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"My father was furious, and then when she told them I was up in your room during the wake . . . I think she exaggerated what we were doing too."

"How could she be so horrible?"

"Maybe she takes lessons," Beau jested. "Anyway, I expect my restriction will be lifted at holiday time. It's only another ten days, right?"

"Yes, but will your parents permit you to have anything whatsoever to do with me now?" I wondered aloud.

"We'll manage. There's no way anyone can keep me from seeing you when you're here," he promised.

He asked me about school, and I told him about Gisselle and how she was making everyone's life as miserable as she could.

"You really have your hands full. It's not fair."

"I made promises to my father," I said. "I have to try."

"I overheard my father talking to my mother last night about Daphne," Beau said. "She and Bruce Bristow have made some drastic moves, foreclosing on some businesses and tenants to seize their property. My father said Pierre would never have been so cruel, even though it made good business sense."

"I'm sure she's enjoying it. She has ice water running through her veins," I told him. Beau laughed and described again how much he missed me, how much he loved me, and how much he looked forward to our being together. I could almost feel his lips on mine when he threw me a kiss through the phone.

When I returned to the quad, I half expected that Gisselle would be waiting for me in the lounge to interrogate me about the call, but she had the door to her room shut tight. Kate informed me that Gisselle had decided to go to sleep early. I thought about checking on her and reached for the doorknob, only to find she had locked the door. Surprised, I knocked gently.

"Gisselle?"

She didn't reply. Either she was already asleep or she was pretending to be.

"Are you all right?"

I waited, but there was no response. If that was the way she wanted it, I thought, that was the way it would be. I went to my own room to read and to write a letter to Paul before going to sleep. Miss Stevens and I had made a date to paint at the lake after breakfast the next day, and I was finally closing my eyes and looking forward to something again.

Saturday morning was beautiful. The December sky was more of a crystalline blue, even the clouds looking like glazed alabaster. Miss Stevens was already at the lakeside, setting up our easels. I saw she had spread out a blanket as well and had brought a picnic basket along. The lake itself had a silvery blue sheen. Although the sun was bright, the air felt cool and invigorating. Miss Stevens saw me approaching and waved.

"What a challenge it's going to be to mix paints to duplicate this color," she said, looking out over the water. "How are you?"

"Fine and eager," I said, and we began. Once we got started, we both lost ourselves for a while in our work, the process itself absorbing us, seizing our minds. Often, would imagine myself to be one of the animals I painted in my settings, seeing the world from the eyes of a tern or a pelican, or even an alligator.

We both had our concentration broken by the sound of hammering and looked at the boathouse to see Buck Dardar pounding on a lawn-mower blade. He paused as if he could feel our gazes and looked our way for a moment before starting again.

Miss Stevens laughed. "For a while there I forgot where I was."

"Me too."

"Want something cold to drink? I've got iced tea or apple juice."

"Iced tea will be fine," I replied. "Thanks."

She asked me how Gisselle was coping since Daddy's death and our return, and I described her behavior. She listened keenly and nodded

thoughtfully.

"Let her alone for a while," she advised. "She needs to succeed at being independent. That will make her stronger, happier. I'm sure she knows you're there if and when she needs you," she added.

I felt better about it, and then we painted some more before stopping to enjoy the picnic lunch she had prepared. As we sat on the blanket and ate and talked, other students walked by, some waving, some gazing curiously. I saw many of my teachers and even spotted Mrs. Ironside watching us for a few moments before crossing the campus.

"Louis was right about this lake," I said when we resumed our work. "It does have a magic to it. It seems to change its nature, its color, and even its shape as the day moves on."

"I love painting scenes with water in them. One of these days, I'm going to take a trip to the bayou. Maybe you'll come along as my swamp guide," she suggested.

"Oh, there's nothing I'd love better," I said. She smiled warmly at me, and I felt as if I did have a big sister. It turned out to be one of the best days I had had at Greenwood.