Uncle Jean's lips quivered more. His eyes began to blink, and then I felt a trembling in his hands. Suddenly, he shook his head, softly at first, and then more vigorously.
"Uncle Jean . . ."
He opened his mouth and then closed it, shaking his head harder. The nurse and the attendant drew closer. I looked up at them when Uncle Jean began to make an unintelligible sound.
"Aaaaaaa . . . ″
"Jean," the nurse said, rushing over to him. "What did you tell him?" she demanded.
"I had to tell him his brother—my father—has died," I said.
"Oh dear. Easy, Jean," she said.
His shoulders began to shake and he opened and closed his mouth to make the ugly sound.
"You two had better go now," the nurse said.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble, but I thought he should know."
"It's all right. He'll be all right," she assured us, but she was anxious for us to leave.
I stood up, and Uncle Jean gazed up at me with desperation. He was silent for a moment, and I decided to hug him quickly and did so.
"I'll be back another time, Uncle Jean," I promised through my tears and then turned away. Beau followed me toward the door. We were nearly there when Uncle Jean screamed.
"P-P-Pierre!"
I turned to see him bury his head in his hands. The nurse eased him back on the bed and lifted his legs up so he was lying quietly.
"Oh, Beau," I said. "I shouldn't have come. Daphne was right. I shouldn't have told him."
"Of course you should have come. Otherwise he would have felt deserted when Pierre never showed up. At least now he understands why and he knows he still has you," Beau said, putting his arm around me.
I let my head fall against his shoulder and then I let him take me out and home to where Daddy lay waiting for his final goodbyes.
11
The Gloves Are Off
I told Beau to pull up to the walk a block before my house.
"I feel like Gisselle, sneaking around like this," I said, "but I'd rather Daphne didn't see you dropping me off."
He laughed. "That's all right. Sometimes Gisselle's scheming comes in handy. Too bad she can't learn from you as well." He leaned over to give me a quick kiss on the lips before I stepped out of the car.
"I'll be here tonight," he called after me. I waved and ran up the walk to sneak back in through the side entrance.
The house was very still when I entered. I went around quietly and started up the stairs, which seemed to creak extra loudly just because I was trying to be discreet. I was nearly to the top when Daphne called up to me. I turned and glared down at her. Bruce Bristow was at her side.
"Where were you?" she demanded, her hands on her hips. She wore one of her business suits, rouge, lipstick, and eyeliner, but she had her hair unpinned.
"I went to see Uncle Jean," I confessed. I had made up my mind that I wouldn't lie if she caught me, and anyway, I wanted to question why she had cut back on the funds for Jean at the institution and had him transferred.
"You did what? Get down here this instant," she demanded, stabbing her right forefinger toward the floor. She spun around and marched into the sitting room behind her. Bruce gazed up at me, that somewhat impish smile couched comfortably in the corners of his mouth. Then he turned to follow Daphne. I was nearly halfway down when Gisselle called from the top of the stairway, where she had wheeled herself to watch my confrontation with our stepmother.
"I would have covered for you," she said, "but you didn't even tell me where you were going." She turned her head. "I couldn't even make anything up when she came around looking for you."
"That's all right. I'm not happy about lying and sneaking around anyway."
"Too bad," she said. "Now you're getting into trouble." She gave me an oily smile of glee before spinning around in her chair to return to her room. I continued downstairs quickly and entered the sitting room. Daphne was seated on the sofa, but Bruce was standing beside her, his hands clasped before him. He was scowling, which was a face he wore more for her sake than for mine.
"Get in here," Daphne said when I paused just inside the doorway. I approached her, my heart pounding. "I thought I told you not to go to Jean. I thought I told you not to tell him anything," she said quickly.
"Daddy would have wanted him to know," I replied. "And besides, if I hadn't told him, he would have been waiting for Daddy and wondering why he never came."
She smirked. "I'm sure he doesn't wonder about anything." Her eyes became thin slits and her lips tightened for a moment. "Who took you? Beau?" I didn't respond, and she nodded with that cold smile. "His parents are not going to be happy to hear that he was party to this disobedience. Since you've been at Greenwood, he hasn't been in any trouble, but as soon as you return . . ."
"Please don't get him into trouble. He wasn't party to anything. He was just nice enough to drive me up there."
She shook her head and gazed at Bruce, who mirrored her disdain.
"Anyway," I continued, gathering my courage, "now I know the real reason why you didn't want me to go to see him." I spoke so sharply that Bruce's eyebrows lifted. "Secretly you had Uncle Jean moved from his private room into a ward."
She sat back and crossed her arms under her bosom.
"Secretly?" She laughed a hollow, thin laugh before looking at Bruce and then turning to me with a frown. "I don't have to do anything secretly. I don't need your or your sister's or anyone else's permission to do anything that regards this family."
"Why did you do it?" I cried. "We can afford to have him in his own room."
"A private room was a waste of money. I always thought it so," she said. "Not that I have to explain myself to you or your sister."
"But he's regressing now. The staff says so. He no longer cares about himself the way he used to and—"
"He wasn't making any real progress either way. All Pierre was doing was soothing his own troubled conscience by lavishing the extra money on Jean. It was a ridiculous expenditure.″
"It wasn't," I insisted. "I saw the difference; you haven't."
"Since when did you get a degree in mental illness?" she shot back. Then she smiled coldly again, a smile that put chills into my spine. "Or have you inherited some magical powers from your faith-healing Grandmère?"
A heat came into my face. Daphne never missed an opportunity to mock my Grandmère's memory. She loved ridiculing the Cajun world. I took a deep breath and stood my ground firmly.
"No, I simply inherited compassion and human kindness," I said. My words cut so deeply, she winced. Bruce no longer had a smile on his face, impish or otherwise. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and gazed apprehensively at Daphne.
"That will be enough of that," she said slowly, her eyes as dark as shadows in the swamp. "You disobeyed me. I want you to understand right from the start what it means to be insubordinate. Your father is no longer here to make excuses for you." She pulled herself back and her shoulders up to pass sentence on me. "You are to go upstairs and remain in your room until it is time to attend your father's funeral. I will have Martha bring up your meals, and you are not to see anyone."
"But the wake . . . greeting mourners . . ."
"We'll make excuses for you, tell people you aren't feeling well, and that way prevent everyone from knowing about your misbehavior," she said curtly.
"But it wasn't misbehavior," I insisted. "I have a right to see Uncle Jean, and he should have been told about Daddy, and you shouldn't have had them move him into the ward."
For a moment, my continued defiance disarmed her. Then she gathered all her bitterness and leaned forward.
"When you are twenty-one," she replied, her eyes somewhat wider, "you will be able to make financial decisions without my interference or opinions. You can take your entire inheritance and waste it on Jean, for all I care. Until then, I'm the only one who makes the decisions about how to spend the Dumas fortune. I have an expert in these matters," she said, nodding toward Bruce, "so I don't need to hear from you. Do you understand? Do you?" she hammered when I didn't reply.