It was just the way my schedule worked out that after the first two periods of classes I had a study period. Gisselle, who had failed algebra last year, had to repeat it at Greenwood. When we first arrived at the main building, I had wheeled her about from homeroom to classes, but at the end of the second period, Samantha arrived on the scene almost by design and offered to take over.
"After this period, we have the next three classes together," Samantha said. Gisselle was obviously pleased with the suggestion.
"All right," I said. "But don't let my sister make you late for your classes."
"If I'm late because it takes me longer to do what I have to do, then they will just have to be understanding," Gisselle insisted. I saw she was already planning to loiter in the bathrooms, perhaps have a cigarette.
"She's going to get you into trouble, Samantha," I warned, but I might as well have been directing my words into the wall. Somehow my sister had quickly turned this naive girl into her trusted servant. I felt sorry for Samantha; she had little idea what she was in for before Gisselle was tired of her.
I left them and hurried off to my study hall. But just as I sat down to look over my new work, the study-hall teacher informed me that Mrs. Ironwood had asked to see me.
"Her office is right down the corridor to your right and then up a short set of stairs," he told me. "Don't look so worried," he added with a smile. "She often visits with first-time Greenwood students."
Nevertheless, I couldn't help being nervous about it. My heart was thumping as I hurried down the quiet hallway and found the stairs. A short, plump woman with gray-framed bifocals turned from a file cabinet when I entered the outer office. The nameplate on her desk read MRS. RANDLE. She peered at me for a moment and then went to her desk to look at a slip of paper.
"You're Ruby Dumas?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
She nodded, maintaining a stiffly serious expression, and then went to the door of the inner office. After a gentle knock, she opened it and announced my arrival.
"Show her in," I heard Mrs. Ironwood command. "Right this way, Ruby." She stepped aside and I entered Mrs. Ironwood's office.
It was a good-sized room, but very austere, with dark gray curtains, a light gray rug, a large, dark brown desk, two hard-looking wooden chairs, and a small, stiff-looking charcoal-black settee against the wall on the right. Above it was the only painting in the room, another portrait of Edith Dilliard Clairborne, and as in all the others, she was in a formal gown, either seated in a garden or in a high-backed chair in a study. The other walls had plaques and awards spaced out, awards won by the students of Greenwood for things ranging from debates to oratory contests.
Although there was a large vase of red and pink roses on her desk, the room smelled like a doctor's office, with a heavy scent of disinfectant. The office did look like it had been painstakingly cleaned to the point where the windows were so clear they looked wide open.
Mrs. Ironwood sat erect behind her desk. She lowered her glasses and gazed at me for a long moment, drinking me in as if she wanted to memorize every detail of my face and figure. If there was any approval, she didn't show it. Her eyes remained coldly analytical, her lips firm.
"Sit down, please," she said, nodding at one of the hard wooden chairs. I moved to it quickly and held my books on my lap.
"I called you here," she began, "so that we could establish an understanding as soon as possible."
"Understanding?"
The right corner of her mouth dipped. She tapped a fat folder on her desk with a pencil.
"This is your file," she continued. "Beneath it is your sister's. I have reviewed them both carefully. Besides your school records, the file contains some important personal information.
"I should tell you," she said, pausing to sit back, "that I had a long, informative talk about you with your stepmother."
"Oh," I said, dropping my voice a couple of octaves. She knitted her dark, thick brows together. Since she had referred to Daphne as my stepmother instead of my mother, it was clear that Daphne had told her about my life as a Cajun.
"She told me of your . . . unfortunate circumstances and expressed her frustration over her failure to bring about the sort of changes required for your adjustment from a rather backward life to a more civilized one."
"My life was never backward, and there is much about my life now that is uncivilized," I said firmly.
Her eyes became small, her lips a bit pale as she tightened them. "Well I can assure you that there is nothing about life at Greenwood that is uncivilized. We have a proud tradition of serving the best families in our society, and I intend to see that continue," she said quickly and sharply. "Most of our girls come from the proper sort of background and are already schooled in how to behave and carry themselves in polite society.
"Now then," she proceeded, putting her glasses on and opening my folder, "I see from your schoolwork that you are an excellent student. That bodes well for you. You have the raw material to develop. I also note that you are blessed with some talent. I look forward to your developing it here.
"However," she said, "none of this will be of any good if your social skills, your personal habits, are lacking."
"They're not," I said quickly. "No matter what you might think about the world in which I grew up and no matter what my stepmother might have told you."
She shook her head and then fired her words like bullets.
"What your stepmother told me," Mrs. Ironwood said, "remains locked within these walls. That is what I have brought you here to understand. It is up to you to keep them locked. Despite the circumstances of your birth and childhood, you now come from a distinguished family, and you have an obligation to that family name. Whatever habits, practices, and behavior you engaged in prior to your life in New Orleans must not rear their ugly heads here at Greenwood.
"I have promised your stepmother to watch over you more closely than I watch over my other wards. I wanted you to be aware of that."
"That's not fair. I haven't done anything to deserve being treated differently," I complained.
"And I'm determined to keep it that way. When I promise something to a parent of one of my students, I make sure to keep that promise.
"Which brings me to your sister," she said, moving my folder off Gisselle's so she could open it. "Her schoolwork is disappointing, to say the least, as is some of her past behavior. I realize she has a serious handicap now, and I have made a few accommodations to make her life here comfortable and successful, but I wanted you to know that I hold you responsible for her success and her behavior."
“Why?”
She flicked her stony eyes over me.
"Because you have the full use of your limbs and because your father believes in you so strongly," she replied. "And because you are close to your sister and the most influential person when it comes to advising her."
"Gisselle doesn't take my advice or listen to me most of the time. She's her own person, and as far as her handicap goes, she takes advantage of it more often than not," I said. "She doesn't need accommodations, she needs discipline."
"I think I'll be the one to decide those things," Mrs. Ironwood said. She paused and stared at me a moment, her head bobbing slightly. "I see what it is your stepmother means: You have a strain of independence, that Cajun stubbornness, a wildness that must be kept in tow.
"Well, this is the place where it will be kept in tow," she threatened, sitting forward.
"I want you to maintain your good school achievements; I want your sister to improve her schoolwork; I want you both to behave and to obey our rules to the letter. By the end of this year, I would like your mother to be impressed with the changes in your character." She paused, waiting for my response, but I kept my lips sealed for fear of what might burst out of them if I began.