“I don’t know what you want.” Yes, I said it aloud, but he didn’t hear me.
My thoughts returned to my conversation with Miss Guidry.
Emma
Ispent the rest of my evening with thoughts of Jezebel and Isaiah. Two people I’d never met. I would guess that technically, I’d met Jezebel, but my memory of her didn’t exist. I began wondering more about them.
What did they look like?
Did I look like either of them?
Another thought came to me in my musings; I began to think about Kyle. The information I’d received upon my parents’ death was thatIhad been adopted. It had come in a file with the name Jezebel North.
What about Kyle?
According to Rett, he wasn’t the biological son of Marcella and Oliver O’Brien. He too was adopted, but from who?
We were only separated in age by eight months. Our mother had said she’d been blessed with two children. I’d assumed that I was born early or there was another medical explanation. Upon learning I’d been adopted, the age difference made more sense.
If only I had internet attached to the laptop Ian had retrieved from upstairs, I could search. I would look for pictures or stories. Rett was right about New Orleans and its perpetuation of lore. What I didn’t know was how much of what I’d been told was truth and how much was fabricated or embellished.
Miss Guidry’s story came back to me, clouding my mind, and making me unable to read the mystery I still hadn’t finished. I went back to the manuscript I’d begun and read, wondering how much the sweet old woman was wearing off on me and how much was my imagination.
There was no doubt that Miss Guidry once had a close relationship with Marilyn Ramses. After all, it seemed as though she’d dedicated her life to be with Mrs. Ramses. As I was combing my hair before bed, my thoughts moved onto Jezebel, wondering what her name had been before she changed it, and wondering what it was like, as recently as twenty-six or more years ago, for a single woman, one who came from a sordid family history.
Since their death, I’d refused to devote the emotion I should to the people who raised me. Learning of their deceit, or maybe lack of transparency, had clouded the memories of my first twenty-two years.
All alone and staring down at the crest, I realized how unfair I’d been to their memory. In reality, I’d been blessed with the O’Briens. They raised me to believe that I could do anything and everything that I set my mind to accomplish. They never pit me against Kyle or the other way around. I didn’t grow up in competition with my brother or with the need to prove myself, as the female. Both Oliver and Marcella showed us that all anyone needed was hard work and devotion.
Maybe that was why I was willing to go into business with Ross. I’d refused to accept that my degree in literature would go unused.
It’s odd how the mind worked.
One thought led to the next with no coherent path or safety net.
The breeze through the windows grew unseasonably cool. Instead of closing the panes, I wrapped the chenille robe over the satin shorts and camisole pajamas and sat across from the fireplace. Ian had shown me how to open a flue and push a button. It wasn’t complicated and in seconds, I had a warm fire.
Watching the flames, my thoughts went to the woman who gave birth to me. From what Miss Guidry said, Jezebel wanted to be more than her mother was and to accomplish great things. Yet she didn’t have the support of people like the O’Briens.
Even thirty years ago, she was held back by her gender and status. New Orleans was a different world, but I questioned if that were true. Misogyny hadn’t disappeared. The decades had changed and yet the Equal Rights Amendment to give all Americans equal rights regardless of gender that had been proposed in 1972 still wasn’t the law of the land. The Constitution provided that amendments take effect when ratified by three-quarters of the states. That meant thirty-eight states. Nearly fifty years since it was proposed, the thirty-eighth state, Virginia, ratified the amendment.
That didn’t mean it was law.
Half a century later, there were still hurdles that needed to be cleared to simply establish a legal standard of equality.
Were we still living in the world of my birth mother and her mother?
Did we simply hide it better, learning loopholes?
Had I gone into business with Ross, a known womanizer, because he was a man and that would somehow aid in our success?
Was I like my mother who had gone to Isaiah Boudreau for help?
Times had changed. Women had made headway. It was what I told myself as I lowered the flame and climbed in between the soft sheets. I never agreed with the way Ross handled women in romantic relationships, but he was my friend. I was complacent.
Did that mean I’d condoned his behavior?
What happened to Jezebel?