her. That's what Father Rush told me once.'
'Yes, like Adam, then,' I said, smiling.
'But that made the story so romantic for me. I want my marriage to be romantic, as romantic as yours is,' she said. 'And yours is, isn't it, Ruby?'
I stared at her. Was it only her youth that prevented her from seeing the truth in my eyes or was it my own ability to mask reality? I smiled softly.
'Yes, Jeanne, but it doesn't happen overnight, and from the way you speak of James and from what you tell me of him, it sounds like you will have happiness together.'
'Oh, I'm so glad you said that!' she exclaimed. 'For I value your opinion more than anyone's, even more than Mother's, and certainly more than Toby's.'
'I wish you would speak to your mother first,' I said. 'I don't want to be the one who convinces you of doing something. You have to convince yourself.'
In the back of my mind, I could see Gladys Tate hating me for giving intimate advice to her daughter.
'Don't worry, silly,' she said. 'I am convinced. I just needed to be sure. You were once just as insecure, weren't you?'
'Yes,' I confessed.
'You never talk about your life in New Orleans. Did you have many boyfriends there or when you went to private school?'
'No, not many,' I said, and looked away quickly. She was alert enough to catch the shifting of my gaze.
'But there was one?'
'There was . . . no one, really,' I said, turning back with a smile. 'You know how those rich Creole boys can be. . . . They make you promises just to tempt you to go to bed with them and then they rush off for another conquest.'
'Did you?' she asked quickly.
'Did I what?'
'Go to bed with any of them?'
'Jeanne!'
'I'm sorry. I thought I could ask. I thought we could be sisters, better sisters than you and your twin were.'
'That wouldn't be hard to do,' I said, laughing. I stared at her a moment. 'No,' I said. 'I didn't.' I knew if I told her the truth, I would burst into tears myself and this whole wonderful world Paul had created for Pearl and me would come crumbling down around us.
She looked relieved. 'Then I'm right to wait until we're married?'
'If it feels right, it's right,' I told her. She seemed satisfied for the moment. I was troubled giving advice to anyone when it came to romance and marriage. Who was I to do so?
The next—day, Jeanne came over to announce her engagement to James Pitot. They had set a date. Once Paul heard that, he declared the wedding would be at Cypress Woods if she liked. She gazed at me with the expression of a coconspirator and cried her delight.
'Ruby will help me plan the wedding, won't you, Ruby?'
'Of course,' I said.
'Oh, Paul,' she said, 'you did more than marry the woman you always loved and give us a beautiful little niece. You gave me a wonderful new sister.'
We hugged and kissed and I hoped I had said the right things and Jeanne was destined for a good and happy marriage. In any case, we had a great family event to plan. It seemed Paul was right: Our lives would be full of excitement and never dull.
That evening Paul knocked on the adjoining door and came into my bedroom as I was sitting in front of my vanity mirror brushing out my hair. I was already in my nightgown. He was in his light blue silk pajamas, one of the birthday presents I had bought for him.
'I just got off the phone with Dad. He says his home now resembles an army command post. They have already drawn up long lists of guests and started to plan the preliminaries. He swears it's like preparing for battle.'
I laughed.
'I wish we could have had a grand wedding,' he said. 'You deserved nothing less than to be treated like some Cajun princess.'
'I am treated that way, Paul.'
'Yes, but . . .' His eyes fixed on mine in the mirror. 'How has it been for you? I mean . . . are you really happy, Ruby?'
'Yes, Paul. I am.'
He nodded and then shifted from a deep, pensive look to a soft, gentle smile. 'Anyway, thank you for taking my sisters to your heart so quickly and making them your family, too. They adore you, and Mother. . . Mother has learned to do more than simply accept. I know she respects you now.'
I wondered how he could make such a statement. Was he blind to the cold, gray look in his mother's eyes whenever she set them on me or was he so determined to be happy that he ignored it and lived in an illusion himself?
