All That Glitters

2

Unfinished Business

After Pearl woke from her nap, I gave her a bottle and took her out again while I sat by the roadside stand watching out for any late afternoon business. There was a flurry of activity for about an hour and then the road became quiet and empty, the dwindling sunlight casting its long shadows across the macadam, bringing the curtain down on daytime.

My heart felt so heavy. Mr. Tate's visit had cast a deep pall over everything. I felt as if Pearl and I had no home. We didn't belong here and we didn't belong in New Orleans, but I thought it was going to be even worse living here after I had turned Paul away. Every time he visited, if he ever wanted to visit again, there would be this storm of sadness hanging over our heads.

Maybe Mr. Tate was right, I thought. Maybe after I had rejected Paul, he would find someone new, but even if that loomed as a possibility, I knew it would have a much greater chance of happening if Pearl and I were truly gone and out of his life. Once he saw our marrying and living together was impossible, he might seek happiness elsewhere.

But then, where should we go? What should we do? I wondered. I had no other relatives to whom I could run. I took Pearl into the house and brought in what was left from the stand, desperately trying to think out some sort of future for us. Finally an idea came to me. I decided to swallow my pride, sit at the table, and write a letter to Daphne.

Dear Daphne,

I haven't written to you all this time because I didn't imagine you cared to hear from me. I am not going to argue that you shouldn't have been upset to learn I was pregnant with Beau's child. I am old enough to realize I must be responsible for my own actions, but I couldn't go through with the abortion you had arranged, and now that I have my daughter, whom I have named Pearl, I am happy I didn't, although I know our lives will be hard.

I thought if I could return to the bayou, to the world in which I had grown up and been happy, all would be well and I wouldn't have to be a problem for anyone, least of all you. We never got along when my father was alive, and I don't anticipate us ever getting along.

But circumstances here are not what I thought they would be, and I have come to the conclusion, I can't stay here. But don't be afraid. I'm not asking you to take me back. I'm only asking that you give me some of my inheritance now so I can make a life for myself and my daughter someplace else . . . someplace not in New Orleans, and not in the bayou. You won't be giving me anything that's not coming to me; you'll only be giving it to me sooner. I'm sure you would agree that it would be something my father would want you to do.

Please give this consideration and let me know as soon as you can. I assure you, once you do this, we will have little or no contact.

Sincerely yours, Ruby

While I was addressing the letter, I heard a car pull into the yard. I stopped writing and hid the letter in the pocket of my dress quickly.

"Hi," Paul said, entering. "Sorry I wasn't here earlier. I had an errand that took me to Breaux Bridge. How was your day? Busy?"

"A little," I said. I shifted my gaze downward, but it was too late.

"Something's wrong," he said. "What is it?"

"Paul," I said after taking a deep breath, "we can't do it. We can't marry and live at Cypress Woods. I've thought about it and thought about it, and I know we shouldn't do it."

"What's changed your mind?" he asked, grimacing with surprise and disappointment. "You were so happy yesterday in the house. It was as if a dark cloud had been lifted from your face," he reminded me.

"You were right about Cypress Woods. The house and the grounds cast a spell. It was as if we had entered a make-believe world, and for a while I let it convince me. It was easy to pretend and to ignore reality there."

"So? It is our world. I can make it as wonderful as any make-believe world. And as long as we don't hurt anyone . . ."

"But we are hurting someone, Paul. We're hurting each other," I pointed out painfully.

"No," he began, but I knew I had to talk fast and hard or I would break into tears.

"Yes, we are. We can pretend. We can make promises. We can make special arrangements, but the result is the same . . . we're condemning each other to an unnatural life."

"Unnatural . . . to be with someone you love and want to protect and . . ."

"And never to hold passionately, and never to have children with, and never to reveal the truth about . . . We won't even be able to tell Pearl, for fear of what it will do to her. I can't do it."

"Of course we will be able to tell her when she's old enough to understand," he corrected. "And she will understand. Ruby, look. . ."

"No, Paul. I . . . don't think I can make the sacrifices you think you can make," I concluded.

He stared at me a moment, his eyes small, suspicious. "I don't believe you. Something else happened. Someone spoke to you. Who was it, one of your Grandmère Catherine's friends, the priest? Who?"

"No," I said. "No one has spoken to me unless you want to count my own sensible conscience." I had to turn away. I couldn't stand looking at the pain in his eyes.

"But . . . I had a talk with my father last night, and after I explained everything to him, he agreed and gave me his approval. My sisters don't know anything about the past, so they were overjoyed to learn you would be my wife and their new sister. And even my mother. . ."

"What about your mother, Paul?" I asked sharply. He closed and then opened his eyes.

"She will accept it," he promised.

"Accepting is not approving." I shook my head and fired my words like bullets. "If she accepts it, it will be because she doesn't want to lose you," I said. "Anyway, it's not her decision. It's mine," I added a little more sternly than I had intended.

Paul's face whitened.

"Ruby . . . the house . . . everything I have . . . it's only for you. I don't even care about myself . . . you and Pearl."

"You must care about yourself, Paul. You should. It's wrong of me to be so selfish as to let you deny yourself a normal marriage and a normal family."

"But that's for me to decide," he retorted.

"You're too . . . confused to make the right decision," I said, and looked away.

"You'll think more about it," he pleaded, and nodded to convince himself there was still hope. "I'll come by tomorrow and we'll talk again."

"No, Paul. I've decided. There's no point in our continually talking about it. I can't go through with it. I can't," I cried, and turned away from him. Pearl, sensing unhappiness between us, began to cry, too. "You'd better go," I said. "The baby's getting upset."

"Ruby . . ."

"Please, Paul. Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be."

He went to the door, but just stood there gazing out.

"All day," he said softly, "I was like someone traveling on a cloud. Nothing could make me unhappy."

Although I was really feeling sick now, I still managed to find a voice. "You'll feel that way again, Paul. I'm sure you will."

"No, I won't," he said, turning back to me, his eyes full of pain and anger. His cheeks were so red, he looked like a sunburnt tourist from the North. "I swear I'll never look at another woman. I'll never kiss another woman. I'll never hold another woman." He raised his right fist and shook it toward the ceiling. "I'll take the same vows of chastity our priest has taken and turn that great house into a shrine. I'll live there all alone forever and ever and I'll die there with no one beside me, nothing but the memory of you," he added, and then he shoved open the door and ran across the gallery and down the steps.

"Paul!" I cried. I couldn't stand to see him this angry and hurt. But he didn't come back. I heard him start his engine and spin his tires on the gravel as he shot away, his heart shattered.

It seemed that everyone I touched, I managed to hurt. Was I born to bring pain to those who loved me? I swallowed back my tears so Pearl wouldn't be upset, but I felt like an island with the sea eddying around me. Now I truly had no one.

After my heart stopped pattering like a woodpecker, I began to prepare us some dinner. My baby sensed my unhappiness despite my attempts to bury it under busy-work. When I spoke, she heard it in my voice, and when I gazed at her, she saw the darkness in my eyes.

While the roux simmered, I sat with her in Grandmère Catherine's rocker and stared at the painting. Both Grandmère Catherine's and my mother's faces looked sad and sympathetic. The vivid memory of Paul's distraught face hung like the threat of a storm in the air around me. Every time I looked toward the door, I saw him standing there, glaring back, reciting his vows and threats. Why was I hurting the one person who wanted to love and cherish my child and me? Where would I ever find such affection again?

"Am I doing the right thing, Grandmère?" I whispered. I heard only silence and then Pearl smacking her lips.

I fed her, but her appetite was as curtailed as mine. She really only sucked a little of her bottle, and as she did so, she kept closing her eyes. It was as if she were just as emotionally exhausted as I was, as if every feeling, every emotion, went from me to her over the invisible wires that bound mother and child. I decided I would take her upstairs and put her to bed, and had just gotten up to do so when I heard a car approaching. Its headlights washed over the house and then it came to a stop and I heard a car door open and slam. Had Paul come back with new arguments? Even if he did, I thought, I couldn't weaken my resolve.

But the heaviness of the footsteps on the floor of the gallery told me it was someone else. There was a loud rapping at the door, making the entire shack shake on its toothpick legs. I walked slowly from the kitchen, my heart beginning to pound almost as hard as that rapping.

"Who is it?" I asked. Pearl gazed curiously toward the door as well. Instead of replying, the visitor pulled the door open so roughly, he almost lifted it off its hinges. I saw this hulk of a man enter, his messy brown hair long and straggly to his dirty thick neck. He had hands as big as mallets, the thick fingers caked with grease and grime. When he stepped into the light of the butane lantern, I gasped.

Although I had met him only once and seen him only a few times before, Buster Trahaw's face loomed in my memory beside my worst nightmares. He was even uglier than he was the day he had come to the house with Grandpère Jack to solidify their agreement that I would marry him if he would give Grandpère as much as a thousand dollars. What was even worse was, Grandpère was going to let him sleep with me beforehand, to test me as if I were some kind of merchandise.

I remembered him then as a man in his mid-thirties, tall and stout with a circle of fat around his stomach and sides that made it look as if he wore an inner tube under his shirt. He had added to that girth since, and his facial features, distorted by his weight, were now so bloated, he looked like a cross between a pig and a man. Only now he had a stringy beard, untrimmed around the chin, with hairs curling off his neck and joining to make it seem as if he were part ape, too.

When he smiled, his thick lips practically disappeared under the mustache and chin hairs, revealing the loss of most of his front teeth. The ones that remained were stained with tobacco juice, making his mouth resemble some cavernous charred oven. The skin on the exposed parts of his cheeks was flaked and peeling, reminding me of a snake shedding. There were thin, wiry hairs emerging from his huge nostrils, and his eyebrows joined to form a thick, dark line over his bulging dull brown eyes.

"It is true," he said. "You're back. The Slaters told me when I brought my wagon in to be repaired."

He leaned back, opened the door a bit, and spit out a wad of chewing tobacco. Then he returned his gaze, his smile wide.

"What do you want?" I demanded. Pearl held tightly to me. She began to whimper like a puppy at the sight of him.

His smile evaporated quickly. "What do I want? Don't you know who I am? I'm Buster Trahaw and I want what's comin' to me, is what I want," he said, and stepped forward. I retreated as many steps. "That your new baby there? She's a honey child, all right. Been makin' babies without me, have you?" he said, and laughed. "Well, that's over."

I felt the blood drain down to my feet as his intentions became clear.

"What are you talking about? Get out of here. I didn't invite you into my house. Leave or—"

"Hey now, whoa horse. You forgettin' what's coming to me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talkin' 'bout the deal I made with your Grandpère Jack, the money I gave him the night before you run off. I let him keep it 'cause he said you was comin' back. Course, I knew he was an old liar, but I figured the money was well spent. I said to myself, Buster, your time will come, and here it has, ain't it?"

"No," I said. "I made no agreements with you. Now, get out."

"I ain't gettin' out till I get what's comin' to me. What's the difference to you anyway? You make babies without a husband at your side, don'tcha?" He flashed that toothless smile at me again.

"Get out!" I screamed. Pearl started to cry. I started to turn away, but Buster moved quickly to seize my wrist.

"Here now, be careful you don't drop the baby," he said with a threat in his voice. I tried to keep my face turned away from him. His breath and the odor from his clothes and body was enough to turn my stomach. He started to pry my arms from Pearl.

"No!" I cried, but I didn't want the baby hurt. She was screaming hysterically when he put his big, dirty hands around her waist.

"Let me just hold her a moment, will ya? I got babies of my own. I know what to do."

Rather than pull and tug with Pearl between us, I had to release her.

"Don't hurt her," I begged. She cried and waved her arms toward me.

"Hey, now, hey . . . it's your . . . uncle Buster," he said. "She's a pretty one. Goin' to break someone's heart, too, I betcha."

"Please, give her back to me," I pleaded.

"Sure. Buster Trahaw don't hurt babies. Buster Trahaw makes babies," he said, and laughed at his own joke.

I took Pearl back and stepped away.

"Put her to bed," he ordered. "We got business to conduct."

"Please, leave us alone . . . please . . ."

"I ain't leavin' till I get what I come for," he said. "Now, is it goin' to be hard or easy? I can take it either way. Thing is," he said, smiling again, "I kinda like it the hard way more. It's like wrestlin' an alligator." He stepped toward me and I gasped. "Put her to bed less'n she's going to get an early education, hear?"

I swallowed hard. It was difficult to breathe and not be drowned in what was happening so fast.

"Put her down on that sofa there," he ordered. "She'll cry herself to sleep jist like most babies. Go on."

I eyed the settee and the door, but despite his stupidity, he had enough sense to anticipate that and stepped back to block my escape. Reluctantly I brought Pearl to the settee and set her down. She screamed and screamed.

Buster took my wrist and pulled me to him. I tried to resist, but it was like holding back the tide. He wrapped his enormous arms around me, crushing me to his stomach and chest, and then he pinched my chin in his powerful fingers and forced me to look up so he could bring those spongy lips to my mouth. I gagged under their wet pressure, holding my breath and trying to keep myself from falling unconscious. I was terrified that if I did, he would just rip off my clothes and have his way with me.

His right hand moved down my waist until he cupped my rear in it and lifted me, bouncing me in his hands as if I weighed only a little more than Pearl.

"Whoa, now. This is a fine piece of merchandise here. Your Grandpère Jack was right. Yep."

"Please," I pleaded, "not near the baby. Please."

"Sure, honey. I want a real bed for us anyway. You go on and lead the way upstairs."

He turned me roughly and pushed me toward the kitchen and the stairway. I gazed back at Pearl. She was crying hard and her whole little body was shaking.

"Go on," Buster ordered.

I started forward, searching for a means of escape. My gaze went to the roux I had left cooking on the stove. It was still simmering.

"Wait," I said. "I've got to turn this off."

"That's a good Cajun woman," Buster said. "Always thinkin' about her cookin'. Afterward, I might sample some of your gumbo anyway. Makin' love usually makes me hungry as a bear."

He stepped up behind me. I knew I had only a few seconds and if I didn't make the most of it now, I would be doomed to go up those stairs. Once up there, I was trapped and at his mercy. Even if I could jump out a window, I wouldn't, for I would be leaving him alone with Pearl. I closed my eyes, prayed, and took the handle of the pot firmly in my fingers. Then I spun around as quickly as I could and heaved the hot contents into Buster's face.

He screamed and I ducked under his arms and shot out of the kitchen. I scooped Pearl up and rushed out the door of the shack, pounding over the gallery and down the stairs. I ran into the night without looking back. I heard his shouts and curses and I heard him flailing about within, knocking over chairs, breaking dishes, smashing a window in his rage. But I didn't stop. I hurried into the darkness.

Pearl was so shocked by my actions, she stopped crying. She was shivering with fear, though, for she felt the trembling in my own body. I was afraid Buster would come running after us, but when he didn't do that, I was afraid he would get into his car and come driving after us, so I stayed in the ditches off the side of the road, ready to lunge into the brush and hide the moment I saw car headlights.

I don't know how I managed not to trip and fall with Pearl in my arms, but I was lucky there was some moonlight peeking in and out of the clouds. It threw enough illumination ahead of me to show me the way. Fortunately, I never saw his car coming. I arrived at Mrs. Thibodeau's house and pounded on her front door.

"Ruby!" she cried as soon as she set eyes on Pearl and me. "What's happened?"

"Oh, Mrs. Thibodeau, please help us. Buster Trahaw just tried to rape me in my house," I cried. She opened her door and hurried us in, locking the door after her.

"You just sit right there in the living room," she said, her face white with shock. "I'll get you some water and then ring up the police. Thank goodness I got one of them phones put in last year."

She brought a glass of water back from the kitchen and took Pearl into her arms. I gulped down the cool liquid and sat back, my eyes closed, my heart still thumping so hard, I thought Mrs. Thibodeau could see it rising and falling against my blouse.

"Poor baby, poor child. Oh, my, my. . . Buster Trahaw, you say. My, my . . ."

Pearl stopped crying. She whimpered a bit and then closed her eyes and fell asleep. I took her back into my arms while Mrs. Thibodeau went back to the kitchen to call the police. A short while later, a patrol car arrived, and when the two policemen came in, I described what had happened to me.

"We've had more than one run-in with that good-for-nothing," one of the officers said. "You just stay right here until we come back."

I wasn't about to move an inch. About an hour later, they returned to tell us they found him still at my shack.

He had done some damage and then dug a bottle of rotgut whiskey out of his car to sit and wait for my return. From what they described, they had to have another pair of policemen come by to help subdue Buster.

"We got him in the cage, where he belongs," the policeman told me. "But you'll have to come down to the police station and swear out a complaint. You can do it now or you can do it in the morning."

"She's exhausted," Mrs. Thibodeau said.

"Morning will be fine," the policeman told us. "You don't want to go back to your house just yet anyway," he added, gazing at Mrs. Thibodeau. "It will take a bit of work."

"Oh, Mrs. Thibodeau," I wailed. "He's ruined the only home I have."

"Now, now, child. You know we'll all be there to help you fix it up again. Don't you fret about it. Just get some sleep so you can be bright and cheerful for Pearl in the morning."

I nodded. She brought me a blanket and I slept on her sofa with Pearl in my arms. I didn't think I could sleep, but the moment I closed my eyes, exhaustion set in firmly, and the next thing I knew, the morning light was warming my face. Pearl moaned when I stirred. Her little eyelids fluttered open and she gazed into my face. The realization that she was safe in my arms brought a smile to her lips. I kissed her and thanked God we had escaped.

After Mrs. Thibodeau made us some breakfast, I left Pearl with her and walked to town to go to the police station. They couldn't have been any nicer to me, getting a seat for me immediately and making sure I was comfortable. A secretary brought me some coffee.

"You don't have to worry about proving anything," the policeman sitting at the desk told me. "Buster doesn't deny what he did. He's still complaining about not getting his money's worth. What's that all about?"

I had to tell what Grandpère Jack had done. I was ashamed of it, but there was no other way. All of the policemen who heard the story nodded in sympathy and disgust. Unfortunately, some of them remembered Grandpère Jack vividly.

"He and Buster are cut from the same cloth," the desk policeman told me. Then he took down my statement and told me not to worry. Buster Trahaw wouldn't bother me again. They'd see to it that he was put away someplace where they lost the key. I thanked them and returned to Mrs. Thibodeau's.

I think the reason some people in the bayou still didn't have phones and television sets in their shacks was that news traveled almost as fast without them here. By the time I picked up Pearl and headed back to our home, there were a dozen or so of our neighbors working on the house. In his rage, Buster had ripped off the front door and broken almost every window.

Miraculously, Grandmère Catherine's old rocker survived, although it looked like he had kicked it over a few times. Two of the kitchen chairs didn't do as well. Both suffered broken legs. Fortunately, he started drinking before he decided to go upstairs, so nothing up there was touched. But he did wreck a good deal of my kitchen. Once the details were known, my neighbors provided.

As I came up to the house, I saw Mr. Rodrigues repairing the front door. I remembered when Grandmère Catherine had been called to his home one night to drive away a couchemal, an evil spirit that lurks about when an unbaptized baby dies, He was very grateful and after that night, couldn't do enough for us.

Inside the house, Ms. Rodrigues and the other women were cleaning up. A collection had already been made to replace the broken dishes and glasses. Before afternoon, it resembled a shingling party, a gathering of neighbors to help finish a roof, after which there would be a feast with everyone providing something. The goodness of my neighbors brought tears to my cheeks.

"Now, you don't cry, Ruby," Mrs. Livaudis said.

"These people here remember the good things your Grandmère Catherine did for them, and they're just happy they can do something for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Livaudis," I said. She hugged me, as did all the women before they left.

"I don't like leaving you alone," Mrs. Thibodeau said. "You're welcome to come back to my house."

"No, we'll be fine now, Mrs. Thibodeau. Thank you for your help," I said.

"Cajun people don't hurt each other," Mrs. Thibodeau emphasized. "That Buster, he was just a rotten egg from the day he was conceived."

"I know, Mrs. Thibodeau."

"Still, dear, it's not right that a young woman like yourself be left alone here in the swamp with an infant to raise." She shook her head and pursed her lips. "Him who shared the pleasure of making her should share the responsibilities, too," she added.

"I'm all right, Mrs. Thibodeau. Really."

"I hope you don't mind me saying what I think, Ruby, but I know your Grandmère would want me to care, and I do care."

I nodded.

"Well, that's all. I spoke my piece. Now it's up to you young people. Times have changed," she said, wagging her head. "Times and people. Good night, dear." We hugged and she left.

By early evening everyone was gone and things settled down again. I put Pearl to sleep, humming to her awhile, and then went downstairs to have some coffee and sit out on my gallery. Mrs. Thibodeau's words returned. I knew they were the words not only thought by other neighbors, but spoken by them behind my back as well. This incident with Buster Trahaw would only make the topic that much more vocal.

When I had changed dresses, I found the letter I had written to Daphne still in my pocket. More than ever now, I felt I should mail it. I went back into the house and finished putting the address on it and then went out to put it in the mailbox for the postman to pick up in the morning. I sat on the gallery again, finally feeling myself relax.

But moments later, a rippling sensation on the back of my neck gave me the awareness that someone was near and watching. My heart contracted. I held my breath and turned to see someone silhouetted in the shadows. I gasped, but he stepped forward quickly. It was Paul. He had come by boat and walked up from the dock.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said. "I wanted to wait until everyone left. Are you all right?"

"Yes. Now."

"How long after I left yesterday," he asked, coming farther forward into the glow of the gallery light, "was it before Buster came here to attack you?"

"Oh, it was quite a while," I told him. "Nearly dinnertime."

"If I had been here . . ."

"You might have gotten hurt, Paul. I was just lucky to escape."

"I might have gotten hurt or I might have hurt him," he said proudly. "Or . . . he might not have come in," he added. He sat on the gallery step arid leaned against the post. After a moment he said, "A young woman and a baby shouldn't be alone." It was as if he had heard Mrs. Thibodeau's words.

"Paul . . ."

"No, Ruby," he said, turning to me. Even in the subdued light, I could see the fires of determination burning in his eyes. "I want to protect you and Pearl. In the world you think is pure make-believe, you would not have to confront Buster Trahaws. I can promise you that, and Pearl wouldn't either," he pointed out.

"But, Paul, it isn't fair for you," I said in a small, tired voice. All of the resistance was slipping away.

He fixed his eyes on me a moment and then nodded slowly. "My father came here to see you, didn't he? You don't have to answer. I know he did. I saw it in his eyes last night at dinner. He's only worried about the weight of his own conscience. Why do I have to suffer for his sins?" he cried, not waiting for my answer.

"But that's just what he doesn't want you to do, Paul. If you marry me . . ."

"I will be happy. Don't I have a say in my own future?" he demanded. "And don't tell me it's fate or destiny, Ruby. You come to a fork in the canals and you choose one or the other. It's only after you've made your choice that fate or destiny takes control, and maybe not even then. I want to make that first choice and I'm not afraid of the canal I'll be poling our pirogue through as long as you and Pearl are at my side."

I sighed and lay my head back on the chair.

"Can't you be happy with me, Ruby? Even under the conditions we outlined? Can't you? You thought you could. I know you did. Why don't we give it a chance, at least? Why don't you let me try? Forget you, forget me. Let's just do it for Pearl," he said.

I smiled at him and wagged my head. "Dirty pool, Paul Marcus Tate."

"All's fair in love and war," he said, smiling back.

I took a deep breath. Out of the darkness could come all the demons of our childhood fears. Every night we put our heads to our pillows, we wondered what loitered in the shadows about our shacks. We were made stronger by our trepidations, but we were haunted by them nevertheless. I was not so naive to think there would be no other Buster Trahaws waiting, hovering in the days to come, and that was why I put the letter to Daphne in my mailbox.

But what was the world I wanted Pearl to grow up in . . . the rich Creole world, the Cajun swamp world . . . or the magical world Paul was designing for us? To live in that castle of a house where I could spend my time painting in the great attic studio, feeling and actually being above all that was hard and dirty and difficult below, did seem like a long, golden promise come true. Should I run away into my own Wonderland? Maybe Paul was right, maybe his father was worried only about soothing his own troubled conscience. Maybe it was time to think of ourselves and to think of Pearl.

"Okay," I said softly.

"What? What did you say?"

"I said . . . okay. I'll marry you and we'll live in our own private paradise above and beyond the troubles and turmoil mired in our pasts. We'll obey our own covenants and take our own oaths. We'll pole down that canal together."

"Oh, Ruby, I'm so happy," he said. He stood up and came to me, taking my hands into his. "You're right," he said suddenly, a new excitement in his eyes. "We must have our own private ceremony first and foremost. Stand up," he said.

"What?"

"Come on. There's no better church than the front gallery of Catherine Landry's home," he declared. "What should we do?" I asked, laughing.

"Take my hand." He seized mine into his and pulled me to my feet. "That's it. Now face . . . that sliver of a moon up there. Go on. Ready? Repeat after me. I, Ruby Dumas. Go on, do it," he said.

"I, Ruby Dumas . . ."

"Do hereby pledge to be the best friend and companion Paul Marcus Tate could have or want."

I repeated it and shook my head.

"And I promise to devote myself to my art and become as famous as possible."

That was easy to say.

"That's all I will ask of you, Ruby," he whispered. "But I have more to ask of myself," he added, and then he looked up at the moon. "I, Paul Marcus Tate, do hereby pledge to love and protect Ruby and Pearl Dumas, to take them into my special world and make them as happy as it is possible to be on this planet. I pledge to work harder and keep all that is ugly and unpleasant from our doorstep and I pledge to be honest and truthful and understanding of any and all Ruby's needs, no matter what I might feel."

He kissed me quickly on the cheek.

"Welcome to the land of magic," he said. We both laughed, but my heart was pounding as if I had really been part of some sacred and important ceremony. "We should have something . . . a toast to our happiness."

"I found a little of Grandmère Catherine's blackberry brandy in a jar at the bottom of a closet," I said. We went inside and I poured the few precious drops into two glasses. Laughing, we tapped our glasses and swallowed the brandy in a gulp. It did seem fitting that we top our pledge with something my Grandmère had made.

"No ceremony, nothing any priest or judge could say, will top this," Paul declared, "for this comes from the bottom of our hearts."

I smiled. I didn't think I could feel so good so soon after my ordeal with Buster Trahaw.

"How should we get married?" I wondered, and thought about his parents again.

"A simple ceremony . . . Let's just elope," he decided. "I'll come by tomorrow and we'll drive up to Breaux Bridge. There's a retired priest there who will marry us, legal and all. He's an old friend of the family."

"But he'll want to know why your parents aren't at our sides, Paul, won't he?"

"Leave it up to me," he said. "I'm to start taking care of you from the moment I wake up tomorrow until the day I die," he said. "Or as long as you'll have me around to do so," he qualified. "Be ready at seven. Just think," he said, "all the old biddies who have been quacking about us will finally stop."

Paul remained with me talking about the house, the things we had to buy and do even after we moved in. He was so excited, I barely got in a word. He talked until I grew so tired, I couldn't keep my eyes from shutting.

"I'd better get going and let you get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow." He kissed me on the cheek and then I watched him go off toward the canal to take his boat home.

Before I went back into the house, however, I walked out to the mailbox and took back the letter to Daphne. I wouldn't mail it, but I couldn't get myself to tear it up. If I had learned anything in my short life, it was that nothing was forever, nothing was certain. I couldn't close all the doors. Not yet.

But at least tonight, I thought, I would go to sleep easily, dreaming of that great attic and my wonderful studio and all the exciting paintings I would do in the days to come. What a great place for Pearl to grow up in, I thought when I looked in on her. I fixed her blanket, kissed her cheek, and went to bed looking forward to my dreams.