"There's a nice lady to take you to them," I continued.

Pearl gazed at me curiously. It was almost as if she were wise enough to see through the deception. She put up no resistance until we carried her down and actually placed her in the backseat of the limousine with the nurse. When I backed away from the door, she realized I wasn't coming and started to scream for me. The nurse attempted to comfort her.

"Let's get moving," Mr. Rogers told the driver. The two lawyers got into the car and slammed the doors shut, but I could still hear Pearl's screams. As the limousine pulled away from the house, the baby broke loose from the nurse and pressed her little face against the back window. I could see the fear and the torment in her and I could hear her screaming my name. The moment the car disappeared, my legs went out from under me and I folded too quickly for Beau to stop me from crashing to the tile and the comfort of darkness.


16

  All is Lost

"Well," Monsieur Polk said after he heard Beau describe our story, "this is a rather complicated matter. Very," he added, and nodded emphatically, jiggling his jowls and his loose double chin. He sat back in his oversize black leather desk chair and pressed his palms against his bear-size chest with his fingers intertwined, the large gold pinky ring with a black onyx oval stone glittering in the afternoon sunlight that came pouring through the thin, white blinds.

Beau sat beside me and held my hand. My other hand clutched the mahogany arm of the chair as if I thought I might be toppled out and onto the dark brown carpet in Monsieur Polk's plush office. It was on the seventh floor of the building, and the large windows behind Monsieur Polk's desk looked out on the river with a vast view of the boats and ships navigating in and out of New Orleans harbor.

I bit down on my lower lip and held my breath as our attorney pondered. His large, watery hazel eyes gazed down and he was so still, I feared he had fallen asleep.

The only sound in the office was the tick tock of the miniature grandfather clock on the shelf to our left.

"No birth certificates, you say?" he finally asked, just raising his eyes. The rest of him, all two hundred forty pounds, remained settled in the chair, his suit jacket folded and creased in the shoulders. He wore a dark brown tie with lemon dots.

"No. As I said, the twins were born in swamp country, no doctor, no hospital."

"My Grandmère was a traiteur, better than any doctor," I said.

"Traiteur?"

"Cajun faith healer," Beau explained.

Monsieur Polk nodded and shifted his eyes toward me and stared a moment. Then he sat forward and clasped his hands on his desk.

"We'll move quickly for a custody hearing. It will be conducted like a trial in this situation. The first order of business will be to find a legal way to establish you as Ruby. Once that is accomplished, you will testify to being the father of your child, which you will own up to," he said to Beau.

"Of course." Beau squeezed my hand and smiled.

"Now let's look at the face of this," Monsieur Polk said. He reached over to a dark cherry wood cigar box and flicked up the cover to pluck a fat Havana cigar out of it. "You," he said, pointing at me with the cigar, "and your twin sister, Gisselle, were apparently so identical in looks, you could pull off this switch of identities, correct?"

"Down to the dimples in their cheeks," Beau said. "Eye color, hair color, complexion, height, weight?"

Monsieur Polk listed. Beau and I nodded after each item. "There might have been a few pounds difference between them, but nothing very noticeable," Beau said.

"Scars?" Monsieur Polk asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

I shook my head.

"I have none and my sister had none, even though she was in a bad car accident and was crippled for a time," I said.

"Bad car accident?" I nodded. "Here in New Orleans?"

"Yes."

"Then she was in the hospital for a time. Good. There'll be a medical history with records about her blood. Maybe you two had a different blood type. If so, that would settle it immediately. A friend of mine," he continued, taking out his lighter, "tells me that in years to come, from blood tests, using DNA, they'll be able to identify who is the parent of a child. But we're a number of years away from that."

"And by then it would be too late!" I complained. He nodded and lit his cigar, leaning back to blow the puffs of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Maybe some X-rays were taken. Did she break any bones in the accident?"

"No," I said. "She was bruised and the shock of it did something to her spine, affecting the nerves, but that healed and she was able to walk again."

"Um," Monsieur Polk said. "I don't know if there would be anything discernible by X-ray. We'd have to have X-rays done of you and then find a medical expert to testify that there should be some residual evidence of the trauma."

I brightened. "I'll go right to the hospital for X-rays."

"Right," Beau said.

Monsieur Polk shook his head. "They might very well locate an expert who would claim X-rays wouldn't pick up any residual damage if the problem was cured," he said. "Let me research the medical records at the hospital and get one of my doctor friends to give me an opinion about it first."

"Ruby had a child; Gisselle did not," Beau said. "Surely an examination . . ."

"Can you establish Gisselle did not beyond a doubt?" Monsieur Polk asked.

"Pardon?"

"Gisselle is dead and buried. How can we examine her? You'd have to have the body exhumed, and what if Gisselle had been pregnant sometime and had had an abortion?"

"He's right, Beau. I would never swear about that," I said.

"This is very bizarre. Very bizarre," Monsieur Polk muttered. "You worked at convincing people you were your twin sister and did it so well, everyone who knew her believed it, right?"

"As far as we know."

"And the family, Paul Tate's family, believed it and believed they buried Ruby Tate?"

"Yes," I said.

"There was actually a death certificate issued in your name?"

"Yes," I said, swallowing hard. The vivid memories of attending my own funeral came rushing back over me.

Monsieur Polk shook his head and thought a moment. "What about the doctor who first treated Gisselle for encephalitis?" he asked with some visible excitement. "He knew he was treating Gisselle and not Ruby, right?"

"I'm afraid we can't call on him," Beau said, deflating our balloon of hope. "I made an arrangement with him, and anyway, it would ruin him, wouldn't it? His being a part of this?"

"I'm afraid that's very true," Monsieur Polk said. "He put his name to fraud. Any of the servants we can call upon?"

"Well . . . the way we worked it, the doctor and myself . . ."

"They didn't know what was happening exactly, is that it?"

"Yes. They wouldn't make the best witnesses anyway. The German couple don't speak English too well and my cook saw nothing. The maid is a timid woman who wouldn't be able to swear to anything."

"That's not an avenue to pursue, then." Monsieur Polk nodded. "Let me think. Bizarre, very bizarre. Dental records," he cried. "How are your teeth?"

"Perfect. I've never had a cavity or a tooth pulled."

"And Gisselle?"

"As far as I know," Beau said, "she was the same. She had remarkable health for someone with her lifestyle."

"Good genes," Monsieur Polk said. "But both of you had the benefit of the same genetic advantages."

Was there no way to determine our identities to the satisfaction of a judge? I wondered frantically.

"What about our signatures?" I asked.

"Yes," Beau said. "Ruby always had a nicer handwriting."

"Handwriting is an exhibit to use," Monsieur Polk said with a bit of official-sounding nasality, "but it's not conclusive. We'll have to rely on the opinions of experts, and they might bring in their own expert who would develop the effectiveness of forgery. I've seen that happen before. Also," he said after another puff of his cigar, "people are inclined to believe that twins can imitate each other better. I'd like to have something more."