All That Glitters

9

Forbidden Fruit

Although Gisselle had whined about her desire to wake up early, complete our business, and be on her way back to New Orleans, Paul, Beau, and I were already seated at the table having coffee when she finally floated in, moaning and groaning about her restless night's sleep.

"I kept having nightmares that some of those swamp creatures we saw were getting into the house, slithering up the stairs and right into my room and into my bed! I knew I shouldn't have gone on that boat trip through the canals. Now it will take months to get those pictures out of my head. Ugh," she said, and shook herself free of a chill.

Paul laughed. "Really Gisselle, I'd think you would have more to worry about living in a city with all that street crime. At least our creatures are predictable. If you try to pet a cottonmouth snake, he'll give you his opinion quickly."

Beau laughed, too.

"Well, it might be funny to you men, but women are more dainty, more fragile. At least women in New Orleans," she said, eyeing me when I didn't come to her defense.

Then she disclosed that she was too tired to eat very much. "I'll just have some coffee," she said.

The rest of us ate a hearty breakfast, after which we went into the office and completed the paperwork. I signed whatever documents had to be signed, and Beau promised he would keep us up-to-date on all the proceedings.

Beau quietly asked to see Pearl before he left, so I took him to the nursery. Mrs. Flemming had just changed her, brushed her hair, and tied a little pink ribbon in it. The moment Pearl set eyes on Beau, she brightened. Without a word, Beau lifted Pearl into his arms and kissed her curls. She was intrigued with his hair and wanted to run her fingers over it.

"She's very bright," he said, his eyes fixed on her when he spoke. "You can see from the way she gazes at things—how they hold her attention."

"I agree," Mrs. Flemming said.

"Take her down with us, Beau. She'll say good-bye along with Paul and me," I told him. He nodded and we walked out and down the stairs. Gisselle was already moving through the front door, warning James to be careful with her suitcase.

On the gallery, Beau handed Pearl to me and shook Paul's hand. "Thanks for inviting us. It was a very interesting day. I must admit, I learned a lot about the bayou and have grown to respect it a great deal more."

"You're quite welcome," Paul said, gazing quickly at me, too, a tight smile on his lips.

"Beau! Are we going to stand here forever saying good-bye? It's getting muggy and hot and the bugs are stampeding from the swamp to the house," Gisselle cried from the car.

"I'd better be going," he said to us. Paul nodded and went down to kiss Gisselle good-bye.

"Thank you for a lovely time," Beau said to me. He took my hand in his and leaned over to kiss my cheek, but brushed his lips over mine instead. When he pulled his hand away, there was a small piece of paper left in mine. I was about to ask what it was when his eyes told me. For a moment it felt like I was holding a lit match in my palm. I shot a glance toward Paul and Gisselle and then shoved the tiny note into the pocket of my blouse. Beau kissed Pearl on the cheek and hurried down the stairs and got into the car.

"Thanks again," he called.

"'Bye. Come visit us in civilization when you get a chance," Gisselle called. "Home, James," she said, waving toward the highway, and laughed. Beau shook his head, smiled back at us, and put the car into gear.

"Your sister is a piece of work," Paul said. "I don't envy Beau one bit when it comes to living with her. When it comes to other things, I envy him more than he'll ever know." He stared at me a moment, but I shifted my eyes away guiltily. "Well, I've got to get to work," he said. He kissed Pearl and me and then hurried to his own car.

Mrs. Flemming took Pearl from me when I went inside. I didn't feel much like painting, but the quiet solitude I found in my studio was very attractive to me now. I hurried upstairs and closed the door. I stood there for a moment against the door with my eyes closed, reliving the moment downstairs when Beau brought his lips to mine for a quick good-bye kiss. I saw his eyes and felt his love.

My heart was pounding as I plucked the note out of my pocket and unwrapped it. There was simply an address on it and a date and time. The day was Tuesday of next week. I crushed the note in my fist and went to throw it in the wastebasket under the easel, but it was as if the paper had glue on it now. It wouldn't leave my hand.

I shoved it back into the breast pocket of my blouse and tried to push it out of my mind when I began to work, but every few minutes I imagined it grew warm and sent a tingle of anticipation down one breast and around the other. It was as if Beau's fingers were there, Beau's lips were there. My heart raced, shortening my breath. I couldn't work; I couldn't concentrate on any-thing else.

Finally I gave up and went to the window seat. I sat for nearly an hour just staring at the canals, watching the herons fly in and out. With trembling fingers I took Beau's note out of my pocket again and studied the address, committing it and the date to memory. Then I put the note in a drawer in my art supply cabinet. I just couldn't get myself to throw it away.

Paul didn't return home for lunch. I did a little work, but most of the time I listened to the competing voices in my mind. One voice was softer, pleading, tempting, trying to convince me that I deserved Beau's love and that our love was too good and pure a feeling to be dirty or evil.

But the second voice was harsher, biting, cutting, reminding me of the pain I could bring to Paul, whose devotion to Pearl and me was unwavering and complete. Look at the sacrifices he's making for your happiness, the voice said.

But that's only more reason to keep my rendezvous with Beau secret, my softer voice retorted.

Deceit!

No, it's not deceitful if you're doing it to protect someone you love and prevent him from suffering any pain.

But you're being sneaky and you're lying and hiding. Would Paul do that to you?

No, but you and Paul did agree that neither of you would stand in the way of the other if one of you found someone else to love. Paul is upset and frustrated, but he is understanding and he doesn't want to do anything to make you unhappy or prevent you from becoming happy.

But . . .

Oh, stop the but's and the ifs, I screamed at myself. I threw down my brush and left the studio, where the solitude only encouraged my two selves to argue. I took a walk around the house and grounds and then, impulsively, I went inside, found Pearl and Mrs. Flemming, and told Mrs. Flemming I was taking Pearl for a ride with me.

I put her in her car seat beside me and drove to Grandrnere Catherine's old shack. It was a mostly overcast day now with the breeze from the southwest threatening to blow in darker rain clouds.

"Do you remember this place, Pearl?" I asked as I took her out and carried her toward the sloping gallery. The weeds were high and there were spiderwebs all over my roadside stand. I could hear field mice in the house scurrying in every direction looking for places to hide when they sensed my approach and heard my footsteps on the gallery planks. The screen door groaned on its rusted hinges as I opened it and entered what now looked like so tiny a room to me. Funny, I thought, when I was growing up here, this was my whole world, and to me it was tremendous. Now I had closets bigger than the living room, and Letty had a pantry bigger than this kitchen.

I walked through the house, hoping that my return would draw Grandmère Catherine's spirit and I would get some advice from her. If only there were a sign, an omen, I thought. But the shack was empty and hollow, my footsteps echoing. It was a grave site from which the bodies had long fled. Even my memories seemed uncomfortable here, for there was no longer any warmth, no music, no aromas of gumbo and jambalaya, no voices, nothing but the sound of the wind slapping loose boards against each other and skimming over the tin roof, making it sound as if a flock of mockingbirds or blue jays were nervously pacing from one end to the other.

I went out back and gazed at the canal.

"Mommy used to play down there, Pearl. Mommy used to walk along that bank and see the animals and the fish, even the alligators and turtles. Sometimes the deer would come right up to the back here to graze and they would lift their heads and look at me with sad eyes."

Pearl just gazed at everything with wonder in her eyes. She appeared to sense my pensive feelings and was quieter than usual. Then, as if she had heard my words, a small doe stepped out from behind some bushes and raised her head to gaze at us. Pearl's eyes widened with interest. The beautiful deer was as still as a statue, only its long ears flicking occasionally. Even when Pearl cried out, it only scrutinized us with more curiosity, no fear. After a few more moments, just as casually as it had appeared, it turned and disappeared like an apparition.

This was a world that did have pure and innocent things in it, and if they were left alone, they would remain that way, I thought; but they were rarely left alone. I walked about the shack for a while but left concluding that there was only one place to look for an answer to my dilemma, and that place was in my own heart.

A few days later at dinner Paul told me of his need to go to Dallas, Texas.

"I'll have to be away three days," he said. "I'd like Pearl and you to come along. You can bring Mrs. Flemming, too, of course. Unless you have other plans, that is," he said.

"Well, I was planning on bringing the Confederate series to New Orleans. I've already spoken to Dominique about it and my other works, and he thinks it's time to arrange for an art show. He wants to invite some of his best customers, do lots of advertising."

"That's wonderful, Ruby."

"I don't think I'm ready for such exposure, but . . ."

"You'll never think you're ready, but if Dominique does, then why not give it a shot?"

I nodded and played with my napkin for a moment. "So what I think I'll do is go into New Orleans while you're in Dallas," I said. "I'll just stay a night."

"Will you stay with Gisselle?" he asked.

"I'd rather not," I said. "I'll probably stay at the Fairmont."

"Good."

We gazed at each other. Did Paul know what was really in my heart? It had always been hard to hide my true feelings and thoughts from him. If he knew, he chose not to speak. He smiled and turned to Pearl. I hated doing something I considered deceitful, but my softer voice had won out when it said I was doing something to prevent Paul from suffering any pain.

He had to leave early the day he went to Dallas. After I rose, I packed my things and went down to breakfast. James helped me pack my paintings in the trunk of the car carefully and then Mrs. Flemming brought Pearl out to wave as I drove off.

I gazed in my rearview mirror and saw them standing there . . . Mrs. Flemming and Beau's and my beautiful daughter. Surely a love that produced her couldn't be evil, I thought, and that thought propelled me forward. Moments after I pulled onto the main highway and accelerated, I took the ribbon out of my hair and let the wind lift the strands, making me feel free and alive and full of excitement.

"I'm coming, Beau," I whispered. "Everything else be damned. I'm coming."

It was a delightful day in New Orleans. The clouds and rain that had swept in the night before were long gone and replaced with a vast, soft blue sky spotted with small, fluffy milk white clouds. As soon as I pulled up in front of the hotel and the doorman shot out to greet me, I felt the increased tempo I always sensed in the inner city. That, along with my heightened nervousness, made me sensitive to every sound and every new scent. When I entered the hotel, I thought everyone was looking at me and that my heels clicked too hard on the marble floors. I had everything brought up to my room and then I sat at the vanity table and brushed out my hair. I freshened my lipstick and then decided to brush my teeth.

I had to laugh at myself. I was behaving like a teenager about to go on her first date, but the rhythm of my heartbeat never slowed and the flush that had entered my cheeks planted itself there firmly. I saw the frantic and frightened look in my eyes and wondered if anyone else who gazed at me could tell that I was a woman tottering on an emotional tightrope, a married woman about to meet her former lover. I kept checking the clock. I changed three times before deciding that the outfit I had first worn was the best. Finally it was time to go. My fingers trembled around the doorknob. I took a deep breath and pulled it open and then walked quickly to the elevator.

I had decided I would walk all the way to our rendezvous. Canal Street was as busy and as crowded as ever, but losing myself in the clumps of people who crossed it and walked quickly toward the French Quarter helped. It was as if they kept me moving, kept me standing. I turned down Bourbon Street and walked toward Dumaine.

The barkers were already out in full force, crying the bargains, urging the tourists to come into their restaurants or bars. I caught whiffs of the crawfish etoufée, the freshly baked bread, and the strong coffee. Vendors had their fruits and vegetables for sale on the sidewalks. At a corner where the restaurant was wide open to the street, I smelled the sautéed shrimp and my stomach churned. I had not eaten much of a breakfast and had been too nervous to have any lunch. From one café came the sounds of a jazz band, and when I looked through the open doorway of another, I saw four men dressed in straw hats playing a guitar, a mandolin, a fiddle, and an accordion.

There was always excitement in the air here. It was as if one great and perpetual party were being held. People had a sense of abandon. They would eat too much, drink too much, dance and sing too long and too late. It was as if I had crossed over from the world of responsibility and obligations into a world without restraints or laws and rules. Anything went as long as it was pleasing. No wonder Beau had chosen the French Quarter, I thought.

Finally I came to the address he had written on the little note. The apartment was in a two-story stucco building with a flagstone courtyard. All the apartments had small, scrolled iron balconies looking down on the street. I smelled the aroma of the spearmint growing against the walls. It was a quiet building, just far enough off the other streets and yet steps away when the inhabitants wanted to indulge in the music and the food. I hesitated.

Maybe he wouldn't be in there. Maybe he had thought twice about it, too. I saw no signs of anyone in the windows. The curtains didn't move. I took a deep breath and looked back. If I did retreat, would I be happier or would I always wonder what it would have been like had I gone into the apartment building and met Beau? Maybe we would just talk, I thought. Maybe we would both come to our senses. I closed my eyes like someone about to dive into a pool and I entered the courtyard. Then I opened them and walked to the front door. I checked the numbers on the directory and walked up the small stairway to a narrow landing. When I found the door, I paused, took another deep breath, and knocked.

For a few moments, I heard nothing and I began to think he wasn't there. He had indeed changed his mind. I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. That part of me that had tried to keep me away urged me to turn and flee, to actually run back up the street and return to the hotel; but the other part of me, the part that longed for complete love, filled me with such despondency, I thought my heart would turn to stone and crumble in my chest.

I started to turn away when the door was pulled open and I saw Beau standing there. He wore a soft white cotton shirt and trousers of the finest dark blue wool. His eyes blinked rapidly as if trying to focus and convince himself I was really standing there.

"Ruby," he said softly, "I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep in my chair dreaming about you. I thought you wouldn't come."

"I almost didn't, even when I found the address," I said.

"But you're here. You did come. Come in. Please." He stepped back and I entered the small apartment. It was a one-bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a living room that had French doors opening to the balcony. The furniture and the decor were very simple, modern with that slightly worn look found in hotels or motels. The walls were practically bare, only a small print depicting fruits and flowers here and there.

"It's not much," he said, gazing around with me. "Just a quiet hideaway."

"It's quaint. It just needs some warmth."

He laughed. "I just knew you'd apply your artist's eye instantly. Sit down," he said, indicating the small sofa. "Did you have an easy ride into the city?"

"Yes. I'm becoming a sophisticated traveler," I said. It was funny how we were both acting as if we were meeting for the very first time, and he . . . he was the father of my child. But time, distance, and events had made us strangers to each other.

"You're here alone?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes. I checked into the Fairmont. I'm going to bring my new series over to Dominique. He has been talking about this art show he wants to do with me."

"Great. But I warn you, I'm not going to let anyone else buy those pictures. No matter what the cost, I'll get them," he vowed. I laughed. "Would you like something cold to drink? I have some chilled white wine."

"Please," I said. He went out to the kitchen.

"So Paul knows you've come to New Orleans?" he asked while he poured the wine.

"Oh yes. He's gone to Dallas for some meetings."

"And the baby?" Beau asked, returning.

"With Mrs. Flemming. She's wonderful with Pearl."

"I saw that. You're lucky to get someone like that nowadays." He handed me my glass of wine and I sipped some while he sipped his, both of us peering over our glasses at each other. "You never looked more beautiful, Ruby," he said softly. "Motherhood has made you blossom."

"I've been lucky, Beau. I could have been the fallen woman scrounging out a meager living in the bayou . . . until my trust came through, that is."

"I know," he said. "Ruby, is there any way I can make things up to you? Is there any apology that would sound right?"

"I told you before, Beau. I don't blame you for anything."

"Well, you should. I nearly destroyed both our lives," he said. He sipped some more of his wine and then he sat beside me.

"Where's Gisselle?" I asked.

"Partying with some of her old friends by now, I'm sure. She was different for a while, especially when she came to France. She had me convinced she had grown up because of all the trouble and hardship in the family. She was vulnerable, sweet, and, believe it or not, considerate. The truth is, she conned me, or maybe I . . . maybe I let her. I was very lonely and depressed after you got married. I realized I had let the one person who could make me feel complete slip through my fingers. I felt like a little boy who had lost grip of his kite string and was chasing after it in vain. I could see it drifting away, only it was your face being carried from me in the wind.

"I drank more, partied harder, tried to forget. And then Gisselle appeared on the scene and there was your beautiful face before me . . . your hair, your eyes, your nose, though Gisselle to this day believes her nose is smaller and her eyes are brighter.

"Actually," he continued, gazing down at his glass, "a friend of mine in school in Paris who was studying psychology told me most men fall in love with someone who reminds them of their true love, their first love, someone who impressed them at an early age, someone they couldn't have, but someone they spend a lifetime trying to win. It made sense and I let myself get close to Gisselle again.

"That's my story," he said, smiling. "What's yours?"

"Mine's simpler, Beau. I was alone with a baby, afraid. Paul was always there, helping. Everyone in the bayou knew we were once very fond of each other. Everyone believed Pearl was his child. Paul is devoted to me and, despite my protests, is willing to sacrifice for me. I don't want to hurt him, if I can help it."

"Of course not," Beau said. "He's a very nice man. I enjoyed being with him. I just envy him."

I laughed.

"What?"

"That was what he said to me about you."

"Why?"

I stared into his eyes, falling back through time. "Because he knows how much I love you, how much I've always loved you, and how much I always will," I said.

It was enough to shatter the wall of nervousness and tension between us. His eyes brightened and he put down his glass so he could embrace me. Our first passionate kiss after so long a span of time was like a first kiss, full of fresh excitement.

"Oh, Ruby, my Ruby, I thought I had lost you forever." He brought his lips to my hair, my eyes, my nose. He kissed my neck and the tip of my chin, one kiss following immediately upon another as if he were starved for love, as starved as I was, and as if he were afraid that I was an illusion and I would pop out of his mind any moment.

"Beau," I whispered. His name was all I wanted to say. The sound of it from my lips restored me, filled me with pleasure, assuring me I, too, was really here, in his arms.

He stood up, holding my hand, and I stood up and followed him into the small but cozy bedroom. The afternoon sun poured through the sheer cotton curtains, filling the room with brightness and warmth. I kept my eyes closed while he undressed me. Moments later we were beside each other in the bed, our bodies clinging together magnetically. We moaned, we whispered words of love and promises that went from now to eternity.

At first our caresses were frenzied, but gradually we became calmer, softer. He pressed his lips to my breasts and traced a line of kisses from them to the small of my stomach. I dropped my head to the pillow and felt my body sinking into the soft mattress as Beau brought his body over mine, covering me with his chest and bringing his hard manliness to me. I cried out when he entered me and he soothed me with his petting and his soft words.

Then we moved against each other, drawing love from each other, touching passionate heights time after time until we both reached deeply into our minds and bodies and exploded in an ecstatic crescendo that made everything else but his lips, his voice, his body, disappear. I felt like we were drifting in space.

"Ruby," he said. "Ruby. Are you all right?"

Wherever our lovemaking had taken us was a place I didn't want to leave. I clung to it like someone in a wonderfully pleasing dream refusing to regain consciousness. But my peaceful aftermath frightened him and he raised his voice. "Ruby!"

My eyes fluttered open and I looked up at his concerned face.

“I'm fine, Beau. I was just drifting."

He smiled. "I love you," he said, "and I won't stop."

"I know, Beau. I won't stop loving you either."

"This will be our love nest, our paradise," he said, turning over in the bed to lie beside me. He held my hand and we stared up at the ceiling. "You can dress it up any way you want. We'll go shopping today and find things to put in it, okay? And I'll buy some of your paintings for the walls. We'll get new linens and a rug and—"

I couldn't help laughing.

"What?" he said indignantly. "You think I'm foolish?"

"No, never, dear Beau. I'm laughing at your exuberance. You're sweeping me off and into your dreams so rapidly, I can barely catch my breath."

"So? I don't care. I don't care about anything else." He turned and propped himself on his elbow to gaze down at me. "Maybe you can bring Pearl into New Orleans next time, too, and the three of us can enjoy the day together."

"Maybe," I said, but not confidently.

"What's wrong?"

"I just don't want to confuse her. She believes

Paul is her father right now."

Beau's bright smile faded and his face darkened. He nodded and fell back on his pillow. He was silent for a minute.

"You're right," he finally said. "Let's take it an inch at a time. I have to learn to control my excitement."

"I'm sorry, Beau. I didn't mean . . ."

"No, you're right. It's okay. I shouldn't be greedy. I have no right to ask for any more. I have no right to ask for this." He turned to kiss me softly and we smiled at each other again. "Hungry?"

"Starving. I forgot to eat lunch."

"Great. I know a wonderful little café close to here where they make the best po'boy sandwiches in New Orleans."

"Afterward, I do have to see Dominique," I said.

"Of course. I'll go with you, if you want."

"I think I should just go myself. Dominique has met Paul and . ."

"I understand," Beau said quickly. "Let's get dressed and go eat."

Beau was right about the po'boy sandwiches. I had one with the works, sautéed shrimp, cheese, fried oysters, sliced tomatoes and onions. We sat out on a patio where we ate and watched the tourists with their cameras parading by and gawking at the architecture, the novelty shops and restaurants. Afterward, we went for a walk and I returned to the hotel to call home to see how Pearl was doing. Mrs. Flemming told me everything was fine. I called for my car and brought the Confederate series over to Dominique, who thought the pictures were wonderful.

"There is no question you are ready to be formally introduced to the New Orleans art world," he told me, and we began to plan my art show. Afterward, I returned to the hotel to shower and change to meet Beau for dinner. I had a message from Paul waiting, telling me how to reach him.

"How is it going?" he asked when I phoned.

"Fine. You were right. Dominique thinks I should have a show. We're setting it up," I said, making it seem as if that was all I was doing in New Orleans.

"That's wonderful."

"And your meetings?"

"Going better than I expected, but I'm sorry I'm not with you," he said.

"I'm all right. I'm going home tomorrow sometime in the late morning. Dominique and I are having breakfast together," I said. The lie nearly got stuck on my tongue. Paul was silent.

"Good," he said after a moment. "Have a safe trip back."

"You, too, Paul."

"See you soon. 'Bye."

The receiver felt like a stone in my hand. My eyes glistened with tears and my chest ached. Grandmère Catherine used to say that deceit was a garden in which only the blackest weeds grew, and those who sowed their seeds in it reaped disaster. I hoped this wasn't something I had planted in Paul's future. There was no one I would want to hurt less than him.

Beau knew a quaint little French restaurant close to Jackson Square. I took a cab to our love nest and from there we walked. We had a wonderful meal of quail in wine followed by cups of rich coffee and orange crème brûlée. Afterward, I insisted we take a long walk.

"I'm stuffed," I moaned.

We held hands and walked slowly through the French Quarter, which was bustling with its nightlife. There was a different sort of excitement in the Quarter after the sun went down. The women who stood in the doorways and alleyways were more scantily dressed and heavily made-up. The music had a deeper wail, some singers sounding mournful, full of blues and tears. In other places where younger tourists flocked, there was upbeat jazz and the shrieks, shouts, and laughter of people letting down their hair, looking for the ultimate excitement, whatever that might be. All the novelty shops and souvenir shops were brightly lit. Drifters, poor musicians, lined the sidewalks. There was someone at every corner pleading for a handout, but no one resented them. It was as if they were meant to be there, part of what made the Quarter unique. Scam artists hovered about, searching for easy prey.

"'Scuse me, sir, but I bet I can tell where you come from exactly. If I don't, I'll give you ten bucks; if I do, you give me twenty. Here's my ten. What'dya say?"

"No, thank you. We know where we come from," Beau responded with a smile.

It was exciting walking here with him and I thought, yes, I could have another life, a secret life with him here. We would make our love nest comfortable and we would enjoy the city, the food and its people, and we would cheat Fate.

We circled until we returned to the small apartment, where I made an impulsive decision to spend the night with him. We made love again, this time turning to each other the moment we closed the door behind us. Before we reached the bedroom, we were both naked. He lifted me in his arms and put me down gently on the bed and then he knelt beside the bed and began kissing me from my toes up. I dosed my eyes and waited for him to reach my lips, which by that time were burning with desire.

As we made love, we heard the music and the murmuring sounds of people talking in the street outside, a constant flow of voices and laughter. It was intoxicating and I held Beau close to me, whispering his name, whispering my undying love, actually coming to tears when we reached our sweet climax and lay beside each other, pleasantly exhausted.

In the morning we rose early and went to the Café du Monde for coffee and beignets. Then he walked me back to my hotel. We had planned to meet again in a week's time when I returned to complete the arrangements for the art show and bring Dominique some more of my work. I kissed him good-bye and hurried into the hotel to get my things.

I was afraid I would find a message indicating Paul had tried to reach me the night before, but there was nothing. I was in and out of the hotel quickly, and in minutes, back on the highway that would take me home. I felt full of life, restored, blossoming, just as Beau had said. But my elation was to be short-lived. It ended the moment I drove up to the house.

The dark expression on James's face when he came down the front steps to help me with my things told me immediately that something terrible was wrong. My first thoughts went to Pearl.

"What is it, James? What's happened?"

"Oh, it's Mrs. Flemming, madame. She's had some bad news, I'm afraid."

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs, waiting for you in Pearl's nursery."

I hurried into the house, practically charging up the stairway to find Mrs. Flemming sitting in the rocking chair, her face white, her lips pale. Pearl was asleep in her crib.

"What is it, Mrs. Flemming?"

She lifted her hands, seeming to wipe away invisible cobwebs, and pressed her lips together. Then she nodded toward Pearl and got up quietly to join me in the hallway.

"My daughter in England," she said, finally finding the strength to speak. "She was in a car accident and she is very badly hurt. I have to go."

"Of course," I said. "How dreadful. I'll help you with the arrangements."

"I've already taken care of most of it, madame. I was just waiting for your return."

"Oh, Mrs. Flemming. I'm so sorry," 1 said.

"Thank you, dear. I hate to leave, you know. You've made me feel like part of the family. I know you're very excited about your artistic career and need me to help with Pearl."

"Nonsense. You must go. I'll pray for you and your daughter," I said.

She pressed her lips together and nodded, the tears streaming down her face. "It's sad how it takes bad things to bring loved ones closer," she said. I hugged her and kissed her cheek.

When James brought my things up, he brought hers down. She had a taxicab on order.

"Kiss the little one for me every morning," she said.

"I know she'll miss you terribly. Please, let us know how things go and what we can do for you, Mrs. Flemming."

She promised and then left. It was as if a hurricane had come and blown my happy home apart. I couldn't help wondering if capricious Fate had decided to punish those close to me for any sins I might commit.

Nina Jackson, the Dumas cook, used to tell me that maybe a long time ago someone burned a black candle against us. Grandmère Catherine, being a spiritual healer, kept the evil away, but after she died, the devil, Papa La Bas, started coming around again, peeping in on my life, waiting for an opportunity.

Had I just given him one?