A Wild Red Rose (26 page)

“Don’t put yourself down, Noreen. You have more important qualities. So, how do you like living out at Frenchman’s Bend now that the decorator has finally sold it to you?”

“For a pretty penny though we talked him down a million. I know you think I’m nuts, but I feel as if I belong there, that I’ve lived there before.”

Renee refrained from commenting on that last remark. Noreen had stood by her when she thought she’d lost both Clint and her babies. She would never make fun of her again. Who knew? Maybe Noreen was right about all that reincarnation junk.

“No one deserves that house more than you and Rusty. You were the one who wrote the book on the Niles family that brought in enough money to buy that marshy, old thicket where the Rebs sneaked up on the Yankee army at the Battle of Frenchman’s Bend.”

“Well, we had to do something. They were going to drain the area and put up more houses. It’s sacred ground.”

“Right. My dad had a fit when the land deal fell through after your appeal to the owner. And then, you go and discover oil down there and buy the plantation house, too.”

Once upon a time, Renee would have envied her friend for more than her natural hair color, but she had Clint, a very fancy roof over her head called the Hacienda Hidalgo, and all the beans she could eat. Her life was good.

“I’m starting another book, one on Wild Billy Niles and Owney Maddox and what happened to them based on my senior thesis. Could I stay with you when I come to Texas to do research?”

“As my mother-in-law used to say—
mi casa es su casa
. I’d like some female company now that Serena is away at school. It’s just me and Clint and Ty and grumpy old Gunter now. I miss Lena so much. Why did she have to be the one to pass away? And it seems odd being here at the Academy again without seeing Sr. Helen and Sr. Nessy bumping around on their canes and trying to fix everyone’s lives.” Renee glanced over toward the nun’s graveyard full of simple markers for the Sisters who had served and died here, overwhelmed now by the large shrine built above the grave of St. Leontine.

“I’ll bet Mother Leontine hates all that folderol. Must be a pain being a saint and having people begging for stuff all the time,” Noreen remarked.

“Only you would think that or use a word like folderol, Noreen. Love that about you. To think I didn’t recognize her in my dream when Clint was injured. I spent enough time in the Mother Superior’s office being chewed out for my make-up, my rolled up skirts, and my attitude problems with her portrait glaring down at me.”

Renee gestured in passing toward the historic brick convent with the wavy old glass in the windows and small ferns growing in the cracks of the plaster, two women over forty and still loved by their husbands.

“You did write up that testimony about your vision, and it did help Mother Leontine become a saint. I’m sure she has forgiven you.”

“Mama Lena pushed me to do it. I’ll never be as good as I should be.”

“Oh, you’ve come a long way. Better pick up the pace or all the cinnamon buns will be gone.”

****

Over on the top of Mother Leontine’s shrine, the spirits of Sr. Helen and Sr. Inez watched their former students walk away. They no longer needed their canes, but had chosen not to appear any younger than they were at their deaths only days apart several years ago. Old people were a less threatening form if they had to materialize.

“I hope Mother Leontine doesn’t mind our staying here to help,” said Sr. Helen. “We do have another generation of Niles girls to look after.”

Sr. Nessy stretched out across the top of the shrine while Sr. Helen dangled her skinny legs over the edge of a parapet. “Which one do you want?”

“I think I should devote myself to the timid child, Sarah, since I am more in tune with the artistic.” Sr. Helen bobbed her head.

“Fine, I’ll take on Serena Beck. She’s going to be a handful. As for Mother Leontine minding—I think this is all part of her plan.”

A word about the author...

Once a librarian, now a writer of romance, Lynn Shurr grew up in Pennsylvania Dutch country. She attended a state college and earned a degree in English Literature. Her first job really was working in a burger joint. Moving from one humble job to another, she traveled to Europe and across the United States, finally buckling down to get an M.A. in Librarianship.

She found her first reference job in the Heart of Cajun Country. For her, the old saying “Once you’ve tasted bayou water, you will always stay here” came true. She raised three children not far from the Bayou Teche and lives there still with her astronomer husband.

When not writing, Lynn likes to paint, cheer for the New Orleans Saints and LSU tigers, and take long road trips nearly anywhere. Her love of the bayou country, its history and customs, often shows in the background for her books.

She is the author of the Sinners sports romances, a new series, The Roses, and a single title romance,
A Trashy Affair
.

Contact Lynn at:

www.lynnshurr.com,
[email protected]

or

lynnshurr.blogspot.com

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