"It doesn't matter. I'm tired of being treated like a child. I can make my own decisions and answer for my own actions," he declared proudly.

We continued down the hallway toward the exit, the three of us holding hands. Suddenly I burst out laughing.

"Why are you laughing?" Louis asked, a smile of anticipation on his face.

"My sister, Gisselle. I can't wait to tell her and see the expression on her face."

"What!" Gisselle shrilled. "You're not expelled from Greenwood?"

"The hearing ended without conclusion, thanks to Louis and Miss Stevens. You should have been there, Gisselle," I said, so full of self-satisfaction my cheeks glowed shamelessly. "You would have so enjoyed the look on Mrs. Ironwood's face when she had to swallow her hard words and threats."

"I wouldn't have enjoyed it. I thought we were going home! I even packed most of my things!"

"We are going home soon . . . for the holidays," I sang, and left her burning with almost as much frustration as Mrs. Ironwood.

Just as word of the accusations and my hearing had swept through the school with the speed of a hurricane, so did the news of my not being expelled. The entire episode had an effect opposite to the one Mrs. Ironwood had anticipated, I was sure. Instead of making me a pariah in the eyes of the other students, I was suddenly cast as a heroine. I had withstood the fire and brimstone, the fury and power of our feared principal. I was the David who had battled our Goliath and survived. Wherever I went, the girls gathered around me to hear the details, but I didn't gloat, and I know they were disappointed in my answers.

"It wasn't very pleasant," I said. "I don't like to keep talking about it. A number of people were hurt by all this."

I thought about poor Buck Dardar, who had lost his job, and I bore no anger toward him for signing that false confession. I was sure he had been intimidated and had done it only under the dire threat of being arrested and disgraced. But Mrs. Gray remained a mystery, a mystery that wasn't to be solved until after I had attended her class the next day.

"Ruby," she called as soon as the bell to end the period rang.

I waited for the others to leave before approaching her. "Yes, Mrs. Gray?"

"I want you to know that I didn't make up my story," she said firmly and with such sincerity, I couldn't take my eyes off hers. "I am aware of the testimony Mrs. Clairborne's grandson gave at the hearing, but it doesn't change what I saw and what I said. I don't lie, nor do I conspire against anyone."

"I know, Mrs. Gray," I said. "But I wasn't there. Honest, I wasn't."

"I'm sorry," she said. "But I don't believe you." She turned away and I left with a heavy heart.

Mrs. Gray's face of firmness haunted me for the remainder of the day. It was almost as if Mrs. Ironwood had cast a spell over her and caused her to see what she wanted her to see and say what she wanted her to say. How I wished I had Nina with me for only a few minutes so she could concoct some voodoo ritual or charm to change things.

I recalled Grandmère Catherine once telling me about a man who had lost his five-year-old daughter in a boating accident in the swamp. Even though her body was recovered, he continued to believe she was lost out in the bayou, swearing he heard her calling to him at night and even swearing that he saw her from time to time.

"He wanted so much for it to be true," she told me, "that to him it was true, and no one could tell him otherwise."

Maybe Mrs. Gray didn't have that clear a view and wasn't as positive when she first told Mrs. Ironwood, and maybe Mrs. Ironwood convinced her it was I she had seen.

It continued to trouble me. On the way back to the dorm at the end of the day, I stopped to gaze down at the boathouse. If only I could find Buck, I thought, and get him to tell me the truth. Maybe I could get him to tell Mrs. Gray. I hated the fact that she continued to think so poorly of me.

I was surprised to find that Gisselle wasn't back in the dorm yet when I arrived, but Samantha appeared soon after to tell me Gisselle had been made to remain with Mrs. Weisenberg and review her terrible math scores. I knew she would be in a fury when she finally returned.

I had unpacked all the things I had packed just before the hearing and then peeked into Gisselle's room to see if she had done the same. Her room was a mess. In her frustration and rage, she had tossed everything out of her suitcase. Dresses, skirts, and blouses lay over chairs and the bed, and some garments were even on the floor. I started to pick things up, folding and hanging her clothing neatly. As I placed a silk white blouse with pearl buttons on a hanger, I paused, recalling some of Mrs. Gray's testimony.

Didn't she say the girl had unbuttoned her white blouse? I wore no white blouse; I wore only my Greenwood uniform. My eyes drifted down to Gisselle's shoes lined up on the floor of the closet. Something caught my eye. My heart began to pitter-patter as I knelt slowly and picked up the loafers, the bottoms and the sides of which were caked with mud. But how . . .

The sound of my sister's loud voice declaring her complaints about being kept after school preceded her arrival in the quad. I heard her ranting as Kate wheeled her down the corridor. I stood up, holding my breath. My mind was reeling with possibilities, thoughts that seemed too fantastic. Just before she was wheeled to the door of her room, I backed into the closet and closed the sliding door almost all the way.

"Where's my sister?" Gisselle demanded.

"She was in your room," Samantha told her. "Straightening up your clothes."

Gisselle gazed in and smirked.

"Who asked her to? Anyway, she's not in here now." Samantha came up beside her and looked into the room. "Oh. She must have left when I was in the bathroom." "Great. I want her to know just what that horrible Mrs. Weisenberg made me do until I got the answers right."

"Should I look for her?" Samantha asked.

"No. I'll tell her later. I have to get some rest," she said, and wheeled herself into the room, slamming the door behind her. She sat for a moment, staring at her bed. Then she reached back and snapped the lock on the door. I held my breath. As soon as she had locked the door, she stood up without wobbling, without much effort.

And I realized my sister could walk!

I slid open the closet door slowly, without much sound, but she sensed my presence and turned. Her eyes widened in astonishment, but I was sure they weren't as wide as mine.

"What are you doing?" she gasped. "Spying on me?"

"You can stand and you can walk. Mon Dieu, Gisselle!" She sat herself back down in the wheelchair.

"So what?" she said after a moment. "I don't want anyone to know it just yet."

"But why? How long have you been able to stand and walk?"

"Awhile," she admitted.

"But why have you kept it a secret?"

"I get treated better," she confessed.

"Gisselle . . . how could you do this? All these people, everyone slaving over you . . . Could you walk before Daddy died? Could you?" I demanded when she didn't respond, but she didn't have to respond. I knew she could. "How horrible! You could have made him feel so much better."

"I was going to tell him as soon as we were permitted to go home and leave this terrible place, but as long as I had to stay here, I wasn't going to tell anyone," she said.

"How did it happen? I mean, when did you realize you could stand?"

"I was always trying to do it, and one day I just did." I sat down on her bed, my mind in turmoil.

"Oh, stop making such a big thing over it," she ordered. She stood up and walked to the closet. The sight of her walking so easily seemed so incongruous. It was as if I had fallen into a dream. At full height again and able to use her limbs, Gisselle appeared changed to me. It was as if she had grown taller and stronger while confined to her wheelchair. I watched her brush her hair for a few moments, everything I had suspected now rushing over me.

"It was you, wasn't it?" I cried, pointing at her.

"Me? Whatever are you talking about now, Ruby?" she asked, pretending ignorance.

"It was you who was with Buck Dardar that night, wasn't it? That's why your shoes are caked with mud. You snuck down there and—"

"So what? He was the only game in town, although I must admit, he was quite a good lover. I hated to see him go, but when you were accused of being there, I thought it was perfect. Finally we'd get out of here too. Then your own loverboy had to appear and get you off the hook. Crummy luck."

"Did Buck think you were me? Did you tell him your name was Ruby?"

"I did, but I don't know whether he believed it or not. Let's just say he was happy to pretend I was anyone I wanted to be as long as I appeared."

"How often . . . All those times you kept this door locked," I said, turning to her door. I looked at the window.

"That's right. I would crawl out the window and have my rendezvous. Pretty exciting, huh? I bet you wish you had thought of it now."

"I do not." I pulled myself up. "You're going to march out of here right now and tell the truth," I said. "Especially to Mrs. Gray."

"Oh, am I? Well I'm not ready to let people know I can stand and walk," she said, returning to her chair.

"I don't care if you're ready or not. You will tell," I assured her, but she didn't seem intimidated. She wheeled herself toward me and looked up at me with hard, cold eyes.

"I will not," she said, "and if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll tell Mrs. Ironwood about you and your precious Miss Stevens. That oughta do her in for sure."

"What? What are you saying?"

She smiled.

"Everyone knows about pretty little Miss Stevens who's afraid of boys but who likes to be around girls," she said, smiling. "Especially you, huh?"

It was as if a match had been lit in my stomach. The flame of anger singed my heart and sent smoke into my brain. I gasped.

"That's a disgusting, terrible lie, and if you tell anyone such a thing . . . ″

"Don't worry. I'll keep your secret as long as you keep mine," she said. "Is it a deal?"

I stared down at her, my mouth open, but words not coming, my tongue numb.

"I take your silence to mean it's a deal. Fine." She turned and wheeled herself to the door to unlock it. "Now, I do need some rest before dinner. Oh, and thanks for straightening up my room. I have been too hard on myself, trying to be independent. I might call on you to do little things for me from time to time. As long as we stay here," she added.

"Of course, once we're gone from this place . . ."

"You're blackmailing me," I finally accused. "That's what you're doing."

"I'm just trying to get along as easily and as comfortably as I can. If you were a good sister and if you really cared about me, you would do what I want for a change."

"So you're going to stay in that wheelchair and let everyone think you're still crippled?"

"As long as it suits me," she said.

"I hope it suits you forever," I snapped, and marched to the door. "I feel sorry for you, Gisselle. You hate yourself so much, you don't even realize it."

"Just remember what I said," she retorted, her eyes small and spiteful. "I meant it."

I opened the door to get a breath of fresh air as much as to get away from my twin sister, whose vicious, selfish face, despite the resemblances, made it clear we were truly strangers.


14

  Unexpected Gifts

From my expulsion hearing until the start of our holiday break, I did the best I could to avoid and ignore Gisselle. It was obvious that she took delight in holding the dark cloud of her threat over me, and if I should so much as stare distastefully at her while she pretended to struggle along in her wheelchair or cried out for one of her entourage to do something for her, she would give me that icy smile and ask, "How is Miss Stevens?" I would simply shake my head in disgust and either walk away or return to what I was reading or doing.

Because of this constant tension between us at Greenwood, I looked forward eagerly to the holiday break. I knew that back in New Orleans Gisselle would amuse herself with her friends, and I could avoid her even more. Of course, I was anxious to see Beau, who was phoning me almost every night, but before I left, I knew that I had to visit Louis. He called to tell me he had decided that he would rather begin his stay at the clinic in Switzerland and attend the music conservatory during the holidays than remain at the Clairborne mansion for what he called another dreary Christmas. He anticipated an even more cheerless time because of my absence and his grandmother's and his cousin's lingering displeasure over what he had done for me at the hearing.