The Legacy

by Shirley Jump

  What he needed was a story. One good story that could jump-start his passion for his job again, and he didn’t think it was going to be his upcoming assignment in Tibet.

  He glanced at Marjo and an idea formed in his mind. Maybe…that story was here already. “Tell me about the opera house and Alexandre Valois.”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I’ve been thinking. You were right. I should be looking at this as an assignment. If it’s the kind of thing World runs, I’ll see if my editor is interested in a piece on Indigo.”

  The light in her eyes, so bright five seconds ago, dimmed a bit. What had he said? Wasn’t that what she wanted? Publicity for her cause?

  “A win-win,” Marjo said, echoing her earlier words.

  He nodded. “I’d like to see the opera house, on the inside. Will you show it to me? Please?” he added, a teasing note in his voice.

  The soft smile, the one that he liked the best of all her smiles, slipped across her lips. “Yes, but later, because I really do have to get to work.” She turned to go back up the grassy slope.

  “Marjo!”

  She turned back.

  “What time is the wake?” Paul asked. “I’d like to come by and pay my respects to Hugh.”

  “Come by anytime tonight. Hugh will be there.” Another, quicker smile. “And so will I.”

  Paul didn’t know if it was because of his bloodline link to this place, but as Marjo walked away, Paul was shocked to feel a keen sense of loss—

  And, at the thought of seeing her again, an even stronger sense of anticipation.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “YOU REALLY OUTDID yourself this time, Marjo,” Cally said, crossing the room with Marjo. “Hugh looks great.”

  The room where Hugh Prejean’s wake was being held was the largest in the Savoy Funeral Home and furnished in a French Provincial style. Marjo was glad she’d chosen it. Judging by the number of visitors and the multiple floral arrangements, she’d needed the space. Hugh’s daughter and two sons had flown in from opposite ends of the country. Marjo had met with them earlier, and they had expressed their gratitude for the way Savoy had handled Hugh’s arrangements. Hugh’s niece, Amelia Prejean, who lived in Indigo and helped run the antique shop, Past Perfect, had been out of town on vacation and was flying in the following day.

  “Henry gets all the credit,” Marjo told Cally. “He insisted on doing it right for Hugh.” She let out a sigh. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to all our plans for Indigo without Hugh around. He was the one who got people excited about the restoration and the town’s revival.”

  “You worry too much. Everything will work out fine.” Cally gave her a final pat on the shoulder, then crossed the room to greet Jenny LaFleur.

  Marjo made her way through the room, doing what she always did—ensuring perfection. She straightened floral arrangements, made sure tissue boxes were full, greeted people who had come to pay their respects. She paused from time to time, glancing over at Hugh. She wished he could still be here, supporting the town, the bayou, that he’d loved so much. He would be missed for his wit, his intelligence and, most of all, his passion for this tiny town and its history.

  Gabriel stayed on the sidelines, uncomfortable with this part of the funeral business. He could help Henry with the bodies, but there was something about the wake and funeral that Gabriel couldn’t handle. Perhaps it was the finality. Or perhaps it was the memory of his parents lying in this very room when he was seven.

  Gabriel rarely attended the viewings, but today he’d insisted on coming, out of respect for Hugh, who had always been so kind and patient with him. Nevertheless, Gabriel had yet to move away from the wall and come into the room.

  Just as Marjo was moving toward him to make sure Gabriel was okay, a young blond woman came up beside Gabriel and slipped her hand into his.

  Darcy.

  Marjo liked the girl well enough, but worried Gabriel was seeing too much of her. They’d been inseparable since graduation and saw each other before and after work and every weekend. Marjo had thought the relationship would cool with the arrival of fall, when Darcy started her beauty school course in New Iberia, but instead it had seemed to heat up. She made a mental note to speak to Gabriel again. He was far too young and immature to be “falling in love” or tying himself up with one girl.

  It had been just the two of them for so long, Marjo and Gabriel, their own little micro-family. She simply couldn’t imagine a day where she’d walk into the house and not see her brother.

  Jenny came up and laid a hand on Marjo’s shoulder. “It’s a real shame about Hugh.”

  “It is. He was such a big part of this town.” She looked over at Hugh again. He seemed so peaceful, she could almost believe he was sleeping. His children stood in the receiving line, visibly shaken by the loss of their father. “I think we should look at the CajunFest as a way to honor his memory. He was so excited about the reopening of the opera house and—”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Jenny cut in.

  “About what?”

  “The CajunFest and…” Jenny paused. “Well, the future of the opera house.”

  “We’re moving forward as planned,” Marjo replied. “It’s what Hugh would have wanted.”

  “The committee has been talking, and we think…” Jenny took in a deep breath, and Marjo felt sure she knew what was coming. “Well, we think maybe we should stop trying to stand in the way of the Clermont guy and let him sell it,” Jenny said. “Maybe some business will snatch it up and bring money to Indigo that way. The festival will still happen, of course, but we’ve been thinking we should just give up the idea of using the opera house during the festival.”

  “Sell it? For what? So it can become some hardware store or clothing boutique?” Marjo noticed people looking at her and lowered her voice. “Are you serious?”

  “Listen, Marjo, it’s not about the opera house or you or anything. I hate to even bring it up, especially here. But time is ticking away and nothing’s happening. The festival is supposed to happen in ten days and we have nothing ready in the opera house. We need to retreat to Plan B.”

  “Plan B?” When had there been another option? She couldn’t believe the committee would desert Hugh’s dream of reviving the opera house.

  “The committee feels that without Hugh, there’s no way the rest of the town will continue to back this project,” Jenny explained. “We still don’t have all the money we need, and people are tired of being asked to contribute. Sophie’s campaign raised a lot of money, but funding a restoration is costly and a much bigger task than we expected. Besides, what’s the point in raising all this money if Paul Clermont sells the place? It’s not that we don’t love Indigo, it’s…well, we’re a small town—a village, really. We don’t have a big pool to draw from for any additional funds and support, and we don’t have the resources to go after outside donors. I know you’re passionate about this project, Marjo, but you, well, you’re only one person, and you’re so busy with this—” Jenny swept her hand to indicate the funeral home “—and Gabriel. You can’t do it all.”

  Marjo wanted to argue, to tell Jenny that yes, this could still work, that they could get the opera house back to its former beauty, but then she saw the resignation in the other woman’s eyes and knew arguing would be pointless. Marjo had lost the battle before she’d even known there was one. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll call a meeting and figure out where to go from here.”

  Jenny gave her a soft, indulgent smile, one that said the cause was already lost. “Okay.”

  Marjo watched Jenny walk away. She knew that the committee members didn’t mean her any harm. There wasn’t a malicious bone in the group. They were just being smart business people. And as much as Marjo hated to admit it, they were right.

  The numbers for the opera house were daunting—there were too many expenses involved in restoration and not enough money to cover them. The com
mittee had hoped the festival would bring in the rest of the money, but if it didn’t, even Marjo had to admit that it would be near impossible to reignite their enthusiasm, especially with Hugh gone.

  They had tried, Lord knew they had. Hugh had always said not to worry, that someday the Indigo ship would come in and everything would be fine.

  He just hadn’t predicted that the crew would mutiny.

  For Marjo, the fight was far from over. If she had to do it alone, she would somehow find a way to fund the restoration and get the opera house up and running as a viable business, thus keeping Alexandre and Amelie’s memories alive and giving a much-needed boost to the town.

  And to hedge her bets, she’d keep praying for that ship. Although at this point she figured she needed the Queen Mary II.

  “You’re here awfully late.”

  She turned around to see Paul Clermont, dressed in a navy-blue suit, with a white shirt and navy-striped tie. He looked more handsome than any man she’d ever known. Given the khaki shorts and white shirts he normally wore, she was willing to bet the suit was new, bought solely for this event. She was touched that he’d done that. “The wake’s just getting started.”

  “Just getting started?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “But it’s after ten. Aren’t most wakes from two to five and seven to nine or some such thing?”

  “In the rest of the world, yes, but here in Indigo, we do things a bit different.” As she talked, she made her way through the room, making sure everything was tidy. “Up until World War II, there was a custom of all-night wakes in this area. A family member, or several, would stay with the body all night. It dates back to the days of grave robbers. Someone always sat with the body until it was in the ground. There are still a few Indigo residents who want that option for their loved ones.”

  “I’ve seen some tribes on the other side of the world where people did that, too,” Paul said. “I think it’s a nice custom, bringing the town together to honor someone who has died.”

  “Well, if there’s one thing people like in Indigo, it’s tradition,” she said, moving to tuck a wayward mum back into an arrangement. “That’s why the funeral home is still here. People like being buried in the cemetery behind St. Timothy’s Church, they like knowing the family’s all going to be together, that the priest who married them will also be the one to give them a proper goodbye.”

  Paul nodded. “What you said earlier about Indigo is right. I’ve noticed when I’ve walked around town that this place is like a whole other planet, as if God carved out this little corner without a mold.”

  Marjo smiled. “That’s a really nice way of putting it.”

  He moved closer to her, making room for Louella Purcell. The older woman lumbered past him, the feather on her wide-brimmed black hat bobbing along and her little dog, JoJo, trying to squirm out of her tight grip.

  “I noticed something else, too,” Paul went on when Louella had passed them. “The pictures Gabriel took captured different elements of Indigo than mine did. He saw details that were important to him. A chair on a veranda, a baby bird in a tree. When you look at his pictures, you see the town through his eyes.”

  “And if I looked at your photos,” she said, moving closer still as the room filled up, “would I see it through your eyes?”

  “Those were shot through the vision you gave me,” he said, his voice low and soft.

  “Me?”

  “The story you told about La Petite Maison, the passion you have for this place—it’s all impacted the way I now see this place.”

  She considered Paul for a long time, the conversation with Jenny still fresh in her mind. Maybe…maybe there was a possibility she could get Paul to support the opera house, to see it the way she did. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

  “No, not at the moment.” He grinned. “Why? Do you have plans for me?”

  She winked. “Nothing nefarious, I promise.”

  “Pity.”

  The way he said that made her wish she did, indeed, have some other purpose in mind. “Meet me at the opera house at ten. I did promise to show it to you.”

  She was called away by Henry to answer the phone, but as Marjo left Paul, she felt more buoyant about the future than she had in weeks. If it was the last thing she did, she would bring Paul Clermont around to her side.

  And then, maybe, she could win back the support of the rest of the town. Of the two, she suspected Paul was the harder sell.

  Maybe Cally was right. It was time to get out a little honey.

  WHEN PAUL GOT BACK to his room at La Petite Maison, he saw the green light on his cell phone flashing, telling him he had a message. He unhooked the phone from the charger, then took it outside on the veranda to enjoy the cool evening breeze.

  Frogs croaked somewhere in the bayou, crickets chirped, night birds sang their songs. It was the melody of Indigo, and it was oddly peaceful.

  When he connected with his voice mail, he heard the deep bass of Joe, his editor, barking into the machine. “Hey, Paul, I’ve got one you’re going to like. Right in your own backyard, too.”

  Indigo?

  He quickly realized that wasn’t the place Joe meant.

  “There’s this group of fishermen in Nova Scotia,” the message continued. “Survived a near sinking and a hell of a storm. Sort of like The Perfect Storm, but with a happier ending.” Joe chuckled. “Anyway, I want you to get up there ASAP and get me some photos of the guys, the boat, for next month’s issue. They’ve avoided the media, wouldn’t even take the money from the Enquirer for a shoot, but I know you can get their story. Hell, you could pull a story out of roadkill. Besides, this one’s got human interest written all over it. Might even get you one of those awards.” His editor laughed, then hung up.

  There it was, the out he had wanted. But for the first time since Paul had picked up a camera, he didn’t want to rush out on assignment. He wanted to stay right here, snap another picture of a cypress or an alligator, take a few minutes to show Gabriel how to make the most of every shot, help him find the story in each picture.

  And most of all, he wanted to show Marjo a bit of his world.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to show Marjo more than that. He wanted to spend time with her, this spitfire woman who pushed all the wrong buttons and yet still managed to intrigue him as no one ever had before.

  She was fire and ice, both strong and distant, full of a passion that lurked beneath that all-business exterior.

  For the first time since his divorce, he found himself considering a relationship, something that lasted longer than the few days of a photo assignment. That was not a good sign—it was the kind of thinking that had a man tossing away a damned good career for a dream that didn’t exist.

  He knew that far too well from watching his parents’ marriage disintegrate because of the lengthy separations and his mother’s growing despondency. Each time his father came home to visit, he had grown more bitter and distant.

  Paul’s mother had retreated from a life that wasn’t what she’d envisioned, either, leaving the two adult Clermonts more like roommates than spouses whenever Renault was home. Paul had once thought he could live a different life with Diane, but after a month of marriage, he’d realized he’d walked into the very trap he’d been trying to avoid. He and Diane had very different expectations of life, and that had only led to unhappiness.

  Which was exactly why he should leave Indigo now and forget about any kind of relationship between him and Marjo Savoy.

  He stared at the phone, replayed the message from Joe a second time, figuring that hearing it again might make it sound more exciting. It didn’t.

  His finger hesitated over the send button. He should call Joe, tell the editor of World he’d be out of here on the first plane. It was time to move on, to put this place behind him, as he had so many places before.

  Paul stood on the veranda a long time, holding the phone and telling himself to do the right thing. The problem was, he didn’t know
what that was anymore.

  This place had gotten to him. Or maybe it was just a little indigestion from the gumbo and turtle soup.

  CHAPTER TEN

  PAUL DIDN’T WANT TO keep Marjo waiting for him this time, and he arrived at the opera house a few minutes before ten.

  A minute later Marjo pulled up and got out of her little blue Honda. Immediately, he was struck by how amazing she looked, and all his well-laid plans from last night evaporated.

  Her hair was down again, unfettered by her usual braid. Had she done this for him? Or because she didn’t have an elastic handy?

  His male ego hoped that was the reason.

  “Good morning,” he said as she approached. “You look incredible. You don’t look at all like you spent the entire night at a wake.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “I’ve got a couple of hours until Hugh’s funeral. Are you ready to see the opera house?”

  He held up his camera. “Absolutely.”

  She withdrew a set of keys from her pocket, inserted one into the lock on the carved door then pushed. It opened with a creak.

  Not a good sign, Paul decided, for his ancestral “treasure.”

  Marjo led him inside the darkened lobby, then flicked a nearby light switch, bathing the space in a warm glow. The lobby had been used as the retail space for the antique shop and was separated from the auditorium by large double doors. Marjo opened the doors now and beckoned Paul inside, turning on another light.

  A long central aisle ran between rows of velvet seats up to a spacious stage, and to either side, staircases rose to an upper level. Wall sconces and chandeliers washed the interior with gold, illuminating the pale floral wallpaper and the high windows.

  “This is…incredible,” Paul said. He pointed to the private boxes bracketing the stage. “Look at the intricate woodwork.”

  “Alexandre spared no expense.”

  “It shows.” He raised his camera and sighted the carving, then the curve of the ceiling, the scars in the wood.