the blue in his eyes so deep, I felt naked. Once he saw my gaze go to him, he moved away quickly.
I went into the bathroom and dressed for bed. Paul was already in his when I put out the light and crawled under the cover.
'Good night, Ruby,' he said softly.
'Good night.' The silence and the darkness seemed to grow thicker between us. We would share everything a man and a woman who married and became one could share, except one thing: each other. That thought lingered in the darkness above me, taunting, tormenting. I turned on my side and when I closed my eyes, my thoughts fled back to my memories of Beau and our passionate lovemaking. For now, those recollections were all I had.
We continued our shopping safari the next day, following the list Mrs. Tate had written. I went to an art supply house and gave them my list. Everything would be delivered. After lunch, Paul and I walked through the French Quarter, now looking for gifts for his sisters and parents.
'You haven't mentioned it yet,' he said, 'but do you intend to see your stepmother? She has yet to learn about us.'
'I was thinking about it, yes,' I said. 'Although I'm not eager to do it.'
'I'll go with you.'
'No. I think I'd better do this alone for now,' I said.
'Okay.' He smiled. 'Should I get you a cab or . . .'
'No, I think I want to take the streetcar,' I said. I had done it so often when I had lived in my father's great house in the Garden District. It was still a quaint and delightful ride for me, but the moment I stepped off the car and began to walk toward the mansion, I felt my heart begin to pound.
Could I do this, walk back into that house and face my stepmother after I had run away? I knew Gisselle was at school, so I wouldn't have to contend with her, but to go into that great house knowing my father was gone, Nina was gone, and Beau was off in Europe involved with some other young woman seemed like self-imposed torture.
I paused across the street and gazed at the ivory white mansion. It looked unchanged, frozen in time. Maybe if I crossed this street, all that had happened since the day I had arrived would disappear and I would be starting over again, I thought. Daddy would still be alive, vibrant and handsome. Nina Jackson would be in the kitchen mumbling over some ingredients and complaining about some evil spirits that had camped in the closets, and Otis would still be at the door, waiting to greet me. I would hear Gisselle shrieking some complaint from upstairs.
I started to walk across when the familiar Rolls-Royce pulled into the driveway. I watched it come to a stop in front of the house and then Daphne step out. If anything or anyone looked unchanged, it was she. Still the ice queen, she rose to her statuesque posture instantly and uttered some command to the driver. The car pulled away and she started up the steps. A new butler, a shorter man with dark gray hair, instantly opened the door. It was as though he did nothing but wait just behind it for her return. Without acknowledging him, she marched into the house. He bowed slightly and then looked out as if he were looking at freedom. A moment later the door was closed and I stepped back onto the walk.
Suddenly nothing seemed more frightening and unpleasant than the thought of facing her. I pivoted quickly and hurried away, walking so fast, I'm sure I looked like someone in flight. But I was fleeing, after all. I was fleeing from the horrible memories of Daphne's spiteful ways, her attempt to have me committed and locked away, her jealousy of my father's love for me, her eagerness to make me look terrible in the eyes of Beau's parents. I was fleeing from the emptiness of that great house once Daddy had died, from the shadows and the darkness that lingered in its corners.
I didn't get back onto the streetcar for blocks, and by the time I arrived at the hotel and Paul opened the door for me, I looked frenzied, my hair disheveled, my face full of agony.
'What's wrong?' he asked. 'What did she do?'
'Nothing,' I said, throwing myself down on the bed. 'I never spoke to her. I couldn't do it. I'll write to her,' I said. 'And leave it at that. Let's go home . . . now!'
He shook his head. 'But we still have a few things to get. Mother thought we should have—'
'Oh, Paul,' I cried, seizing his hand. 'Take me home. Please . . . just take me home. You can get the rest yourself, can't you?'
He nodded. 'Of course,' he said. 'We'll leave immediately.'
It wasn't until we had arrived in the bayou and began up the drive to Cypress Woods that I felt a sense of relief again. Our new great house loomed before me and I realized this was my home, even if my mother-in-law was the one decorating it and not me. Now, more than ever, I was happy I had made the decision to marry Paul and come here. It was far enough and isolated enough to keep out the ghosts of my horrid past.
I couldn't wait to begin setting up my studio and painting again. The swamps and our great acres of land and our oil wells would comprise the walls keeping the demons away was safe here, I thought . . . safe.
5
Sad News
Each day of my first six months as mistress of Cypress Woods was so filled with responsibilities and activities, I barely had time to ponder over the life I had chosen for myself and my daughter. I don't think I noticed the winter until I saw the snow geese leaving and realized it had ended. The first buds of spring were opening in an explosion of flowery splendor the likes of which I had never seen. Furnishings and decorations for the great house had begun arriving shortly after our trip to New Orleans. Painters and decorators, tile and carpet people, drapery and mirror people, a parade of artisans, marched through the house daily.
Paul's mother arrived nearly every morning to supervise. When I commented about it, Paul either misunderstood or ignored my meaning.
'Isn't it wonderful how much interest she's taking in us,' he replied. 'And her being here, running from room to
