Charlotte, for reasons you now understand, I did not know your grandparents. Your father and I lived in Paris because we could be married there and could have a life, for the most part, where our skin color did not determine our options. Of course, we hoped the same for you. Now, about to lose my own, I have to decide the course of your life alone and trust that my decision will not curse the very one I want it to bless. In a few days, Rosette will carry you to the door of two people who are strangers to you. She will have to tell them that their son and his wife died. She will have to tell them that you are their granddaughter. And she will have to tell them that you will live with them. If they could raise you as white, how much less would they need to battle. And if your growing up in their care could be made easier by that, then so be it.
I want you to know that your very birth was a gift to your father and to me. You will see, my precious girl, generations of love in your arms when you hold your child. When you look into her eyes and you realize that, all those years ago, I cradled you in my arms with the same love. That this swell of pride and joy that crashes into your heart and fills it with gratitude and love and hope is what we felt looking into your eyes.
After you were born, there was nothing that would stand in the way of your father’s desire to see his parents, for them to see you and me. How would we know that the very desire that brought us to them would bring us fast away?
You won’t remember, but before you were taken out of danger of the fever, I told you “we love you” over and over and over again. I covered your face, the face that looked at me with your father’s eyes, with kisses. If only I could have made them last a lifetime for you. Loving your father and loving you were the greatest blessings of my life. I will die with treasures many live a lifetime and never find.
God has planted dreams in your heart. Follow them. Find someone to love who loves and respects you, who honors God, and who makes you smile each time you see him. Every day is a miracle.
Know that in everything, God always finds a way.
All our love,
Mama and Papa
* * * * *
1843
Dear Mama and Papa,
We will be boarding soon to leave for Paris, but this visit was so busy, I could not find time to write. The trips are more challenging since Charles Louis decided to start walking before his first birthday. Gabriel told me not to worry, the rocking of the ship would lull him into sleep. Unfortunately, it also lulled me into seasickness.
Nathalie is not returning with us, as she should deliver any day. Since she and André married, Virgine and Nathalie’s parents are outdoing one another with gifts for the child. If they had twins, each child would have more than enough. Nathalie being with child has been a blessing and a curse for Serafina. Ever since her daughter died, she has devoted herself to the orphanages. She tells me she prays Nathalie’s child will not struggle at birth, and she does not know if she could ever trust herself to have a child again.
I am surprised our son is not exhausted from being spoiled and coddled by three sets of grandparents. Agnes and Abram strolled him to the French Quarter, where I am certain he was fed all manner of foods no self-respecting one-year-old should eat. They returned him saying they had no idea how powdered sugar found its way to his neck.
Rosette and Joseph allow him to wander the café or the orphanage Joseph is building. Since they purchased Grand-père’s land, they have already finished the warehouse. We don’t ask Joseph about his comings and goings. Rosette says she trusts her husband, and she keeps him well-stocked in colorful cravats. Alcee begged them to let her join us on our trip back. Rosette promised her that after one more year of learning French, she would allow her. Henri has now adopted Alcee, and we fear she may try to put him in her trunk when the day comes that she sails back with us.
Grand-mère and Grand-père are smitten with their grandson. Everyone in New Orleans has probably “met” him five times because they say to anyone who will stop long enough, “Have you met my grandchild?” They allow him to eat meals in the dining room, saying one can’t learn manners too soon. He entertains them so with his few French and English words.
Gabriel has two more years in his college. Switching from engineering to architecture was not nearly as difficult as he expected. He said architecture is engineering applied to buildings. When he finishes, we hope to return to New Orleans so he can work with Joseph, though it depends on the political climate.
I hear the giggles of my son behind me, so I know his father is likely looking over my shoulder as I finish this. Gabriel spends as much times as he can with Charles Louis. When he looks at our son and smiles, I think of your letter to me about seeing the love our parents had for us when we hold our own children.
Gabriel and I have our struggles, but we never forget the journey we endured to have a life together. Gratitude comes quickly then. We know God always finds a way.
Until my next letter.
All my love,
Genevieve Charlotte
Author’s Note
...........................
As an author, I’m growing to learn that no sooner does “I don’t think I’d ever…” slip from my lips than I’m presented with the opportunity to do that which I never thought I would. Or could.
Writing a historical novel was exactly one of those things I never thought I would or could write. (I say that hoping, after you finish this, that you think I could as well.) I couldn’t resist the chance to write about New Orleans, having grown up here and, with the exception of a few years in Texas and a post-Katrina stint three hours away, lived here my entire life. Rewinding more than 170 years proved quite challenging for someone accustomed to contemporary fiction, where reality is what you write it to be. Historical fiction requires knowing the reality of the time, and knowing requires research. I discovered I loved delving into the past, which meant that for months my family was bombarded with questions beginning with, “Did you know that in the 1840s…?”
But what made this entire experience most fascinating was what happened just days before the manuscript was due. My husband and I had been, for a few weeks, poking and prodding the idea of moving to New Orleans from Abita Springs, a city about thirty minutes away. Trying to find the house we needed seemed to be impossible. Until the day it wasn’t.
That it had everything we were looking for isn’t the amazing part. That my husband made an offer on it the first evening he walked through it isn’t the amazing part. What is amazing is that it was built in the 1840s, the same era in which the novel is set, and the street on which the house is located is the same as the last name of one of my characters.
So, as I write this, we are in the process of moving into our new old house, Camellia Manor.
Sometimes endings have the best beginnings!
About the Author
...........................
A true Southern woman who knows that any cook worth her gumbo always starts with a roux and who never wears white after Labor Day, Christa Allan writes not-your-usual Christian fiction that’s unafraid to tackle the tough questions. Walking on Broken Glass, her debut novel, released in 2010, followed by The Edge of Grace in 2011. Four more novels follow in 2013 and 2014.
Christa is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers as well as Romance Writers of America and its Faith, Hope, and Love chapter. She also belongs to writing organizations in her community. A high school English teacher on the verge of retirement, Christa lives in New Orleans with her veterinarian husband and their three neurotic cats. She is the mother of five and is totally smitten with her two grand-girls. When she’s not pulling weeds as therapy, Christa can be found at www.christaallan.com.
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Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Author’s Note
About the Author
>
Map
Love Finds You in New Orleans, LA Page 26