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He grimaced. "Then don't come along, but don't you go preaching or sayin' anything stupid to them, hear? I don't want them feelin' bad about comin' here, no."
"Can't you just run swamp tours and show people the plants and animals, Daddy? Maybe you can get one of those glass-bottom boats and--"
"No, there ain't as much money in it, and besides, if we don't kill off some of them animals, they'll overrun us. Tell her I'm right, Catherine."
"You let her believe and think what she wants, Jack. Besides, Gabriel doesn't need me telling her what's right and what's wrong. She knows more in her heart than you think."
"Oh, don't start that mumbo-jumbo on me," Daddy wailed. "I'm trying to make something for this family. No preachin'!" he warned. "I mean it."
He stumped off to check on his canoe and the dock.
"Come on, honey," Mama said, looking after him. "I don't have the power to turn a frog into a prince, but if he's doing honest labor and it keeps him from drinking, we got something better than we had. Sometimes that's all you can hope for," she concluded, and went into the house to start a fresh roux.
Mama was up early the next morning, but Daddy surprised both of us by rising before her and putting up a pot of rich Cajun coffee. The aroma drew both of us downstairs where we found Daddy dressed and ready, wearing his best hunting clothes and clean boots.
"They'll be here in an hour," he predicted. "I patched up the dock and cleaned up my canoe and Gabriel's. I see you made some beignets. That's good. They're used to that, only yours will be better than anything they get in the city."
"Don't go saying that, Jack. New Orleans is just full of great cooks."
"Yeah, but you're the best in the bayou. Ain't she, Gabriel?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"I don't need your flattery, Jack."
"Ain't flattery. It's just the truth," Daddy said, winking at me. His excitement was contagious, and despite what work he was doing, I couldn't help but be flooded with delight.
"I'll go get us some wildflowers for the tables outside, Mama," I said, and went off right after having a beignet and coffee myself.
I knew where there was some lush flowering honeysuckle and wild violets as well as hibiscus and blue and pink hydrangeas. This early in the morning billows of fog rolled in over the swamp. As I drew closer to the water, I could hear a bass flapping and a bullfrog falling off a log into the water. Ahead of me a white-tailed doe sprinted through the bushes. It saddened me to think that rich grown men could possibly get pleasure from killing such beautiful creatures. It seemed such a great betrayal, but I knew there was little I could do to stop it, and if I did speak up, Daddy would be enraged. Things would return to being dreadful in our home.
I spent longer than I had intended to spend in the swamp gathering flowers. By the time I started back, Daddy's party of hunters had arrived and were unloading their vehicle near the dock. I paused to watch for a moment. A slim young man, only about an inch or two shorter than Daddy, with thick chestnut hair stepped out from behind the car. Just as he did so, a rice bird landed on my shoulder. It was something they often did. Most birds had no fear of me because I often fed them and spoke softly to them. The young man stared at me with a gentle smile on his lips. I shifted some flowers to my left arm and extended my right for the rice bird to trot down to my wrist before flying away. As usual, his tiny feet tickled and I laughed.
And so did the young man. I could see him asking Daddy about me, and then he looked at me more intently, shaking his head. I glanced shyly at him and continued toward the house. He gazed back at the work going on at the dock before crossing over the grass to meet me halfway.
"Hello," he said. As he drew closer, I saw he had soft green eyes and a slim but firm torso. "When you came walking out of the fog like that, I thought you were some sort of swamp goddess."
"I'm far from being a goddess," I said.
"Not really too far," he replied, his smile spreading from his eyes to his lips. "I've never seen a wild bird land on someone and strut around as if it were on a tree. Does that happen often?"
"Oui, monsieur."
"Why aren't they afraid of you?"
"They know I mean them no harm, monsieur."
"Astounding." He shook his head and then he smiled. "My name's Pierre Dumas. Your father told me your name's Gabriel."
"Oui. I'm just bringing some flowers to our tables," I said, continuing on my way.
"Let me help," he said, following.
"Oh no, I I. . ."
"Please," he insisted, taking a bunch of the violets from my arms.
The sun had already begun to burn through the morning mist, and the grass around the shack glistened with the dew. There was a gentle breeze up from the Gulf and soft puffs of milk white clouds moved lazily across the brightening blue sky. Pierre accompanied me to the tables.
