Ruby (Landry 1)

to show you around the city a bit?"

"I'd love it. Thank you," I said.

After breakfast, we got into his Rolls Royce

and drove down the long driveway. I had never been

in so luxurious an automobile before and sat gaping

stupidly at the wood trim, running the palm of my

hand over the soft leather.

"Do you drive?" my father asked me.

"Oh, no. I haven't even ridden in cars all that

much. In the bayou we get around by walking or by

poling pirogues."

"Yes, I remember," he said, beaming a broad

smile my way. "Gisselle doesn't drive either. She

doesn't want to be bothered learning. The truth is she

likes being carted around. But if you would like to

learn how to drive, I'd be glad to teach you," he said. "I would. Thank you."

He drove on through the Garden District, past

many fine homes with grounds just as beautiful as ours, some with oleander-lined pike fences. There were fewer clouds now which meant the streets and beautiful flowers had fewer shadows looming over them. Sidewalks and tiled patios glittered. Here and there the gutters were full of pink and white camellias

from the previous night's rain.

"Some of these houses date back to the

eighteen-forties," my father told me and leaned over

to point to a house on our right. "Jefferson Davis,

President of the Confederacy, died in that house in

1899. There's a lot of history here," he said proudly. We made a turn and paused as the olive green

streetcar rattled past the palm trees on the esplanade.

Then we followed St. Charles back toward the inner

city.

"I'm glad we had this opportunity to be alone

for a while," he said. "Besides my showing you the

city, it gives me a chance to get to know you and you