled and looked away, either not sensing or seeing what I knew or not caring about it. "She's all I got now," he continued. "Only family left. I got to look after her."
"And how do you expect to do that?" Mrs. Livaudis demanded. "You barely look after yourself, Jack Landry."
"I know what I do and I don't. A man can change, can't he? If something tragic like this occurs, a man can change. Can't he, Father? Ain't that so?"
"If it's truly in his heart to repent, anyone can," Father Rush replied, closing his eyes and pressing his hands together as if he were about to offer up a prayer to that effect.
"Hear that and that's a priest talking, not some gossip mouth," Grandpere said, nodding and poking the air between him and Mrs. Livaudis with his thick, long and dirty finger. "I got responsibilities now. . . a place to keep up, a granddaughter to see after, and I'm one to do what I say I'm goin' to do, when I say it."
"If you remember you've said it," Mrs. Thibodeau snapped. She was giving him no ground.
Grandpere smirked.
"Yeah, well, I'll remember. I'll remember," he repeated. He threw another look Grandmere Catherine's way, again as if he wanted to be sure she wasn't going to start screaming at him, and then he followed me out to the kitchen to get something to eat. He plopped his long, lanky body into a kitchen chair and dropped his hat on the floor. Then he looked around as I stirred up the gumbo and ladled a bowl for him.
"Ain't been in this house so long, it's like a strange place to me," he said. "And I built it myself!" I poured him a cup of coffee and then stepped back, folding my arms under my bosom and watching him go at the gumbo, shoving mouthful after mouthful in and swallowing with hardly a chew, the rice and roux running down his chin.
"When was the last time you ate something, Grandpere?" I asked. He paused for a moment and thought.
"I don't know. . . two days ago, I had some shrimp. Or was it some oysters?" He shrugged and continued to gulp his food. "But things are going to change for me now," he said, nodding between swallows. "I'm going to clean myself up, move back into my home, and have my granddaughter take care of me right and proper, and I'm going to do the same for her," he vowed.
"I can't believe Grandmere is actually dead and gone, Grandpere," I said, the tears choking my throat. He gulped some food and nodded.
"Me neither. I would have sworn on a stack of wild deuces that I'd go before she did. I thought that woman would outlive most of the world; she had that much grit in her. She was like some old tree root, just clinging to the things she believed in. I couldn't move her with a herd of elephants, not an inch off her ways."
"Nor could she move you, Grandpere," I quickly replied. He shrugged.
"Well, I'm just a stupid old Cajun trapper, too dumb to know right from wrong, yet I manage to survive. But I meant what I said out there, Ruby. I'm goin' to change somethin' awful and make things right for you. I swear it," he said, holding up his right palm, blotched with grime, the finger ends stained with tobacco. His deeply serious expression dissolved into a smile. "Could you give me another bowl of this. Ain't ate somethin' this good for ages. Beats the hell out of my swamp guk," he said, and chuckled to himself, a slight whistle coming through the gaps in his teeth as his shoulders shook.
I gave him some more and then I excused myself and went back to sit beside the coffin. I didn't like being away from Grandmere Catherine's side too long. Toward evening, some of Grandpere Jack's swamp cronies arrived supposedly to offer comfort and sympathy, but they were soon all going around behind the house to drink some whiskey and smoke their rolled, dark brown cigarettes.
Father Rush, Mrs. Thibodeau, and Mrs. Livaudis remained as long as they could and then promised to return early in the morning.
"You try to get yourself some rest, Ruby dear," Mrs. Thibodeau advised. "You're going to need your strength for the difficult days ahead."
"Your grandmere would be right proud of you, Ruby," Mrs. Livaudis added, squeezing my hand gently. "Now look after yourself."
Mrs. Thibodeau raised her eyes and gazed toward the rear of the house where the laughter was growing louder by the minute.
"If you need us, you just holler," she said.
"You're always welcome at my house," Mrs. Livaudis added before leaving.
Grandmere Catherine's friends and some of the neighbors had cleaned up and had put everything away before they had left. There was nothing for me to do but kiss Grandmere Catherine good night and go to sleep myself. I heard Grandpere Jack and his trapper friends howl and laugh long into the night. In a way I was grateful for the noise. I lay awake for hours, wondering if there was anything else I could have done to have helped Grandmere Catherine, but then I thought, if she couldn't help herself, what could I do?
Finally, my eyelids became so heavy, I had to let them close. Someone was laughing in the darkness. I heard what sounded like Grandpere's howl and then all was still; and sleep, like one of Grandmere Catherine's miracle medicines, brought me some hours of relief and eased the pain in my heart. In fact, when I awoke early the next morning, I felt so relieved from my deep repose, that for a few moments, I actually believed all that had happened had been some terrible nightmare. In moments, I expected to hear Grandmere Catherine's footsteps as she made her way down to the kitchen to start our breakfast.
But I heard nothing but the soft, sweet sounds of the morning birds. Slowly, the reality of what had occurred settled in again and I sat up, wondering where Grandpere Jack had slept when he had finally stopped cavorting with his trapper friends. When I discovered he wasn't in Grandmere Catherine's room, I thought he might have gone back into the swamp; but when I went down, I found him sprawled out on the galerie, one leg dangling over the edge of the porch floor, his head on his rolled up jacket, an empty bottle of cheap whiskey still clutched in his right hand.
"Grandpere," I said, nudging him. "Grandpere, wake up."
"Huh?" His eyes flickered open and then shut. I shook him harder.
"Grandpere, wake up. People will be arriving here any moment. Grandpere."
"What? What's that?" He kept his eyes open long enough to focus on me and then groaned and folded his body into a sitting position. "What the. . ." He looked around, saw the expression of
disappointment on my face and then shook his head. "Must have just passed out with grief," he said quickly. "It can do that to you, Ruby. You think you can handle it, but it seeps into your heart and it just takes you over. That's what happened to me," he said, nodding, trying to convince himself as well as me. "I just couldn't handle the tragedy. Sorry," he said, rubbing his cheeks. "I'll go out back and wash myself with the cistern water and then come in for some breakfast."
"Good, Grandpere," I said. "Did you bring any of your other clothes?"
"Clothes? No."
I remembered there were some old things of his in a box upstairs in Grandmere's room.
"You have some clothes still here that might fit," I said. "I'll find them for you."
"Well, that's right nice of you, honey. Right nice. I can see where we're going to make out just fine. You tending after the house and me, and me trappin' and huntin' and guidin' rich city folks through the swamp. I'll make us more money than I ever did. I'll fix up everything that's broke. I'll make this house look as fresh and as new as it did the day I built it. Why, in no time, I'll change. . ."
"Meanwhile, Grandpere, you'd better go and wash like you said you would." If anything, the stench rising from his clothes and hair had grown doubly worse. "It's getting close to the time people will be coming," I said.
"Right, right." He stood up and looked with surprise at the empty whiskey bottle on the floor of the galerie. "I don't know how I got that. Must have been Teddy Turner or someone who laid it on me for a stupid joke."
"I'll throw it away for you, Grandpere," I said, picking it up quickly.
"Thank you, honey. Thank you." He stuck his right forefinger in the air and thought for a moment until it came back to him. "Wash up, that's first," he said, and stumbled off the galerie and around to the back of the house. I went upstairs and found the old carton of clothes. There were a pair of pants and a few shirts, as well as some socks buried under an old blanket. I took everything out, pressed the pants and shirt, and laid the clothes on Grandmere's bed for him.
"I think I'll do just what Catherine would tell me to do with these old clothes I'm wearing," Grandpere said after he came in from washing himself. "I'll burn them." He laughed. I told him to go up and put on the clothes I found. By the time he had come down again, I had some breakfast made and Mrs. Livaudis and Mrs. Thibodeau arrived to help set up the food for our mourners. They ignored Grandpere even though he did look like a new man washed up and in his fresh clothes.
"I got to trim my beard and hair some, Ruby," Grandpere said. "You think if I sit on a rolled over rain barrel out back you could do it for me?"
"Yes, Grandpere," I said. "I'll do it right after you finish your breakfast."
"I thank you," he said. "We're going to do just fine," he added, more for the benefit of Mrs. Thibodeau and Mrs. Livaudis than for me, I thought. "Just fine. Long as people lets us be," he added pointedly.
After he had finished eating, I took the sewing shears and chopped off as much of his long, ratty hair as I could. Much of it was matted and there were lice, so I had to shampoo him with some of Grandmere Catherine's mixture specially made to get rid of lice as well as crabs and other tiny insects, too. He sat obediently, his eyes closed, a grateful smile on his lips as I worked. I trimmed the beard and cut the excess hair out of his ears and nose. Then I trimmed his eyebrows. When I was finished and I stepped back to look at him, I was surprised and proud of how well I had done. It was possible to look at him now and see why Grandmere Catherine or any woman might have been attracted to him when he was young. His eyes still had a youthful, mirthful glint and his strong cheekbones and jaw gave his face a classic, handsome shape. He gazed at his reflection in a piece of broken glass.
"Well, I'll be. Lookee here now. Who is this? Bet you didn't know your grandpere was a movie star," he said. "Thank you, Ruby." He slapped his hands together. "Well, I'd better go out front and greet some of the mourners, right and proper like," he decided, and went around to take a seat in one of the rockers on the galerie and play the part of a bereaved husband, even though most everyone knew he and Grandmere Catherine hadn't lived together for years.
However, I was beginning to wonder if I couldn't help him change. Sometimes, dramatic events like this made people think harder about their own lives. I could just hear Grandmere Catherine say, "You'd have a better chance of changing a bullfrog into a handsome prince." But maybe all Grandpere Jack needed was another chance. After all, I thought as I cleaned up the gobs of matted hair that had fallen around the barrel, he's the only Cajun family I have left, like it or not.
We had just as many mourners if not more than we had the day before. A steady stream of Cajun folks came from miles and miles away to pay their last respects to Grandmere Catherine, whose reputation had spread much farther through Terrebonne Parish and the surrounding area than I had ever imagined. And so many of the people who arrived had wonderful stories to tell about Grandmere, stories about her earthy wisdom, her miraculous touch, her wonderful remedies, and her strong and always hopeful faith.