"Why, though?" I wondered aloud. "She certainly didn't want the money and the property to go to us," I said, looking at Gisselle for agreement.

"That's for sure," she said.

"Maybe . . . she was afraid of Bruce," Beau suggested.

"Afraid? How do you mean that?" Paul asked.

"Afraid that if he could get such wealth at her death, he might . . . what should I say, accelerate her death?" Everyone was quiet for a moment, even Gisselle, as we pondered what Beau was saying.

"She knew what kind of man she had married and the things he was capable of doing," Beau continued. "We came across some of their shenanigans together before Pierre died. There were documents forged, false papers created . . . a trail of deceit."

"Then Bruce isn't getting anything he doesn't deserve," Paul concluded.

Beau and he continued to go through the details of the holdings. Gisselle, who had demanded the meeting take place immediately, grew more fidgety. Finally we decided to adjourn for lunch.

We ate on the patio. Paul kept Beau intrigued with his talk of politics and oil, and Gisselle rambled on about some of her old friends, the things they bought, the places they had been. When Mrs. Flemming brought Pearl to see us, I held my breath, expecting Gisselle to make some embarrassing comment, but she held her tongue and performed like the perfect aunt, suddenly taking delight in her niece.

"I'm going to wait to have children," she declared. "I know what it can do to your figure and I'm not ready for that yet. Beau and I are completely agreed about it, right, Beau?"

"What? Oh, sure, chérie."

"Say something romantic in French, Beau. Just like you used to when we walked along the banks of the Seine. Please."

He looked at me and then he said, "Whenever you come into a room, mon coeur battait la chamade."

"Oh, isn't that beautiful. What does it mean, Beau?"

His eyes fell on me for an instant again and then he smiled at Gisselle and said, "Whenever you come into a room, my heart goes bumpety bump."

"You Cajuns have any French expressions of love?" she asked.

"A few," Paul said. "But our accent is so different, you'd probably not understand. Well, how about our tour of the swamp. Ready?"

"I'll never be ready for that," Gisselle complained. "You're going to be fascinated, despite yourself," Paul promised.

"I don't have anything to wear. I don't want to get any of the clothes I have with me spotted with swamp mud and grease."

"I have some old pants that will fit you, Gisselle," I said. "And some old shirts. Come on. Let's get ready."

She whined and complained all the way up the stairs, in the room changing, and back down again. Paul had some bug repellent for her to smear on her face and exposed arms and neck.

"What if I break into a rash from this?" she whined.

"You won't. It's an old Cajun recipe."

"What's in it?" she demanded.

"It's better if you don't know," Paul wisely replied.

"It stinks."

"So the bugs will stay away from you," Beau said. "As well as everyone else."

We laughed and, after Gisselle was properly smeared, went down to the boat. Beau sat between Gisselle and me.

"Laissez les bon temps rouler!" Paul cried. "Let the good times roll!"

Gisselle screamed when we pulled away from the dock, but in minutes, she grew calm and interested. Paul pointed out the ropes of green snakes, the movement of alligators, the nutrias, the birds, and the beautiful honey-suckle covering the banks of the canals. He was a wonderful guide, his voice filled with his love of the swamp, his admiration for the life that fed and dwelt within the canals. He cut the engine and we floated over shallow brackish lakes, observing the muskrats busily building their dried domes of grass. He pointed out a cottonmouth sunning itself on a rock, its triangular head the color of an old penny.

The flutter of wood ducks over the surface of the water caught our attention, and moments later, a large, old alligator raised its head and peered at us, dragonflies circling just above him. We floated through islands of lily pads and under the sprawling weeping willows. Beau asked Paul question after question about the vegetation, the animals, the way to read the canals and know what to anticipate.

Gisselle was forced to admit she had enjoyed the tour. "It was like floating though a zoo or something," she said. "But I can't wait to take a bath and get this gook off."

Afterward, we dressed for dinner. We had cocktails in the library, where Paul and Beau discussed New Orleans politics, and Gisselle described the new fashions and the original designs she had commissioned for herself. Letty prepared one of her gourmet meals, and Beau continually expressed his admiration. We all drank too much wine and talked incessantly, Paul, Beau, and myself filling every silent moment out of nervousness more than anything else, I thought. Only Gisselle seemed relaxed and comfortable.

After dinner we had cordials in the living room. The wine, the good food, the endless stream of conversation, and the emotional tension exhausted us. Even Gisselle was yawning.

"We should go to sleep and get up early," she suggested.

"Early?" Beau said, amazed. "You?"

"Well, as early as possible so we can finish the paperwork and get back to New Orleans. We have that performing arts ball tomorrow night. It's black tie," she said. "You ever go to a black-tie affair, Paul?"

Paul blushed. "Well, only in Baton Rouge at the governor's mansion," he said.

"Oh." Gisselle's face drooped. "I'm tired, Beau. I ate too much."

"We'll go right up. Thank you for a lovely day and a lovely evening," he said. He took Gisselle's arm. She did wobble a bit.

"Nighty-night, you two," she sang, and let Beau guide her to the stairway. Paul shook his head and laughed. Then he sat down again.

"Are you happy with these decisions? I didn't mean to interfere in your business," he said.

"My business is your business, Paul. I'm completely depending on you for this sort of thing. I'm sure you made the right choices."

He smiled. "If Beau thought he was coming here to deal with some dumb Cajun, he got a big surprise. Believe me, we came out better than they did," he said with uncharacteristic arrogance. "I was hoping he would be more . . ." He smiled at me. "Of a challenge. So," he said, sitting back, "what is it like for you two now?"

"Paul, please, don't."

"An accident of birth," he muttered. "A curse. If my father hadn't wandered into the swamp, hadn't betrayed my mother . . ."

"Paul . . ."

"I know. I'm sorry. It just seems so unfair. We should have a say in all this, huh? As spirits before we were born, we should have a say. And don't laugh at that, Ruby," he warned. "Your Grandmère Catherine believed the spirit was there even before the body."

"I'm not laughing, Paul. I just don't want you to agonize. I'm okay. We've all had too much to drink. Let's go to sleep, too."

He nodded.

"Go ahead up," he said. "I want to finish something in the office."

"Paul . . ."

"I'll go up soon. I promise." He kissed me on the cheek and held me tightly to him for a long moment. Then he sighed, turned away, and left quickly.

With a heavy heart I went upstairs. I checked on Pearl and then I went to my bedroom to go to sleep, knowing that in the rooms beside me there were two men who longed to be at my side. I felt like forbidden fruit, sealed away by ethical, religious, and written law. Years ago my parents listened only to the dictates of their hearts. Despite the prohibitions and the heavy weight of the sins they would commit, they went to each other, thinking about the touch of each other's fingers, the softness of each other's lips.

Was I built from stronger moral timber? More important, did I want to be, really, deep down want to be? Or did I want to throw myself into my lover's arms and become so drunk on love that no morning after, no days that followed, no nights filled with haunting voices, could ever matter?

It wasn't our fault; it couldn't be our fault that we were in love and events had made that love sinful. It was the events that were sinful, I told myself. But that didn't make it any easier to face the break of day and the longing that would inevitably follow.


9

  Forbidden Fruit

Although Gisselle had whined about her desire to wake up early, complete our business, and be on her way back to New Orleans, Paul, Beau, and I were already seated at the table having coffee when she finally floated in, moaning and groaning about her restless night's sleep.

"I kept having nightmares that some of those swamp creatures we saw were getting into the house, slithering up the stairs and right into my room and into my bed! I knew I shouldn't have gone on that boat trip through the canals. Now it will take months to get those pictures out of my head. Ugh," she said, and shook herself free of a chill.

Paul laughed. "Really Gisselle, I'd think you would have more to worry about living in a city with all that street crime. At least our creatures are predictable. If you try to pet a cottonmouth snake, he'll give you his opinion quickly."

Beau laughed, too.

"Well, it might be funny to you men, but women are more dainty, more fragile. At least women in New Orleans," she said, eyeing me when I didn't come to her defense.

Then she disclosed that she was too tired to eat very much. "I'll just have some coffee," she said.

The rest of us ate a hearty breakfast, after which we went into the office and completed the paperwork. I signed whatever documents had to be signed, and Beau promised he would keep us up-to-date on all the proceedings.