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elaborate campaign in these court-yards."
I tried to take in everything: the restaurants, the
coffee stalls, the souvenir shops, and antique stores.
We walked until we reached Jackson Square and the
St. Louis Cathedral.
"This is where early New Orleans welcomed
heroes and had public meetings and celebrations," my
father said. We paused to look at the bronze statue of
Andrew Jackson on his horse before we entered the
cathedral. I lit a candle for Grandmere Catherine and
said a prayer. Then we left and strolled through the
square, around the perimeter where artists sold their
fresh works.
"Let's stop and have a cafe au lait and some
beignets," my father said. I loved beignets, a donutlike
pastry covered with powdered sugar.
While we ate and drank, we watched some of
the artists sketching portraits of tourists.
"Do you know an art gallery called
Dominique's?" I asked.
"Dominique's? Yes. It's not far from here, just a
block or two over to the right. Why do you ask?" "I have some of my paintings on display there,"
I said.
"What?" My father sat back, his mouth agape.
"Your paintings on display?"
"Yes. One was sold. That's how I got my
traveling money."
"I can't believe you," he said. "You're an artist
and you've said nothing?"
I told him about my paintings and how
