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Getting married had all been so much easier and quicker than I had imagined it would be. I didn't feel any different, but I knew from the beaming smile on Paul's face every time he looked at me that everything had changed. For better or for worse, we had gone ahead and bound ourselves and our destinies.
"Well, that's that," he said. "How do you feel, Mrs. Tate?"
"Terrified," I said, and he laughed.
"You have no reason to be terrif
ied anymore. Not as long as I'm around," he vowed. "So what, if anything, do you want from the shack?"
"I have Pearl's and my clothes, the painting of Grandmere Catherine, and her rocker," I said. "Maybe her old chest and the armoire her father had made for her. She was so proud of that."
"Fine. I'll send some of my men over with a truck this afternoon and they'll get the furniture. It looks like the rain has stopped for a while. You can follow in your car," he added nonchalantly.
"My car? What car?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you? I bought a little convertible for you to get around in. . . for your errands and such," he added. I could tell from the way he was behaving that it was more than just a little convertible, and sure enough, when we pulled up to Cypress Woods, I saw a candy-apple red Mercedes with a white ribbon around the hood parked in the driveway.
"That's mine?" I exclaimed.
"Your first wedding present. Enjoy," he said.
"Oh, Paul, this is too much," I cried, bursting into happy tears. Here was the grand house with our servants awaiting us, our beautiful grounds, our oil fields in the background, and my new studio waiting. Had we defied Fate, blown smoke in the face of Destiny? Would Paul's newfound wealth be enough to keep the howling winds and cold rains of misery outside our doors? For the moment, at least, I couldn't help but be as optimistic and as happy as he was.
Maybe I was Alice in Wonderland, I thought. Maybe this was what was meant to be all along and I had had no business in the rich Creole world of New Orleans, and that was why all the terrible things had happened there, things to drive me back to the bayou where I belonged. Paul took Pearl into his arms.
"Instead of carrying you over the threshold,Ill carry Pearl," he said. "After all, she will be the princess."
I noticed the white powder sprinkled on the front steps. Paul noticed too.
"Letty's work, I imagine," he said.
The large, tall door was opened by our butler, James Humble. He was at least six feet two inches tall, a lean man with curly brown hair, caramel skin, and bright hazel eyes. He looked like the proper butler with his perfect posture, awaiting our beck and call.
"This is James," Paul said. "James, Madame Tate."
"Welcome, madame," he said with a small nod and bow. He had a deep voice with a cultured French pronunciation.
"Thank you, James."
When I entered the hallway, I found Holly Mixon standing to the side, waiting for us. She was a large-boned woman with stout arms and shoulders.
"And this is Holly," Paul said. "Holly, Madame Tate." She curtsied.
"Hello, Holly."
"How'd ja do, ma'am," she said.
"Where's Letty?" Paul asked.
"She's in the kitchen, monsieur, preparing for tonight's dinner. She don't want none of us in there when she works," she added.
"I see," Paul said, winking at me. "Why don't you take Pearl up to the nursery first then, Ruby. I want to go over to my parents and inform them myself. That's probably best. If you agree, that is."
"Yes, Paul," I said. The thought of their reactions put something hard and heavy in my chest.
"As soon as I return, we'll see about getting your things, okay?"
"Yes," I said, taking Pearl into my arms.
