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  “They’ll be charmed by you,” Cora said. “And you will adore them.”

  “Will they adopt me?” Annie asked.

  Cora hesitated. “We’ve talked about this, Annie. You’re sixteen. That’s a bit old for adoption. They may foster you until it’s time for college. That would be a wonderful outcome for you.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  I couldn’t see her expression, for her face was hidden behind a blowing strand of dark curls, but her voice sounded less than sure. She merely wanted to be loved, I thought. Who could not love a child so beautiful and damaged?

  2

  WELCOME, ANNIE

  The banner hung in the live oaks that lent the front lawn of Belle Fleur an air of grace and elegance. The house, surrounded by oaks, camellias, azaleas, and other hardy shrubs, faced the road and the water. To me, it looked like a photograph, something captured on film from a bygone time when houses were built with care and attention to detail. As we drew closer, I could see the love Berta had showered on the house in the hanging ferns along the front porch, the freshly painted wicker furniture, the pots of geraniums that bloomed blood-red. Bob had loved the house first, but Berta had grown to love it over the summer.

  Cora stopped the car a dozen yards from the five Hendersons who stood beneath the banner. Bob and Berta wore welcoming smiles. Donald had his typical open friendliness that always made me think of Huck Finn or Tom Sawyer. He was all boy, all adventure, all happy to include a poor waif with no memory. Erin was unsure. Margo was trouble. The instant Annie stepped out of the car, Margo took her measure and a sneer crossed her face. I couldn’t say I blamed her. Annie and Margo were the same age. No matter how hard Berta worked at it, both girls would compete for her love. It was the way of the teenager.

  “Annie!” Berta came forward, extending the joyful welcome of a California goddess. Berta was sun and oranges and blue-eyed beauty. She was a perfect match for Bob, who could have played Robert Redford playing Gatsby.

  The two of them had produced three children as golden and blond as the loins from which they sprang. Against them, Annie appeared foreign and dark, a dainty child compared to the tall Nordic Hendersons.

  Berta engulfed her in an embrace. “Welcome.”

  Annie clung to her. Her thin arms circled Berta’s neck and she didn’t let go until Bob offered her an embrace. She almost disappeared in his hug. Donald and Erin seemed amused. Margo rolled her eyes and mouthed the word “baby” at me.

  Introductions were made and we went into the house for cake and ice cream, a treat Berta reserved for birthdays and special occasions—sugar wasn’t normally allowed. Berta had brought a head full of crazy California ideas with her. She believed in “healthful” treats like apples and pears, but Annie’s first day with the family was a momentous occasion and would be celebrated as such.

  We gathered round the dining table for the welcome fete, and at first, chatter animated the room. Cora sat beside Annie, and she glanced at her often, the guardian of a lost child’s safety. Cora was worried, though she did a good job of hiding it, and I wondered why. Annie seemed okay. She attacked the cake and ice cream as if she were starving, and I had to wonder how long it had been since she’d had enough to eat. While I refilled coffee cups and laughed with the others, I watched Annie. She seemed eager to fit in. Maybe Cora was right—this wouldn’t be a problem, but a joy.

  As we relished the delicious pound cake Berta had baked from yard eggs she’d raised, the chatter died and an uneasy quiet settled over the dining room. When Berta offered Annie a second piece of cake, she nodded eagerly.

  “Mama made pound cake because she said everyone liked it,” Donald said. “What’s your favorite, Annie?”

  For a brief moment she looked like an animal caught in the headlights of a fast-approaching car. “I don’t know. This is delicious.”

  “But what’s your favorite?” Donald pressed. “Erin loves chocolate. Margo likes coconut pie. What do you like?”

  Annie looked around the room as if she might read the answer from someone’s face. “I don’t remember. Probably pound cake. I could eat the whole thing.”

  “And then you can waddle around the house,” Margo said.

  Berta shot her a warning look, but Margo ignored it. In the last few weeks, she’d begun to defy Berta. And to a lesser extent, me. She was falling behind on her studies and was often on the phone. The move had been hardest on her, tearing her from her teenage companions. At sixteen, she was legal to drive and wanted to have more of a social life than Coden could provide. Of all the children, she missed California the most. When she was banned from the phone, she wrote endless letters to her old classmates and lately had taken to sneaking out of the house. To what end, I didn’t know. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do in Coden. The town shut down at five o’clock.

  Though I’d never been a problem teen, I empathized with Margo and felt she was simply testing her wings for that leap of flight from the nest. Still, she behaved like a brat, and Berta was fed up with her conduct.

  “Do you remember anything about your past?” Margo pressed Annie. “I mean, surely someone must be missing a wonderful child like you. Cora has been singing your praises for weeks.” The edge in her tone made Berta push back from the table.

  “I know some things,” Annie said. “I get dressed and I know how to read and do math. I think I know how to drive …” she shrugged. “It’s strange because I don’t know what I know until I try it.”

  “Do you know how to ride horses?” Erin asked, oblivious to the darker undercurrent between the two older girls.

  “Maybe.” Annie’s smile was wan. “I’d know if I tried.”

  “But not today,” Berta said with meaning. She stood and began to gather the dishes. “Margo, why don’t you show Annie her room? Mimi, you can give her the books you picked out for her studies.”

  Margo’s chair raked the hardwood floor as she pushed back with unnecessary vehemence. She hadn’t touched her cake. Without a word she stalked to the staircase. Ten steps up, she turned. “It was supposed to be my room, you know. Are you coming?” she asked Annie.

  Berta carefully put the dishes down on the table. Her blue eyes shot fire at her daughter. “Perhaps if you asked nicely,” she said in a tone that brooked no sass.

  “Annie, may I show you to your room?” Margo’s tone was barely civil.

  “I can find it myself. I feel as if I know this house already,” Annie said. “Don’t worry, Margo, but thank you. I think I’ll chat with Berta and Bob a little more.”

  “And I have to go.” Cora rose from her chair. “Annie, Berta, Bob—call me if you need anything.” She began the ritual search for her purse, and then the search in her purse for her keys. Cora’s mind was razor-sharp, except for keeping up with her glasses or keys or purse.

  “Can I take Annie to the water and show her how to fish?” Donald asked.

  “Maybe another time,” I said. My protectiveness for Donald was instant. Annie, while Cora might vouch for her, was still a stranger. I didn’t want her taking Donald off.

  Donald looked at me and then his mother.

  “Mimi wants to introduce Annie to her studies, Donald. Besides, I’m sure Annie wants to see her room and settle in.” Berta put her hand on my shoulder. We were a team.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Henderson. I’m not tired. I’d love to see the property. Then I’ll focus on my new books. I promise.” As naturally as if they were siblings, Annie took Donald’s hand. “I’ll tell you a story,” she said as they went to the front door.

  “Twenty minutes,” Bob called out. “And don’t leave the front lawn.”

  “Sure thing.” Donald pushed open the door and held it for Annie. “You’re gonna love it here,” he said as they left the house.

  I glanced at Cora, and I wondered if I had ever seen her happier. She was deeply invested in Annie’s tenure with the Hendersons. Despite the truth that all the years had handed Cora, she still believed in a happy en
ding.

  “Mother, may I go and ride?” Erin stacked her empty saucer on top of the other. She was a fanatical equestrian. She rode every day and thought of little else. It was all I could do to keep her mind on her lessons, but I’d learned to associate countries, cultures, historical facts, and even math with horses. Anything horse-related held her attention.

  “You may.”

  “Thanks!” Erin bolted from her chair, gave Cora a squeeze, and sprinted from the room. She was slender but solid, and as she pounded up the stairs to her room to change into her riding clothes, I realized she likely weighed more than Annie. One thing for sure, Berta’s cooking would put some meat on Annie’s bones. When the children were gone, Berta sighed. “I don’t know what to do, Cora. Margo is determined to dislike her.”

  “Annie is invading her territory.” I understood it clearly. Bob and Berta were dream parents. Margo had no desire to share. “Margo is threatened by Annie. They’re the same age, and now Margo has competition. It’s a hard place for her.”

  “That’s unacceptable, Mimi. My children have everything and Annie has nothing. I don’t want them to grow up to be selfish.” Berta picked up the stack of dishes. When Cora moved to help, Berta shooed her away. “You were headed out the door. I can manage this.”

  “Your children are exceptional, Berta. That’s why I wanted Annie to come here,” Cora said. “Give them time to adjust. Annie is almost grown, and so is Margo. This will be hardest on them. The younger ones will view Annie as a big sister. Mimi’s right. Margo sees her as competition.”

  “I won’t tolerate selfishness.” Berta almost dropped a bowl of melting ice cream, but Bob caught it.

  He took the dishes from her hands and put them on the table. “They’re still kids. Children learn to be givers, they don’t pop out that way.” He grabbed Berta’s wrist and pulled her into his lap. He kissed her neck until she laughed. “They’ll get used to Annie and before you know it, she’ll be part of the family. Just like Mimi.”

  “Bob’s right,” I said, warmed by his words. I had become part of the family. I picked up the dishes before Berta could. “Annie’s going to stick out like a sore thumb in this family, but everyone will adjust.” I, too, had a darker coloring and was aware of the stares that came my way whenever I was in town with the Henderson brood.

  Berta kissed Bob on the forehead and pushed to her feet. “She’s a beautiful girl, Cora. We’ll help her as long as she wants to stay.”

  Cora patted Berta’s hand. “I knew I could count on you.” She found her keys in her purse and shook them with a sigh. “I think she’ll be a rare blessing.”

  3

  After Cora left, I wandered to the front porch. The view never failed to move me, either to joy or melancholy. The front lawn of Belle Fleur slanted gently for a quarter mile down to the bay. Clusters of live oaks contrasted dark green against the bright green August grass. Bob had given me free rein to plant Oxonians and resurrection lilies around one of the oaks as part of a history lesson, and come next spring, my special garden would show life. My gaze wandered down to the edge of the beautifully maintained lawn, where marsh grass danced on the breeze all the way to the water.

  The sky, a lighter shade of steel, pressed down on the bay. The storm still hovered out near the barrier islands, a wall of gray so dark it looked almost like night. It was only three o’clock. Far too early for darkness to fall.

  At the edge of the water, Donald showed Annie how to cast a lure past the marsh grass. Their antics made me smile. While Berta and the girls still missed California, Donald had adapted to his new home. He loved the freedom to fish and roam. The Hendersons owned a section of land, six hundred and forty acres of pine timber, pastures, sloughs, marshes, natural springs, a creek, and the old dilapidated hotel, a place of legend in Coden. I stepped off the porch and walked down to join Annie and Donald. While Berta was the mother, I shared in the responsibility for the younger children.

  Casting a glance over my shoulder, I noticed Margo in the second floor window of her room. She, too, studied Donald and Annie, but if her expression was any indication, her thoughts were far from pleasant.

  She saw me staring up at her and pulled her curtains closed. Her window was like a dead eye. The rest of the house, a warm butter yellow with green shutters, was open and inviting. Shaking my head, I changed course and started down the path that led to where the old Desmarais family had planted the original gardens. Local legends said the family arrived from France in the first half of the nineteenth century with the dream of creating flower gardens to make perfume. The subtropical climate of South Alabama allowed a growing season unheard of in the French region where the family originated.

  Though nearly two hundred years had passed since the Desmaraises settled in Coden, many of the plants had survived. Despite my bulb patch, birds, not plants, were my thing. While I couldn’t name the exotic flora that bloomed unexpectedly on the Belle Fleur grounds, I could appreciate the beauty, especially those varieties hardy enough to survive the sweltering south Alabama summer. Shades of yellow and orange peeked out from the tangle of vines as I sauntered toward the old hotel.

  Berta had taken an interest in the gardens, and I could see where she’d fought hard to clear some of the beds. If anyone could tame the vegetation, it would be her. She was iron-willed, a trait I appreciated. She demanded respect and obedience from her children, but she tempered her expectations with love. Berta made my job a pleasure, and I had come to believe I was a big help to her. I enjoyed our time in the kitchen, cooking and talking. She missed California, but she wasn’t the kind of person to whine. She had begun to build a new life. I admired that.

  The path wound through the dark green forest of trees, undergrowth, vines, and some valuable plants. Twenty minutes later, I came upon the ruins of the old hotel, a plantation-style building with granite columns of a five-foot circumference down the entire front. Above the wide porch were balconies along the second and third floor, though the stairs to the upper levels were gone. A natural hot spring had fed water to private baths and from what I gleaned from local tales, there had been croquet courses, tennis, water-skiing from a natural bayou that was deep enough for large sailboats to dock at the front lawn of the hotel, and then the darker activities of gambling, hard drinking, and sex—the romantic kind and the acts money could buy.

  It took little effort to imagine the place in perfect condition and filled with Hollywood royalty. Cora said Lana Turner had been a regular when she was very young. The Andrews Sisters had sung there during the war. Paradise Inn had been a place to splash and play, and also for assignations. There was—and still is—only one road down to this part of the coastline, and no one today or in the past would choose to walk through the marshes in an attempt to gain unauthorized access. Alligators own that marshy land.

  Bob had killed one in June when it came up onto the front lawn. The sheriff, Benny Delchamps, had issued the order to execute the reptile because it displayed aggression toward Margo. Or so the girl had said. In my experience, the gators did everything in their power to stay away from humans. Margo had insisted the six-footer had lunged at her as she walked along Shore Road. Bob had shot it with a degree of expertise that surprised me.

  Thinking of the gator made me anxious about Donald, so close to the edge of the marsh. Annie wouldn’t know to be alert for the reptiles. I threw a last look at the hotel and turned back. My sense of anxiety grew, though I knew it was unfounded. Still, I pushed from a brisk walk to a jog.

  When I came out of the woods and onto the edge of the lawn, I thought my heart might choke me. Donald ran toward the house. His blue eyes were wide with terror, and he ran almost as if he were in a trance. He didn’t see me at all.

  “Donald!” I called out to him and ran to intercept him. “What’s wrong?”

  He seemed not to hear me.

  “Donald!” I reached from him and caught hold of his shirt. “Donald!”

  His eyes, blinded by some inner fear,
turned toward me.

  “Donald!” I shook him lightly.

  He drew in a deep breath and for a split second I thought he might cry out, but he stopped himself. It took real effort, I could tell, but he swallowed the scream. Instead, he clung to me, holding me so tight I almost couldn’t breathe.

  “You’re okay. Donald, what’s wrong? Where’s Annie?”

  He turned to look back at the water. Annie stepped out from behind a tree, concern on her face.

  “Donald!” she called out to him. “Are you okay?”

  “What happened?” I tried to focus him on me, but he kept twisting to look at Annie. When she was abreast of us, he finally relaxed.

  “I’m not afraid,” he said. He eased back from my arms, but he still clung to my hand.

  “Afraid of what?” I’d never seen him in such a state.

  “Of anything.” He looked at Annie but then dropped his gaze in what seemed embarrassment. “I’m not a baby.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” she said, kneeling so that she was eye-level with him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You aren’t a pantywaist, are you, Donald?”

  Her tone was off. It seemed to hold a warning, but of what I couldn’t determine. “Did you see an alligator?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Annie said. “We saw something. Or maybe we just imagined it.” For the first time I noticed the dimple in her cheek. She was stunning when she smiled. “I think Donald and I got carried away with a story. It was just something I made up. I didn’t mean to upset him so much.”

  Donald took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m not upset. Annie is a great storyteller.” His smile was genuine.

  “Let’s go into the house,” Annie said. She stood and extended her hand. Donald took it without hesitation. As they ran toward the house, they giggled like happy schoolchildren.

  I stood for a long moment, tempted to go down to the water and look for myself. Instead, I followed them into the house. Berta would be preparing dinner, and I liked to help her. It gave me a chance to discuss the children’s school progress. It was also our time together, something I had come to value, for Annie was not the only one on the property who was an orphan and wanted to be part of a loving home.