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"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said. "I wanted to wait until everyone left. Are you all right?"

"Yes. Now."

"How long after I left yesterday," he asked, coming farther forward into the glow of the gallery light, "was it before Buster came here to attack you?"

"Oh, it was quite a while," I told him. "Nearly dinnertime."

"If I had been here. . ."

"You might have gotten hurt, Paul. I was just lucky to escape."

"I might have gotten hurt or I might have hurt him," he said proudly. "Or. . . he might not have come in," he added. He sat on the gallery step arid leaned against the post. After a moment he said, "A young woman and a baby shouldn't be alone." It was as if he had heard Mrs. Thibodeau's words.

"Paul . . ."

"No, Ruby," he said, turning to me. Even in the subdued light, I could see the fires of determination burning in his eyes. "I want to protect you and Pearl. In the world you think is pure make-believe, you would not have to confront Buster Trahaws. I can promise you that, and Pearl wouldn't either," he pointed out.

"But, Paul, it isn't fair for you," I said in a small, tired voice. All of the resistance was slipping away.

He fixed his eyes on me a moment and then nodded slowly. "My father came here to see you, didn't he? You don't have to answer. I know he did. I saw it in his eyes last night at dinner. He's only worried about the weight of his own conscience. Why do I have to suffer for his sins?" he cried, not waiting for my answer.

"But that's just what he doesn't want you to do, Paul. If you marry me. ."

"I will be happy. Don't I have a say in my own future?" he demanded. "And don't tell me it's fate or destiny, Ruby. You come to a fork in the canals and you choose one or the other. It's only after you've made your choice that fate or destiny takes control, and maybe not even then. I want to make that first choice and I'm not afraid of the canal I'll be poling our pirogue through as long as you and Pearl are at my side."

I sighed and lay my head back on the chair.

"Can't you be happy with me, Ruby? Even under the conditions we outlined? Can't you? You thought you could. I know you did. Why don't we give it a chance, at least? Why don't you let me try? Forget you, forget me. Let's just do it for Pearl," he said.

I smiled at him and wagged my head. "Dirty pool, Paul Marcus Tate."

"All's fair in love and war," he said, smiling back.

I took a deep breath. Out of the darkness could come all the demons of our childhood fears. Every night we put our heads to our pillows, we wondered what loitered in the shadows about our shacks. We were made stronger by our trepidations, but we were haunted by them neverthe-less. I was not so naive to think there would be no other Buster Trahaws waiting, hovering in the days to come, and that was why I put the letter to Daphne in my mailbox.

But what was the world I wanted Pearl to grow up in . . . the rich Creole world, the Cajun swamp world. . . or the magical world Paul was designing for us? To live in that castle of a house where I could spend my time painting in the great attic studio, feeling and actually being above all that was hard and dirty and difficult below, did seem like a long, golden promise come true. Should I run away into my own Wonderland? Maybe Paul was right, maybe his father was worried only about soothing his own troubled conscience. Maybe it was time to think of ourselves and to think of Pearl.

"Okay," I said softly.

"What? What did you say?"

"I said. . . okay. I'll marry you and we'll live in our own private paradise above and beyond the troubles and turmoil mired in our pasts. We'll obey our own covenants and take our own oaths. We'll pole down that canal together."

"Oh, Ruby, I'm so happy," he said. He stood up and came to me, taking my hands into his. "You're right," he said suddenly, a new excitement in his eyes. "We must have our own private ceremony first and foremost. Stand up," he said.

"What?"

"Come on. There's no better church than the front gallery of Catherine Landry's home," he declared. "What should we do?" I asked, laughing.

"Take my hand." He seized mine into his and pulled me to my feet. "That's it. Now face . . . that sliver of a moon up there. Go on. Ready? Repeat after me. I, Ruby Dumas. Go on, do it," he said.

"I, Ruby Dumas. . ."

"Do hereby pledge to be the best friend and companion Paul Marcus Tate could have or want."

I repeated it and shook my head.

"And I promise to devote myself to my art and become as famous as possible."