"Hi. Guess what," he said excitedly. "The chandeliers were just hung and turned on. Wait until you see them. It's a spectacle. I had them imported from France, you know. And the pool is filled and running. Do you know the stained glass in the Palladian fan window comes from Spain? I paid a fortune for it," he added without taking a breath.

"Hello Paul," I said, laughing.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry." He leaned forward to kiss my cheek. "I guess I sound a little excited about our house, huh?"

I looked down. I couldn't keep my heart from fluttering every time he said our house.

"Paul . . ."

"Don't say anything," he said quickly. “Don't come to any conclusions or decisions. Let the house and the grounds speak for themselves."

I shook my head at him. Would he ever take no for an answer? I imagined that even if I married someone else and lived to be a hundred, he would be coming to my door, waiting for me to change my mind.

We all got into his boat and Paul started the engine again. Pearl laughed as we spun around and into the breeze, some spray raining on our arms and faces. The early spring had brought the hibernating alligators out. They dozed on the mounds and in shallow water, their sleepy eyes barely showing any curiosity as we rushed past them. Here and there clumps of green snakes came apart and then entwined again like threads being woven together under the water. Bullfrogs hopped over lily pads, and nutrias scurried into the safety of shadows and small openings. The swamp, like some giant animal itself, seemed to stretch and yawn and take shape as spring arrived and marched its determined way toward the heat of summer.

"Number three well exploded this morning," Paul shouted over the roar of the engine. "It looks like it will produce four, maybe five times what was estimated."

"That's wonderful, Paul."

"The future couldn't look brighter, Ruby. We could have anything, do anything, go anywhere . . . Pearl would be a real princess."

"I don't want her to be a princess, Paul. I want her to be a fine young lady who appreciates the value of important things," I said curtly. "I've seen too many people fooled by their own wealth into believing they were happy."

"It won't be that way for us," Paul assured me.

Paul's rich acres of oil land and the homesite was southwest of my shack. We wove our way along, passing through canals that were so narrow at times, we could thrust out our arms and touch the shore on either side of the boat. We cut through some brackish ponds and into an entire new web of canals before turning dead south into his property. I hadn't been here since I had left for New Orleans, so when I saw the roof of the great house rising above the sycamores and cypress before us, I was overwhelmed. I felt like Alice being swept off to her own private Wonderland.

Paul had already had a dock built and there was a gravel path from the swamp that led up to the beginning of the house property. I saw the pickup trucks and vehicles that belonged to the workmen who were still hard at their labor, for Paul had put a rush on things and was willing to pay everyone time and a half to get the house completed ahead of schedule. To the east we could see the oil rigs at work.

"I bet you never dreamed the Cajun boy who motored about on his little scooter would own all this," Paul said proudly, his hands on his hips, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "Imagine what your Grandmère Catherine would say."

"Grandmère probably would have expected it," I replied.

"Probably," he said, and laughed. "Whenever she looked at me, I felt she could not only see my thoughts, but my dreams."

He helped Pearl and me out of the boat.

"I'll carry her," he offered. Pearl was dazzled by the vastness of the house before us. "I'd like to call it Cypress Woods," he said. "What do you think?"

"Yes, it's a wonderful name. It is overwhelming, Paul. The way it just pops up out of nowhere . . . it's magical." He beamed a broad smile of pride.

"I told the architect I wanted a house that resembled a Greek temple. It makes the Dumas residence in the Garden District look like a bungalow."

"Is that what you wanted to do, Paul . . . overshadow my father's home? I told you . . ."

"Don't take me to task just yet, Ruby. What good is anything I have if I can't use it to please and impress you?" he asked. His eyes hardened to rivet on me.

"Oh, Paul." I wagged my head and took a deep breath.

What could I say to counter his enthusiasm and his dreams?

As we approached the house, it seemed to grow even bigger and bigger before us. Across the upstairs gallery ran a diamond-design iron railing. On both sides of the house, Paul had wings constructed to echo the predominant elements of the main house.

"That's where the servants will live," he indicated. "I think it gives everyone more privacy. Most of the walls in this place are twenty-four inches thick. Wait until you see how cool it is in there, even without fans and air-conditioning."

A short slate stairway took us up to the portico and lower gallery. We walked between the great columns and into the Spanish-tile-floored entryway, a foyer designed to take away the breath of a visitor the moment he or she set foot in this mansion, for it wasn't only vast and long, but the ceiling was so high, our footsteps echoed.

"Think of all the wonderful art you could hang on these huge walls, Ruby," Paul said.

We passed one spacious and airy room after another, all opening onto the central hallway. Above us hung the chandeliers about which Paul had expressed so much pride. They were dazzling, the teardrop bulbs looking like diamonds raining down over us. The circular stairway was twice as wide and as elaborate as the one in the house of Dumas.

"The kitchen is at the rear of the house," Paul said. "I have equipped it with all the most modern appliances. Any cook would be in heaven working back there. Maybe you can find where your Nina Jackson went and convince her to come live here," he added as a bonus. He knew how fond of Nina, my father's cook, I had been. She practiced voodoo and had taken an affection to me from the first day I had arrived in New Orleans. After she was convinced I wasn't some sort of zombie made to look like Gisselle, that is.

"I don't think anything would tempt Nina from New Orleans," I said.

"Her loss," Paul replied quickly. He was so sensitive about the rich Creoles, interpreting any comparisons as a criticism of our Cajun world.

"I mean she is too attached to her voodoo world, Paul," I explained. He nodded.

"Let me show you the upstairs."

We went up the stairway to find four spacious bed-rooms, each with a dressing room and walk-in closets. There were two master bedrooms, something Paul had definitely designed with his proposal of marriage in mind. Each looked out over the swamps. However, there was an adjoining door.

"Well?" He waited anxiously, his eyes searching my face.

"It is a magnificent house, Paul."

"I have saved the best for last," he replied with that impish twinkle in his eyes. "Follow me," he said, taking us to a door that opened to an outside stairway. It was at the rear of the mansion, so I hadn't seen it when we first approached.

The stairway led us up to an enormous attic with hand-cut cypress structural beams. There were large windows looking out over the fields and canals, but none on the side that faced the oil rigs. The great skylights provided illumination and made it bright and airy.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, and flashed me a brief, amused smile. "This," he said, holding out his arms, "will be your studio."

I widened my eyes, overwhelmed with the possibilities.

"As you can see, I've provided the best views. Look, Ruby," he said, going to the window, "look at what you could paint. Look at the world we love, our world, a world that could surely inspire you to return to your wonderful artistic talents and create masterpieces that your rich Creole friends would beat each other down to possess."

He stood by the window and held Pearl. She was intrigued and fascinated by the view. Below us, the construction workers had started their cleanup. Their voices and laughter were carried up to us in the wind. In the distance the canals that wove their way through the swamps toward Houma and my shack home looked unreal, toylike. I could see the birds flitting from tree to tree, and off to the right, an oyster fisherman poling his way home from a day's harvesting. There was a store of pictures and ideas for any artist to choose and embellish with his or her imagination.

"Can't you be happy here, Ruby?" Paul asked, pleading with his eyes.

"Who couldn't be happy here, Paul? It's beyond words. But you know what has made me hesitate," I said softly.

"And you know that I have thought it all out carefully and proposed a way for us to be together and not be sinners. Oh, Ruby, it's not our fault that our parents created us with this stain on our heads. All I want is to provide for you and Pearl and make you happy and safe forever."

"But what about . . . Paul, there is a side of life that you would be eliminating for yourself," I reminded him. "You're a man, a handsome, virile young man."

"I'm willing to do that," he said quickly.

I looked down. I had to confess my true feelings.

"I don't know if I am willing to do that, Paul. You know that I have been in love, passionately in love, and you know I have tasted the ecstasy that comes in touching someone you love and someone who loves you."

"I know," he said sadly. "But I don't ask you to give up that ecstasy."

I looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Let us make a pact that if either one of us finds someone with whom we can find that ecstasy, the other won't stand in his or her way, even if it means . . . parting.

"Meanwhile, Ruby, put your passion back into your art. I will put mine in my work and my ambition for all of us. Let me give you what would otherwise be the most perfect world, a world in which you know you will have love and in which Pearl will have security and comfort and not suffer the miseries we have seen so many suffer in so-called normal families," he begged.

Pearl looked at me as if she were joining his plea, her sapphire eyes soft and quiet.

"Paul, I just don't know."

"We can hold each other. We can be warm to each other. We can look after each other . . . forever. You've been through more tragedy and misery than someone your age should have experienced. You're far older than your years because of it. Let wisdom replace passion. Let faithfulness, devotion, and pure goodness be the foundation of our lives. Together, we'll create our own special monastery."

I gazed into his eyes and felt the sincerity. It was all so overpowering: his devotion, this wonderful house, the promise of a secure, happy life after having lived through the misery he mentioned.

"What about your parents, Paul?" I asked, feeling myself slipping toward a yes.

"What about them?" he said sharply. "They brought me up in deception. My father will accept what I decide, and if he doesn't . . . what of it? I have my own fortune now," he added, his eyes narrowing and darkening.

I shook my head with confusion. I remembered Grandmère Catherine's dour warning about separating a Cajun man from his family. Paul seemed to hear my thoughts and soften.

"Look, speak to my father and get him to see why this is a good decision for both of us. Once he sees that goodness in our choice, he will understand."

I bit down on my lower lip arid started to shake my head.

"Don't say yes, don't say no," he said quickly. "Say you will think more, think seriously about it. I'll haunt you forever, Ruby Dumas, until you become Ruby Tate," he said. Then he turned to show Pearl the view.

I stepped back and gazed at them. He would be a wonderful father, I told myself again. Maybe it was time to make a decision solely for Pearl's sake and not for my own.

I gazed at what would be a magnificent studio, imagining where I would put my tables and shelves. When I turned back, both he and Pearl were looking at me.

"Could it be yes, finally?" he asked, seeing the expression on my face.

I nodded and he flooded Pearl's face with kisses so that she giggled.

Twilight had begun in the bayou by the time we started back to my house. The Spanish moss draped over and under the cypress trees and vines took on a soft, wavy look. We passed through the shadows cast by overhanging willow trees, and the soft, undulating motion of the boat rocked Pearl to sleep. It was beautiful here, I thought. We belonged here, and if it meant living with Paul under our special arrangement, then perhaps that was what destiny had in store for me and Pearl.