Gift of Wonder (12 page)

It was too late to worry about all of that. She'd just get this over with and go home to visit with her sister and, maybe, see Jonah later.

She squinted toward the peeling house number, making sure she had the right address. Yes, this was definitely the place. Someone named Sheridan was supposed to be living here. But all she had to go on was S. Sheridan. Well, she'd sniffed out sources on less information. And since she'd driven the thirty miles to get here, she wasn't turning around now.

She was glad she hadn't told Jonah what she was doing this morning. She'd called him, promising to meet him later to go over the last few questions for the article. She wanted to interview him one more time, to put the finishing touches on her story.

Telling herself she'd only disappoint him if she was wrong about this person, Alice tentatively knocked on the rusted screen door. Listening, she heard a television blaring out the morning news and a dog barking somewhere inside the white wood-framed house. At least someone was in there.

And then the door creaked open and Alice was so shocked, she had to take a step back. She knew this man. He'd been the sheriff of the neighboring parish for years and he'd retired a while back. But his name wasn't Sheridan. It was Guidry. Samuel Guidry.

“Can I help you, young lady?” the old man asked, his eyes shining with agitation.

“I hope so,” Alice replied. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Questions? What kind of questions?”

“About Esther Mayeaux,” Alice replied.

The man shut the door in her face.

A
lice stood flabbergasted, then knocked again, determination overcoming her shock. “Mr. Guidry, please, I need to talk to you. It's important.”

The dog's bark was louder this time. Maybe because the dog was now right behind the door. She stood back to listen again. The door didn't open. So she tried knocking one more time. “Mr. Guidry?”

“What do you want?” she heard over the dog's snarling barks.

“I need to find out if you know a woman by the name of Esther Mayeaux. It's really important.”

“I don't want to talk about that.”

“I really need to find out some information.”

“Who are you?”

Alice hesitated, then decided to be truthful. “I'm Alice Bryson. I live down in Bayou Rosette. I work for a monthly magazine. I'm doing background research on a possible story. But I need to talk to you first.”

She heard some rustling and then, thankfully, the
dog's barks receded toward the back of the house. A door slammed and then she heard footsteps stomping toward the front door. The door creaked open, giving her a chance to see through the old screen.

“Hello,” she said, letting out the breath she'd been holding. “I won't keep you long.”

“I'm not talking to you. I've had my fill of reporters and people snooping around here.”

What did that mean? “Recently?” she asked. “You've talked to someone else?”

“Not in a long time, no.” The man stared her down as if she were one of the criminals he'd arrested in his time serving as sheriff. “I don't know anything much about that Mayeaux girl, haven't seen her in years. She was a liar, that's what she was. It's over and I'm not starting it back up. That girl was trouble.”

Was?
Alice didn't like the sound of that. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“You tell me,” he retorted, his hand on the door. “Sonny didn't do what they said he did, and if you're here because that kind of trash talk has been stirred up after all these years, well, you can just turn around and leave. And you'd better not print a word, you hear me?”

Sonny? S. Sheridan? She had to keep him talking. “Do you know Sonny?”

Finally, he let out a winded, cackling cough, then opened the door and came out onto the porch. Motioning Alice toward an old bench, he glanced around and, satisfied that they were alone, sank down in a nearby rocking chair. His frown only deepened the craggy crevices of his aged face. “Sit down, girl, and tell me
why you're really here. I don't believe this is for a story—there ain't no story. At least there better not be. And you'd better not try any tricks. I still have some pull in this parish.”

“Do you live here?” she asked, taking his warning to heart. “The name I had for this address is S. Sheridan.”

“The house belonged to my wife,” the sheriff explained. “Never had the title changed when we got married. Never needed to worry about that. But then, that's not why you're here, is it?”

Alice swallowed back the dread that had drained all the air from her lungs. She'd come this far. Now she needed to find out the whole story. And from the look on Old Man Guidry's face, she didn't think she was going to like it.

 

Jonah looked over the stack of permits and contracts one more time, thinking he really needed to bring down someone from the home office to be his assistant. Especially now that things were going strong and this looked like a reality, not just a plan. Everything was right on schedule with the park and the model home. All the bids from local contractors were in, and he was just about set to start building the entire complex. Both the local government and the parish government had approved the development tracts, so he'd be able to get the entire infrastructure in place, hopefully by the first of next year. And he had signed real estate contracts and title transfers for the bulk of the land he'd managed to buy. Meanwhile, he had his people back in Shreveport
working on the rest. He couldn't believe this would soon be a real community.

He looked out the window of his room at the inn and realized it was late afternoon. Why hadn't Alice called him? He had to wonder if she was avoiding him again since they'd kissed.

How was he supposed to stay focused on this project when Alice was so front-and-center in his every waking thought? Maybe he'd walk over to the magazine office and see what she was up to. She'd told him she wanted to talk to him one more time before she filed her article about what she'd been calling the “Sheridan project.”

“What
am
I going to call this?” he wondered out loud. The official government permits and myriad other papers showed it as JS Development. Was that what he wanted to name it? No, it needed a better name than the one he'd been stuck with, and he didn't just want his initials on the project. It needed a name that would show exactly what kind of community he hoped to create.

Names were important, after all. He should know.

He thought back to the newspaper clipping Alice had given him. Getting up, he found the copy lying by the stack of papers on his makeshift desk in the corner of the cozy little room. Picking it up, he stared down at the blurry image, then walked over to the nightstand and looked at the framed eight-by-ten sketch of Rosette House.

“What kind of life did you have here?” He wished he could just ask Esther that question. Would he ever have a chance? He accepted his mother had apparently
left this place long ago, but why did she leave? What had driven her away? Poverty, loneliness, shame because of her pregnancy? He had to know. Then maybe he could understand why she'd felt it necessary to leave him in an orphanage.

Once he got the model house up and going and hired an on-site real estate agent to help sell the rest of the complex, he intended to take some time to resume the never-ending search for his mother. Or at least to finally find out the truth about her. And he just might let Alice help him with that. She'd already given him a link between Esther and the sketch he'd had with him for all these years. A solid link. But was he ready to let her take over and dig up all the ugliness of the past? He'd have to think about that.

As he stood there, looking out the window that gave a perfect view of this sleepy bayou town, he decided what he'd name the new development.

Bryson Branch.

It was perfect.

And…he'd talk to Alice first, but he wanted to name the park Esther's Place. That seemed like the right thing to do. If the locals approved. What did he care about their approval? He owned that land now. He could name it whatever he wanted. Because it might be his only connection with the mother he'd never known.

He went back to his papers and files, determined to get his mind back on business for now. He really needed to find someone to help with the interior of the house. Someone with a sense of style in keeping with the
Creole influence of Rosette House. And then he remembered something Jay had said about Lorene wanting to be an interior designer. Maybe she could help him decide which color palettes to use.

And he was pretty sure she could help without getting out of her spot on the couch.

 

Alice looked up to see Dotty standing at the door of the conference room. “So, this is where you've been hiding out all day.”

Alice nodded, blinking back the fatigue tugging at her burning eyes. “Sorry. I…needed a quiet spot to go over my notes. I'm supposed to meet with Jonah tonight to finish up the article. I should have it on your desk tomorrow morning.”

Dotty slung a hip up onto the table, then started swinging one leg, her bright, orange high-heeled ankle boots shining in the dreary light. “Girl, you gotta level with me. Something is wrong and I want to know what it is so I can help.”

Alice lowered her head. “I think I've made a mess of things, Dot.”

“As in?”

When she didn't respond right away, Dotty lifted Alice's chin with one elegant finger. “Talk to me.”

Alice put down her pen. “It's not the story, so don't worry about that. The story is accurate and fair. I'm almost finished, I promise.”

Dotty crossed her arms against her stomach. “I'm not worried. You always deliver. Even when I nag you.”

Alice smiled at that. “I do, don't I? I always snoop
and ask questions and get to the bottom of things so I have all the facts, and then I write from the heart.”

“Yeah, that just about sums you up.”

“Yep, that's me. So good at my job. So thorough.”

Dotty let out a groan. “You're killing me here, suga'. Just tell me what's wrong.”

Alice got up to pour her third cup of coffee from the urn sitting on a nearby credenza. She needed to talk to someone and she couldn't burden Lorene with this, not now when her sister was so worried about her baby. Dotty was always willing to listen and she never, ever repeated anything Alice told her in confidence. “I've been doing some research for Jonah on the side—nothing involving the article. It's more…personal.”

Dotty glanced around, then got up to shut the door. “Go ahead, I'm listening.”

Alice looked down at her black coffee. “Jonah never knew his mother. He was left in an orphanage—a children's home—when he was five, and then later when he was a teen, he lived in a foster home. One of the reasons he came here specifically to develop this land is because he traced his biological mother back to Bayou Rosette.”

Dotty's dark eyebrows lifted. “Really, now?”

“Yes,” Alice said. “But none of this is going in the article, understand. And it's not to leave this room.”

“Got it.” Dotty lifted a hand. “Tell me more.”

“He's pretty sure his mother was Esther Mayeaux.”

“Oh, boy. I've heard some things about the Mayeaux.”

“Yeah, oh, boy. He didn't have much to go on. His
father wasn't listed on the birth certificate. But when he was left at the orphanage, he had a little suitcase with a few things in it. One of those things was a pen and ink sketch of Rosette House. Apparently, he's carried that sketch everywhere with him, so when he saw the reprint of my piece in the New Orleans paper a few months ago…well, he got this idea to come here and find out the truth while he helped rebuild the community.”

Dotty shot off the desk. “Get outta here.”

“I know,” Alice replied. “I couldn't believe it, either. I haven't seen the sketch, but I did find an old newspaper clipping where Esther Mayeaux won an art contest in middle school. She won with that sketch, Dotty. The very same sketch Jonah has carried with him all of his life. It's his only link to his mother and when he saw the actual house in the newspaper article, he started out on this quest to find out the truth. So he came up with this idea for developing the land around the bayou and he invested heavily in making this new subdivision become a reality, all because he believes he has roots here.”

“Roots stemming from the notorious Mayeaux clan,” Dotty retorted. “How'd he take that, anyway?”

“He's okay with that, I think. In spite of all the legendary things he's read and heard about her older brothers, he couldn't find out much about Esther.” She stopped, put a hand to her mouth. “But, of course, I couldn't leave things alone.”

“So you did find something, right?” Dotty asked, her gaze holding Alice's. “Child, what on earth did you stumble across to have you in such a tizzy?”

Alice sank down on her seat, the sick feeling inside her stomach causing her insides to recoil and roil. “Things I wish I'd never heard,” she said on a dry whisper. “Things I can never print.”

Dotty touched her hand. “What kind of things?”

Alice looked up at her friend. “Dotty, you have to promise you won't mention this to anyone, okay?”

“Okay, but you're scaring me, honey. What is it?”

Alice took a deep breath. “Esther Mayeaux allegedly had an affair with a married man. He was older and he lived up in Century, Louisiana.”

Dotty nodded. “Okay. It happens.” Then she let out a whistle. “Is this man Jonah's father?”

“I think so,” Alice said, looking down at the table. “His name was Sonny Sheridan…and he was the stepson of Sheriff Samuel Guidry.”

Dotty let go of Alice's hand. “Oh, no. Guidry had far-reaching power back in the day, from what I heard when I first came here.”

“Oh no is right,” Alice agreed. “That man was very powerful before he finally got voted out of office.”

“Yep, sure was. So what's the official story?”

“I talked to the retired sheriff today,” Alice admitted. “Off the record, as I promised him over and over, since he threatened me with all kinds of dire repercussions if I printed anything. It took some sweet-talking and convincing, but he told me his version of things—and threatened me within an inch of my life if I wrote about it. He's dying, so he only agreed to talk to me to finally ease his own conscience, I think. He said Sonny and Esther were having a fling but when Sonny tried to
break it off, Esther accused Sonny of date-rape. She tried to go public and have him arrested, but that didn't work out.”