“It’s right that you should have it.”
“Emma said it belonged to her grandmother...Boudreau?” Rett asked.
Jezebel nodded with a grin. “The fire that took their home was tragic.” She shrugged. “Not as tragic as it could have been. You see, I was there. Perhaps it was wrong of me, but I believed that after he was gone, my children were entitled to...things.”
I turned to my husband trying to read his expression.
His spoke his question slowly. “You were there?”
She nodded. “In Baton Rouge too.”
“What are you two talking about?” I asked.
Rett’s stare was on my mother. His lips were still. It was as if for the first time since I’d met him, Everett Ramses was speechless.
Jezebel smiled. “Mr. Ramses, it seems the spirits have been crossing our paths for years as we unwittingly strove for many of the same goals. I didn’t fully understand until recently. You see, I thought I knew what was meant to be, but I didn’t. I never dreamt their plan would bring us to where we are today.”
My husband sighed as he reached for my hand. “I can honestly say the same thing.”
“Now,” Jezebel said as she stood, “shall we eat?”
Epilogue - Chapter One
A year later
Emma
Warm rays of sun shone down from the open skylight. Alternating between pacing and practically bouncing on my toes, I waited for Miss Guidry to finish reading.
Content with my suite on the second floor, I’d decided to make the third-floor suite my writing room, my office. While I loved my suite on the second floor, and more importantly, the connection it shared with Rett’s, there was something about this third floor, the library, and the sunshine. I felt at peace in this suite.
Finally, Miss Guidry wiped her tears as she turned away from the manuscript and smiled at me. “It’s wonderful, Miss Emma.”
“I know it’s not one hundred percent accurate.” I shrugged. “That’s why they call it fiction.”
She shook her head. “It’s more accurate than I expected. Tell me how you knew.”
“Knew what?”
I’d finished the story I began when I first arrived.
While I’d written short stories and novellas in college, this was my first full-length novel. The sense of accomplishment was greater than I expected. The story was women’s fiction, the story of two friends. One was promised in marriage, the other was a modern-day lady in waiting. Through the years they shared their love for one another as only best friends can do. They celebrated and cried, rejoiced and mourned. They lived life devoted to one another, as well as the family the first woman bore, and the family the second woman adored. Even death couldn’t stop their connection.
Miss Guidry stood, remaining unusually quiet, and looked out the window no longer obscured by shutters. The street below was lined with wrought-iron fences and beautiful hedges filled with flowers. The lawns were maintained to perfection as if ready to be featured on the Garden District tour.
“Is there something that I should change?” I asked.
“No.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I think that it’s hard to explain choosing a life like mine. I’m sure there are people who believe it was wasted, not marrying or having my own family.” She turned as silent tears streamed from her hazel eyes. “In your story, you don’t call Miss Marilyn or me by name, but your story is about us, and you make it seem significant. It’s beautiful.”
I reached for Miss Guidry’s hands. “You have a family, us. And I believe friendship is both significant and beautiful.”
“It’s as if you saw or heard us, two scared young women on a journey that would change both of our lives. I’ve only spoken to Miss Marilyn about some things that my character sees and feels.” Her eyes opened wider. “Did she tell you?”
I shrugged. “I’m trying to listen. Maybe I am. Sometimes when I was up here” —I turned a full circle taking in the beauty of the bookcases and the delight of the skylight— “I would just write. I can’t explain it. No one was speaking, yet my fingers knew what to type.”
Her smile grew. “Miss Marilyn loves you very much. She also wishes she could hug you.”
“Also?” I took a step back. It was what I’d thought when I imagined her and Miss Delphine in the sitting room. I couldn’t remember saying the words aloud.