Beau quietly asked to see Pearl before he left, so I took him to the nursery. Mrs. Flemming had just changed her, brushed her hair, and tied a little pink ribbon in it. The moment Pearl set eyes on Beau, she brightened. Without a word, Beau lifted Pearl into his arms and kissed her curls. She was intrigued with his hair and wanted to run her fingers over it.

"She's very bright," he said, his eyes fixed on her when he spoke. "You can see from the way she gazes at things—how they hold her attention."

"I agree," Mrs. Flemming said.

"Take her down with us, Beau. She'll say good-bye along with Paul and me," I told him. He nodded and we walked out and down the stairs. Gisselle was already moving through the front door, warning James to be careful with her suitcase.

On the gallery, Beau handed Pearl to me and shook Paul's hand. "Thanks for inviting us. It was a very interesting day. I must admit, I learned a lot about the bayou and have grown to respect it a great deal more."

"You're quite welcome," Paul said, gazing quickly at me, too, a tight smile on his lips.

"Beau! Are we going to stand here forever saying good-bye? It's getting muggy and hot and the bugs are stampeding from the swamp to the house," Gisselle cried from the car.

"I'd better be going," he said to us. Paul nodded and went down to kiss Gisselle good-bye.

"Thank you for a lovely time," Beau said to me. He took my hand in his and leaned over to kiss my cheek, but brushed his lips over mine instead. When he pulled his hand away, there was a small piece of paper left in mine. I was about to ask what it was when his eyes told me. For a moment it felt like I was holding a lit match in my palm. I shot a glance toward Paul and Gisselle and then shoved the tiny note into the pocket of my blouse. Beau kissed Pearl on the cheek and hurried down the stairs and got into the car.

"Thanks again," he called.

"'Bye. Come visit us in civilization when you get a chance," Gisselle called. "Home, James," she said, waving toward the highway, and laughed. Beau shook his head, smiled back at us, and put the car into gear.

"Your sister is a piece of work," Paul said. "I don't envy Beau one bit when it comes to living with her. When it comes to other things, I envy him more than he'll ever know." He stared at me a moment, but I shifted my eyes away guiltily. "Well, I've got to get to work," he said. He kissed Pearl and me and then hurried to his own car.

Mrs. Flemming took Pearl from me when I went inside. I didn't feel much like painting, but the quiet solitude I found in my studio was very attractive to me now. I hurried upstairs and closed the door. I stood there for a moment against the door with my eyes closed, reliving the moment downstairs when Beau brought his lips to mine for a quick good-bye kiss. I saw his eyes and felt his love.

My heart was pounding as I plucked the note out of my pocket and unwrapped it. There was simply an address on it and a date and time. The day was Tuesday of next week. I crushed the note in my fist and went to throw it in the wastebasket under the easel, but it was as if the paper had glue on it now. It wouldn't leave my hand.

I shoved it back into the breast pocket of my blouse and tried to push it out of my mind when I began to work, but every few minutes I imagined it grew warm and sent a tingle of anticipation down one breast and around the other. It was as if Beau's fingers were there, Beau's lips were there. My heart raced, shortening my breath. I couldn't work; I couldn't concentrate on any-thing else.

Finally I gave up and went to the window seat. I sat for nearly an hour just staring at the canals, watching the herons fly in and out. With trembling fingers I took Beau's note out of my pocket again and studied the address, committing it and the date to memory. Then I put the note in a drawer in my art supply cabinet. I just couldn't get myself to throw it away.

Paul didn't return home for lunch. I did a little work, but most of the time I listened to the competing voices in my mind. One voice was softer, pleading, tempting, trying to convince me that I deserved Beau's love and that our love was too good and pure a feeling to be dirty or evil.

But the second voice was harsher, biting, cutting, reminding me of the pain I could bring to Paul, whose devotion to Pearl and me was unwavering and complete. Look at the sacrifices he's making for your happiness, the voice said.

But that's only more reason to keep my rendezvous with Beau secret, my softer voice retorted.

Deceit!

No, it's not deceitful if you're doing it to protect someone you love and prevent him from suffering any pain.

But you're being sneaky and you're lying and hiding. Would Paul do that to you?

No, but you and Paul did agree that neither of you would stand in the way of the other if one of you found someone else to love. Paul is upset and frustrated, but he is understanding and he doesn't want to do anything to make you unhappy or prevent you from becoming happy.

But . . .

Oh, stop the but's and the ifs, I screamed at myself. I threw down my brush and left the studio, where the solitude only encouraged my two selves to argue. I took a walk around the house and grounds and then, impulsively, I went inside, found Pearl and Mrs. Flemming, and told Mrs. Flemming I was taking Pearl for a ride with me.

I put her in her car seat beside me and drove to Grandrnere Catherine's old shack. It was a mostly overcast day now with the breeze from the southwest threatening to blow in darker rain clouds.

"Do you remember this place, Pearl?" I asked as I took her out and carried her toward the sloping gallery. The weeds were high and there were spiderwebs all over my roadside stand. I could hear field mice in the house scurrying in every direction looking for places to hide when they sensed my approach and heard my footsteps on the gallery planks. The screen door groaned on its rusted hinges as I opened it and entered what now looked like so tiny a room to me. Funny, I thought, when I was growing up here, this was my whole world, and to me it was tremendous. Now I had closets bigger than the living room, and Letty had a pantry bigger than this kitchen.

I walked through the house, hoping that my return would draw Grandmère Catherine's spirit and I would get some advice from her. If only there were a sign, an omen, I thought. But the shack was empty and hollow, my footsteps echoing. It was a grave site from which the bodies had long fled. Even my memories seemed uncomfortable here, for there was no longer any warmth, no music, no aromas of gumbo and jambalaya, no voices, nothing but the sound of the wind slapping loose boards against each other and skimming over the tin roof, making it sound as if a flock of mockingbirds or blue jays were nervously pacing from one end to the other.

I went out back and gazed at the canal.

"Mommy used to play down there, Pearl. Mommy used to walk along that bank and see the animals and the fish, even the alligators and turtles. Sometimes the deer would come right up to the back here to graze and they would lift their heads and look at me with sad eyes."

Pearl just gazed at everything with wonder in her eyes. She appeared to sense my pensive feelings and was quieter than usual. Then, as if she had heard my words, a small doe stepped out from behind some bushes and raised her head to gaze at us. Pearl's eyes widened with interest. The beautiful deer was as still as a statue, only its long ears flicking occasionally. Even when Pearl cried out, it only scrutinized us with more curiosity, no fear. After a few more moments, just as casually as it had appeared, it turned and disappeared like an apparition.

This was a world that did have pure and innocent things in it, and if they were left alone, they would remain that way, I thought; but they were rarely left alone. I walked about the shack for a while but left concluding that there was only one place to look for an answer to my dilemma, and that place was in my own heart.

A few days later at dinner Paul told me of his need to go to Dallas, Texas.

"I'll have to be away three days," he said. "I'd like Pearl and you to come along. You can bring Mrs. Flemming, too, of course. Unless you have other plans, that is," he said.

"Well, I was planning on bringing the Confederate series to New Orleans. I've already spoken to Dominique about it and my other works, and he thinks it's time to arrange for an art show. He wants to invite some of his best customers, do lots of advertising."

"That's wonderful, Ruby."

"I don't think I'm ready for such exposure, but . . ."

"You'll never think you're ready, but if Dominique does, then why not give it a shot?"

I nodded and played with my napkin for a moment. "So what I think I'll do is go into New Orleans while you're in Dallas," I said. "I'll just stay a night."

"Will you stay with Gisselle?" he asked.

"I'd rather not," I said. "I'll probably stay at the Fairmont."

"Good."

We gazed at each other. Did Paul know what was really in my heart? It had always been hard to hide my true feelings and thoughts from him. If he knew, he chose not to speak. He smiled and turned to Pearl. I hated doing something I considered deceitful, but my softer voice had won out when it said I was doing something to prevent Paul from suffering any pain.

He had to leave early the day he went to Dallas. After I rose, I packed my things and went down to breakfast. James helped me pack my paintings in the trunk of the car carefully and then Mrs. Flemming brought Pearl out to wave as I drove off.

I gazed in my rearview mirror and saw them standing there . . . Mrs. Flemming and Beau's and my beautiful daughter. Surely a love that produced her couldn't be evil, I thought, and that thought propelled me forward. Moments after I pulled onto the main highway and accelerated, I took the ribbon out of my hair and let the wind lift the strands, making me feel free and alive and full of excitement.