"Yes, he has an extraordinary talent."

"You should be proud you helped him regain his purpose in life," Beau said.

"I don't know how much I really had to do with it."

"One look in his eyes told me you had all to do with it," Beau said. "But I'm not jealous," he added quickly with a smile. "You passed through his life like some angel of mercy, touched him and went on. But you are my life."

He drew me to his side and kissed me quickly. I snuggled against him and felt truly safe and happy for the first time since our arrival in New Orleans as man and wife. That night we made love gently, gracefully, sweetly, and fell asleep in each other's arms. Both of us slept longer than usual. Not even the sunlight streaming in through the windows woke us, and Beau had disconnected our telephone at the bed so we wouldn't be disturbed.

I was the first to hear Aubrey's footsteps and gentle knock. At first I thought I was dreaming. Then I opened my eyes and listened again. Beau groaned when I stirred.

"Just a moment," I called, and got up to put on my robe. Beau turned over in bed and closed his eyes again.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, madame, but Madame Pitot is on the phone and she is rather distraught. She insisted I bring you to the phone immediately."

"Thank you, Aubrey," I said. I went to the night table and plugged in our telephone, my hands already shaking badly in anticipation of bad news.

"What is it?" Beau asked, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"It's Jeanne," I said, and lifted the receiver.

"Hello, Jeanne."

"She's dead," she said in a voice that sounded like it belonged to a corpse itself. "She died early this morning. Paul was there, holding her hand."

"What?"

"Ruby's gone. They told me to call you. No one else wanted to do it. I'm sorry if I woke you up. You can go back to sleep," she added.

"Jeanne, when? How?"

"What do you mean, when, how? It wasn't exactly unexpected, was it? But you have a way of avoiding unpleasant things, ignoring them, don't you, Gisselle? Well, the Grim Reaper doesn't tolerate being ignored, even by rich, high-society Creoles from New Orleans."

"How's Paul?" I asked quickly, ignoring her bitter sarcasm.

"He won't leave her side. He's following the body every step of the way, even to the undertaker's parlor. He won't listen to my parents. He's uttered only one sensible sentence, and to me because he knew I was calling you."

"What was that?"

"He told me to tell you not to bring the baby to the funeral. He doesn't want her seeing any of it. That is, if you attend the funeral."

"Of course we'll be at the funeral," I said. "She was my sister."

"Yes, she was your sister," Jeanne said dryly. "I'm sorry. I can't talk anymore. You can call later and ask James for the details about the funeral,"

After I cradled the phone, I sat back on the bed. I felt as if all my blood had drained down to my feet. I chocked back a sob.

Beau knew but asked anyway. "What happened?"

"She died this morning."

He shook his head and released a deep sigh. I felt his hand on my shoulder. We both sat silently for a moment, digesting the reality of what had happened.

"At least it's over," he said. "Finally."

I turned to him. "Oh, Beau, it's so strange."

"What?"

"Their thinking it's me who died. I couldn't bear the sadness and the anger in Jeanne's voice."

"Yes, but this seals it forever. You and I, just as I told you, as I promised. We've defeated Fate."

I shook my head. These were words that should be making me happy, but all they did was fill my heart with heavy dread. I had felt Fate's surprising and unexpected stings before. I didn't have Beau's confidence and probably never would have.

Despite all the terrible things Gisselle had done to me in the past, and despite her jealousy and her way of looking down at me because I had been brought up in the bayou, a Cajun, I couldn't help but recall the softer moments when I would look at her and see her desire to be loved and to be a real sister. I know Beau would tell me I had a heart so soft it must be made of marshmallow, but I couldn't help shedding tears for the Gisselle I saw longing to be wanted.

Later in the afternoon, I called and spoke to James. He was very polite, but cold, too. I couldn't think of anything stranger than attending my own memorial service and burial. When we arrived at Cypress Woods on the day of the funeral, we found the pallor of death and gloom had settled over the grand house and grounds. The leaden sky had grown swollen and turgid, the thick overcast stretching from one horizon to another. The darkness stole the blush from the petals of flowers and put shadows everywhere I looked. Grounds staff, the bereaving, everyone looked weighted down by the tragedy. People whispered, glided, touched and hugged each other as if to join in a circle to keep the melancholy at bay. I thought the servants looked the saddest, their eyes bloodshot, their shoulders slumped.

It was hard, if not impossible, for me to accept expressions of condolence and sympathy. I felt horrible about deceiving people in grief and turned and walked away as quickly as I could. But once again, people mistook my feelings for Gisselle's indifference and selfishness.

Paul's parents, his sisters, Toby and Jeanne, and Jeanne's husband stationed themselves in the living room, where they greeted people. I felt Gladys Tate's eyes fix on me with a cold glare the moment I entered, and then I thought I saw a sneer in her knife-sliced mouth when I greeted her. She made me feel so uncomfortable, I left the room as quickly as I could.

Paul kept himself secluded most of the time. We understood he was drinking heavily. The only people he would see were his immediate family, mainly his mother. He even shut his door to Beau and me. Toby, who went up to inform him that I was there, returned to tell me he said it was too painful for him to gaze at me since I resembled Ruby so much. Beau and I looked at each other with surprise.

"He's really overdoing it now," Beau admitted in a whisper.

I was very worried and went up to his suite anyway. I knocked on the door and waited, but he didn't respond. I tried the handle, but the door was locked.

"Paul, it's me. Open the door. We have to talk. Please," I begged. Beau stood back to be sure no one overheard my pleas.

"It's no use," he said. "He doesn't want to see you. Wait until later."

But I didn't see him until it was time to attend the services. Despair had washed the radiant color from his face until it resembled a death mask. He gazed at me with vacant eyes and moved like someone in a trance. I squeezed Beau's hand and shot him a troubled glance and he nodded. He tried to approach Paul before me and speak to him, but Paul didn't acknowledge him. He barely acknowledged his own parents, and with people all around him continuously, it was difficult for me to say the things I wanted to say to him.

The church was filled to capacity, not only because of the people the Tates knew and did business with, but because of the people who knew and remembered my Grandmère Catherine. My heart nearly burst when I saw their faces. Beau and I sat up front in the pew behind Paul and his family and listened to the priest deliver the eulogy. Every time I heard my name, I winced and gazed around. There wasn't a dry eye in the church. Paul's sisters were crying openly, but Paul was like one of Nina Jackson's zombies, his body stiff, his eyes so empty, they sent chills down my spine. Who in his or her right mind would look at him and not believe it was really Ruby in that coffin? I thought. It gave me a sick, empty feeling in the base of my stomach.

I'm watching people cry over me, listening to a priest talk about me, and gazing at a coffin that is supposed to have my body in it, I thought. It made me feel absolutely ghoulish. It was all I could do to keep myself from fainting.

It was worse at the cemetery. It was I who was supposedly being lowered into the ground; it was I over whose coffin the priest was saying the final words and giving the last rites. My name, my identity, was about to be buried. I thought to myself that this was the final chance, the last time for me to cry out and say, "No, that's not Ruby in the coffin. That's Gisselle. I'm here. I'm not dead!"

For a moment I thought I had actually spoken, but the words died on my lips. My actions had made them forbidden. The truth had to be buried here and now, I realized.

The rain started and fell relentlessly, colder than usual. Umbrellas sprouted. Paul didn't seem to notice. His father and Jeanne's husband, James, had to hold his arms and keep him standing. When the coffin was lowered and the priest cast the holy water, Paul's legs folded. He had to be carried back to the limousine and given some cold water. His mother gave me a scathing glance and followed quickly.

"He's going to win the Academy Award for this," Beau said, shaking his head. Even he was beyond amazement; he was in awe and, from the look in his face, as frightened by Paul's behavior as I was.

"You're right," he whispered to me as we walked back to our vehicle. "He was so disturbed about losing you, he went a bit mad and accepted the illusion as reality. The only way he could accept the fact that you had left him was to believe it was you who was sick and now you who died," Beau theorized, and shook his head.

"I know, Beau. I'm so worried."

"Maybe now that it's over, that she's gone, he'll snap out of it," Beau suggested, but neither of us was filled with any confidence.

We returned to Cypress Woods, mainly to see how Paul was. The doctor went up to the suite to examine him, and when he came down, he told us he had given Paul something to help him sleep.