She presented her letter of reference and we all went into the living room to talk. But none of her previous experience, nor an arm's length of references, would have made any difference if Pearl didn't take to her. A baby is completely reliant on its instincts, its feelings, I thought. The moment Mrs. Flemming saw my baby and the moment Pearl set eyes on her, my decision was made. Pearl smiled widely and didn't complain when Mrs. Flemming took her into her arms. It was as if they had known each other from the day Pearl had been born.

"Oh, what a precious little girl," Mrs. Flemming declared. "You are precious, you know, as precious as a pearl. Yes, you are."

Pearl laughed, shifted her eyes toward me as if she wanted to see whether or not I was jealous, and then gazed into Mrs. Flemming's loving face.

"I didn't get much chance to be with my own granddaughter when she was this small," she remarked. "My daughter lives in England, you know. We write to each other a lot and I go there once a year, but . . ."

"Why didn't you move there with her?" I asked. It was a very personal question, and perhaps I shouldn't have asked it so directly, but I felt I had to know as much as I could about the woman who would be with Pearl almost as much as, if not more than, I would be. Mrs. Flemming's eyes darkened.

"Oh, she has her own life now," she said. "I didn't want to interfere." Then she added, "Her husband's mother lives with them."

She didn't have to explain any more. As Grandmère Catherine would say, "Keeping two Grandmères under the same roof peacefully is like trying to keep an alligator in the bathtub."

"Where are you living now?" Paul asked.

"I'm just in a rooming house."

He looked at me, while Mrs. Flemming played with Pearl's tiny fingers.

"Well, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't move right in, then," I said. "If the arrangements are satisfactory for you," I added.

She looked up and brightened immediately.

"Oh yes, dear. Yes. Thank you."

"I'll have one of my men take you back to the rooming house and wait for you to get your things together," Paul said.

"First let me show you where you will sleep, Mrs. Flemming," I said, pointedly eyeing Paul. He was doing it again, moving along so fast, I could barely catch my breath. "Your room adjoins the nursery."

Pearl didn't complain when Mrs. Flemming carried her out and up to her room. I kept feeling there was almost something spiritual about the way the two of them took so quickly to each other, and sure enough, I discovered Mrs. Flemming was left-handed. To Cajuns that meant she could have spiritual powers. Perhaps hers were more subtle, the powers of love, rather than the powers of healing.

"Well?" Paul asked after Mrs. Flemming had left with one of his men to get her things.

"She does seem perfect, Paul."

"Then you won't be upset leaving her here with Pearl?" he followed. "We'll be away only a day or two." I hesitated and he laughed. "It's all right. I've come up with the solution. I have to be reminded from time to time how rich I really am. We really are, I should say."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll just take Pearl along, reserve an adjoining room with a crib," he said. "Why should I care what it costs, as long as it makes you happy?"

"Oh, Paul," I cried. It did seem like his newfound wealth could solve every problem. I threw my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. His eyes widened with happy surprise. As if I had crossed a forbidden boundary, I pulled back. For a moment my happiness and excitement had overwhelmed me. A strange look of reflection came into his blue eyes.

"It's all right, Ruby," he said quickly. "We can love each other purely, honestly. We're only half brother and sister, you know. There's the other half."

"That's the half that worries me," I confessed softly.

"I just want you to know," he said, taking my hands into his, "that your happiness is all I live for." His face became dark and serious as we just stared into each other's faces.

"I know, Paul," I finally said. "And that frightens me sometimes."

"Why?" he asked with surprise.

"It's . . . it just does," I said.

"All right. Let's not have any sad talk. We have to pack and plan. I have to go make some arrangements with the oil drill foreman and then go back to the cannery for a few hours. In the meantime, draw up your shopping list and don't spare a thing," he said. "My family will be here about six-thirty," he added, and left.

I had forgotten about that. Facing Paul's mother was something I dreaded. It started my heart tripping with anxiety. Despite the promise I had made to Paul's father, I wasn't good at looking someone in the face and ignoring the truth. My twin sister, Gisselle, was the expert when it came to that, not me. Somehow, though, I had to do it.

I changed my dress five times before deciding on the one I would wear to dinner with my new family. I couldn't decide whether I should pin up my hair or wear it long. Every little detail suddenly took on paramount importance. I wanted to make the best impression I could. In the end I decided to pin up my hair and went down to dinner just as the Tates arrived. Paul was already dressed and waiting in the entryway.

Toby and Jeanne entered first, Jeanne bubbling over with excitement and eager to describe how the community was reacting to our elopement. Octavious and Gladys Tate followed; she clung to his arm as if she were afraid she wouldn't be able to stand straight or keep from fainting if she were on her own. She kissed Paul on the cheek and then gazed up at me as I descended the stairway.

A tall woman, only an inch or so shorter than her husband, Gladys Tate usually projected a regal stature. I knew she had come from a wealthy Cajun family in Beaumont, Texas. She had attended a finishing school and college where she had met Octavious Tate. It often surprised me that more people didn't suspect Paul was not really her child. Her features were so much sharper, thinner. There was a hardness in her face, a look of superiority and arrogance, and aloofness, that set her apart from most of the women in our Cajun community, even the ones who were wealthy, too.

She usually kept her hair stylishly cut and wore the most up-to-date designs, but tonight she looked so dark and depressed that not even the most fashionable clothing or best hairstylist could change her sad appearance. She gave me the feeling she was attending a wake rather than a family dinner. Her eyes searched my face anxiously as I approached.

"Hi," I said, smiling nervously. I gazed at Paul and then said, "I guess I should start calling you two Mom and Dad."

Octavious smiled nervously, his eyes shifting to Gladys, who, only because Paul's sisters were present, let her lips slip into a quick grin. Immediately she returned to her more formal expression.

"Where's the baby?" she asked in a cold, hard voice, directing the question at Paul rather than me.

"Oh, we've just hired a nanny today, Mom. Her name is Mrs. Flemming. Both she and Pearl are upstairs in the nursery. She fed Pearl earlier, but she'll bring her down after we eat."

"A nanny?" Gladys said, nodding, impressed.

"She's very nice," I offered. Gladys Tate's lips softened slightly when she gazed at me. I felt we could slice the air between us, it was that thick.

"I'll go see about dinner," I said. "Why don't you show everyone into the dining room."

"I haven't really seen your house, Paul," Gladys complained.

"Oh. Right. Let me take my mother around first, Ruby."

"Fine," I said, happy for the chance to get away. This was going to be harder than I had imagined, I thought.

Letty, as though she knew the deepest, darkest secrets, prepared a meal that was even more special than the first she had prepared for us. Octavious kept saying how jealous he was that his son had a finer cook. For her part Gladys complimented everything properly, but every time she spoke, I sensed a control wound so tight that at any moment it could spring loose and become hysteria. It was as if she might burst out in shrill screams suddenly over the slightest thing. It kept Paul, his father, and me on pins and needles. I was relieved when we had gotten through the dessert, which was a chocolate rum soufflé Paul's father said rivaled any he had ever had.

Just as Molly refilled everyone's coffee cup, Mrs. Flemming appeared with Pearl in her arms.

"Isn't she gorgeous, Mom?" Jeanne cried. "I think she has Paul's eyes, don't you?"

Gladys Tate stared at me a moment and then looked at Pearl. "She is a pretty child," she said in a very noncommittal tone of voice.

"Do you want to hold her, madame?" Mrs. Flemming offered. I held my breath. Mrs. Flemming was a Grandmère who knew how much any Grandmère would want to hold and kiss her own grandchild.

"Of course," Gladys said with a forced smile. Mrs. Flemming brought Pearl to her. She squirmed uncomfortably in her arms, but didn't cry. Gladys Tate stared into her face for a moment and then kissed her quickly on the forehead. She smiled up at Mrs. Flemming and nodded to indicate she wanted her to take her back. Mrs. Flemming's eyes narrowed for a moment and then she hurried forward.

"How does it feel to be a Grandmère, Mom?" Jeanne asked.

Gladys Tate smiled coldly. "If you mean do I feel any older as a result, Jeanne, the answer is no." She turned and fixed her gaze on me across the table, and then Paul suggested we all go into the library.

"It's not much yet. Nothing is, but after Ruby and I return from New Orleans, this place is going to be a showcase."

"Why don't you two tell your mother some of your plans for the house decor," Octavious suggested. He turned to me. "Gladys did most of our decorating."