by Becki Willis
Madison stared at him in horror. If he didn’t have such a set look on his face, she would think he was joking. “I’ve never heard of such. That’s horrible!”
“Another brother went off to war and never came home. That just left Eli and Earl, and little Betty Jean.”
Madison did a quick tally in her head. “You mother had eight children?”
“No, nine. Who’d I forget?” He scrunched his face and thought about it. “Oh, right. The baby girl.”
“Baby girl?”
“That’s all the stone says. Baby girl.”
“Your poor parents,” Madison murmured. “They had more than their share of tragedy.”
“Times were hard back then. We didn’t have fancy doctors and fancy medicines. I never saw a doctor until I enlisted in the Army,” he boasted.
“That’s amazing. Now, about your three living siblings.”
“They ain’t living no more. Eli choked to death before he could sign up to serve. Like me, he never married. Earl left home when he was fifteen and went to work for the railroad. Died a few years back. It’s all in the Bible, too.”
“And your sister?”
“Ran off with a traveling salesman. Never saw or heard from her again, but Mama recorded the marriage in the Bible, just the same.”
“So of nine children, you were the only one to remain here?”
“That’s right. Born and raised on this land. And I plan to die on it, too,” he said stubbornly.
“So any collateral relatives you have would be from Earl or Betty Jean, is that correct?”
“Depends on what a collateral relative is.”
“A direct relative would be your ancestors or descendants, such as children or grandchildren. A collateral relative would be an aunt or uncle, niece or nephew, etc.”
“Yep, then I reckon they would come from Earl or Betty Jean.”
“Do you want to expand the search to include first cousins? Your parents’ siblings and their descendants?”
“Not necessary. Both were an only child.”
Madison bit back her initial response. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she was sorry. Her heart went out to him, knowing he had no family of which to speak. Coming from a huge family herself, Madison couldn’t imagine being alone. Half the community was a Cessna or a Hamilton, much to her son’s consternation. When they moved here last year, he had quickly discovered that all the prettiest girls in school were related to him, in one way or another.
That was one of the things that made planning their wedding so difficult. The guest list was huge, with her family alone. Add the deCordovas and the McCormicks, and the list seemed endless. The thought of a small, intimate ceremony appealed to her more every moment.
Pulling her thoughts back on track, Madison asked several more questions, but found Mr. Barrett wasn’t much help.
“I made a profile on that MyFam.com site and started my family tree. You can look at it online.”
“Is there anything else you can think to tell me? Something that may help me find your relatives?”
“Can’t think of anything.”
After a few more dead-end questions, Madison gathered her notebook and the old family Bible, surprised at how heavy it was. Promising to be in touch as soon as she knew anything, she bade him goodbye and got into her car. As she drove away, she saw Nigel Barrett cross the breezeway to enter the night side of the house.
Apparently, the man was ready to settle in for the evening, and it wasn’t even six o’clock yet.
CHAPTER FOUR
Collette Erickson shut the door and slumped against it. Her purse slipped from her fingertips and hit the floor, scattering its contents at her feet.
She was home now. It didn’t matter that her coin purse rolled beneath the coffee table or that a crumpled Long John Silver’s bag spilled out around her. It didn’t matter that her clothes were wrinkled or that her mascara left muddy streaks down both her cheeks. It didn’t matter that yesterday seemed like a bad dream, or that she had spent her first night as a widow in a cheap motel, waiting for daylight to come so she could claim her husband’s body from the morgue.
She was safe now, tucked away in the doublewide trailer house where she and Bobby Ray had lived for the past seven years. At least here, there were no pitying glances from his fellow reenactors. No empty promises of support. No questions from state troopers. No curious stares from the onlooking crowd, and no empty echo of the hospital’s lower corridors. No forms to fill out.
Best of all, here in her own home, there was no need to pretend.
The shock Collette felt was real. But the grief had been for their benefit. Faced with her husband’s untimely death, it was how the public expected her to act, but it wasn’t how she felt.
She felt free.
After nine years of marriage, Collette felt as if she could finally breathe. Whatever love and happiness she imagined with Bobby Ray had evaporated long ago, stifled by his boorish ways and his unnatural obsession with history. During the first blush of new love, they talked of traveling the world. Bobby Ray promised to take her to Paris for their first anniversary, and like a fool, she thought he meant France. Little did she know he meant Paris, Texas. His idea of a romantic weekend was a paltry picnic beneath the town’s own version of the Eiffel Tower, followed by a tour of historic homes in the area. It proved to be only one of many disappointments in their life together.
As the blush faded, the pallor set in. That was how she often thought of their marriage. Weak and pale. During the first few years, she hadn’t thought of herself as unhappy, so much as indifferent. She had been complacent, content to rock along with the steady drone of a ho-hum life. While she finished college and launched a career in the medical field, Bobby Ray worked in a tire factory and played dress-up soldier with his friends.
In truth, as long as Bobby Ray kept his collection out of sight and didn’t expect her to share his enthusiasm, she could tolerate his obsession. He insisted on buying a four-bedroom trailer so that two of the rooms could be dedicated to his endless assortment of period costumes, ancient weaponry, and so-called ‘historical treasures.’ In turn, Collette claimed the largest bedroom, the one with the walk-in closet and the sunken garden tub, for herself. Sometime between their fourth anniversary and the increasing number of weekends he spent on the road doing reenactments, Bobby Ray moved into the spare bedroom, and the slow descent of their marriage continued.
Collette wasn’t sure when it happened, but over the past few years, the pallor slowly darkened. The colorless shell of their relationship—the one that started with the healthy blush of hope and promise before it completely bleached out—turned murky and dim, morphing into a dark, ruddy red. The color of anger.
She had been angry with him for so long now. Angry with him for spending all his time and money on his hobby, instead of on her. Angry with him for leaving her home alone, while he traveled; perhaps not abroad as they had once dreamed, but away from the mundane sameness that had become their life. Angry with him for having something he loved and truly enjoyed, when she had felt stifled in her chosen career. And now she was angry with him for dying too soon. She was finally free, but that, too, made her angry.
Collette peeled her limp body off the door and stooped to collect the scattered mess at her feet. Her mind was already racing through the things she had to do. Call her boss and take the rest of the week off. Contact the funeral home and confirm cremation. Find an appraiser to look at Bobby Ray’s collection, and hope it was at least half as valuable as he always claimed.
Her cell phone rang, helping her locate the half-hidden device beneath Bobby Ray’s recliner. That was something else to add to the list: buy new living room furniture. This western leather had never been her style.
Seeing Marjorie’s name flash across the screen, Collette answered. For once, her co-worker’s mindless chatter would be a welcome diversion from the madness twirling round in her head. Knowing the other woman’s affinity for ga
b, Collette would be lucky to get a word in edgewise, and her friend would never notice.
“Hey, girl, how’s it going? Did you have a good weekend? Ours was awesome!” Without waiting for an answer, her co-worker launched into a one-sided conversation.
“We took the kids to the Texas Independence Day celebration at Washington-on-the-Brazos. Wasn’t Bobby Ray there this weekend? Dressed like they are in those get-ups, it’s hard to tell who’s who. I waved at one guy in the infantry, thinking it was Bobby Ray, but I’m not sure it was. He never waved back. We saw the first couple of musket and cannon demonstrations, but we missed the final one of the day. I hear there was some sort of commotion over there, but I’m sure it was nothing compared to where we were.
“We were in line for cake, and you’ll never believe who we saw there! You remember that show that came on last year, Home Again? The one where the woman inherited that huge old house from her grandmother and had it remodeled by that hunky carpenter? People in town called it the Big House, and that was before they added that third turret! Can you even imagine having a three-story house like that, with all those bedrooms and bathrooms? Just think of how much toilet paper so many bathrooms would require!
“Well, anyway, the kids from the show were there. You know, those adorable blond twins that drew in all the teenage viewers? Bethani, the girl who wanted to go back to Dallas at first, before she made the cheerleading squad and became besties with the policeman’s daughter, and her brother Blake, who’s just about the cutest boy you’ve ever seen, and who’s into all sorts of sports and the drama club and hunting and fishing? You should have seen him yesterday, telling jokes and leading a huge long conga line over to the cake. The other girl was there, too. The policeman’s daughter with the long, auburn hair and the cute glasses. Now Lauralee wants to get the same kind of frames. We’ve got an appointment this Friday to see the ophthalmologist, so I’ll have to leave work early. I told her they won’t look the same on her, not with her round features and her light coloring, but she wants to be like the pretty girl on TV, so what’s a mom to do? I’ll take her to get the same glasses, of course. At least she gave up the notion of contacts.”
While Marjorie rattled on about teenagers and their whims, Collette digested the first part of the conversation. She had been too stunned yesterday to make the connection, but she knew she had recognized the teenagers and their mother. It hadn’t dawned on her, until now, that the sympathetic Madison was the same woman she had watched on her favorite television makeover show last summer.
Collette spoke for the first time since saying hello, interrupting her friend to ask, “Weren’t they from The Sisters?”
Having long since moved on in the conversation, the question confused Marjorie. “The eye doctor’s parents? No, they were from down somewhere near the coast. Oh, wait. You mean the kids from the show. Yes, yes. Juliet and Naomi, better known as The Sisters. That’s not too far from Washington-on-the-Brazos, you know. We were going to drive through there on the way home, but Troy needed to get back in time to mow the grass. Barely March, and already our lawn needs cutting! Speaking of grass, I wonder if Blake cuts their lawn, or if Madison hires it done? Or maybe that good-looking policeman does it for her. Everyone yesterday was talking about their upcoming wedding and wanting to know if the reception was open to the public. Can you imagine if it was? I’d love to go, wouldn’t you?”
Marjorie imagined scenarios where the public might be chosen on a lottery-type system, or by contest participation. As soon as they hung up, she would get online and see if the radio station was sponsoring a contest for special invitation seats to the big event. She’d let Collette know what she found out and tell her tomorrow at work.
“I won’t be there tomorrow,” Collette broke in again. She added an abrupt, “I have to go now.”
“You’re okay, aren’t you? Come to think of it, you do sound a little tired. Good thing this is your day off, and you can get some rest. Okay, talk to you later. I’ll let you know about the contest. Bye.”
Conversations with Marjorie were always like that. They required little effort on the listener’s part, other than an occasional murmur of agreement. Some hint of an audience was all the woman needed for mindless minutes of endless chatter.
But today, her inane babble had served a purpose. At least for a few moments, Collette had forgotten reality.
Angry with him or not, Bobby Ray had died too soon.
CHAPTER FIVE
Texting the twins to let them know where she was, Madison stopped by her grandmother’s house before heading home. Bertha Cessna, known affectionately by the community as Granny Bert, had just returned from one of her water aerobics classes.
Seeing her grandmother in her sagging swimsuit, Madison recalled a similar scene from about a year ago. With the swimming pool where they normally met out of order, the geriatric class convened at Granny Bert’s for a ‘dry run,’ and the twins had the misfortune of witnessing it.
“They came in their exercise clothes, Mom. Their swimming suits!” her son had wailed. “The things we saw. I may be scarred for life.”
“I didn’t know it was possible to have so many wrinkles.” Bethani’s voice had been a blend of horror and awe.
“And believe me, Mrs. Shanks should not be wearing a two-piece swimsuit!”
A year later, and Madison still laughed at her children’s descriptions of the day. In a way, that scene had prompted her to move out of her grandmother’s rambling craftsman-style home and accept the gift of the Big House.
Technically, of course, she had purchased the stately old mansion left to her grandmother by the town’s founder, Juliet Randolph Blakeley. Madison paid the token sum of five thousand dollars for the three-story Victorian, payable in one-hundred-dollar increments, to make the sale legitimate, but they both knew the house was a gift.
There had been times, Madison dared admit, she thought the house to be more of a curse. It was in dire need of updating and repairs, but the renovations would cost a small fortune. She’d barely had a penny to her name. Desperation drove her to accept the deal with HOME-TV, allowing them to film the makeover and turn her private life into a public spectacle. At first glance, Granny Bert’s conning to get the renovations done free seemed another magnanimous gift, but the downside was that Madison had to sacrifice more of her privacy. Life, as Granny Bert always said, comes with stipulations, and some of the stipulations had been steep. The curse continued when a skeleton was discovered in the basement of the old mansion, and when someone tried to scare her away from continuing the remodel. Not to mention times like yesterday, when random people recognized her and thought her life was still for public consumption.
In the end, however, the house proved a blessing. Fully restored and more beautiful than she ever dared imagine, it was a permanent home for her and her children. The twins would go away to college before long, but the house would always be there for them to come home to. No one could take this home away from them, unlike the house in Dallas. The one Gray had mortgaged to the hilt and then reneged on. The one Madison was forced to sell at a loss and leave behind when she came running back home to live with her then eighty-year-old grandmother. This, she knew, was their forever home, and very soon, she would share it with Brash and his daughter Megan.
Shaking the memories of Blake’s exaggerated rendition from her head, Madison helped herself to a glass of sweet tea while her grandmother changed into dry clothes. She was thumbing through a magazine when Granny Bert came out, wearing black slacks and a button-up shirt. Glancing down at the similar outfit she was wearing, Madison reminded herself to go clothes shopping. A vibrant forty-year-old bride-to-be shouldn’t dress like her grandmother.
“What brings you out today? You don’t usually visit on Mondays,” Granny Bert noted bluntly.
Madison couldn’t help but frown. “Am I that predictable?”
“More predictable than a strong dose of Castor oil,” her grandmother nodded. “With that, it’s
not a matter of if, but of when. But not you, Maddy girl. I can set my clock by you.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.” Madison was more than a little miffed.
“Not bad. Dependable.”
“Yeah, well, having people depend on you all the time isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. They expect entirely too much from you, because they know that somehow—even though you don’t have the time, and you don’t have enough information, and you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings—you’ll come through for them in the end. Because, one way or another,” her voice rose in exasperation, “you couldn’t dare let someone down.”
Her grandmother eyed her with shrewd observation. “That came out of nowhere,” Granny Bert said, noting how the agitated younger woman squirmed in her seat. “You want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
Madison avoided looking her in the eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That won’t work with me, missy. I raised you. I know when you’re upset, and you, girl, are upset.”
“Maybe a little.”
The older woman harrumphed. “Try again.”
It burst from her, coming out in no particular order. “It’s just that the wedding is getting out of hand. Even Annette is pressuring me to invite all these people from Dallas. For a woman who was so against my marriage to her son, my former mother-in-law is suddenly all excited about my marriage to Brash. I don’t know how—well, actually, I do, because it’s just the way he is—but Brash has managed to charm that woman and has her twisted around his little finger. She has all these ideas about fancy cakes and proper dinner settings and things that neither one of us care about. All we want to do is get married. But if we have the wedding we really want, we’ll let so many people down. You, and Mrs. de, and Annette, and Laura, and the list goes on and on!”