have a court date," Beau said. "We'll tell our story, use
the handwriting samples. He wants to also make use
of your art talent. Monsieur Polk has documents
prepared for us to sign so that we willingly surrender
any claim to Paul's estate, thus eliminating a motive.
Maybe it will be enough."
"Beau, what if it isn't?"
"Let's not think of the worst," he urged. The worst was the waiting. Beau tried to
occupy himself with work, but I could do nothing but
sleep and wander from room to room, sometimes
spending hours just sitting in Pearl's nursery, staring
at her stuffed animals and dolls. Not more than fortyeight hours after Monsieur Polk had filed our petition
with the court, we began to get phone calls from
newspaper reporters. None would reveal his or her
sources, but it seemed obvious to both Beau and me
that Gladys Tate's thirst for vengeance was insatiable
and she had deliberately had the story leaked to the
press. It made headlines.
TWIN CLAIMS SISTER BURIED IN HER
GRAVE! CUSTODY BATTLE LOOMS.
Aubrey was given instructions to say we were
unavailable to anyone who called. We would see no
visitors, answer no questions. Until the court hearing,
I was a virtual prisoner in my own home.
On that day, my legs trembling, I clung to
Beau's arm as we descended the stairway to get into
our car and drive to the Terrebone Parish courthouse.
It was one of those mostly cloudy days when the sun
plays peekaboo, teasing us with a few bright rays and
then sliding behind a wall of clouds to leave the world
dark and dreary. It reflected my mood swings, which went from hopeful and optimistic to depressed and
pessimistic.
Monsieur Polk was already at the courthouse,
waiting, when we arrived. The story had stirred the
curious in the bayou as well as in New Orleans. I
gazed quickly at the crowd of observers and saw some
of Grandmere Catherine's friends. I smiled at them,
but they were confused and unsure and afraid to smile
back. I felt like a stranger. How would I ever explain
to them why I had switched identities with Gisselle?
How would they ever understand?
We took our seats first, and then, with obvious
fanfare, milking the situation as much as she could,
Gladys Tate entered. She still wore her clothes of
mourning. She hung on Octavious's arm, stepping
with great difficulty to show the world we had
dragged her into this horrible hearing at a most
unfortunate time. She wore no makeup, so she looked
pale and sick, the weaker of the two of us in the
judge's eyes. Octavious kept his gaze down, his head
bowed, and didn't look our way once.
Toby and Jeanne and her husband, James,
walked behind Gladys and Octavious Tate, scowling
at us. Their attorneys, William Rogers and Martin
Bell, led them to their seats. They looked formidable with their heavy briefcases and dark suits. The judge
entered and every-one took his seat.
The judge's name was Hilliard Barrow, and
Monsieur Polk had found out that he had a reputation
for being caustic, impatient, and firm. He was a tall,
lean man with hard facial features: deep-set dark eyes,
thick eyebrows, a long, bony nose, and a thin mouth
that looked like a slash when he pressed his lips
together. He had gray and dark brown hair with a
deeply receding hairline so that the top of his skull
shone under the courtroom lights. Two long hands
with bony fingers jutted out from the sleeves of his
black judicial robe.
"Normally," he began, "this courtroom is
relatively empty during such proceedings. I want to
warn those observing that I won't tolerate any talking,
any sounds displaying approval or disapproval. A
child's welfare is at stake here, and not the selling of
newspapers and gossip magazines to the society
people in New Orleans." He paused to scour the
crowd to see if there was even the hint of
insubordination in anyone's eyes. My heart sunk. He
seemed a man void of any emotion, except prejudices
against rich New Orleans people.
The clerk read our petition and then Judge
Barrow turned his sharp, hard gaze on Monsieur Polk. "You have a case to make," he said.
"Yes, Your Honor. I would like to begin by
calling Monsieur Beau Andreas to the stand." The judge nodded, and Beau squeezed my hand
and stood up. Everyone's eyes were fixed on him as
he strutted confidently to the witness seat. He was
sworn in and sat quickly.
"Monsieur Andreas, as a preamble to our
presentation, would you tell the court in your own
words why, how, and when you and Ruby Tate
effected the switching of identities between Ruby and
Gisselle Andreas, who was your wife at the time." "Objection, Your Honor," Monsieur Williams
said. "Whether or not this woman is Ruby Tate is
something for the court to decide."
The judge grimaced. "Monsieur Williams.
There isn't a jury to impress. I think I'm capable of
understanding the question at hand without being
influenced by innuendo. Please, sir. Let's make this as
fast as possible."
"Yes, Your Honor," Monsieur Williams said,
and sat down.
My eyes widened. Perhaps we would get a fair
shake after all, I thought.
Beau began our story. Not a sound was heard
through his relating of it. No one so much as coughed
or cleared his throat, and when he was finished, an
even deeper hush came over the crowd. It was as if
everyone had been stunned. Now, when I turned and
looked around, I saw all eyes were on me. Beau had
done such a good job of telling our story, many were
beginning to wonder if it couldn't be so. I felt my
hopes rise to the surface of my troubled thoughts. Monsieur Williams rose. "Just a few questions,
if I may, Your Honor."
"Go on," the judge said.
"Monsieur Andreas. You said your wife was
diagnosed with St. Louis encephalitis while you were
at your country estate. A doctor made the diagnosis?" "Yes."
"Didn't this doctor know he was diagnosing
your wife, Gisselle?" Beau looked toward Monsieur
Polk. "If so, why didn't you bring him here to testify
that it was Gisselle and not Ruby?" Monsieur
Williams hammered. Beau didn't respond.
"Monsieur Andreas?" the judge said. "Your honor," Monsieur Polk said. "Since the
twins are so identical, we didn't think the doctor
would be able to testify beyond a doubt as to which twin he examined. I have researched the medical history of the twins, as much as could be researched, and we are willing to admit that identical twins share so many physiological characteristics, it is virtually
impossible to use medical data to identify them." "You have no medical records to enter into the
record?" Judge Barrow asked.
"No, sir."
"Then what hard evidence to you intend to
enter into the record to substantiate this fantastic
story, sir?" the judge asked, getting right to the point. "We are prepared at this time," Monsieur Polk
said, approaching the judge, "to present handwriting
samples that you will quickly be able to see
distinguish one twin from the other. These come from
school records and legal documents," Monsieur Polk
said, and presented the exhibits.
Judge Barrow gazed at them. "I'd have to have
an expert analyze them, of course."
"We would like to reserve the right to bring
them to our experts, Your Honor," Monsieur Williams
said.
"Of course," the judge said. He put the exhibits
aside. "Are there any more questions for Monsieur
Andreas?"
"Yes," Monsieur Williams said, and stood his
ground between Beau and us. He smiled skeptically.
"Sir, you claim Paul Tate, once hearing of this
fantastic scheme, volunteered to take the sick twin
into his home and pretend she was his wife?" "That's correct," Beau said.
"Can you tell the court why he would do such a
thing?"
"Paul Tate was devoted to Ruby and wanted to
see her happy. He knew Pearl was my child and he
wanted to see us with our child," Beau added. Gladys Tate groaned so loud, everyone paused
to see. She had closed her eyes and fallen back against
Octavious's shoulder.
"Monsieur?" the judge asked. Octavious
whispered something in Gladys's ear and her eyelids
fluttered open. With great effort, she sat up again.
Then, she nodded she was all right.
"And so," Monsieur Williams continued, "you
are telling the court that Paul Tate willingly took in
his sister-in-law and then pretended she was his wife
to the extent that when she died, he fell into a deep
depression which caused his own untimely death? He
did all this to make sure Ruby Tate was happy living
with another man? Is that what you want this court to
believe?"
"It's true," Beau said.
Monsieur Williams widened his smile. "No
further questions, Your Honor," he said. The judge
told Beau he was excused. He looked very dark and
troubled as he returned to his seat beside me. "Ruby," Monsieur Polk said. I nodded and he
called me to the stand. I took a deep breath and with
my eyes nearly closed, walked to the witness chair.
After I was sworn in, I took another deep breath and
told myself to be strong for Pearl's sake.
"Please state your real name," Monsieur Polk
said.
"My legal name is Ruby Tate."
"You have heard Monsieur Andreas's story. Is
there anything with which you wish to disagree?" "No. It's all true."
"Did you discuss this switching of identities
with your husband, Paul, and did he indeed agree to
the plan?"
"Yes. I didn't want him to be so involved," I
added, "but he insisted."
"Describe the birth of your child," he said, and
stood back.
I told the story, how Paul had been there during the storm to help with Pearl's birth. Monsieur Polk then took me through many of the highlights of my life, events at the Greenwood School, the people I had known and things I had accomplished. After I finished with that, he nodded toward the rear and an assistant brought in an easel, some drawing pencils, and a
drawing pad.
Monsieur Williams shot up out of his seat as
soon as it was obvious what Monsieur Polk wanted to
demonstrate. "I object to this, Your Honor," Monsieur
Williams cried.
"Monsieur Polk, what do you plan to enter into
the record here?" the judge asked.
"There were many differences between the
twins, Your Honor, many we recognize will be hard to
substantiate, but one is possible, and that is Ruby's
ability to draw and paint. She has had paintings in
galleries in New Orleans and--"
"Your Honor," Monsieur Williams said,
"whether this woman can draw a straight line or not is
irrelevant. It was never established that Gisselle
Andreas could not."
"I'm afraid he has a point, Monsieur Polk. All
you will show here is that this woman can perform
artistically."
"Monsieur Polk sighed with frustration. "But,
Your Honor, never in Gisselle Andreas's history has
there ever been any evidence. . ."
The judge shook his head. "It's a waste of the
court's time, monsieur. Please continue with your
witness or enter new exhibits or call another witness."
Monsieur Polk shook his head. "Are you finished with
this witness?"
With deep disappointment, Monsieur Polk
replied, "Yes, Your Honor."
"Monsieur Williams?"
"A few minor questions," he said, dripping with
sarcasm. "Madame Andreas. You claim you were
married to Paul Tate even though you were still in
love with Beau Andreas. Why did you marry
Monsieur Tate, then?"
"I. . . was alone and he wanted to provide a
home for me and my child."
"Most husbands want to provide homes for
their wives and children. Did he love you?"
"Oh yes."
"Did you love him?"
"I .. ."
"Well, did you?"
"Yes, but . . ."
"But what, madame?"
"But it was a different sort of love, a friendship,
a . . ." I wanted to say "sisterly," but when I looked at
Gladys and Octavious, I couldn't do it. "A different
sort of love."
"You were man and wife, were you not? You
were married in a church, you said."
"Yes."
He narrowed his eyes. "Did you see Monsieur
Andreas romantically while you were married to
Monsieur Tate?"
"Yes," I said, and some in the audience gasped
and shook their heads.
"And according to your tale, your husband was
aware of this?"
,,Yes."
"He was aware of this and he tolerated it? Not
only did he tolerate it, but he was willing to take in
your dying sister and pretend it was you so you would
be happy." He spun around as he continued, directing
himself to the audience as much as he directed himself
to the judge. "And then he became so depressed over
her death that he drowned in the swamp? This is the
story you and Monsieur Andreas want everyone to
accept?"
"Yes," I cried. "It's true. All of it."
Monsieur Williams gazed at the judge and
twisted the corner of his mouth until it cut into his
cheek.
"No further questions, Your Honor."
The judge nodded. "You may step down,
madame," he said, but I couldn't stand. My legs were
like wet straw and my back felt as if it had turned to
jelly. I closed my eyes.
"Ruby," Beau called.
"Are you all right, madame?" the judge asked. I shook my head. My heart was pounding so
hard, I couldn't catch my breath. I felt the blood drain
from my face. When I opened my eyes, Beau was
holding my hand. Someone had brought up a wet
cloth for my forehead and I realized I had fainted. "Can you walk, Ruby?" Beau asked.
I nodded.
"We'll have a short recess," the judge said, and
slammed his gavel down. I felt as if he had slammed it
down on my heart.
17
Thicker Than Water
.
During the recess Beau and I were shown to a
waiting room in which there was a small sofa. Beau had me lie down and keep the wet cloth on my forehead while Monsieur Polk went to make a phone call to his office. He looked glum and disturbed. In fact, I thought he seemed angry at us for bringing him into the situation.
"Beau, we looked foolish in there, didn't we?" I asked mournfully. "After we told our story, the Tates' attorney made us look like liars."
"No," Beau encouraged. "People believed us. I saw it in their faces. And besides, once your handwriting is compared to Gisselle's and analyzed . . ."
"They will find an expert to discount it, You know they will. She's so determined to hurt us, Beau. She won't spare any cost. She would use Paul's entire fortune to defeat us!"