It was Uncle Jean!
He looked down at me and then raised his hand slowly. I could just make out the smile on his face. I waved back and then I turned and ran as hard and as fast as I could for the trees, not looking back until I had arrived. The building and the grounds behind me remained calm. I heard no shouting, saw no one running after me. I had slipped away, thanks to Lyle. I focused one more time on the window of Uncle Jean's room, but I couldn't see him anymore. Then I turned and marched through the woods to the highway.
I went south as Lyle had directed and reached the bus station which was just a small quick stop with gas pumps, candies and cakes, homemade pralines and soda. Fortunately, I had to wait only twenty minutes for the next bus to New Orleans. I bought my ticket from the young lady behind the counter and waited inside the store, thumbing through magazines and finally buying one just so I wouldn't be visible outside in case the institute had discovered I was missing and had sent someone looking for me.
I breathed relief when the bus arrived on time. I got on quickly, but following Lyle's advice, I acted as calmly and innocently as I could. I took my seat and sat back with my magazine. Moments later, the bus continued on its journey to New Orleans. We went right past the main entrance of the institution. When it was well behind us, I let out a breath. I was so happy to be free, I couldn't help but cry. Afraid someone would notice, I wiped away my tears quickly and closed my eyes and suddenly thought about Uncle Jean stuttering, 'Jib . . . jib . . .'
The rhythm of the tires on the macadam highway beat out the same chant: 'Jib . . . jib . . . jib.'
What was he trying to tell me? I wondered.
When the New Orleans' skyline came into view, I actually considered not returning to my home and instead returning to the bayou. I wasn't looking forward to the greeting I would receive from Daphne, but then some of Grandmere Catherine's Cajun pride found its way into my backbone and I sat up straight and determined. After all, my father did love me. I was a Dumas and I did belong with him, too. Daphne had no right to do the things she had done to me.
By the time I got on the right city bus and then changed for the streetcar and arrived at the house, I was sure Dr. Cheryl had called Daphne and informed her I was missing. That was confirmed for me the moment Edgar greeted me at the door and I took one look at his face.
'Madame Dumas is waiting for you,' he said, shifting his eyes to indicate all was not well. 'She's in the parlor.' 'Where's my father, Edgar?' I demanded.
He shook his head first and then he replied in a softer voice, 'Upstairs, mademoiselle.'
'Inform Madame Dumas that I've gone up to see him first,' I ordered. Edgar widened his eyes, surprised at my insubordination.
'No, you're not!' Daphne shouted from the parlor doorway the moment I stepped into the entryway. 'You're marching yourself right in here first.' She stood there, her arm extended, pointing to the room. Her voice was cold, commanding. Edgar quickly moved away and retreated through the door that would take him through the dining room and into the kitchen, where I was sure he would make a report to Nina.
I took a few steps toward Daphne. She kept her arm out, her finger toward the parlor.
'How dare you try to tell me what to do and what not to do after what you've done,' I charged, walking toward her slowly, my head high.
'I did what I thought was necessary to protect this family,' she replied coldly, lowering her arm slowly.
'No, you didn't. You did what you thought was necessary to get rid of me, to keep me away from my father,' I accused, meeting her furious gaze with a furious gaze of my own. She faltered a bit at my aggressive stance, her eyes shifting. 'You're jealous of his love for me. You've been jealous ever since I arrived and you hate me because I remind you that he was once more in love with someone else.'
'That's ridiculous. That's just another ridiculous Cajun—'
'Stop it!' I shouted. 'Stop talking about the Cajun people like that. You know the truth; you know I wasn't kidnapped and sold to any Cajun family. You have no right to act superior. Few Cajun people I've known would stoop to do the sort of deceitful, horrible thing you tried to do to me.'
'How dare you shout at me like that?' she said, trying to recover her superior demeanor, but her lips quivered and her body began to tremble. 'How dare you!'
'How dare you do what you did at the institution!' I retorted. 'My father is going to hear all about it. He's going to know the truth and . . .'
She smiled.
'You little fool. Go on upstairs to him. Go on and gaze upon your savior, your father, who sits in his brother's shrine of a room and moans and groans. I'm thinking about having him committed soon, if you must know. I can't go on like this.'
She stepped toward me with renewed confidence.
'Who do you think has been running things around here? Who do you think makes this all possible? Your weak father? Ha! What do you think happens when he falls into one of his melancholic states? Do you think Dumas Enterprises just sits around and waits for him to snap out of it?
'No,' she cried, stabbing herself with her thumb so hard it made me wince, 'it always falls to me to save the day. I've been conducting business for years. Why, Pierre doesn't even know how much money we have or where it's located.'
'I don't believe you,' I said, but not with as much confidence as I had at first. She laughed.
'Believe what you like. Go on.' She stepped back. 'Go up to him and tell him about the horrible thing I tried to do to you,' she said, and then stepped toward me again, lowering her voice sharply and narrowing her eyes into hateful slits. 'And I'll explain to him and to everyone who wants or has to know how you've been so disruptive since you arrived, you nearly caused a fatal family crisis. I'll force the Andreas boy to confess to your sexual games in the art studio and have Gisselle testify to your friendship with that whore from Storyville.' Her eyes widened and then hardened to rivet on me as she continued.
'I'll have people believing you were a teenage prostitute in the bayou. For all I know, you were.'
