"I'm not arguing. I'd just like to know what you meant, that's all. Did you mean it's all my fault, because if you did . . ."
"No, I didn't mean that. Daddy had a lot on his mind besides you and me. He had poor Uncle Jean and Daphne and his business problems . . ."
"That's right," she said, liking my explanation. "He did. But still, he should have taken better care of himself. Look at how he's left us now. I'm crippled and I have no father. You think Daphne's going to give me the things I want when I want them? Never. You heard her when we left. She believes Daddy spoiled us, spoiled me!"
"Let's not jump to any conclusions," I said in a tired, small voice. "Daphne must be devastated too. Maybe . . . maybe she'll be different. Maybe she'll need us and love us more."
Gisselle made her eyes small as she thought about what I had said. I knew she was simply trying to figure out how to take advantage of the situation if what I said were true, how she could impose upon Daphne's great grief and maneuver to get what she wanted. She sat back to think about it some more, and the remainder of our ride went quietly, even though it seemed to take twice as long. I fell asleep for a while and woke up to see Lake Pontchartrain looming ahead. Soon the skyline of New Orleans came into view, and we were traveling through the city streets.
Everything looked different to me. It was as if Daddy's death had changed the world. The quaint narrow streets, the buildings with their scrolled iron balconies, the little gar dens in the alleyways, the cafes, the traffic, and the people all seemed foreign. It was as if the soul of the city had left along with Daddy's soul.
Gisselle did not have the same reaction. The moment we entered the Garden District, she wondered aloud if she would soon see her old friends.
"I'm sure they've all heard about Daddy. They're bound to come visiting us. I can't wait," she said. "I'll find out all the gossip." She smiled gleefully.
How could she be so selfish? I wondered. How could her mind and her heart not be filled with gloom? How could she not be thinking about Daddy's smile, Daddy's voice, Daddy's embrace? And how could she not be weighed down with a sorrow that turned her very bones to stone and made her blood run cold? Would I have turned out this way had I been the first baby born and the one given to the Dumas family? Did the evil of that act settle in her tiny heart like a lump of coal and infect her every thought and feeling? Would that have happened to me?
As if he had been standing at the door for hours and hours, Edgar was there when we drove up. He looked years older, his shoulders slumped, his face pale. He hurried down to help with our things.
"Hello, Edgar," I said.
His lips trembled as he tried to greet me, but just the pronunciation of my name, a name Daddy had loved to call, made his eyes tear and his tongue stumble.
"Get me out of here already!" Gisselle screamed. The chauffeur hurried around to the trunk and Edgar went to help him with Gisselle's wheelchair. "Edgar!"
"Oui, mademoiselle, I'm coming," he replied, hobbling around the rear of the car.
"So's Christmas."
They got the wheelchair unfolded and Gisselle into it. The moment we entered the house, I felt the cold gloom that permeated the very walls. All the lights were subdued, the shades still drawn. A tall, thin man in a black suit and tie emerged from the parlor. He had a narrow face that brought his nose and even his chin to a point, reminding me of a pelican. His bald head was spotted but shiny, with two tufts of light brown hair just above his ears. He seemed to slink along, gliding over the floor, moving with barely a sound.
"Madame wanted the wake to be held here," Edgar warned us. "This is Monsieur Boche, the undertaker."
Monsieur Boche's smile was sickly smooth. His lips lifted off his gray teeth as though his mouth was a curtain hinged at the corners. He pressed his long hands together and then slid his right palm over his left hand, giving me the impression he had to wipe it dry before extending it to greet us.
"Mademoiselles," he said. "My deepest condolences. I am Monsieur Boche, and I am here to see that all your bereavement needs are satisfied. If there's anything you want, simply—"
"Where's my daddy?" I demanded with more authority than I had intended. Even Gisselle's eyes widened.
"Right this way, mademoiselle," he said, bowing and turning with one smooth motion.
"Ugh," Gisselle said. "I don't want to look at him now."
I spun on her. "He was your father. You won't look on him ever again."
"He's dead," Gisselle complained. "How can you want to look into a coffin?"
"Don't you want to say goodbye?" I asked.
"I said goodbye. Edgar, take me to my room," she demanded.
"Very good, mademoiselle." He lifted his eyes to me and then turned Gisselle toward the stairway. I followed Monsieur Boche to the ,parlor where Daddy lay in his open coffin. Over it and around it were dozens and dozens of multicolored roses. The room reeked of the scent. Beside the coffin, large candles flickered. The sight of it all put a lump in my throat. It was true; none of this was a dream.
I turned because I felt Daphne's eyes on me. She was sitting in a high-backed chair. Bedecked in black with a black veil pulled off her face, she sat like a dowager queen, expecting me to kneel at her feet and kiss her hand. She didn't look as pale and sick with grief as I had anticipated. Although she had kept rouge off her cheeks, she still wore her favorite shade of lipstick and had some eyeliner on. Her hair was pinned back with pearl combs, and she did have an elegance about her that was intimidating.
"Where's Gisselle?" she demanded.
"She wanted to go to her room," I replied.
"Nonsense," she said and rose from the chair. "She's to come directly in here." She walked out and I approached the coffin. I heard Daphne shout her orders to Edgar, demanding that he bring Gisselle back down the stairs.
My heart was pounding; my legs felt wobbly. I gazed down at Daddy. He was dressed in his black tuxedo, and except for his pasty-white complexion, he looked like he was just taking a catnap. Monsieur Boche stepped up beside me so silently that I nearly jumped when he whispered into my ear.
"He looks good, doesn't he? One of my best jobs," he bragged. I glared at him with such fury, he simply bowed and retreated quickly, floating away on those oily feet. Then I reached into the coffin and took hold of Daddy's right hand. It didn't feel like a hand anymore, but I willed the cold, hard sensations out of my mind and forced myself to think of him smiling, warm and loving.
"Goodbye, Daddy," I said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me the most. I'm sorry I didn't have you with me when I grew up. I'm sorry we had so short a time together. I know my mother loved you very much and I know you loved her. I think I've inherited the best of that love. I will miss you forever and ever. I hope you're with Mommy and you've made your peace and the two of you are floating happily along in a pirogue somewhere in the bayou of heaven."
I leaned over and kissed his cheek, desperately ignoring the sensation that I was kissing a cold face. Then I knelt down and said a little prayer for him. I stepped away from the coffin just as Gisselle was being wheeled in, her complaints loud and clear.
"I'm tired. It was a long, boring trip. Why do I have to come in here?"
"Be quiet," Daphne ordered. She nodded at Edgar, which meant he should leave, and then she returned to her high-backed chair. Gisselle glared at me and then at her and pouted. "Bring her closer," Daphne commanded me in an icy tone. I went to Gisselle's chair and rolled it toward Daphne. "Sit down," she said, nodding at the chair across from her. I did so quickly.
"Why can't we just rest first?" Gisselle moaned.
"Shut up," Daphne snapped. Even Gisselle was frightened and impressed with her sharpness. With her mouth open, she sat back. Daphne glared at her with eyes that seemed able to penetrate into her thoughts. "For a long time, I've had to put up with your whining and crying and moaning. Well, that's over with, you hear? Look over there," she said, nodding toward Daddy. "You see what comes of worrying about everyone else's problems, everyone else's needs, everyone else's likes and dislikes? You die young, that's your reward.