Gift of Wonder (5 page)

She needed time to digest all the many facets of Jonah Sheridan. And to do some research on the man, too.

She was either selling him short or he had her fooled.

And she wouldn't be fooled again.

J
onah stared down at the documents in front of him. He'd come to the small library to research the local history a little more and to maybe find out some information on his biological mother. All he had to go on was a name—Esther Mayeaux. But that was her maiden name and so far, even though he'd found information on the Mayeaux who'd lived here, he hadn't found any traces of anyone named Esther. When he got a chance he'd have to go to the parish courthouse and search the public records. But he had to handle this very carefully. He didn't want to lose focus on his work or get any more rumors started.

“How's it going?”

He looked up to find the bubbly gray-haired librarian smiling down at him. “Not as well as I'd hoped,” he said, noting from her name tag that her name was Betty Nell Hollis.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Is this research for your new community?”

He smiled, resigning himself to the fact that nothing
was secret around here. “Kinda. I'm just digging into some of the local history.”

Betty glanced at the books and documents scattered around the table. “Lot of old family names in those pages. Lots of solid history. You know, Cajuns are famous for their storytelling abilities.”

“So I've heard.” He decided to ask Betty Nell some questions, but first he qualified his curiosity. “I'm a history buff, so I'm glad someone recorded the history of Bayou Rosette. But I'd sure like to find out more, maybe talk to some folks.”

She nodded. “I know a lot of old-timers who might be willing to talk to you.”

“Do you remember the Mayeaux family?”

She looked surprised and then nodded. “Oh, yeah. Those Mayeaux brothers were always in trouble.”

Brothers? He didn't dare ask her about Esther. He'd do a little more digging on his own. “Do you know anyone who might be able to help me fill in the blanks on some of the families who lived along the bayou, including the Mayeaux?”

“Have you talked to Alice Bryson?”

He laughed. “Oh, yeah. But I need someone who's a little older than she is.”

Betty Nell pursed her lips. “You might try Arnold Gauthier out on the old River Road. He's our local storyteller and poet. He knows everything about everybody on this bayou, but I'll warn you he's old and ornery and he can't always remember as accurately as you might like.”

Jonah tried to act nonchalant. “Thanks. That might be my next step.” Looking at his watch, he got up. “I'm
sorry. You're waiting for me to leave so you can close, aren't you?”

Betty Nell grinned. “Take your time. I'm just going home to sit in front of the television.” Her grin faded and so did the brightness in her eyes. “My husband passed away last year, so it's just me and the cat now.”

“I'm sorry,” Jonah said again, gathering up documents and some old self-published histories he'd found. “I've always been a loner myself, but I imagine it's hard to be alone after being married for a long time.”

“Forty-two years for us,” she said, her eyes soft with memories. “I have children and grandchildren but they all live far away. I get to see them once or twice a year.”

Jonah took that in. “Where do you live?”

She shook a thumb toward the door. “About a mile from here in a trailer on the bayou.”

Jonah couldn't say that was very near where he planned to build. “Did you lose your house in the storm?”

She inclined her chin. “Yes.” He watched as she swallowed then blinked. “I think that's why I lost my John, too. He never quite got over it.” She took some of the documents he'd gathered. “And truth be told, that's why my kids don't come to visit much. No room and too depressing.” Then she looked over at him, her eyes misty. “Mister, if you're here to rebuild, I say more power to you. I might not be able to afford one of your houses, but I'd sure love to see some of these young families in good, solid homes. It's too late for me, I reckon, but they deserve better.”

Jonah's heart beat with renewed commitment. He
touched his hand to Betty Nell's. “I'll explain everything at the town meeting, but just between you and me, Miss Betty Nell, I'm about to make you a promise.”

She looked both hopeful and doubtful. “What's that, son?”

“I promise you'll be in one of my houses by this time next year.”

“You can't make that kind of promise,” she said, tears springing up in her eyes. “No one can.”

Jonah picked up his briefcase. “I just did and when I make a promise, I don't forget it.” He reached out to shake her hand. “Do you believe me?”

Betty Nell took his hand and he felt the tremors in her grip. “I'd like to believe you. But I can't afford to go along on false hope.”

She sounded a lot like Alice. This town needed real hope. Jonah prayed to that end that he might be the one to offer it. And it occurred to him that it had been a long time since he'd sent up an earnest prayer. But this one was earnest
and
urgent. He wanted it to happen.

“I won't let you down,” he said, smiling over at her. “Just wait and see.”

She watched him as he headed for the door, her old eyes bright and misty. “I'll see you around, then.”

“I'll be back to check out some more history books,” he said, waving goodbye.

After the door shut, Betty Nell finished picking up the books off the table, then called out to her last customer. “You can come out now, Alice. He's gone.”

Alice slinked around a stout bookshelf and stared across the tidy room at Betty Nell. “Do you believe him?”

Betty Nell shrugged. “I've gone about as low as a person can go and still have hope, honey. So yes, I think I do believe him. I'm gonna try to believe him because I've prayed for some sort of new beginning. And that's not easy for an old lady. But God doesn't always allow the easy way out. When we walk the hard road, we usually find our way home. And it's all the more sweet because of the journey.”

Alice pushed at her curls, thinking Betty Nell should have been a writer instead of a librarian. She had such a way with being philosophical and smart. Alice had always considered herself to be a professional, but apparently she could only come up with odd and alarming ways to get her stories these days.

She'd been sneaky and secretive with this particular subject, eavesdropping behind a bookshelf. But it had happened by accident. She'd come hopping through the shortcut from her office to the library, taking the back entrance just as she'd done a hundred times before, only to look up the hallway and see Jonah sitting there absorbed in a big history book.

And she'd panicked. Yes, she was supposed to be shadowing the man, but he hadn't called today and she hadn't found the courage to call him since their lunch had ended so abruptly yesterday. So she'd taken care of some other business around the office and set up times to interview other sources for the story. It wasn't her fault that he'd been sitting there in the library and hadn't noticed her in the dark back hallway. She'd done the only thing she could—she'd hidden behind one of the shelves and put a finger to her lips to warn Betty Nell away.

Not so she could eavesdrop, but just so she could find what she needed and leave, quietly and quickly, before she got into another round of banter with the man.

And it surely wasn't her fault that she'd heard him talking to Betty Nell. But it
was
his fault that he'd almost made her cry with his kindness and consideration.

Almost. He'd almost made her cry. Had he made a blind promise to a lonely old woman, or did he mean to make good on that pledge?

Alice looked at Betty Nell, so diligent, so steady and devoted, and hoped with all her heart that Jonah did live up to that bold declaration.

Because if he didn't, Alice would make sure he paid dearly for it. It was one thing to make promises to her, but quite another to toy with the hopes of someone as good and solid as Betty Nell Hollis.

She walked up to the check-out desk. “I hope he comes through for you, Betty Nell. I truly do.”

Betty Nell gave her a soft smile. “Sometimes, prayers are answered, suga'. But not always in the way we expect.”

Alice thought about that and wondered if her own prayers were being answered. She'd often asked God to help her town, to help the people she loved. And to help her, too, to get over her bitterness and her doubts.

Had He sent Jonah to do just that?

She took a breath, giving it over to God for now.

And then she remembered something Jonah had asked Betty Nell. “I wonder why he wanted to know about the Mayeaux family.”

“He's a history buff,” Betty Nell said. “I think he's interested in anyone who lived on the bayou.”

“But why that particular family?” Alice asked, her radar detector going on full alert. “The way I remember it from hearing my parents talk, the Mayeaux gave the Brysons a really hard time throughout the years.”

Betty Nell slanted her head. “They did live here years ago and yes, they were bad neighbors. Very bad. But they all left long ago.” She leaned close. “I've heard things over the years, but…I'm not one to pass gossip.”

Alice thought Betty Nell was the only person in this town who didn't pass gossip. “Yes, I remember my daddy talking about them. But that was so many years ago that very few outsiders would even remember them. So why does Jonah want to know about them?”

“I think he's probably heard a lot about all the local characters,” Betty Nell explained. “He also looked over the picture book of Rosette House, but then he told me he'd read your article regarding that, too. I told him to go talk to Arnold Gauthier, but we both know that old man doesn't like people coming up onto his property. I probably should have warned Jonah about that.”

Alice grinned. “He'll find out soon enough.” Mr. Arnold was about as ornery and obstinate as a gnarled gator, but he did know a lot about the people of this town, both past and present, and he still lived in a little shack out past the curve of the bayou.

She had to wonder if Jonah might pay Mr. Arnold a visit. Which meant Alice would also pay him a visit.

To find out why Jonah was so interested in the notorious Mayeaux family.

 

Jonah stood across from the weathered cabin, his heart tapping a beat like a woodpecker hitting a tree trunk. Would Mr. Gauthier talk to him? He'd heard the man was a recluse. A recluse with a shotgun, from what Jimmy had told him when he'd asked for directions.

But Jonah needed to see the man, so he walked from the dirt lane up to the creaking porch, then knocked on the front door.

He heard shuffling sounds inside. “Who's dat?”

Jonah had to strain to make out the words. “I'm Jonah Sheridan, Mr. Gauthier. I wanted to talk to you about the history around here. I have some questions about the families who lived on the bayou and I was told you were the local authority.”

“Don't talk to strangers, me.”

Jonah held two fingers to his forehead, doing an automatic massage as he tried to find another angle. “I'm in town to help rebuild some of the houses along the bayou. I'd like to talk to you about the history so I can build the houses according to tradition. I want these houses to be special, to—”

He didn't get to finish. The old wooden door fell back on its rusted hinges then settled with a bang against the slats of the wall. For a few seconds there was only silence and dust balls, then Arnold Gauthier emerged from the shadows, his dark eyes wild, his brows bushy and gray, his hair and beard both long and shaggy and rusty-white. He wore overalls and a button-up cotton shirt and…he was holding a shotgun.

Jonah listened to a long string of Cajun-French, not
sure if he wanted to know the translation. Then Arnold Gauthier said, “Either you real crazy or just plain stupid to come here and knock on my door like dis. But…me, I believe in keeping the past and I especially have a soft spot for this old swamp.” Then he grinned, showing aged teeth. “And dat's about the only reason you still alive, monsieur.” Then he let out a hoot of laughter. “Get you on in here, son. We pass the time a bit, yes?”

“Yes,” Jonah said as he let out a breath. “Yes. I'd like that. I'd like that very much.”

 

Alice drove by the dirt lane twice before parking her car and walking up the road. All around her, bugs of various sizes and shapes buzzed and swarmed in the lush foliage and the overgrown bushes, but she swatted at them and kept on going. When she came around the bend in the rutted road, she saw Jonah's sleek navy pickup parked in the yard next to Mr. Gauthier's rusted-out Chevy truck. The shiny new vehicle looked out of place amongst the eclectic iron and wood sculptures and spoon-and-fork wind chimes that dotted the yard and the trees.

So he was in there right now talking to Arnold Gauthier. That gained Jonah points, at least. People rarely got past the ancient live oaks, let alone into the cabin itself. Arnold was friendly enough but the man liked his privacy. A lot. So why had he let Jonah inside? And why had it been so important to Jonah to talk to Arnold?