"Are you sure your reluctance to take counteraction had nothing to do with the financial activities you and Daphne Dumas conducted?"

"You are willing to have those dealings scrutinized by this court?"

Bruce squirmed a bit. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Aren't you here to get revenge for being pushed out of the business?"

"No. I'm here to tell the truth," Bruce said firmly.

"Did you not recently lose a commercial property in New Orleans through foreclosure?"

"Yes."

"You've lost quite a comfortable income and lifestyle, haven't you?"

"I have a good job now," Bruce insisted.

"Not paying you a quarter of what you made before you were asked to leave Dumas Enterprises, correct?"

"Money isn't everything," Bruce quipped.

"Have you gotten over your problem with alcohol?" Monsieur Polk pursued.

"Objection; Your Honor," Monsieur Williams said, rising. "Monsieur Bristow's personal problems have nothing to do with this testimony."

"They have everything to do with it if he hopes to gain financially and he is an alcoholic who needs money for his disease," Monsieur Polk said.

"Are you accusing my clients of bribing this man?" Monsieur Williams cried, pointing at Bruce.

"That will be enough," the judge said. "Objection sustained. Monsieur Polk, have you any more questions pertaining to the issue?"

Monsieur Polk thought a moment and then shook his head. "No, Your Honor."

"Fine. Thank you, Monsieur Bristow. You may step down. Monsieur Williams?"

"I would like to call Madame Tate to the stand, Your Honor."

Gladys Tate rose slowly as if she were battling against an enormous weight on her shoulders. She dabbed at her eyes with a beige silk handkerchief and then sighed loudly before stepping around the table to walk toward the stand. I looked at Octavious. He'd had his head down most of the time and had it down now, too.

After she was sworn in, Gladys settled into the witness chair like someone easing herself into a hot bath. She closed her eyes and pressed her right hand against her heart. Monsieur Williams stood waiting for her to become calm enough to speak. When I gazed at the people in the audience, I saw how most felt sorry for her. Their eyes were filled with compassion and sympathy.

"You are Gladys Tate, mother of the recently deceased Paul Marcus Tate?" Monsieur Williams asked. She closed her eyes again. "I'm sorry, Madame Tate. I know how fresh your sorrow is, but I have to ask."

"Yes," she said. "I am Paul Tate's mother." She didn't look at me.

"Were you very close with your son, madame?"

"Very," she said. "Before Paul was married, I don't think a day passed when we didn't see or speak to each other. We had more than a mother-son relationship. We were good friends," she added.

"And so your son confided in you?"

"Oh, absolutely. We had no secrets from each other, ever," she said.

"That's a lie," I whispered. Monsieur Polk raised his eyebrows. Beau turned to me. His eyes told me that he wanted me to tell Monsieur Polk the truth. I had hoped I wouldn't have to do it. It seemed like such a betrayal of Paul.

"Did he ever discuss with you this elaborate plan to switch his wife with Monsieur Andreas's wife after she was stricken with encephalitis?"

"No. Paul loved Ruby dearly and he was a very proud young man, as well as religious. He wouldn't give away the woman he loved just so another man could be happy living in sin," she said disdainfully. "He married Ruby in church after he realized it was the proper thing to do. I remember when he told me he was going to do it. I was unhappy he had fathered a child out of wedlock, of course, but I was happy he wanted to do what was morally right."

"She wasn't happy," I murmured. "She made him miserable. She—"

"Shh," Monsieur Polk said. He looked like he was as fascinated as everyone else with her story and didn't want to miss a detail.

"And in fact, after they were married, you and your husband and your daughters accepted Ruby and Pearl as your family, correct?"

"Yes. We had family dinners. I even helped her design and decorate her home. I would do anything to keep my son happy and close to me," she said. "What he wanted for himself, I wanted for him. And he doted on the child. Oh, how he worshiped our precious granddaughter. She has his face, his eyes, his hair. To see them walking together in the garden or to see him take her for a pirogue ride in the canals filled my heart with joy."

"So there is no doubt in your mind that Pearl is his child?"

"None whatsoever."

"And he never told you anything to the contrary?"

"No. Why would he marry a woman with someone else's child?" she asked.

Heads bobbed in agreement.

"During Ruby Tate's illness, you had many opportunities to visit their home?"

"Yes."

"And did he ever give you an indication he was worrying about his wife's sister and not his wife?" Monsieur Williams pursued.

"No. On the contrary, and as anyone here who had seen my son during this trying period can testify, he mourned so hard, he became a shell of himself. He neglected his work and began drinking. He was in a constant depression. It broke my heart."

"Why didn't he just put his wife into a hospital?"

"He couldn't bear being away from her. He was at her side constantly," Madame Tate said. "Hardly how he would be were it not Ruby," she added, gazing scornfully at me.

"Why did you ask the court to grant an order for you to retrieve your granddaughter?"

"These people," Gladys Tate said, spitting her words toward us, "refused to give Pearl back to me. They turned my attorney and a nurse away from the door. And all this," she moaned, "while I was mourning the horrible death of my son, my little boy . . ."

She burst into tears. Monsieur Williams stepped for-ward quickly with his handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," she wailed.

"That's all right. Take your time, madame."

Gladys wiped her cheeks and then sniffled and sucked in her breath.

"Are you all right, Madame Tate?" Judge Barrow asked.

"Yes," she said in a small voice. Judge Barrow nodded to Monsieur Williams, who stepped forward to continue.

"Recently Monsieur and Madame Andreas came to your home, did they not?" he asked.

She glared at us. "Yes, they did."

"And what did they want?"

"They wanted to make a deal," she said. "They offered fifty percent of my son's estate if I didn't force this court hearing and just gave them Pearl."

"What?" Beau stammered.

"She's lying!" I cried.

The judge rapped his gavel. "I warned you. No outbursts," he reprimanded.

"But . . ."

"Be still," Monsieur Polk ordered.

I cowered back, shrinking in my chair with rage burning my cheeks. Was there no limit to how far she would go to satisfy her thirst for vengeance?

"What happened then, madame?" Monsieur Williams asked.

"1 refused, of course, and they threatened to take me to court, which they have done."

"No further questions, Your Honor," Monsieur Williams said.

The judge looked at Monsieur Polk with hard eyes. "Do you have any questions for this witness?"

"No, Your Honor."

"What? Make her take back these lies," I urged. "No. It's better to get rid of her. She has everyone's sympathy. Even the judge's," Monsieur Polk advised. Monsieur Williams helped Madame Tate out of the seat and escorted her back to her chair. Some people in the audience were openly crying for her.

"You won't get the child back today, if you ever do," Monsieur Polk muttered, half under his breath.

"Oh, Beau," I wailed. "She's winning. She'll be a terrible grandmother. She doesn't love Pearl. She knows Pearl's not Paul's child."

"Monsieur Williams?" the judge said.

"No further witnesses or exhibits, Your Honor," he said confidently.

Monsieur Polk sat back, his hands on his stomach, his face dour. I looked across the courtroom at Gladys, who was preparing to leave in victory. Octavious still had his eyes fixed on the table.

"Call one more witness, Monsieur Polk," I said in desperation.

"What's that?"

Beau took my hand. We gazed into each other's eyes and he nodded. I turned back to our attorney.

"Call one more witness. I'll tell you just what to ask," I said. "Call Octavious Tate to the stand."

"Do it!" Beau ordered firmly.

Monsieur Polk rose slowly from his seat, unsure, tentative, and reluctant.

"Monsieur Polk?" the judge said.

"We have one more witness, Your Honor," he said. The judge looked displeased. "Very well," he said.

"Let's conclude this matter. Call your final witness," he added, emphasizing the word "final."

"We call Monsieur Tate to the stand."

A ripple of astonishment moved through the audience. I wrote feverishly on a piece of paper. The judge rapped his gavel and glared at the crowd of people, who immediately grew still. No one wanted to be removed from this courtroom now. Octavious, stunned by the sound of his name, lifted his head slowly and gazed around as if he just realized where he was. Monsieur Williams leaned over to whisper some strategy to him before he stood up. I handed my questions to Monsieur Polk, who perused them quickly and then looked at me sharply.

"Madame," he warned, "you could lose any sympathetic ear you might have if this proves untrue."

"We don't have any sympathy here," Beau answered for me.

"It's true," I said softly.

Octavious walked slowly to the witness stand, his head down. When he was sworn in, he repeated the oath very slowly. I saw that the words were heavy on his tongue and on his heart. He sat quickly, falling into his seat like a man who might otherwise crumple to the floor. Monsieur Polk hesitated and then shrugged to himself and stepped forward on our behalf.