She drew in a sharp breath. "Papa, don't worry about any of that now. We'll have time to talk about my future later." Her hands fluttered helplessly over his cheeks. "Papa, dear Papa, don't worry. I'll stay with you."

"He's a...b.a.s.t.a.r.d. His father was a...slave. Your baby...have to get rid of it. He did this to you...to get even with me.... Set fire to the Dowager. Dowager."

She gave a sharp cry. "You don't know what you're saying, Papa. You don't know!"

"I know." Lucien struggled, as if to sit up. "You're my child...only child." He grabbed her hands; his clenched spasmodically. "Revenge. That's all. A madman. If you love me, get rid of..."

Her sobs were audible now, wrenching cries that shivered through Raphael with the same intensity as Lucien's words. "He doesn't know what he's saying, Aurore," he said. "He's sicker than I thought. And he would say anything to make you leave me."

"Papa!" she cried. She lowered her face to his. "etienne is a good man! He loves me."

"No. He hates...me. Wanted revenge. Told me about the baby. Was here when the Dowager Dowager exploded. Told me he'd done it. His blood...mixed, Aurore. Never loved you. He wanted to leave us with...nothing. Forged papers...in his coat. No insurance." He struggled to sit up again, then fell back into her lap. exploded. Told me he'd done it. His blood...mixed, Aurore. Never loved you. He wanted to leave us with...nothing. Forged papers...in his coat. No insurance." He struggled to sit up again, then fell back into her lap.

She was sobbing so hard she couldn't speak. Raphael reached for her, but she shook him off.

"My daughter," Lucien said. "Loved you. Wanted...everything for you. Don't go...Aurore. Stay. Salvage what you can...Gulf Coast. Do what you..." His lips stopped moving, and his eyes stared straight ahead.

"No!" She shook him. "Papa! No!"

From somewhere in the shadows, Raphael heard a woman's keening. He had forgotten Ti' Boo's presence. He lifted his head and saw horror reflected in Jules's eyes. Jules knelt and edged Lucien's body away from his daughter's. Raphael grabbed for Aurore, to shield her.

"No!" She turned her face to his. "No! Not until you tell me what he meant!" She stared at him.

He was empty, and he couldn't find words to answer her.

"No!" She shut her eyes and threw her head back and screamed. "No! It's true! What he said is true!"

He found his voice on the edges of her scream. "There's more, Aurore. More than he said. I love you. That was never a lie. And I want you and our baby!"

"Did you start the fire?"

He stared at her.

"Did you, etienne?" She pounded his chest. "Did you?"

"You can't understand. Not unless you know it all!"

"Did you? Answer me?"

He couldn't.

"You did!" She drew back in horror. "And the other? Your father was a slave? Your blood is-"

He waited for her to say the word. When she couldn't even say it, he knew that all his hopes had been foolish, and all his dreams of love had been for nothing.

He stared at her, and for the first time he saw Lucien in Lucien's daughter.

"My father was a good man," he said. "You'll never be able to say the same."

"No!" She came at him again, fists bunched, but he grabbed her hands.

"Have you forgotten you carry my child?" he asked. "The grandchild of a slave." He gave a bitter laugh. "You carry the child of a man you've already learned to hate! And you'll hate the child, too, won't you? You'll pa.s.s on your father's hatred and pride to another generation. You'll teach our child to hate himself, the way you hate me now!"

"I won't raise your child!" She spat at him. "I won't have your child!"

He shoved her away. "You'd commit a mortal sin because your father told you to? You would kill your own baby?"

"This child shouldn't be born!" she screamed.

"Ro-Ro!" Ti' Boo stepped out of the shadows. "You don't know what you're saying! Come away now."

Jules bent to help her up, but Aurore shook him off. "I won't have your child, etienne! I won't!"

"You will have it, and you'll give it to me!" He reached for her, and when Jules tried to intervene, he hit him. Jules stumbled backward.

"I will never give you anything!" she screamed.

"The child will be mine."

"Never." Her voice dropped, but it shook with intensity. "If you try to claim it, I'll go to the authorities. I'll tell them you were responsible for destroying the Dowager. Dowager. I'll find out about the forgery my father spoke of, and I'll see it comes to rest at your door." I'll find out about the forgery my father spoke of, and I'll see it comes to rest at your door."

"Ro-Ro." Ti' Boo took her arm. "We have to get out of here. The fire's coming closer." She pointed to the window.

"And if you try," Raphael said, "then I'll tell them that Aurore Le Danois carries my child out of wedlock, and that she's nothing more than a woman scorned and hoping for revenge. There's not a shred of proof I had anything to do with the fire."

"Ti' Boo and Jules heard you admit it!"

"No. I never admitted it."

She whirled to search their faces and saw the truth. Ti' Boo shook her head and took Aurore in her arms. "We must go. Now, Ro-Ro. Jules will bring your father. But we must get out of here now!" She began to drag Aurore toward the door.

"No!" Aurore threw her head back and wailed. "No!"

Raphael watched Jules struggle with Lucien's body. He stepped back as Jules stumbled; then he watched them disappear through the door to the stairs.

"No!"

He heard Aurore's cry once more, and it echoed through the void inside him.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The convent infirmary had bare walls and a tile floor scrubbed clean each morning and evening by a postulant who moved back and forth on her hands and knees, her white robe fluttering about her. Sister Marie Baptiste had told Aurore not to speak to the postulant, not even to ask her name. Aurore had lain in silent agony each time and struggled not to inhale the fumes of the disinfectant.

She had no doubt that this was part of her penance for bearing a child out of wedlock. Five months ago the sisters had taken her in because she had paid them well and because they had been persuaded it was their Christian duty. They had given her a room, meals and endless hours of contemplation, but there had been no attempt to ease her suffering when labor finally commenced yesterday. This was something Aurore must undergo alone, and if she felt great pain, that was so much the better. Was not woman's lot to atone for the sins of Eve? And was not Aurore's particular lot to labor for days to bring this child into the world, a child she must then give away?

Aurore squeezed her eyelids tight and wished for death. The pain was unrelenting. There were no moments when she could escape into sleep. She had lost track of time, and there were no windows in the room to help her gauge. She had been forbidden to eat or drink as she labored, so there were no meals to mark the hours. The sisters who checked on her came and went without speaking, and when she begged for rea.s.surance, they only told her that the baby was not yet ready to come.

etienne had done this to her. He had taken her virginity, her wealth, her father, and her youth. He had left her with his child and marked it with his blood, so that even if Aurore had wanted it, she couldn't keep it. Now she struggled in agony to bring into the world one more life that would have to be lived behind unimaginable barriers.

Unless the child showed no signs of its heritage.

Sweat poured onto the sheets, and despite the last sister's warning, she kicked off the blanket that covered her. Under the best of circ.u.mstances, the windowless room would have been unbearable. In August, it was a h.e.l.l of temperatures and humidity so high that water hung in the air to choke her if she cried out.

Months ago, Cleo had taken her to another room, not a room with clean white walls and a scrubbed floor, but a room with roaches that sailed like small birds from corner to corner and cobwebs that hung from ropes of herbs festooning the rafters. She had lain on another bed and smelled an abortionist's evil stench. And she had learned that no matter how much money she had paid, no matter how much she hated etienne Terrebonne, she could not go through with killing his unborn child.

Instead, she had turned to G.o.d. She had come to the convent and promised that after the baby's birth she would don the mothlike robes of a postulant and dedicate what was left of her life to cleansing her soul.

She had believed the last might be possible, but now, after hours of agony, she knew differently. She would never be free from hatred. Prayers and endless good works would change nothing. She hated etienne Terrebonne. She would never forgive him. And if cleansing her soul meant she must forgive, then she would die uncleansed and unrepentant.

The door opened. She could not suppress a groan. The sisters were competent and thorough. They took no notice of her cries or protests, going about their business as if she were an animal in the field. She wanted to believe their presence meant the end was near, but she was afraid it was only time for another agonizing examination.

"Ro-Ro?"

She opened her eyes and saw Ti' Boo's face. For a moment, she thought she imagined it. "Ti'-?"

"Don't try to talk. It's all right now. I'll stay with you."

"How-?" Pain knifed through her, and she struggled against it.

"Shhh... Don't fight so. The pain, you make it worse when you fight."

"I can't-" A scream escaped, despite the sisters' stern warnings that she was not to indulge in self-pity.

"Take a deep breath and squeeze my hand." Ti' Boo grabbed hers and held it tight. "Someone's coming to look at you soon. Sister Mathilde got a message to me this morning. I made her promise she would, when your time came."

Aurore grabbed Ti' Boo's hand as another contraction peaked. Ti' Boo had arranged Aurore's stay in the convent through her parish priest. The small brick building was on a secluded bayou, and it housed a strict, cloistered order of French-speaking nuns with few resources and even less hope for expansion. But it was close enough to Cote Boudreaux that Ti' Boo had been able to visit twice, and far enough from New Orleans that Aurore had been confident etienne could not track her there.

"etienne. Have you seen etienne?"

"He won't find you. Ro-Ro, squeeze harder."

"He wants this child!"

"He wants nothing but to make you unhappy."

Tears streamed down her face and mixed with drops of perspiration. "He...has succeeded."

Ti' Boo wiped her forehead with a handkerchief. "I've found a home for the baby. A place he'll never find it."

"Do they know... Do they know..." She couldn't make herself finish the sentence. Did the family know the child wasn't white? That its father had only pa.s.sed for white until discovered? Even the thought sent deep shame through her.

"They are light-skinned people of color who live on the Delta," Ti' Boo said. "They can't have children, and want to raise this one."

Aurore had a thousand questions. She hated this child's father with the intensity with which she had once loved him. For a time, she had hated the child, too. She still hated the child's race, if for no other reason than that it was not her own. She could escape to the North with her baby and hope that its racial heritage would never be detected. But whose face would she see looking back from the cradle? What excuses would she make as the child matured and questions were raised?

And what kind of mother could Aurore Le Danois, once the heiress to Gulf Coast Steamship, be to the grandchild of a slave?

She rested a little, trying to draw strength from somewhere to survive the next pain. "Are they...good people?"

"Of course. Would I send your child to bad?"

"What...what if the child looks white? Wouldn't it be better...a white family?"

"It's better that the child be what it is, Ro-Ro." She murmured something low.

Aurore heard her. "Blood will tell." She sobbed out the last word.

"There have been enough lies."

Aurore knew the life to which they were dooming her child. She knew the plight of Negroes, no matter how light their skin, although she had never given it more than a pa.s.sing thought. She had always been surrounded by them, nurtured and attended and advised, but she had never imagined herself tied to them in any way. Now she was to give birth to one.

And would her child suffer the humiliation of always serving and submitting to the white man and woman? Would her child forever ride in the back of a streetcar, say its rosary in the back of a church, have no voice in politics and little or nothing to say about its future? Her child, a Le Danois, no matter what the hue of its skin, the texture of its hair. Her child.

"They are good people, happy people," Ti' Boo a.s.sured her. "They will raise your child to be good and happy, too."

"That's not enough!" She gripped Ti' Boo's hand. In the same moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to expel the child from her body. "No!"

"What is it?" Ti' Boo leaned over her, saw her expression, and guessed. "I'm going to get Sister Marie Baptiste. I'll be back, Ro-Ro. I'll be right back!"

"No!" Aurore had prayed for nothing more than this. Now she was paralyzed by fear. Until this moment, she had been able to protect her son or daughter from what lay ahead. She had felt the child grow inside her, felt her own concern grow until it overshadowed the hatred she felt for etienne. Now she could protect it no longer.

She felt another urge to bear down, and even as she struggled against it, she knew there was nothing she could do. The baby would become the son or daughter of light-skinned strangers on the Delta. The child would be lost to her forever. She would never be allowed to protect it from a world that wished it had never been born.

"No!" But even as she screamed her final protest, the child began to emerge.

Clarissa lay quietly in the basket that the sisters had provided for her. She had cried little since her birth twelve hours ago, and she had rarely slept. She lay with her eyes open and her fists and legs waving spasmodically, as if to challenge the air she had only recently begun to breathe.

Aurore bent over her, defying the orders of Sister Marie Baptiste, who had told her not to get up or hold the infant. Clarissa was to be brought to her at regular intervals to nurse, then she was to be put back into the basket. Aurore wasn't to look at her as she held her; she was not to attach herself to the child in any way.

Clarissa was the most beautiful baby Aurore had ever seen. Her eyes were an indeterminate color, a hazy, smoky hue that would not be brown like her father's or blue like her mother's. Her skin was light, though it might darken with time, but it was not the rose-tinged white of Aurore's. It had a warm golden tone, as if she had already been kissed by the sun. Her head was covered by a mop of brown curls, soft as a duckling's down.

Aurore carefully lifted her new daughter and cradled her in her arms. Clarissa gazed somewhere in the direction of Aurore's face. Aurore held her tighter. "What do you see, Clarissa? The woman who tried to kill you? The woman who doomed you to a shack on the Delta and a job in a white woman's kitchen?"

But even as she stared at her daughter, she knew the last would never be possible. With a mother's wisdom, she saw that Clarissa was going to be beautiful, remarkable-and therefore dangerous-in the tradition of many women of mixed blood. No white woman was going to allow her in the kitchen or any other part of her house.

Tears ran down Aurore's cheeks. "Do you see the woman who wants to take you and fly away to some land where nothing matters except that you're her beloved daughter?"

Aurore realized she was crying. She didn't know how she could have tears left. She lifted Clarissa to her shoulder and cradled her there. Slowly she began to rock back and forth.