"Yes," I said and closed my eyes as he brought his lips to my cheek.
My father's first kiss . . . how many times had I dreamt about it, had I seen him in my dreams approach my bed and lean down to kiss me good night, the mysterious father of my paintings who stepped off the canvas and pressed his lips to my cheek and stroked my hair and drove away all the demons that hover in the shadows of our hearts . . . the father I had never known.
I opened my eyes and looked up into his and saw the tears. His eyes were filled with sorrow and pain, and it seemed he aged a little as he stared at me with much regret.
"I'm glad I've finally found you," I said. In an instant, that sorrow that washed over his beautiful eyes disappeared and his face beamed.
"You must be very special. I don't know why I should be this fortunate." He took my hand and led me out of the living room, talking about some of the other rooms, the paintings, the artworks as we approached the winding stairway.
Just as we reached the upstairs landing, a door was thrust open down right and Gisselle stepped out with Beau Andreas right beside her.
"What are you doing with her?" she demanded.
"Take it easy, Gisselle," our father said. "I'll be explaining it all to you in a moment."
"You're putting her in the room next to mine?" she asked, grimacing.
"Yes."
"This is horrible, horrible!" she screamed, and stepped back into her room before slamming the door.
Beau Andreas, who had come out, looked embarrassed. "I think I'd better be going," he said.
"Yes," my father told him.
Beau started away and Gisselle jerked open her door again.
"Beau Andreas, how dare you leave this house without me!" she cried.
"But . . ." He looked at my father. "You and your family have things to discuss, to do and—"
"It can wait until morning. It's Mardi Gras," Gisselle declared, and glared at our father. "I've been waiting all year to attend this ball. All my friends are there already," she moaned.
"Monsieur?" Beau said. My father nodded.
"It can wait until morning," he said.
Gisselle swept back the strands of hair she had shaken over her shoulders in her rage and marched out of her room, glaring at me as she walked by to join Beau Andreas. He looked uncomfortable, but let her take his arm, and then the two of them marched down the stairs, Gisselle pounding each step as she descended.
"She has been so looking forward to this ball," my father explained. I nodded, but my father felt the need to continue to justify her behavior. "It wouldn't do any good to force her to stay. She would be less apt to listen and understand. Daphne does so much better with her when she's like this anyway," he added.
"But I'm sure," he said as we continued toward my new bedroom, "in time she will be overjoyed and excited about getting a sister. She's been an only child too long. She's a bit spoiled. Now," he said, "I have another young lady to spoil, too."
The moment we stepped into my new room, I felt that spoiling had begun. It had a dark pine canopy queen-size bed, the canopy made of fine pearl-colored silk with a fringe border. The pillows were enormous and fluffy looking, the bedspread, pillowcases, and top sheet all in chintz, the flowers full of Color and glazed. The wallpaper duplicated the floral pattern in the linens. Above the headboard was a painting of a beautiful young woman in a garden setting feeding a parrot. There was a cute black and white puppy tugging at the hem of her full skirt. On each side of the bed were two nightstands, each with a bell shaped lamp. But beside a matching dresser and armoire, the room had a vanity table with an enormous oval mirror in an ivory frame, the frame covered with hand painted red and yellow roses. And in the corner beside it, an old French birdcage hung.
"I have my own bathroom?" I asked, gazing through the open doorway on my right. The plush bathroom had a large tub, sink, and commode, all with brass fixtures. There were even flowers and birds hand painted on the tub and sink.
"Of course. Twin sister or not, Gisselle is not the sort you share a bathroom with," my father said, smiling. "This door," he added, nodding at the door on my left, "joins the two rooms. I hope the day will soon come when the two of you will move back and forth through it eagerly."
"So do I," I said. I went to the windows and gazed out at the grounds of the estate. I saw that I faced the pool and the tennis court. Through the open window, I could smell the green bamboo, gardenias, and blooming camellias.
"Do you like it?" my father asked.
"Like it? I love it. It's the most wonderful room I've ever seen," I declared. He laughed at my exuberance.
"It will be something fresh to see someone appreciate everything around here again. So often, things are taken for granted," he explained.
"I'll never take anything for granted again," I promised.
"We'll see. Wait until Gisselle works you over. Well, I see you've been brought a nightgown to use and there's a pair of slippers beside the bed." He opened a closet and there was a pink silk robe hanging in it. "Here's a robe, too. You'll find all you need in the bathroom—new toothbrush, soaps, but should you need anything, just ask. I want you to treat this house as your home as soon as you can," he added.
"Thank you."
"Well, get comfortable and have a nice sleep. If you get up before the rest of us do, which is quite possible the morning after Mardi Gras, just go down to the kitchen and Nina will fix you some breakfast."
I nodded and he said good night, closing the door softly behind him as he left.
For a long moment I simply stood there gaping at everything. Was I really here, transported over time and distance into a new world, a world where I would have a real mother and father, and as soon as she could accept it, a real sister, too?
I went into the bathroom and discovered the soaps scented with the fragrance of gardenias and the bottles of bubble bath powder. I drew myself a hot bath and luxuriated in the silky smoothness of the sweet-smelling bubbles. Afterward, I put on Gisselle's scented nightgown and crawled under the soft sheet and down bedspread.
I felt like Cinderella.
But just like Cinderella, I couldn't help feeling trepidation; I couldn't help being frightened by the ticking of the clock that swung its hands around to clasp them finally on the hour of twelve, the bewitching hour.
Would it burst my bubble of happiness and turn my carriage into a pumpkin?
Or would it tick on and on, making my claim to a fairy-tale existence that much more secure with each passing minute?
Oh, Grandmère, I thought as my heavy eyelids began to shut, I'm here. I hope you're resting more comfortably because of it.
12
Blue-Blood Welcome
I awoke to the sweet singing of blue jays and mockingbirds and for the first few moments, forgot where I was. My trip to New Orleans and all that had subsequently followed now seemed more like a dream. It must have rained for a while during the night for although the sun was beaming brightly through my windows, the breeze still smelled of rain and wet leaves as well as the redolent scents of the myriad of flowers and trees that surrounded the great house.
I sat up slowly, drinking in my beautiful new room in the light of day. If anything, it looked even more wonderful. Although the furniture, the fixtures, and everything down to a jewelry box on the vanity table were antique, it all looked brand-new, too. It was almost as if this room had been recently prepared, everything polished and cleaned in anticipation of my arrival. Or that I had gone to sleep for years when all these things were brand-new and woken up without realizing time had stood still.
I rose from bed and went to the windows. The sky was a patchwork quilt of soft vanilla clouds and light blue. Below the grounds people were vigorously at work clipping hedges, weeding flower beds, and mowing lawns. Someone was on the tennis court sweeping off the myrtle leaves and tiny branches that had probably been torn and blown in the rain, and another man was scooping the oak and banana tree leaves out of the pool.