"They're daisies, and they cost fifty cents a dozen," she said, going to the kitchen for a vase. I brought her flowers each time I came to see her. She would place them in water but never look at them, and I'm sure they brought her no joy.

"Thank you for the flowers," she said when she returned.

"And a final gift," I said, proferring the sand dollar in my palm.

"Oh, it's exquisite, Will. It might be the smallest yet."

"I ordered it out of the Sears Roebuck catalogue."

"Look, it's so thin you can see the light through it," she said, holding it up to the window.

"I passed by it the first time. I didn't see it until I was coming back to the car."

She took my hand and squeezed it and kissed me again on the cheek.

"Your hands are freezing," I said, rubbing one of them between mine.

"You ought to feel my feet," she said. Annie Kate was one of those people who never seemed to get enough blood in their extremities. Even on warm days her hands and feet were cool to the touch. On cold days, I would jump when she touched my neck.

"Sit over by the fireplace and I'll rub them down with alcohol before I go. Do your legs ache, too?"

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Commerce and Abigail are giving their annual Mardi Gras party."

"Well, la-di-da. Are you one of the token cadets? Of course, I imagine you can have a lot more fun at her house than you can have with me."

"I've refused almost every dinner and party at their house this year, Annie Kate. I promised Abigail I'd come to this party. What have you got against the St. Croixs?"

"A lot! They've always considered themselves far superior to my family, who just happened to have come to Charleston before theirs did."

"I'm not invited because of my family," I said.

"No, Will. I'm sure you're not. Quite the opposite, I would say. Despite your family, I would say."

"What's eating you, Annie Kate?"

"They didn't invite my mother to their silly party."

"She couldn't go anyway She has to stay with you."

"That's not the point. They never invite her. And I was snubbed so many times by Abigail I can't even count them. She just takes what she likes from people and gives nothing in return."

"I think you're as wrong as a person can be," I said defensively.

"Wrong?" she answered. "I know damn well I'm right. I know a lot more about her than you do. What costume will you wear?"

"Costume?" I asked.

"It's a Mardi Gras party. I'm sure they're going to wear costumes," she said.

"I think I'll go as a cadet from Carolina Military Institute since the General and the Bear will be there and I'll walk tours for the rest of the year if I'm caught in Charleston out of uniform."

"I still wish they'd invited Mother."

"Where is your mother?" I asked.

"She ran down to Ogletree's to pick up some food. She'll be back in a second. Will you rub my feet now, Will? I don't want to fight today."

"I'll get the alcohol."

"I already got it. It's here on the table."

I removed her shoes and socks and took one of her feet in my hands. Her feet were always cold and aching, especially during these last months of her pregnancy. I would rub them until they felt warm and they glowed in my hands with health and blood and vigor. Her feet were small and delicately shaped. Her toenails were immaculately trimmed and pale as shells. They were lovely in the firelight, mother-of-pearl and translucent. She kept her hands over her stomach as I stroked her feet.

Her mother walked in the back door carrying a single bag. Mrs. Gervais had come to like me very much, of that I have no doubt whatsoever. I assuaged her loneliness, and she had become accustomed to my professionally good-natured presence. And unlike her daughter, she took pleasure in my sense of humor.

"What are you doing to my daughter's feet?" Mrs. Gervais asked as she entered the room and sat beside Annie Kate on the couch. She touched Annie Kate's cheek affectionately and blew me a kiss as she wearily lit a cigarette. She wore defeat like a piece of cheap jewelry.

"Worshiping them. Anointing them with oil, Mrs. Gervais," I said. "When I'm finished, I'll dry them with my hair."

"Mary Magdalen had longer hair, I believe," said Mrs. Gervais.

"She didn't go to the Institute. It just takes me an hour longer to dry feet than it took her. But you've got to make do."

"You ought to try it, Mother. Your feet get every bit as cold and sore as mine. In fact, I inherited your frigid little feet."

"No, thank you," Mrs. Gervais replied, watching me pour alcohol into my hands and work it into Annie Kate's feet.

"C'mon, Mrs. Gervais. It's one of the great pleasures in the world. And it gives me pleasure. I'm not attracted to women at all, but I become fiendish when I get hold of a foot."

I held Annie Kate's foot aloft in my hand.

"Look at this perfect foot. I dream about this foot. I would walk to the ends of the earth for a glimpse of these delicious toesies. After I'm finished I take these delicate toes and suck the alcohol off them."

I took Annie Kate's smallest toe gently between my teeth and began moaning and slurping.

"Stop it," Annie Kate said with a giggle. "It tickles."

Mrs. Gervais laughed her rich, affecting laugh.

I moved over beside her and took off her loafers. She protested but it was a protest without conviction. I removed her wool socks. She was the first woman I ever knew who wore slacks on a regular basis, and it was one of those idiosyncrasies that separated her from her neighbors South of Broad.

"My, what gorgeous feet you have, my dear," I said to her, putting her left foot on my knee and rubbing the alcohol into her instep. Her foot was cold and white and threaded with slightly swollen blue veins. The veins on the top of her foot had the same fine shape and extraordinary delicacy as her daughter's.

For five minutes, I squeezed and stroked her feet until I felt them warm and pulsing in my hands.

"Do the toes again, please," Mrs. Gervais said, her head resting against the couch and her eyes closed.

"Ah, the toes," I said, "where true pleasure resides. May I bite your toes when I'm finished, Mrs. Gervais? As a reward for my services?"

"You will do no such thing."

"Mother will think you are sick, Will," Annie Kate said, putting her socks back on.

Mrs. Gervais agreed. "You do sound disturbed when you talk like that, Will."

"Your mind tells you no, but your feet tell you yes, right, Mrs. Gervais?" I said, pretending to bite her big toe. She jerked her foot away from me, laughing.

"Will's going to a party tonight, Mother," Annie Kate said.

"How nice. Whose party?"

"The St. Croixs are having their annual Mardi Gras fete," Annie Kate said.

"I used to go to those," Mrs. Gervais said. "But that was before I met your father. Sometimes they were not unpleasant."

"I think it's disgusting that they quit inviting you," Annie Kate said bitterly.

"They're certainly not the only ones, dear."

"You want to go with me, Mrs. Gervais?" I offered. It was the natural reflex of Will McLean, the patron saint of piety. "The St. Croixs always try to get me to bring a date."

"No, thank you, Will. Someone has to be with Annie Kate."

"I'm not due for a week, Mother. If you want to go, I'll be fine. I can always call you."

"I don't think the St. Croixs would ever recover from the shock. No thanks."

"Well, I have to be going, ladies," I said, rising. "Call me if anything happens and I'll see y'all after chapel tomorrow morning."

I kissed both of them on the cheek. Annie Kate turned my face and kissed me on the mouth.

Mrs. Gervais said as I was leaving, "Thanks for massaging my feet, Will. They feel young right now and nothing has felt like that for a long time."

The party at the St. Croix house was part of the winter season in Charleston. Pig, Mark, and I went to the party together, and all of us were nervous about being the only cadets among the two hundred invited guests. None of us was comfortable around the St. Croixs' friends.

Commerce and Abigail answered the door together.

"My three favorite men in the world," Abigail said extravagantly.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Commerce said hospitably. "Get George to fix you a drink and make yourselves at home. I want you to enjoy yourselves tonight."

A string quartet, penguinesque in their tuxedoes and correct as finger bowls, played Mozart and Bach in the living room. The party-goers ignored the music. It was an extravagant adornment for the evening. I waved to Tradd across the room as we made our way through the crowd toward the bar. George, the black bartender, was dispensing drinks with all the self-effacing joviality required of his station. There was a feast spread out on the dining-room table, artfully arranged in silver. The faces of the guests, confident, urbane, and relaxed, were illuminated by a dozen candelabra and the soft liquid light of the downstairs chandeliers. The conversation was loud and spirited, and I felt like a visitor from another planet.

Abigail's dress was black, low-cut, and fashionably severe. Her hair was short and the color of new honey, and she smelled like perfume and soap. She steered me through the crowd, through the dense alliances of intermingled families where each face was a chronicle of privilege and subordination to the genealogy of great houses and proud names.

I got my drink and pulled back with Pig and Mark to a neutral corner. Pig attracted attention because of his build and because his head bumped into the chandelier in the dining room when he leaned over to spear a shrimp with a toothpick. He was mortified to find himself the center of attention, when a hundred eyes turned on him as the chandelier swung like a pendulum and tinkled prettily, with a sound like glass dominoes falling. But there was nothing for us to say to anyone and very few people approached us to talk.

"A lot of duckbutts among the ritzy, huh, Will?" Pig said, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "I bet there isn't a guy here who could bench press two hundred pounds."

"Yeh, but we couldn't lift their bank accounts."

"Boy, that's the truth," he said, taking another large swallow from his drink. Both of us were drinking too much, but in Charleston society that was customary if not required.

Mark had stopped to talk with an amiable, blue-haired woman who looked two hundred years old and gave every indication of monopolizing his company all night. Tradd was playing host to a small entourage of women in the living room. Occasionally he would catch our eyes and wink.

The Bear and his wife found us in our exile.

"Good evening, Colonel," I said as they approached. "Good evening, Mrs. Berrineau."

"Good evening, Will," she said. "Dante, how are you?"

"Fine, Mrs. Bear. Just fine," Pig answered.

"That's Mrs. Berrineau, Bubba," the Colonel amended, then turning to me, he said, "I didn't recognize you with your shoes shined, lamb. You're not a total disgrace to your alma mater tonight. I'd say you were only a ninety percent disgrace."

"You look lovely tonight, Mrs. Berrineau," I said, ignoring the Colonel's jibes.

"Thank you, Will. You look very nice yourself."

"What office are you running for, Bubba?" the Bear said. "Keep your eyes on him, darling. I'll watch his hands."

"I've never seen you in civilian clothes before, Colonel," I said, grinning. "I understand now why you stick to uniforms."

"You don't like that suit, Will? I picked it out for the Colonel," Mrs. Berrineau said.

"Oh, it's beautiful, Mrs. Berrineau. Pig and I were just talking about how good the Colonel looked before you walked up."

The Bear's eyes danced with joy. "Almost caught you on that one, huh, Bubba?" Then as he and Mrs. Berrineau walked away, he said, "I don't get to hang around the cheese in Charleston very often, Bubba, and if they see me pretending to enjoy talking with you, then I'll never get to see the cheese again. You lambs have a good time and don't drink too much."

The party was very painful to me, as parties usually were, and I felt the familiar loneliness of crowds. I watched the General as he received friends and admirers who wanted to brush against the immensity of his myth. I wondered if he ever grew weary of playing the role of the Great Man. I talked with Abigail and Commerce, but I was uncomfortable meeting them in their other life. I did not like to share them with two hundred other people. I did not want them to be part of this extraordinary fantasy. I preferred them in the comfortable informality of their own milieu, with Abigail arranging flowers, Tradd playing the piano, and Commerce descending the stairs after working long hours on his journals. After they left us, Pig and I got ready to make our departure.

I was trying to rescue Mark from his elderly admirer when George, the bartender, came up to me and said I had a phone call.

Excusing myself, I went to the hallway. There was a crowd in the hallway and I had trouble hearing who was on the phone.

It was Annie Kate.

"Will, the baby's coming."

"Are you at the hospital?"

"Mother's drunk, Will. Will you come drive me, please?"

"Have you called the doctor?"

"Not yet."