daughter away."
"But it's not as if she is your daughter in
actuality, Pierre. You haven't known her a day since
her birth and neither have I. She's been brought up in
&n
bsp; an entirely different world," Daphne pleaded. But my
father didn't appear to hear her. With his gaze still
fixed on me, he spoke.
"I knew your grandmother better than I knew
your grandfather. She was a very special woman with
special powers," he said.
"Really, Pierre," Daphne interrupted. "No, Daphne, she was. She was what Cajuns
call. . . a Traiteur, right?" he asked me. I nodded. "If
she thought it was best for you to come here, she must
have had some special reasons, some insights,
spiritual guidance," Pierre said.
"You can't be serious, Pierre," Daphne said.
"You don't put any validity in those pagan beliefs.
Next thing, you'll be telling me you believe in Nina's
voodoo."
"I never reject it out of hand, Daphne. There are
mysteries that logic, reason, and science can't
explain," he told her. She closed her eyes and sighed
deeply.
"How do you propose to handle this. . . this
situation, Pierre? How do we explain her to our
friends, to society?" she asked. I was still standing,
afraid to take a step away, yet afraid to sit down again,
too. I clung so hard to my little b. t of possessions, my
knuckles turned white while my father thought. "Nina wasn't with us when Gisselle was