"When we go in there, I don't want you to speak to anyone or ask anyone any questions. This is a mental institution, not a public school. Just follow alongside me and wait. Then do whatever you are told to do. Is that clear?" she demanded.

"Yes," I said. Something in her tone of voice and in her look made my heart race. The four-story, gray stucco structure now loomed above us ominously and cast a long dark shadow over us and our car. As we approached the front entrance, I saw that the windows had bars over them and many had their shades drawn down.

From the highway and even approaching it on the driveway, the institution was very attractive and pleasant, but now, close up, it announced its true purpose and reminded visitors that the people housed within were here because they couldn't function properly in the outside world. The bars on the windows suggested some might even be dangerous to others. I swallowed hard and tracked after Daphne through the front entrance. She walked with her head high as usual, her posture regal stiff. Her heels clicked on the polished marble floor, echoing through the immaculate entryway. At a glass enclosure directly before us, a woman in a white uniform sat writing in charts. She looked up as we approached.

"I'm Daphne Dumas," Daphne declared with an authoritative air. "I'm here to see Dr. Cheryl."

"I'll inform him you've arrived, Madame Dumas," the receptionist said and lifted the receiver at her side immediately. "Take a seat if you like," she added, nodding toward the cushioned benches. Daphne turned and gestured for me to sit down. I hurriedly did so and waited with my hands in my lap, gazing around me. The walls were bare, not a picture, not a clock, nothing.

"Dr. Cheryl will see you now, madame," the receptionist said.

"Ruby," Daphne said, and I stood up and walked with her to the side door. The receptionist buzzed us in. We entered another corridor.

"Right this way," the receptionist said, and led us down the hall to a bank of offices. The first on the right was labeled, Dr. Edward Cheryl, Chief of Administration. The receptionist opened the door for us and we entered the office.

It was a large room with windows that had no bars over them. Right now, the drapes were half-drawn. To the right was a long, light brown leather sofa and to the left was a matching settee. The walls were covered with bookcases and here and there were Impressionistic paintings, mostly of rural scenes. One of a field in the bayou caught my interest.

Behind his desk, Dr. Cheryl had hung all of his diplomas and certificates. Dressed in a lab robe, he rose immediately to greet Daphne. He was a man no more than fifty, fifty-five, with bushy dark brown hair, small chestnut eyes, a small nose, and slight mouth. His chin was so round, it was as if his face had failed to form one. Standing a little under six feet tall, he had a slim build with long arms. His smile was tight and tentative like the smile of an insecure child. It seemed odd to think it, but he looked nervous in Daphne's presence.

"Madame Dumas," he said, extending his hand. When he lifted his arm, the sleeve of his robe slid more than halfway up to his elbow. Daphne took his fingers quickly as if she detested touching him or was afraid he could somehow contaminate her. She nodded and sat down in the bullet leather chair before his desk. I remained standing just behind her.

His attention immediately shifted to me. The intensity of his gaze made me feel self-conscious. Finally, after what seemed an interminable pause, he offered me a smile, too, but one just as tentative.

"And this is the young lady?" he asked, coming around his desk.

"Yes. Ruby," Daphne said, smirking as if my name was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. He nodded, but kept his eyes on me. Remembering Daphne's orders, I didn't speak until he spoke to me directly.

"And how are you today, Mademoiselle Ruby?" he asked. "Fine."

He nodded and turned to Daphne.

"Physically, she is in good health?" he asked. What a strange thing to ask, I thought, knitting my eyebrows together with curiosity.

"Look at her. Does she look like anything's physically wrong with her?" she snapped. She spoke to him as sharply as she would speak to one of our servants, but he didn't seem to mind. He gazed at me again.

"Good. Well, let me begin by showing you around a bit," he said, stepping closer to me and farther away from Daphne. I looked at her, but she kept her gaze fixed ahead. "I'd like you to feel comfortable here," he added. "As comfortable as possible."

His smile widened, but there was still something false about it.

"Thank you," I replied. I didn't know what to say. I knew my father and Daphne made sizeable contributions to the institute, besides paying for Uncle Jean, but it still felt funny being treated like such VIPs.

"I understand you're almost sixteen?" he said.

"Yes, monsieur."

"Please . . . call me Dr. Cheryl. We should be friends, good friends. If that's all right with you," he added.

"Of course, Dr. Cheryl." He nodded.

"Madame?" he said, turning back to Daphne.

"I'll wait right here," she said, without turning around. Why was she behaving so strangely? I wondered.

"Very good, madame. Mademoiselle," he said, indicating a side door to his office. I couldn't help my confusion. "Where are we going?"

"As I said, I would like to show you around first, if that is all right with you, of course."

"Fine," I said, shrugging. I went to the door and he opened it and led me out through another corridor and then up a short stairway. This place was a maze, I thought as we made another turn and took another corridor in a different direction. We continued until we reached a large window and looked in on what was clearly a recreation room. Patients of all ages, from what looked like teenagers to elderly people played cards, board games, and dominoes. Some watched television, and some did some handicrafts like lanyards, needlework, and crocheting. Others were reading magazines. One boy with sweet potato red hair, who looked about seventeen or eighteen, sat staring at everyone and doing nothing. A half-dozen attendants wandered about the room overlooking all the activities, pausing occasionally to say a few words to one of the patients.

"As you see, this is our recreation area. Patients who are able to can come in here during their free time and do almost anything they like. They can even, as young Lyle Black there, sit and do nothing."

"Does my uncle come in here?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, but right now he's waiting in his room for Madame Dumas. He has a very nice room," Dr. Cheryl added. "Right this way," he indicated. We stopped at another door. It was obviously the library.

"We have over two thousand volumes and we get dozens and dozens of magazines," he explained.

"Very nice," I said.

We continued until we came to what looked like a small gymnasium.

"We don't neglect the patient's physical well being. This is our exercise room. Every morning, we conduct calisthenics. Some of our patients are even able to swim in our pool, which is located in the rear of the building. Here," he said, taking a few steps and pointing down the corridor to the right, "are our treatment rooms. We have a dentist on a regular basis, as well as general medicine doctors on call. Why, we even have a beauty parlor here," he said, smiling.

"This way," he indicated, pointing down the opposite corridor.

I wondered about Daphne. It surprised me that she would sit back in his office and remain so patient. She had made it perfectly clear to me how much she hated coming here. I was sure she wanted to get in and get out as fast as she could. Now troubled as well as confused, I followed Dr. Cheryl. I didn't want to appear impolite or unappreciative, but I was eager to see my uncle.

We turned a corner and approached what looked like an entirely new administrative area. A nurse sat behind a desk. Two attendants, both big men in their late twenties at least, stood talking to her. They looked up as we approached.

"Morning, Mrs. McDonald," Dr. Cheryl said. The nurse at the desk looked up. She had a softer face than Mrs. Warren, but looked to be the same age with bluish gray hair cut at the nape of her neck.

"Good morning, Doctor."

"Boys," he said to the attendants. "Everything going all right this morning?" They nodded, their eyes fixed on me.

"Very well, Mrs. McDonald. As you know, Madame Dumas has brought her daughter here. This is Ruby," he said, turning to me.

I stared at him a moment. What did he mean, brought her daughter here? Why didn't he finish that and say, brought her daughter to see her uncle Jean?

"Ruby, Mrs. McDonald runs things down here and sees to everyone's needs. She's the finest head nurse on any psychiatric floor in the country. We're mighty proud to have her on our staff."

"I don't understand," I said. "Where's my uncle?"

"Oh, he's on another floor," Dr. Cheryl said, flashing that tight, small smile. "This floor is more or less for our temporaries. We don't expect you to remain here long."

"What?" I stepped back. "Remain here? What do you mean, remain here?"

Mrs. McDonald and Dr. Cheryl exchanged quick looks. "I thought your mother had explained all of this to you, Ruby," he said.

"Explained? Explained what?"

"You're here for an evaluation, an observation. You didn't agree to it?"

"Are you crazy?" I cried. That brought a smile to the attendants, but Dr. Cheryl straightened up quickly.

"Oh, dear," he said. "I thought this was going to be one of our easier ones."

"I want to go back to my mother," I insisted. I looked back down the corridor, so confused and upset now, I wasn't sure which direction to take.