Ruby (21 page)

would had my hand been a hot coal. "Who are you?" "I told you. My name is Ruby."
"But you look just like. . . you're the spitting
image of Gisselle," he said.
"Oh. So that's her name," I said more to myself
than to him. "Gisselle."
"Who are you?" he asked again, now gazing at
me as if I were a ghost. "I mean, what are you to the
Dumas family? A cousin? What? I demand that you
tell me or I'll call the police," he added firmly. "I'm Gisselle's sister," I confessed in a breath. "Gisselle's sister? Gisselle has no sister," he
replied, still speaking in a stern voice. Then he paused
a moment, obviously impressed with the
resemblances. "At least, none I knew about," he said. "I'm fairly sure Gisselle doesn't know about me
either," I said.
"Really? But . . ."
"It's too long of a story to tell you and I don't
know why I should tell you anything anyway," I said. "But if you're Gisselle's sister, why are you
leaving? Why are you going back to . where'd you
say, Houma?"
"I thought I could do this, introduce myself, but
I find I can't"
"You mean, the Dumas don't know you're here yet?" I shook my head. "Well, you can't just leave without telling them you're in New Orleans. Come on," he said, reaching for my hand. "I'll bring you in
myself."
I shook my head and stepped back, more
terrified than ever.
"Come on," he said. "Look. My name's Beau
Andreas. I'm a very good friend of the family.
Actually, Gisselle is my girlfriend, but my parents and
the Dumas have known each other for ages. I'm like a
member of this family. That's why I'm so shocked by
what you're saying. Come on," he chanted, and took
my hand.
"I've changed my mind," I said, shaking my
head. "This isn't as good an idea as I first thought." "What isn't?"
"Surprising them."
"Mr. and Mrs. Dumas don't know you're
coming?" he asked, his confusion building. I shook
my head. "This is really bizarre. Gisselle doesn't know
she has a twin sister and the Dumas don't know you're
here. Well, why did you come all this way if you're
only going to turn around and go right back?" he
asked, his hands on his hips.
"You're afraid, aren't you?" he said quickly. "That's it, you're afraid of them. Well, don't be. Pierre Dumas is a very nice man and Daphne . . . she is nice, too. Gisselle," he said, smiling, "is Gisselle. To tell you the truth, I can't wait to see the expression on her
face when she comes face-to-face with you." "I can," I said, and turned away.
"I'll just run in and tell them you were here and
you're running away," he threatened. "Someone will
come after you and it will all be far more
embarrassing."
"You wouldn't," I said.
"Of course I would," he replied, smiling. "So
you might as well do it the right way." He held out his
hand. I looked back at the house and then at him. His
eyes were friendly, although a bit impish. Reluctantly,
my heart thumping so hard I thought it would take my
breath away and cause me to faint before I reached the
front door, I took his hand and let him lead me back to
the gate and up the walk to the grand galerie. There
was a tile stairway.
"How did you get here?" he asked before we
reached the door.
"The bus," I said. He lifted the ball and hammer
knocker and let the sound echo through what I
imagined, from the sound of the reverberation within, was an enormous entryway. A few moments later, the door was opened and we faced a mulatto man in a butler's uniform. He wasn't short, but he wasn't tall either. He had a round face with large dark eyes and a somewhat pug nose. His dark brown hair was curly and peppered with gray strands. There were dime-size brown spots on his cheeks and forehead and his lips
were slightly orange.
"Good evening, Monsieur Andreas," he said,
then shifted his gaze to me. The moment he set eyes
on me, he dropped his mouth. "But Mademoiselle
Gisselle, I just saw you . . ." He turned around and
looked behind him. Beau Andreas laughed.
"This isn't Mademoiselle Gisselle, Edgar.
Edgar, I'd like you to meet Ruby. Ruby, Edgar Farrar,
the Dumas' butler. Are Mr. and Mrs. Dumas in,
Edgar?" he asked.
"Oh, no, sir. They left for the ball about an hour
ago," he said, his eyes still fixed on me.
"Well then, there's nothing to do but wait for
them to return. Until then, you can visit with
Gisselle," Beau told me. He guided me into the great
house.
The entryway floor was a peach marble and the
ceiling, which looked like it rose to at least twelve feet above me, had pictures of nymphs and angels, doves and blue sky painted over it. There were paintings and sculptures every-where I looked, but the wall to the right was covered by an enormous tapestry depicting a
grand French palace and gardens.
"Where is Mademoiselle Gisselle, Edgar?"
Beau asked.
"She's still upstairs," Edgar said.
"I knew she would be pampering herself
forever. I'm never late when it comes to escorting
Gisselle anywhere," Beau told me. "Especially a
Mardi Gras Ball. To Gisselle, being on time means
being an hour late. Fashionably late, of course," he
added. "Are you hungry, thirsty?"
"No, I had half of a poor boy sandwich not so
long ago," I said, and grimaced with the memory of
what had nearly happened to me.
"You didn't like it?" Beau asked.
"No, it wasn't that. Someone. . . a stranger I
trusted, attacked me in an alley on the way here," I
confessed. "What? Are you all right?" he asked
quickly.
"Yes. I got away before anything terrible
happened, but it was quite frightening."
"I'll bet. The back streets in New Orleans can be quite dangerous during Mardi Gras. You shouldn't have wandered around by yourself." He turned to
Edgar. "Where is Nina, Edgar?" he asked.
"Just finishing up some things in the kitchen." "Good. Come on," Beau insisted. "I'll take you
to the kitchen and Nina will give you something to
drink at least. Edgar, would you be so kind as to
inform Mademoiselle Gisselle that I've arrived with a
surprise guest and we're in the kitchen?"
"Very good, monsieur," Edgar said and headed
for the beautiful curved stairway with soft carpeted
steps and a shiny mahogany balustrade.
"This way," Beau said. He directed me through
the entryway, past one beautiful room after another,
each filled with antiques and expensive French
furniture and paintings. It looked more like a museum
to me than a home.
The kitchen was as large as I expected it would
be with long counters and tables, big sinks, and walls
of cabinets. Everything gleamed. It looked so
immaculate, even the older appliances appeared
brand-new. Wrapping leftovers in cellophane was a
short, plump black woman in a brown cotton dress
with a full white apron. She had her back to us. The strands of her ebony hair were pulled tightly into a thick bun behind her head, but she wore a white kerchief, too. As she worked, she hummed. Beau Andreas knocked on the doorjamb and she spun
around quickly.
"I didn't want to frighten you, Nina," he said. "That'll be the day when you can frighten Nina
Jackson, Monsieur Andreas," she said, nodding. She
had small dark eyes set close to her nose. Her mouth
was small and almost lost in her plump cheeks and
above her round jaw, but she had beautifully soft skin
that glowed under the kitchen fixtures. Ivory earrings
shaped like seashells clung to her small lobes. "Mademoiselle, you changed again?" she asked
incredulously.
Beau laughed. "This isn't Gisselle," he said. Nina tilted her head.
"Go on with you, monsieur. That t'aint enough
of a disguise to fool Nina Jackson."
"No, I'm serious, Nina. This isn't Gisselle,"
Beau insisted. "Her name is Ruby. Look closely," he
told her. "If anyone could tell the difference, it would
be you. You practically brought up Gisselle," he said. She smirked, wiped her hands on her apron, and
crossed the kitchen to get closer. I saw she wore a
small pouch around her neck on a black shoestring. For a moment she stared into my face. Her black eyes narrowed, burned into mine, and then widened. She stepped back and seized the small pouch between her right thumb and forefinger so she could hold it out
between us.
"Who you be, girl?" she demanded.
"My name is Ruby," I said quickly, and shifted
my eyes to Beau, who was still smiling impishly. "Nina is warding off any evil with the voodoo
power in that little sack, aren't you, Nina?"
She looked at him and at me and then dropped
the sack to her chest again.
"This here, five finger grass," she said. "It can
ward off any evil that five fingers can bring, you
hear?"
I nodded.
"Who this be?" she asked Beau.
"It's Gisselle's secret sister," he said.
"Obviously, twin sister," he added. Nina stared at me
again.
"How do you know that?" she asked, taking
another step back. "My grandmere, she told me once
about a zombie made to look like a woman. Everyone
stuck pins in the zombie and the woman screamed in
pain until she died in her bed."
Beau roared.
"I'm not a zombie doll," I said. Still suspicious,
Nina stared.
"I daresay if you stick pins in her, Nina, she'll
be the one to scream, not Gisselle." His smile faded
and he grew serious. "She's traveled here from
Houma, Nina, but on the way to the house, she had a
bad experience. Someone tried to attack her in an
alley."
Nina nodded as if she already knew.
"She's actually quite frightened and upset,"
Beau said.
"Sit you down, girl," Nina said, pointing to a
chair by the table. "I'll get you something to make
your stomach sit still. You hungry, too?"
I shook my head.
"Did you know Gisselle had a sister?" Beau
asked her as she went to prepare something for me to
drink. She didn't respond for a moment. Then she
turned.
"I don't know anything I'm not supposed to
know," she replied. Beau lifted his eyebrows. I saw
Nina mix what looked like a tablespoon of blackstrap
molasses into a glass of milk with a raw egg and some
kind of powder. She mixed it vigorously and brought
it back.
"Drink this in one gulp, no air," she prescribed.
I stared at the liquid.
"Nina usually cures everyone of anything
around here," Beau said. "Don't be afraid.
"My grandmere could do this, too," I said. "She
was a Traiteur."
"Your grandmere, a Traiteur?" Nina asked. I
nodded.
"Then she was holy," she said, impressed.
"Cajun Traiteur woman can blow the fire out of a burn
and stop bleeding with the press of her palm," Nina
explained to Beau.
"I guess she's not a zombie girl then, huh?"
Beau asked with a smile. Nina paused.
"Maybe not," she said, still looking at me with
some suspicion. "Drink," she commanded, and I did
what she said even though it didn't taste great, I felt it
bubble in my stomach for a moment and then I did
feel a soothing sensation.
"Thank you," I said. I turned with Beau to look
at the doorway when we heard the footsteps coming
down the hall. A moment later, Gisselle Dumas
appeared, dressed in a beautiful red, bare shoulder
satin gown with her long red hair brushed until it shone. It was about as long as mine. She wore dangling diamond earrings and a matching diamond
necklace set in gold.
"Beau," she began, "why are you late and
what's this about a surprise guest?" she demanded.
She whirled to confront me, putting her fists on her
hips before she turned in my direction. Even though I
knew what to expect, the reality of seeing my face on
someone else took my breath away. Gisselle Dumas
gasped and brought her hand to her throat.
Fifteen years and some months after the day we
were born, we met again.
11
Just Like Cinderella
.
Who is she?" Gisselle demanded, her eyes
quickly moving from wide orbs of amazement to
narrow slits of suspicion.
"Anyone can see she's your twin sister," Beau
replied. "Her name is Ruby."
Gisselle grimaced and shook her head. "What sort of a practical joke are you playing
now, Beau Andreas?" she demanded. Then she
approached me and we stared into each other's faces. I imagined she was doing what I was doing--
searching for the differences; but they were hard to
see at first glance. We were identical twins. Our hair
was the same shade, our eyes emerald green, our
eyebrows exactly the same. Neither of our faces had
any tiny scars, nor dimples, nothing that would
quickly distinguish one of us from the other. Her
cheeks, her chin, her mouth, all were precisely the
same shape as mine. Not only did all of our facial
features correspond, but we were just about the same
height as well. And our bodies had matured and
developed as if we had been cast from one mold. But on second glance, a more scrutinizing second glance, a perceptive inspector would discern differences in our facial expressions and in our demeanor. Gisselle held herself more aloof, more arrogantly. There seemed to be no timidity in her. She had inherited Grandmere Catherine's steel spine, I thought. Her gaze was unflinching and she had a way of tucking in the right corner of her mouth disdain
fully.
"Who are you?" she queried sharply.
"My name is Ruby, Ruby Landry, but it should
be Ruby Dumas," I said.
Gisselle, still incredulous, still waiting for some
sensible explanation for the confusion her eyes were
bringing to her brain, turned to Nina Jackson, who
crossed herself quickly.
"I am going to light a black candle," she said,
and started away, muttering a voodoo prayer. "Beau!" Gisselle said, stamping her foot. He laughed and shrugged with his arms out. "I
swear I've never seen her before tonight. I found her
standing outside the gate when I drove up. She came
from . . . where did you say it was?"
"Houma," I said. "In the bayou."
"She's a Cajun girl."
"I can see that, Beau. I don't understand this," she said, now shaking her head at me, her eyes
swimming in tears of frustration.
"I'm sure there's a logical explanation," Beau
said. "I think I'd better go fetch your parents." Gisselle continued to stare at me.
"How can I have a twin sister?" she demanded.
I wanted to tell her all of it, but I thought it might be
better for our father to explain. "Where are you going,
Beau?" she cried when he turned to leave.
"To get your father and mother, like I said." "But. . ." She looked at me and then at him.