I reread Paul's letter, made a list of things I wanted to do before Daddy and Beau's visits, completed my homework, and went to sleep. I lay there with my eyes open, staring up into the dark ceiling and imagining I was in the pirogue with Paul, drifting. I thought I could even see the first star.
In the morning I awoke filled with all sorts of plans for pictures I wanted to do under Miss Stevens's guidance. Her love of nature was as strong as mine, and I knew she would appreciate my visions. I washed and dressed eagerly and was one of the first at the breakfast table, something else that seemed to annoy Gisselle. I saw she was becoming more and more intolerant and impatient with Samantha too, snapping at her for not doing things fast enough for her.
Our quad had cleanup duty again. Gisselle, of course, was excused from the chores, but she made it more difficult for me and the others by lingering at the table. It nearly made us all late for school, and I had an English test to take.
I was ready for the test and eager to take it, but right in the middle of the exam, a messenger came into the room. She went right to Mr. Risel and whispered in his ear. He nodded, then looked out at the class and announced that I was wanted at Mrs. Ironwood's office.
"But my exam . ." I muttered.
"Just bring up what you've completed," he said. "But . ."
"You'd better go quickly," he added, his eyes dark. What could she want now? I wondered. What could she possibly accuse me of doing this time?
Filled with rage, I pounded through the corridor and walked into the principal's office. Mrs. Randle looked up from her desk, but this time she didn't look annoyed or upset with me. She looked sympathetic.
"Go right in," she told me. My fingers trembled a bit on the doorknob. I turned it and entered, surprised to discover Gisselle sitting there in her wheelchair, her handkerchief clutched in her hand, her eyes bloodshot.
"What is it?" I cried, looking from her to Mrs. Ironwood, who was standing by her window.
"It's your father," she replied. "Your stepmother has just called me."
"What?"
"Daddy's dead!" Gisselle screamed. "He had a heart attack!"
Somewhere deep inside myself, a scream became a cry, the sort of cry that lingered over the water, that wove itself around the trees and bushes, that made day turn into night, that made sunny skies turn gray, and that turned raindrops into tears.
Behind my eyelids, slammed shut to lock out the faces and the moment, I recalled an old nightmare I had often had as a child. In it I was running over the marshland, chasing after a pirogue that was picking up speed to round a turn in the bayou and carrying away the mysterious man I wanted to call Daddy.
The word got stuck in my throat, and a moment later he was gone.
And once again I was all alone.
10
Orphaned Again
.
As far as I was concerned, Daddy's funeral
began with our ride back to New Orleans. Even Gisselle became dark and quiet just before we were to leave, her usual banter of complaints reduced to a few grievances about the speed with which she had to get her things together and the manner in which she was transferred from her wheelchair to the limousine Daphne had sent. The driver hadn't been told that one of his passengers was handicapped and was quite unprepared for the experience. He didn't know how to fold the chair and get it as well as our luggage into the trunk. Fortunately, Buck Dardar came by to help, which immediately cheered up my sister and, for the moment, returned a look of flirtatious delight to her eyes.
"Thank goodness your Mr. Mud happened by," she declared loud enough for Buck to hear as he assisted with the folding of the wheelchair. "Otherwise poor Daddy would be buried a week before we left here."
I flashed a furious gaze at her, but she rolled it away with one of her flighty little laughs and then poked her head out of the window to flutter her eyelashes at Buck as she thanked him profusely for coming by.
"I can't thank you properly just now," she told him. "We have to leave right away, but when we come back . . ."
Buck glanced toward me and then hurried back to his tractor to continue his work on the grounds. The chauffeur got in and we were off. All of the other students were in class. Gisselle had managed to tell her clique about Daddy and then sponge up their condolences and sympathy. Miss Stevens was the only person I had told. She was very upset, her eyes actually filling with tears when she gazed into my devastated face.
"Now I'm really an orphan, just like you," I told her.
"But you have your stepmother and your sister."
"It's the same as being an orphan," I replied.
She bit down on her lower lip and nodded without challenging my declaration. "You'll always have family here," she said, hugging me. "Be strong."