"Hello, Edgar," I said.

His lips trembled as he tried to greet me, but just the pronunciation of my name, a name Daddy had loved to call, made his eyes tear and his tongue stumble.

"Get me out of here already!" Gisselle screamed. The chauffeur hurried around to the trunk and Edgar went to help him with Gisselle's wheelchair. "Edgar!"

"Oui, mademoiselle, I'm coming," he replied, hobbling around the rear of the car.

"So's Christmas."

They got the wheelchair unfolded and Gisselle into it. The moment we entered the house, I felt the cold gloom that permeated the very walls. All the lights were subdued, the shades still drawn. A tall, thin man in a black suit and tie emerged from the parlor. He had a narrow face that brought his nose and even his chin to a point, reminding me of a pelican. His bald head was spotted but shiny, with two tufts of light brown hair just above his ears. He seemed to slink along, gliding over the floor, moving with barely a sound.

"Madame wanted the wake to be held here," Edgar warned us. "This is Monsieur Boche, the undertaker."

Monsieur Boche's smile was sickly smooth. His lips lifted off his gray teeth as though his mouth was a curtain hinged at the corners. He pressed his long hands together and then slid his right palm over his left hand, giving me the impression he had to wipe it dry before extending it to greet us.

"Mademoiselles," he said. "My deepest condolences. I am Monsieur Boche, and I am here to see that all your bereavement needs are satisfied. If there's anything you want, simply—"

"Where's my daddy?" I demanded with more authority than I had intended. Even Gisselle's eyes widened.

"Right this way, mademoiselle," he said, bowing and turning with one smooth motion.

"Ugh," Gisselle said. "I don't want to look at him now."

I spun on her. "He was your father. You won't look on him ever again."

"He's dead," Gisselle complained. "How can you want to look into a coffin?"

"Don't you want to say goodbye?" I asked.

"I said goodbye. Edgar, take me to my room," she demanded.

"Very good, mademoiselle." He lifted his eyes to me and then turned Gisselle toward the stairway. I followed Monsieur Boche to the ,parlor where Daddy lay in his open coffin. Over it and around it were dozens and dozens of multicolored roses. The room reeked of the scent. Beside the coffin, large candles flickered. The sight of it all put a lump in my throat. It was true; none of this was a dream.

I turned because I felt Daphne's eyes on me. She was sitting in a high-backed chair. Bedecked in black with a black veil pulled off her face, she sat like a dowager queen, expecting me to kneel at her feet and kiss her hand. She didn't look as pale and sick with grief as I had anticipated. Although she had kept rouge off her cheeks, she still wore her favorite shade of lipstick and had some eyeliner on. Her hair was pinned back with pearl combs, and she did have an elegance about her that was intimidating.

"Where's Gisselle?" she demanded.

"She wanted to go to her room," I replied.

"Nonsense," she said and rose from the chair. "She's to come directly in here." She walked out and I approached the coffin. I heard Daphne shout her orders to Edgar, demanding that he bring Gisselle back down the stairs.

My heart was pounding; my legs felt wobbly. I gazed down at Daddy. He was dressed in his black tuxedo, and except for his pasty-white complexion, he looked like he was just taking a catnap. Monsieur Boche stepped up beside me so silently that I nearly jumped when he whispered into my ear.

"He looks good, doesn't he? One of my best jobs," he bragged. I glared at him with such fury, he simply bowed and retreated quickly, floating away on those oily feet. Then I reached into the coffin and took hold of Daddy's right hand. It didn't feel like a hand anymore, but I willed the cold, hard sensations out of my mind and forced myself to think of him smiling, warm and loving.

"Goodbye, Daddy," I said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me the most. I'm sorry I didn't have you with me when I grew up. I'm sorry we had so short a time together. I know my mother loved you very much and I know you loved her. I think I've inherited the best of that love. I will miss you forever and ever. I hope you're with Mommy and you've made your peace and the two of you are floating happily along in a pirogue somewhere in the bayou of heaven."

I leaned over and kissed his cheek, desperately ignoring the sensation that I was kissing a cold face. Then I knelt down and said a little prayer for him. I stepped away from the coffin just as Gisselle was being wheeled in, her complaints loud and clear.

"I'm tired. It was a long, boring trip. Why do I have to come in here?"

"Be quiet," Daphne ordered. She nodded at Edgar, which meant he should leave, and then she returned to her high-backed chair. Gisselle glared at me and then at her and pouted. "Bring her closer," Daphne commanded me in an icy tone. I went to Gisselle's chair and rolled it toward Daphne. "Sit down," she said, nodding at the chair across from her. I did so quickly.

"Why can't we just rest first?" Gisselle moaned.

"Shut up," Daphne snapped. Even Gisselle was frightened and impressed with her sharpness. With her mouth open, she sat back. Daphne glared at her with eyes that seemed able to penetrate into her thoughts. "For a long time, I've had to put up with your whining and crying and moaning. Well, that's over with, you hear? Look over there," she said, nodding toward Daddy. "You see what comes of worrying about everyone else's problems, everyone else's needs, everyone else's likes and dislikes? You die young, that's your reward.

"Well, it's not going to be mine. There are going to be some serious changes around here now, and it's best you two understand that immediately. I'm still a very young woman. I don't intend to let these events age and sicken me, and that's just what they would do if we continued the way things were."

"Events?" I said.

"Yes, events. Everything's an event." She turned her lips into a twisted smile. "Oh, don't start with your histrionics, Ruby. I know you better than you think." Her smile faded and was replaced by a look of firm anger. "You came here from the swamps and you won your place in your father's heart, conniving, reminding him of his great romance in the bayou, just so you would get your piece of inheritance. I'm sure that grandmother of yours put you up to it."

I felt the blood rush into my cheeks, but before I could respond, she continued.

"Don't worry, I don't blame you for it," she said. "I would probably have done the same thing if I had been in your moccasins. Well, what's done is done. You're in your father's will and you will get your piece. Both of you will," she added, turning to Gisselle. "And it will start when you're both twenty-one. Until then, everything you've inherited is in trust, with me as the executor. I will be the one to decide what you get now and what you don't. I will be the one who tells you where you will go and what you will do."

Gisselle smirked. "You always wanted to be the boss, Mother," she said, nodding.

"I always was, you little fool. Did you really believe it was your father who was running the business? He had no real business sense. He didn't have the heart for it. He could never make the tough decisions if it involved taking from someone or cutting someone out. He was too soft to be in business. If it weren't for me, we wouldn't have half what we have; and now you two are going to inherit a big piece of that. Too much of it, if you ask me, but that's the way it is.

"I don't expect you two to be grateful, but I do expect you to be obedient and cooperative," she continued. "The funeral will be over in two days," she said, pulling herself up even firmer in the seat. "After that, you are to return to Greenwood."

"Oh, but Mother," Gisselle moaned.

"Yes, you are," Daphne hammered. "I don't have the strength or the patience to deal with you two and your problems on a day-to-day basis right now. I want you to return, to do well, to obey all the rules and not get into a bit of trouble, you hear? I warn you: If you cause even an iota of aggravation, I'll have the two of you sent to an even stricter place. If you really annoy me, I will see about nullifying your inheritances, understand? Then they'll stick you into a home for crippled people and you'll really be sorry. And you," she said, focusing her anger at me, "you will be sent back to the bayou to live with whatever Cajun relatives are left."

Gisselle lowered her head and grimaced. I simply glared at Daphne. She had become the ice queen. Freezing water ran through her veins. I was sure that if I touched her, she'd feel colder than Daddy now felt. I should have realized she would be like this. Gisselle had been right: Daphne despised the sight of us more than she had loved Daddy.

"Take your sister upstairs now and prepare yourselves to greet the many mourners who will come here shortly to pay their respects. Make sure you both dress properly and act properly."

"Has Uncle Jean been told about Daddy?" I asked.

"Of course not," she replied. "What would be the point?"

"He has a right to know. It's his brother."

"Please, the man doesn't know what day it is, where he's at, or even his own name anymore."

"But . . ."

She rose, towering over us, her beauty hardened so that she looked statuesque, poured into a mold.

"Just do what I tell you to do and worry about yourselves. It seems to me," she added, looking at Gisselle and then back at me, "that there's enough there to worry about," She gave us her wintry smile before turning to leave.