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"Yes. They're all stopped at two-oh-five."

"That's when Mrs. Clairborne's daughter supposedly died. When I asked one of the older teachers about it, he told me Mrs. Clairborne thinks of time as having stopped for her and makes it appear symbolically that way in her home. It's really a very sad story."

"Then there is nothing physically wrong with Louis, nothing wrong with his eyes?"

"From what I've been told, no. He rarely emerges from that dark section of the mansion. Over the years he's been treated and tutored there, and as far as I know, there have been only a handful of people with whom he has carried on any sort of conversation. You made history," she said, and smiled warmly. "But after knowing you only a short time, it's not hard for me to understand why someone reluctant to talk would talk to you."

"Thank you," I said, blushing.

"All of us have trouble communicating with each other. I know I do. I'd rather communicate through my artwork. I'm especially bash-fill when it comes to men," she confessed. "Maybe because of how I was brought up." She laughed. "I suppose that's why I feel so comfortable at Greenwood, why I wanted to teach at an all-girls school."

She smiled at me again.

"There. We've traded secrets about ourselves, just like sisters in art should. Actually," she continued, "I've always longed for a sister, someone in whom I could confide and someone who would confide in me. Your twin sister doesn't kn

ow what she's missing, treating you the way she does. I envy her."

"Gisselle would never believe anyone envied her. She doesn't want envy anyway; she wants pity."

"Poor dear. A severe handicap after being so active would be devastating. I suppose you'll just have to put up with her. But if there is ever anything I can do to help . . ."

"Thank you, Miss Stevens."

"Oh please, Ruby. Call me Rachel when we're not in class.

I really would like to feel we're more friends than simply a teacher and her student. Okay?"

"Okay," I said, surprised but not displeased.

"Oh, look: We've been talking so long we've hardly done anything. Come on. Let's shut our mouths and put our fingers to work," she said. Her soft, happy laughter caught the attention of the pelicans, who looked up at us with what seemed to me to be expressions of annoyance. After all, they were here to fish so they could eat.

"Animals know when you sincerely respect them," Grandmere Catherine once told me. "Too bad people don't."

We worked for about two and a half hours, after which Miss Stevens thought we should go for lunch. She took me to a small restaurant just outside the city. Even before we entered, we could smell the delicious aromas of the crab-boil, sauteed shrimp, and salami, fried oysters, sliced tomatoes, and onions that went into a po'boy sandwich. We had a wonderful time talking, comparing the things we liked and disliked about styles and fashions, food and books. I did feel as if I were with an older sister.

It was midafternoon by the time she brought me back to the dorm. She kept my work, promising to bring it to the art studio for me to complete in school.

"This was fun," she said. "We'll do it again if you want to."

"Oh yes, but I can't let you pay for my lunch all the time." She laughed.

"I have to, otherwise it might be construed a bribe," she teased.

I said goodbye and ran into the dorm, where I found Mrs. Penny wringing her hands and waiting for me. Her hair was unraveled, and she was biting her lip.

"Oh, thank goodness you've returned! Thank goodness."

"What's wrong, Mrs. Penny?" I asked quickly.

She took a deep breath, pressing her right palm to her heart, and sat down on the sofa.

"Mrs. Clanborne called. She called herself. I spoke to her." Mrs. Penny gasped as if she had received a call from the president of the United States. "She asked to speak to you, so I went looking for you, and your roommate, Abby, told me you had gone to someplace on the river to paint with your art teacher. She should know better; she should know better."

"What do you mean, know better?" I asked, smiling inquisitively. "Better about what?"

"On the weekends especially, if you're going to leave the grounds, you have to have permission. I have to have something on record."

"But we just went down to the river to paint," I explained.