claim as mine almost a year ago.
I would miss Nina's good cooking and her superstitions and rituals to ward off evil. I would miss the chatter I overheard between her and Edgar when they argued about the power of an herb or the evil eye. I would miss Wendy's singing to herself as she worked, and I would miss Daddy's bright, warm smile when he greeted me every morning.
Despite the clouds of tension Daphne had kept hovering over us from the moment I arrived in New Orleans, I knew I would miss the great house with its enormous entryway, its impressive paintings and statues, its rich, antique furniture. What a thrill it was for me during my early days to leave my room and descend that grand stairway like a princess in a castle. Would I ever forget that first night when Daddy brought me to what would be my room and he opened the door on that enormous bed with the fluffy pillows and linen all in chintz? I would miss the painting above my bed, the picture of the beautiful young woman in a garden setting feeding a parrot. I would miss my large closets and my large bathroom with a tub I could soak in for hours and hours.
I had become so comfortable in our mansion, and yes, I had to confess, somewhat spoiled. Having grown up in a Cajun toothpick house built out of cypress with a tin roof, a home where the rooms were no bigger than some of the closets in the House of Dumas, I was bound to fall into awe when I confronted what was rightly my home too. I would surely miss the evenings when I sat out on the patio and read while the bluejays and mockingbirds flitted around me and settled on the railings of the gazebo to stare. I would miss smelling the ocean in a breeze and occasionally hearing a foghorn in the distance.
And yet I had no right to be unhappy, I thought. Daddy was spending a great deal of money to send us to this private school, and he was doing it so we wouldn't have gray, sad days, so that we would enjoy our teenage years unmolested by the dark burdens of past sins, sins we had yet to understand or even discover. Maybe in time, some joy would return to Daddy's life. Perhaps then we could all be together again.
There I was, believing in blue skies when there were only clouds on the horizon, believing in forgiveness where there was only anger, jealousy, and selfishness. If only Nina really had a magical ritual, a chant, an herb, an old bone we could wave over the house and its inhabitants and turn out the dark shadows that lived in our hearts.
We made a turn and had to come to a stop to wait for a funeral procession to go by, something that accented my sudden mood of despair.
'Oh great,' Gisselle complained.
'Just be a moment,' Daddy said.
Half a dozen black men in black suits played brass instruments and swayed to their music. The mourners who followed carried furled umbrellas, most swaying to the same rhythm. I knew that if Nina were with us, she'd see this as a bad omen and cast one of her magical powders in the air. Later, she'd burn a blue candle, just to be sure. Instinctively I reached down-and fingered the charmed dime she had given me.
'What's that?' Gisselle asked.
'Just something Nina gave me as a good luck charm,' I said.
Gisselle smirked. 'You still believe in that stupid stuff? It embarrasses me. Take it off. I don't want my new friends knowing you're so backward and you're my sister,' she ordered.
'You believe in what you want to believe in, Gisselle, and I'll believe in what I want.'
'Daddy, will you tell her she can't bring those silly charms and things to Greenwood. She'll embarrass the family.' She turned back to me. 'It's going to be hard enough keeping your background a secret,' she claimed.
'I'm not asking you to keep anything about me secret, Gisselle. I'm not ashamed of my past.'
'Well you should be,' she said in a humph, glaring at the train of the funeral procession as if annoyed that someone had had the audacity to die and have his or her funeral just when she wanted to pass.
As soon as the procession did go by, Daddy continued and we turned toward the exit that would take us to the interstate and Baton Rouge. It was then that the reality of what was happening pinched Gisselle again.
'I'm leaving all my friends. It takes years to make good friends, and now they're gone.'
'If they were such good friends, how come not one came by to say goodbye to you?' I asked.
'They're just angry about it,' she replied.
'Too angry to say goodbye?'
'Yes,' she snapped. 'Besides, I spoke to everyone on the telephone last night.'
'Since your accident, Gisselle, most of them hardly have anything to do with you. There's no sense in pretending. They're what are known as fair-weather friends.'
'Ruby's right, honey,' Daddy said.
'Ruby's right,' Gisselle mimicked. 'Ruby's always right,' she muttered under her breath.
When Lake Pontchartrain came into view, I gazed out at the sailboats that seemed painted on the water and thought about Uncle Jean and Daddy's confession that what was thought to have been a horrible boating accident was really something Daddy had done deliberately in a moment of jealous rage. He had spent every day since and would continue to spend every day hereafter regretting his action and suffering under the weight of the guilt. But now that I had lived with Daddy and Daphne for months, I felt certain that what had happened between him and Uncle Jean was primarily Daphne's fault and not Daddy's. Perhaps that was another reason why she wanted me out of sight. She knew that whenever I looked at her, I saw her for what she was: deceitful and cunning.
'You two are going to enjoy attending school in Baton Rouge,' Daddy said, flicking a gaze at us in his rearview mirror.
'I hate Baton Rouge,' Gisselle replied quickly.
'You were really there only once, honey,' Daddy told her. 'When I took you and Daphne there for my meeting with the government officials. I'm surprised you remember any of it. You were only about six or seven.'
'I remember. I remember I couldn't wait to go home.'
'Well now you'll learn more about our capital city and appreciate what's there for you. I'm sure the school will
