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"Pierre!" I called, hoping he was safe nearby. "Pierre, are you here? Pierre!" I heard nothing but the cracking of the flames and the shrieking of birds. I remained in my canoe, searching the illuminated areas for signs of him. I called again and again, but to no avail.

Some of our neighbors and those who lived close enough to the Daisy shack to see the fire and smoke arrived to be sure the flames didn't spread. I heard their shouts. I docked my canoe and approached the fire, drawing as close as I could under the waves of heat that undulated from the conflagration. Way off to my right, I saw Jacques Thibodeau, Yvette's father, with two other men. I hurried toward them.

"Monsieur Thibodeau," I called, approaching.

"Hey, what'cha doin' here, Gabriel? It's dangerous. You get back, hear?"

"Was there anyone in the house?" I asked frantically.

"Not that I know," he replied, and looked at the others, who shook their heads. "Your pere's out there on the road. He'd be plenty upset if he knew you were back here so close to the fire, Gabriel, no?"

"Daddy's out front?" I asked. My hope that Mama had been right--that he had gone to a zydeco bar to blow off steam--was doused with the cold reality that what I feared the most had occurred.

"Oui. Now get yourself back home."

"Are there any strangers?" I inquired. "Anyone else nearby?"

"None I seen, but Guy here says the shack had been bought by some rich man from New Orleans. He ain't going to be too happy to hear about this, no?"

The three men shook their heads.

"Someone had to start that, for sure," Guy Larchmont said, nodding at the fire. "You seen anyone around here?" he asked me. "Some

mischievous kids, maybe?"

I wagged my head, barely listening.

"Better get home before your pere sees you wandering about here," Monsieur Thibodeax warned. "He don't look to be in the best of moods as it is."

"Merci, monsieur," I said, and retreated from the fire, moving slowly back to the dock and my canoe. I watched the gallery cave in and the last piece of wall melt away. All of my precious gifts, my clothing, our wonderful love nest, went up in flames. The smoke carried our secret into the night. I felt as if I were at a funeral, watching Pierre's and my love cremated in sacrifice to some angry god.

I didn't pole home directly. Instead, I sat in the canoe, watching the fire burn itself out. More people arrived and drew closer as the flames weakened. Soon whole families appeared. A fire like this was special excitement in the bayou. The children were permitted to come along and sit in the automobiles or stand near them and watch the activity.

What had happened to Pierre? Surely he was there when Daddy arrived, I thought. He probably thought it was me returning. I felt numb all over, my stomach hollow. For a while I was dizzy again and wished I had listened to Mama. I rested, splashed water on my face, and finally stood up and poled myself back to our dock. Exhausted, I made my way to the shack, my legs trembling, my heart thumping. Mama was beside herself with worry.

"Where did you go, Gabriel? What's wrong with you charging out of here like that after you fainted?"

"Daddy burned the shack, Mama," I

complained. "I know he did. He was there, watching with the other people. Pierre was supposed to be waiting for me. I don't know what happened to him," I wailed.

Mama embraced me. "There, there. I'm sure he's fine," she said. "Most likely he ran off and your father took his anger out on the shack. Come on inside. I want you to lie down and get some rest now, hear?"

I had no strength to resist, although I wanted to be awake and waiting when Daddy returned. He didn't come home until nearly morning, however. I learned from Mama the next morning that after the fire had burned itself out, he and some of his friends had gone to drink and talk about it. And when he came home, he was so drunk and tired, he collapsed in his bed.

He didn't rise until midafternoon. I sat on the gallery, rocking in Mama's chair, waiting to hear what had happened. Finally the screen door opened and Daddy appeared, his face pale, his eyes so bloodshot, I couldn't see the pupils. He scrubbed his hair, yawned and stretched.

"Where's your mama?"

"With Mrs. Sooter, treating her foot corns," I said. He nodded and started to go back inside. "Daddy. What happened last night? What did you do?"

"Do? I didn't do nothin'," he said quickly, turning his face to avoid my gaze.

"I know you did, Daddy. I know you set fire to the shack. Was Pierre there? What happened?" I demanded.

He turned back slowly and stared at me a moment. Then he shook his head with disgust.

"I wanted you to marry Nicolas Paxton, but you were too high and mighty for the likes of him. Instead, you go get yourself pregnant with some rich Creole who don't care a hoot what happens to you, your baby, or us who got to live here in shame," he replied.