All That Glitters

15

Farewell to My First Love

Early in the evening of the following day, just as Beau and I were about to take our seats for dinner, Aubrey appeared in the dining room doorway, his face pale, to inform me I had a phone call. Since returning from the funeral and Cypress Woods, both Beau and I had been moving like two sleepwalkers, eating little, doing little, talking in low voices. The clouds of gloom that hovered over the bayou followed us back to New Orleans and now lay over us like a ceiling of oppression, darkening every room, filling our very souls with shadows. It had rained all the way back from Cypress Woods. I fell asleep to the monotonous wagging of the wipers on the windshield and woke with a chill that a pile of blankets and a dozen sweaters couldn't chase from my bones.

"Who is it?" I asked. I was in no mood to talk to any of Gisselle's friends, who I imagined had heard about my death and wanted to gossip, and I had left instructions with Aubrey to tell any of them who did call that I was unavailable.

"She wouldn't say, madame. She's speaking in a coarse whisper, however, and she is very insistent," he explained. From the way he couched his words and shifted his eyes, I understood that whoever it was, she had spoken to him roughly. I was positive now that it was one of Gisselle's bitchy, spoiled girlfriends who wouldn't take no as an answer from a servant.

"Do you want me to take it?" Beau asked.

"No. I'll take care of it," I said. "Thank you, Aubrey. I'm sorry," I added, apologizing for the ugliness he had to experience.

I went into the study and seized the receiver, my heart pumping, my face flush with anger.

"Who is this?" I demanded. For a moment there was no reply. "Hello?"

"He's gone," a raspy voice replied. "He's gone away and we can't find him and it's all because of you."

"What? Who is this? Who's gone?" I asked with machine-gun speed. The voice had sent an icicle down my spine and nailed my feet to the floor.

"He's gone into the canals. He went there last night and he hasn't returned and no one has been able to find him. My Paul," she sobbed, and I knew it was Gladys Tate.

"Paul . . . went into the canals last night?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she cried. "You did this to him. You did all this."

"Madame Tate . . ."

"Stop!" she screamed. "Stop your pretending," she said, and lowered her voice into that scratchy old witch's voice again. "1 know who you really are and I know what you and your . . . lover did. I know how you broke my poor Paul's heart, shattered it until there was nothing left for him to feel. I know how you made him pretend and be part of your horrible scheme."

I felt as if I had stepped into ice water and sunk down to my knees in it. For a moment I couldn't speak. My throat closed and all the words jammed up in my chest, making it feel as if it would burst.

"You don't understand," I finally said, my voice cracking.

"Oh, I understand, all right. I understand better than you know. You see," she said, her voice now full of arrogance, "my son confided in me far more than you ever knew. There were never secrets between us, never. I knew the first time he paid a visit to you and your Grandmère. I knew what he thought of you, how he was falling head over heels in love with you. I knew how sad and troubled he was when you left to live with your upper-class New Orleans Creole parents, and I knew how happy he was when you returned.

"But I warned him. I warned him you would break his heart. I tried. I did all that I could," she said, and sobbed. "You enchanted him. Just as I told you that day, you and your witch mother put a spell on my husband and then my son, my Paul. He's gone, gone," she said, her voice faltering, her hatred running out of steam.

"Mother Tate, I'm sorry about Paul. I . . . We'll come right out and help find him."

"Help find him." She laughed a chilling laugh. "I'd rather ask the devil for help. I just want you to know that I know why my son is so brokenhearted and I will not sit by and let him suffer without you suffering twice as much."

"But . . ."

The phone went dead. I sat there, my heart going thump, thump, thump, my mind reeling. I felt as if I were in a pirogue that had been caught in a current and was spinning furiously. The room did twirl. I closed my eyes and moaned and the phone fell from my hand and bounced on the floor. Beau was at my side to catch me as I started to lean too far.

"What is it? Ruby!" He turned and shouted for Sally. "Hurry, bring me a cold, wet washcloth," he ordered. He put his arm around me and knelt down. My eyes fluttered open. "What happened? Who was on the phone, Ruby?"

"It was Paul's mother, Gladys," I gasped.

"What did she say?"

"She said Paul's disappeared. He went into the swamps last night and still hasn't returned. Oh, Beau," I moaned.

Sally came running with the cloth. He took it from her and put it on my head.

"Just relax. She'll be all right now, Sally. Merci," Beau said, dismissing her.

I took some deep breaths and felt the blood returning to my cheeks.

"Paul's disappeared? That's what she said?"

"Yes, Beau. But she said more. She said she knew about us, knew what we had done. Paul told her every-thing. I never knew he had, but now that I think of the way she glared at me at the funeral . . ." I sat up. "She never liked me, Beau." I gazed into his wide eyes. "Oh, Beau, she threatened me."

"What? Threatened. How?"

"She said I would suffer twice as much as Paul's suffered."

He shook his head. "She's just hysterical right now. Paul's got them all in a frenzy."

"He went into the swamps, Beau, and he didn't come back. I want to go right out there and help find him. We must, Beau. We must."

"I don't know what we can do. They must have all their workers looking."

"Beau, please. If something should happen to him . . ."

"Ail right," he relented. "Let's change our clothes. You were right," he said with an underlying current of bitterness in his voice, "we shouldn't have involved him as much as we did. I jumped at the opportunity to make things easier for us, but I should have given it more thought."

My legs trembled, but I followed him out and upstairs to change my clothes and tell Mrs. Ferrier we would be leaving the house and might not return until very late or even the next day. Then we got into our car and drove through the night, making the trip in record time.

There were dozens of cars and pickup trucks along the driveway at Cypress Woods. As we pulled up to the house, I looked toward the dock and saw the torches being carried by men who were going in pirogues and motorboats to search for Paul. We could hear the shouts echoing over the bayou.

Inside the house Paul's sisters sat in the study, Toby looking as cold as a statue, her skin alabaster, and Jeanne twisting a silk handkerchief in her hands and gritting her teeth. They both looked up with surprise when we entered.

"What are you doing here?" Toby asked. From the expressions on their faces and their astonishment, I guessed that Gladys Tate hadn't told her daughters the truth. They still thought of me as Gisselle.

"We heard about Paul and came to see what we could do to help," Beau said quickly.

"You could go down and join the search party, I suppose," Toby said.

"Where's your mother?" I asked.

"She's upstairs in Paul's suite, lying down," Jeanne said. "The doctor was here, but she refused to take anything. She doesn't want to be asleep if . . . when . . . Her lips trembled and the tears rushed over her eyelids.

"Get hold of yourself," Toby chastised. "Mother needs us to be strong."

"How do they know for sure that he went into the swamps? Maybe he's in some zydeco bar," Beau said.

"First of all, my brother wouldn't go off to a bar the day after he buried his wife, and second, some of the workers saw him heading toward the dock," Toby replied.

"And carrying a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand," Jeanne added mournfully.

A dead silence fell between us.

"I'm sure they'll find him," Beau finally said.

Toby turned to him slowly and fixed her eyes on him in a cold glare. "Have either of you ever been in the swamps? Do either of you know what it could be like? You make a turn and find yourself floating through overhanging vines and cypress branches and soon you forget how you got there and have no idea how to get out. It's a maze full of poisonous copperhead snakes, alligators, and snapping turtles, not to mention the insects and vermin."

"It's not that bad," I said.

"Oh really. Well then, march on out of here with your husband and join the search party," Toby retorted with a bitterness that shot through my brain like a laser beam.

"I plan on doing just that. Come on, Beau," I said, spinning around and marching out. Beau was at my side, but he wasn't enthusiastic.

"You really think we should go into the swamps, Ruby? I mean, if all these people who live here can't find him . . ."

"I'll find him," I said firmly. "I know where to look." Jeanne's husband, James, was at the dock when we arrived. He shook his head and lifted his arms in frustration.

"It's impossible," he said. "If Paul doesn't want to be found, he won't be found. He knows these swamps better than he knows the back of his hand. He grew up in them. We're giving up for tonight."

"No, we're not," I said sharply.

He looked up, surprised. "We?"

"Is that your boat?" I asked, nodding toward a dinghy with a small outboard engine.

"Yes, but . . ."

"Please, just take us into the swamps."

"I just came back, and I assure you—"

"I know what I'm doing, James. If you don't want to go along, let us just borrow your boat," I insisted.

"You two? In the swamps?" He smiled, sighed, and then shook his head. "All right. give it one more sweep. Get in," he said.

Beau, looking very uncomfortable, stepped into the dinghy after me and sat down. James handed us torches. Then we saw Octavious arriving with another group. His head was down like a flag of defeat.

"Paul's father is taking it very hard," James said, shaking his head.

"Just start the engine, please," I said. "Please . . ."

"What do you expect to be able to do that all these other people, some of whom fish and hunt in here, couldn't do?"

I stared. "I think I know where he might be," I said softly. "Ruby once told me about a hideaway she and Paul shared. She described it so well, I'm sure I could find it."

James shook his head skeptically but started the engine. "All right, but I'm afraid we're just wasting our time. We should wait for daylight."

We pulled away from the dock and headed into the canal. The swamps could be intimidating at night, even to men who had lived and worked them all their lives. There wasn't enough of a moon to give much illumination, and the Spanish moss seemed to thicken and blacken to form walls and block off other canals.

The twisted cyprus branches looked like gnarled old witches, and the water took on an inky thickness, hiding tree roots, dead logs, and, of course, alligators. Our movement and the torches kept the mosquitoes at bay, but Beau looked very uncomfortable and even frightened. He nearly jumped out of the dinghy when an owl swooped alongside.

"Go to the right, James, and then, just as you come around the bend, bear left sharply."

"I can't believe Ruby gave you such explicit directions," he mumbled.

"She loved this spot because she and Paul spent so much time there," I said. "It's like another world. She said," I added quickly.

James followed my directions. Behind us, the torches of other searches dimmed and were lost. A sheet of darkness fell between us and the house. Soon we could no longer hear the voices of men in the search party.

"Slower, James," I said. "There's something I have to look for and it's not easy at night."

"Especially when you've never been here before," James commented. "This is futile. If we just wait until morning—"

"There," I said, pointing. "You see where that cypress tree bends over like an old lady plucking a four-leaf clover?"

"Old lady? Four-leaf clover?" James said.

"That's what Paul told Ruby all the time." Neither James nor Beau could see the smile on my face. "Just turn right sharply under the lower branch."

"We might not fit under that," he warned.

"We will if we bend down," I said. "Slowly."

"Are you sure? We'll just get hung up on a rock or a mound of roots or—"

"I'm sure. Do it. Please."

Reluctantly he turned the dinghy. We dipped our heads and slipped under the branch.

"I'll be darned," James said. "Now where?"

"You see that thick wall of Spanish moss that reaches the water?"

"Yeah."

"Just go through it. It's the secret doorway."

"Secret doorway. Damn. No one would know that."

"That's what I meant by it being another world," I said. "You can cut the engine. We'll float on through and we'll be there."

He did so and I held my breath as the dinghy pierced the moss, which parted like a curtain to permit us to enter the small pond. Once we were completely through, I raised my torch and Beau did the same.

"Just paddle in a circle slowly," I said. The glow of our torches lifted the darkness, uncovering the pond. Snakes or turtles slithered beneath the surface, creating ripples. We saw the bream feeding on the mosquitoes. An alligator lifted its head, its teeth gleaming in our light, and then it dove. I heard Beau gulp. Somewhere to the right, a hawk screeched. On the shore of the pond, a half dozen or so nutrias scrambled for cover.

"Wait, what's that?" James said. He stood up and poked into the water with his oar to draw a bottle closer to the dinghy. Then he reached in to pluck it out of the water. It was an empty bottle of rum. "He was here," James said, looking around harder. "Paul!" he screamed.

"Paul!" Beau followed.

For a moment I couldn't form his name on my lips. Then I cried out, too. "Paul, please, if you're here, answer us."

Nothing but the sound of the swamp animals could be heard. Over to the right a deer rustled through the bushes. Terror jumped into my heart, flooded my eyes.

"Just keep rowing around the pond, James," I said, and sat back, but held my torch high to the right while Beau held his to the left. The water lapped against the dinghy. There was barely a breeze and mosquitoes began to sense our presence with delight. Suddenly the round bottom of a pirogue became visible. At first it looked like an alligator, but as we drew closer, it became clear that it was Paul's canoe. No one spoke. James poked it with his oar.

"It's his, all right," he said. "Paul!"

"Over there. Is that something?" Beau asked, leaning with his torch. James turned the dinghy in the direction Beau was pointing, and I brought my torchlight to bear as well. Slumped over a large rock, his chatlin hair matted and muddied by the water, Paul lay facedown. He looked like he had dragged himself up and collapsed. James turned the dinghy so he and Beau could stand up and reach Paul's body. I started to step toward him, too, when Beau turned sharply.

"Don't!" be ordered. He seized me at the elbows to hold me back and get me to sit. "It's not pretty and he's gone," he said.

I slapped my palms over my face and screamed. My shrill cry pierced the darkest corners and shadows in the swamp, sending birds flapping, animals scurrying, and fish diving. It echoed over the water and was finally stopped by the wall of dark silence that waits out there for all of us.

The doctor said Paul's lungs were so full of water, he had no idea how Paul had managed to drag himself up the rock a few inches, much less enough to get his entire body up. There he took his last gasps and passed away. Miraculously, no alligator got to him, but the death by drowning had distorted him and Beau was right to keep me from looking.

Cypress Woods was already a house in mourning, so it just continued under the dark cloud of more grief. Servants who had cried so hard over what they thought was my death now had to find another well of tears from which to draw. Paul's sisters, especially Toby, had anticipated bad news, but were devastated nevertheless and retreated with James into the privacy of the study, while Octavious went upstairs to be with Gladys.

I felt so weak all over, my body so light, I thought I would get caught up in the wind and be carried into the night. Beau clutched my hand and put his arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him and watched them bring Paul's body up from the dock. Beau wanted us to return immediately to New Orleans. He was insistent and I had no strength to resist, no words to offer in argument. I let him lead me to our car and slumped down in the seat as he drove us away. I had cried dry that bottomless pit of tears.

When I closed my eyes, I saw Paul as a young boy riding his motor scooter up to Grandmère Catherine's front gallery. I saw the brightness in his eyes when he set them on me. Both our voices were full of excitement then. The world seemed so innocent and precious. Every color, every shape, every scent, was richer. When we were together, exploring our young feelings, we were like the first couple on earth discovering things we couldn't imagine others discovering before us. No one ever adequately explains the wonder born in your heart when you undress your new feelings in front of someone who is undressing his, too. That trust, that childhood faith, is so pure and good, you can't imagine any betrayals. Surely all the trouble and misery you know and hear about in the world around you will be walled out by these powerful new feelings woven into an impenetrable fabric. You can make promises, expose your dreams, and dream new things together. Nothing seems impossible and the last thing you can imagine is that some malicious Fate has been toying with you, leading you down a highway that will bring you to these tragic, dark moments.

I wanted to be angry and bitter and blame someone or something else, but in the end I could think of no one to blame but myself. The weight of that guilt was so heavy, I couldn't bear it. I was crushed, defeated, and so tired, I didn't open my eyes again until Beau said we were home. I let him help me out of the car, but my legs wouldn't support me. He carried me into the house and up the stairway and lowered me to our bed, where I curled up, embraced myself, and fell unconscious.

When I woke up, Beau was already dressed. I turned, but the ache in my bones was so deep, I could barely stretch out my legs and lift myself. My head felt like it had turned to stone.

"I'm so tired," I said. "So weak."

"Stay in bed today," he advised. "I'll have Sally bring your breakfast up to the suite. I have some things I must tend to at the office and then I'll come home to be with you."

"Beau," I moaned. "It is my fault. Gladys Tate is right to hate me."

"Of course it isn't your fault. You didn't break any promises, and anything he did, he did willingly, knowing what the consequences might be. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I shouldn't have let him become so involved. I should have forced you to make a clean, clear break with him so he would have realized he should go on with his life and not mourn over things that couldn't be, that weren't supposed to be.

"But, Ruby," Beau said, coming to my side and taking my hand in his, "we are meant to be. No two people could love each other as much as we do and not be meant to be. That is the faith you must have, the faith you must cling to when you mourn Paul. If we fail each other now, then everything he did was even more in vain.

"Somewhere, deep inside himself, he must have also realized you belonged with me. Maybe he couldn't face that in the end and maybe it overwhelmed him, but he did realize it as a greater truth and a greater reality.

"We must hold on to what we now have. I love you," he said, and kissed me softly on the lips. He lowered his head to my bosom and I held him against me for a long moment before he rose, took a deep breath, and smiled. "I'll send Sally around and then tell Mrs. Ferrier to bring Pearl in later, okay?"

"Yes, Beau. Whatever you say. I can't think for myself anymore."

"That's all right. I’ll think for the two of us." He threw me a kiss and left.

I gazed out the window. The sky was overcast, but the clouds looked light and thin. There would be hazy sunshine and the day would be hot and muggy. After breakfast, I would take a bath and get back on my feet. The prospect of attending Paul's funeral seemed over-whelming to me now. I couldn't imagine mustering the strength, but as it turned out, that was to be the least of my problems.

Late in the morning, after I had had some breakfast and taken my bath, I brushed out my hair and dressed myself. Mrs. Ferrier brought Pearl in to watch and I let her play with my brushes and combs. She sat beside me, mimicking my every move. Her hair had grown down to her shoulders and it was turning a brighter, richer golden shade every day. Her blue eyes were full of curiosity. As soon as she learned what one thing was, she was asking about another, touching something else. Her bountiful energy and excitement brought some joy and relief to my aching heart. How lucky I was to have her, I thought. I was determined to devote myself to her, to make certain that her life was smoother, happier, and fuller than mine. I would protect her, advise her, guide her, so she would avoid the pitfalls and treacherous turns I had taken. It was in our children, I realized, that our hope and purpose lay. They were the promise and the only real antidote for grief.

Beau called to say he would be home shortly. Mrs. Ferrier took Pearl out to play in the garden, and I decided to go down so that Beau and I could have lunch on the patio when he returned. I had just rounded the base of the stairway when the phones rang. Aubrey announced it was Toby Tate and I hurried to a receiver.

"Toby," I cried. "I'm sorry we left so quickly, but—"

"No one was concerned here about that," she said coldly. "I'm certainly not calling to complain about your behavior. Frankly, I can't imagine any of us caring." The hard, formal tone in her voice set my heart racing. "In fact, Mother forced me to call to tell you she would rather you don't attend Paul's funeral."

"Not attend? But—"

"We're sending a car with a nanny we're hiring to pick up Pearl and bring her home," she added firmly.

"What?"

"Mother says Paul and Ruby's daughter belongs with her Grandpère and Grandmère and not with her self-centered aunt, so your obligations, your promises, are all over. You can go back to your life of pleasure and not worry. Those were Mother's exact words. Please have Pearl ready by three o'clock."

My throat wouldn't open to let me form any words. I couldn't swallow. My heart felt as if it had slid down into my stomach and a wave of heat rose from the base of my spine to the base of my head, where it circled around my neck like the long, thin fingers of a witch, choking me.

"Do you understand?" Toby demanded.

"You . . ."

"Yes?"

"Can't . . . take. . . Pearl," I said. I fought to open my lungs and suck in some air. "Your mother knows you can't."

"What sort of nonsense is this? Of course we can. Don't you think a Grandmère has more claim to a grandchild than an aunt?"

"No!" I shouted. "I won't let you take Pearl."

"I don't see where you have much to say about it, Gisselle. I hope you won't add any unpleasantness and ugliness to our tragedy right now. If there is anyone left out there who doesn't despise you, he or she will soon do just that."

"Your mother knows she can't do this. She knows. Tell her. Tell her!" I screamed.

"Well, tell her what you said, but the car will be there at three o'clock. Good-bye," Toby snapped and the phone went dead.

"No!" I screamed into the receiver anyway. I quickly hung up and then lifted the receiver to dial Beau.

"I'm coming right home," he said after I gasped and poured out what Toby had told me Gladys Tate demanded.

"This is what she meant by my suffering twice as much as Paul, Beau. This is her way of getting vengeance."

"Stay calm. I’ll be right there," he said.

I hung up, but I couldn't stay calm. I went into the study and paced back and forth, my mind reeling with the possibilities. It seemed hours before Beau finally arrived, even though it was only a few minutes. He came rushing into the study to embrace me and sit me down. I couldn't stop trembling. My teeth were actually chattering.

"It's going to be all right," he assured me. "She's bluffing. She's just trying to upset you because she is so upset right now. She'll realize what she's doing and she'll stop it."

"But, Beau . . . everyone thinks I'm Gisselle. They buried me!"

"It'll be fine," he said, but not with as much confidence as before.

"We were born in the swamps in a shack. It's not like here in New Orleans in a hospital where babies' footprints are taken so they can be easily identified later. Paul was my husband and he told the world I was sick and dying. He attended my funeral and killed himself, whether purposely or accidentally, because of my death," I rattled, each realization like another nail in the coffin of truth. I seized Beau's hands in mine and fixed my eyes on his.

"You yourself said that I've done such a good job of pretending to be Gisselle, everyone thinks I am. Even your parents!"

"If it comes down to whether or not we keep Pearl, we'll confess the truth and tell the authorities what we have done. I promise," he said. "No one will take our child from us. No one. Especially not Gladys Tate," he assured me. He squeezed my hands and made his face tight with determination. It slowed down my runaway heart and eased some of my trepidation.

"Toby said a car is arriving here at three with a nurse."

"I'll handle it," he said. "Don't you even come near the front door."

I nodded. "Pearl," I said suddenly. "Where is she?"

"Take it easy. Where could she be but with Mrs. Ferrier? Don't frighten her," he warned, seizing my wrist. "Ruby."

"Yes, you're right. I mustn't frighten the child. But I want her upstairs now. I don't want her outside when they come."

"All right, but do it gently, calmly," he ordered. "Will you?"

"I will." I took a deep breath and went out to find Mrs. Ferrier and Pearl. Without going into any detail why, I asked her to bring the baby in and keep her up in her room. Then I went to join Beau in the dining room, but not only couldn't I eat any lunch with Beau, I couldn't bring a morsel of food near my lips. I could barely swallow water. My stomach was that nervous. A little after two, he told me to go upstairs and stay with Pearl and Mrs. Ferrier. My heart was thumping madly. I thought I could easily pass out from fear, but I fought down my trepidation and occupied myself with Pearl.

Just before three o'clock, I heard the door chimes and my heart jumped in my chest. I couldn't keep myself from going to the top of the stairway and listening. Beau had already told Aubrey he would answer the door. I didn't want Beau to know I was looking and listening in, so I backed into the shadows when he turned and looked up the stairway just before opening the door.

A man in a suit and a nurse in uniform were there.

"Yes?" Beau said as nonchalantly as he could.

"My name is Martin Bell," the man in the suit said. "I am an attorney representing the Tates. We have been sent by Monsieur and Madame Tate to pick up their granddaughter," he said.

"Their granddaughter is not going anywhere today or any day," Beau said firmly. "She is home where she belongs and where she will stay."

"Are you refusing to turn their granddaughter over to them?" Martin Bell asked with some astonishment. Apparently he had been led to believe this was a simple assignment. He probably thought he was making easy money.

"I am refusing to turn our daughter over to them, yes," Beau said.

"Pardon. Your daughter? I'm confused here," Martin Bell said, glancing at the nurse, who looked just as confused. "Is the little girl the daughter of Paul and Ruby Tate?"

"No," Beau said, "and Gladys Tate knows that. I'm afraid she's wasted your time, but be sure you bill for it," Beau added. "Good day," he said, and closed the door on their bewildered faces. For a moment he stood there waiting. Then he went to the window and gazed out to be sure they drove away. When he turned, he saw me standing at the top of the stairway.

"Were you there the whole time?" he asked.

"Yes, Beau."

"So you heard. I did what I promised. I told the truth and I've sent them back. When Gladys hears what I said, she'll back off and leave us alone," he assured me. "Relax. It's over. It's all over."

I nodded and smiled hopefully. Beau came up the stairs to embrace me. Then the two of us went to look in on Pearl. She was sitting contentedly on the floor of what had once been my room and coloring animals in a coloring book called "A Visit to the Zoo."

"Look, Mommy." She pointed and then growled like a tiger. Mrs. Ferrier laughed.

"She imitates all the animals," she said. "I've never seen such a good little mimic."

Beau tightened his embrace around my shoulders and I leaned against him. It felt good to be surrounded by his strength and feel his firmness. He was my rock now, my pillar of steel, and it deepened my love for him and filled me with confidence. Gradually, as the day wore on, my nervousness-diminished and my stomach stabilized. I realized I was ravishingly hungry when we sat down at dinner.

Later that night in bed, we talked for nearly an hour before closing our eyes.

"I regret not being able to go to Paul's funeral," I said.

"I know, but under the circumstances, it's better that we don't attend. Gladys Tate would only make an unpleasant situation even more miserable. She would create an ugly scene."

"Even so, someday after sufficient time has passed, I would like to visit the grave, Beau."

"Of course."

We talked on, Beau suggesting plans for the future now. "If we want, we can build a new house on a piece of real estate we own just outside of the city."

"Maybe we should," I said.

"Of course, there are things we could do to this house to change it as well. In either case, we'll want new memories," he explained. I couldn't agree more. His descriptions of what was possible for us now filled me with renewed hope and I was able to shut my eyelids and drift off, emotionally exhausted and tired down to my very soul.

I wasn't refreshed when I woke in the morning, but I had regained enough strength to start a new day. I made plans to begin painting again and I thought I would start to buy a new wardrobe, one that fit my personality more. Now that I had driven away all of Gisselle's friends and we were talking about a new beginning, I thought I had the freedom to ease back into my true self and eventually put Gisselle to rest. Those prospects buoyed me.

We had a good breakfast with an animated conversation. Beau had so many plans for business and for our changes, my mind felt stuffed. I could see where we would both become so busy shortly, there wouldn't be much time to dwell on sadness. Grandmère Catherine always said that the only real antidote for grief and sadness was busy hands.

After breakfast Beau went upstairs to the bathroom and I went into the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Swann about dinner. I sat listening to her describe how to prepare chicken Rochambeau.

"You start with preparing the gravy," she began, and went through the ingredients. Just listening to her talk about the recipe made my mouth water. How lucky we were to have a cook with so much experience, I thought.

Mrs. Swann was clanking dishes and pans as she spoke and walked around the kitchen, so I didn't hear the door chimes and was surprised when Aubrey arrived to tell me there were two gentlemen at the door.

"And there's a policeman, too," he added.

"What? Policeman?"

"Yes, madame."

My chest felt hot and heavy as I rose.

"Where's Pearl?" I asked quickly.

"She's in her nursery with Mrs. Ferrier, madame. They just went upstairs."

"And Monsieur Andreas?"

"I think he's still upstairs, madame."

"Please fetch him for me, Aubrey. Quickly," I said.

"Very well, madame," he said, and hurried out. I looked at Mrs. Swann, who stared at me with curious eyes.

"Troubles?" she asked.

"I don't know. I don't know," I mumbled, and let my feet carry me slowly toward the foyer. Beau appeared on the stairway just as I arrived in the foyer and saw the attorney Martin Bell and another man at the door.

"What's this?" Beau cried, hurrying down the remaining steps.

"Monsieur and Madame Andreas?" the taller of the two men in suits inquired. Beau stepped forward rapidly so he would be at the door before me. I saw the nurse who had come the day before standing behind them and my heart sunk.

"Yes?"

"I'm William Rogers, senior partner of Rogers, Bell and Stanley. As you know from Mr. Bell's previous visit, we represent Monsieur and Madame Octavious Tate of Terrebonne Parish. We're here under court order to take the infant Pearl Tate back to her grandparents," he said, and handed Beau a document. "It's been signed by the judge and must be carried out."

"Beau," I said. He waved me off for a moment while he read.

"This is not true," he said, looking up and attempting to hand the document back. "Madame Tate is not the child's Grandmère."

"I'm afraid that's for a court to decide, sir. In the interim this court action," he said, nodding at the document, "will be enforced. She has primary legal rights to custody."

"But we're not the uncle and aunt. We're the mother and father," Beau said.

"The court understands otherwise. The child's parents are both deceased and the grandparents are the primary legal guardians, therefore," Mr. Rogers insisted. "I hope this doesn't become unpleasant," he added. "For the child's sake."

As soon as he said that, the policeman moved up beside him. Beau gazed from one face to the other and then looked at me.

"Ruby . . ."

"No!" I screamed, backing away. "They can't take her. They can't!"

"They have a court order, but it will only be temporary," Beau said. "I promise. I'll call our attorneys right now. We have the best, highest-paid attorneys in New Orleans."

"This court action will be conducted in Terrebonne Parish," William Rogers said. "The child's legal residence. But if you have the highest-paid, best attorneys, they would know that anyway," he added, enjoying his sarcasm.

"Beau," I said, my lips trembling, my face crumpling. He started toward me to embrace me, but I backed farther away. "No," I said, shaking my head. "No."

"Madame, I assure you," Mr. Rogers said, "this court order will be carried out. If you truly have any concern for the child, you'd better adhere to the order smoothly."

"Ruby . . ."

"Beau, you promised! No," I screamed. I struck him in the chest with my small fists, pummeling him. He grabbed my wrists and embraced me tightly.

"We'll get her back. We will," he said.

"I can't," I said, shaking my head. "I can't." My legs gave out and Beau held me up.

"Please," he said, turning to the lawyers, the policeman, and the nurse, "give us ten minutes to prepare the baby."

Mr. Rogers nodded and Beau literally carried me along, up the stairs, whispering assurances in my ear.

"It will be ugly," he said, "if we physically resist. Once we explain who we are, it will all end quickly. You'll see."

"But, Beau, you said this wouldn't happen."

"How did I know she would be this vicious? She must be crazy. What sort of a man is she married to for him to let her do this?"

"A guilty man," I said, and sniffed back my tears. I looked toward Pearl's nursery door. "Oh, Beau, she'll be terrified."

"Only until she gets to Cypress Woods. She knows all the servants and—"

"But they're not taking her to Cypress Woods. They're taking her to the Tates."

Beau nodded, the realizations deepening in him, too. He sighed deeply and shook his head. "I could kill her," he said. "I could put my hands around her neck and choke the life out of her."

"It's already been choked out of her," I said, nodding. "When Paul died. We're dealing with a woman who's lost every feeling but one, the desire for revenge. And my child has to go into that household."

"Do you want me to do this?" he asked, looking at the nursery.

"No. I'll do it with you so we can comfort her as much as possible."

We went in and explained to Mrs. Ferrier that the baby had to go to her grandparents. Beau thought that was best for now. Pearl knew the Tates as her grandparents, so I sucked back my sorrow and hid my tears. Smiling, I told her she had to go see her Grandmère Gladys and Grandpère Octavious.

"There's a nice lady to take you to them," I continued.

Pearl gazed at me curiously. It was almost as if she were wise enough to see through the deception. She put up no resistance until we carried her down and actually placed her in the backseat of the limousine with the nurse. When I backed away from the door, she realized I wasn't coming and started to scream for me. The nurse attempted to comfort her.

"Let's get moving," Mr. Rogers told the driver. The two lawyers got into the car and slammed the doors shut, but I could still hear Pearl's screams. As the limousine pulled away from the house, the baby broke loose from the nurse and pressed her little face against the back window. I could see the fear and the torment in her and I could hear her screaming my name. The moment the car disappeared, my legs went out from under me and I folded too quickly for Beau to stop me from crashing to the tile and the comfort of darkness.