"I wish there was something more I could do for you," I moaned.

"You've done a lot. You've been a good friend, and we can still be good friends. We'll write to each other. Unless Mrs. Ironwood has your mail screened," she added.

"It wouldn't surprise me."

"I'll tell you what you can do for me," Abby said, suddenly animated. "Next time you're called into Mrs. Ironwood's office, for any reason, see if you can find one of her hairs lying about on the desk or floor. Put it in an envelope and send it to me and I’ll give it to a moma to use to make a doll into which I can stick pins."

We laughed, but Abby wasn't just kidding. Behind us, her parents were completing loading the car. We paused and watched them a moment.

"I'd better get going," she said.

"I'm glad I got a chance to see you."

"It's really why I came along," she revealed. "Goodbye, Ruby."

"Oh Abby."

"No tears or you'll start me crying and give Gisselle and her friends just what they want," she said with defiance. "They probably all have their noses to the windows right now, watching us."

I looked back at the dorm. I swallowed my sobs down quickly and nodded. "Probably," I said.

"Don't get too involved with Louis," she warned, her eyes small and thoughtful. "I know you feel sorry for him, but there are a great many ghosts wandering through the Clairborne family's dreams."

"I know. I won't."

"Well . . . ″

We hugged quickly and she started toward the car. "Hey," she called back, smiling. "Don't forget to say goodbye to Mr. Mud for me."

I laughed. "I will."

"I'll write as soon as I can," she promised.

Her father slammed the trunk closed and her mother got into the car. She got in also and her father sat behind the wheel. Then he started the engine and pulled away. As they went by, Abby turned to wave. I waved back until the car was gone. Then, with a chest that felt full of cement, I returned to the dorm and my half-emptied room.

The remainder of the day felt like a period of mourning. Last night's storm had passed, but it had left thick, long clouds behind it, clouds that hovered threateningly above Baton Rouge and the surrounding area well into the night. I went to dinner mainly because I hadn't eaten anything all day. The girls were quite exuberant and loud, some still discussing Abby, but most were on to other things as if Abby hadn't even existed. Gisselle certainly was. She was waxing on and on about boys she had known who were so handsome they made Jonathan Peck look like Frankenstein's monster. According to what she was telling everyone, she had dated practically every heartthrob in America.

Disgusted and emotionally exhausted, I retreated from dinner as soon as I was able and sat alone in my room. I decided to write a letter to Paul. It went on for pages and pages as I described all that had happened, all that Gisselle had done.

"I don't mean to unload all my misery on you, Paul," I wrote toward the end.

But even to this day when I think of someone in whom I can confide my innermost feelings. I think of you. I suppose I should think of Beau, but there are things a girl would rather tell a brother than she would her boyfriend, I suppose. I don't know. I'm so confused right now. Gisselle is getting her way after all. I now hate it here and I am on the verge of calling Daddy and asking him to do the very thing she wanted me to do from the start—get us out of Greenwood. The only person I will miss will be Miss Stevens.

On the other hand, I'm tempted to stay, here and put up with it, just so Gisselle won't get her way. I don't know what to do. I don't know what's right anymore. The good suffer and the bad don't so often, I wonder if the world is filled with more bad gris-gris than good. I miss Grandmère Catherine so; I miss her wisdom and her strength. Anyway, I'm looking forward to your visiting us in New Orleans during the Christmas holidays as you promised. I've already told Daddy, and he's looking forward to seeing you too. I think anyone or anything that reminds him of our mother fills him with an inner happiness and peace he will reveal only to us through his smile.

Write soon.

Love, Ruby

It wasn't until I started to fold the letter to put it in an envelope that I saw the stains from my teardrops.

The next morning I got up, dressed, and had my breakfast silently, barely looking or speaking to anyone except Vicki, who asked me if I was ready for our social studies test. We talked about it on the way to the main building. Throughout the day, I couldn't help but feel that everyone's eyes were on me. News about Abby had spread quickly, and it was only natural that the other girls would wonder and watch to see how I reacted and behaved. I decided not to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing me unhappy, something I was more easily able to do when I entered Miss Stevens's art class.

She taught her lesson and we all began our work. It wasn't until the bell rang to end the period that she came over to me to talk about Abby. I told her how Abby seemed relieved and even happier now that it was over.

She nodded. "Whatever doesn't destroy you, makes you stronger. Hardships have a way of toughening us, if they don't kill us," she said, smiling. "Look at you and the hard things you've had to endure."

"I'm not a tough person, Miss Stevens."

"You're tougher than you think you are."

I looked down at my desk. "1 was thinking about asking my father to take Gisselle and me out of Greenwood," I said.

"Oh no. I'd hate to lose you. You're the most talented student I have, and probably ever will have. Things will get better for you. They have to," she promised. "Try not to think of the bad things. Lose yourself in your art. Make art everything," she advised.

I nodded. "I'll try."

"Good. And don't forget, I'll be here for you whenever you need me."

"Thank you, Miss Stevens."

Buoyed by our little talk, I did turn from the dark and unhappy events to look forward to Daddy's arrival on Wednesday and Beau's arrival on Saturday. At least two of the people I loved most in the world would soon be with me and would bring rays of sunshine back into the world that had become dismal and gray.

And then when I returned to the dorm, I found that a letter had arrived from Paul, even before mine to him had been posted. His was full of optimism and happy news: how well he had been doing in school, how much his family's business had improved, and how his father was giving him more and more responsibility.

Although I still have time to take my pirogue and pole up the bayou to do some fishing at my secret spots. Yesterday I just lay back in the canoe and watched the sun turn red as it began to fall between the branches of the sycamores. The scattered light made the Spanish moss look like sheets of silk. Then the nutrias started to come out more boldly. The dragonflies did their ritualistic dances over the water, and the bream and white crappie rose and fell in the canals as if I, fishing pole and all, weren't even there. A snowy egret swooped down so low I thought it was going to land on my shoulder before it veered and went farther downstream.

I turned to see a white-tailed deer poke its head through the branches of a cottonwood on shore and watched me drift for a while before disappearing in the willow.

All of this made me think of you and our wonderful late afternoons together, and I wondered how it must be for you to live someplace else now, away from the bayou. It made me sad, until I remembered how completely you absorbed everything and then, with that wonderful artistic talent, brought it out again to last forever on some canvas. How lucky will be the ones who buy your paintings.

Looking forward to seeing you, Paul

His letter filled me with a delicious sort of happiness, the kind that mixed melancholy with joy, memories with hope. I felt aloof, above the fray. I must have had a smile of such deep satisfaction on my face that evening at dinner. I saw how Gisselle kept gazing at me with frustration.

"What's wrong with you?" she finally demanded. All the girls around us who had been talking spiritedly stopped to look and listen.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You look stupid sitting there with that grin on your face, like you know something we don't," she said.

I shrugged. "I don't," I said. Then I thought a moment and put down my fork. I folded my hands in front of me and fixed my gaze on all of them. "Except I know that many of the things you all think are so important, things like family lineage and great wealth, don't guarantee happiness."

"Oh no?" Gisselle whined. "Then what does?"

"Liking yourself," I said, "for who you really are and not what others want you to be." Then I got up and went back to my room.

I reread Paul's letter, made a list of things I wanted to do before Daddy and Beau's visits, completed my homework, and went to sleep. I lay there with my eyes open, staring up into the dark ceiling and imagining I was in the pirogue with Paul, drifting. I thought I could even see the first star.

In the morning I awoke filled with all sorts of plans for pictures I wanted to do under Miss Stevens's guidance. Her love of nature was as strong as mine, and I knew she would appreciate my visions. I washed and dressed eagerly and was one of the first at the breakfast table, something else that seemed to annoy Gisselle. I saw she was becoming more and more intolerant and impatient with Samantha too, snapping at her for not doing things fast enough for her.

Our quad had cleanup duty again. Gisselle, of course, was excused from the chores, but she made it more difficult for me and the others by lingering at the table. It nearly made us all late for school, and I had an English test to take.