Ruby (Landry 1)

"It just is," she said, and began her weaving again, again leaving me stranded in a sea of mystery.

"Paul has asked me to go with him to the fais dodo a week from Saturday. I want to go with him very much, Grandmere," I added.

"Will his parents let him do that?" she asked quickly. "I don't know. Paul thinks so, I guess. Can we invite him to dinner Sunday night, Grandmere? Can we?"

"I never turned anyone away from my dinner table," Grandmere said, "but don't plan on going to the dance. I know the Tate family and I don't want to see you hurt."

"Oh, I won't be, Grandmere," I said, nearly bouncing in my seat with excitement. "Then Paul can come to dinner?"

"I said I wouldn't throw him out," she replied.

"Oh, Grandmere, thank you. Thank you." I threw my arms around her. She shook her head.

"If we go on like this, we'll be working all night, Ruby," she said, but kissed my cheek. "My little Ruby, my darling girl, growing into a woman so quickly I better not blink or I'll miss it," she said. We hugged again and then went back to work, my hands moving with a new energy, my heart filled with a new joy, despite Grandmere Catherine's omi-nous warnings.

2

No Landrys Allowed

.

A blend of wonderful aromas rose from the

kitchen and seeped into my room to snap my eyes open and start my stomach churning in anticipation. I could smell the rich, black Cajun coffee percolating on the stove and the mixture of shrimp and chicken gumbo Grandmere Catherine was preparing in her black, cast iron cooking pots to sell at our roadside stall. I sat up and inhaled the delicious smells.

Sunlight wove its way through the leaves of the cypress and sycamores around the house and filtered through the cloth over my window to cast a warm, bright glow over my small bedroom which had just enough space for my white painted bed, a small stand for a lamp near the pillow, and a large chest for my clothing. A chorus of rice birds began their ritual symphony, chirping and singing, urging me to get up, get washed, and get dressed so I could join them in the celebration of a new day.

No matter how I tried, I never beat Grandmere Catherine out of bed and into the kitchen. Rarely did I have the opportunity to surprise her with a pot of freshly brewed coffee, hot biscuits, and eggs. She was usually up with the first rays of sunlight that began to push back the blanket of darkness, and she moved so quietly and so gracefully through the house that I didn't hear her footsteps in the hallway or down the stairs, which usually creaked loudly when I

descended. Weekend mornings Grandmere Catherine was up especially early so as to prepare everything for our roadside stall.

I hurried down to join her.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I asked.

"I'd wake you when I needed you if you didn't

get yourself up, Ruby," she said, answering me the same way she always did. But I knew she would rather take on extra work than shake me out of the arms of sleep.

"I'll fold all the new blankets and get them ready to take out," I said.

"First, you'll have some breakfast. There's time enough for us to get things out. You know the tourists don't come riding by for a good while yet. The only ones who get up this early are the fishermen and they're not interested in any-thing we have to sell. Go on now, sit down," Grandmere Catherine commanded.

We had a simple table made from the same wide cypress planks from which our house walls were constructed, as were the chairs with their grooved posts. The one piece of furniture Grandmere was most proud of was her oak armoire. Her father had made it. Everything else we had was ordinary and no different from anything every other Cajun family living along the bayou possessed.

"Mr. Rodrigues brought over that basket of fresh eggs this morning," Grandmere Catherine said, nodding toward the basket on the counter by the window. "Very nice of him to think of us during his troubled times."

She never expected much more than a simple thank-you for any of the wonders she worked. She didn't think of her gifts as being hers; she thought of them as belonging to the Cajun people. She believed she was put on this earth to serve and to help those less fortunate, and the joy of helping others was reward enough.

She began to fry me two eggs to go along with her biscuits. "Don't forget to put out your newest pictures today. I love the one with the heron coming out of the water," she said, smiling.

"If you love it, Grandmere, I shouldn't sell it. I should give it to you."

"Nonsense, child. I want everyone to see your pictures, especially people in New Orleans," she declared. She had said that many times before and just as firmly.

"Why? Why are those people so important?" I asked.

"There's dozens and dozens of art galleries there and famous artists, too, who will see your work and spread your name so that all the rich Creoles will want one of your paintings in their homes," she explained.