up to her, to be vindictive. But I don't know. How vindictive is she?"
"I don't know either." January rose, and took her hand to bid farewell before seeking the room alotted him above the kitchen. "I think I'm going to find out."
He remained on Grand Isle another day, going to Mass in the island's tiny wooden Church. Later, despite the fact that it was Lent, he tuned up and played the old guitar owned by Aramis Vitrac-there wasn't a piano on the island-and sang ballads and arias from the operas popular in Paris two seasons ago, to the delight of his hosts and the dozen or so neighbors who walked that night from all over the island to dinner. Alice Vitrac joined in gamely on a flute while Natchez Jim rattled spoons and bones and tambourine. "It's George Washington's birthday," reasoned the island's black-eyed priest. "Well, near enough, anyway."
The women brought cakes and scuppernong wine, the men brandy from the smuggler boats that still plied the Gulf.
By day he walked with Rose on the beaches, both bundled alike in rough jackets, the sand chilly between his toes above the tangled chevaux-de frise of driftwood along the shore. It was difficult not to reach across and touch her hand, her face. Yet in some ways it was easier than he had feared it would be. If a friend was all she could bring herself to be, he thought, he would accept her on those terms; on any terms that would let him continue the quick-sparkle entertainment of her conversation, the rare chance to speak of other things besides the day-to-day commonplaces of life in a small French provincial town.
Early on Monday morning January walked to the beach alone, to watch the waves roll in from the Gulf.
Coming back he encountered Alice Vitrac, with oysters she'd bought from one of the fisher-families, and took from her the rush basket to carry to the house.
"You're good for her," said Madame Vitrac. She looked up at him with her pale, lashless eyes, myopic as Rose, and smiled a little. "I'm glad you've come. I was worried for her. I'm sorry you weren't able to bring her any word of Cora..."
"Did you know Cora?"
"Oh, yes." Her voice grew less shy. "I grew up just over on P'tit Ch?ni?re. I've known Rose most of my life. Cora, too. They were inseparable."
January thought of those two girls, growing up in this world of driftwood and tawny sand.
"Cora told me she nursed Rose when she was sick." Alice glanced up at him, quickly, looking to see what and how much he might have guessed. They stood still for a moment, sea wind blowing cold over them and rippling the long grass; then she said, "Well, I've always thought Papa Vitrac... I think he was only trying to do right by Rose. By his own lights. The man who-who hurt her-was a neighbor of ours, a planter, a man of color like yourself. Much lighter than you, but big like you. He tried for years to get Rose to marry him, you see. I think he thought that by doing what he did, he would force her hand. Force her father's hand."
January said softly, "I see."
Something of his anger must have shown in his eyes, for Madame Vitrac went on, "Papa Vitrac wasn't the only one who thought it would be the thing. You know that generally if a man does ruin a girl, the first thing everyone thinks of is to have him marry her. So I suppose Mathieu can be excused for thinking it was a good idea." She shrugged. Her own opinion on the subject was plain in the sudden set of that soft mouth.
"And I take it," said January, resuming his way toward the house, "that Monsieur Vitrac thought so, too."
Madame Vitrac put up her hand to brush the fair strings of her hair out of her face, where the wind took them. "He told Rose that she would have to marry this man. I think he was only trying to get her established creditably and didn't want to have to look very far or very hard. The man did have quite a nice little plantation, over on Isle Derniere, though they said he was hard on his slaves. He later sold up and moved to the mainland, up in the Cane River country; Cora must have told Rose that, or she never would have returned. Because he-he came around. Trying to force her into