"Thank you, madame," I said. I couldn't wait to see Mama. Even though I had been here only one night, I missed her terribly.

Gladys Tate closed the door softly behind her and tiptoed down the stairway. I stood there for a moment, realizing that I was trembling, and then I set about cleaning the room and keeping my mind occupied so I wouldn't dwell on this strange, hard woman who would someday soon be the mother of the child I carried.

Gladys Tate brought Mama up to see me after dinner. One look at Mama's face when she came up the stairway and stepped into the room told me she was infuriated.

"You're keeping her up here, in this . . . closet?" she said, turning sharply on Gladys.

"It's the only secluded place in the house," Gladys said, unflinching. 'Tin trying to make her as comfortable as possible."

Mama gazed about the room and then fixed her eyes on my empty dishes. Of course, I wasn't sure if it had been done for Mama's benefit more than my own, but Gladys had brought me a gourmet feast: a bowl of turtle soup, Cornish hen in a grape cognac sauce, sweet potatoes in oranges, and tangy green beans. For dessert, there was a slice of pecan pie. Gladys proudly ticked off the menu, explaining I would always eat what they ate.

Mama's eyebrows rose with skepticism.

"I wish to speak with my daughter alone," she said. Gladys tightened, her mouth becoming a tiny slice in her taut cheeks. She then gave Mama a small smile, tight and cold.

"Of course," she said, and pivoted sharply. She closed the door behind her and descended, her feet barely tapping down the stairway.

"You can't stay here," Mama began immediately. "This is horrible. I had to sneak up here with her, like some kind of swamp rat."

"It's not so bad, Mama. I'll keep busy and the time will pass quickly."

"I don't like it," she insisted. "You're too much a creature of Nature, Gabrielle. You can't be shut up like this."

"I'll manage, Mama. Please. What will be the alternative? These are rich and important people here. They will make me look like the bad one, and the baby, the baby will grow up an outcast. Besides," I said with a smile, "I bet Daddy's already spent some of the money."

"Some? I'll wager he's spent most of it or gambled it away by now." She sighed deeply and sat on the bed. "Look how tiny everything is. What was this room?"

"Her playroom."

"Playroom? What does she think, this is another childish game, you're another toy, a distraction? That woman irks me, Gabrielle. Something's very wrong with her. She wants me to bring her herbs."

"I know. She's determined everyone will believe the baby is hers. She's really getting into the pretending."

"Too much. I was alone with her and she was telling me she's had nausea in the morning and lately she's had to go to the bathroom more often. Why tell me those things without anyone around?" Mama pointed out.

I shrugged. "Maybe she was just practicing."

"I don't know. I'm not getting good vibrations here," Mama said, gazing around with that special vision. "This was not a happy room. It wasn't a playroom so much as it was . . . a hideaway," she concluded. "And that's what she's made it into now," she added, turning to me.

"If it gets unbearable, Mama, I'll come home," I promised.

Mama squinted and curled the corner of her mouth. "You have a lot more tolerance for abuse than most people, Gabrielle, and you're too forgiving. I'm afraid you won't do what's in your own best interests. You'll think of everyone else first."

"No, Mama, I promise. . . ."

She shook her head and then her face reddened a bit with anger.

"Has he come around? Do you see him?"

"No, Mama. I haven't seen Octavious Tate once since I arrived. I think he's afraid of her," I offered.

Mama nodded. "That's what your father says. He's not much of a man to live under his wife's shadow and to have done what he did to you. I want you to know I was tempted to turn your father loose on him. When he drove off with that in mind, I wasn't eager to stop him. I was just as angry, but . . ." She sighed. "Maybe having a good home for the baby and keeping you from the disgrace that some would lay on you no matter what, like you say, is for the best. I just don't like the thought of you being caged up."

"I'll get out as much as possible, Mama. And you'll be by to see me now and then."

"You can bet on that," she said. She dug into her split-oak basket and took out some more herbal medicines, a jar of homemade blackberry jam, a loaf of cinnamon bread, and a package of pralines. "Don't eat all this at one time," she warned. "You gotta watch you don't get too fat, Gabrielle."

"I won't, Mama," I said, and laughed.

She sighed again and stood up. We heard Gladys coming up the stairway. She knocked on the door, which was something I was sure she would never have done if Mama weren't there.

"Yes," Mama said.

Gladys entered. "I'm sorry, but if you remain up here much longer, my maids will notice."

"You should get maids you can trust," Mama shot back. Gladys didn't respond, but she made her eyes small and sucked in her breath. "I'll be by in a couple of days," Mama said. Then she turned to Gladys. "You see she gets time out of this room. She needs exercise or the birthing will be difficult, even dangerous."

"Of course, Madame Landry. I will permit whatever is possible."

"Make it possible," Mama insisted. "See that she has plenty of water to drink, too. There's two to take care of here. Keep that in mind."

"Anything else?" Gladys asked with visible annoyance.

"Yes. You should have a fan up here."

"Why? You don't have fans in your shack, do you?"

"No, but she's not locked up in a room in our shack," Mama retorted.

"There's no electricity up here, and even if there were, the noise would attract attention," Gladys explained.

"It's all right, Mama. Really," I said.

"Humph," Mama said, and then turned back to Gladys. "You make sure your husband doesn't come within ten feet of her."

Gladys turned so red, I thought the blood would shoot up and out the top of her head.

"Don't bother to make promises," Mama followed before Gladys could open her tight mouth. "Just make sure it don't happen." Mama turned to me. "I'll see you soon, honey," she said, and kissed me on the cheek. Then she glared at Gladys once more before she started out. Gladys took my tray of empty dishes and shot me an annoyed look before leaving. When they got to the bottom of the stairway and went out the corridor door, Gladys did not lock it. I was glad of that.

After Mama left, I relaxed on my bed and read some of the Charles Dickens novel Gladys Tate had brought me. Since the sun had gone down behind the trees, I was able to pull up the shade and permit more air to come into the room. The sound of a flapping bird's wings interrupted my reading and I went to the window to look out on the night heron. She did a little dance on the railing and turned to peer back at me.

"Hello," I said. "Shopping for dinner or just out for a stroll?"

She lifted her wings as if to reply and then the muscles in her neck undulated as she dipped her beak before rising to swoop down and toward the forest and ponds where she would hunt for her dinner. Never did I wish I had the power of flight so much as I did at the moment. If I had it, I would fly alongside the heron and glide over the swamp before lifting myself higher and higher toward the glittering promise of stars.

The sound of the door being opened below and footsteps on the stairs startled me. I turned from the window to greet Gladys Tate.

"You can bring your chamber pot down now and take a bath, if you like. My maids have gone to bed. Empty that pail of dirty water and get some more to do some more cleaning tomorrow," she instructed. "Don't forget to fetch water for yourself and our baby," she added. "When you get to the bottom of the stairs, it's the first door on the right. Towels and soap and everything else you need is there."

"Tres bien, madame," I said. "Thank you."

"I hope," she said, "you told your mother I'm doing all I can to make the best of a horrible situation. It's not easy for me either. She should understand that when she comes here," she whined.

"I don't have to tell Mama anything, madame. She has the power to see the truth. She always knows what's truly in a person's heart. That's her gift."

"Ridiculous folklore. No one has that power, but I asked around and people say your mother is the best midwife in the bayou," she admitted. "I was told she's never lost a baby in birthing, except for those already dead." She smiled. "Everyone thinks it's a good idea to have her look after me."

She stared at me a moment and then she brought her hands to her breasts as if she had just experienced the sort of tenderness I had described I experienced.

"It bothers you when you sleep on your stomach sometimes, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Oui, madame."

"Then it will bother me, too," she vowed. "Don't go anywhere else in the house. My butler is still wandering about," she warned, and descended.

A moment later, I took the chamber pot and followed. The bathroom was almost as big as the room I now lived in upstairs. It had pink and white wallpaper with a fluffy blue throw rug beside the bathtub. All of the fixtures were brass. The vanity table had bath powders, soaps, and colognes. I emptied the chamber pot and then closed the door and began to fill the tub with warm water. I found some bubble bath and put some in as the water filled the tub. Then I undressed and soaked for nearly twenty minutes. It was really rather delightful and something I couldn't do at home. I made a mental note to tell Mama so she would be less anxious about my staying here.