Pearl in the Mist

'Good evening.'

I entered and he closed the door.

'Right this way, mademoiselle.'

He led me down the corridor and off to the right through another hallway that took us deep into the west wing and the dining room. Unlike the other sections of the house, the west wing was somber. The walls had darker paper, the windows darker drapes, and the floors darker carpet. The pictures that were hung depicted the most eerie settings on the river and in the bayou, swamps with ghostly Spanish moss that was caught swaying in the twilight breeze, and the Mississippi at one of its wider points, with the water rust-colored, the boats and ships drifting shadows of themselves. Whatever portraits I saw were portraits of austere ancestors gazing out with looks of disapproval and condemnation.

The long dark oak table was set for three at one end. Two silver candelabra held long, bone-white lit candles, their tiny flames flickering. Above the table the chandelier was only dimly lit. Otis moved to the chair on my right and pulled it out to indicate that was where I was to sit.

'Thank you,' I said.

'Madame Clairborne and Monsieur Clairborne will be in shortly,' he told me, and then left me sitting there alone in the solemn room. It was deathly quiet for a long moment, and then I heard what was now the familiar tap, tap, tap of Mrs. Clairborne's cane as she came down the corridor outside and finally turned into the dining room.

She wore a black dress with a hem that reached almost to her ankles. The ebony color of her garment made the stopped watch on a chain more prominent as it rested in the valley between her breasts. There were no changes to her hairdo, but she had replaced her diamond earrings with pearl ones and wore a pearl bracelet. Her fingers were still filled with all her rings.

'Good evening,' she said, making her way to her chair at the head of the table.

'Good evening.' After Otis had pulled her chair out and she sat down, I added, 'Thank you for inviting me to dinner.'

'I didn't,' she said quickly. This close to her, I thought her nose looked sharper. Her pale skin was so thin it was almost transparent. I could see the tiny blue veins in her cheeks and temples, and the hairline above her lip was more conspicuous, darker. She reeked of jasmine, overpowering my own.

'I don't understand,' I said.

'My grandson is the one who insisted. As a rule I don't invite the schoolgirls to dinner. There are just too many who deserve it,' she said. 'I was unaware that you had gone off and met him while you were at tea here.'

'I heard him playing the piano when I went to the bathroom and . . .'

'Mrs. Penny should have made it perfectly clear that I—'

'Grandmother, you're not misbehaving now, are you?' we heard, and I spun around to see Louis standing in the doorway. Unlike Mrs. Clairborne, he carried no cane to help him navigate the corridors and rooms, and from what I could see, apparently no one had brought him here.

He looked rather handsome in his dinner jacket, black tie, and slacks, with his hair brushed neatly back.

'I don't misbehave,' Mrs. Clairborne muttered. Louis smiled and walked with perfect precision to his place at the table.

'Don't be impressed, Ruby,' he explained as he waited for Otis to pull out his chair. 'I've been walking the same paths through this house so long I've worn ditches into the floors, and everyone knows not to change a thing in any of the rooms.'

'Which is why I don't permit visitors in this section of the house,' Mrs. Clairborne said quickly. 'If someone moves a chair or shifts a table . . .'

'Now why would anyone, especially Ruby, do that, Grandmother?' Louis asked. Mrs. Clairborne sighed. She nodded at Otis, who began the dinner service by pouring us some bottled water.

'Aren't we going to have any wine tonight?' Louis inquired.

'I don't serve wine to Greenwood girls,' Mrs. Clairborne replied firmly.

Louis held his smile. 'At least we have our special dinner tonight, don't we, Grandmother?'

'Unfortunately, yes,' she said, and turned to me. 'Louis insisted also on having a Cajun menu.'

'Let me tell her,' Louis said eagerly. 'We're beginning with a crawfish bisque and then we're having duck gumbo. But for dessert, I ordered orange creme brulee, a New Orleans favorite.'

'Sounds wonderful,' I said. Mrs. Clairborne groaned. Then she nodded reluctantly and the meal was begun. During it, Mrs. Clairborne said very little. Louis wanted to hear about my paintings and asked me to describe the ones I had sold from the gallery in the French Quarter. He had never been to the bayou and wanted to hear about life in the swamps. A number of times during our conversation, Mrs. Clairborne clicked her tongue and gave me a look of disapproval, especially when I described Grandmere Catherine and her work as a traiteur.

'I wonder if a traiteur could help me to see again,' Louis said aloud. That set Mrs. Clairborne of on a tirade.

'I will not bring these charlatans into this house. The countryside is inundated with fake faith healers and scam artists. Unfortunately, the river has attracted that sort since the colonists arrived. You have the best doctors.'

'Who haven't done a thing for me,' Louis remarked bitterly.

'They will. We must . . .' She stopped herself.

Louis turned slowly and smiled. 'Have faith, Grandmother? Was that what you were about to say?'

'No. Yes. Faith in proven science, in medicine, not in mumbo jumbo. Next thing you know we'll have someone to dinner who believes in voodoo,' she said, and I held my breath. There was a moment of silence, and then Louis