He stood in the shadows, partially behind a tree, his cheek pressed against the tree trunk and his fingers curled into the bark as if he would tumble to the ground should he loosen his grip.

Moving toward him, she watched his eyes widen. The expression on his face reflected a sickly mixture of suppressed excitement and mounting fear. He wanted to run, she could tell. Yet, he stood there as if anchored, his legs shaking, defying his own alarm as much as her intimidation.

His bloodless lips parted, and he croaked, "It was an accident. I swear to Almighty God, I didn't mean for Chantz to go into that water. The boat was rocking, back and forth, and he lost his balance. That's all. I tried to help-"

"You're a liar. You're a spineless, good-for-nothing wastrel unfit to lick Chantz's boots. If he dies, Tylor Hollinsworth, I'll see you hang for murder."

"You best be careful how you threaten me," he shouted in a broken voice.

She forced herself to curve her lips in so cold a smile Tylor took an awkward step back.

"You're friendless. Loveless. Without character. I pity you, Tylor Hollinsworth. If that were you on that stretcher there wouldn't be a man or woman in this entire state who would give a damn if you lived or died. That's what bothers you most, isn't it? That a man like Chantz would be so highly regarded by your peers, while you, on the other hand, are considered worthless and laughable."

Moving closer, she said, "For the remainder of your life on this earth, Tylor Hollinsworth, you'll see his face every time you close your eyes to sleep."

Juliette fled up the path, back to his house where the few windows shone with light. With her heart in her throat, she ran up the steps, hearing Chantz's groans before she saw him twisted on his bed, his hands ripping at the bloody sheets as Andrew and Louis fought to keep him still.

Flinging her body over his, Juliette stopped his thrashing. She felt his heart slamming against her breast, felt the heat and sweat of his body penetrate her clothes.

Pressing her cheek against his, she whispered in his ear, "Hush. Hush now. You must lie as still as possible, Chantz."

My darling, darling Chantz.

Her eyes burned, whether from her own sweat seeping from her scalp or from the tears she tried desperately to ignore, she couldn't tell. Her existence in that moment centered on the roughness of his unshaven cheek against her tender flesh, the harshness of his frantic breathing, the low suffering groan that rattled in his throat.

He stilled.

His breath brushed her ear. His lips touched her temple, moving the damp tendrils of hair there, tasting the salty trail of the tears she had been crying.

"Juliette," he murmured.

Andrew pulled her away and suddenly Rosie was there, opening her arms and taking Juliette against her massive soft breasts, hugging so hard it seemed her ribs would snap.

"Gonna be fine," Rosie said with a composure that almost, but not quite, convinced Juliette that she had

imagined the extent of Chantz's injuries.

"Hush now," Rosie crooned, rocking her even as Juliette felt the deep silent sob constrict the dark woman's chest.

"He gonna be fine. Just fine."

Odd how she wished in that moment for the Reverend Mother who was as devout in her belief in

miracles as she was in her belief that each soul was God's gladiator against evil. Andrew stepped from the house, face white as flour, his eyes dark sockets of worry. He searched the shadows before finding Juliette, alone in the darkness, huddled against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest and her hair falling over her brow and eyes, as if it somehow curtained her away from the bedlam going on inside Chantz's house. Jumping to her feet, she hurried to him, throwing open her arms as he reached for her, drew her against his chest, and held her so hard she felt his heart pound against her. With her head on his shoulder, she closed her gritty eyes and swallowed back her emotions.

"Please tell me he's not dead, Andrew. Please."

He stroked her hair and smiled. "He's not dead, Juliette."

"Will you let me see him now?"

"We've got the bleeding stopped. He won't lose his leg. But he's in a great deal of pain. You should be

prepared. The man in that bed... he's not Chantz. Not the Chantz that you and I have known."

She pulled away and searched his eyes.

He nudged a wild hair from her cheek. "I only meant that his suffering... such suffering takes a toll on a

man, and on his spirit, and on his sanity."

"Where is Emmaline?"

"She's with him."

"And the others? Maxwell and Phyllis...?"

"Bed. Long ago. You should get some rest yourself."

"Not until I see him."

"Before you go in..." Andrew cleared his throat. "Emmaline is... despondent. You should be prepared."

Juliette nodded and turned away, too weary almost to stand, too heartbroken. Falling against the cool porch column, she covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. Dear God, give her strength.

Drawing back her shoulders, Juliette started toward the door. Suddenly Emmaline was there, moving toward Juliette, eyes wide and glassy and her dress smeared with blood. Her hair drooped in thin gray strands around her gaunt face.

"I won't allow you to destroy him further," she sneered. "I told him what would happen if he succumbed to you. He wouldn't listen."

"Get out of my way, Emmaline," Juliette declared.

"You'll see my son over my dead body. He doesn't want to see you." Emmaline planted herself in the way, her hands fisted and her legs braced. "What have you done to turn him against me, Juliette?"

Juliette frowned, confused by Emmaline's sudden accusation. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"He doesn't want me in the room. He refuses to look at me and when he does..." Emma pressed her bony fist against her mouth as if that would help her swallow back her rising hysteria. "You've somehow turned him against me. I won't allow it, do you hear me? He's all I've got in this world."

Lifting her chin, Juliette met the woman's gaze directly. "Place the blame for this tragedy where it belongs. At Tylor Hollinsworth's feet."

Her stoic facade crumbling, Emmaline's shoulders slumped and she covered her face with her hands. As she appeared to totter, Juliette grabbed her, held her fiercely as the woman struggled weakly, then collapsed against her, as if every bone in her small body turned to water. Juliette gently stroked Emmaline's coarse, lank hair, feeling her own outrage dissipate. A flicker of emotion tickled her- pity, no doubt.

No, she realized in an instant. Not simply pity. Compassion?

The woman shaking in her arms was Chantz's mother whether they liked each other or not.

Closing her eyes, she turned her lips to Emmaline's forehead and kissed it. "Hush. Hush now, and listen to me. Despite what you believe, Emmaline, I care for Chantz. I truly care for him."

Emmaline backed away, faded eyes flashing with fresh anger, her lower lip trembling as she stared at Juliette. "I knew there would be trouble. I felt it here." She thumped her heart with her fist. "I saw it in his eyes- I heard it in his voice. You were there, in his head the whole time. His thoughts were all tied up with you- not on that damn gator. If you cared for my boy- truly cared, you would leave him alone. He was happy until you came here. We all were. You've done nothing but brew discontent since you arrived and we all want you gone- before you end up killing Chantz like your mother destroyed Jack."

Juliette rocked back, fought the urge to slap the hysterical woman.

"That's enough, Emmaline." Andrew took Emmaline by her shoulders and moved her aside. Emmaline, too weary to fight him, shuffled clumsily down the stairs at his side.

Juliette focused on the open door and forced herself to move, paused at the threshold while her gaze

shifted from Rosie's tired, shadowed, and distraught features to Liza, who sat in a chair near the window, head hanging wearily between her shoulders as she napped.

Rosie cleared her throat.

Liza looked up, blinked sleepily.

Juliette looked from one to the other, her heart beating painfully in her throat.

Her legs shook as she crossed the floor and stopped by the bed, the sheets deep red with blood. She

reached for Chantz's hand that felt so very big and hard and heavy in her own- so heavy she was

forced to hold it with both of hers.

Bending her head, she pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, closed her eyes, and recalled how it had stroked her the day before- so gently despite its power.

Absolute stillness hung in the room, and absolute silence- thick as always on the cusp of dawn, before the first dim gray rays broke through the dark to awaken the birds.

"Julie."

Her eyes opened and she raised them to Chantz's. Her heart beat fast as she acknowledged the hollows of his face and eyes- so different from the feverish passion for life that had always burned there.

"Chere," he whispered, his dry lips curving.

She stroked his brow, willing herself to remain stoic. She smiled into his eyes and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

His mouth curved. "Still love me?" he asked, drifting, drifting, his eyes closing, brow furrowing with pain.

Juliette forced herself to look at Liza. "Is it true?" she whispered. "Is this my fault?"

As Liza averted her eyes, Juliette turned to Rosie. "Answer me, Rosie."

Rosie exhaled a deep breath and shook her head. "Can't say what was in the man's head, Miss Julie."

"Dear God." A sob worked up her throat as she looked again into Chantz's pain-etched features.

Suddenly her body felt cold as ice. She wanted to run away, as fast as her legs would carry her. Run away and not look back. She touched his cheek, briefly, then turned and fled the house, down the steps and through the scattering of dark bodies huddled together on the ground, waiting for assurance that Chantz would survive.

She ran until she could run no farther, until the river yawned before her and her feet sank in the deep cool mud. Sinking to the ground, her legs crossed beneath her, she stared out through dawn's gray mist. She lifted her face toward the sky, in which the stars were no longer visible and a white sun was just rising, its edges shimmering and casting streaks of light through the fog.

Slowly, the river materialized, a splash of fiery yellow set ablaze by the rising sun, and on it she glimpsed a pair of night herons rise from their perch, the measured beat of their wings a muffled pop in the quiet. The night jasmine began to furl their golden petals from the light and the trees moved with birds that fluttered and warbled and took to the awakening sky in dark masses.

Bowing her head, she began to cry.

Maxwell closed the bedroom door behind him, his gaze fixed on Tylor's nude form on the bed, body slick with sweat and shaking so fiercely the bed bumped against the wall. The air smelled of bourbon and was so thick with the stink of fear Maxwell was forced to breathe through his mouth.

Tylor sat up abruptly and stared through the mosquito netting. He didn't bother to reach for a sheet.

"Daddy," he croaked before Maxwell cut him off.

"Shut up, Tylor. I didn't come here to listen to your excuses for doing what you did."

"But it was an accident, I swear it."

Maxwell crossed the room and turned up the flame in the globe lamp, then he reached for the netting and tucked it behind the hook on the bed post.

"The boat was rocking, Daddy. Back and forth, and Chantz lost his balance. I don't care what they said I did, I swear I tried to save him. I reached out my hand for him-"

"I don't want to hear it. I want you to shut up your drunken, cowardly mouth and listen to what I have to say."

Maxwell withdrew a cigar from his pocket and, putting it in his mouth, bent to light it from the lamp flame. His eyes drifted closed as he inhaled, drawing the smoke deeply into his chest as he straightened and rolled the fat cigar between his lips. Finally, he exhaled the smoke and turned his gaze on Tylor.