Daddy spun around and smiled. "You don't think I can do that, do you, Catherine? It ain't in your crystal ball, no?"

"I just like to be sure you're not filling the girl up with more hot air, Jack. We got enough in the swamp as it is."

Daddy laughed. "Step out and hear, woman," he said. "Feast your ears on the delicious meal of words I'm gonna deliver."

Mama raised her eyebrows, hesitated, and then came out, her arms folded under her bosom.

"I'm out. Deliver."

"I ain't working for Jed Atkins no more," he said, nodding, his face full of excitement.

Mama gazed at me and then back at him. "Oh, is that so? So who are you working for now?"

"Jack Landry," he replied. "I'm working for myself. And why shouldn't I?" he followed quickly. "Why should I be gettin' only a quarter of what Jed gets, huh? I'm the one who does all the work. He just sits on his fat rump and schedules the trips. I got my own pirogue and there's Gabrielle's, and soon we'll get a third. I got my own dock and I got it all up here," he said, pointing to his temple.

"I see," Mama said. "So what are you going to do, put up a sign and hope they come riding by and stop to buy your services?"

"That I'll do, but I've already done more," he said, smiling from ear to ear.

"What more? What do you mean?"

"I been telling some of Jed's customers about myself this past week or so and I give them directions how to get here and I got two trips already scheduled, the first tomorrow morning. There's a party of wealthy Creoles from New Orleans going to be here early. So," he said, putting his thumbs in his vest and pumping out his chest, "meet Jack Landry, businessman."

"What's Jed Atkins say about this?"

"He don't know it all yet. I just told him I ain't coming to work no more." He leaned toward Mama. "I'm givin' them a better deal than he gives them, but I'm making it all. Smart, huh?"

"If you make appointments with people and promise them service, you're going to have to provide it, Jack," Mama warned.

"I will."

"You'll have to stay off the rotgut whiskey, stay away from the zydeco bars and gambling and be home at a decent hour."

"I will. I swear," he said, raising up his right hand. "I'm tired of bein' everyone else's po'boy."

Mama looked hopeful. "Well, if this is true ... Gabrielle and I could cook up some food for the customers. Maybe we could make this into something."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Daddy said, slapping his knee. I couldn't recall seeing him so excited. "With what you can do in that kitchen and with what I can do in the swamp, we could have us a pretty successful little business, no?"

"Maybe," Mama said. "But if I go in there and cook and no one shows tomorrow morning, Jack . . ."

"They'll show, all right." He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. "Father and son and two of their friends. Name's Dumas. These rich people tell other rich people and then they come here, too. We're going to be well off," Daddy concluded, "or my name ain't Jack Landry."

"I don't have to go out in the canoe, too, do I, Daddy?" I asked.

"Not if you don't want to, but it would sure be nice to have you along, Gabrielle. You know these swamps better than me."

"I can't stomach seeing men go out there and shoot the animals, Daddy."

He grimaced. "Then don't come along, but don't you go preaching or sayin' anything stupid to them, hear? I don't want them feelin' bad about comin' here, no."

"Can't you just run swamp tours and show people the plants and animals, Daddy? Maybe you can get one of those glass-bottom boats and—"

"No, there ain't as much money in it, and besides, if we don't kill off some of them animals, they'll overrun us. Tell her I'm right, Catherine."

"You let her believe and think what she wants, Jack. Besides, Gabrielle doesn't need me telling her what's right and what's wrong. She knows more in her heart than you think."

"Oh, don't start that mumbo-jumbo on me," Daddy wailed. "I'm trying to make something for this family. No preachin'!" he warned. "I mean it."

He stumped off to check on his canoe and the dock.

"Come on, honey," Mama said, looking after him. "I don't have the power to turn a frog into a prince, but if he's doing honest labor and it keeps him from drinking, we got something better than we had. Sometimes that's all you can hope for," she concluded, and went into the house to start a fresh roux.

Mama was up early the next morning, but Daddy surprised both of us by rising before her and putting up a pot of rich Cajun coffee. The aroma drew both of us downstairs where we found Daddy dressed and ready, wearing his best hunting clothes and clean boots.

"They'll be here in an hour," he predicted. "I patched up the dock and cleaned up my canoe and Gabrielle's. I see you made some beignets. That's good. They're used to that, only yours will be better than anything they get in the city."

"Don't go saying that, Jack. New Orleans is just full of great cooks."

"Yeah, but you're the best in the bayou. Ain't she, Gabrielle?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"I don't need your flattery, Jack."

"Ain't flattery. It's just the truth," Daddy said, winking at me. His excitement was contagious, and despite what work he was doing, I couldn't help but be flooded with delight.

"I'll go get us some wildflowers for the tables outside, Mama," I said, and went off right after having a beignet and coffee myself.

I knew where there was some lush flowering honeysuckle and wild violets as well as hibiscus and blue and pink hydrangeas. This early in the morning billows of fog rolled in over the swamp. As I drew closer to the water, I could hear a bass flapping and a bullfrog falling off a log into the water. Ahead of me a white-tailed doe sprinted through the bushes. It saddened me to think that rich grown men could possibly get pleasure from killing such beautiful creatures. It seemed such a great betrayal, but I knew there was little I could do to stop it, and if I did speak up, Daddy would be enraged. Things would return to being dreadful in our home.

I spent longer than I had intended to spend in the swamp gathering flowers. By the time I started back, Daddy's party of hunters had arrived and were unloading their vehicle near the dock. I paused to watch for a moment. A slim young man, only about an inch or two shorter than Daddy, with thick chestnut hair stepped out from behind the car. Just as he did so, a rice bird landed on my shoulder. It was something they often did. Most birds had no fear of me because I often fed them and spoke softly to them. The young man stared at me with a gentle smile on his lips. I shifted some flowers to my left arm and extended my right for the rice bird to trot down to my wrist before flying away. As usual, his tiny feet tickled and I laughed.

And so did the young man. I could see him asking Daddy about me, and then he looked at me more intently, shaking his head. I glanced shyly at him and continued toward the house. He gazed back at the work going on at the dock before crossing over the grass to meet me halfway.

"Hello," he said. As he drew closer, I saw he had soft green eyes and a slim but firm torso. "When you came walking out of the fog like that, I thought you were some sort of swamp goddess."

"I'm far from being a goddess," I said.

"Not really too far," he replied, his smile spreading from his eyes to his lips. "I've never seen a wild bird land on someone and strut around as if it were on a tree. Does that happen often?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"Why aren't they afraid of you?"

"They know I mean them no harm, monsieur."

"Astounding." He shook his head and then he smiled. "My name's Pierre Dumas. Your father told me your name's Gabrielle."

"Oui. I'm just bringing some flowers to our tables," I said, continuing on my way.

"Let me help," he said, following.

"Oh no, I . . . I . . ."

"Please," he insisted, taking a bunch of the violets from my arms.

The sun had already begun to burn through the morning mist, and the grass around the shack glistened with the dew. There was a gentle breeze up from the Gulf and soft puffs of milk white clouds moved lazily across the brightening blue sky. Pierre accompanied me to the tables.

"People stop by for lunch?" he asked. "Is that what these tables are for?"

"Oui, monsieur. We sell bowls of gumbo and we sell cakes and coffee."

"I had some of your beignets already. Delicious."

"Merci, monsieur," I said, moving from one table to the other. He trailed along and I wondered when he would return to the loading of the canoes. Suddenly he just sat himself on a bench to watch me, that small smile on his lips, those green eyes radiant.

"Pardon, monsieur," I said, feeling very self-conscious, "but surely you should get back to the dock."

"I'll tell you a big secret," he said, gazing toward the dock and then at me. "I'm not really much of a hunter. I come along only to please my father."

"Oh?"

"I'm a terrible shot. I always close my eyes before pulling the trigger. I just hate the thought that I might hit something and kill it," he admitted. I smiled.

Mama came out the front door and paused on the galerie when she saw me speaking with Pierre. She was carrying some of our woven blankets in her arms to bring to the stand.

"I must help my mother," I said. "I hope you have a very poor day of hunting," I added, and he laughed.

"Those are very pretty flowers, Gabrielle," Mama said, keeping her gaze fixed on Pierre Dumas. He rose, nodded to her, and walked toward the dock.

"I'll bring out the towels, Mama," I said, and hurried inside, my heart feeling light. It fluttered when I thought about Pierre Dumas's soft green eyes, and it felt as if the tiny rice bird had gotten into my chest.