The flutter of wood ducks over the surface of the water caught our attention, and moments later, a large, old alligator raised its head and peered at us, dragonflies circling just above him. We floated through islands of lily pads and under the sprawling weeping willows. Beau asked Paul question after question about the vegetation, the animals, the way to read the canals and know what to anticipate.
Gisselle was forced to admit she had enjoyed the tour. "It was like floating though a zoo or something," she said. "But I can't wait to take a bath and get this gook off."
Afterward, we dressed for dinner. We had cocktails in the library, where Paul and Beau discussed New Orleans politics, and Gisselle described the new fashions and the original designs she had commissioned for herself. Letty prepared one of her gourmet meals, and Beau continually expressed his admiration. We all drank too much wine and talked incessantly, Paul, Beau, and myself filling every silent moment out of nervousness more than anything else, I thought. Only Gisselle seemed relaxed and comfortable.
After dinner we had cordials in the living room. The wine, the good food, the endless stream of conversation, and the emotional tension exhausted us. Even Gisselle was yawning.
"We should go to sleep and get up early," she suggested.
"Early?" Beau said, amazed. "You?"
"Well, as early as possible so we can finish the paperwork and get back to New Orleans. We have that performing arts ball tomorrow night. It's black tie," she said. "You ever go to a black-tie affair, Paul?"
Paul blushed. "Well, only in Baton Rouge at the governor's mansion," he said.
"Oh." Gisselle's face drooped. "I'm tired, Beau. I ate too much."
"We'll go right up. Thank you for a lovely day and a lovely evening," he said. He took Gisselle's arm. She did wobble a bit.
"Nighty-night, you two," she sang, and let Beau guide her to the stairway. Paul shook his head and laughed. Then he sat down again.
"Are you happy with these decisions? I didn't mean to interfere in your business," he said.
"My business is your business, Paul. I'm completely depending on you for this sort of thing. I'm sure you made the right choices."
He smiled. "If Beau thought he was coming here to deal with some dumb Cajun, he got a big surprise. Believe me, we came out better than they did," he said with uncharacteristic arrogance. "I was hoping he would be more . . ." He smiled at me. "Of a challenge. So," he said, sitting back, "what is it like for you two now?"
"Paul, please, don't."
"An accident of birth," he muttered. "A curse. If my father hadn't wandered into the swamp, hadn't betrayed my mother. . ."
"Paul . . ."
"I know. I'm sorry. It just seems so unfair. We should have a say in all this, huh? As spirits before we were born, we should have a say. And don't laugh at that, Ruby," he warned. "Your grandmere Catherine believed the spirit was there even before the body."
"I'm not laughing, Paul. I just don't want you to agonize. I'm okay. We've all had too much to drink. Let's go to sleep, too."
He nodded.
"Go ahead up," he said. "I want to finish something in the office."
"Paul . . ."
"I'll go up soon. I promise." He kissed me on the cheek and held me tightly to him for a long moment. Then he sighed, turned away, and left quickly.
With a heavy heart I went upstairs. I checked on Pearl and then I went to my bedroom to go to sleep, knowing that in the rooms beside me there were two men who longed to be at my side. I felt like forbidden fruit, sealed away by ethical, religious, and written law. Years ago my parents listened only to the dictates of their hearts. Despite the prohibitions and the heavy weight of the sins they would commit, they went to each other, thinking about the touch of each other's fingers, the softness of each other's lips.
Was I built from stronger moral timber? More important, did I want to be, really, deep down want to be? Or did I want to throw myself into my lover's arms and become so drunk on love that no morning after, no days that followed, no nights filled with haunting voices, could ever matter?
It wasn't our fault; it couldn't be our fault that we were in love and events had made that love sinful. It was the events that were sinful, I told myself. But that didn't make it any easier to face the break of day and the longing that would inevitably follow.
9
Forbidden Fruit
.
Although Gisselle had whined about her desire
to wake up early, complete our business, and be on her way back to New Orleans, Paul, Beau, and I were already seated at the table having coffee when she finally floated in, moaning and groaning about her restless night's sleep.
"I kept having nightmares that some of those swamp creatures we saw were getting into the house, slithering up the stairs and right into my room and into my bed! I knew I shouldn't have gone on that boat trip through the canals. Now it will take months to get those pictures out of my head. Ugh," she said, and shook herself free of a chill.
Paul laughed. "Really Gisselle, I'd think you would have more to worry about living in a city with all that street crime. At least our creatures are predictable. If you try to pet a cottonmouth snake, he'll give you his opinion quickly."
Beau laughed, too.
"Well, it might be funny to you men, but women are more dainty, more fragile. At least women
Then she disclosed that she was too tired to eat very much. "I'll just have some coffee," she said.
The rest of us ate a hearty breakfast, after which we went into the office and completed the paperwork. I signed whatever documents had to be signed, and Beau promised he would keep us up-to-date on all the proceedings.
Beau quietly asked to see Pearl before he left, so I took him to the nursery. Mrs. Flemming had just changed her, brushed her hair, and tied a little pink ribbon in it. The moment Pearl set eyes on Beau, she brightened. Without a word, Beau lifted Pearl into his arms and kissed her curls. She was intrigued with his hair and wanted to run her fingers over it.
"She's very bright," he said, his eyes fixed on her when he spoke. "You can see from the way she gazes at things--how they hold her attention."
"I agree," Mrs. Flemming said.
"Take her down with us, Beau. She'll say goodbye along with Paul and me," I told him. He nodded and we walked out and down the stairs. Gisselle was already moving through the front door, warning James to be careful with her suitcase.
On the gallery, Beau handed Pearl to me and shook Paul's hand. "Thanks for inviting us. It was a very interesting day. I must admit, I learned a lot about the bayou and have grown to respect it a great deal more."
"You're quite welcome," Paul said, gazing quickly at me, too, a tight smile on his lips.
"Beau! Are we going to stand here forever saying good-bye? It's getting muggy and hot and the bugs are stampeding from the swamp to the house," Gisselle cried from the car.
"I'd better be going," he said to us. Paul nodded and went down to kiss Gisselle good-bye.
"Thank you for a lovely time," Beau said to me. He took my hand in his and leaned over to kiss my cheek, but brushed his lips over mine instead. When he pulled his hand away, there was a small piece of paper left in mine. I was about to ask what it was when his eyes told me. For a moment it felt like I was holding a lit match in my palm. I shot a glance toward Paul and Gisselle and then shoved the tiny note into the pocket of my blouse. Beau kissed Pearl on the cheek and hurried down the stairs and got into the car.
"Thanks again," he called.
"'Bye. Come visit us in civilization when you get a chance," Gisselle called. "Home, James," she said, wav-ing toward the highway, and laughed. Beau shook his head, smiled back at us, and put the car into gear.
"Your sister is a piece of work," Paul said. "I don't envy Beau one bit when it comes to living with her. When it comes to other things, I envy him more than he'll ever know." He stared at me a moment, but I shifted my eyes away guiltily. "Well, I've got to get to work," he said. He kissed Pearl and me and then hurried to his own car.
Mrs. Flemming took Pearl from me when I went inside. I didn't feel much like painting, but the quiet solitude I found in my studio was very attractive to me now. I hurried upstairs and closed the door. I stood there for a moment against the door with my eyes closed, reliving the moment downstairs when Beau brought his lips to mine for a quick good-bye kiss. I saw his eyes and felt his love.
My heart was pounding as I plucked the note out of my pocket and unwrapped it. There was simply an address on it and a date and time. The day was Tuesday of next week. I crushed the note in my fist and went to throw it in the wastebasket under the easel, but it was as if the paper had glue on it now. It wouldn't leave my hand.
I shoved it back into the breast pocket of my blouse and tried to push it out of my mind when I began to work, but every few minutes I imagined it grew warm and sent a tingle of anticipation down one breast and around the other. It was as if Beau's fingers were there, Beau's lips were there. My heart raced, shortening my breath. I couldn't work; I couldn't concentrate on any-thing else.
Finally I gave up and went to the window seat. I sat for nearly an hour just staring at the canals, watching the herons fly in and out. With trembling fingers I took Beau's note out of my pocket again and studied the address, committing it and the date to memory. Then I put the note in a drawer in my art supply cabinet. I just couldn't get myself to throw it away.
Paul didn't return home for lunch. I did a little work, but most of the time I listened to the competing voices in my mind. One voice was softer, pleading, tempting, trying to convince me that I deserved Beau's love and that our love was too good and pure a feeling to be dirty or evil.
But the second voice was harsher, biting, cutting, reminding me of the pain I could bring to Paul, whose devotion to Pearl and me was unwavering and complete. Look at the sacrifices he's making for your happiness, the voice said.
But that's only more reason to keep my rendezvous with Beau secret, my softer voice retorted.
Deceit!
No, it's not deceitful if you're doing it to protect someone you love and prevent him from suffering any pain.
But you're being sneaky and you're lying and hiding. Would Paul do that to you?
No, but you and Paul did agree that neither of you would stand in the way of the other if one of you found someone else to love. Paul is upset and frustrated, but he is understanding and he doesn't want to do anything to make you unhappy or prevent you from becoming happy.
But . . .
Oh, stop the but's and the ifs,
I screamed at myself. I threw down my brush and left the studio, where the solitude only encouraged my two selves to argue. I took a walk around the house and grounds and then, impulsively, I went inside, found Pearl and Mrs. Flemming, and told Mrs. Flemming I was taking Pearl for a ride with me.
I put her in her car seat beside me and drove to Grandrnere Catherine's old shack. It was a mostly over-cast day now with the breeze from the southwest threatening to blow in darker rain clouds.
"Do you remember this place, Pearl?" I asked as I took her out and carried her toward the sloping gallery. The weeds were high and there were spiderwebs all over my roadside stand. I could hear field mice in the house scurrying in every direction looking for places to hide when they sensed my approach and heard my footsteps on the gallery planks. The screen door groaned on its rusted hinges as I opened it and entered what now looked like so tiny a room to me. Funny, I thought, when I was growing up here, this was my whole world, and to me it was tremendous. Now I had closets bigger than the living room, and Letty had a pantry bigger than this kitchen.
I walked through the house, hoping that my return would draw Grandmere Catherine's spirit and I would get some advice from her. If only there were a sign, an omen, I thought. But the shack was empty and hollow, my footsteps echoing. It was a grave site from which the bodies had long fled. Even my memories seemed uncomfortable here, for there was no longer any warmth, no music, no aromas of gumbo and jambalaya, no voices, nothing but the sound of the wind slapping loose boards against each other and skimming over the tin roof, making it sound as if a flock of mockingbirds or blue jays were nervously pacing from one end to the other.
I went out back and gazed at the canal.
"Mommy used to play down there, Pearl. Mommy used to walk along that bank and see the animals and the fish, even the alligators and turtles. Sometimes the deer would come right up to the back here to graze and they would lift their heads and look at me with sad eyes."
Pearl just gazed at everything with wonder in her eyes. She appeared to sense my pensive feelings and was quieter than usual. Then, as if she had heard my words, a small doe stepped out from behind some bushes and raised her head to gaze at us. Pearl's eyes widened with interest. The beautiful deer was as still as a statue, only its long ears flicking occasionally. Even when Pearl cried out, it only scrutinized us with more curiosity, no fear. After a few more moments, just as casually as it had appeared, it turned and disappeared like an apparition.
This was a world that did have pure and innocent things in it, and if they were left alone, they would remain that way, I thought; but they were rarely left alone. I walked about the shack for a while but left concluding that there was only one place to look for an answer to my dilemma, and that place was in my own heart.
A few days later at dinner Paul told me of his need to go to Dallas, Texas.
"I'll have to be away three days," he said. "I'd like Pearl and you to come along. You can bring Mrs. Flemming, too, of course. Unless you have other plans, that is," he said.
"Well, I was planning on bringing the Confederate series to New Orleans. I've already spoken to Dominique about it and my other works, and he thinks it's time to arrange for an art show. He wants to invite some of his best customers, do lots of advertising."
"That's wonderful, Ruby."
"I don't think I'm ready for such exposure, but. . ."
"You'll never think you're ready, but if Dominique does, then why not give it a shot?"
I nodded and played with my napkin for a moment. "So what I think I'll do is go into New Orleans while you're in Dallas," I said. "I'll just stay a night."
"Will you stay with Gisselle?" he asked.
"I'd rather not," I said. "I'll probably stay at the Fairmont."
"Good."
We gazed at each other. Did Paul know what was really in my heart? It had always been hard to hide my true feelings and thoughts from him. If he knew, he chose not to speak. He smiled and turned to Pearl. I hated doing something I considered deceitful, but my softer voice had won out when it said I was doing something to prevent Paul from suffering any pain.
He had to leave early the day he went to Dallas. After I rose, I packed my things and went down to breakfast. James helped me pack my paintings in the trunk of the car carefully and then Mrs. Flemming brought Pearl out to wave as I drove off.
I gazed in my rearview mirror and saw them standing there. . . Mrs. Flemming and Beau's and my beautiful daughter. Surely a love that produced her couldn't be evil, I thought, and that thought propelled me forward. Moments after I pulled onto the main highway and accelerated, I took the ribbon out of my hair and let the wind lift the strands, making me feel free and alive and full of excitement.
"I'm coming, Beau," I whispered. "Everything else be damned. I'm coming."
It was a delightful day in New Orleans. The clouds and rain that had swept in the night before were long gone and replaced with a vast, soft blue sky spotted with small, fluffy milk white clouds. As soon as I pulled up in front of the hotel and the doorman shot out to greet me, I felt the increased tempo I always sensed in the inner city. That, along with my heightened nervousness, made me sensitive to every sound and every new scent. When I entered the hotel, I thought everyone was looking at me and that my heels clicked too hard on the marble floors. I had everything brought up to my room and then I sat at the vanity table and brushed out my hair. I freshened my lipstick and then decided to brush my teeth.
I had to laugh at myself. I was behaving like a teenager about to go on her first date, but the rhythm of my heartbeat never slowed and the flush that had entered my cheeks planted itself there firmly. I saw the frantic and frightened look in my eyes and wondered if anyone else who gazed at me could tell that I was a woman tottering on an emotional tightrope, a married woman about to meet her former lover. I kept checking the clock. I changed three times before deciding that the outfit I had first worn was the best. Finally it was time to go. My fingers trembled around the doorknob. I took a deep breath and pulled it open and then walked quickly to the elevator.
I had decided I would walk all the way to our rendezvous. Canal Street was as busy and as crowded as ever, but losing myself in the clumps of people who crossed it and walked quickly toward the French Quarter helped. It was as if they kept me moving, kept me standing. I turned down Burborn Street and walked toward Dumaine.
The barkers were already out in full force, crying the bargains, urging the tourists to come into their restaurants or bars. I caught whiffs of the crawfish etoufee, the freshly baked bread, and the strong coffee. Vendors had their fruits and vegetables for sale on the sidewalks. At a corner where the restaurant was wide open to the street, I smelled the sauteed shrimp and my stomach churned. I had not eaten much of a breakfast and had been too nervous to have any lunch. From one cafe came the sounds of a jazz band, and when I looked through the open doorway of another, I saw four men dressed in straw hats playing a guitar, a mandolin, a fiddle, and an accordion.
There was always excitement in the air here. It was as if one great and perpetual party were being held. People had a sense of abandon. They would eat too much, drink too much, dance and sing too long and too late. It was as if I had crossed over from the world of responsibility and obligations into a world without restraints or laws and rules. Anything went as long as it was pleasing. No wonder Beau had chosen the French Quarter, I thought.
Finally I came to the address he had written on the little note. The apartment was in a two-story stucco building with a flagstone courtyard. All the apartments had small, scrolled iron balconies looking down on the street. I smelled the aroma of the spearmint growing against the walls. It was a quiet building, just far enough off the other streets and yet steps away when the inhabitants wanted to indulge in the music and the food. I hesitated.
Maybe he wouldn't be in there. Maybe he had thought twice about it, too. I saw no signs of anyone in the windows. The curtains didn't move. I took a deep breath and looked back. If I did retreat, would I be happier or would I always wonder what it would have been like had I gone into the apartment building and met Beau? Maybe we would just talk, I thought. Maybe we would both come to our senses. I closed my eyes like someone about to dive into a pool and I entered the courtyard. Then I opened them and walked to the front door. I checked the numbers on the directory and walked up the small stairway to a narrow landing. When I found the door, I paused, took another deep breath, and knocked.
For a few moments, I heard nothing and I began to think he wasn't there. He had indeed changed his mind. I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. That part of me that had tried to keep me away urged me to turn and flee, to actually run back up the street and return to the hotel; but the other part of me, the part that longed for complete love, filled me with such despondency, I thought my heart would turn to stone and crumble in my chest.