I felt as if I had a glow about me when I returned home late that afternoon. I walked up from the dock, my eyes down, a small smile on my lips. As I drew closer to the house, I heard a strange voice and paused. The conversation was followed by some laughter and then the clink of bottles. Daddy was entertaining one of his friends, I thought, but I knew Mama never permitted him to do that at the house, so with great curiosity, I approached the front galerie. When I turned the corner, I saw Daddy sitting in Mama's rocker, and across from him sat Richard Paxton, Nicolas's father. The two looked my way sharply when I appeared.

"There she is!" Daddy exclaimed. "Lookin' as pretty as ever."

Monsieur Paxton nodded, his round face beaming as his lips twisted up into a smile. His son had his face, the same round eyes, the same rubber-band lips, always a pale red.

"Come on up here and say hello to Monsieur Paxton, honey. You know him. You've been in his store plenty of times. He's got the best and biggest store in Houma."

Monsieur Paxton nodded, his jowls shaking.

"Bonjour, monsieur," I said, and flashed a smile. I started for the door.

"Hold, up now, Gabrielle. Monsieur Paxton has come to see me on behalf of his son. You know him well, too, don'tcha?"

"I know him," I said.

"You two graduated together, and Monsieur Paxton here tells me you're the only girl in these here parts he's taken a fancy to. Ain't that right, monsieur?"

"All he talks about is Gabrielle Landry whenever we discuss marriage."

"Marriage?" I said, backing a few steps away.

"Sure. Why not?" Daddy asked. "Nicolas is going to inherit the store, right, Richard?" Daddy said, reaching across to slap Monsieur Paxton on the shoulder.

He laughed. "Oui, monsieur. He will that."

"See, honey? You can have a nice life, and Monsieur Paxton here says he will start you and Nicolas off with your own home, too. That's a good offer, ain't it?"

"No," I said quickly.

"No?"

Monsieur Paxton's smile evaporated. He looked nervously at Daddy.

"I can't marry Nicolas, Daddy. I don't love him."

"Love him? Hell, girl, you'll learn to love him. Those are the best marriages anyway."

"No, Daddy, please," I said.

"Lookie here," he cried as I moved quickly to the door. "I promised Monsieur Paxton you would—"

"No. Never!" I screamed, and ran inside. I heard Daddy mumble something and then follow. I was terrified. Mama wasn't home.

"How can you say no?" Daddy demanded. "What'cha wanna do, stay here the rest of yer life and play with the animals?"

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life with Nicolas Paxton, Daddy."

"Why not? You listen to me," he said, wagging his long right finger at me, "it's a father's duty to find a suitable husband for his daughter, and I did it. Now, you just march out there and tell Monsieur Paxton you will marry his son, hear?"

"No, Daddy. I won't," I said, shaking my head.

His face turned crimson. "Look how old you are already, and you know why you can't be so choosy," he said. "It's just luck no one else knows, too."

"I won't marry Nicolas, Daddy. I won't."

"Gabrielle . . ." He took a step toward me.

"I'd rather die," I declared.

The screen door opened, but I couldn't see past Daddy. He hovered over me like a hawk.

"You put one finger on that girl, Jack Landry, and I'll curse you to hell," Mama declared.

Papa turned quickly and looked at her. "I was just trying to get her a good husband, woman."

"Tell that man to go home, Jack. And give him back whatever he gave you," she added.

"What? Why, he didn't . . ."

"Don't waste your breath on a new lie," Mama said.

Daddy gazed at her for a moment and then at me. He shook his head. "Two chicks from the same egg," he muttered, and went out.

Mama stood there looking at me.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I can't marry Nicolas Paxton." "Then let's not talk any more about it," she declared, and went to put her things away.

Despite what Daddy had tried to do and how much he complained about my refusal to cooperate, the months that followed were the happiest of my life. Daddy finally stopped trying to get me to change my mind and went on about his business, which, more often than not, resulted in some new problem for Mama to solve.

But Pierre and I saw each other more than ever, and every time he appeared, he appeared bearing gifts. Our little love nest filled up with nice things, expensive things: pictures, throw rugs, more clothes for me, and silk robes and slippers for both of us. We ate there more often, poled to the pond, picnicked, made love in the sunlight and in the moonlight, played our music and danced, once until dawn.

Pierre spoke little about his life in New Orleans, occasionally mentioning something he had done with his business, but rarely talking about his wife or his father. I didn't ask questions, although they were always on the tip of my tongue. I knew that they would only bring sadness and pain to him, and we both guarded our pledge to each other religiously. The rule was, anything that would bring sorrow or unhappiness was forbidden from entering these four walls. This was a home for laughter and for love only. Anything else was to wait outside.

But Nature had taught me early in my life that everything has its season. Our romance grew and bloomed, flourished and ripened, with every passing moment, every kiss, every promise in our breaths. Happiness was a bird at full wing, gliding gracefully toward the warm sun.

I knew that clouds do come, that rain must fall, that shadows must darken, and that even though our love was good and pure and full, it wasn't strong enough to withstand the hard, cold truth that lay dormant at our doorstep, waiting like some patient snake, so still it was hard to distinguish from the surroundings, but ready and eager to strike at the first opportunity.

We weren't always careful when we made love. In the beginning our passion was so strong and overwhelming, we could no more hesitate to protect ourselves than we could hold back a hurricane. Afterward, when I had a chance to sit and think, I admitted to myself that it wasn't just carelessness or a devil-may-care attitude. I wanted Pierre's child. I wanted a part of him in me. I wanted to bond us some way forever and ever. Maybe he wanted the same thing.

Unfortunately, I knew the symptoms of pregnancy all too well. I didn't have to ask Mama what this or that meant. It came upon me one afternoon when I realized I was late, and all the other indications announced themselves with clarity and certainty.

Despite my feelings, I was frightened. I had no idea how I would tell Mama, but I thought I must tell Pierre first. He didn't return for nearly two weeks after I realized my condition, and when I saw the blue cravat, I felt a pang of trepidation along with a feeling of happiness.

Early that night when I poled to the Daisy landing and walked to the shack, my body was trembling. Was this the end of our love affair? Would he run from me once he learned what had happened? I couldn't prolong the answer and stop myself from drowning in that all too familiar pool of despair.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for my arrival. A bottle of wine was opened, more than half of it drunk already. He looked up with a smile.

But before I could blurt out what was happening, he greeted me with his own shocking news.

"Daphne," he said, "has found out about us."

"I didn't think she would even care," he said after having me sit at the table before telling me. He poured me a glass of wine and one for himself. He paced as he continued. "All this time I thought she enjoyed the freedom I was giving her, enjoyed her distractions, her charities and causes, her art galerie openings and dinners. She surrounded herself with so many people and lived for the society pages. Whenever I had to travel for business, she was unconcerned and disinterested. She never complained about our being apart.

"Apparently, her lack of interest in me and my affairs was just a smoke screen for her real intentions and actions."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"She hired a private detective and had me followed and all this traced," he said, indicating our love nest. "Yesterday she came into my office, closed the door behind her, and revealed with glee all she had learned and knew."

"She knows my name?"

"The smallest details," he said, nodding. "She enjoyed rattling them off. Of course, she made threats. She would bring down my family name, destroy the Dumas reputation, but I know she would never do any such thing. She's terrified of putting a spot on her own reputation. The worst thing for Daphne is social embarrassment," he said confidently, but I couldn't keep the terror from jumping into my heart and bringing goose bumps over my arms.

"Maybe she will do something like that this time. You didn't expect her to have you investigated," I pointed out.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's all just a bluff. Right now she's playing the role of an abused wife."

"Oh, Pierre," I cried, and buried my face in my hands.

"It's all right." He laughed at what he thought was my reaction to only his news. "I just wanted you to know what was happening, but I don't intend for any of this to interfere in any way with our happiness. As far as Daphne goes—"

"You don't know the worst of it," I moaned, raising my bloodshot eyes to gaze into his proud, handsome face. "And at this time, too!"

"Worst? What could possibly . . ." He grimaced. "Something with your father again," he said. I shook my head. "Your mother?"