All That Glitters (7 page)

Suddenly nothing seemed more frightening and unpleasant than the thought of facing her. I pivoted quickly and hurried away, walking so fast, I'm sure I looked like someone in flight. But I was fleeing, after all. I was fleeing from the horrible memories of Daphne's spiteful ways, her attempt to have me committed and locked away, her jealousy of my father's love for me, her eagerness to make me look terrible in the eyes of Beau's parents. I was fleeing from the emptiness of that great house once Daddy had died, from the shadows and the darkness that lingered in its corners.
I didn't get back onto the streetcar for blocks, and by the time I arrived at the hotel and Paul opened the door for me, I looked frenzied, my hair
disheveled, my face full of agony.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "What did she do?"
"Nothing," I said, throwing myself down on the bed. "I never spoke to her. I couldn't do it. I'll write to her," I said. "And leave it at that. Let's go home. . . now!"
He shook his head. "But we still have a few things to get. Mother thought we should have--"
"Oh, Paul," I cried, seizing his hand. "Take me home. Please . . . just take me home. You can get the rest yourself, can't you?"
He nodded. "Of course," he said. "We'll leave immediately."
It wasn't until we had arrived in the bayou and began up the drive to Cypress Woods that I felt a sense of relief again. Our new great house loomed before me and I realized this was my home, even if my mother-in-law was the one decorating it and not me. Now, more than ever, I was happy I had made the decision to marry Paul and come here. It was far enough and isolated enough to keep out the ghosts of my horrid past.
I couldn't wait to begin setting up my studio and painting again. The swamps and our great acres of land and our oil wells would comprise the walls keeping the demons away was safe here, I thought . . . safe.

5
Sad News
.
Each day of my first six months as mistress of

Cypress Woods was so filled with responsibilities and activities, I barely had time to ponder over the life I had chosen for myself and my daughter. I don't think I noticed the winter until I saw the snow geese leaving and realized it had ended. The first buds of spring were opening in an explosion of flowery splendor the likes of which I had never seen. Furnishings and decorations for the great house had begun arriving shortly after our trip to New Orleans. Painters and decorators, tile and carpet people, drapery and mirror people, a parade of artisans, marched through the house daily.

Paul's mother arrived nearly every morning to supervise. When I commented about it, Paul either misunderstood or ignored my meaning.

"Isn't it wonderful how much interest she's taking in us," he replied. "And her being here, running from room to room, upstairs and downstairs, answering questions, frees you to work on your studio."

I did direct my attention to it because it was the one place Gladys refused to enter. Paul was caught up in a flurry of activity, too. His days were divided between his work at the cannery and his supervision of the oil wells. Two weeks after our return from New Orleans, a new well was drilled. He called it Pearl's Well and decided that all the proceeds from it would go into a trust for her. Before she was a year old, she was wealthier than most people were by the end of their productive lives.

On weekends we had grand dinners for the husbands and wives of the people whom Paul dealt with in his oil business. Everyone was impressed with our home and grounds, especially the ones who came from Baton Rouge or Houston and Dallas. I knew they had all expected quite a bit less in the Cajun bayou. Paul never stopped bragging about me, bragging shamelessly about my artistic talents and successes.

I finally did write my letter to Daphne, but not until nearly a month had passed since my attempt to confront her in New Orleans. Paul would occasionally inquire if I had done so and I would say, "Soon. I'm just composing my thoughts." He knew I was procrastinating, but he didn't nag. At last, one afternoon while I had a chance to catch my breath, I sat on the patio with pen and paper and began to write.

Dear Daphne,
We haven't written or spoken to each other for nearly a year now. I know you have little interest in what's happened to me and where I am now, but for my father's sake and memory, I have decided to write this letter.
After my horrible experience at that disgusting clinic where you sent me to have an abortion, I ran off and returned to my roots, to the bayou. For months I lived in my grandmere's old shack, doing the things she and I had done to keep ourselves alive. I gave birth to a beautiful daughter whom I have named Pearl, and for months I struggled to provide for both of us.
I realized that my first responsibility now was to my daughter and her welfare, and with that in mind, I have married Paul Tate. I do not expect you to understand, but we have a very special life together. We are more like partners, devoted to making each other happy and secure and providing a secure future for Pearl, than we are husband and wife. Paul's inherited land turned out to be rich with oil. We have a beautiful home called Cypress Woods.
I ask nothing of you, certainly not your forgiveness, nor should you interpret this letter as my forgiveness of you for what you have tried to do to me in the past. Actually, I feel pity for you more than anger. I do expect, however, that what my father had decided to give me will be given to me. My love for him has not diminished one iota. I miss him dearly.
Please see that the attorney in charge of my trust has my new address.
Ruby
I received no reply, but that didn't surprise me. At least I had put myself on record and she couldn't claim I had disappeared and disavowed all contact and connection with my father's estate. I really had never accepted her as a mother or as family. She was a stranger to me when I had lived in the House of Dumas, and she was even more of a stranger to me now.
Jeanne came more often than Toby to play with Pearl and visit. With my marriage to Paul, she eagerly embraced me as her new sister and, at times, confided more intimately in me than she did in her own blood sister, Toby, and certainly more than she did her mother. One afternoon we sat on the patio and sipped fresh lemonades, watching Mrs. Flemming take Pearl for a little walk through the gardens.
Jeanne had come to Cypress Woods especially to talk to me about her boyfriend, James Pitot, a young attorney. He was a tall, dark-haired, handsome man whose politeness and charm reminded me a bit of Daddy.
"I think we're going to become engaged," Jeanne revealed. I knew from the way she spoke that I was the first to learn of it.
"You think?"
"The thought of such a big yes terrifies me!" she exclaimed. I had to laugh. "It's not funny, Ruby. I lay awake nights just tormenting myself over it."
"No, it isn't funny. You're right. I shouldn't laugh."
"What made you finally decide to marry Paul?" she asked.
If she only knew the truth, she wouldn't be so sisterly, I feared.
"I mean, I don't know what love is, really is. I have had crushes on so many boys, and you remember I used to go with Danny Morgan."
"I remember."
"But he became such an . . an idiot. James is different. James is . ."
"What? Jeanne," I said.
"Caring and considerate, loving and gentle. We haven't done it yet, you know," she said, blushing. "He wanted to, of course, and so did I, but I just couldn't without being married. I told him that and he understood. He didn't get angry."
"Because he really does care for you and for what makes you happy," I concluded. "That's love or at least the most important part of it. The other things are important, of course, but there doesn't have to be an explosion of bells every time you kiss. What I have learned is that dependability is the soil in which a long and lasting love is planted, Jeanne."
"But surely there was an explosion of bells for you and Paul. The two of you have been in love for so long. I remember when he couldn't wait to finish dinner just so he could get on his motor scooter and ride out to see you, even if it was for just ten minutes. It was like . . . like the sun rose and fell on your face.
"I don't have that intense a feeling for James," she admitted, "so I'm afraid I'm going to make a tragic error if I say yes."
"Some people love too much," I said softly.
"Like Adam loved Eve," she replied, nodding. "He ate of the forbidden fruit after Eve had just so he wouldn't lose her. That's what Father Rush told me once."
"Yes, like Adam, then," I said, smiling.
"But that made the story so romantic for me. I want my marriage to be romantic, as romantic as yours is," she said. "And yours is, isn't it, Ruby?"
I stared at her. Was it only her youth that prevented her from seeing the truth in my eyes or was it my own ability to mask reality? I smiled softly.
"Yes, Jeanne, but it doesn't happen overnight, and from the way you speak of James and from what you tell me of him, it sounds like you will have happiness together."
"Oh, I'm so glad you said that!" she exclaimed. "For I value your opinion more than anyone's, even more than Mother's, and certainly more than Toby's."
"I wish you would speak to your mother first," I said. "I don't want to be the one who convinces you of doing something. You have to convince yourself."
In the back of my mind, I could see Gladys Tate hating me for giving intimate advice to her daughter.
"Don't worry, silly," she said. "I am convinced. I just needed to be sure. You were once just as insecure, weren't you?"
"Yes," I confessed.
"You never talk about your life in New Orleans. Did you have many boyfriends there or when you went to private school?"
"No, not many," I said, and looked away quickly. She was alert enough to catch the shifting of my gaze.
"But there was one?"
"There was. . . no one, really," I said, turning back with a smile. "You know how those rich Creole boys can be. .. . They make you promises just to tempt you to go to bed with them and then they rush off for another conquest."
"Did you?" she asked quickly.
"Did I what?"
"Go to bed with any of them?"
"Jeanne!"
"I'm sorry. I thought I could ask. I thought we could be sisters, better sisters than you and your twin were."
"That wouldn't be hard to do," I said, laughing. I stared at her a moment. "No," I said. "I didn't." I knew if I told her the truth, I would burst into tears myself and this whole wonderful world Paul had created for Pearl and me would come crumbling down around us.
She looked relieved. "Then I'm right to wait until we're married?"
"If it feels right, it's right," I told her. She seemed satisfied for the moment. I was troubled giving advice to anyone when it came to romance and marriage. Who was I to do so?
The next--day, Jeanne came over to announce her engagement to James Pitot. They had set a date. Once Paul heard that, he declared the wedding would be at Cypress Woods if she liked. She gazed at me with the expression of a coconspirator and cried her delight.
"Ruby will help me plan the wedding, won't you, Ruby?"
"Of course," I said.
"Oh, Paul," she said, "you did more than marry the woman you always loved and give us a beautiful little niece. You gave me a wonderful new sister."
We hugged and kissed and I hoped I had said the right things and Jeanne was destined for a good and happy marriage. In any case, we had a great family event to plan. It seemed Paul was right: Our lives would be full of excitement and never dull.
That evening Paul knocked on the adjoining door and came into my bedroom as I was sitting in front of my vanity mirror brushing out my hair. I was already in my nightgown. He was in his light blue silk pajamas, one of the birthday presents I had bought for him.
"I just got off the phone with Dad. He says his home now resembles an army command post. They have already drawn up long lists of guests and started to plan the preliminaries. He swears it's like preparing for battle."
I laughed.
"I wish we could have had a grand wedding," he said. "You deserved nothing less than to be treated like some Cajun princess."
"I am treated that way, Paul."
"Yes, but . ." His eyes fixed on mine in the mirror. "How has it been for you? I mean . . . are you really happy, Ruby?"
"Yes, Paul. I am."
He nodded and then shifted from a deep, pensive look to a soft, gentle smile. "Anyway, thank you for taking my sisters to your heart so quickly and making them your family, too. They adore you, and Mother. . . Mother has learned to do more than simply accept. I know she respects you now."
I wondered how he could make such a statement. Was he blind to the cold, gray look in his mother's eyes whenever she set them on me or was he so determined to be happy that he ignored it and lived in an illusion himself?
"I hope so, Paul," I said, but not with much conviction.
"She does," he insisted. "Well, good night." He stepped up to me and kissed me softly on the neck. He hadn't kissed me like that since we had married. The warmth of his lips radiated in waves over my shoulders and down to my breasts. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, I saw him still there, his lips inches from my face.
"Good night," I said in a broken whisper.
"Good night." He turned quickly and left my room.
For a moment I just stared after him. I took a deep breath and got ready for bed.
That night I tossed and turned for hours before finally falling into an exhaustion and sleep.
Three days later the happy bubble that had settled over Cypress Woods was shattered with the arrival of Gisselle. She and two of her boyfriends from her ritzy prep school came speeding up our driveway, the horn of their Cadillac convertible blaring. It brought all the servants and myself to the front window. We thought it was some emergency. James looked at me with surprise.
"It's only my twin sister," I said. "Don't bother yourself, James. Ill greet her and show her in."
"Very good, madame," he said, and happily retreated. I went out to the gallery to face them.
It had been some time since Gisselle and I had last set eyes on each other. The two boys she was with were handsome, slim young men, one with dark brown hair and the other quite blond with blue eyes and a very fair complexion. He was the driver. They both wore navy blue blazers with their fraternity emblems embossed in gold on their breast pockets. The dark-haired young man stepped out first and held the door for Gisselle, sweeping himself into a European bow as if she were royalty emerging. The laughter on the lips suggested they had been doing some drinking or maybe smoking pot. I had no reason to expect Gisselle had changed or grown up any since we last saw each other, but I had hoped for some miraculous metamorphosis.
"There she is," she cried as soon as she set her eyes on me. "My dear, darling twin, the mistress of Cypress Woods. I have to admit, sister dear," she said, nodding as she looked around, "you ain't done bad for a Cajun."
The two men laughed, the driver getting out to join them.
"Well, can't you say hello?" Gisselle demanded, her hands on her hips. "We haven't seen each other for a long time. You'd think you'd at least pretend to be pleased."
"Hello, Gisselle," I said dryly.
"What, no sisterly kiss and hug?" She stepped up to me. I shook my head and embraced her. "That's more like it. You should be impressed. We drove all the way up here to visit you and it's a terribly boring ride. Nothing to look at but those shacks on sticks and old shrimp boats rotting along the canals and poor dirty children playing with rusty old tools on their mangy front yards. Right, Darby?" she said, turning to the dark-haired young man. He nodded, his eyes on me.
"Why don't you introduce everyone properly, Gisselle," I said.
She smirked. "Of course, just the way we were taught to do it at Greenwood, huh?" She turned and imitated our etiquette teacher at Greenwood, speaking with nasality. "This is Darby Hennessey, of the filthy rich Hennesseys from the Bank of New Orleans." Darby laughed and bowed. "And this shy, fair-haired young man on my left is Henry Howard. His father is one of Louisiana's most famous and important architects. Either one of these young men wouldn't hesitate to spend his inheritance on me, would you, gentlemen?"
"I'd save a little to keep myself in champagne," Darby quipped, and they all laughed.
"This house . . . I must confess, Ruby," Gisselle said, stepping back, "I had no idea. You are rich even before you inherit your share of our trust. Can you imagine how wealthy my twin sister is going to be, Henry?"
He nodded, gazing around.
"Wealthy," he admitted.
"Brilliant. Henry's working on his doctorate in brain surgery," she said, and Darby laughed. "Well, are you going to show us around or do we have to stand out here all day in the swamp heat?" she demanded.
"Of course, I'll show you around."
"Is it all right to leave the car right here?" Henry asked me.
"Why isn't it?" Gisselle snapped before I had a chance. "What do you think she has, valet parking?" She laughed and threaded her arm through Darby's. "The tour, madame," she said.
"You haven't changed one iota, Gisselle," I said, shaking my head.
"Why should I? I was always perfect. Right, Darby?" "Right," he said obediently.
I opened the door and led them into the house.
"Daphne would bust a gut if she saw how well you've done for yourself, dear sister," Gisselle said as she gazed at the grand entryway, my paintings and small statues, the long marble floors and grand stairway. She whistled at the elegant furnishings in the living room and den, but her sarcastic attitude dwindled to a quiet look of awe as I took them through the rest of the downstairs and they saw the large pictures, the expensive lamps and chandeliers, the enormous kitchen and dining room with a table that could seat twenty comfortably.
"This beats anything I've seen in the Garden District," Henry confessed.
"You haven't seen everything in the Garden District," Gisselle spit, and he was silent. "How about the bedrooms?" she inquired.
"Right this way."
I showed them the guest rooms first and then Paul's and my bedrooms, skipping the nursery because Pearl was taking her nap.
"Separate but adjoining bedrooms," Gisselle remarked, and smiled licentiously. "How often do we use that doorway?" she whispered. Although I blanched, I didn't reply. She laughed and gazed about. "You don't have an art studio anymore," she said with delight.
"Oh, that's in the attic," I replied nonchalantly.
"The attic?"
"Let me show you," I said, and took them upstairs.
"This is incredible," Darby said, now genuinely impressed. "The place is a palace. Look at the view from this window," he declared, turning to Gisselle. She sulked behind us.