She smiled icily. "I wouldn't make any plans that included my daughter," she said. "You know how your parents feel about your being with her anyway, and when they hear about this . . ."
"But we didn't do anything," he insisted.
"You're lucky I didn't wait a few more moments. She might have had you with your clothes off, pretending to be drawing you again," she said. Beau flushed so crimson I thought he would have a nosebleed.
"Just go, Beau. Please," I begged him. He looked at me and then started for the door. Daphne stepped aside to let him pass. He turned to look back once more and then shook his head and hurried away and down the stairs. Then Daphne turned back to me.
"And you almost broke my heart down there before, pleading to have me let you attend the wake . . . like you really cared," she added, and closed the door between us, the click sounding like a gunshot and making my heart stop. Then it started to pound and was still pounding when Gisselle opened the door a few moments later.
"Sorry," she said. "I just turned my back for a moment to get something, and the next thing I knew, she was charging up the stairs and past me."
I stared at her. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if the truth wasn't that she really had made herself quite visible so Daphne would know she and Beau had come up, but it didn't matter. The damage was done, and if Gisselle was responsible or not, the result was the same. The distance between Beau and me had been stretched a little farther by my stepmother, who seemed to exist for one thing: to make my life miserable.
Daddy's funeral was as big as any funeral I had ever seen, and the day seemed divinely designed for it: low gray clouds hovering above, the breeze warm but strong enough to make the limbs of the sycamores and oaks, willows and magnolias wave and bow along the route. It was as if the whole world wanted to pay its last respects to a fallen prince. Expensive cars lined the streets in front of the church for blocks, and there were droves of people, many forced to stand in the doorway and on the church portico. Despite my anger at Daphne, I couldn't help but be a little in awe of her, of the elegant way she looked, of the manner in which she carried herself and guided Gisselle and me through the ceremony, from the house to the church to the cemetery.
I wanted so much to feel something intimate at the funeral, to sense Daddy's presence, but with Daphne's eyes on me constantly and with the mourners staring at us as if we were some royal family obligated to maintain the proper dignity and perform according to their expectations, I found it hard to think of Daddy in that shiny, expensive coffin. At times, even I felt as if I were attending some sort of elaborate state show, a public ceremony devoid of any feeling.
When I did cry, I think I cried as much for myself and for what my world and life would now be without the father Grandmère Catherine had brought back to me with her final revelations. This precious gift of happiness and promise had been snatched away by jealous Death, who always lingered about us, watching and waiting for an opportunity to wrench us away from all that made him realize how miserable his own destiny was eternally to be. That was what Grandmère Catherine had taught me about Death, and that was what I now so firmly believed.
Daphne shed no tears in public. She seemed to falter only twice: once in the church, when Father McDermott mentioned that he had been the one to marry her and Daddy; and then at the cemetery, just before Daddy's body was interred in what people from New Orleans called an oven. Because of the high water table, graves weren't dug into the ground, as they were in other places. People were buried above ground in cement vaults, many with their family crests embossed on the door.
Instead of sobbing, Daphne brought her silk handkerchief to her face and held it against her mouth. Her eyes remained focused on her own thoughts, her gaze downward. She took Gisselle's and my hand when it was time to leave the church, and once again when it was time to leave the cemetery. She held our hands for only a moment or two, a gesture I felt was committed more for the benefit of the mourners than for us.
Throughout the ceremony, Beau remained back with his parents. We barely exchanged glances. Relatives from Daphne's side of the family stayed closely clumped together, barely raising their voices above a whisper, their eyes glued to our every move. Whenever anyone approached Daphne to offer his or her final condolences, she took his hands and softly said "Merci beaucoup." These people would then turn to us. Gisselle imitated Daphne perfectly, even to the point of intoning the same French accent and holding their hands not a split second longer or shorter than Daphne had. I simply said "Thank you," in English.
As if she expected either Gisselle or me to say or do something that would embarrass her, Daphne observed us through the corner of her eye and listened with half an ear, especially when Beau and his parents approached us. I did hold onto Beau's hand longer than I held onto anyone else's, despite feeling as if Daphne's eyes were burning holes in my neck and head. I was sure Gisselle's behavior pleased her more than mine did, but I wasn't there to please Daphne; I was there to say my last goodbye to Daddy and thank the people who really cared, just as Daddy would have wanted me to thank them: warmly, without pretension.
Bruce Bristow remained very close by, occasionally whispering to Daphne and getting some order from her. When we had arrived at the church, he offered to take my place and wheel Gisselle down the church aisle. He was there to wheel her out and help get her into the limousine and out of it at the cemetery. Of course, Gisselle enjoyed the extra attention and the tender loving care, glancing up at me occasionally with that self-satisfied grin on her lips.
The highlight of the funeral came at the very end, just as we were approaching the limousine for our ride home. I turned to my right and saw my half brother, Paul, hurrying across the cemetery. He broke into a trot to reach us before we got into the car.
"Paul!" I cried. I couldn't contain my surprise and delight at the sight of him. Daphne pulled herself back from the doorway of the limousine and glared angrily at me. Others nearby turned as well. Bruce Bristow, who was preparing to transfer Gisselle from her chair into the car, paused to look up when Gisselle spoke.
"Well, look who's come at the last moment," she said.
Even though it had only been months, it seemed ages since Paul and I had seen each other. He looked so much more mature, his face firmer. In his dark blue suit and tie, he appeared taller and wider in the shoulders. The resemblances in Paul's, Gisselle's, and my face could be seen in his nose and cerulean eyes, but his hair, a mixture of blond and brown—what the Cajuns called chatin—was thinner and very long. He brushed back the strands that had fallen over his forehead when he broke into a trot to reach me before
I got into the limousine.
Without saying a word, he seized me and embraced me.
"Who is this?" Daphne demanded. The final mourners who were leaving the cemetery turned to watch and listen, too.
"It's Paul," I said quickly. "Paul Tate."
Daphne knew about our half brother, but she refused to acknowledge him or ever make any reference to him. She had no interest in hearing about him the one time he had come to see us in New Orleans. Now she twisted her mouth into an ugly grimace.
"I am sorry for your sorrow, madame," he said. "I came as quickly as I could," he added, turning back to me when she didn't respond. "I didn't find out until I called the school to speak with you and one of the girls in your dorm told me. I got into my car right away and drove straight to the house. The butler gave me directions to the cemetery."
"I'm glad you've come, Paul," I said.
"Can we all get into the car and go home," Daphne complained, "or do you intend to stand in a cemetery and talk all day?"
"Follow us to the house," I told him, joining Gisselle. "He looks very handsome," she whispered after we were seated. Daphne just glared at the two of us.