Ruby

  Blue-Blood Welcome

I awoke to the sweet singing of blue jays and mockingbirds and for the first few moments, forgot where I was. My trip to New Orleans and all that had subsequently followed now seemed more like a dream. It must have rained for a while during the night for although the sun was beaming brightly through my windows, the breeze still smelled of rain and wet leaves as well as the redolent scents of the myriad of flowers and trees that surrounded the great house.

I sat up slowly, drinking in my beautiful new room in the light of day. If anything, it looked even more wonderful. Although the furniture, the fixtures, and everything down to a jewelry box on the vanity table were antique, it all looked brand-new, too. It was almost as if this room had been recently prepared, everything polished and cleaned in anticipation of my arrival. Or that I had gone to sleep for years when all these things were brand- new and woken up without realizing time had stood still.

I rose from bed and went to the windows. The sky was a patchwork quilt of soft vanilla clouds and light blue. Below the grounds people were vigorously at work clipping hedges, weeding flower beds, and mowing lawns. Someone was on the tennis court sweeping off the myrtle leaves and tiny branches that had probably been torn and blown in the rain, and another man was scooping the oak and banana tree leaves out of the pool.

It was a wonderful day to start a new life, I decided. With my heart full of joy, I went to the bathroom, brushed my hair, and got dressed in a gray skirt and blouse I had brought in my little bag. I put all my precious possessions in the nightstand drawer and then slipped on my moccasins and left my room to go down to breakfast.

It was very quiet in the house. All the other bedroom doors were shut tight, but as soon as I reached the top of the stairway, I heard the front door thrust open and slammed closed and saw Gisselle come charging into the house, unconcerned about how much noise she was making or whom she might waken.

She threw off her cloak and a headdress of bright feathers, dropping it all on the table in the entryway, and then started for the stairway. I watched her walk halfway up with her head down. When she lifted it and saw me gazing down at her, she stopped.

'Are you just coming in from the Mardi Gras Ball?' I asked, astounded.

'Oh, I forgot all about you,' she said, and followed it with a silly, thin laugh. There was something about the way she wobbled that led me to believe she had been drinking. 'That's how good a time I had,' she added with a flare. 'And Beau was good enough not to mention your shocking appearance all night.' Her expression turned sour, indignant as my question to her sunk in. 'Of course I'm just coming home. Mardi Gras goes until dawn. It's expected. Don't think you can tell my parents anything they don't know and get me in trouble,' she warned.

'I don't want to get you in trouble. I was just . surprised. I've never done that.'

'Haven't you ever gone to a dance and enjoyed yourself, or don't they have such things in the bayou?' she asked with disdain.

'Yes. We call them fais dodos,' I told her. 'But we don't stay out all night.'

'Fais dodos? Sounds like a good old time, two-stepping to the sounds of an accordion and a washboard.' She smirked and continued to climb the stairs toward me.

'They're usually nice dances with lots of good things to eat. Was the ball nice?' I asked.

'Nice?' She paused on the step just below me and laughed again. 'Nice? Nice is a word for a school party or an afternoon tea in the garden, but for a Mardi Gras Bail? It was more than nice; it was spectacular. Everyone was there,' she added, stepping up. 'And everyone ogled me and Bean with green eyes. We're considered the handsomest young Creole couple these days, you know. I don't know how many of my girlfriends begged me to let them have a dance with Beau, and all of them were dying to know where I had gotten this dress, but I wouldn't tell them.'

'It is a very pretty dress,' I admitted.

'Well, don't expect I'll let you borrow it now that you've stormed into our lives,' she retorted, gathering her wits about her. 'I still don't understand how you got here and who you are,' she added with ice in her voice.

'Your father . . . our father will explain,' I said. She flicked me another of her scornful glances before throwing her hair back.

'I doubt anyone can explain it, but I can't listen now anyway. I'm exhausted. I must sleep and I'm certainly not in the mood to hear about you right now.' She started to turn but paused to look me over from foot to head. 'Where did you get these clothes? Is everything you have handmade?' she asked contemptuously.

'Not everything. I didn't bring much with me anyway,' said.

'Thank goodness for that.' She yawned. 'I’ve got to get some sleep. Beau's coming by late in the afternoon for tea. We like reviewing the night before, tearing everyone to shreds. If you're still here, you can sit and listen and learn.'

'Of course I'll still be here,' I said. 'This is my home now, too.'

'Please. I'm getting a headache,' she said, pinching her temples with her thumb and forefinger. She turned and held her arm out toward me, her palm up. 'No more. Young Creole women have to replenish themselves. We're more . . . feminine, dainty, like flowers that need the kiss of soft rain and the touch of warm sunlight. That's what Beau says.' She stopped smiling at her own words and glared at me. 'Don't you put on lipstick before you meet people?'

'No. I don't own any lipstick,' I said.

'And Beau thinks we're twins.'

Unable to hold back, I flared. 'We are!'

'In your dreams maybe,' she countered, and then sauntered to her bedroom. After she entered and closed her door, I went downstairs, pausing to admire her headdress and cloak. Why did she leave it here? Who picked up after her? I wondered.

As if she heard my thoughts, a maid came out of the living room and marched down the corridor to retrieve Gisselle's things. She was a young black woman with beautiful, large brown eyes. I didn't think she was much older