Tarnished Gold

money to take us in style.'

'Of course. New Orleans is a city to which you should go in style,' Pierre said. 'As for earning enough money . . . I expect he will have my father for a steady customer. He is impressed with your father's knowledge of the swamp.'

'My daddy is the best Cajun guide in the bayou. When I was little, he taught me about the animals and he showed me how to pole a pirogue.'

'Did you fall out then?' Pierre asked with a wide grin. 'No, monsieur. I'm sorry. Really, I don't know how that happened. I . . .'

'I'm only teasing you, Gabrielle.' He reached across the table to put his hand over mine. 'I can't think of when my heart felt more filled with happiness than it is at this moment,' he added. His words were so sincere and yet so overwhelming, they took my breath away.

'I must help Mama,' I said, my voice cracking.

'Fine. I'll help too.'

'You, monsieur? Selling our wares to the tourists?' I started to laugh at the prospect.

'I happen to be a crackerjack salesman,' he said, feigning indignation. 'Why, just last week I sold a building worth nearly two million.'

'Dollars?'

'Oui,' he said, smiling at my look of amazement. 'I wish Daphne was as impressed and as appreciative,' he added, and then regretted it quickly.

'Daphne is your wife?'

'Oui,' he said.

I rose to put my bowl in the sink. He did the same and for a moment, stood right behind me, so close I could feel his breath on my hair. My heart thumped. His hands went to my waist.

'Gabrielle, I feel something truly magical with you. I can't deny or ignore it.'

'You must, monsieur. Please,' I said, afraid to turn.

'I must see you again, that's what I must do, even if it's only to chat. Surely you will turn my grayest days to blue sky. And,' he said, forcing me to turn so I faced him, 'I will fill your heart with happiness. I promise.'

I started to shake my head, but he brought his lips to mine to kiss me gently.

I broke away. 'I must help Mama,' I muttered, and charged out the front door.

Mama had two couples at the stand, the women going through our linens and towels, the men off to the side smoking and talking.

'Gabrielle, fetch those pillowcases we wove day before yesterday, please,' she said the moment she heard me approaching.

'Oui, Mama.'

Pierre stepped out on the galerie as I hurried back and into the house, passing him without a word. When I returned to the stand, Pierre was conversing with the men, getting them interested in buying jars of swamp insects.

'They'll make great conversation pieces on your desks in your offices. Not something easily acquired in the city, n'est-ce pas?' he told them.

They agreed and bought two jars apiece to add to the items their wives had taken. When they left, Mama thanked Pierre for making the sale.

'It's nothing, madame, but it was more fun than being in the canoe hunting,' he added. Mama smiled. He asked her about some of her herbs and listened as she described how to use them and what they would cure. I could see he was very impressed with her. He decided to buy a variety of herbs himself.

'We have a cook who's very much into this sort of thing herself,' he explained. He flashed a smile at me. Mama returned to the house to bring out some other items, happy at how well the day's sales were going.

Pierre sat in the rickety old cypress chair Daddy had made years ago and, at my request, described his mansion in New Orleans in greater detail. I sat on the grass at his feet. Nearby, curious gray squirrels squinted and waited to see what we were about and if there would be any crumbs.

'You have beautiful wildflowers here, but on our estate, our garden walls enclose huge banana trees and drip with purple bugle vine. In the morning I wake to the scent of blooming camellias and magnolia, and the streets of the district are under a canopy of oak.'

'It does sound like you live in a beautiful place, too.'

'It's beautiful and quiet, but minutes away by streetcar is the bustling city,' he said with visible excitement in his eyes. I listened, enchanted as he described the art galleries, the museums, the grand restaurants, and the famous French Quarter where the jazz musicians played and people sat in coffee stalls drinking cafe au lait.

'The French Quarter is really more Spanish than French, you know. All of the buildings that date from colonial times are Spanish in design and architecture. And the so-called French market is Spanish from foundation to chimney pots.'

He knew a great deal about the history of New Orleans and enjoyed having so attentive an audience as me and, later, Mama. In fact, he ended up talking more with her about Louisiana's history than he did with me.

Late in the afternoon, the hunting party returned. Pierre's father had more than two dozen ducks, as did their friends. Before they reached the dock to disembark the pirogues, Pierre went into the shack and retrieved his clothing. Mama had ironed everything, as well as dried it, and it looked at least as good as it had been.

'No reason to tell your father about our spill into the canal,' Pierre whispered to me as the men shouted from