Over the next few days, Gisselle continued to surprise me and the others with her new independence. Except for Kate's wheeling her about at times, she took care of her own needs. She kept the door to her room shut tight whenever she was in there. Samantha, on the other hand, looked sad and lost. Whenever Gisselle was with Kate and Jacki, the three ignored her. She trailed after them like a puppy dog who had been kicked and driven from its home but had nowhere else to go. Obviously under Gisselle's orders, Jacki and Kate joined her and refused to acknowledge or speak to Samantha. They acted as if she were invisible.
"Why don't you try to make new friends, Samantha," I told her. "Perhaps you should even go to Mrs. Penny and request to be moved to a new quad."
She shook her head vigorously. The thought of making such a dramatic break, even under these conditions, terrified the shy, insecure girl.
"No, it's all right. Everything will be all right," she said.
On Thursday night, however, I returned from the library with Vicki and found Samantha curled up in her bed, sobbing softly. I closed the door and hurried to her bedside.
"What is it, Samantha? What's my sister done now?" I asked in a tired voice.
"Nothing," she moaned. "Everything's fine. We're . . . friends again. She's forgiven me."
"What? What are you talking about? Forgiven you?"
She nodded, but kept her back to me, the covers tightly wrapped around her body. Something about her behavior triggered my darker suspicions. My heart began to beat quickly in anticipation when I put my hand on her shoulder and she jumped as if I had touched her with fingers of fire. "Samantha, what happened here while I was away?" I demanded. She simply cried harder. "Samantha?"
"I had to do it," she moaned. "They all made me. They all said I had to."
"Do what, Samantha? Samantha?" I shook her shoulder. "Do what?"
Suddenly she turned around and buried her face against my stomach while throwing her arms around my waist. Her body shook with sobs.
"I'm so ashamed," she cried.
"Ashamed of what? Samantha, you must tell me what Gisselle made you do. Tell me," I insisted, seizing her shoulders firmly. She sat back slowly, her eyes closed, and let her head fall back to the pillow. I realized she was naked under the blanket.
"She sent Kate in to tell me to come into her room. When I did, she asked me if I wanted to be part of the group again. I said yes, but she said . . . she said I had to do penance."
"Penance? What sort of penance?"
"She said that while she was away, I dreamt of being like her. I wanted to be her, and that was why I used her lipstick and her makeup and her perfume. She said I was so sexually frustrated, I even put on her panties, but I didn't," Samantha insisted. "Honest, I didn't."
"I believe you, Samantha. Then what happened?" Samantha closed her eyes and swallowed.
"Samantha?"
"I had to take off my clothes and get into the bed," she blurted.
I held my breath, knowing what sort of sordid things Gisselle was capable of making her do.
"Go on," I said in a breathy whisper.
"I'm so ashamed."
"What did she make you do, Samantha?"
"They all did," she cried. "They taunted and cheered until I gave in."
"Gave in to what?"
"I had to take a pillow and pretend it was . . . Jonathan Peck. They made me stroke it and kiss it and . . ."
"Oh no, Samantha." She shuddered with sobs.
I stroked her hair. "My sister is a sick person. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have listened to her."
"They all hated me," she cried in defense, "even the other girls in the dorm and the girls in our classes. No one would talk to me in the girls' room or in the lockers, and someone poured a bottle of ink over my social studies notebook today, blotting out all the pages." She cried harder.
"All right, Samantha. It's all right," I said. I rocked her until her sobbing subsided. Then I stood up. "My sister and I are going to have a little chat right now."
"NO!" Samantha said, seizing my hand. "Don't." Her eyes were wide with terror. "If you get her angry, she'll turn the girls against me again. Please," she begged. "Promise you won't say anything. She made me promise not to tell you what they made me do and she'll just accuse me of betraying her again."
"She would make you promise that because she knows I'll go right in there and heave her out the window," I said. Samantha bit down on her lip, the alarm filling her face. "All right, don't worry. I won't do anything, but Samantha, are you all right?"
"I'm okay," she said, wiping her face quickly. She forced a smile. "It wasn't so bad, and it's over. We're all friends again."
"With friends like that, you don't need enemies," I said. "My Grandmère Catherine used to say that even if we lived in a world without sickness and disease, without storms and hurricanes, droughts and pestilence, we would find a way to make the devil comfortable in our own hearts."
"What?" Samantha asked.
"Nothing. Are you moving back in with her?"
"No. She still wants to live alone," Samantha said. "Is it all right if I continue to room with you?"
"Of course. I'm just surprised. The second shoe hasn't dropped yet," I muttered, wondering what scheme Gisselle was designing to make life more unbearable for everyone, especially me, at Greenwood.
The remainder of the week passed quickly and without incident. I didn't know whether being alone in the dorm and being responsible for taking care of her own basic needs was what exhausted her, but every morning when Kate finally wheeled her to the breakfast table, Gisselle looked half drugged. She sat there with her eyelids drooping and nibbled on something, barely paying any attention to the chatter around the table. She was usually the first to interrupt or to ridicule something someone else said.
Then on Friday Vicki stopped me in the corridor after science class to tell me she had heard that Gisselle had fallen asleep in remedial reading. I imagined Gisselle was too stubborn to admit that caring for herself was draining her of whatever energy she possessed. Toward the end of the day, I stopped her in the corridor.
"What is it?" she snapped. Fatigue made her even more irritable than usual.
"You can't go on like this, Gisselle. You're dozing in class, dozing at lunch, moping in your chair. You need help. Either take Samantha back in with you or move back with me," I said.
The suggestion brought color to her face and perked her up.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she replied in a voice loud enough to attract everyone nearby. "You want me to be dependent, to have to scream for help whenever I want to brush my hair or my teeth. Well, I don't need you or darling Samantha in order to get myself around this school. I don't need anyone," she added and whipped the wheels of her chair hard to push herself off. Even Kate was left standing with her mouth open.
"Well," I said, shrugging, "I'm glad she's trying to be independent. Let me know if she seems to be getting sick, though," I told Kate, who nodded and then ran after Gisselle. I went on to my art class.
That night Beau phoned. I had been waiting anxiously for his call all week.
"I thought I would sneak away tomorrow and come up to Baton Rouge to see you, but my father has restricted my use of the car since Daphne had a talk with him and my mother. She told them about my taking you up to the institution."
"And that made them that angry?"
"She said we disturbed Jean so much he has had to be given shock treatments."
"Oh no. I hope it's a lie," I cried.
"My father was furious, and then when she told them I was up in your room during the wake . . . I think she exaggerated what we were doing too."
"How could she be so horrible?"
"Maybe she takes lessons," Beau jested. "Anyway, I expect my restriction will be lifted at holiday time. It's only another ten days, right?"