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"I thought it was going to rain last night. Did you hear the thunder toward the Gulf?" he asked me.
"Yes," I said. From the way he was smiling and talking, it was as if I had dreamed our entire encounter. Had I?
"I absolutely passed out myself," he said to Mrs. Flemming. "Slept like a log. I guess it was the wine. But I feel well rested. So what are your plans for the day, Ruby?" he asked me.
"Your sister's coming over later to show me some pictures of wedding dresses and bridesmaid gowns. I'm going to be working in my studio most of the day."
"Good. I've got to go to Baton Rouge and won't be back until dinner. Ah," he cried when Molly began to bring in our eggs and grits, "I'm starving this morning." He beamed a smile at me and we had our breakfast.
Afterward I went up to my studio, and just before he left, Paul came up to say good-bye.
"I'm sorry I've got to be away so much of the day," he said, "but it's oil business that can't wait. Have you any idea how much money I've deposited in our various accounts?"
I shook my head but gazed at my easel instead of him.
"We're millionaires many times over, Ruby. There isn't anything you can't have or can't have for Pearl, and--"
"Paul," I said, turning sharply, "money, no matter how much, can't ease my conscience. I know what you're trying to do, to say, but the fact is, we violated our promises to each other last night. We made our own special vows, remember?"
"What do you mean?" he said, smiling. "I went to bed and passed out last night, just as I described. If you had dreams. . ."
"Oh, Paul . . ."
"Don't," he said. He pleaded with his eyes, and I understood that as long as I went along with the make-believe, he could live with what happened. Then he smiled. "Who knows what's real and what isn't? Last night someone rode a horse over our grounds, right over our newly planted lawn. Go on and look for yourself, if you like. The tracks are still there," he said. Then he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. "Paint something . . . from your dream," he suggested, and left me.
Could I do what he asked. . . imagine that it had all been a dream? If I couldn't, I couldn't live with my conscience, and Pearl and I would have to leave, I thought. Paul had become so attached to her, and she to him. No matter what sins I might have committed and might yet commit, I had given Pearl a loving and caring father.
I smothered the voices that would haunt me and turned instead to do just what Paul had suggested . . . paint from the pictures within me. I worked in a frenzy, dra
wing, constructing and creating an eerie swamp landscape. From out of the moss-hung cypress emerged the shadowy, ghostlike figures of
Confederate calvary, their heads bowed. They were returning from some battle, their ranks greatly depleted. The mist curled around the legs of their horses, and on the branches of nearby oak trees, owls peered sadly. Off in the background, the glow of yetburning fires lingered and turned that part of the inky night sky bloodred.
I became inspired and decided I would create a whole series of pictures depicting this romance. In my next picture, I would have the officer's lady waiting on the balcony of the plantation house, her eyes searching desperately for the sight of him as the men emerged from the night of death and destruction. I was so entranced with my work that I didn't hear Jeanne come up the stairs and couldn't help showing my chagrin at being disturbed.
But she was so excited about her upcoming wedding, I felt terrible about disappointing her.
"You mustnt mind me," I said when her face dropped into glum despondency over my reaction at seeing her. "I get so involved in my painting, I forget time and place. This house could go up in flames and I wouldn't realize it."
She laughed.
"Come, let me see the pictures of the dresses," I said, and we spent the afternoon talking about designs and colors. She had a half dozen friends to serve as brides-maids. We discussed the little gifts she would get for each of them and their escorts and then she described her mother's plans for the reception.
As we talked and I listened, my regret over not having a wonderful real wedding for myself deepened. Even Jeanne remarked how sorry everyone was that Paul and I had eloped and not given them the same opportunity to plan a grand affair.
"What you should do is get married again," she suggested excitedly. "I've heard of couples doing that. They have a ceremony for themselves and then an elaborate one for all of the friends and relatives. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"Yes, but for the time being, one elaborate party is enough," I said.
The planning continued as if it were a major campaign. We had dinners at the house after which the family gathered in the living room to discuss the menus, the guest list, the arrangement of flowers, and the location of every part of the ceremony and reception. There were some heated arguments over the music, the girls wanting a more modern band, and Gladys and Octavious wanting a more eloquent orchestra. Every time a disagreement became impossible to solve, Paul would force me to give my opinion.
"I don't see why we can't have both," I suggested. "Let's have an orchestra for the dinner reception and then afterward, bring in a zydeco band or one of those rock bands and let the younger people have their fun, too."
"That's a ridiculous waste of money," Gladys said.
"Money is the least of our worries, Mother," Paul said gently. She fixed her eyes of fire on me for a moment and then gave a little shudder of disgust.
"If you and your father don't care how you throw your money into the swamp, I don't care," she quipped.
