"So you lived with these grandparents?"
"Just my grandmother. My grandfather is a trapper and lives in the swamp away from us."
"So just before she died, she told you the truth?" Beau asked. I nodded.
"How terrible of them to keep the secret all these years," Gisselle said. She gazed at me for a reaction.
"Yes."
"Lucky your fake grandmother decided to tell you or you would never have known your real family. That was nice of her," Beau said, which fired up Gisselle.
"These people she lived with are no better than animals, stealing someone's baby and keeping her! Claudine Montaigne told me about these Cajuns who live in a one-room house, everyone in the family sleeping with everyone else. To them incest is nothing more serious than stealing an apple!"
"That's not so," I said quickly.
"Claudine wouldn't lie," Gisselle insisted.
"There are bad people in the bayou just like there are bad people here," I said. "She might have heard of them, but she shouldn't judge everyone the same. Nothing like that ever happened to me."
"You were just lucky," Gisselle insisted.
"No, really . . ."
"They bought a kidnapped baby, didn't they?" she pursued. "Wasn't that terrible enough?"
I looked at Beau. His eyes were fixed intently on me, waiting for my response. What could I say? Put-away thoughts. The truth was forbidden. The lie had to be upheld.
"Yes," I muttered, and shifted my gaze down to my entwined fingers. Gisselle sat back, contented. There was a moment of silence before Beau spoke.
"You know, you two are going to be the center of attention at school next Monday," he said.
"I know. I can't help being nervous about it," I confessed.
"Don't worry, I’ll pick the both of you up in the morning and escort you around all day," he promised. "You'll be a curiosity for a while and then things will settle down."
"I doubt it," Gisselle said. "Especially when everyone learns she's lived like a Cajun all of her life and cooked and fished and made little handicrafts to sell by the road."
"Don't listen to her."
"They'll make fun of her whenever I'm not around to protect her," Gisselle insisted.
"If you won't be around, I will," Beau declared.
"I don't want to be a burden for anyone," I said.
"You won't be," Beau assured me. "Right, Gisselle?" he asked. She was reluctant to answer. "Right?"
"Right, right, right," she said. "I'm tired of talking about this."
"I've got to go anyway," Beau said. "It's getting late. Are we still on for tonight?" he asked her. She hesitated. "Gisselle?"
"Are you bringing Martin?" she countered sharply. He threw a glance my way and then looked at her again.
"Are you sure I should? I mean . . ."
"I'm sure. You'd like to meet one of Beau's friends tonight, wouldn't you, Ruby? I mean, you've fished, harvested oysters, chased alligators . . . I'm sure you had a boyfriend, too, didn't you?"
I looked at Beau. His face had turned troubled and concerned.
"Yes," I said.
"So there's no problem, Beau. She'd like to meet Martin," Gisselle said.
"Who's Martin?" I asked.
"The best looking of Beau's friends. Most of the girls like him. I'm sure you will," she said. "Won't she, Beau?"
He shrugged and stood up.
"You'll like him," Gisselle insisted. "We'll meet you out here at nine-thirty," Gisselle said. "Don't be late."
"Right, boss. Ever see anyone that bossy in the bayou?" he asked me. I looked at Gisselle, who smirked.
"Just an alligator," I said, and Beau roared.
"That's not funny!" Gisselle cried.
"See ya later, alligator," Beau quipped, and winked at me before starting off.
"I'm sorry," I said to Gisselle. "I didn't mean to make fun of you or anything." She pouted for a moment and then broke a small smile.
"You shouldn't encourage him," she advised. "He can be a terrible tease."
"He seems very nice."
"Just another spoiled rich boy," Gisselle insisted. "But, he'll do . . . for now."
"What do you mean, 'for now'?"
"What do you think I mean? Don't tell me you promised to marry every boyfriend you had back in the swamp." Her eyes turned suspicious. "How many boyfriends did you have?" she asked.
"Not that many."
"How many?" she demanded. "If we're going to be sisters, we have to trust each other with the intimate details of our lives. Unless you don't want to be that kind of sister," she added.
"Oh, no. I do."
"So? How many?"
"Really only one," I confessed.
"One?" She stared at me a moment. "Well, it must have been a very hot and heavy romance then. Was it?"
"We cared a great deal for each other," I admitted.
"How much is a great deal?" she pursued.
"As much as we could, I suppose."
"Then you did it with him? Went all the way?"
"What?"
"You know . . . had sexual intercourse."
"Oh, no," I said. "We never went that far."
Gisselle tilted her head and looked skeptical.
"I thought all Cajun girls lost their virginity before they were thirteen," she said.
"What? Who told you such a stupid thing?" I asked quickly. She pulled back as if I had slapped her.
"It's not so stupid. I heard it from a number of people."
"Well, they're all liars then," I said vehemently. "I'll admit that there are many young marriages. Girls don't go off to work or go to college as much, but—"
"So it's true then. Anyway, don't keep defending them. They bought you when you were only a day or so old, didn't they?" Gisselle flared. I shifted my gaze away so she couldn't see the tears in my eyes. How ironic. It was she who had been bought and by a Creole family, not a Cajun. But I could say nothing. I could only swallow the truth and keep it down, only it kept threatening to bubble up and flow out of my mouth on the back of a flurry of hot words.
"Anyway," Gisselle continued in a calmer tone, "the boys will expect you to be a lot more sophisticated than you apparently are."
I looked at her fearfully.
"What do you mean?"
"What did you do with this one devoted boyfriend? Did you kiss and pet at least?" I nodded. "Did you undress, at least partially?" I shook my head. She grimaced. "Did you ever French kiss . . . you know," she added quickly, "touch tongues?" I couldn't remember if that had ever happened. My hesitation was enough to convince her it hadn't. "Did you let him give you hickeys?"
"No."
"Good. I hate them, too. They suck until they're satisfied and we're the ones who walk around with these ugly spots on our necks and breasts."
"Breasts?"
"Don't worry," she said, getting up. "I'll teach you what to do. For now, if Martin or anyone gets too demanding, just tell him you're having your period, understand? Nothing turns them off as fast as that.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go look at the things Mother bought you. I'll help you decide what to wear tonight."
I followed her back to the house, my footsteps on the patio a lot more unsure, my heart beating with a timid thump. Gisselle and I were so identical we could gaze at each other and think we were looking into mirrors, but on the inside, we were more different than a bird and a cat. I wondered what, if anything, we would find to draw us together so we could become the sisters we were meant to be.
Gisselle was surprised by many of the things Daphne had bought me. Then, after she gave it some thought, her surprise turned to jealousy and anger.
"She never buys me skirts this short unless I throw a tantrum, and these colors are always too bright for her. I love this blouse. It's not fair," she wailed. "Now I want new things, too."
"Daphne told me she wanted to buy things that were different from the things you had. She thought you wouldn't like it if we had identical clothes to go along with our identical faces," I explained.
Still pouting, Gisselle held one of my blouses against her and studied it in the mirror. Then she dropped it on the bed and opened the drawers of the armoire to inspect my new panties.