I stepped back and gazed at them. He would be a wonderful father, I told myself again. Maybe it was time to make a decision solely for Pearl's sake and not for my own.

I gazed at what would be a magnificent studio, imagining where I would put my tables and shelves. When I turned back, both he and Pearl were looking at me.

"Could it be yes, finally?" he asked, seeing the expression on my face.

I nodded and he flooded Pearl's face with kisses so that she giggled.

Twilight had begun in the bayou by the time we started back to my house. The Spanish moss draped over and under the cypress trees and vines took on a soft, wavy look. We passed through the shadows cast by overhanging willow trees, and the soft, undulating motion of the boat rocked Pearl to sleep. It was beautiful here, I thought. We belonged here, and if it meant living with Paul under our special arrangement, then perhaps that was what destiny had in store for me and Pearl.

"I've got to get back to dinner at the house," Paul said after we pulled up to the dock and he helped us out of the boat. "Uncle John, my mother's brother, is here from Clearwater, Florida, and I promised," he said apologetically.

"It's all right. I'm tired and I want to go to sleep early tonight myself."

"I'll stop by as soon as I can tomorrow. Tonight, if I can get an hour alone with my father, I'll tell him about our decision," he added firmly. My heart began to pitter-patter. It was one thing to talk about all this, but another to actually start the series of events that would make us man and wife.

"I hope it's the right decision, Paul," I said.

"Of course it is. Stop worrying. We'll be very happy," he promised, and leaned over to kiss my cheek. "Besides, God owes us some happiness and success," he added with a smile.

I waved good-bye as he started away in his boat. After I fed Pearl and put her to sleep, I ate a little gumbo, read by the butane lantern, and went to sleep myself, praying for the wisdom to make the right decisions.

Mornings began for me now just the way they had when I had lived here with Grandmere Catherine. After I carried out the blankets, baskets, and palmetto hats I had woven in the loom room, I set Pearl out in her carriage in the shade beside the roadside stand and did some needlework to pass the time and wait for any tourist customers. It was a quiet morning, but I had nearly a half dozen cars stop and sold most of my blankets and baskets by lunch. I had only a few customers for my gumbo, and then the long, quiet, and hot afternoon settled over the bayou. When the insects began to bother Pearl, I decided it was time to take a break and brough

t her into the shack for her afternoon nap. I had expected Paul to drop by during lunch, but he didn't, and he had still not arrived by midafternoon.

I made myself some cold lemonade and sat on the front gallery just thinking about the past. In my pocket I had crumpled the most recent letter from my twin sister, Gisselle. She was attending a ritzy private college in New Orleans that sounded more like a place to dump spoiled rich young people than a real institute of higher learning. Her teachers, from what she wrote, let her get away with not doing her reading or homework or paying attention in class. She even bragged about how often she cut classes without being reprimanded for doing so.

But in all of her letters she loved to include some news of Beau, and even if it was news that brought me pain, I still had to read it repeatedly. I unfolded the letter and skipped down to those passages. "You might be interested to know," she wrote, knowing how much I wanted to know . . . that Beau is getting more serious with this girl in Europe. His parents told Daphne that Beau and his French debutante are only inches away from announcing a formal engagement. All they do is rave about her, how beautiful she is, how wealthy she is, and how cultured she is. They said the best thing they could have done for him was to send him to Europe and keep him there.

Now let me tell you about the boys here at Galen . .

I balled the letter in my fist and shoved it back into my pocket. Memories of Beau seemed stronger now that I was thinking about marrying Paul and choosing a safe, secure life. But it promised to be a life without passion, and whenever I thought about that, I thought about Beau. His soft smile appeared before me and I recalled the morning when Gisselle and I were leaving for Greenwood, the private school in Baton Rouge. He had arrived just in time and we had only a few minutes to say our good-byes, but he surprised me by giving me the locket I still wore hidden under my blouse.

I pulled it out and opened it to look at his face and mine. Oh, Beau, I thought, surely I will never love another man as passionately as I loved you, and if I can't have you, then perhaps a happy, secure life with Paul is the right choice. The feel of warm tears on my cheeks surprised me. I wiped them away quickly and sat back just as a familiar big automobile pulled into the yard. It was Paul's father, Octavious. I closed the locket and quickly dropped it back under my blouse where it rested between my breasts.

A tall, distinguished-looking man who was always well dressed and well groomed, Mr. Tate stepped out of his car. His shoulders dipped like a weary old man's and his eyes looked tired. Paul got most of his good looks from his father, who had a strong mouth and jaw with a straight nose, not too long or too narrow. I hadn't seen Mr. Tate for some time and I was a bit surprised at how much he had aged in the interim.

"Afternoon, Ruby," he said when he reached the steps. "I was wondering if I could talk to you sort of privately."

My heart was pounding. I couldn't remember passing more than a half dozen words between us, mostly hellos and good-byes at church over the years.

"Of course," I said, standing. "Come inside. Would you like a glass of lemonade? I just made a fresh pitcher."

"I would. Thanks," he said, and followed me into the house.

"Please, sit down," I said, nodding toward my one good piece of furniture: the rocker.

I poured his glass of lemonade and returned to the living room.

"Thank you," he said, taking the glass, and I sat across from him on the worn, faded brown settee, the threads so thin on the ends of the arms, the stuffing of Spanish moss showed through. He took a sip of the lemonade. "Very good," he said. Then he looked about nervously for a moment and smiled. "You haven't got much here, Ruby, but you keep it real nice."

"Not as nice as Grandmere Catherine used to keep it," I said.

"Your grandmere was quite a woman. I must confess I never took much stock in faith healing and the herbal medicines she concocted, but I know many people who swore by her. And if anyone could stand up to your grandpere, it was her," he added.

"I miss her a great deal," I admitted. He nodded and sipped some more lemonade. Then he took a deep breath. "I guess. . . I guess I'm a little nervous. The past has a way of coming back at you and punching you in the stomach when you least expect it sometimes," he added, and leaned forward, his sharp, penetrating gaze fixing on me.

"You're Catherine Landry's granddaughter and you've been through a helluva lot yourself. I can see in your face that you're much older and wiser than the pretty little girl I used to see march up to the church beside her grandmere."

Tags: V.C. Andrews Landry Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net