"Well?" He waited anxiously, his eyes searching my face.

"It is a magnificent house, Paul."

"I have saved the best for last," he replied with that impish twinkle in his eyes. "Follow me," he said, taking us to a door that opened to an outside stairway. It was at the rear of the mansion, so I hadn't seen it when we first approached.

The stairway led us up to an enormous attic with hand-cut cypress structural beams. There were large windows looking out over the fields and canals, but none on the side that faced the oil rigs. The great skylights provided illumination and made it bright and airy.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, and flashed me a brief, amused smile. "This," he said, holding out his arms, "will be your studio."

I widened my eyes, overwhelmed with the possibilities.

"As you can see, I've provided the best views. Look, Ruby," he said, going to the window, "look at what you could paint. Look at the world we love, our world, a world that could surely inspire you to return to your wonderful artistic talents and create masterpieces that your rich Creole friends would beat each other down to possess."

He stood by the window and held Pearl. She was intrigued and fascinated by the view. Below us, the construction workers had started their cleanup. Their voices and laughter were carried up to us in the wind. In the distance the canals that wove their way through the swamps toward Houma and my shack home looked unreal, toylike. I could see the birds flitting from tree to tree, and off to the right, an oyster fisherman poling his way home from a day's harvesting. There was a store of pictures and ideas for any artist to choose and embellish with his or her imagination.

"Can't you be happy here, Ruby?" Paul asked, pleading with his eyes.

"Who couldn't be happy here, Paul? It's beyond words. But you know what has made me hesitate," I said softly.

"And you know that I have thought it all out carefully and proposed a way for us to be together and not be sinners. Oh, Ruby, it's not our fault that our parents created us with this stain on our heads. All I want is to provide for you and Pearl and make you happy and safe forever."

"But what about . . . Paul, there is a side of life that you would be eliminating for yourself," I reminded him. "You're a man, a handsome, virile young man."

"I'm willing to do that," he said quickly.

I looked down. I had to confess my true feelings.

"I don't know if I am willing to do that, Paul. You know that I have been in love, passionately in love, and you know I have tasted the ecstasy that comes in touching someone you love and someone who loves you."

"I know," he said sadly. "But I don't ask you to give up that ecstasy."

I looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Let us make a pact that if either one of us finds someone with whom we can find that ecstasy, the other won't stand in his or her way, even if it means . . . parting.

"Meanwhile, Ruby, put your passion back into your art. I will put mine in my work and my ambition for all of us. Let me give you what would otherwise be the most perfect world, a world in which you know you will have love and in which Pearl will have security and comfort and not suffer the miseries we have seen so many suffer in so-called normal families," he begged.

Pearl looked at me as if she were joining his plea, her sapphire eyes soft and quiet.

"Paul, I just don't know."

"We can hold each other. We can be warm to each other. We can look after each other . . . forever. You've been through more tragedy and misery than someone your age should have experienced. You're far older than your years because of it. Let wisdom replace passion. Let faithfulness, devotion, and pure goodness be the foundation of our lives. Together, we'll create our own special monastery."

I gazed into his eyes and felt the sincerity. It was all so overpowering: his devotion, this wonderful house, the promise of a secure, happy life after having lived through the misery he mentioned.

"What about your parents, Paul?" I asked, feeling myself slipping toward a yes.

"What about them?" he said sharply. "They brought me up in deception. My father will accept what I decide, and if he doesn't . . . what of it? I have my own fortune now," he added, his eyes narrowing and darkening.

I shook my head with confusion. I remembered Grandmère Catherine's dour warning about separating a Cajun man from his family. Paul seemed to hear my thoughts and soften.

"Look, speak to my father and get him to see why this is a good decision for both of us. Once he sees that goodness in our choice, he will understand."

I bit down on my lower lip arid started to shake my head.

"Don't say yes, don't say no," he said quickly. "Say you will think more, think seriously about it. I'll haunt you forever, Ruby Dumas, until you become Ruby Tate," he said. Then he turned to show Pearl the view.

I stepped back and gazed at them. He would be a wonderful father, I told myself again. Maybe it was time to make a decision solely for Pearl's sake and not for my own.

I gazed at what would be a magnificent studio, imagining where I would put my tables and shelves. When I turned back, both he and Pearl were looking at me.

"Could it be yes, finally?" he asked, seeing the expression on my face.

I nodded and he flooded Pearl's face with kisses so that she giggled.

Twilight had begun in the bayou by the time we started back to my house. The Spanish moss draped over and under the cypress trees and vines took on a soft, wavy look. We passed through the shadows cast by overhanging willow trees, and the soft, undulating motion of the boat rocked Pearl to sleep. It was beautiful here, I thought. We belonged here, and if it meant living with Paul under our special arrangement, then perhaps that was what destiny had in store for me and Pearl.

"I've got to get back to dinner at the house," Paul said after we pulled up to the dock and he helped us out of the boat. "Uncle John, my mother's brother, is here from Clearwater, Florida, and I promised," he said apologetically.

"It's all right. I'm tired and I want to go to sleep early tonight myself."

"I'll stop by as soon as I can tomorrow. Tonight, if I can get an hour alone with my father, I'll tell him about our decision," he added firmly. My heart began to pitter-patter. It was one thing to talk about all this, but another to actually start the series of events that would make us man and wife.

"I hope it's the right decision, Paul," I said.

"Of course it is. Stop worrying. We'll be very happy," he promised, and leaned over to kiss my cheek. "Besides, God owes us some happiness and success," he added with a smile.

I waved good-bye as he started away in his boat. After I fed Pearl and put her to sleep, I ate a little gumbo, read by the butane lantern, and went to sleep myself, praying for the wisdom to make the right decisions.

Mornings began for me now just the way they had when I had lived here with Grandmère Catherine. After I carried out the blankets, baskets, and palmetto hats I had woven in the loom room, I set Pearl out in her carriage in the shade beside the roadside stand and did some needlework to pass the time and wait for any tourist customers. It was a quiet morning, but I had nearly a half dozen cars stop and sold most of my blankets and baskets by lunch. I had only a few customers for my gumbo, and then the long, quiet, and hot afternoon settled over the bayou. When the insects began to bother Pearl, I decided it was time to take a break and brought her into the shack for her afternoon nap. I had expected Paul to drop by during lunch, but he didn't, and he had still not arrived by midafternoon.

I made myself some cold lemonade and sat on the front gallery just thinking about the past. In my pocket I had crumpled the most recent letter from my twin sister, Gisselle. She was attending a ritzy private college in New Orleans that sounded more like a place to dump spoiled rich young people than a real institute of higher learning. Her teachers, from what she wrote, let her get away with not doing her reading or homework or paying attention in class. She even bragged about how often she cut classes without being reprimanded for doing so.

But in all of her letters she loved to include some news of Beau, and even if it was news that brought me pain, I still had to read it repeatedly. I unfolded the letter and skipped down to those passages. "You might be interested to know," she wrote, knowing how much I wanted to know ". . . that Beau is getting more serious with this girl in Europe. His parents told Daphne that Beau and his French debutante are only inches away from announcing a formal engagement. All they do is rave about her, how beautiful she is, how wealthy she is, and how cultured she is. They said the best thing they could have done for him was to send him to Europe and keep him there.

"Now let me tell you about the boys here at Galen . . ."

I balled the letter in my fist and shoved it back into my pocket. Memories of Beau seemed stronger now that I was thinking about marrying Paul and choosing a safe, secure life. But it promised to be a life without passion, and whenever I thought about that, I thought about Beau. His soft smile appeared before me and I recalled the morning when Gisselle and I were leaving for Greenwood, the private school in Baton Rouge. He had arrived just in time and we had only a few minutes to say our good-byes, but he surprised me by giving me the locket I still wore hidden under my blouse.

I pulled it out and opened it to look at his face and mine. Oh, Beau, I thought, surely I will never love another man as passionately as I loved you, and if I can't have you, then perhaps a happy, secure life with Paul is the right choice. The feel of warm tears on my cheeks surprised me. I wiped them away quickly and sat back just as a familiar big automobile pulled into the yard. It was Paul's father, Octavious. I closed the locket and quickly dropped it back under my blouse where it rested between my breasts.