Ruby (Landry 1)

Dumas residence, I could only stand and gape

stupidly. Its out-buildings, gardens, and stables

occupied most of this block. All of it was surrounded

by a fence in cornstalk pattern.

This was my real father's home, but the ivory

white mansion that loomed before me looked more like a house built for a Greek god. It was a two-story building with tall columns, the tops of which were shaped like inverted bells decorated with leaves. There were two galeries, an enormous one before the main entrance and another above it. Each had a different decorative cast iron railing, the one on the bottom showing flowers and the one above, showing

fruits.

I strolled along the walk, circling the house and

grounds. I saw the pool and the tennis court and

continued to gape in awe. There was something

magical here. It seemed as if I had entered my

dreamland of eternal spring. Two gray squirrels

paused in their foray for food and stared out at me,

more curious than afraid. The air smelled of green

bamboo and gardenias. Blooming azaleas, yellow and

red roses, and hibiscus were everywhere in view. The

trellises and the gazebo were covered with trumpet

vine and clumps of purple wisteria. Redwood boxes

on railings and sills were thick with petunias. Right now the house was lit up, all of its

windows bright. Slowly, I made a full circle and then

paused at the front gate; but as I stood there gaping,

drinking in the elegance and grandeur, I began to

wonder what I could have been thinking to have traveled this far and come to this house. Surely the people who lived within such a mansion were so different from me, I might as well have gone to another country where people spoke a different language. My heart sank. A throbbing pain in my head stabbed sharply. What was I doing here, me, a nobody, an orphan Cajun girl who had deluded herself into believing there was a rainbow just waiting for me at the end of my storm of trouble? I knew now that I would have to find my way back to the bus station and

return to Houma.

Dejected, my head lowered, I turned from the

house and started to walk away when suddenly,

seemingly coming from out of the thin air, a small,

fire engine red, convertible sports car squeaked to an

abrupt stop right in front of me. The driver hopped

over the door. He was a tall young man with a shock