'She's just so jealous of you. No matter how much she runs down the bayou and the Cajun world, she's still full of green envy. That's a woman who's never going to be happy,' Paul said. 'You shouldn't hate her; you should pity her.'
I sat back and ground back some tears.
'You're right, Paul. She is to be pitied and she won't ever be happy no matter what she has. But I feel so bad about Uncle Jean. I wanted to go to him soon, bring Pearl along, and maybe . . . maybe find a way to get him out of the institution and even here with us.'
'I'm sorry. It would have been nice, but you can't blame yourself. What was destined to happen was decided by events and choices made before your time, Ruby.' He reached across the bed to touch my cheek. 'I hate to see you unhappy, even for a few minutes. I can't help the way I love you.'
I closed my eyes and kept them closed, knowing, sensing, what he was about to do. When his lips touched mine, I wasn't surprised. I let him kiss me and then I lay back on the pillow.
'I'm a little exhausted,' I whispered, my heart pounding.
'Rest a bit and let me think of ways to cheer you up,' he said. I felt him lift off the bed and heard him walk out. Then I turned over and embraced the pillow.
Beau had broken his engagement. Gisselle was going to see him and tell him about me. What would he think? How would he feel? Far away, across the ocean, he would gaze toward America and the opportunity for a great and lasting love he had lost . . . I had lost.
My heart felt like a twisted rubber band about to snap. I swallowed down my sadness like castor oil. I'm a woman, I thought, a young, vibrant woman, and my needs are greater than I had anticipated.
For the first time since I had taken the vows with Paul, I regretted what I had done and wondered if I had piled one great tragic decision on top of another. Despite the beauty and the splendor of our great home and estate, I felt the walls closing in around me, shutting out the sun, covering me in a dark, deep, depressing blanket of regret from under which I feared I would never escape.
6
Masquerade
After Paul had left me, I lay there on my bed feeling sorry for myself. The late afternoon sun had begun to fall below the willows and cypress trees so that the shadows in the room grew somewhat deeper and darker. When I gazed out through the top of my windows, I saw that the sky had turned a darker turquoise and the scattered clouds were the color of old silver coins. The house was very quiet. It had been so well built that the sounds from downstairs or even from inside rooms across the hall were insulated when doors were closed. How different it was from living in my Grandmere Catherine's shack on the bayou, where even from our upstairs bedrooms, we could hear the scurry of a field mouse across the living room floor.
But suddenly I heard the distinct clip-clopping of boots down the corridor outside my doors. I heard what sounded like the rattle of a saber, too. They grew louder and closer. Curious, I sat up just as my door was opened and Paul stepped through, dressed in a Confederate officer's uniform, sword at his hip. He wore a fake sweet-potato red Vandyke beard as well, and he carried a package under his right arm. The costume and the beard fit him so well that for a moment I didn't know who it was. Then I smiled.
'Paul! Where did you get all that?'
'Pardon, madame,' he said, and took off his hat to make a sweeping, graceful and elegant bow. 'Colonel William Henry Tate at your service.' He scowled. 'I was just informed that some Yankees had invaded your privacy and caused you some consternation. I'll need a full report before I send my troops after the scoundrels, who, I promise you, will be swinging in the wind under the old oak before sundown.
'Now,' he continued, straightening into a formal military posture and running his left forefinger over his mustache, 'if you will just be so kind as to give my adjunct their descriptions . . .'
I clapped my hands and laughed.
'Oh, Paul, that's so funny.'
He stepped toward me, not cracking a smile.
'Madame, I am William Henry Tate and I am at your service. There is no more distinguished service for a southern gentleman to perform than the service he performs on behalf of a lady, a truly beautiful and elegant daughter of the South.'
With that he took my hand and kissed it softly.
'Well, suh,' I said, thickening my accent and stepping into his make-believe, 'I am flattered. No fine nor more handsome gentleman has come to my aid so quickly before.'
'Madame, think of me as your devoted servant.' He kissed my hand again. 'May I be so bold as to invite you to my tent this evening for dinner. Of course, the service and the victuals won't be up to the standard they should be for a woman of your stature, but we are in the midst of a desperate struggle to keep our way of life survivin', and I'm sure you will understand.'
'It's ma contribution to the great effort, suh, to sacrifice, too. You do have linen napkins, however, do you not?' I asked, batting my eyelashes.
'Of course. I didn't mean to imply you would dine like some dirtbag Yankee merchant. And on that note, may I offer you this dress for the occasion. It belonged to ma own sweet departed mother.'
He handed me the package under his arm. I set it on my lap and unwrapped it. Within was a brownish pink taffeta dress. I held it up. It had high bodice sleeves that were bell-shaped at the wrists and lavishly embroidered. From these emerged undersleeves made of batiste covered with embroidery. The collar was like the sleeves.
'Why, suh, this is a beautiful dress. I'd be honored to wear such a garment.'
