Read Ruby Online

Authors: V. C. Andrews

Tags: #Horror

Ruby (8 page)

BOOK: Ruby
3.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

"Oh, Grandmere," I cried, and rose off the settee to throw myself at her feet. I embraced her legs and buried my face in her lap. She stroked my hair softly.
"There, there, my baby. You will get over the pain. You're still very young with your whole life ahead of you. You're going to become a great artist and have beautiful things." She put her hand under my chin and lifted my head so she could look into my eyes. "Now do you understand why I dream of you leaving the bayou," she added.
With my tears streaming down my cheeks, I nodded. "Yes," I said. "I do. But I never want to leave you, Grandmere."
"Someday you will have to, Ruby. It's the way of all things, and when that day comes, don't hesitate. Do what you have to do. Promise me you will. Promise," she demanded. She looked so anxious about it, I had to respond.
"I will, Grandmere."
"Good," she said. "Good." She sat back, looking as if she had just aged a year for every minute that passed. I ground the tears from my eyes with my small fists and stood up.
"Do you want something, Grandmere? A glass of lemonade, maybe?"
"Just a glass of cold water," she said, smiling. She patted my hand. "I'm sorry, honey," she said.
I swallowed hard and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.
"It's not your fault, Grandmere. You have no reason to blame yourself."
She smiled softly at me. Then I got her the glass of water and watched her drink it. It seemed painful for her to do so, but she finished it and rose from her chair.
"I'm very tired, suddenly," she said. "I've got to go to bed."
"Yes, Grandmere. I will soon, too."
After she left, I went to the front door and looked out at where Paul and I had kissed good night.
We didn't know it then, but it was the last time we would ever kiss like that, the last time we would ever feel each other's heart beating and thrill to each other's touch. I closed the door and walked to the stairway, feeling as if someone I knew and loved with all my heart had just died. In a real sense that was true, for the Paul Tate I knew and loved before was gone and the Ruby Landry he had kissed and loved as well was lost. The sin that had given Paul life had reared its ugly head and taken away his love.
I dreaded the days that were now to follow.
That night I tossed and turned and woke from my sleep many times. Each time, my stomach felt as tight as a fist. I wished the whole day and night had just been a bad dream, but there was no denying Grandmere Catherine's dark, sad eyes. The vision of her face lingered behind my eyelids, reminding, reinforcing, confirming that all that had happened and all that I had learned was real and true.
I didn't think Grandmere Catherine had slept any better than I had, even though she had looked so exhausted before going to bed. For the first time in a long time, she was up and about only moments before me. I heard her shuffling past my room and opened the door to watch her make her way to the kitchen.
I hurried to go down to help her with our breakfast. Although the rainstorm of the night before had passed, there were still layers of thin, gray clouds across the Louisiana sky, making the morning look as dreary as I felt. The birds seemed subdued as well, barely singing and calling to each other. It was as if the whole bayou were feeling sorry for me and for Paul.
"Seems a Traiteur should be able to treat her own arthritis," Grandmere muttered. "My joints ache and my recipes for medicine don't seem to help."
Grandmere Catherine was not one to voice complaints about herself. I'd seen her walk miles in the rain to help someone and not utter a single syllable of protest. No matter what infirmity or hard luck she suffered, she always re-marked that there were too many who were worse off.
"You don't drop the potato because hills and valleys suddenly appear on your road," she told me, which was a Cajun's way of saying you don't give up. "You bear the brunt; you carry the excess baggage, and you go on." I always felt she was trying to teach me how to live by example, so I knew how much pain she must be suffering to complain about it in my presence this morning.
"Maybe we should take a day off from the road stall, Grandmere," I said. "We've got my painting money and--"
"No," she said. "It's better to keep busy, and besides, we've got to be out there while there are still tourists in the bayou. You know we have enough weeks and months without anyone coming around to buy our things and it's hard enough to scrounge and scrape up a living then."
I didn't say it, because I knew it would only get her angry, but why
didn't
Grandpere Jack do more for us? Why did we let him get away with his lazy, swamp bum life? He was a Cajun man and as such he should bear more responsibility for his family, even if Grandmere was not pleased with him. I made up my mind I would pole out to his shack later and tell him what I thought.
Right after breakfast, I started to set up our roadside stall as usual while Grandmere prepared her gumbo. I saw the strain on her face as she worked and then carried things out, so I ran and got her a chair to sit on as quickly as I could. Despite what she had said, I wished it would rain hard and send us back into the house, so she could rest. But it didn't and just as she had predicted, the tourists began to come around.
About eleven o'clock Paul drove up on his motor scooter. Grandmere Catherine and I exchanged a quick look, but she said nothing more to me as Paul approached.
"Hello, Mrs. Landry," he began. "My cheek is practically all healed and my lip feels fine," he quickly added. The bruise had diminished
considerably. There was just a slight pink area on his cheekbone. "Thanks again."
"You're welcome," Grandmere said, "but don't forget your promise to me."
"I won't." He laughed and turned to me. "Hi."
"Hi," I said quickly, and unfolded and folded a blanket so it would rest more neatly on the shelves of the stall. "How come you're not working in the cannery today?" I asked, without looking at him.
He stepped closer so Grandmere wouldn't hear.
"My father and I had it out last night. I'm not working for him anymore and I can't use the car until he says so, which might be never unless--"
"Unless you stop seeing me," I finished for him, then turned around. The look in his eyes told me I was right.
"I don't care what he says. I don't need the car. I bought the scooter with my own money, so I'll just ride around on it. All I care about doing is getting here to see you as quickly as I can. Nothing else matters," he declared firmly.
"That's not true, Paul. I can't let you do this to your parents and to yourself. Maybe not now, but weeks, months, even years from now, you'll regret driving your parents away from you," I told him sternly. Even I could hear the new, cold tone in my voice. It pained me to be this way, but I had to do it, I had to find a way to stop what could never be.
"What?" He smiled. "You know the only thing I care about is getting to be with you, Ruby. Let them adjust if they don't want to drive us apart. It's all their fault. They're snobby and selfish and--"
"No, they're not, Paul," I said quickly. His face hardened with confusion. "It's only natural for them to want the best for you."
"We've been over this before, Ruby. I told you, you're the best for me," he said. I looked away. I couldn't face him when I spoke these words. We had no customers at the moment, so I walked away from the stall, Paul trailing behind me as closely and as silently as my shadow. I paused at one of our cypress log benches and sat down, facing the swamp.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly.
"I've been thinking it all over," I said. "I'm not sure you're the best for me."
"What?"
Out in the swamp, perched on a big sycamore tree, the old marsh owl stared at us as if he could hear and understand the words we were saying. He was so still, he looked stuffed.
"After you left last night, I gave everything more thought. know there are many girls my age or slightly older who are already married in the bayou. There are even younger ones, but I don't just want to be married and live happily ever after in the bayou. I want to do more, be more. I want to be an artist."
"So? I would never stop you. I'd do everything I could to--"
"An artist, a true artist, has to experience many things, travel, meet many different kinds of people, expand her vision," I said, turning back to him. He looked smaller, diminished by my words. He shook his head.
"What are you saying?"
"We shouldn't be so serious," I explained.
"But I thought . ." He shook his head. "This is all because I made a fool of myself last night, isn't it? Your grandmother is really very upset with me."
"No, she's not. Last night just made me think harder, that's all."
"It's my fault," he repeated.
"It isn't anyone's fault. Or, at least it isn't our fault," I added, recalling Grandmere Catherine's revelations last night. "It's just the way things are."
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"I want you to . . . to do what I'm going to do . . see other people, too."
"There's someone else then?" he followed, incredulous. "How could you be the way you were last night with me and the days and nights before that and like someone else?"
"There's not someone else just yet," I muttered.
"There is," he insisted. I looked up at him. His sadness was being replaced with anger rapidly. The softness in his eyes evaporated and a fury took its place. His shoulders rose and his face became as crimson as his bruised cheek. His lips whitened in the corners. He looked like he could exhale fire like a dragon. I hated what I was doing to him. I wished I could just vanish.
"My father told me I was a fool to put my heart and trust in you, in a--"
"In a Landry," I coached sadly.
"Yes. In a Landry. He said the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
I lowered my head. I thought about my mother letting herself be used by Paul's father for his pleasure and I thought about Grandpere Jack caring more about getting money than what had happened to his daughter.
"He was right."
"I don't believe you," Paul shot back. When I looked at him again, I saw the tears that had washed over his eyes, tears of pain and anger, tears that would poison his mind against me. How I wished I could throw myself into his arms and stop what was happening, but I was thwarted and muzzled by reality. "You don't want to be an artist; you want to be a whore."
"Paul!"
"That's all, a whore. Well, go on, be with as many different men as you like. See if I care. I was crazy to waste my time on a Landry," he added and pivoted quickly, his boots kicking up the grass behind him as he rushed away.
My chin dropped to my chest and my body slumped on the cypress log bench. Where my heart had been, there was now a hollow cavity. I couldn't even cry. It was as if everything in me, every part of me had suddenly locked up, frozen, become as cold as stone. The sound of Paul's motor scooter engine reverberated through my body. The old marsh owl lifted his wings and strutted about nervously on the branch, but he didn't lift off. He remained there, watching me, his eyes filled with accusation now.
After Paul left our house, I got up. My legs were very shaky, but I was able to walk back to the roadside stall just as a carload of tourists pulled up. They were young men and women, loud and full of laughter and fun. The men went wild over the pickled lizards and snakes and bought four jars. The women liked Grandmere's handwoven towels and
handkerchiefs. After they had bought everything they wanted and loaded their car, one of the young men paused and approached us with his camera.
"Do you mind if I take your pictures?" he asked. "I'll give you each a dollar," he added.
"You don't have to pay us for our pictures," Grandmere replied.
"Oh, yes, he does," I said. Grandmere Catherine raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"Fine," the young man said and dug into his pocket to produce the two dollars. I took them quickly. "Can you smile?" he asked me. I forced one and he snapped his photos. "Thanks," be said, and got into the car.
"Why did you make him give us two dollars, Ruby? We haven't taken money from tourists in the past." Grandmere asked me.
"Because the world is full of pain and
disappointment, Grandmere, and I plan to do all I can from now on to make it less so for us."
She fixed her eyes on me thoughtfully. "I want you to grow up, but I don't want you to grow up with a hard heart, Ruby," she said.
"A soft heart gets pierced and torn more, Grandmere. I'm not going to end up like my mother. I'm not!" I cried and despite my firm and rigid stance, I felt my new wall start to crack.
"What did you say to young Paul Tate?" Grandmere asked. "What did you tell him to make him run off like that?"
"I didn't tell him the truth, but I drove him away, just as you said I should," I moaned through my tears. "Now, he hates me."
"Oh, Ruby, I'm sorry."
"He hates me!" I cried, and turned and ran from her.
"Ruby!"
I didn't stop. I ran hard and fast over the marshland, letting the bramble bushes slap and tear at my dress, my legs, and my arms. I was oblivious to pain; I ignored the ache in my chest and disregarded the puddles and the mud into which I repeatedly stepped. But after a while, the pain in my legs and the needles in my side brought me to a halt, and I could only walk slowly over the long stretch of marshland that ran alongside the canal. My shoulders heaved with my deep sobs. I walked and walked, past the dried domes of grass that were homes to the muskrats and nutrias, avoiding the inlets in which the small green snakes swam. Fatigued and drowning in many emotions, I finally stopped and gasped in air, my hands on my hips, my bosom rising and falling.
After a moment, my eyes focused on a clump of small sycamore trees just ahead. At first, because of its color and size, I didn't see it. But gradually, it formed in my field of vision, seemingly appearing like a vision. I saw a marsh deer watching me with curiosity. It had big, beautiful, but sad looking eyes and it stood as still as a statue.
Suddenly, there was a loud report, the explosion of a high caliber rifle came from the blind, and the deer's knees crumbled. It stumbled a moment in a desperate effort to maintain its stance, but a red circle of blood appeared on its neck and grew larger and larger as the blood emerged. The deer went down quickly after that and I heard the sound of two men cheering. A pirogue shot out from under a wall of Spanish moss and I saw two strangers in the front and Grandpere Jack poling from the rear. He had hired himself out to tourist hunters and brought them to their kill. As the canoe made its way across the pond toward the dead deer, one of the tourists handed the other a bottle of whiskey and they drank to celebrate their kill. Grandpere Jack eyed the bottle and stopped poling so they could give him a swig.

BOOK: Ruby
3.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Tell My Sons: A Father's Last Letters by Lt Col Mark Weber, Robin Williams
Unlikely Praise by Carla Rossi
Lover of My Dreams by Lynnette Bernard
Gaining Hope by Lacey Thorn
Of Alliance and Rebellion by Micah Persell
The War of Odds by Linell Jeppsen
All Over You by Sarah Mayberry