Gift of Wonder (10 page)

He didn't turn around. “The first time I saw Rosette House was when I arrived at the children's home upstate.” His shoulders slumped as he placed his hands in his pockets. “I don't know who dropped me off there—I was so young and so scared—but I do remember the old suitcase that came with me. Inside that suitcase was everything I had—some clothes, a pair of shoes and…a sketch.”

Alice came to stand by him. “A sketch? You mean, some sort of picture?”

He nodded, swallowed. “Yes. It was a picture done in pen and ink—a sketch of Rosette House.”

She turned toward him then, her eyes holding his. “Jonah? Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. I should know. The home director let me hang that sketch by my cot. I saw Rosette House every day, first thing in the morning and last thing at night. For a long time, I believed that was where I'd lived…before I was abandoned.” He finally turned away from the window, a hand slicing through his dark hair. “Then when I realized no one was ever coming to get me, I figured living in such a house was just some sort of cruel dream. I'd never lived there. But someone must have, my mother maybe?” He laughed then, the sound like rattling ice. “But we both know that wasn't possible, don't we?”

Alice shook her head. “No. Only Brysons have lived in Rosette House. Maybe your mother bought the sketch at a local store or something?”

He leaned against the wall, his eyes going soft as he stared at her. “No, she didn't buy it, Alice. She drew it. It has her initials etched on it—hidden in one of the trees. My mother
did
live across the bayou, probably in some old shack or maybe a houseboat, but she lived here. I know that now from talking to Mr. Gauthier. He barely remembered her at first, but the more we talked, the more he did remember about a younger sister who left when she was a teenager. He said he didn't remember much about her, just the two brothers, and they and the father moved away shortly after the girl left. But I'm pretty sure she grew up here because I have that sketch as proof that she was here once. And I think she was an artist. Or at least she wanted to be an artist.”

“So he couldn't be sure?”

“No.” His smile was grim. “I keep wondering why no one can tell me anything more. I think something happened to her. Something so horrible that even old Mr. Gauthier didn't know about it. He thought it was a shame that no one knew much about the younger sister. It's as if my poor mother's existence has been wiped away.”

He shrugged, then gave her a direct look. “So you said you might have some information on her? I'm almost afraid to hear it, but what did you find out?”

Alice didn't have a whole lot to tell him, but what she had might bring him some comfort. “Will you show me the sketch?” she asked.

“Sure. But first tell me what you know.”

“I will,” she said. “Oh, and, Jonah, how'd you get the last name Sheridan? Did you ever know your dad?”

J
onah wondered when he'd decided to open up his entire ugly past to this woman. He'd never talked to anyone but Aunt Nancy about these things and, even with her, he'd mostly listened while she'd tried to reassure him. He'd always held back and held on until the time when he'd be financially able to search for answers. So why was he putting himself through this with Alice? Maybe because he needed to talk to someone and, now that he was here where his mother had lived and he'd gone digging too deeply into the past, that need had increased. Or maybe because Alice made it so easy for him to relax and…trust. Alice was willing to fight for him, even if he wasn't so sure he wanted her to do that. He'd never depended on anyone else for help. While it felt good it also felt alien. He still wasn't sure about all of this.

“That was the name I had when I arrived at the orphanage,” he said, thinking he had nothing to lose at this point by answering her question. Any problems between Alice and him now were strictly personal. He
could still get his work done, but he so wanted her approval—not just of his work, but of him as a person.

“You were given that name from birth?”

“As far as we know. I arrived at the orphanage without an official birth certificate—sure made things hard applying for jobs and such. Aunt Nancy helped me get a certificate even though we didn't have much information. No father was named, so I have no idea who my father was. But that's when I found out my mother's name, at least. We figured that's the name my mother wanted me to have—and that maybe my father was a Sheridan—and we never found evidence to dispute it or prove it.”

“But you've never researched that name?”

He shook his head. “Look, whoever my father was, he left my mother high and dry. She didn't name him for a reason. I left it at that. I just want to find her—to ask her why she abandoned me. I don't care about my father.”

Alice sank down at the dining table, then motioned to him to do the same. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“No. Let's just get on with this.”

“When do you celebrate your birthday?” she asked, her expression blank in spite of the tiny pulse he could see near her temple.

“November,” he replied with a shrug. “I was born in November—that much we know. Then, when I was around five, I came to the children's home the week of Thanksgiving. Abandoned at Thanksgiving. That kind of stuck, even after I was placed with Aunt Nancy. So she started celebrating my birthday every year during the week of Thanksgiving because she always told me how thankful she was to have me in her home and how
I was a gift from God. A gift of wonder, she used to say, because of all the possibilities I had ahead of me.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman,” Alice said, her smile warm and reassuring. “And I think she was right about you. You are full of possibilities. I'm just sorry I didn't see that right away.”

Jonah didn't know how to react to her words. He was used to their sparring and banter, but completely unprepared for Alice's sweet and kind side. But, as usual, she was direct. It floored him. “I don't know about that. I just know I love my job as a developer and I love seeing new buildings go up. It's silly, but building homes and businesses makes me think of families. Happy families. And then I feel a part of something bigger than myself.”

And he didn't have to get too close, building houses. He could observe what a true family was like without investing too much of himself in the outcome. He needed to remember that rule and apply it here in Bayou Rosette, too.

“That's not silly,” Alice said. “That means you have a passion for your work. A lot of people go through life never feeling that way.”

He lowered his head, uncomfortable with the praise. “So, what did you find?”

As if sensing they were treading on dangerous territory, Alice nodded and leaned close. “Well, I know a lot of people around here and I did some asking—very discreetly—and using the same excuse you gave me. I wanted to know more about the history of this area aside from Rosette House—for the article. People love to talk about the past.”

“And?”

“And, I went back to Betty Nell and told her I was helping you with some of the historical information you'd been working on. When the Mayeaux clan came up, I asked about the sister again. Betty Nell told me what she could remember about Esther Mayeaux. She said Esther was a shy, quiet girl who stayed in the background. Her older brothers were notorious for making trouble, but Esther mostly went to school and did chores around the house. Their mother died when Esther was young, so it was kind of up to her to run the household while the brothers and the father worked the shrimp boats and did odd jobs to make money. Those three apparently drank away most of what little money they did make. And when they drank, things sometimes got ugly. But then, Mr. Gauthier told you they were kind of wild.”

“Why didn't Betty Nell mention this to me when I was in the library the other day?”

“Because Betty Nell's not one for gossip, even if it is historical gossip. And probably because she wasn't so sure about you. She knows me and she loves to help me with research for my articles, even if most of this was off the record. But I am surprised Mr. Gauthier didn't tell you more.”

“Maybe he didn't have a lot to say about Esther because she stayed hidden in the background.” Jonah tried to imagine a petite, shy woman being bullied by her brothers and father. “That doesn't sound like a very good life, does it?”

“No. Betty Nell did remember how Esther would sneak into the library and read books on Saturday after
noons. And Betty Nell said if memory served her correctly, Esther actually won an art contest in high school.”

Jonah noticed the way Alice's eyes lit up with this information. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt a sense of hope. “Really?”

“Yes, really. So I went through all the archives for the local paper—the
Rosette Gazette.
And guess what I found?”

Jonah didn't want to guess. He only wanted to see. “A picture of my mother, maybe?”

“Yes!” She got up and spun around, her excitement making her cheeks blush a pretty pink. After shuffling through some papers, she produced a copy of a grainy newspaper image. “Here it is.”

Jonah stood up, taking the paper in his hands. It was an old picture and not very sharp, but he could just make out the tiny girl with the long brown hair. She was wearing a light-colored bow over her thick bangs. And she was holding a sketch, a soft, proud smile on her face.

Alice leaned over his shoulder. “I was so excited about seeing
her
I didn't pay much attention to the sketch.” She looked down at the paper Jonah was holding, then quickly grabbed it away. “Jonah, look.”

Jonah stared down at where her finger touched the picture near the sketch. “It's Rosette House,” he said, his hand touching Alice's finger as he made sure. “It is, isn't it?”

“I think so,” she said, her voice going soft. “You can see it better in this light. I never even connected on it.”

“This is my mother holding a sketch of Rosette
House,” he said, the words confirming what they both could see. “I wonder if it's the same sketch I have.”

“Where is that sketch?” Alice asked, so near he could smell the sweet scent of her perfume.

“It's in my room at the Bayou Inn. I had it framed long ago. I don't always carry it with me, but I especially wanted it here—for inspiration, I guess.”

“I'd like to see it,” she said, taking the picture from him. “All evening I wanted to tell you about finding this clipping, but I wanted it to be just us when I did. I know how personal this is for you.” She looked back at the grainy copy. “And now this—seeing the sketch makes it so real.”

Jonah nodded and reached for her hand. Although he still wasn't so sure he wanted help in this, he was glad for this connection with his mother. “Thank you, Alice. I wanted to dig for this kind of information, but I've been so busy—and I have to admit I kind of dreaded finding the truth even though it's been a goal of mine most of my life.”

“I don't mind helping,” she said. “It's interesting and I'd want to know. I understand why you have to find your mother.”

Jonah watched her face and saw the sincerity in her pretty eyes. And then he did something he'd never expected to do. He pulled her close, his eyes holding hers, and then he leaned down and kissed her.

 

Alice's heart skidded as she tried to find her equilibrium. She should have pulled back, but she couldn't bring herself to let go. Kissing Jonah seemed to make
up for all the bad spots she'd had in the last few years—her parents'death, Ned's deception and her own heart's yearnings. How could she let go? But how could she hold on to such a wonderful hope, too?

So she stood back to stare up at him. “I…uh…”

“I know,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I shouldn't have done that. You're not ready for this and I'm probably not, either.”

“No, I didn't mean that,” she replied, surprising both of them. “I mean, no, we probably shouldn't have kissed each other but I didn't mind that we did.”

“Really?” He smiled then, a real smile that caused her to inhale a deep breath. “I didn't mind, either. It was…nice.”

She bobbed her head. “So, we've established that kissing is good even though we probably shouldn't do it again.”

“I think we've established that, yes.”

They stood still for a few seconds, then moved toward each other, meeting halfway, their lips touching with a tentative kind of awe. “We should stop,” he whispered, his lips touching hers. “We should…”

“Definitely.” She pulled him close so she could enjoy the strength of his arms around her. “It's too soon.”

A couple of minutes and another kiss later, he held her at arm's length again, his expression shuttered and unsure. “Okay, I'd better go.”

She pushed at her curls, her gaze moving around the room. “Yes, you should.”

She followed him to the door, then shoved the copy of the old newspaper page into his hand. “Take this.”

“Oh, right. See how much you distract me?” But he said it with a warm smile. “Thanks again…for your help.”

“You're welcome.”

He tugged her back, kissing her one last time. “Good night, Alice.”

She smiled at the husky tone of his voice. “Good night. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

After he left, Alice stared out into the moonlight, thinking that the word
tomorrow
had never held so many possibilities. And then she hit herself on the forehead. “What were you thinking, Alice Bryson?”

She hadn't been thinking. And for once, not thinking about things too much had felt really good. And so right.

But that didn't
make
it right. She knew that. And although her growing feelings for Jonah were certainly different from the impulsive love she'd felt for Ned, things could still turn out the same. Jonah might walk away, too, because the realization of his mother's life here might be too much to bear. Alice needed to remember that. She couldn't force him to stay in a place that only reminded him of all he'd lost, could she?

So she turned out the lights and headed to bed, thinking she'd almost caved in to her feelings tonight.

Almost. Would she ever be able to let go and really live again? she wondered as she asked God for guidance and strength.

 

Jonah had never been one for turning to God a lot, even though Aunt Nancy had always encouraged him
to do so. But tonight, as he stood on the bayou looking south toward Rosette House, he needed the Lord's comfort. He was so close to finding out the secret of his birth. Why had his mother left him so long ago? What had happened to that smiling young girl to make her just disappear? And now Alice had him wondering about his name and his father, too. He didn't want to know his father, had purposely put the man out of his mind. But that seed of curiosity had always been right there. Should he try to find out about that, too?

“Help me find the truth, Lord,” he said into the night, wishing he knew how to pray. His scattered thoughts didn't seem to matter on this crisp fall night. The water moved in a steady, timeless rhythm toward the Mississippi River. The wind swirled and lifted in a pattern that only showed the changing of the seasons.

Jonah had never liked change, maybe because of the confusing ones he'd had to endure in his life, those jolts that had taken him out of time and place and left him alone and wondering. He wanted to settle in one spot, with the only changes those of the weather and good things happening. He built houses to bring about positive change and to help people find homes. He built houses because he'd always longed for a real home. And now he felt a big change coming, but this one wasn't out there in the world he tried to control and hold at bay. It was inside, in his heart.