"Look at him, Octavious," she said. "He is perfect. Little Mr. Perfect. We're naming him Paul," she added quickly, "after my mother's younger brother who died a tragic death in the canals when he was only twelve. Right, Octavious?"

He looked at us. "Yes," he said.

Mama didn't respond. She returned her attention to me. "How are you doing, honey?"

"I'm all right, Mama." I turned to Gladys. "Can I look at him? Please," I asked.

She glared fire at me and turned the baby so I couldn't view his face. "Of course not. I want you out of here immediately," she said. She looked at Mama. "Get her up and out of that bed and out of this house before anyone comes around."

"I can't rush her like that," Mama said. "She needs to recuperate. She's still bleeding some."

"Octavious, take them into another room, your room for all I care," she said.

Mama turned on her, her back up, her eyes blazing back. "No! You go into another room. My daughter will rest here until I say she's fit to leave, and that's my final word on it, hear?"

Gladys saw Mama was adamant. "Very well," she said. "I'll go to Octavious's room to recuperate and put the baby in his nursery."

"Exactly how to you plan to feed the infant?" Mama asked.

Gladys smiled coolly. "We've thought of that. I've hired a wet nurse. Octavious will fetch her now. Won't you, Octavious?"

"Yes, dear," he said obediently. He was unable to look at me and just gave me a passing glance.

"The child needs a lot of attention," Mama said. "Remember, he's premature."

"We'll have a real doctor here in less than an hour. He's someone we can trust, but I still want you out of the house as soon as possible," she said. She handed the baby to Octavious as she rose from her bed. Then she took the baby back quickly and started out of the bedroom, taking care, it seemed to me, to prevent me from getting a good view of him. She paused at the doorway.

"Once you're gone, I don't want to ever see you on this property again," she told me.

"She'd rather step in quicksand," Mama retorted. Gladys smiled, satisfied. "Good," she said, and walked out with my baby. I hadn't even seen him for a full minute and he was already gone from my life forever. My lips trembled and my heart ached.

Octavious remained behind a moment, stuttering some apology and some thanks. "Take as long as you need," he concluded, his eyes down. Then he hurried to follow his wife and new child.

I couldn't help but burst into tears. Mama put her arm around me and kissed my hair and forehead, trying to comfort and soothe me.

"Is he really perfect, Mama?"

"Yes, honey, he is. He's one of the prettiest babies I've seen, and you know I've seen a few in my time."

"Will he be all right?"

"I think so. He was breathing strong on his own. It's good that they're having a doctor come around, though. Let me tend to your bleeding, Gabrielle, and then let you rest. Damn your father for hurrying away. I could use him now," she muttered.

I lay back, exhausted, not only from the delivery, but from the emotional pain of having only a glimpse of baby Paul and then seeing him swept away from me instantly. Mama was right: This was a terrible feeling. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare that would haunt me forever.

It was very late by the time I felt strong enough to get out of the bed and stand on my own. Mama held me cautiously and had me walk around the room first. Then she sat me down and went to find Octavious. Since Daddy hadn't returned, she had to ask Octavious to drive us home.

The house was dim and quiet with all the servants gone. I paused outside the bedroom door on the upstairs landing because I heard my baby crying. I looked at Octavious.

"I want to see him," I said.

He looked at Mama and then me.

"I won't leave before I do," I threatened.

He nodded. "Gladys is sleeping. She claims she's exhausted. If you're very quiet about it . . ."

"I will be. I promise," I said.

"Gabrielle. Maybe it's better you just leave, honey. You're just prolonging the pain and . . ." Mama's voice trailed off.

"No, Mama. I've got to look at him. Please," I begged.

She shook her head and then turned to Octavious and nodded.

"Very, very quiet," he said, and practically tiptoed down the hallway to the nursery he and Gladys had prepared. The wet nurse was already there. She was a young girl not much older than me. Octavious whispered something to her and she left without glancing at me.

I stepped up to the cradle and peered in at baby Paul, wrapped in his blue cotton blanket, his pink face no bigger than a fist. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing nicely. His skin was so soft. It was a little crimson at the cheeks. All of his features were perfect. Mama was right. His fingers, clutched at the blanket, looked smaller than the fingers of any doll I had ever had. My heart ached with my desire to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him against my throbbing breasts filled with milk that was meant to be his and would never touch his lips.

"We better go," Octavious whispered.

"Come on, honey," Mama urged. She put her hand through my arm and held me at the elbow.

"Good-bye, Paul," I whispered. "You'll never know who I am. I'll never hear your cry again; never comfort you or hear your laughing somehow, somehow, I hope you'll sense that I'm out there, waiting anxiously for the day I can set eyes on you again."

I kissed my finger and then touched his tiny forehead. My throat felt like I had a stone caught in it. I turned and walked away like one in a trance, not feeling, not seeing, not hearing anything but the cries of sadness inside me.

Somehow, we got down the stairway and out the front door to Octavious' car. Mama and I sat in the back, me lying against her, my eyes closed, my hand clutching hers. We slipped through the night like shadows indistinguishable from the blanket of darkness that had fallen heavily over the world. No one spoke until we arrived at our shack. Octavious opened the door and helped Mama get me out.

"I'll take her from here," Mama told him sternly:

"Will she be all right?" he asked. Mama hesitated. I felt her turn to him and I opened my eyes.

"She will be fine; she will grow strong again, whereas you will grow weaker and smaller under the burden of your sin," she predicted. He seemed to shrink. "You be sure that that madwoman you call your wife treats that child with love and kindness, hear?"

"I will," he promised. "He'll have everything he needs and more."

"He needs love."

Octavious nodded. "I'm sorry," he muttered one final time, and went back to his car.

Mama turned me to the shack and we made our way to the door as Octavious drove away, the sound of his car drifting back into the darkness. I was still in pain. My legs felt so heavy and my head even heavier, but I didn't complain. I didn't want to make things any harder than they were for Mama. She managed to get me in the house and up the stairs to my little room. It was actually a bit smaller than the room I had been living in at the Tate house, but it was my room and full of my memories. It was like seeing an old friend again.

"It's so good to be home, Mama," I said.

She helped me into bed. "Just get some rest, honey. I'll be right here if you need me," she added. She said something else, but I didn't hear it. Before she had completed the sentence, I was asleep.

Daddy returned sometime before morning, bitter and angry about the money he had lost gambling, raging that he had been cheated and that he would get revenge. He was quite drunk and smashed a chair in anger, splintering it to bits. It woke me and sent Mama flying down to bawl him out. I heard the shouting, his pounding the walls and stomping the floor. I heard the door slam so hard, the whole shack shook, and then it was deadly quiet. My eyes shut themselves and didn't open again until the sunlight brushed my face. They fluttered open, and for a moment I didn't know where I was. After a moment, it all came rushing back over me, including the racket I had heard in the middle of the night. Mama, anticipating my awakening, stepped into the room with a cup of rich Cajun coffee, the steam rising from the mug.

"Got to get you up and about, honey. Women who lay around like sick people after they give birth usually develop some problem or another," she said.

I sat up and took the mug of coffee. "Was I dreaming or was Daddy screaming and yelling last night?" I asked her.

She shook her head. "I wish you had been dreaming. No, he came home in one of his drunken states again, claiming he had been cheated out of the money he lost at cards. Instead of finding a good job and working hard, he keeps trying to make a killing somewhere. He works harder at not working than he would if he worked," she added.

"Does he know I'm home?"

"I tried to tell him, but he wasn't hearing anything but his own stupid voice last night."

"Where is he?"

"He fell asleep in his truck last I saw, but when I looked out before, the truck was gone. No telling what he's up to now. I'll fix you some good breakfast, honey. You rise and stretch those legs, hear?"

"Yes, Mama. Mama?" I said before she left the room. She turned.

"Yes, honey?"

"What about . . ." I held my hands under my ample breasts.

Mama's face turned sad again. "I was going to tell you about that today," she said sadly. "You'll have to just pump it out or you'll develop milk fever."

"But the milk . . ."

"We can't offer it to anyone's baby, and that woman won't let Paul have your milk," she added bitterly. Mama hated waste in any shape or form.