I actually sobbed while I painted, the tears dripping off my cheeks, and when I was finished, I sat in the window seat and gazed out at the canals, embracing myself and crying like a baby.

My next picture depicted his lover getting the terrible news. Her face was twisted with agony, her hands wrenching a handkerchief in them while a pocket watch he had given her dangled from her fingers. The messenger looked just as sad as she did, with his head bowed and his shoulders slumped.

I did both pictures in darker shades and had the Spanish-moss-laden cypress either in the background or off to the side. I decided to paint the outline of gleeful Death in the cobweblike strands.

When Paul saw the pictures the first time, he said nothing. His eyes narrowed and then he walked to the window and gazed out over our beautifully landscaped gardens and hedges toward the canals where we used to pole in a pirogue together and talk about the sort of man and woman we wanted to be when we were adults living on our own.

"I've put you in a different sort of prison," he said sadly. "I've done a terrible thing."

"No you haven't, Paul. You've only tried to do the best things for Pearl and me. Don't blame yourself for anything. I won't hear of it."

He turned around, his face darker and more despondent than I had ever seen it.

"I wanted only for you to be happy, Ruby."

"I know that," I said, smiling.

"But I feel like the man who captured the beautiful mockingbird and put it in a cage in his house, giving it the best things to eat and the most loving attention he could. Even so, he woke up one morning and found it had died of a broken heart, its eyes turned toward the window and the freedom it had known and needed. It's true, you can love too much."

"I don't mind being loved too much," I said. "Please, Paul, I don't want you to be sad because of anything I say or do. I'll throw these pictures away."

"Oh no. They are some of your best work. Don't you dare!" he exclaimed. "You're going to become famous because of this series."

"It's almost more important to you than it is to me that I become a well-known artist, isn't it?" I asked.

"Of course. 'Wild Cajun artist captures the minds and imaginations of the sophisticated art world,′ " he announced, and drew the headlines in the air.

I laughed.

"Let's have a nice dinner tonight, a special dinner, and then go listen to some zydeco music. We haven't done that for quite a while," he suggested.

"Fine."

"Oh," he said on the way out, "did I tell you? I bought some more property this morning."

"What property?"

"All the land south of us to the canals. We're now the biggest landowners in all Terrebone Parish. Not bad for two swamp rats, huh?" he said proudly. He laughed and went down to tell Letty to do something special for us for dinner. Just before I went down to dinner, however, I received a phone call from Gisselle.

"I've been waiting for you to call me," she began, "to congratulate me on my marriage."

"Congratulations," I said.

"Sounds like sour grapes."

"It's not. If Beau wanted to marry you and you wanted to marry him, then I wish you both health and happiness."

"We're the most exciting couple in New Orleans again, you know. Everyone's inviting us to dinner parties, and when we walk into restaurants, everyone stops eating to watch us take our seats. We're a very handsome couple and quite famous. Our names and pictures are always in the society pages. Beau says we should attend as many charity functions as we can. It looks good and he feels he's doing something important. I don't mind, although I can't remember one from the other, so don't ask me."

"What is Beau doing?" I asked as casually as I could.

"Doing? What do you mean?"

"With his life. He once wanted to be a doctor, remember?"

"Oh, he's too busy looking after my affairs now. He's a businessman and he'll make more money than he would being a doctor anyway. And don't say he's too young. Look at how well Paul has done," she added quickly.

"He used to talk about helping people, healing people, and how rewarding he thought that might be," I said sadly.

"So? Now he's helping and healing me, and that's quite rewarding for him, too," Gisselle responded. "Well, I've got to go. We have so many affairs to attend, I'm running out of clothes to wear. I have an appointment with a designer later. I think I should be wearing originals, don't you? Of course, you're lucky. The only place you have to go is some shack bar and restaurant, so you don't have to worry about looking stylish. Say hello to Paul. 'Bye," she sang, and hung up the phone.

I felt like smashing my receiver against the wall, but swallowed back the knot of frustration in my throat and hung up gently. Then I took a deep breath and went to join Paul, driving Gisselle's voice and words as far down into the basement of my thoughts as I could.

But a week later, Paul came up to my studio to tell me Beau had just phoned.

"He says your attorneys have completed all the work on the estate and he would like to meet with us to go over everything. I thought it would be convenient to have them come here."

"Here? You invited them to Cypress Woods?"

"Yes. Why? Are you upset about it?"

"No, I'm not upset. I . . . Wait until he mentions it to Gisselle," I said. "He'll be calling back," I assured him.

But Beau didn't call back. He and Gisselle were coming and Beau would finally set eyes on his own daughter.

They drove up in Daddy's Rolls-Royce. I was pruning in the rose garden, doing everything and anything I could to keep busy and keep from thinking. Mrs. Flemming was on the other side of the house with Pearl. I had made sure that Pearl was dressed in one of her prettiest outfits and her hair was brushed and tied with a little pink bow. Of course, Mrs. Flemming didn't know who Beau really was, but she could tell from my excitement and nervousness that he was a special visitor.

Paul had gone to the cannery for what he promised was only a short visit, but he had not yet returned when I heard the car horn and turned to see the familiar luxurious automobile make its way up our long driveway. I took off my gloves and walked out to greet them.

"Where are your servants?" Gisselle demanded haughtily. "They should be right here when a guest arrives."

"Things aren't as formal in the bayou, Gisselle," I said. I turned to Beau. "Hello, Beau, how are you?"

"Fine," he said. "This is . . . magnificent. Gisselle's descriptions didn't do it justice," he added, looking around and nodding. "It's one of those places you have to see for yourself to really appreciate. I can see why you're happy here, Ruby," he added.

"Of course she's happy. She has a modern home and yet she lives in her beloved swamp," Gisselle said. James appeared in the doorway. "That's your butler, right? What's his name?"

"James," I said.

"James," she called immediately. "Will you get our bags from the trunk? I need to freshen up as soon as possible. The long ride and the swamp heat has turned my hair into steel wool."

James gazed at me and I nodded.

"Very well, madame," he said. I had already told him which guest room they would be using.

"I can't wait to be shown around," Beau said, his eyes fixed on me.

"I've seen the place," Gisselle said. "So I'll go right to our suite. We do have a suite, don't we?"

"Of course," I said. "Right this way."

"We'll be here just one night. Beau has brought all the paperwork and documents for you to sign, right, Beau?" "Yes," he said, his eyes still fixed on me.

"I want to get it over with as soon as possible so I don't have to make any more trips out to the swamps," she added, reprimanding Beau with a sharp look.

"We'll do whatever we have to do to move things along to everyone's satisfaction, I'm sure," I said.

"You sound just like Daphne. Doesn't she, Beau? Don't become a snobby rich woman, dear sister," she warned, and then threw her head back to laugh. I looked at Beau, who smiled softly and shook his head.

"All right, James. Lead the way," Gisselle commanded, and we all walked into the house.

Beau exclaimed his awe at the size of the foyer, the woodwork and the chandeliers. The more he complimented me on the house, the more irritated Gisselle grew.

"You have been in finer houses in the Garden District, Beau. I don't know why you're pretending to be so impressed."

"I'm not pretending, chérie," he said softly. "You must give Ruby and Paul credit for building a very dramatic house in the bayou."

"Don't you just love it when he uses French?" Gisselle squealed. "All right. I'll admit this is quite a shack," she said, and laughed. "James? Where is he?"

"Waiting for you with your things at the top of the stairway, Gisselle," I said, nodding toward it.

"Oh. Don't you have a maid, too?"

"All of my servants will be at your beck and call," I assured her. She smirked and started up the stairway.

"It is a beautiful house in a beautiful location," Beau said.

We stared at each other for a moment, silence thicker than fog coming between us.

"Let me bring you to . . . Pearl," I said softly. His eyes brightened with anticipation. I led him out to the patio, where Mrs. Flemming had Pearl playing in a playpen.

"Mrs. Flemming, this is my brother-in-law, Beau Andreas," I said quickly.

"How do you do?" Beau extended his hand, his eyes really riveted on Pearl.

"Pleased to meet you," Mrs. Flemming said.

"And this is Pearl," I murmured. He was already moving toward her. He knelt down by the playpen, and she stopped fiddling with her toy to look into his face. Could one so tiny and young recognize her true father? Did she see something in his eyes, something of herself instantly? Unlike her curious look at other people that usually died in a flash, she studied Beau and formed a tiny smile on her diminutive lips, and when he reached over to lift her out of the playpen, she didn't cry. He kissed her cheek and hair, and she reached out to touch his hair and his face as if she wanted to be sure he wasn't a dream.