"Louis," I said, my eyes tearing, "I must tell you . . . ″

"No," he said, "I've already decided. In fact, I have some of it already written. That's what I was playing when you arrived. Will you listen to it?"

"Of course, Louis, but . . ."

He got up and went to the piano before I could say another word and began playing.

My heart was troubled. Somehow I had gotten myself into Louis's world so deeply, it seemed impossible to climb out without hurting him terribly. Perhaps after he went off to the clinic and when his eyesight returned fully, I could get him to understand that I was involved with someone else romantically. At that time he could endure the disappointment and go on, I thought. Until then, I could do nothing but listen to his beautiful music and encourage him to continue with his efforts to regain his sight.

His symphony was beautiful. His melodies rose and fell with such grace that I felt swept away. I relaxed with my eyes closed and let his composition take me back through time until I saw myself as a little girl again, running over the grass, Grandmère Catherine's laughter trailing behind me as I squealed with delight at the birds that swooped over the water and the bream that jumped in the ponds.

"Well," Louis said when he finished playing, "that's all I have written so far. How's it coming?"

"It's beautiful, Louis. And it's very special. You will become a famous composer, I'm sure."

He laughed again.

"Come," he said. "I asked Otis to have some Cajun coffee and some beignets shipped up from the Cafe du Monde in New Orleans waiting for us in the glass-enclosed patio. You can tell me all about your twin sister and the terrible things she's been doing," he added. He held out his arm for me to pass my arm under and then we left the music studio. I looked back once as we walked through the corridor. In the shadows behind us, I was sure I saw Mrs. Clairborne standing and staring. Even at this distance, I felt her displeasure.

But it wasn't until the next morning at school that I was to discover how determined she and her niece, Mrs. Ironwood, were to get me out of Louis's life.


13

  False Accusations

My homeroom teacher had just begun to read the day's announcements when a messenger arrived from Mrs. Ironwood's office with the order for me to appear immediately. I glanced at Gisselle and saw that she looked just as confused and as curious about it as everyone else. Without a word I left and walked quickly down the corridor. When I reached Mrs. Ironwood's office, I found Mrs. Randle standing in the inner-office doorway, a tablet in her hand.

"Come right in," she said, stepping back to let me enter.

With my heart pounding so hard I thought it would crack open my chest, I walked into Mrs. Ironwood's office. She was seated behind her desk, her back rigid, her lips pursed, her eyes more filled with fury than I had ever seen them. She had her hands on the desk, palms down over some documents.

"Sit down," she commanded. She nodded at Mrs. Randle, who stepped in after me and then closed the door. Mrs. Randle then moved quickly to a seat beside the desk and put her notepad down. Her hand was poised with her pen clutched in her fingers.

"What's wrong?" I asked, not able to stand the long, ominous silence that had fallen over me.

"I can't recall summoning another student to my office as frequently in so short a time as I have had to summon you," Mrs. Ironwood began, her dark eyebrows knitted together. She glanced at Mrs. Randle for confirmation and Mrs. Randle nodded slightly, closing and opening her eyes at the same time.

"That's not my fault," I said.

"Hmmm," Mrs. Ironwood muttered. She looked at Mrs. Randle as though the two of them heard voices I didn't hear "It's never their faults," she said with a smirk, and Mrs. Randle nodded again, closing and opening her eyes as before. She resembled a puppet, the strings of which were in Mrs. Ironwood's hands.

"Well, why have you sent for me?" I asked.

Before replying, Mrs. Ironwood pulled her shoulders back and up even straighter and firmer. "I have asked Mrs. Randle in here to take notes, since I am about to commence a formal expulsion hearing."

"What? What have I done now?" I cried. I looked at Mrs. Randle, who this time kept her eyes down. I returned my gaze to Mrs. Ironwood, who was staring at me with such intensity, I thought I felt her gaze pass through me like a beam of heat.

"What haven't you done? is more like it." She shook her head and looked down at me from the height of her contempt. "Right from the start, from the background on you that your stepmother so frankly confessed, from the arrogance and disdain you exhibited during our initial conference, from your attitude about our rules, violating the off-grounds restrictions almost immediately, from the manner in which you defied my wishes, I knew your attendance at Greenwood was a mistake of gargantuan proportions and destined for horrible failure.

"Punishments, warnings, even friendly advice did little or no good. Your kind rarely changes for the better. It's in your blood to fail."

"Exactly what am I being accused of doing?" I fired back defiantly.

Instead of replying immediately, she cleared her throat and put on her pearl-framed reading glasses. Then she lifted the papers under her hands to read from them.

"This is to formally commence step one of the expulsion procedure as outlined in the governing bylaws of Greenwood School as set down by the board of directors. ′The student under question,′ " she read, and looked over her glasses at me, ″ ′one Ruby Dumas, has, on the date described herein, been summoned to be informed of her hearing and to hear the charges levied against her by the administration of Greenwood Schools.

" 'Number one,′ " she began in an even more authoritative voice, " ′she has willfully and knowingly trespassed on a well-designated off-limits location on the Greenwood campus and remained at this location after curfew.′ "

"What?" I cried, looking again at Mrs. Randle, who had her head lowered and was scribbling rapidly on her notepad. "What location?"

" ′Number two, she has willfully and knowingly participated in immoral behavior on school property while under school supervision. ′ "

"Immoral behavior?"

" ′The above charges will be levied and adjudicated at a formal expulsion hearing this afternoon at four P.M. in this office.′ ″

She lowered the papers and then her glasses.

"I am to instruct you as to our procedure. A panel consisting of two faculty members and your student body president, Deborah Peck, will hear the charges and the proofs and render judgment. I will oversee the proceedings, of course."

"What charges? What proofs?"

"I've read you the charges," she said.

"I haven't heard anything specific. Where am I supposed to have gone that's off-limits on the campus? The mansion? Is that what this is about?" I demanded. Her cheeks reddened as she shot a quick glance at Mrs. Randle and then looked at me.

"Hardly," she replied. "You were seen at the boathouse after hours."

"Boathouse?"

"Where you went to have an illicit rendezvous with an employee, Buck Dardar."

"What? Who saw me?"

"A member of this faculty, a well-respected, long-time member of this faculty, I might add."

"Who? Can't I know the name of my accuser?" I demanded when she hesitated.

"Mrs. Gray, your Latin teacher. So there is no question she would be able to recognize you," she concluded.

I shook my head. "When?"

She looked at the papers as if it was a great effort to do so and said, "You were seen entering the boathouse at seven-thirty last night."

"Last night?"

"And you remained after curfew," she added. "The remaining details of Mrs. Gray's testimony will be given at the formal hearing."

"It's a mistaken identity. I couldn't have been in the boathouse at seven-thirty last night. Just call Buck in here and ask him," I advised.

She smirked. "Don't you think I had enough sense to do just that? He was called in here first thing this morning, and he did write out a confession," she said, holding up another document, "corroborating what our eyewitness saw."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "He's mistaken or he's lying. You'll see when he comes to the hearing and sees me and realizes . . ."

"Buck Dardar is no longer on these grounds. He has been relieved of his duties and he has already left the school," she said.

"What? He's been fired because of these false charges against me? But that's not fair."

"I assure you," she said, smiling coldly, "he thought my offer to him was quite fair. You girls are all under age. If not for the potential scandal, I would have turned him over to the police."

"But this isn't true. Just ask your aunt where I was last night."

"My aunt?" She pulled herself in like an accordion. "You want me to involve Mrs. Clairborne in this loathsome and vulgar affair? How dare you suggest such a thing. Is there no bottom to the depth of your immorality?"

"But I was at the mansion last night, and I was back in the dorm well before the curfew."

"I assure you," Mrs. Ironwood said slowly, "Mrs. Clairborne would never consent to give such testimony." She looked so confident and smug about it.

"But then just call Louis . . . ″

"A blind man? You want to bring him into this too? Are you out to disgrace this distinguished family? Is that your motive? Some sort of sick Cajun jealousy?"

"Of course not, but this is all a mistake," I cried.

"That's for our panel to decide at four o'clock. Be here on time." She closed her eyes and then opened them. "You can bring someone to speak in your defense." She paused and leaned forward, a curt smile on her lips. "Of course, if you want to avoid all this unpleasantness, you can confess and admit to these charges and accept your expulsion."