“You solve our problems,” said Mallory.
“You care about our feelings,” said Caroline.
“You have an admirable sense of justice,” said Zara.
“But I pick fights! I get you into trouble!” I whirled on Ashley. “You agreed to this?”
“It was my idea.”
“You’ve lost your mind. I thought you wanted to be queen.”
Ashley shrugged. “What with my recent heartbreak and not-so-private humiliation, I’ve had enough of being in the public eye for a while.”
“Well, what about Brandi Lyn? Remember? Weren’t we going to vote for her?”
“That’s sweet, Jane,” Brandi Lyn said. “But we all agreed. You’re our true leader.”
Off in the distance, I could hear Mr. Walter working the crowd. It was happening. The debut presentation had actually started.
Mizz Upton butted her way through Brandi Lyn and Mallory. “Jane, what in the world is going on here? You’re supposed to be out there in two seconds! Do we need a doctor?”
“No.” I am sure it did look that way. I would have fallen on my ruffle-encased behind if Ashley and Zara had not been holding me up.
“What then? Are you refusing to be the queen? It is a rather”—her evil eye traveled angrily around the circle—“unusual choice. If you aren’t feeling up to it, we can recall the decision and Walter Murray Hill and I can choose.” Anticipation dripped from every one of Mizz Upton’s words. Once again, she was dying for me to resign.
And frankly, this was one of Mizz Upton’s ideas that actually sounded appealing. As Brandi Lyn would have put it, being queen was so not in my five-year plan. I was no queen. I was the anti-queen. What were the girls thinking?
I searched the beautiful bright faces all around me: Zara. Mallory. Ashley. Caroline. Brandi Lyn. I glanced out the window at the gorgeous Bienville summer day and once again wondered… what would Cecilia do now?
Brandi Lyn, wearing my mother’s dress, squeezed my hand. “Please, Jane,” she said. “We need you.”
Suddenly, I knew the answer.
I aimed one last petrified glance at the girls, painted a glittering smile onto my face, and addressed the firing squad of Mizz Upton. “Actually, ma’am. I believe that if the girls want me, we should follow tradition and honor our legally held election.” I nodded at the Maids. “Get into position, Maids!”
“But this is a terrible idea!” Mizz Upton sniffed. “This can’t possibly work!”
Ignoring her, the girls lined up behind me. Brandi Lyn and Ashley on one side, Zara and Mallory on the other, Caroline, many happy steps behind.
“It’s going to work just fine,” I said. “Ready, girls? One, two…”
On three, we all stepped forward in perfect unison with our right feet. The French doors to the Grand Verandah magically swung open and we floated as one outside to greet the mass of cheering Bienvillites.
And it was at that moment that I finally heard it. The voice that had eluded me for nine years. It was only eight tiny little words, but I felt them in my heart, just like Grandmother said I would.
Welcome back, Jane, said my mother with warmth and hope, love and joy, reassurance and affection. I’m so glad you’re home.
Acknowledgments
I couldn’t write a novel about the power of friendship without giving a shout-out to my family and to all my friends who encouraged its writing from the very beginning, especially Gail Lerner, Gina Neff, Karyn Kusama, Lisa Brown, and Daniel Handler.
Many thanks to Hedgebrook and the Elizabeth George Foundation for supporting the writing and research of the project and to the many good people who launched the finished book into the world: particularly my crackerjack agent Meredith Kaffel, who found it a home with the fabulous Regina Griffin at Egmont USA, and Molly McGuire, the most insightful, cheerful editor a girl could ask for.
A curtsy to the City of Mobile, Alabama, and its beautiful Azalea Trail Maids for inspiring the world of the story. Special thanks to the Boutwell family for their kind hospitality, especially to Emily for aiding and abetting my research. I am grateful to the Azalea Trail Maid alumnae who so enthusiastically shared their experiences on the Trail and explained the ins and outs of the hoopskirt: Dr. Be Phetsinorath, Meridy Jones, Leslie Foster Gaston, Katie Patterson, Anna Flock, and Alexandra Twilley.
Last but not least, this book would not exist were it not for Susan Boutwell Cannon. Thanks for being the one person I could talk to back then, and for being the one person who truly understands it all now.
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