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Betsy turned to me again and I quickly shifted my eyes to avoid hers. "We'll take you to the cemetery, if you like," Mama said dryly. Betsy stepped back, continuing to shake her head.

"No. you're lying." She looked at me. "She's lying. right? She's just trying to make me feel bad about not calling."

"I see you went ahead and gave birth. Now that you have a child, you had better think of changing your ways," Mama continued.

He can't be dead. He can't." Betsy said, stamping her foot. "Stop saying that."

"Not saying it doesn't stop it from being true. You won't be able to bury your head in the sand here. I'm sure your father's death wasn't a result of his having made such a choice, but it happened. Noble and I and Baby Celeste are still not recovered from the shock ourselves," Mama told her, still speaking in calm, measured tones. "He was a gentle, loving man. He should have had a long and happy life, but his troubles were too many and too deep...

"No," Betsy said in a loud whisper, her eyes large and full of fear.

"I did my best for him. Now," Mama continued. "if you have even an ounce of morality, an iota of a sense of right and wrong, and any sense of regret and repentance, you will try to be a mature and

responsible person. Do you have bottles and formula for the child?"

Betsy continued to shake her head and, then, suddenly stopped as if the words had finally settled in her brain.

"You can't blame airy-thing on me. If he was sick, it wasn't until he came here to be with you, until you put a spell on him. It was your fault, yours!"

"Quite the contrary, I'm pleased to say. He had the happiest and best days of his life living here. When you weren't aggravating him, that is. If you have formula for the child and diapers,Ill see to him while you rest in your room. Later, well discuss how things will be."

"No," Betsy said, backing up farther until she was against the door. She turned slightly and put her hand on the doorknob, poised to bolt from the house.

"You can leave if you want to, but don't expect any help from us. Your father left explicit instructions in his will. I serve as the trustee of your inheritance, which trill not be fully turned over to you until you reach the age of twenty-five. Until then. I will dole out money to you according to your needs and your behavior. Obviously your baby's needs will come under a different category. You and this child have a home here as long as you assume your responsibilities and do not create disturbances or any trouble at all. Nothing must be abused. Now. I repeat, do you have formula for the child? If not. Ill prepare something."

"No.' I don't want you giving him any of your junk," Betsy cried, taking her hand off the doorknob and embracing the baby.

Mama glared at her. Then she turned to me.

"Noble, would you be so kind as to take Betsy's suitcases up to her room. Your room," she told Betsy. "is in far better shape than how you left it. I expect it to be kept that way. Do not leave your garments scattered about. Do not let the room fill with dust. Do not leave food in the room, and do be sure you wash your linen and your bedding once a week at minimum. You will set the table every night and you will clear it and wash the dishes. If you break one dish, even chip one, I will deduct the cost of it ten times from your trust fund.

"I want the kitchen floor washed every day and the furniture in the living room dusted and polished twice a week. Well all, meaning you and Noble primarily." Mama inserted with a smile. "do the windows every weekend."

Betsy stared, her mouth moving but nothing coming from it.

"Furthermore," Mama continued, "we are not here to serve as babysitters for you while you go off rioting and carousing in the villages and towns, Should I so much as smell alcohol or see anything resembling drugs. Ill fine you a thousand dollars per incident to be deducted from your trust fund. And I especially don't want to hear any gossip or complaints about you while you're living under this roof.

"You're to invite no one here. I don't even want anyone driving onto this property. Is all this

understood?"

Betsy didn't respond. She simply stared.

Mama nodded as if she had answered anyway. "Good. Now. I would once again suggest you give me the baby to feed and go take a rest, clean up, put on something appropriate and not something ridiculous like you're now wearing, and then, if you wish, well take you to your father's grave so you can pay your respects. If not, you'll set the table for tonight's dinner. Does this child have a name or haven't you had the wits to think of any?" Mama asked, nodding at the squirming infant.

Betsy looked more stunned now and not as defiant. She glanced at me, then she looked down for a long moment. deciding, I felt sure, whether to turn and run down the driveway or to obey Mama. The despair she felt, the loss of any real choice, and her own helplessness hammered down any residual defiance. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of her desperation and defeat and she bowed her head.

"There's formula and bottles in the suitcase Noble has in his right hand. It has all the baby's things in it."

"Good. Now what did you say the baby's name is?" Mama asked in an almost friendly, happy tone.

"Panther," Betsy muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Panther. Panther!" Betsy shouted at her,

Mama shook her head. "Well, I suppose the pain of giving birth gives you the right to name the poor thing, even if its a ridiculous name." She moved forward with her arms extended and waiting for Betsy to hand over the baby.