said, and turned away to leave her pondering the
future of the Dumas.
Epilogue
.
Truth, like a foundation in the bayou, has to be
driven deeply to take hold, especially in a world where lies could storm in and wash away the paperthin walls of illusion any time. Grandniere Catherine used to say the strongest trees are the ones whose roots go the deepest. "Nature has a way of finding out which ones don't go deep enough and they get washed away in the floods and the winds. But that ain't all bad because it leaves us with a world in which we can feel more secure, a world on which we can depend. Drive your roots deep, child. Drive your roots deep."
For better or for worse, my roots were now set in the garden of the Dumas family, and I had come from the timid, insecure Cajun girl who trembled on the family doorstep to the girl who had begun to understand a little more about who she really was.
In the days that followed, Gisselle grew strangely weaker and far more dependent on me than ever. I found her crying often and consoled her. She resisted learning about our Cajun background at first, and then, slowly, she began to ask a question here and there that led to my describing places and people. Of course, she was uncomfortable with the truth and made me swear dozens of times in dozens of ways never to tell anyone until she was ready for it to be told. I swore.
And then, one afternoon while I was up in Gisselle's room telling her about something that had happened during final exams at school, Edgar appeared.
"Pardon me, Mademoiselle Ruby," he said, after knocking on the doorjamb to get our attention, "but there is someone here to see you. A young man."
"A young man?" Gisselle quipped before I could respond. "What's his name, Edgar?"
"He says his name is Paul, Paul Tate."
The blood left my face for a moment and then rushed back in so quickly, I grew faint.
"Paul?"
"Who's Paul?" Gisselle demanded.
"Paul's our half brother," I told her. Her eyes widened.
"Bring him up here," she ordered.
I hurried down and found him standing in the entryway. He looked so much older to me and a good six inches taller, and far more handsome than I could recall.
"Hi, Ruby," he said, beaming a wide, happy smile.
"How did you find me?" I gasped. I hadn't left a return address on the letter I had written because I didn't want him to find me.
"It wasn't all that hard. After I got your letter and knew you were in New Orleans at least, I went to Grandpere Jack with a bottle of bourbon one night."
"You wicked boy," I chastised. "Taking advantage of a drunk like that."
"I would have drunk with the devil if it meant I could find you, Ruby." We gazed at each other for a moment, our eyes locked.
"Can I give you a hello kiss?" he asked.
"Yes. Of course."
He kissed me on the cheek and then stepped back to look around.
"You weren't exonerating, you are rich. Have things gotten any better for you here since you wrote me that letter?"
"Yes," I said. He looked disappointed.
"I was hoping you would say no and I'd talk you into returning to the bayou, but I do
n't blame you for not wanting to leave this."