"Oh," he said, stepping back a bit, "here I am going on and on about myself and not even asking you how you are."
"I'm fine, Louis."
"You can't be fine," he insisted. "You've been through a terrible time, a terrible time. Come, sit on the settee and tell me everything, anything," he said, still holding my hand and leading me toward the sofa. I sat down and he sat beside me.
There was a new and brighter radiance in his face. It was as if with every particle of light that pierced the dark curtain that had fallen over his eyes, he came back to life, drew closer and closer to a world of hope and joy, returning to a place where he could smile and laugh, sing and talk and find it possible to love again.
"I don't mind your being selfish, Louis, and talking about your progress. I'd rather not talk about the tragedy and what I've just been through. It's still too fresh and painful."
"Of course," he said. "I only meant to be a sympathetic listener." He smiled. "Someone on whose shoulder you could cry. After all, I cried on yours, didn't I?"
"Thank you. It's nice of you to offer, especially in light of your own problems."
"We're better off not worrying about ourselves, and to do that, we have to worry about others," he said. "Oh, don't I sound like some wise old man. I'm sorry, but I've had a lot of time to sit and meditate these past few years. Anyway," he said, pausing to sit up straight, "I've decided to give in and go to the clinic in Switzerland next month. The doctors have promised me that I would stay there only a short time, but in the interim, I could attend the music conservatory and continue with my music."
"Oh Louis, how wonderful!"
"Now," he said, taking my hand into his and softening his voice, "I have asked my doctor why my eyes have suddenly come alive again and he assures me it's because I have found someone I could trust." He smiled. "My doctor is really more what you-would call a psychiatrist," he said quickly. "The way he describes my condition is that my mind dropped a black curtain over my eyes and kept it there all this time. He said I wouldn't let myself get better because I was afraid of seeing again. I felt safer locked in my own world of darkness, permitting my feelings to escape only through my fingers and into the piano keys.
"When I described you and the way I felt about you, he agreed with me that you have been a major part of the reason why I am regaining my sight. As long as I have you nearby . . . as long as I can depend on you to spend time with me . . ."
"Oh Louis, I can't bear to have so much responsibility." He turned red.
"I just knew you would say something like that. You're too sweet and unselfish. Don't you worry. The responsibility is all mine. Of course," he added, sotto voce, "my grandmother is not at all pleased with all this. She was so angry she wanted to employ another doctor. She had my cousin over here to speak to me to try to convince me I felt the way I felt because I am so vulnerable. But I told them . . . I told them how it was impossible for you to be the sort of girl they were describing: someone who connives and takes advantage.
"And then I told them . . ." He paused, his face becoming firm. "No, I didn't tell them—I demanded—that you be permitted to visit me whenever you can before I go off to the clinic. In fact, I made it very clear that I would not go if I didn't see you as often as I wanted, and . . . of course, as often as you wanted to see me.
"But you do want to see me, don't you?" he asked. His tone sounded more like a pleading.
"Louis, I don't mind coming up here whenever I can, but . . ."
"Oh, wonderful. Then it's settled," he declared. "I'll tell you what I will do: I will continue to write an entire symphony. I'll work all this month, and it will be dedicated to you."
"Louis," I said, my eyes tearing, "I must tell you . . . ″
"No," he said, "I've already decided. In fact, I have some of it already written. That's what I was playing when you arrived. Will you listen to it?"
"Of course, Louis, but . . ."
He got up and went to the piano before I could say another word and began playing.
My heart was troubled. Somehow I had gotten myself into Louis's world so deeply, it seemed impossible to climb out without hurting him terribly. Perhaps after he went off to the clinic and when his eyesight returned fully, I could get him to understand that I was involved with someone else romantically. At that time he could endure the disappointment and go on, I thought. Until then, I could do nothing but listen to his beautiful music and encourage him to continue with his efforts to regain his sight.
His symphony was beautiful. His melodies rose and fell with such grace that I felt swept away. I relaxed with my eyes closed and let his composition take me back through time until I saw myself as a little girl again, running over the grass, Grandmère Catherine's laughter trailing behind me as I squealed with delight at the birds that swooped over the water and the bream that jumped in the ponds.
"Well," Louis said when he finished playing, "that's all I have written so far. How's it coming?"
"It's beautiful, Louis. And it's very special. You will become a famous composer, I'm sure."
He laughed again.
"Come," he said. "I asked Otis to have some Cajun coffee and some beignets shipped up from the Cafe du Monde in New Orleans waiting for us in the glass-enclosed patio. You can tell me all about your twin sister and the terrible things she's been doing," he added. He held out his arm for me to pass my arm under and then we left the music studio. I looked back once as we walked through the corridor. In the shadows behind us, I was sure I saw Mrs. Clairborne standing and staring. Even at this distance, I felt her displeasure.
But it wasn't until the next morning at school that I was to discover how determined she and her niece, Mrs. Ironwood, were to get me out of Louis's life.
13
False Accusations
My homeroom teacher had just begun to read the day's announcements when a messenger arrived from Mrs. Ironwood's office with the order for me to appear immediately. I glanced at Gisselle and saw that she looked just as confused and as curious about it as everyone else. Without a word I left and walked quickly down the corridor. When I reached Mrs. Ironwood's office, I found Mrs. Randle standing in the inner-office doorway, a tablet in her hand.
"Come right in," she said, stepping back to let me enter.
With my heart pounding so hard I thought it would crack open my chest, I walked into Mrs. Ironwood's office. She was seated behind her desk, her back rigid, her lips pursed, her eyes more filled with fury than I had ever seen them. She had her hands on the desk, palms down over some documents.
"Sit down," she commanded. She nodded at Mrs. Randle, who stepped in after me and then closed the door. Mrs. Randle then moved quickly to a seat beside the desk and put her notepad down. Her hand was poised with her pen clutched in her fingers.
"What's wrong?" I asked, not able to stand the long, ominous silence that had fallen over me.
"I can't recall summoning another student to my office as frequently in so short a time as I have had to summon you," Mrs. Ironwood began, her dark eyebrows knitted together. She glanced at Mrs. Randle for confirmation and Mrs. Randle nodded slightly, closing and opening her eyes at the same time.
"That's not my fault," I said.
"Hmmm," Mrs. Ironwood muttered. She looked at Mrs. Randle as though the two of them heard voices I didn't hear "It's never their faults," she said with a smirk, and Mrs. Randle nodded again, closing and opening her eyes as before. She resembled a puppet, the strings of which were in Mrs. Ironwood's hands.
"Well, why have you sent for me?" I asked.
Before replying, Mrs. Ironwood pulled her shoulders back and up even straighter and firmer. "I have asked Mrs. Randle in here to take notes, since I am about to commence a formal expulsion hearing."