The House
Page 32
Millicent turned to Anna and handed over Inman Regarde. Anna stepped forward. Inman, having received Anna Hayes, joined Grandma Anna in facing the minister. Anna looked to Inman as he held their granddaughter—Anna’s namesake. Likewise, she held his namesake, seven-month-old Inman Regarde. The elder Inman was finally receiving what Henrietta had denied him.
Inman kissed little Anna Hayes Manning’s brown cheek. The clarity of atonement graced with the fire of redemption pulsated through Anna’s heart. In that moment she recalled that Bryce and Serine had accepted the roles of godparents to Linda and Brad’s son, Edward Oliver Manning. Slowly Anna turned back, and met Serine’s warm gaze. Serine’s lips formed the words, “I love you,” as Bryce looking on, patted Serine’s shoulder. He sent Anna a smile. In an effort to stave back tears Anna lowered her eyelids. Gently she brushed the side of Inman Regarde’s brown face. The steam of forgiveness flooded her chest.
Feeling her attention pulled to the right, she angled her head, and turned toward Inman.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Inman pulled little Anna Hayes Manning deeper into his chest. The words, I forgive you ebbed from his eyes. Imbibing more of his gaze, Anna recalled Edward’s words. Moments in time. You. An eternity. A second heady and more intoxicating wave of warmth filled her heart. It spread through her body. The words, I love you, filled Anna’s heart. She smiled.?
Chapter 64
Tuesday following the christening, David escorted Anna into O’Hare Airport where she would fly back to DeGaulle in Paris. She checked in and David walked her to the line forming at the security gate.
“I guess this is it for a while,” he said.
“I’m serious about you, Heather, and the children visiting me in France for Christmas. It’ll be good for Josh and Emily, and you, too.” She patted his shoulder.
“We’ll definitely be coming. I just want to make sure everything is in order with the company. I may be CEO, but you own majority stock.”
“Yes, and I demand that you delegate the work, or else... ”
“I know; you’ll fire me.” David smiled. He then hugged Anna. I appreciate you reminding me to keep my priorities straight. His voice then lifted. “On another note, I have a message for you.”
“From whom?”
“Dad. He spoke to me. I called on him like you suggested. And he came. We’ve been talking for a while,” David said. “He told me things about the company and how to work with potential investors. We discuss other things, too.” Anna’s elder son gave a solemn smile. He then slid an envelope from within the breast pocket of his jacket. “Dad didn’t tell me to do this, but from some of the things he’s been saying, I know it’s time, the right thing.” David extended the envelope to Anna. “None are secure until all are saved,” he said. Startled by his words, she tore it open.
“A ticket to Paris? But I have my own.”
David said,” We all hold regrets and need forgiveness. You gave me mine. Now I’m giving you yours. The ticket’s not for you.” David turned and waved. In the distance, stood Inman. He started toward them.
As tears slid onto her cheeks, Anna’s fingers found their way into her coat pocket. Carefully, she lifted out the dried and shriveled petals now cracked and brown like the earth in which Edward lay. She offered David what had once been a succulent orange and pink Ecuadorian rosebud. Having opened and died, it had now separated into many pieces. A symbol of her life, it had bloomed during reconciliation with Edward. In his death it reflected the man he had become. Anna considered the possibilities that new life held surrounding her—her and Edward’s children and grandchildren flowers blossoming from the old family stem.
“I laid this on your father’s forehead moments after he died,” she said.
David accepted the petal, kissed her, said, “I love you,” and left. Inman walked toward her.
“I’m told you’ve become a fan of the Tunisian artist, Atman Khattab,” he said.
“I have.” Anna was quaking within.
“Well, he’s having an exhibit next month in Vienna.” As had David, Inman pulled two tickets from the jacket pocket over to his heart. “Would you care to go?”
“Well, I do live in Paris.” She smiled. “Will you be around?”
“Only if you’ll have me.” Inman’s lips trembled.
“I’d be more than honored.” Anna reached up and kissed him.
Bibliography
“Death needs a strong heart.” —Uganda (Ganda, Lugbara) P. 213
“The goat says, 'Nobody willingly walks to his own death.'“ —Ghana p. 213
“If one could know where death resided, one would never stop there.” —Ghana (Ashanti) P. 213
“Death does not sound a trumpet.” —Congo, Liberia P. 213 “When death holds something in its grip, life cannot take it away.” —Ghana (Akan) P. 213
“Death is one ditch you cannot jump.” —United States, South Carolina (Gullah) P. 211
“Whatever you love, death also loves.” —Ghana p. 213
“Lie down and die and you will see who really loves you.” —Niger, Nigeria (Hausa) P. 213
The proverbs recited by Father Richard in Chapter 13, p. 59, and listed above were taken from: Hodari, Ashkari Johnson and Sobers, Yvonne McCalla. The Book of African Proverbs, Broadway Books: New York, 2009. pp. 211-214
Acknowledgements
The reason this novel has come to print is due to the love and support of one person, my husband, Jon. After reading it, he said, “This needs to be published.” A person who consistently refers to yourself as a non-literary person, your words touched my heart immensely. You personify the average reader—someone who works hard, is intelligent and thoughtful, and knows a good read. “Thank you.” As the words of this novel reached beyond the confines of my imagination and moved you, so too did yours propel me to make them public.
“You are my eternal muse.”
Beyond the central love of my life, stand three more jewels, no less important. They are the Mascot and leader of the pack, Samantha, Meredyth, affectionately known as “Mimi,” and who is the “emotional bellwether of our family,” and Naomi, growing taller by the day, but who will always be my little baby.
I ask of you three, “Accept my apologies for all the endless hours, days, and nights during which I have worked on the computer, seemingly oblivious to your presence. I have not forgotten you. Rather, as an astrologer, now deceased, pointed out over a decade earlier, I am writing for and because of you.
“It is out of your love for me that I pen these words. Hopefully, when I am gone, you can read them and know the person I truly am, and gain fuel to find the deepest roots of who you are.
“On a more practical note, if you ever find yourself up late at night and toiling when others have made their way to bed do not feel foolish or stupid. Instead, reclaim your images of me at the computer, writing, thinking, working. Follow your passion. Make your dreams into a living reality. And know you are never alone.”
To Joy, the sister for whom I have always longed, “Thanks so much,” for your probing questions. They pointed me in the direction of uncovering who Inman really was, and therein lay the last third of this book. I love you.
To Father Leo, as always, thanks for continually reminding me that, “...we are all afraid, and that love, forgiveness, and compassion are the only antidotes to fear.”
To my editors: author, Linda Beed, Yvonne Perry of Writers in the Sky Editing Services, and Shonelle Bacon of ChickLitGurrl.com, “Many, many thanks.” A writer can only achieve what good editing makes possible. All of you gave me 110 percent.
And for what words can never achieve, “Thank you,” Audria Gardner of Indigo Design, for creating a book cover that went beyond all expectations.
To authors Yvonne McCalla Sobers and Askhari Johnson Hodari, “Thank you,” for allowing me to use eight African Proverbs from your book, The Black Book of Proverbs.
To Pete Masterson of Aeonix Publishing Group, `I offer i
mmense thanks for your time and incredible patience...” in showing me the basics of what it takes to layout a book and make it ready for printing. I am by no means a master typesetter like you, but I have come to learn the depth of tedious work required in completing such a task with grace, humility and excellence.
To those whose encouragement and support has come through reminders that you were waiting to read this novel, “This is it. Enjoy.”
My desire as a writer is to not only provide engaging and entertaining fiction that touches the heart and moves the soul, but to pen, craft, and shape words that affect those who, for whatever reason, have felt no stories have been written with which they can identify or relate.
May all in whose hands these words land know that I have given my personal best.
E-mail me: anjuelle@anjuellefloyd.com I love connecting with readers.