She turned back to me, her eyes narrow, her face taut. "You've charmed everyone you've met. Would you try to charm me, even after today?"
"That's really up to you, isn't it . . . Mother?" I said, and turned away to leave her pondering the future of the Dumas.
Epilogue
Truth, like a foundation in the bayou, has to be driven deeply to take hold, especially in a world where lies could storm in and wash away the paper-thin walls of illusion any time. Grandniere Catherine used to say the strongest trees are the ones whose roots go the deepest. "Nature has a way of finding out which ones don't go deep enough and they get washed away in the floods and the winds. But that ain't all bad because it leaves us with a world in which we can feel more secure, a world on which we can depend. Drive your roots deep, child. Drive your roots deep."
For better or for worse, my roots were now set in the garden of the Dumas family, and I had come from the timid, insecure Cajun girl who trembled on the family doorstep to the girl who had begun to understand a little more about who she really was.
In the days that followed, Gisselle grew strangely weaker and far more dependent on me than ever. I found her crying often and consoled her. She resisted learning about our Cajun background at first, and then, slowly, she began to ask a question here and there that led to my describing places and people. Of course, she was uncomfortable with the truth and made me swear dozens of times in dozens of ways never to tell anyone until she was ready for it to be told. I swore.
And then, one afternoon while I was up in Gisselle's room telling her about something that had happened during final exams at school, Edgar appeared.
"Pardon me, Mademoiselle Ruby," he said, after knocking on the doorjamb to get our attention, "but there is someone here to see you. A young man."
"A young man?" Gisselle quipped before I could respond. "What's his name, Edgar?"
"He says his name is Paul, Paul Tate."
The blood left my face for a moment and then rushed back in so quickly, I grew faint.
"Paul?"
"Who's Paul?" Gisselle demanded.
"Paul's our half brother," I told her. Her eyes widened.
"Bring him up here," she ordered.
I hurried down and found him standing in the entryway. He looked so much older to me and a good six inches taller, and far more handsome than I could recall.
"Hi, Ruby," he said, beaming a wide, happy smile.
"How did you find me?" I gasped. I hadn't left a return address on the letter I had written because I didn't want him to find me.
"It wasn't all that hard. After I got your letter and knew you were in New Orleans at least, I went to Grandpère Jack with a bottle of bourbon one night."
"You wicked boy," I chastised. "Taking advantage of a drunk like that."
"I would have drunk with the devil if it meant I could find you, Ruby." We gazed at each other for a moment, our eyes locked.
"Can I give you a hello kiss?" he asked.
"Yes. Of course."
He kissed me on the cheek and then stepped back to look around.
"You weren't exaggerating, you are rich. Have things gotten any better for you here since you wrote me that letter?"
"Yes," I said. He looked disappointed.
"I was hoping you would say no and I'd talk you into returning to the bayou, but I don't blame you for not wanting to leave this."
"My family is here, too, Paul."
"Right. So. Where is this twin sister?" he asked.
I quickly told him about the automobile accident. "Oh," he moaned. "I'm sorry. Is she still in the hospital?"
"No. She's upstairs, dying to meet you. I've told her all about you," I said.
"You have?"
"Come on. She's probably tearing up the room because I've taken so long."
I led him upstairs. On the way he told me that Grandpère Jack was the same.
"You wouldn't recognize the house, of course. He's made it into the same pigsty he had in the swamps. And the grounds are peppered with holes. He's still looking for the buried money.
"For a time, after you had left, the authorities thought he might have done something to you. It was something of a scandal, but when nothing to lead anyone to believe it was found, the police stopped hounding him. Of course, some people still believe it."
"Oh. That's terrible. I'll have to write to Grandmère's friends and let them know where I am and that everything is fine."
He nodded and I showed him into Gisselle's room.
Nothing brought the tint back into Gisselle's cheeks and the glint back into her eyes as much as a handsome young man did. We weren't sitting and talking five minutes before she was flirting, batting her eyelashes, swinging her shoulders, and smiling at him. Paul was amused, maybe even a bit overwhelmed with such feminine attention.
Toward the end of the visit, Gisselle surprised me by suggesting that we go visit him in the bayou one of these days soon.
"Would you?" Paul beamed. "I'd show you around, show you things that would make your eyes pop. I've got my own boat and now I have horses and—"
"I don't know if I could sit on a horse," Gisselle moaned.
"Of course you can," Paul said. "And if you couldn't, I'd sit with you."
She liked that idea.
"Now that you know where we are, you don't be a stranger either," Gisselle told him. "We've got to get to know each other more and more."
"I will. I mean, thanks."
"Are you going to stay for dinner?" she asked.
"Oh, no. I got a ride in with someone and I've got to meet him real soon," he said. I could tell he was making that up, but I didn't say anything. Gisselle was disappointed but she lit right up when he leaned over to kiss her good-bye.
"You come back real soon, hear?" she called as we started out.
"You could have stayed for dinner," I told him. "I'm sure Daddy would like to meet you. My stepmother Daphne is snobby, but she wouldn't be impolite."
"No. I really do have to get back. No one knows I came here," he confessed.
"Oh."
"But now that I know where you are and I've met my other half sister, I won't be a stranger. That is, if you don't want me to be."
"Of course I don't. And one day soon, I will bring Gisselle out to the bayou."
"That would be great," Paul said. He looked down for a moment and then looked up quickly. "There hasn't been anyone else for me since you," he confessed.
"That's not right, Paul."
"I just can't help it," he said.
"Try. Please," I begged him. He nodded. Then he leaned forward quickly and kissed me. A moment later, like some memory from the past that had flowed through my thoughts, he was gone.
Rather than go right back to Gisselle, I went out to the garden. It was still a very beautiful day with the azure sky looking like an artist's canvas, sprinkled here and there with dabs of puffy white clouds. I closed my eyes and I might have fallen asleep had I not heard Daddy's voice.
"Somehow I thought I would find you out here," he declared. "I took one look at that blue sky and said to myself, Ruby's somewhere outside enjoying the late afternoon."
"It is a pretty day, Daddy. How was your day?"
"Good. Ruby," he said, sitting down across from me and looking very serious, "I've made a decision. I want you and Gisselle to attend a private school next year. She needs special attention and . . . frankly, she needs you. Although she'd never confess that."
"Private school?" I thought about it, thought about leaving the few friends I had made, and especially, thought about leaving Beau. Things were still difficult between us because of what Daphne had told his parents, but we were finding ways to see each other from time to time.
"It would be better for everyone if you two attended a live-in, private school," he added, his meaning quite clear. "I will miss you both terribly, but I'll try to be there often," he promised. You won't be far from New Orleans. Will you do it?"
"A school full of snobby rich Creoles?" I asked.
"Probably," he admitted. "But somehow, I don't think you're afraid of that anymore. You'll change them before they change you," he predicted. "It's the kind of place where you'll have great balls and parties, travel excursions, the best teachers and facilities, and most importantly, you'll get back to your art. And Gisselle will have the special care she needs."