letters with ink so faded they were barely legible.
I sifted through some of the pictures. She still kept pictures of Grandpere Jack as a young man. How handsome he had been when he was a young man in his early twenties, tall and dark with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. A charming smile flashed brightly from the photograph and he stood so straight and proud. It was easy to see why Grandmere Catherine would have fallen in love with such a man. I found the other pictures of her mother and father, sepia colored and old and faded, but enough left for me to see that Grandmere Catherine's mother, my great-grandmother, had been a pretty woman with a sweet, gentle smile and small delicate features. Her father looked dignified and strong, tight-lipped and serious.
I put back the packets of documents and old family photographs, but before I deposited my money in the chest, I saw the edge of another picture sticking out from the pages of Grandmere Catherine's old leather-bound Bible. Slowly, I picked it up, handling the cracked cover carefully and gently opening the crisp pages that wanted to flake at the corners. I gazed at the old photograph.
It was a picture of a very good-looking man standing in front of what looked like a mansion. He was holding the hand of a little girl who looked a lot like me at that age. I studied the picture more closely. The little girl resembled me so much it was like looking at myself at this young age. In fact, the resemblance was so remarkable, I had to go to my room and find a picture of myself as a little girl. I placed the two side by side and studied them again.
It was me, I thought. It really was. But who was this man and where was I when this picture was taken? I would have been old enough to remember a house like this, I thought. I couldn't have been much less than six or seven at the time. I turned the picture over and saw there was scribbling on the back near the bottom.
Dear Gabrielle,
I thought you would like to see her on her seventh birthday. Her hair is very like yours and she's everything I dreamed she would be.
Love, Pierre
Pierre? Who was Pierre? And this picture, it was sent to my mother? Was this my father? Had I been somewhere with him? But why would he be telling my mother about me? She had already died. Could it be he hadn't known at the time? No, that made no sense, for how could he have gotten me even for a short time and not known my mother was dead? And how could I have been with him and not recalled anything?
The mystery buzzed around inside me like a hive of bees making my stomach tingle. It filled me with a strange sense of foreboding and anxiety. I looked at the little girl again and again compared our faces. The resemblance was undeniable. I had been with this man.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself so when I went back downstairs and saw Grandmere and her friends, they wouldn't know something had disturbed me, disturbed my very heart and soul. I knew how hard, if not impossible, it would be for me to hide anything from Grandmere Catherine, but fortunately, she was so involved in an argument over crabmeat ravigote, she didn't notice how disturbed I was.
Finally, her friends grew tired and decided it was time for them to leave. Once again, they offered me their congratulations, kissing and hugging me while Grandmere looked on proudly. We watched them leave and then we went into the house.
'I haven't had a good time like that in ages,' Grandmere said, sighing. 'And look at what a wonderful job you did cleaning up. My Ruby,' she said, turning to me, 'I'm so proud of you, dear and . . .'
Her eyes narrowed quickly. She was flushed from the wine and the excitement of all her arguments, but her spiritual powers were not asleep. She quickly sensed something was wrong and stepped toward me.
'What is it, Ruby?' she asked quickly. 'What's stirred you up so?'
'Grandmere,' I began. 'You sent me upstairs to put the money in your chest.'
'Yes,' she said, and then followed that with a deep gasp. She stepped back, her hand on her heart. 'You went looking through my things?'
'I didn't mean to snoop, Grandmere, but I was interested in the old pictures of you and Grandpere Jack, and your parents. Then, I saw something sticking out of your old Bible and I found this,' I said, holding the picture out toward her. She looked down at it a if she were looking down at a picture of death and disaster. She took it from me and sat down slowly, nodding as she did so.
'Who is that man, Grandmere? And the little girl—it's me, isn't it?' I asked.
She lifted her head, her eyes swollen with sadness and shook her head.
'No, Ruby,' she said. 'It's not.'
'But it looks just like me, Grandmere. Here,' I said, putting the picture of me at about seven years old next to the one of Pierre and the little girl. 'See.'
Grandmere nodded.
'Yes, it's your face,' she said, looking at the two, 'but it's not you.'
'Then who is it, Grandmere, and who is this man in the picture?'
She hesitated. I tried to wait patiently, but the butterflies in my stomach were flying around my heart, tickling it with their wings. I held my breath.
'I wasn't thinking when I sent you up to put the money in my chest,' she began, 'but maybe it was Providence's way of letting me know it's time.'
'Time for what, Grandmere?'
'For you to know everything,' she said, and sat back as if she had been struck, the now all too familiar exhaustion settling into her face again. 'To know why I drove your Grandpere out and into the swamp to live like the animal he is.' She closed her eyes and muttered under her breath, but my patience ran out.
'Who is the little girl if it's not me, Grandmere?' I demanded. Grandmere fixed her eyes on me, the crimson in her cheeks replaced by a paleness the color of oatmeal.
'It's your sister,' she said.
