All That Glitters (18 page)

filled my face with deep thought. She waited
anxiously for my reply, her hands twisting in her lap. "Yes," I finally replied, "but maybe that's
because I'm so involved in my art."
She nodded and sighed.
"That's what James said. He said I should find
something to do so I don't dote upon him so much, but
I wanted to dote on him and our marriage. That's why
I got married!" she exclaimed. "The truth is," she
continued, dabbing at her cheeks with the
handkerchief, "the passion is already gone."
"Oh, Jeanne, I'm sure that's not so."
"We haven't made love for two straight weeks,"
she revealed. "That's a long time for a husband and
wife, right?" she followed, fixing her eyes on me for
my reaction.
"Well . . ." I looked down and smoothed out my
skirt so she wouldn't see my face again. Grandmere
Catherine used to say my thoughts were as obvious as
a secret written in a book with a glass cover. "I don't
think there's any set time or rate of lovemaking, even
for married people. Besides," I replied, now thinking
about Beau, "it's something that both have to want
spontaneously, impulsively."
"James," she said, gazing at her entwined
fingers, "believes in the rhythm method because he's
such a devout Catholic. I have to take my temperature
before we make love. You don't do that, do you?" I shook my head. I knew that a woman's body
temperature was supposed to reflect when she was most apt to become pregnant, and that was considered an acceptable method of birth control, but I had to admit, taking your temperature before sleeping
together would diminish the romance.
"So you see why I'm so unhappy?" she
concluded.
"Doesn't he know just how deeply unhappy you
are?" I asked. She shrugged. "You should talk to him
more about it, Jeanne. No one else can help you two
but you two."
"But if there's no passion . . ."
"Yes, I agree. There must be passion, but there
must be compromise, too. That's what marriage is," I
continued, realizing how true it was for Paul and me,
"compromise --two people sacrificing willingly for
the good of each other. They must care as much for
each other as they do for themselves. But it works
only if both do it," I said, thinking about Daddy and
his devotion to Daphne.
"I don't think James wants to be like that,"
Jeanne worried.
"I'm sure he does, but it doesn't happen
overnight. It takes time to build a relationship." She nodded, slightly encouraged. "Paul and you
have certainly spent a long time together. Is that why
your marriage is so perfect?" she asked.
A strange aching began in my heart. I hated
how one lie led to another and then another, building
one upon the other until we were buried under a
mountain of deceit.
"Nothing is perfect, Jeanne."
"Paul and you are as close as can be. Look how
the two of you were toward each other from the first
day you two met. The truth is," she said sadly, "I was
hoping James would worship me as much as Paul
worships you. I suppose I shouldn't compare him to
my brother."
"No one should worship anyone, Jeanne," I said
softly, but the way she viewed Paul and me and the
way others saw us made me feel ever so guilty for
loving Beau on the side. What a shock it would be if
the truth were to be known, I thought, and how
devastating it would be to Paul.
Talking like this with Jeanne made me realize
that my relationship with Beau would go nowhere. It
might even destroy Paul little by little. I had made my
choice, accepted his kindness and devotion, and now I
had to live with that choice. I couldn't be selfish
enough to do anything else.
"Maybe I will have another long talk with James," Jeanne said. "Maybe you're right--maybe it takes time." "Anything worthwhile does," I said
softly.
She was so involved with her own problems,
she couldn't see the longing in my eyes. She seized
my hands in hers. "Thank you, Ruby. Thank you for
listening and caring."
We hugged and she smiled. Why was it so easy
to help other people feel happy, but so hard to help
myself? I wondered.
"There really is a new dress to show you," I
said, and took her to my closet. Afterward, we joined
Paul and James in the living room and had some afterdinner cordials. Jeanne smiled at me when James put
his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. He
whispered something in her ear and she turned
crimson. Then they announced they were tired and
had to go home. At the doorway, Jeanne leaned over
to thank me again. From the look in her eyes, I saw
she was excited and happy. Paul and I remained on
the gallery and watched them go to their car and drive
away.
It was a rather clear evening, so that we could
look up at the star-studded sky and see constellations
from one horizon to the other. Paul took my hand. "Want to sit outside awhile?" he asked. I
nodded and we went to the bench. The night was
filled with the monotonous symphony of cicadas
interrupted by the occasional hoot of an owl. "Jeanne wanted some big-sister advice tonight,
didn't she?" he asked.
"Yes, but I'm not sure I'm the one she should
have been asking."
"Of course you are." After a pause he added,
"James asked me for advice, too. Made me feel older
than I am." He turned to me in the darkness, his face
cloaked in the shadows. "They think we're Mr. and
Mrs. Perfect."
"I know."
"I wish we were." He took my hand again. "So
what are we going to do?"
"Let's not try to come up with all the answers
tonight, Paul. I'm tired and confused myself." "Whatever you say." He leaned over to kiss me
on the cheek. "Don't hate me for loving you so much,"
he whispered. I wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to
soothe his troubled soul, but all I could do was shed
some tears and stare into the night with my heart
feeling like a lump of lead.
Finally we both went in and up to our separate bedrooms. After I put out my light, I stood by my window and gazed into the evening sky. I thought about Jeanne and James hurrying home after a wonderful meal, wine, and conversation, excited about each other, eager to hold each other and cap the
evening with their lovemaking.
While in his room, Paul embraced a pillow, and
in mine, I embraced my memories of Beau.
Shortly after Paul left for work the next
morning, Beau called. He was so excited about our
next rendezvous, barely squeezing in a breath as he
described his plans for our day and evening, that at
first I couldn't get in a word.
"You don't know how this has changed my
life," he said. "You've given me something to look
forward to, something to cheer me through the most
dreary days and nights."
"Beau, I have some bad news," I finally
inserted, and told him about Mrs. Flemming's
daughter. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to postpone
things."
"Why? Just come in with Pearl," he pleaded. "No. I can't," I said.
"It's more than that, isn't it?" he asked after a
pause.
"Yes," I admitted, and told him about Paul. "Then he knows about us?"
"Yes, Beau."
"Gisselle has been very suspicious lately, too,"
he confessed. "She's even uttered some veiled threats
and some not so veiled threats."
"Then maybe it's best we cool things down," I
suggested. "We must think of all the people we might
hurt, Beau."
"Yes," he said in a cracked voice.
If words had weight, the telephone lines
between New Orleans and Cypress Woods would sag
and tear apart, I thought.
"I'm sorry, Beau."
I heard him sigh deeply. "Well, Gisselle keeps
asking to go to the ranch for a few days. I guess I'll
take her next week. The truth is, I hate living in this
house without you, Ruby. There are too many
memories of us together here. Every time I walk past
your room, I stop and stare at the door and
remember."
"Talk Gisselle into selling the house, Beau.
Start new somewhere else," I suggested.
"She doesn't care. Nothing bothers her. What
have we done to each other, Ruby?" he asked. I swallowed back the throat lumps, but fugitive
tears trickled down my cheeks. For a moment I
couldn't find my voice.
"We fell in love, Beau. That's all. We fell in
love."
"Ruby . . ."
"I've got to go, Beau. Please."
"Don't say good-bye. Just hang up," he told me,
and I did so, but I sat at the phone and sobbed until I
heard Pearl wake from her nap and call to me. Then I
wiped my eyes, took a deep breath, and went on to fill
my days and nights with as much work as I could
find, so I wouldn't think and I wouldn't regret. A quiet resignation fell over me. I began to feel
like a nun, spending much of my time in quiet
meditation, painting, reading, and listening to music.
Caring for Pearl was a full-time job now, too. She was
very active and curious about everything. I had to go
about and make the house child-proof, placing
valuable knick-knacks out of her reach, being sure she
couldn't get into anything dangerous. Occasionally
Molly would look after her for me for a few hours
while I shopped or had some quiet time alone. Paul was busier than ever; deliberately so, I
thought. He was up at the crack of dawn and gone some days before I came down for breakfast. Sometimes he couldn't get back in time for dinner. He told me his father was doing less and less at the
cannery, and talking about retirement.
"Maybe you should hire a manager, then," I
suggested. "You can't do it all."
"I'll see," he promised, but I saw that he
enjoyed being occupied. Just like me, he hated leisure
because leisure made him reflect on what his life was
really like now.
I thought it would go on like this forever until
we were both old and gray, rocking side by side on
the gallery and looking out at the bayou, wondering
what life would have been like had we not made some
of the decisions we had made when we were young
and impulsive. But one night after dinner toward the
end of the month, the phone rang. Paul had already
settled himself in his favorite easy chair and had the
journal opened to the business pages. Pearl was asleep
and I was reading a novel. James appeared in the
doorway.
"It's for Madame," he announced. Paul looked
up curiously. I shrugged and rose.
"Maybe it's Jeanne," I suggested. He nodded.
But it was Beau, who sounded like a voice without a body. . . a wisp of himself, so soft and stunned, I
questioned whether it was really he.
"Beau? What is it?"
"It's Gisselle. We're at the ranch. We've been
here for more than a week now."
"Oh," I said. "She knows about us, then?" "No, that's not it," he replied.
I held my breath. "What then, Beau?" "She was bitten by mosquitoes. We thought
nothing of it. She complained like crazy, of course,
but I rubbed alcohol on her and forgot it. Then. . ." "Yes?" My legs felt as if they might turn to air
and float out from under me.
"She started to have these severe headaches.
Nothing I gave her helped. She took nearly a bottle of
aspirin. She had a fever, too. Last night the fever went
way up and she was hallucinating. I had to call the
doctor from the village. By the time he arrived, she
was paralyzed."
"Paralyzed!"
"And she was babbling incoherently. She
couldn't remember anything, not even who I was," he
said, amazed.
"What did the doctor say?"
"He knew what it was immediately. Gisselle has contracted St. Louis encephalitis, an inflammation of the brain caused by a virus mosquitoes transmit to
people."
"Mon Dieu," I
said, my heart thumping. "Is she
in the hospital?"
"No," he said quickly.
"No? Why not, Beau?"
"The doctor said the prognosis is not good.
There is no known treatment of the disease when it is
transmitted by viral infections other than the herpes
simplex virus. Those are his exact words."
"What does this mean? What will happen to
her?"
"She can remain in this condition for some
time," he said in a voice devoid of any feeling, a voice
drained and lost. And then he added, "But no one back
in New Orleans knows about it yet. In fact, only this
doctor and some servants here are aware of what's
happened, and they can be persuaded not to talk about
it."
I held my breath. "What are you suggesting,
Beau?" "It came to me just a little while ago while I
stood by her bedside and watched her sleep. When
she's asleep, she looks so much like you, Ruby. No
one would question it."
My heart stopped and then began to pound so
hard, I thought I would lose my breath and
consciousness. I shifted the receiver to my other ear
and took a deep breath. I knew what he was
suggesting.
"Beau . . you want me to assume her identity?" "And become my wife now and forever," he
said. "Don't you see what an opportunity this is?" he
asked quickly. "None of the secrets of the past have to
be revealed and no one has to be hurt."
"Except Paul," I said.
"What good is it if we're all unhappy?" Could we do this? I wondered, my excitement
building. Would it be wrong?
"What will happen to Gisselle?"
"We'll have to institutionalize her, secretly, of
course. But it won't be hard to do."
"That's terrible. You remember when Daphne
tried to do that to me," I said.
"That was different, Ruby. You were alive and
well and had your whole life ahead of you. What
difference will it make to Gisselle? She has
accidentally given us a gift, repaired so many wrongs
she has committed. Fate wouldn't hand us this
opportunity if Fate didn't want to right the wrongs, too. Come to me," he pleaded. "With you I can restore my troubled soul and become someone I can respect again. Please, Ruby. We can't waste a moment of this
chance."
"I don't know. I have to think." I turned and
looked toward the study. "I have to talk it over with
Paul."
"Of course, but do it right away and call me
back," he said, and gave me the telephone number.
"Ruby, I love you and you love me and we should be
together. Destiny has come to realize that, too. Who
knows? Maybe your grandmere Catherine's at work
someplace in the hereafter or maybe Nina Jackson's
cast a spell for us."
"I don't know, Beau. It's all happening so fast.
It's complicated."
"Talk it over with Paul. It's right; it's good. It's
what was meant to be, finally," he said.
After we hung up, I stood there, my heart still