Elbow John stepped into the pirogue with one leg and shoved off with the other. Josie, who dreaded the loops of black snake that sometimes dropped into the boat, breathed easier when Elbow John poled out from under the cypresses into the full sun.

    "You put dat bonnet back on yo head, Mam'zelle," Elbow John said.

    Josie, five years old, shook out the bonnet strings. "Cleo doesn't have to wear a hat."

    "Cleo don' get no freckles." He handed Josie a gourd. "See can you get dis boat bailed."

    Josie set to bailing, but Cleo, four, reached for the gourd. "Lemme do it."

    Josie held on and Cleo tugged at it.

    "Ya'll don' start, now. Mam'zelle, you set down. I needs yo eyes to find de fust trap."

    Josie let go of the gourd and Cleo tumbled backwards.

    "You all right?" Josie stayed low in the boat as she'd been taught and helped Cleo sit up. Then she squeezed out the back of Cleo's skirt and handed her the gourd. "You can bail."

Cleo set to work with the gourd and Josie scanned the water, searching for a cane pole sticking out of the surface. "I see it! Over there."

    Josie and Cleo together hauled on the rope, but they couldn't break the suck of the mud holding the trap. Elbow John took the line and with his good arm raised a tangled mess into the boat. Water and mud streamed out of the busted trap.

    "What happened to it?" Josie said.

    "Ol' blind gator likely chomped it. He got more teeth than sense, don't he?" Elbow John tossed the trap back overboard and picked up his pole. "You gals keep a sharp eye out. Next trap coming up 'round dis bend."

    With better luck, the three fished the traps till they'd emptied every one into a burlap sack. "Dis one fine day," Elbow John said. "God in his heaven, and crawfish in de bag."

    Cleo pointed to the mud on Josie's white dress. "Look at dat."

    Josie smeared it, trying to rub it away with her grimy hands. Maman would be so angry with her.

    "Don't worry none, Mam'zelle," Elbow John said. "Bibi wash it for you, and Madame Celine won't know nothin' bout it."

    The girls lay back on an old smelly pillow and watched blue dragon flies hover above the water. A snowy egret took flight, showing them the way down the bayou. Elbow John poled them back to the landing, hauled the pirogue up on the bank, and tossed the bag of crawfish over his shoulder. "Les us get out o dis sun."

    Hand in hand, Josie and Cleo led the way to the big house, Josie in her soiled white dress, Cleo in her too-small hand me down. Muck clung to Josie's leather shoes, mud oozed between Cleo's bare brown toes.

    As they approached the grounds of the big house, voices came to them through the trees. The murmur grew into a clamor, and Josie turned to Elbow John with a question on her face.

John listened. "Lawd, I hope dat ain't what I tink it is." He dropped the bag of crawfish and sprinted toward the courtyard behind the big house, Josie and Cleo struggling to catch up.

The girls drew up at sight of the confusion in the courtyard behind the house. Three dusty men, strangers, were forcing men and women from the dark little houses in the quarters into an over-sized wagon. The people resisted, crying and arguing and pulling back.

Elbow John drove the girls around a corner of the big house. "Neither one of ya'll needs to see dis."

Josie and Cleo held on to each other. "What's happening?" Cleo said.

    "Nothin make no difference to ya'll. Madame Emmeline done sell off some hands, dat's all."

    Josie believed Elbow John's body, not his words. His voice shook, and his hands trembled.     Cleo gripped Josie tighter. She was scared too.

    A single wail cut through the din, and a woman screamed, "Let go o' me!" The girls stared at each other.

    "Bibi?" Josie whispered. She and Cleo broke free of Elbow John and ran to the courtyard. They pushed through the crowd to the big wagon.

    "Bibi!" Josie shouted, but Bibi didn't hear.

    Bibi clambered to get out of the wagon. The red-headed slaver grabbed at her to shove her back. She twisted away from him and threw her leg over the side. He grabbed her again and she scratched at his eyes. Finally, the man threw his fist into Bibi's jaw, and she collapsed.

    "Maman!" Cleo cried. She tried to climb the wagon wheel to get to her mother.

    "This the one?" a red-headed man said, and pointed to Cleo.

    "Gotta be. She's going right to her."

    While Bibi lay stunned in the bottom of the wagon, the man manacled Bibi's ankles to a bolt on the floor. Then he helped Cleo climb aboard and sat her down on top of her mother. Bibi quit struggling against the chains and hugged Cleo to her.

    Josie started to climb the wheel, too, to get Bibi out of the wagon and take her back into the house where she belonged. But Mr. Gale, the overseer, caught her and pulled her down.

    "Mam'zelle Josephine, you best go up to your mother."

    She stretched her arms toward the wagon. "Bibi! Cleo!"

    Mr. Gale carried Josie, kicking and struggling, over to the back gallery steps before he set her down. "Go on up to your mother, there's a good girl," he said.

    "Maman!" Josie ran up the tall staircase to the back gallery overlooking the courtyard. Her mother stood erect, motionless, her gaze fixed on the scene below. "Maman, they put Bibi in that wagon." Josie grabbed her mother's skirts and tugged. "Maman, Cleo's in the wagon!"

    Maman, her back stiff and straight, neither comforted nor explained. Her lips were curved, but her eyes were hard, unreadable. Josie shrank from her.

    A slaver's whip cracked, and Josie gripped the railing, her panic rising. She sobbed and pushed her hands through the bars as if she could reach them - Bibi, who woke her with a kiss every morning, who sang her to sleep at night, who dried all her tears, and Cleo, who shared all her whittled toys from Grammy Tulia's cabin.

    Grand-mère Emmeline, square shouldered and clad all in black, appeared on the gallery. The voices below swelled in supplication.

    A muscled young man called to her, "You don' sell me, Madame Emmeline. I won't run off no more. I promise."

    Another hollered, "You know I cut twice de cane dese others. "

    And from grizzled old Henri, "Where M'sieu Emile? He not do dis!"

    Josie flung herself against her grandmother's skirts. "Grand-mère!"

    Grand-mère patted Josie's back, then crossed her arms. Josie sobbed, her fingers pulling at her hair. She saw Cleo clinging to Bibi's neck, both in the big wagon.

    Without warning, Papa's black stallion charged into the courtyard, scattering the slavers.

    "M'sieu!" the slaves cried out. "M'sieu!"

    Papa pulled hard on the reins and the big horse reared.

    "M'sieu, don' let dem sell us off!"

    "M'sieu, you got to hep us!"

    Josie leaned over the gallery rail to see him. "Papa," she breathed.

    Papa slid from the saddle and ran up the stairs. He leaned close into his mother's face. "This is obscene. You have no need to sell these people."

    Grand-mère shrugged. "You have gambled a great deal these last months, Emile. And lost."

    Papa turned away from his mother in disgust.

    "Emile!" came a desperate voice from the courtyard. Papa's eyes found Bibi and Cleo in the wagon below. He paled and wheeled on Grand-mère. Grand-mère cocked her head toward Maman.

    Papa locked eyes with Maman in silent duel, and Josie quailed at the fire passing between them. Papa's face dark now, he tore back down the stairs to the wagon and reached up to pull Bibi out, but the chains held her fast. He turned on Mr. Gale. "Unlock these manacles," he demanded.

    The overseer glanced up at Grand-mère, then held his palms up. "The sale's been made, M'sieu Emile."

    "Let's move out," a slaver called, and the wagons began to roll.

    "Stop," Papa called, and lunged toward the lead mule. The slaver spurred his horse between Papa and the mules, knocking Papa off his feet.

    The wagon driver snapped his whip, and the mules picked up speed. Papa scrambled to his feet, too late. He grabbed at his hair with both hands as the wagon rumbled down the lane.

    From the gallery Josie gripped the railing and watched the wagon roll away. Bibi held Cleo tight, her eyes fastened on Papa as if her whole being reached for him. Couldn't Papa stop them?

    Papa ran up the stairs, pushed past Maman, and banged open the door into the house. Maman followed him with quick steps, and Josie ran after her.

    In Maman's room, Papa was rummaging through drawers and tossing them to the floor.

    "Your jewelry box. Where is it?" he said to Maman.

    "Emile, you can't mean to --."

    "I haven't the cash in the house. I need the pearls."

    "Emile, I will not have you take my pearls for that girl. I will not have it."

    Papa grabbed Maman's wrist. Josie struggled for breath from behind her mother's skirt.

    "Let go," Maman said. "I won't give you my pearls."

    Papa shoved her onto the bed with Josie still clinging to her dress. Ignoring Maman's sobs, he ransacked the wardrobe until he found the pretty painted jewelry box. When it wouldn't open, he smashed it against the hard floor, and Maman's bright rings and necklaces spilled across the boards.

    Papa snatched up the dark blue velvet bag that held Maman's precious pearls, the ones he'd bought her in Paris on their wedding trip. "Emile," Maman pleaded.

    Papa's boots thundered across the floorboards as he left the house. Josie heard his spurs jangle down the gallery stairs, and then his stallion's hooves clattering across the courtyard.

    Maman pulled herself off the bed and stood perfectly still, her eyes on the door Papa had gone through. Josie gathered the jewels from the floor to offer them to her mother, but Maman began to sway, her face seeming to dissolve like the wax doll Josie had left too near the fire. Josie shuddered, and Maman cried a single high note that ended only as she buckled to the floor. She knelt there, her face in her hands.

    Grand-mère Emmeline glided into the room and regarded her daughter-in-law. "Well, Celine," she said, "your plan has failed."

    Josie pulled a pillow to her as a shield against her grandmother's deep dark eyes, but Grand-mère's attention fixed on Maman. "Our Emile has more gumption than we anticipated," she said. "That, at least, is a pleasant surprise." At the end of that long day of whispers and stillness, Josie leaned out her window and strained to hear Papa's big horse over the singing of the cicadas. When he came, it was deep twilight.

    The stallion carried him directly under Josie's window. Cleo sat in front of him and Bibi rode behind, her arms around his waist. He'd brought them home.

    Josie ran to the back gallery to follow Papa to the stables. She wanted to hold on to Bibi, to laugh with Cleo that Papa had let her ride the big horse.

    "Josephine." Grand-mère sat in the oak rocker, watching the dark slide through the trees and over the barn. "You may not leave the house."

    "But Bibi is home." Josie could hear the whine under her words. Grand-mère hated that.

    "You'll see her tomorrow. Go to bed."

    Josie had never gone to sleep without Bibi tucking her in, kissing her, and telling her sweet dreams. She stood a moment in the empty bedroom, then turned around and padded on bare feet to Papa's big black chair in the study, the one he sat in while he smoked and looked dreamily out the window. She was almost asleep when Papa found her there. He lit a candle, then kissed her as he lifted her from his chair and placed her snugly on his lap.

    "Bibi and Cleo are home again," Papa said.

    Josie nodded, looking deeply into Papa's soft grey eyes. This was the Papa she knew, not the wild-eyed man who took Maman's pearls.

    "They're with Grammy Tulia in the quarters, but after this, Bibi will sleep in your room again, as always." He stroked Josie's light brown curls. "And now Cleo, too. You won't mind having Cleo sleep in your room, will you?"

    "No, Papa. I won't mind."

    "Good. You're big girls now. You should be friends." He shifted her so he could look at her directly. "Now, Josephine, listen carefully."

    "I'm listening, Papa."

    "Josephine, I'm giving Cleo to you. I'll have the papers drawn up that make her your very own. Do you understand?"

    Josie nodded. Papa had brought her a porcelain doll from New Orleans for her birthday, but this was even better. Cleo was a real girl who could walk and talk and play with her.

    "And Josie," Papa said, "you must always look after Cleo. You'll do that, won't you?"

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