"Jack Landry and his daughter, Gabrielle," Daddy said.

"And I don't mean to be turned away," he added.

"Really? What is the nature of your visit, monsieur?"

"That's private."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really, really. You going to get her or am I going to get her?" Daddy asked.

The butler's eyes widened and those eyebrows were jerked even higher.

"One moment, please," he said, and closed the door.

"Snobby, rich . . . dirty . . ." Daddy mumbled. He looked around and nodded. "They think they own everything and everybody and can do whatever they please. Well, they ain't met Jack Landry head-on yet," he said.

"I think we should go home, Daddy," I said softly.

"Home? We ain't going nowhere till I get some satisfaction," he remarked. He shook the bells again. A moment later the butler opened the door, but this time standing beside him was Gladys Tate.

She looked formidable, towering, her shoulders back, her spine a steel rod. Her eyes were burning with indignation.

She looked like she had been interrupted doing something very important or was about to leave the house for an important appointment. She wore a polka-dot dark blue dress with a thin scarf. There was a matching polka-dot belt with a large bow at her waist.

This close up, confronting her, I realized how stunningly beautiful she was, but also how hard those slate-cold brown eyes could be. Steely faced, she stepped forward.

"How dare you have me summoned like this? What is it you want?" She threw me a glance, her mean look so sharp, I thought it could cut glass.

"I have business with you," Daddy said, undaunted.

"My husband handles the business."

"Not this business. This business is private," Daddy insisted.

"Really, monsieur, I don't think—"

"You're gonna hafta talk to me, madame, sooner or later. It be better sooner," Daddy said.

She shifted her eyes to me again. I could feel the curiosity twirling around in her brain, and her face softened.

"All right, Summers," she said to the butler. "I'll speak with these people." She said "people" as if we were lower than grasshoppers. "First room on the right," she ordered, and we entered the mansion.

I had never been inside a house this large and couldn't help but gape at everything: the mauve marble entryway, the great tapestries depicting grand plantation houses and grounds and Civil War scenes. Before us to the left was a square, polished mahogany stairway, and above us, from the high ceilings, dangled teardrop chandeliers with glittering brass necks. Beyond the entryway, the house seemed to go on forever. I saw pedestals with sculptures, and beside the tapestries, there was artwork covering every available space. It didn't look like a home so much as it looked like a government building or a museum.

We entered the room on the right. The first thing that caught my eye was the parasol roof. We stepped onto a rich beige carpet. The room had honey beige straw-cloth walls, blond beige woods, rosy beige leather on the French chairs.

Everything looked so clean and neat and new, I was afraid to touch anything. Gladys Tate stopped in the middle of the room and turned to Daddy. She ran her eyes from his head to his feet. He wore his old boots stained with mud. She looked like she was trying to decide where he could do the least damage. Finally she nodded at a small chair to the right.

"I'll give you five minutes," she said.

Daddy grunted and sat. He looked like he would bust the chair into pieces merely by leaning back. Gladys Tate sat on the settee, her back squarely against the cushion. She looked at me and then at Daddy.

"Well?"

"Your husband raped my daughter and made her pregnant," he said without hesitation.

I held my breath and didn't swallow. Gladys Tate did not change expression, but it was as if the shadows that carpeted the front of the great house had somehow penetrated the walls and darkened her face.

"I assume," she said after the heavy pause, "you have some proof to support this astounding accusation."

"My daughter's the proof. She'll tell you how it was exactly. She don't lie."

"I see." She fixed her stone eyes on me. "Where did this alleged incident occur?"

"In the swamp, madame," I said softly.

"The swamp?"

"In the canals. He was fishing when he come upon her in her pond, a place she goes swimming," Daddy said.

Gladys Tate stared at him as if it took a few moments for Daddy's words to be translated, and then she turned back to me.

"You know who my husband is?"

"Yes, madame."

"You say he came upon you while you were swimming?"

"I was actually sunning myself on the rock at the time.

When I opened my eyes, he was there. I was . . ."

"Nude?"

"Yes, madame."

She nodded. Then she smiled at Daddy.

"Do you know what it means to make false accusations, especially accusations of such a serious nature?"

"It ain't false," Daddy said.

"I see. And you have brought your daughter here for what purpose?"

"What purpose? He made her pregnant. That's gonna be a costly thing."

"Oh, so it's not justice you seek so much as it is money, is that it?" she asked with a wry smile painted across her lips.

"That's justice, ain't it?" Daddy retorted.

"Have you spoken with my husband?"

"Yeah, and he don't want to own up to it. But he will," Daddy threatened. "Look at her," Daddy said, pumping his hand toward me. "Look at what he done to my little girl. How's she supposed to find a decent husband when her stomach's two feet ahead of her, huh? And all because your husband had his way with her!"

Gladys Tate stared at me again. "You're the girl who ran off the stage at graduation, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes, madame."

"And you," she said, turning to Daddy, "are the man who made that ridiculous scene."

"That ain't got nothing to do with this."

She stared again. These silent pauses sent chills up my spine, but Daddy didn't seem to notice or care. Finally she sighed, shook her head.

"I wish to speak with your daughter alone," she said.

"What? Why?"

"If you want me to give you any more of my attention or time, you will do as I ask," she said firmly. Daddy thought a moment. It was easy to see she was determined and he would do best if he listened to her.

"I'll be right outside," he said, standing. "And only for a few minutes. Don't you try nothing sneaky on her neither," he added. He gazed at me, his face full of fury. "Call me if she does," he said, and walked out.

"Close the door," Gladys Tate ordered. I did so. "Sit where your father sat," she said. Then she sat forward. "Have you ever seen my husband before this incident in the swamp?"

"Just here and there, madame, but we never spoke."

"I see. Now, in your own words, tell me what you say happened."

I began slowly, explaining how I went swimming often in the pond and how this particular afternoon I had fallen asleep sunning myself. I described how he had taken off his clothing and climbed onto the rock. She didn't change expression until I told her what he had said about his marriage. Her eyes became smaller and a white lined etched about her tightened lips.

"Go on," she said. I described the way he teased me, how we fell out of the pirogue and then what followed. I felt the tears streaming down my face, but I did not wipe them off. They dripped from my chin.

She sat back when I was finished. Then she stood up abruptly and went to the door. Daddy was obviously eavesdropping and nearly fell into the room when she opened it.

"Well?" he said.

"I want you to wait right here," she told him.

"Why?"

"Do what I tell you to do," she ordered without hesitation. Even Daddy, fired up the way he was, was taken aback with her strength and firmness. He entered the room and sat on the settee. "I'll see that Summers brings you something cool to drink," she said, and left.

"What's that woman doing?" Daddy asked me. "You tell her something I didn't hear?"

"I told her exactly what happened, Daddy."

"I don't trust these rich people," he said, eyeing the door. A few moments later, the butler appeared.

"Would you like some lemonade?" he asked.

"Ain't ya got nothing stronger?"

"We have whatever you want, monsieur," he said, grimacing.

"Get me a cold beer. No glass."

"Very good, monsieur. Mademoiselle?"

"I'll have the lemonade."

He nodded and left.

"Maybe they'll poison us," Daddy said. "That's why I ordered it in the bottle." He winked. "Don't drink the lemonade."

"Oh, Daddy, she wouldn't do that."

He sat back and drummed the arm of the chair with his long fingers.

"Look at this place. I could live a year off what this room costs. Maybe longer."

The butler brought us the drinks. Daddy sipped his beer cautiously. He shook his head when I drank my lemonade, but it tasted good and refreshing.

A short while later, we heard the front door open, and after that, Octavious Tate appeared.

"I'm calling the police," he said, but when he turned, Gladys Tate was right behind him, standing as solidly as a statue.

"Just go inside and sit, Octavious," she commanded.

"Gladys, you're not going to give these thieves a moment of our time. You're—"

"Go inside, Octavious."

He shook his head and came into the room, sitting across from Daddy. He glanced at me once and then looked at his wife. She closed the door and remained standing.

"Well?" he said.

"Look at this girl, Octavious. Go on."

"I'm looking at her."