"It's not like him to be late," I said. "I hope nothing has happened to him."

Grandmère Catherine didn't reply; she didn't have to. Her eyes said it all.

"You'd better come in and sit down, Ruby. We made the food and want to enjoy it anyway."

"He's coming, Grandmère. I'm sure he's coming. Something unexpected must have happened," I cried. "Let me wait just a little while longer," I pleaded. She retreated, but at seven-fifteen she came to the door again.

"We can't wait any longer," she declared.

Dejected, all my appetite gone anyway, I rose and went inside. Grandmère Catherine said nothing. She served the meal and sat down.

"This came out as good as it ever has," she declared. Then leaning toward me, she added, "even if I have to say so myself."

"Oh, it's wonderful, Grandmère. I'm just . . . worried about him."

"Well, worry about him on a full stomach," she ordered. I forced myself to eat, and, despite my disappointment, even enjoyed Grandmère Catherine's custard pie. I helped her clean up and then I went back outside and sat on the galerie, waiting and watching and wondering what had happened to ruin what would have been a wonderful evening. Almost an hour later, I heard Paul's motor scooter and saw him coming down the road as fast as he could. He pulled up and dropped his scooter roughly to run up to the house.

"What happened to you?" I cried, standing.

"Oh, Ruby, I'm sorry. My parents . . . they forbade me to come. My father ordered me to my room when I refused to have dinner with them. Finally, I decided to climb out the window and come here anyway. I must apologize to your grandmother.‖

I sank to the steps of the galerie.

"Why wouldn't they let you come?" I asked. "Because of my grandfather and what happened in town last night?"

"That . . . as well as other things. But I don't care how angry they get at me," he said, stepping up to sit beside me. "They're just being stupid snobs."

I nodded. "Grandmère said this would happen. She knew."

"I'm not going to let them keep me away from you, Ruby. They have no right. They—"

"They're your parents, Paul. You've got to do what they tell you to do. You should go home," I said dryly. My heart felt like it had turned into a glob of swamp mud. It was as if cruel Fate had dropped a sheet of dark gloom over the bayou, and just like Grandmère Catherine often said, Fate was a grim reaper, never kind, with little respect for who was loved and needed.

Paul shook his head. Years seemed to melt from him, and he sat there vulnerable, helpless as a child of six or seven, no more comprehending than I.

"I'm not going to give you up, Ruby. I'm not," he insisted. "They can take away everything they've given me, and I still won't listen to them."

"They'll only hate me more, Paul," I concluded.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that we care for each other. Please, Ruby," he said, taking my hand. "Say that I'm right."

"I want to, Paul." I looked down. "But I'm afraid."

"Don't be," he told me, reaching out to tilt my head toward him. "I won't let anything happen to you."

I stared at him with huge, wistful eyes. How could I explain? I wasn't worried about myself, I was concerned for him because as Grandmère Catherine always told me, defiance of fate just meant disaster for those you loved. Defying it was as futile as trying to hold back the tide.

"All right?" Paul pursued. "Okay?"

"Oh, Paul."

"It's settled then. Now," he said, standing. "I'm going in to apologize to your grandmother."

I waited for him on the steps. He returned a few minutes later.

"Looks like I missed a real feast. It makes me so angry," he said, gazing out at the road with eyes as furious as Grandpère Jack's could get. I didn't feel comfortable with him hating his parents. At least he had parents, a home, a family. He should hold on to those things and not risk them for the likes of me, I thought. "My parents are unreasonable," he declared firmly.

"They're just trying to do what they think is best for you, Paul," I said.

"You're what's best for me, Ruby," he replied quickly. "They're just going to have to understand that." His blue eyes gleamed with determination. "Well, I'd better go back," he said. "Once again, I'm sorry I ruined your dinner, Ruby."

"It's over now, Paul." I stood up and we gazed at each other for a long moment. What did the Tates fear would happen if Paul loved me? Did they really believe my Landry blood would corrupt him? Or was it merely that they wanted him to know only girls from rich families?

He took my hand into his.

"I swear," he said, "I'll never let them do anything to hurt you again."

"Don't fight with your parents, Paul. Please," I begged.

"I'm not fighting with them; they're fighting with me," he replied. "Good night," he said, and leaned forward to kiss me quickly on the lips. Then he went to his motor scooter and drove into the night. I watched him disappear in the darkness. When I turned around, I saw Grandmère Cather-ne standing in the doorway.

"He's a nice young man," she said, "but you can't rip a Cajun man away from his mother and father. It will tear his heart in two. Don't put all your heart in this, Ruby. Some things are just not meant to be," she added, and turned around to go back into the house.

I stood there, the tears streaming down my face. For the first time, I understood why Grandpère Jack liked living in the swamp away from people.

Despite what had happened on Sunday, I still had high hopes for the Saturday night fais dodo. But whenever I brought it up with Grandmère, she simply replied, "We'll see." On Friday night, I pressed her harder.

"Paul's got to know if he can come by to pick me up, Grandmère. It's not fair to keep him dangling like bait on a fish line," I said. It was something Grandpère Jack would say, but I was frustrated and anxious enough to risk it.

"I just don't want you to suffer another disappointment, Ruby," she told me. "His parents aren't going to let him take you and they would just be furious if he defied them and did so anyway. They would be angry with me, too."

"Why, Grandmère? How can they blame you?"

"They just would," she said. "Everybody would. I'll take you myself," she said nodding. "Mrs. Bourdeaux is going and she and I can sit together and watch the young people. Besides, it's been a while since I heard good Cajun music."

"Oh, Grandmère," I moaned. "Girls my age are going with boys; some have been on dates for more than a year already. It's not fair; I'm fifteen. I'm not a baby anymore."

"I didn't say you were, Ruby, but—"

"But you're treating me like one," I cried, and ran up to my room to throw myself on my bed.

Maybe I was worse off living with a grandmother who was a spiritual treater, who saw evil spirits and danger in every dark shadow, who was always chanting and lighting candles and putting totems on people's doorways. Maybe the Tates just thought we were a crazy family and that was why they wanted Paul to stay away from me.

Why did my mother have to die so young and why did my real father have to desert me? I had a grandfather who lived like an animal in the middle of the swamp and a grandmother who thought I was a small child. My sadness was mixed suddenly with rage. Here I was, fifteen with other girls my age far less pretty than I enjoying themselves on real dates while I was expected to go trailing along with my Grandmère to the fais dodo. Never before did I feel like running away as much as I did now.

I heard Grandmère coming up the stairs, her steps heavier than usual. She tapped gently on my door and looked in. I didn't turn around.

"Ruby," she began. "I'm only trying to protect you."

"I don't want you to protect me," I snapped. "I can protect myself. I'm not a baby," I insisted.

"You don't have to be a baby to need protection," she replied in a tired voice. "Strong grown men often cry for their mothers."

"I don't have a mother!" I shot back, and regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth.

Grandmère's eyes saddened and her shoulders slumped. Suddenly, she looked very old to me. She put her hand on her heart and took a deep breath, nodding.

"I know, child. That's why I try so hard to do what's right for you. I know I can't be your mother, too, but I can do some of what a mother would do. It's not enough; it's never enough, but—"

"I didn't mean to say you don't do enough for me, Grandmère. I'm sorry, but I want to go to the dance with Paul very much. I want to be treated like a young woman and not a child anymore. Didn't you want that when you were my age?" I asked. She stared at me a long moment before sighing.

"All right," she said. "If the Tate boy can take you, you can go with him, but you must promise me you will be home right after the dance."

"I will, Grandmère. I will. Thank you."

She shook her head.

"When you're young," she began, "you don't want to face up to what has to be. Your youth gives you the strength to defy, but defiance doesn't always lead to victory, Ruby. More often than not, it leads to defeat. When you come face-to-face with Fate, don't charge headlong into him. He welcomes that; it feeds him and he's got an insatiable appetite for stubborn, foolish souls."

"I don't understand, Grandmère," I said.

"You will," she told me with that heavy, prophetic tone of hers. "You will." Then she straightened up and sighed again. "I guess I'd better iron your dress," she said.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and smiled.

"Thank you, Grandmère, but I can do it."

"No, that's all right. I want to keep myself busy," she said, then walked out, her head still hanging lower than usual.