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at me as if just realizing I was there, and smiled. I felt
a rush of color rise up my neck and into my face. I
glanced quickly at Pierre and then looked down. "She's going to be a great belle," Daddy said
between gulps of food.
"Going to be? You would have to be blind not
to see that she already is. How old are you,
mademoiselle?" Pierre's father asked me.
"Nineteen, monsieur."
"Nineteen? Seems a pity to waste her talents
here," one of the other rich men commented. "She's not being wasted," Mama retorted
sharply, and he lost his lusty smile quickly. Daddy
scowled and Mama ordered me to bring something
into the house.
Soon afterward, they prepared for their hunting
trip in the swamps, all of them slipping into their hiphigh boots. They checked their shotguns, with Daddy
complimenting them on their fine equipment. Pierre was going along this time, but before he
got into the pirogue, he paused beside me, squeezed
my hand surreptitiously, and whispered, "I'm going to remain behind at our secret place afterward. I've
already arranged it."
"But your father . . ."
"Don't worry about him. Don't worry about
anything. Can you come tonight?"
"Yes," I promised.
"Don't worry," he said, smiling as he started
away, "I won't kill anything. I'm even a worse shot
now that I've met you than I was before."
I laughed and turned to rush back to help Mama
clean up. When I did, I saw her gazing at me from a
window. Between the batten plank shutters, her face
was as dark and as sad as one who just had seen the
