"Well," he said finally, "let's not speak of unhappy things right now. We have too many other problems at the moment. You're certain about us not seeking another nanny?"

"For the time being, yes."

"Okay, but I hate to see you put your career on hold. I'm supposed to be married to a famous Cajun artist. I did a great deal of bragging in Baton Rouge. There are at least a dozen rich oil men eager to buy one of your paintings."

"Oh, Paul, you shouldn't do that. I'm not that good."

"Yes you are," he insisted, and rose. "I have to stop at the cannery and speak to my father, but I'll be home early."

"Good, because I invited Jeanne and James to dinner. She called earlier and sounded like she wanted to see us very much," I said.

"Oh? Fine." He leaned over to kiss me, but he was much more tentative about it and his kiss was much more perfunctory: a quick snap of his lips against my cheek, the way he would kiss his sister or his mother. A new wall had fallen between us, and there was no telling how thick it might become in the days and months to follow.

After he had left I sat there on the verge of tears. Although I was sure it wasn't his intention, the more he demonstrated his love for me, the more guilty I felt for loving and being with Beau. I told myself I had warned Paul. I told myself I had never made the same sort of vows he had made, marrying myself to some pure and religious idea of a relationship that rivaled a priest or a nun's marriage to the church. I told myself I was a full-blooded woman whose passions raged through her veins with just as much intensity as any other woman's and I could not quiet them down nor shut them away.

What's more, I didn't want to. Even at this moment, I longed to be in Beau's arms again, and I longed for his lips on mine. Filled with frustration, I sucked in my breath and swallowed back my tears. It wasn't the time to weaken and sob on pillows. It was the time to be strong and face whatever challenges malicious Fate threw my way.

I could use some good gris-gris, I thought. I could use one of Nina Jackson's fast-luck powders or Dragon Blood Sticks. Some time ago, she had given me a dime to wear around my ankle. It was to bring me good luck. I had taken it off and put it away, but I remembered where it was, and when I took Pearl up for her afternoon nap, I found it and fastened it around my ankle again.

I knew many would laugh at me, but they had never seen Grandmère Catherine lay her hands on a fevered child and cause his or her temperature to go down. They had never felt an evil spirit fly by in the night, fleeing from Grandmère Catherine's words and elixirs. And they had never heard the mumbo jumbo of a Voodoo Mama and then saw the results. It was a world filled with many mysteries, peopled by many spirits, both good and bad, and whatever magic one could conjure to find health and happiness was fine with me, no matter who laughed or who ridiculed it. Most of the time, they were people who believed in nothing anyway, people like my sister who believed only in their own happiness. And I, better than most people my age, already knew how vulnerable and how fleeting that happiness could be.

That night I saw how eager Paul was for us to have an enjoyable dinner with his sister and her husband. He wanted to do all that he could to drive away the dark shadows that had fallen between us and lingered in the secret corners of our hearts. He stopped by the kitchen and asked Letty to make something extra special and he served our most expensive wines, both he and James drinking quite a bit. At dinner our conversation was light and punctuated by many moments of laughter, but I could see Jeanne was troubled and wanted to have a private talk. So as soon as dinner ended and Paul suggested we all go into the living room, I said I wanted to show Jeanne a new dress I had bought in New Orleans.

"We'll be right down," I promised.

"You just want to skip our political talk, that's all," Paul accused playfully. But when he looked at me closer, he saw why I wanted to take Jeanne upstairs and he put his arm around James and led him away.

Jeanne burst into tears the moment we were alone. "What is it?" I asked, embracing her. I led her to the settee and handed her a handkerchief.

"Oh, Ruby, I'm so unhappy. I thought I would have a marriage as wonderful as yours, but it's been disappointing. Not the first two weeks, of course," she added between sobs, "but afterward, when we settled down, the romance just seemed to die. All he cares about is his career and his work. Sometimes he doesn't come home until ten or eleven o'clock and I have to eat dinner all alone, and then when he does arrive, he's usually so exhausted, he wants to go right to sleep."

"Did you tell him how you feel about it?" I asked, sitting beside her.

"Yes." She sucked in her gasps and stopped sobbing. "But all he says is he's just starting his career and I have to be understanding. One night he snapped at me and said, 'I'm not as lucky as your brother. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth so I would inherit oil-rich land. I've got to work for a living.'

"I told him Paul works for a living. I don't know anyone who works harder. He doesn't take anything for granted, right, Ruby?"

"Paul thinks there are twenty-five hours in every day, not twenty-four," I said, smiling.

"Yet somehow he manages to keep the romance in your marriage, doesn't he? A person would just have to look at you two together and he or she would see how devoted you are to each other and how much you care about each other's feelings. No matter how hard Paul works, he always has time for you, doesn't he? And you don't mind his being away so much, right?"

I shifted my eyes away quickly so she couldn't read the truth in them and then I folded my arms across my chest in Grandmère Catherine's way and filled my face with deep thought. She waited anxiously for my reply, her hands twisting in her lap.

"Yes," I finally replied, "but maybe that's because I'm so involved in my art."

She nodded and sighed.

"That's what James said. He said I should find something to do so I don't dote upon him so much, but I wanted to dote on him and our marriage. That's why I got married!" she exclaimed. "The truth is," she continued, dabbing at her cheeks with the handkerchief, "the passion is already gone."

"Oh, Jeanne, I'm sure that's not so."

"We haven't made love for two straight weeks," she revealed. "That's a long time for a husband and wife, right?" she followed, fixing her eyes on me for my reaction.

"Well . . ." I looked down and smoothed out my skirt so she wouldn't see my face again. Grandmère Catherine used to say my thoughts were as obvious as a secret written in a book with a glass cover. "I don't think there's any set time or rate of lovemaking, even for married people. Besides," I replied, now thinking about Beau, "it's something that both have to want spontaneously, impulsively."

"James," she said, gazing at her entwined fingers, "believes in the rhythm method because he's such a devout Catholic. I have to take my temperature before we make love. You don't do that, do you?"

I shook my head. I knew that a woman's body temperature was supposed to reflect when she was most apt to become pregnant, and that was considered an acceptable method of birth control, but I had to admit, taking your temperature before sleeping together would diminish the romance.

"So you see why I'm so unhappy?" she concluded.

"Doesn't he know just how deeply unhappy you are?" I asked. She shrugged. "You should talk to him more about it, Jeanne. No one else can help you two but you two."

"But if there's no passion . . ."

"Yes, I agree. There must be passion, but there must be compromise, too. That's what marriage is," I continued, realizing how true it was for Paul and me, "compromise —two people sacrificing willingly for the good of each other. They must care as much for each other as they do for themselves. But it works only if both do it," I said, thinking about Daddy and his devotion to Daphne.

"I don't think James wants to be like that," Jeanne worried.

"I'm sure he does, but it doesn't happen overnight. It takes time to build a relationship."

She nodded, slightly encouraged. "Paul and you have certainly spent a long time together. Is that why your marriage is so perfect?" she asked.

A strange aching began in my heart. I hated how one lie led to another and then another, building one upon the other until we were buried under a mountain of deceit.

"Nothing is perfect, Jeanne."

"Paul and you are as close as can be. Look how the two of you were toward each other from the first day you two met. The truth is," she said sadly, "I was hoping James would worship me as much as Paul worships you. I suppose I shouldn't compare him to my brother."

"No one should worship anyone, Jeanne," I said softly, but the way she viewed Paul and me and the way others saw us made me feel ever so guilty for loving Beau on the side. What a shock it would be if the truth were to be known, I thought, and how devastating it would be to Paul.

Talking like this with Jeanne made me realize that my relationship with Beau would go nowhere. It might even destroy Paul little by little. I had made my choice, accepted his kindness and devotion, and now I had to live with that choice. I couldn't be selfish enough to do anything else.

"Maybe I will have another long talk with James," Jeanne said. "Maybe you're right—maybe it takes time." "Anything worthwhile does," I said softly.

She was so involved with her own problems, she couldn't see the longing in my eyes. She seized my hands in hers. "Thank you, Ruby. Thank you for listening and caring."