'I never reject it out of hand, Daphne. There are mysteries that logic, reason, and science can't explain,' he told her. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply.
'How do you propose to handle this . . . this situation, Pierre? How do we explain her to our friends, to society?' she asked. I was still standing, afraid to take a step away, yet afraid to sit down again, too. I clung so hard to my little bit of possessions, my knuckles turned white while my father thought.
'Nina wasn't with us when Gisselle was supposedly born,' he began. 'We had that mulatto woman, Tituba, remember?'
'I remember. I remember hating her. She was too sloppy and too lazy and she frightened me with her silly superstitions,' Daphne recalled. 'Dropping pinches of salt everywhere, burning clothing in a barrel with chicken droppings . . . at least Nina keeps her beliefs private.'
'And so we let Tituba go right after Gisselle was supposedly born, remember? At least, that was what we told the public.'
'What are you getting at, Pierre? How does that relate to this trifling problem?' she asked caustically.
'We never told the truth because we were working with private detectives,' he said.
'What? What truth?'
'To get back the stolen baby, the twin sister who was taken from the nursery the same day she was born. You know how some people believe that missing children are voodoo sacrifices, and how some voodoo queens were often accused of kidnapping and murdering children?' he said.
'I always suspected something like that, myself,' Daphne said.
'Precisely. No one's ever proven anything of the sort, however, but there was always the danger of creating mass hysteria over it and causing vigilantes to go out and abuse people. So,' he said, sitting back, 'we kept our tragedy and our search private. Until today, that is,' he added, pressing his hands together and smiling at me.
'She was kidnapped more than fifteen years ago and has returned?' Daphne said. 'Is that what we're to tell people, tell our friends?'
He nodded. 'Like the Prodigal Son, only this case, it's the Prodigal Daughter, whose fake grandmother got a pang of conscience on her deathbed and told her the truth. Miracle of miracles, Ruby has found her way home.'
'But, Pierre . . .'
'You'll be the talk of the town, Daphne. Everyone will want to know the story. You won't be able to keep up with the invitations,' he said. Daphne just stared at him a moment and then looked up at me.
'Isn't it amazing?' my father said. 'Look at how identical they are.'
'But she's so. . . unschooled,' Daphne moaned.
'Which, in the beginning, will make her more of a curiosity. But you can take her under your wing just as you took Gisselle,' my father explained, 'and teach her nice things, correct things, make her over . . . like Pygmalion and Galatea,' he said. 'Everyone will admire you for it,' he told her.
'I don't know,' she said, but it was with much less resistance. She gazed at me more analytically. 'Maybe scrubbed up with decent clothes . . .'
'These are decent clothes!' I snapped. I was tired of everyone criticizing my garments. 'Grandmere Catherine made them and the things she made were always cherished and sought after in the bayou.'
'I'm sure they were,' Daphne said, her eyes sharp and cold. 'In the bayou. But this is not the bayou, dear. This is New Orleans. You came here because you want to live here . . . be with your father,' she said, looking at Pierre before looking back at me. 'Right?'
I looked at him, too. 'Yes,' I said. 'I believe in Grandmere Catherine's wishes and prophecies.'
'Well, then, you have to blend in.' She sat back and thought a moment. 'It will be quite a challenge,' she said, nodding. 'And somewhat of an interesting one.'
'Of course it will be,' Pierre said.
'Do you think I could ever get her to the point where people really wouldn't know the difference between them?' Daphne asked my father. I wasn't sure I liked her tone. It was still as if I were some uncivilized aborigine, some wild animal that had to be housebroken.
'Of course you could, darling. Look at how well you've done with Gisselle, and we both know there's a wild streak in her, don't we?' he said, smiling.
'Yes. I have managed to harness and subdue that part of her, the Cajun part,' Daphne said disdainfully.
'I am not wild, madame,' I said, nearly spitting my words back at her. 'My Grandmere Catherine taught me only good things and we went to church regularly, too.'
'It's not something people teach you, per se,' she replied. 'It's something you can't help, something in your heritage,' she insisted. 'But Pierre's blue blood and my guidance have been strong enough to conquer that part of Gisselle. If you will help, if you really want to become part of this family, I might be able to do it with you, too.
'Although, she's had years and years of poor breeding, Pierre. You must remember that.'
'Of course, Daphne,' he said softly. 'No one expects miracles overnight. As you said so yourself just a moment ago—it's a challenge.' He smiled. 'I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you were capable of making it happen, darling.'
Placated, Daphne sat back again. When she thought deeply, she pursed her lips and her eyes glittered. Despite the things she had said, I couldn't help but admire her beauty and her regal manner. Would it be so terrible to look and act like such a woman? I wondered, and become someone else's fairy-tale princess? A part of me that wouldn't be denied cried,
