"Must be your fairy godmother," he said.

I looked in on Pearl. She slept so contentedly in her pretty new crib. I leaned in and kissed her on the forehead and then I returned to my own bedroom and slipped into my own large bed with its fluffy pillows and soft mattress.

The overcast and rain had moved southeast and the cloud cover had broken up to permit some moonlight to fall over our great house and spill through my windows. I lay there, comfortable, but still full of trepidation about all our tomorrows. Then I heard a gentle knock on the adjoining door.

"Yes?"

Paul opened it and looked in. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Paul. Fine."

"Comfortable?" he asked, remaining in the doorway, silhouetted.

"Very."

"May I kiss you good night?" he asked in a small voice. I was quiet a moment.

"Yes," I said.

He approached, leaned over, and pressed his lips to my cheek. I thought that would be it, but he moved toward my lips, so I turned away. I could feel his disappointment. He lingered inches from me and then straightened up.

"Good night, Ruby. I love you," he said. "As much as any other man could," he added.

"I know, Paul. Good night."

"Good night," he said, his voice soft and small, like the voice of a little boy again.

He closed the door between us and a cloud closed the gap that had permitted the moonlight a window on my new world. For a while the darkness was thick and deep again.

However, although they were on the other side of the house and some distance away, the oil pumps could be heard delving into the bowels of the earth to draw up the black liquid that would ensure our future and build walls of riches around us, keeping out the demons. Paul had created a moat of oil between us and the hardships that marred so much of the world beyond.

I could cuddle in my luxurious comforter and I could close my eyes and put aside my own fears and think only of the wonderful things to do. I could dream of Pearl as a little girl with her own pony. I could dream of lawn parties and birthday parties and grand dinners. I could dream of my studio bright and full of new works.

What else should I wish for? I thought.

Wish for love, a tiny little voice whispered. Wish for love.


4

  Another New Family

Very early the next morning, I heard the adjoining door open and saw Paul poke his head around to check if I was awake. He was about to retreat when I called to him.

"Oh, I didn't mean to wake you," he said quickly.

"What time is it?"

"It's very early, but I wanted to check on the wells before going over to the cannery this morning. I'll be home for lunch. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. It's a very comfortable bed," I said. "And these pillows . . . it's like sleeping in a vat of butter."

He smiled. "Great. See you later, then." He closed the door and I rose and got dressed before Pearl woke. By the way she was giggling and playing in her crib, I saw that she, too, had enjoyed her first night in her new home. I dressed her and took her downstairs. After breakfast, I took Pearl up to the attic to plan out my studio and make a list of what I would buy when we were in New Orleans. When Pearl took her late morning nap, I went out to the side patio to watch the men Paul had hired work on our landscaping.

The scent of new bamboo was in the air, and off in the distance, a pair of snow white egrets soared into the blue sky. I sighed with pleasure, dazzled. I was so entranced in my own visions of the rolling lawns, the flagstone walkways, the flower beds and bushes, that I didn't hear a car come up our drive, nor did I hear the door chimes.

James came out to the patio to inform me I had a visitor. Before I could go back into the house, Paul's father appeared. As soon as James retreated, Octavious hurriedly approach me. A chilling shiver ran down my spine.

"I told Paul I'd join you two for lunch and then go over to the wells with him, but I left early so I would have a chance to speak with you alone," he quickly explained.

"Mr. Tate . . ."

"You might as well start calling me Octavious or . . . Dad," he said, not quite bitterly, but not quite willingly either.

"Octavious, I know this is something you left my house believing I wouldn't go through with, but Paul was so heartbroken―and after I had been attacked by Buster Trahaw—"

"Don't explain," he said. He took a deep breath and gazed out at the swamp. "What's done is done. Long ago," he continued, "I stopped believing that Fate or Destiny owes me anything. Whatever good fortune I have, whatever blessings I receive, I don't deserve. I live only to see my children and my wife happy and secure."

"Paul is very happy," I said.

"I know. But my wife . . ." He looked down a moment and then raised his dark, sad eyes to me. "First off, she's terrified that somehow, because of this marriage, the truth will rear its ugly head in our small community and all of the make-believe she has constructed around Paul and herself will come crashing down. People think because we are a rich, successful family that we are as hard as rock, but behind closed doors . . . our tears are just as salty."

"I understand," I said.

"Do you?" He brightened. "Because I've come early to beg a favor."

"Of course," I said without hearing his request.

"I want you to keep the . . . for lack of a better word . . . illusion alive whenever you see her. Even though you know the truth and Gladys knows you know."

"You didn't have to ask me," I said. "I'd do it for Paul as well as for Mrs. Tate."

"Thank you," he said with relief, and then gazed around. "Well, this is quite a home Paul is building. He's a nice young man. He deserves his happiness. I'm very proud of him, always have been, and I know your mother would have been proud of him, too." He backed away. "Well . . . I . . . I'm just going out to speak to one of the workers in front," he stammered. "I'll wait for Paul. Thanks," he added, and quickly turned to disappear into the house.

My quickened heartbeat slowed, but the emptiness in my stomach that made it feel as if I had swallowed a dozen butterflies live continued. It would take time, I thought, and maybe even time wouldn't smooth the rough edges between me and Paul's parents, but for Paul's sake, I would try. Every day of this specially arranged marriage would be a day full of tests and questions. At least in the beginning. Despite all we had and all we would have, I had to question whether or not I could go through with it.

James returned to interrupt my heavy thoughts. "Mr. Tate is on the phone, madame," he said.

"Oh. Thank you, James." I started for the house, realizing I didn't know exactly where the closest phone was.

"You can take it right here on the patio," James said, and nodded toward the table and chairs. A telephone had been placed on a small bamboo stand beside one of the chairs.

"Thank you, James." I laughed to myself. The servants were more familiar with my new home than I was. "Hello, Paul."

"Ruby, I'll be home very soon, but I had to call you to tell you about this stroke of luck. At least, I think it is," he said excitedly.

"What is it?"

"Our foreman here at the cannery knew this nice elderly woman who just lost her job as a nanny because the family's moving away. Her name is Mrs. Flemming. I just spoke to her on the phone and she can come to Cypress Woods this afternoon for a personal interview. I spoke with the family and they can't stop raving about her."

"How old is she?"

"Early sixties. She's been a widow for some time. She has a married daughter who lives in England. She misses her family and seeks employment to be around children. If she works out, maybe we can hire her immediately and leave her with Pearl while we go to New Orleans."

"Oh, I don't know if I can do that so soon, Paul."

"Well, you'll see after you speak with her. Should I tell her to come around two?"

"Okay," I said.

"What's the matter? Aren't you happy about it?" he asked. Even through a telephone, Paul could sense when I was nervous or anxious, sad or happy.

"Yes, it's just that you keep moving so fast, I barely have time to catch my breath over one astounding thing when you present me with another."

He laughed. "That's my plan. To overwhelm you with good things, to drown you in happiness, so that you will never regret what we have done and why we have done it," he said. "Oh, my father is going to join us for lunch. He might arrive before I do, so . . ."

"Don't worry," I said.

"I'll call Mrs. Flemming and then I'll start for home. What's Letty making?"

"I was afraid to ask her," I said, suddenly realizing. He laughed.

"Just tell her you'll put the hoodoo on her if she doesn't behave," he said.

I hung up and sat back. I felt like I was in a pirogue going over one waterfall after another, with no chance to catch my breath.

"The little one's up, Mrs. Tate," Holly called from an upstairs window.

"Coming," I said. There wasn't time to think about anything now, but maybe Paul was right. Maybe that was for the best.

At lunch neither I nor Paul's father did or said anything to reveal we'd spoken earlier, but we were all nervous. Paul did most of the talking. He was so full of excitement, it would have taken a hurricane to slow him down. His conversation with his father finally centered around their business problems.

Promptly at two, Mrs. Flemming arrived in a taxi. Paul's father had left, but Paul had remained to greet her with me. The first thing that struck me about her was how close in size she was to Grandmère Catherine. Standing no taller than five feet three or four, Mrs. Flemming had the same doll-like, diminutive facial features: a button nose and small, delicate mouth with two bright grayish blue eyes. Her light silvery hair still had some strands of corn yellow running through it. She kept it pinned up in a soft bun with her bangs trimmed.