'You told them your last name is Landry?' my father began. I nodded.
'Easy,' my father said, rising quickly to go to her. He embraced her and guided her into the chair. She sat back, her eyes closed. 'Are you all right?' he asked her. She nodded without speaking. Then he turned back to me.
'Your grandfather. . . his name is Jack?'
'Yes.'
'He's a swamp trapper, a guide?'
I nodded.
'How could they have done this, Pierre?' Daphne cried softly. 'It's ghastly. All these years!'
'I know, I know,' my father said. 'Let me get at the core of this, Daphne.' He turned back to me, his eyes still soft, but now troubled, too. 'Ruby. That is your name?' I nodded. 'Tell us what you know about all this and why you have presented yourself at this time. Please,' he added.
'Grandmere Catherine told me about my mother . . . how she became pregnant and then how Grandpere Jack arranged for my sister's . . . '—I wanted to say 'sale,' but I thought it sounded too harsh—'. . . my sister's coming to live with you. Grandmere Catherine was not happy about the arrangements. She and Grandpere Jack stopped living together soon afterward.'
My father shifted his eyes to Daphne, who closed and opened hers. Then he fixed his gaze on me again.
'Go on,' he said.
'Grandmere Catherine kept the fact that my mother was pregnant with twins a secret, even from Grandpere Jack. She decided I was to live with her and my mother, but . . .' Even now, even though I had never set eyes on my mother or heard her voice, just mentioning her death brought tears to my eyes and choked back the words.
'But what?' my father begged.
'But my mother died soon after Gisselle and I were born,' I revealed. My father's cheeks turned crimson. I saw his breath catch and his own eyes tear over, but he quickly regained his composure, glanced at Daphne again, and then turned back to me.
'I'm sorry to hear that,' he uttered, his voice nearly cracking.
'Not long ago, my Grandmere Catherine died. She made me promise that if something bad happened to her, 1 would go to New Orleans and present myself to you rather than live with Grandpere Jack,' I said. My father nodded.
'1 knew him slightly, but I can understand why your grandmother didn't want you to live with him,' he said.
'Don't you have any other relatives . . . aunts, uncles?' Daphne asked quickly.
'No, madame,' I said. 'Or at least, none that I know of in Houma. My grandfather talked of his relatives who live in other bayous, but Grandmere Catherine never liked us to associate with them.'
'How dreadful,' Daphne said, shaking her head. 1 wasn't sure if she meant my family life or the present situation.
'This is amazing. I have two daughters,' Pierre said, allowing himself a smile. It was a handsome smile. I felt myself start to relax. Under his warm gaze the tension drained out of me. I couldn't help thinking he was so much the father I'd always wanted, a soft-spoken, kindly man.
But Daphne flashed him a cool, chastising look.
'Double the embarrassment, too,' she reminded him.
'What? Oh, yes, of course. I'm glad you've finally revealed yourself,' he told me, 'but it does present us with a trifle of a problem.'
'A trifle of a problem? A trifle!' Daphne cried. Her chin quivered.
'Well, somewhat more serious, I'm afraid.' My father sat back, pensive.
'I don't mean to be a burden to anyone,' I said, and stood up quickly. 'I'll return to Houma. There are friends of my Grandmere's.'
'That's a fine idea,' Daphne said quickly. 'We'll arrange for transportation, give you some money. Why, we'll even send her some money from time to time, won't we, Pierre? You can tell your grandmother's friends that —'
'No,' Pierre said, his eyes fixed so firmly on me, I felt like his thoughts were traveling through them and into my heart. 'I can't send my own daughter away.'
'But it's not as if she is your daughter in actuality, Pierre. You haven't known her a day since her birth and neither have I. She's been brought up in an entirely different world,' Daphne pleaded. But my father didn't appear to hear her. With his gaze still fixed on me, he spoke.
'I knew your grandmother better than I knew your grandfather. She was a very special woman with special powers,' he said.
'Really, Pierre,' Daphne interrupted.
'No, Daphne, she was. She was what Cajuns call. . . a Traiteur, right?' he asked me. I nodded. 'If she thought it was best for you to come here, she must have had some special reasons, some insights, spiritual guidance,' Pierre said.
'You can't be serious, Pierre,' Daphne said. 'You don't put any validity in those pagan beliefs. Next thing, you'll be telling me you believe in Nina's voodoo.'
