need for your work."
"A nanny? I don't think I'll need one, Paul."
"Of course you will. The mistress of Cypress Woods will have all sorts of servants. I have already hired our butler. He's a quadroon named James Humble. He's a man about fifty and he's worked in the finest homes."
"A butler?" It didn't seem that long ago when he and I poled in his pirogue through the swamp and fantasized about the very things we were about to do.
"And our maid. Her name is Holly Mixon. She's half Haitian, half Choctaw Indian, and in her mid-twenties. I got her from an agency, too. I know you are going to enjoy our cook the most," he said with his impish eyes twinkling.
"And why is that?"
"Her name's Letitia Brown, but she wants to be called Letty. She'll remind you of your Nina Jackson. She won't say her exact age, but I think she's somewhere around sixty. She practices voodoo," he said, lowering his voice to make it sound ominous.
"You've done all this already?" I asked, amazed. He blushed as if he had been caught naked.
"I've been planning for this day from the moment you returned to the bayou, Ruby. I just knew it would happen."
"What about your family, Paul? Did you tell your parents this morning?" I asked.
He was quiet for a moment. "No, not yet," he said. "I thought it would be better to tell them afterward. Once it's a fact of life, they'll be quicker to accept it all. It will be all right. It will be fine," he assured me, but that didn't quiet my thumping heart.
Although the rain stopped completely by the time we arrived in Breaux Bridge, the sky remained dark and ominous. Father Antoine lived in the rectory beside the church with his housekeeper, Miss Mulrooney. He was a man about sixty-five with thin gray hair cut so short, the strands popped up like a paintbrush on the sides, but he had gentle, blue-eyes and the sort of soft smile that would make someone relax and be at ease in his presence. Miss Mulrooney, a tall thin woman with dark gray hair, looked stern and unapproving. I knew why.
Paul had told Father Antoine that Pearl was his child and he wanted to marry me to do the right thing, only he wanted the marriage to be a quiet one, away from the disapproving eyes of his neighbors and his family's friends. Father Antoine was understanding and happy Paul had decided to go through with the marriage and uphold his moral responsibilities.
Our wedding ceremony was as quick as a religious one could be. When it came time for me to recite my vows, I did what might have been a sinful thing: I conjured up Beau, and I told myself I was pledging my heart and my soul to him.
Getting married had all been so much easier and quicker than I had imagined it would be. I didn't feel any different, but I knew from the beaming smile on Paul's face every time he looked at me that everything had changed. For better or for worse, we had gone ahead and bound ourselves and our destinies.
"Well, that's that," he said. "How do you feel, Mrs. Tate?"
"Terrified," I said, and he laughed.
"You have no reason to be terrified anymore. Not as long as I'm around," he vowed. "So what, if anything, do you want from the shack?"
"I have Pearl's and my clothes, the painting of Grandmere Catherine, and her rocker," I said. "Maybe her old chest and the armoire her father had made for her. She was so proud of that."
"Fine. I'll send some of my men over with a truck this afternoon and they'll get the furniture. It looks like the rain has stopped for a while. You can follow in your car," he added nonchalantly.
"My car? What car?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? I bought a little convertible for you to get around in. . . for your errands and such," he added. I could tell from the way he was behaving that it was more than just a little convertible, and sure enough, when we pulled up to Cypress Woods, I saw a candy-apple red Mercedes with a white ribbon around the hood parked in the driveway.
"That's mine?" I exclaimed.
"Your first wedding present. Enjoy," he said.
"Oh, Paul, this is too
"A nanny? I don't think I'll need one, Paul."
"Of course you will. The mistress of Cypress Woods will have all sorts of servants. I have already hired our butler. He's a quadroon named James Humble. He's a man about fifty and he's worked in the finest homes."
"A butler?" It didn't seem that long ago when he and I poled in his pirogue through the swamp and fantasized about the very things we were about to do.
"And our maid. Her name is Holly Mixon. She's half Haitian, half Choctaw Indian, and in her mid-twenties. I got her from an agency, too. I know you are going to enjoy our cook the most," he said with his impish eyes twinkling.
"And why is that?"
"Her name's Letitia Brown, but she wants to be called Letty. She'll remind you of your Nina Jackson. She won't say her exact age, but I think she's somewhere around sixty. She practices voodoo," he said, lowering his voice to make it sound ominous.
"You've done all this already?" I asked, amazed. He blushed as if he had been caught naked.
"I've been planning for this day from the moment you returned to the bayou, Ruby. I just knew it would happen."
"What about your family, Paul? Did you tell your parents this morning?" I asked.
He was quiet for a moment. "No, not yet," he said. "I thought it would be better to tell them afterward. Once it's a fact of life, they'll be quicker to accept it all. It will be all right. It will be fine," he assured me, but that didn't quiet my thumping heart.
Although the rain stopped completely by the time we arrived in Breaux Bridge, the sky remained dark and ominous. Father Antoine lived in the rectory beside the church with his housekeeper, Miss Mulrooney. He was a man about sixty-five with thin gray hair cut so short, the strands popped up like a paintbrush on the sides, but he had gentle, blue-eyes and the sort of soft smile that would make someone relax and be at ease in his presence. Miss Mulrooney, a tall thin woman with dark gray hair, looked stern and unapproving. I knew why.
Paul had told Father Antoine that Pearl was his child and he wanted to marry me to do the right thing, only he wanted the marriage to be a quiet one, away from the disapproving eyes of his neighbors and his family's friends. Father Antoine was understanding and happy Paul had decided to go through with the marriage and uphold his moral responsibilities.
Our wedding ceremony was as quick as a religious one could be. When it came time for me to recite my vows, I did what might have been a sinful thing: I conjured up Beau, and I told myself I was pledging my heart and my soul to him.
Getting married had all been so much easier and quicker than I had imagined it would be. I didn't feel any different, but I knew from the beaming smile on Paul's face every time he looked at me that everything had changed. For better or for worse, we had gone ahead and bound ourselves and our destinies.
"Well, that's that," he said. "How do you feel, Mrs. Tate?"
"Terrified," I said, and he laughed.
"You have no reason to be terrified anymore. Not as long as I'm around," he vowed. "So what, if anything, do you want from the shack?"
"I have Pearl's and my clothes, the painting of Grandmere Catherine, and her rocker," I said. "Maybe her old chest and the armoire her father had made for her. She was so proud of that."
"Fine. I'll send some of my men over with a truck this afternoon and they'll get the furniture. It looks like the rain has stopped for a while. You can follow in your car," he added nonchalantly.
"My car? What car?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? I bought a little convertible for you to get around in. . . for your errands and such," he added. I could tell from the way he was behaving that it was more than just a little convertible, and sure enough, when we pulled up to Cypress Woods, I saw a candy-apple red Mercedes with a white ribbon around the hood parked in the driveway.
"That's mine?" I exclaimed.
"Your first wedding present. Enjoy," he said.
"Oh, Paul, this is too
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