I shook my head. It wasn't like her to want fame and notoriety brought to our simple bayou home. We put out our handicrafts and wares to sell on weekends because it brought us the necessary income to survive, but I knew Grandmere Catherine wasn't comfortable with all these strangers coming around, even though some of them loved her food and piled compliments at her feet. There was something else, some other reason why Grandmere Catherine was pushing me to exhibit my artwork, some mysterious reason.
The picture of the heron was special to me, too. I had been standing on the shore by the pond behind our house at twilight one day when I saw this grosbeak, a night heron, lift itself from the water so suddenly and so unexpectedly, it did seem to come out of the water. It floated up on its wide, dark purple wings and soared over the cypress. I felt something poetic and beautiful in its movements and couldn't wait to capture some of that in a painting. Later, when Grandmere Catherine set her eyes on the finished work, she was speechless for a moment. Her eyes glistened with tears and she confessed that my mother had favored the blue heron over all the other marsh birds.
"That's more reason for us to keep it," I said.
But Grandmere Catherine disagreed and said, "More reason for us to see it carried off to New Orleans." It was almost as if she were sending some sort of cryptic message to someone in New Orleans through my artwork.
After I ate my breakfast, I began to take out the handi-crafts and goods we would try to sell that day, while Grandmere Catherine finished making the roux. It was one of the first things a young Cajun girl learned to make. Roux was simply flour browned in butter, oil, or animal fat and cooked to a nutty brown shade without letting it turn so hot that it burned black. After it was prepared, seafood or chicken, sometimes duck, goose, or guinea hen, and sometimes wild game with sausage or oysters was mixed in to make the gumbo. During Lent Grandmere made a green gumbo that was roux mixed only with vegetables rather than meat.
Grandmere was right. We began to get customers much earlier than we usually did. Some of the people who dropped by were friends of hers or other Cajun folk who had learned about the couchemal and wanted to hear Grandmere tell the story. A few of her older friends sat around and recalled similar tales they had heard from their parents and grand-parents.
Just before noon, we were surprised to see a silver gray limousine, fancy and long, going by. Suddenly, it came to an abrupt stop -and was then backed up very quickly until it stopped again in front of our stall. The rear door was thrown open and a tall, lanky, olive-skinned man with gray-brown hair stepped out, the laughter of a woman lingering behind him within the limousine.
"Quiet down," he said, then turned and smiled at me.
An attractive blond lady with heavily made-up eyes, thick rouge, and gobs of lipstick, poked her head out the open door. A long pearl necklace dangled from her neck. She wore a blouse of bright pink silk. The first several buttons were not done so I couldn't help but notice that her breasts were quite exposed.
"Hurry up, Domin
ique. I expect to have dinner at Arnaud's tonight," she cried petulantly.
"Relax. We'll have plenty of time," he said without looking back at her. His attention was fixed on my paintings. "Who did these?" he demanded.
"I did, sir," I said. He was dressed expensively in a white shirt of the snowiest, softest-looking cotton and a beautifully tailored suit in dark charcoal gray.
"Really?"
I nodded and he stepped closer to take the picture of the heron into his hands. He held it at arm's length and nodded. "You have instinct," he said. "Still primitive, but rather remarkable. Did you take any lessons?"
"Just a little at school and what I learned from reading some old art magazines," I replied.
"Remarkable."
"Dominique!"
"Hold your water, will you." He smirked at me again as if to say, "Don't mind her," and then he looked at two more of my paintings. I had five out for sale. "How much are you asking for your paintings?" he asked.
I looked at Grandmere Catherine who was standing with Mrs. Thibodeau, their conversation on hold while the limousine remained. Grandmere Catherine had a strange look in her eyes. She was peering as though she were looking deeply into this handsome, well-to-do stranger, searching for something that would tell her he was more than a simple tourist amusing himself with local color.
"I'm asking five dollars apiece," I said.
"Five dollars!" He laughed. "Firstly, you shouldn't ask the same amount for each," he lectured. "This one, the heron, obviously took more work. It's five times the painting the others are," he declared assuredly, turning to address Grandmere Catherine and Mrs. Thibodeau as if they were his students. He turned back to me. "Why, look at the detail . . the way you've captured the water and the movement in the heron's wings." His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips as he looked at the paintings and nodded to himself. "I'll give you fifty dollars for the five of them as a down payment," he announced.
"Fifty dollars, but--"
"What do you mean, as a down payment?" Grandmere Catherine asked, stepping toward us.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the gentleman said. "I should have introduced myself properly. My name is Dominique LeGrand. I own an art gallery in the French Quarter, simply called Dominique's. Here," he said, reaching in and taking a business card from a pocket in his pants. Grandmere took the card and pinched it between her small fingers to look at it.
"And this. . . down payment?"
"I think I can get a good deal more for these paintings. Usually, I just take an artist's work into the gallery without paying anything, but I want to do something to show my appreciation of this young girl's work. Is she your granddaughter?" Dominique inquired.
"Yes," Grandmere Catherine said. "Ruby Landry. Will you be sure her name is shown along with the paintings?" she asked, surprising me.
"Of course," Dominique LeGrand said, smiling. "I see she has her initials on the corner," he said, then turned to me. "But in the future, put your full name there," he instructed. "And I do believe, there is a future for you, Mademoiselle Ruby." He took a wad of money from his pocket and peeled off fifty dollars, more money than I had made selling all my paintings up until now. I looked at Grandmere Catherine who nodded and then I took the money.
"Dominique!" his woman cried again.