Dwelling Place

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  It was hard to believe the precious soul had already been gone six months. Most days it felt as though Nell would come padding across the porch in her favorite pink slippers at any moment.

  A piercing squeal of what had better be delight jolted Sophie from her reverie. “All right, settle down a bit so I can get us out of here in one piece, okay?”

  Somehow Sophie managed to navigate her way out of the school traffic and onto the broad avenue that led from Latagnier Elementary to the downtown district where the road turned to a narrow cobbled thoroughfare. She negotiated the dips and hollows in the old road, slowing to turn into the parking lot of the only downtown business that never seemed to lack for customers: the Dip Cone.

  With the spaces out front already full, Sophie turned the van into the empty space next door where a parking lot had been carved from land that used to host a beautiful old home.

  “Me first,” both girls called at once as the doors opened and they sprinted for the double doors, propped wide open to allow the fresh breeze inside.

  Mr. Arceneaux looked up as the girls burst in, then smiled at Sophie before attending to their orders. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bree’s shiny white convertible sports car pull into the spot beside her van.

  “A diet soda for me and a double dip of pistachio with whipped cream and a cherry for Bree,” she said as she counted her money and set it on the counter.

  While Mr. Arceneaux set about preparing the lady lawyer’s favorite treat, the girls skipped out back to a table beneath the tattered red-and-white-striped umbrella. Bree hit the floor running, her expensive pumps tapping out a quick rhythm on Mr. Arceneaux’s ancient linoleum floor. Before Sophie could say hello, Bree grabbed her arm.

  “Some friend you are.” Bree gave Sophie a sideways look. “I mean, really.”

  “Hey, I invited you to the celebration as soon as I knew there was going to be one, and I even paid.” She accepted the dish from Mr. Arceneaux and handed it to her friend. “See, one Bree Jackson special, extra whipped cream.”

  Bree seemed oblivious, her attention fixed on Sophie. “Talk, girl,” she said, the collection of silver bracelets jingling on her left hand. “Where are you moving, and why didn’t you tell me before Latagnier Realty put a sign in your yard?”

  Seven

  Sophie pulled the van to a stop at the curb and shut off the engine. There it was, just as Bree said. Square in the middle of her side of the yard sat a red, white, and blue Latagnier Realty sign advertising a house—her house—for sale.

  “Mommy,” Chloe whispered, eyes wide, “didn’t Miss Nell tell us we could live here as long as we want?”

  “Of course she did, sweetheart,” Sophie answered. “Surely this must be some mistake. After all, the other half is empty so maybe someone thought. . .” Neither girl seemed to be buying the excuse. “You know what? I’m going to call Latagnier Realty and tell them they’ve got the wrong yard.”

  The statement placated them, for the moment anyway. Putting on a false smile, Sophie waited until the girls were engrossed in their homework before she punched in the numbers to the real estate office.

  “Four twenty-one Riverside Avenue?” the woman repeated once she’d taken down the information. “Yes, that’s a new listing.”

  Sophie sank into the nearest chair and repeated the address. “Are you sure? Could there be some mistake?”

  “Mistake?” The woman’s friendly voice turned curt. “I hardly think so. I did the paperwork myself. Is there a problem with the property?”

  “Only that it’s mine,” she managed.

  The woman chuckled. “Only if you’re related to the man whose attorney’s signature appears on the documents.”

  Sophie’s fingers tightened around the receiver as the woman’s words sank in. “What man?”

  “You should know, honey. You’re living in his house,” she said, frost dangling from each word. “If you’re having a domestic issue with your husband, you’d better talk to him about it. I’m not a marriage counselor.” The ice cracked, and the line went dead.

  When Sophie replaced the receiver on the cradle, she almost wished she hadn’t. The girls, who had been eerily quiet during her phone conversation, began to question her, both speaking at the same time. Numb, she waved them away.

  Lord, what do I do now?

  When an immediate answer failed to appear, Sophie cleared her throat and took a deep breath. She let it out slowly and gathered both girls into her lap.

  While Chloe snuggled against her shoulder, Amanda looked up intently, a light spattering of what looked like yellow paint dotting her right cheek. Sophie reached for a kitchen towel and dabbed it against her tongue before swiping at the little girl’s face.

  “Mommy, do you want to sell our house?” Amanda asked.

  “Yeah, Mommy, you don’t want to move, do you? I like it here,” Chloe added.

  Two sets of precious brown eyes stared in her direction. Again Sophie petitioned the Lord for an answer. Again He remained silent.

  Finally she found her voice. “Miss Nell gave us this house.” She kissed Amanda on the cheek. “It’s our home, and we’re not leaving it.”

  Chloe gave Amanda a high five. “Yippee! Let’s go take down the ugly sign.”

  “Hold it,” Sophie said, shifting Amanda off her lap. “Until I know more about what’s going on here, we’re going to have to leave the sign in the yard.”

  Amanda glared accusingly. “Sarah Josten’s mommy and daddy sold their house, and she told me she had to keep her room clean because strangers had to walk all over the place. They even looked in the closets.”

  “I don’t want strangers looking in my closet,” Chloe whined. “And I don’t want to sell our house.”

  Amanda tugged on the tail of Sophie’s scrubs and stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “Mommy, strangers are bad.” She shook her head, dislodging a dark curl from the ponytail Sophie had painstakingly tied with a red bow that morning. “I don’t want strangers in my room.”

  “Mommy!” Amanda’s cry turned from a whine to a high-pitched squeal in lightning speed, nearly obliterating the sound of the doorbell.

  Temporarily distracted, both girls raced for the door, most likely to tell their tale of woe to one of the neighbor girls. Grateful for even a moment’s relief, Sophie leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes.

  Tiredness snaked up her spine and settled into her bones. An image of Nell rose unbidden in her mind.

  “You gave us this house,” she whispered to her. “At least I thought you did.”

  True, she hadn’t received paperwork on the place, but the letter Nell had written said it all. She wanted this half of the house to be the place Sophie lived with the girls.

  “Mommy!” Amanda shouted a second later, shattering the picture in her mind.

  She mustered the strength to open her eyes. “Yes?” she called.

  “There’s a man here,” Amanda said.

  Great. Dealing with pesky salesmen was never high on her list of things to do, but now the task seemed even more impossible than ever.

  “Tell him we don’t allow solicitors, then politely close the door.”

  She heard Amanda try, with Chloe’s help, to repeat her statement. Twice they stumbled over the word “solicitor,” causing Sophie to grin despite the cloud of doubt about the house situation. What would she do without her precious girls? Even in the dark times, they managed to shine a little light.

  A deep rumble of unintelligible words caused her to realize the girls had failed to make their point. She climbed to her feet and shuffled down the hall toward the door feeling older than dirt.

  As she rounded the corner, the door swung open to reveal a man in a dark, rumpled suit and faded blue tie. In his hand he carried a slip of paper.

  “Miss Sophie Comeaux of 421 Riverside Avenue?” he asked, pushing thick-lensed glasses higher on his nose.

  “Yes.”

  He extended his hand as if to shake hers, th
en pressed the paper into her palm. “Consider yourself served,” he said as he beat a hasty retreat.

  “Served?” She looked down at the paper in her hand. “With what?”

  Her gaze fell to the words on the page, and her heart, what was left of it, sank.

  “Nell didn’t intend for this to happen.” Sophie straightened her shoulders and reached for the phone. “Back to homework, girls. I’m going to make a quick call to Auntie Bree.” She punched two on speed dial and waited while her best friend’s voice came on the line. “Hey, Bree, know how you’re always trying to fix me up with your cousin the real estate attorney? Well, I’d like his number, but don’t get excited. This won’t be a social call.”

  “So the sign wasn’t a practical joke?”

  Sophie let out a long breath. “I wish. Seems like some man has decided he owns this property and is intending to sell it.”

  “What man?”

  “That’s what I’d like your cousin to find out.”

  “Oh no, honey,” Bree said. “Forget my cousin. I’m handling this one myself. What sort of documentation or affidavits do you have that will prove your property rights?”

  “English, please.”

  Bree sighed. “Did Miss Nell give you anything in writing that would prove your case? Something that specifically gives the property to you?”

  Sophie thought a second. “Nothing official like a deed or anything, but she wrote a note on a Mother’s Day card right after we moved in.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Just that she intended us always to have a roof over our heads. She cited Psalm 68 in it, I believe.”

  “Did that include both sides of the house or just the half you’re living in?”

  “Well,” Sophie said, “I don’t remember her being specific about that. I guess I never thought about it.”

  “Did she sign it?” Bree asked.

  “Well, she signed the card, and the note was right there above her name.”

  “And you’ve still got it?”

  “In my Bible.” She paused to shift the phone to the other ear. “Why?”

  “Why?” Her friend chuckled. “It just became evidence. If Miss Nell intended you and the girls to live in that house, I doubt the state of Louisiana will go against her wishes.”

  “That’s good news, Bree.”

  “Hang on to that thought, honey. It could be a long time before you get more good news.” A phone rang in the background. “I need to dash, Soph. How about I treat you and the girls to pizza delivery tonight at my place while we go over this in detail? I’d really like to file a motion before the end of the week so we can set a hearing date. Once that’s in line, I think we can put a hold on the sale, at least until the judge rules.”

  “That means the house will go off the market?”

  “Temporarily,” Bree said. “But you can remove the sign. Now, about dinner.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Sophie said. “I’ll make dinner if you’ll come here instead. How does barbecue sound?”

  “Considering you make the best ribs in the state of Louisiana, I am heading for the car. What can I bring?”

  “How about a salad and a solution to my problem?”

  Eight

  September 10

  Ezra Landry’s heart—what was left of it—sank.

  The attorney assigned to him by the Marine Corps had never deemed it necessary to trek to the wilds of Java to see him. The fact that he now stood at attention, obviously waiting for permission to approach, did not bode well.

  With the training that had long become habit, Ezra studied his visitor and drew an instant conclusion. Out of his element, this guy, and probably not much help beyond pushing a few papers and lighting the general’s cigars.

  The first lieutenant was slim and straight as a rail, and his dark hair and eyes stood in extreme contrast to the paleness of his skin and the shine of perspiration decorating his brow. Not an infantry attorney, his buddy Calvin Dubose’s term for men like Calvin who preferred the battlefield to the courtroom and could easily transition between the two.

  No doubt the man spent most of his days in a Virginia law library rather than seeing clients in this steamy, jungle-infested corner of the planet. On top of that, he looked about as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

  Ezra knew the reaction well.

  It came with the position. The position that officially did not exist.

  “Would you repeat what you just said?” He motioned for the lawyer to take a seat and watched as he complied. If any man could sit at attention, it was this one. He knew the type: Joe College with a need for structure. Perfect military lawyer. Probably showered, shaved, and ate all his meals at attention.

  “Relax, soldier. No matter what you heard, I don’t bite.”

  The lawyer turned up one corner of his mouth in what probably passed for a smile in his circles. “Of course, sir.”

  While the man detailed his plan to dispose of his grandmother’s house, Ezra listened in silence. When he got to the part about the place being occupied, he held up his hand to stop him.

  “You mean there is still someone living in my grandmother’s house after all?”

  The lawyer’s spine stiffened. “Yes, sir.” He opened a slim metal briefcase and extracted four sheets of paper. “One adult and two minors. Females, sir.”

  “Females.” Ezra sucked in a slow breath and tried to digest the information.

  “Let me get this straight. A woman and two children are living in my grandmother’s house even after my grandmother’s death?”

  “Yes, sir. Half of it anyway. She has her mail sent to 421A.”

  “Name, please.”

  He consulted the papers before him, then thrust two of them toward Ezra. “One Sophia Rebecca Comeaux, age twenty-nine and legal adoptive parent to seven-year-old twins Chloe Rose and Amanda Grace Comeaux. Ms. Comeaux is an employee of Latagnier General Hospital in their neonatal unit, and the juveniles attend primary school. Second grade. ”

  Could this be the woman Granny Nell spoke of? The coincidence was too strong to ignore, and yet he felt sure she would have heeded his advice and changed her mind about taking them in. She certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about them in her letters.

  Ezra swung his gaze to address his officially assigned lawyer.

  “Do we know how long these females have been living in my late-grandmother’s home?”

  The attorney shook his head. “Not at this time, sir, although the necessary paperwork has been filed to begin the process of removing them. With your signed affidavit, I expect the papers have already been served.”

  “But in the meantime they reside under my grandmother’s roof?”

  The attorney swallowed hard. “They do, temporarily, at least.”

  He indicated for the man to continue his story, steepling his fingers as he gave the papers a cursory glance and listened to the lawyer drone on about probate requirements, residential sales agreements, and real estate law. While he pretended interest, the truth be known, he only meant to comply with the words in his grandmother’s will.

  In her cryptic writing, she had scribbled a hasty note at the bottom of the document she’d had drawn up a decade earlier. Dated only a few months before her death, it left no doubt in Ezra’s mind as to how she wished to dispose of her estate. A copy of the amended document had been folded atop a shiny set of house keys and left for him in the vault of the State Bank of Louisiana, downtown branch.

  At least that’s what Calvin told him the last time they’d been in contact. If only he’d had the presence of mind to ask Calvin to handle the last of the details. Then he might have found out about the interlopers from a friend.

  Ezra made a mental note to let the brass know that in any further legal matters his representation would come from Calvin Dubose, not some randomly assigned Ivy Leaguer.

  You take everything else, but leave the house to the orphans, Ezra, she’d written
, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

  He smiled. While the house wasn’t worth much, it would still make for a tidy donation to the local orphanage once it was sold.

  While the lawyer continued to speak, Ezra picked up the legal document and read the first few lines. “Excuse me, soldier. What is your name?” He could have read it off the man’s name tag, but he felt the need to hear him say it.

  The lawyer looked flustered. “First Lieutenant Hawthorne, sir.”

  Ezra nodded. “First Lieutenant Hawthorne, has anyone bothered to ask Miss—what was her name?”

  “Comeaux, sir.”

  Again he nodded. “Has anyone asked Miss Comeaux what she’s doing in my grandmother’s house?”

  Attorney Hawthorne looked even more uncomfortable as he seemed to consider the question. “I don’t believe so, sir,” he finally said. “But she has been served with papers indicating there is a claim on the house in which she resides. A hearing was held and passed, due to your absence, but with your permission, I will file a motion and get this handled.”

  If a legal battle ensued, Calvin would handle the details. Period. The last thing he intended to do was leave something this important to a man he did not know. He stated this to the first lieutenant who, to Ezra’s surprise, looked positively relieved.

  Ezra rose to his full height, an advantage he rarely used in negotiations, and stared the lawyer down with his most intimidating look. To his credit, Hawthorne stared right back, although the sheen on his forehead had increased.

  “Are you sure you want to tell me you can’t remove three females from an unauthorized location?”

  “No, sir,” he said.

  Easing into the chair, Ezra forced a smile. “Then you are saying you can?”

  “No, sir,” he repeated, his neck now a bright shade of red. “That’s not what I’m saying at all, sir.”

  Their gazes met and locked. Slowly, never moving his from the attorney’s, Ezra contemplated his words carefully.