Dwelling Place

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “I’m going to give you thirty seconds.” He drew a sharp breath. “And you’re going to use that thirty seconds to help me understand what you’re talking about,” he said as he exhaled. “Are we clear?”

  Hawthorne nodded. “Crystal clear, sir.”

  Ezra consulted his watch, then looked up at the lawyer. “Begin.”

  First Lieutenant Hawthorne held the metal case against his chest as if he were about to dodge bullets. “The thing is, sir, I don’t like telling you I can’t do what you wish. The truth is, this real estate matter has to go through the civilian courts, and these things take time, especially in Louisiana, which has a judicial system unlike any other state.” He blinked, barely. “I would like to help further, but I have orders and—”

  “What sort of orders?” Ezra leaned toward the lawyer and watched with satisfaction as the man cringed.

  Slowly Hawthorne opened the case and extracted an envelope. He thrust it toward Ezra. “Orders to give you this and then forget I was here,” he said, cutting his gaze to meet Ezra’s briefly. “Sir,” he added belatedly.

  Ezra weighed the envelope in his palm and watched Hawthorne make good on his escape. As the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor, Ezra spied the seal on the envelope and sank into his chair. Only one person had access to that seal.

  Closing his eyes, Ezra willed himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. Whatever happened with Granny Nell’s house could be sorted out later. He’d learned early on that distraction could kill faster than any of the enemy’s weapons.

  When he lifted the edge of the seal and read the letter inside, he knew he was a dead man. At least he might as well have been dead. The paper in front of him stated that until his legal matters back home were solved he was of no use to the department.

  The distraction to him and the potential of publicity, however small, made him unfit for duty. Ezra threw the papers into the metal toolbox, then reached behind him to grab a match and strike it. As flame met paper, Ezra rose and headed for the door.

  No need to watch his future burn. He’d be there in person to see that soon enough.

  “Hawthorne,” he called, then waited while the man did an about-face and marched back in his direction.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “One last thing. Write this number down.” When the soldier had located pen and paper from his briefcase, Ezra dictated Calvin’s number to him. “Major Calvin Dubose, Fourth Marine Division, Louisiana,” he added for emphasis. “Tell him what you just told me. He will be handling the matter from here on out.”

  As a parting gift, Ezra gave the attorney a look he’d perfected in his short stint as a drill instructor back at Camp Lejeune, and the lieutenant went scurrying out the door. “Lord, what are You up to this time?” he whispered.

  Nine

  September 21

  Ezra’s civilian shirt itched around the collar, and his jeans refused to hold a proper crease. No matter, for he had no intention of making a good impression on the trespassing females currently camping in his house.

  Granny Nell’s house, he corrected as he turned the midsized, nondescript rental car onto Riverside Avenue and parked in a rare empty space within sight of the property. He shifted into Park and removed his handkerchief to mop his brow. Even with the air-conditioning, the temperature hovered higher than a Javanese jungle in midafternoon.

  Anywhere else, September would have ushered in at least a hint of fall, but not here in Latagnier. At least not today.

  “Buck up, Marine,” he said as he adjusted the vent so the air would blow cold on his face. “This is just another mission. Just one more assignment in a long list of assignments.”

  And once he took care of the personal business that was drawing too much attention to him, he could go back to his old life. That much of a promise he’d wrested from his commanding officer, although General Scanlon had been vague about an exact date or location for his return.

  The last guy on their under-the-radar team who left to take care of personal business never came back. He’d heard the man was put on desk duty in New Mexico. The reason: Too many people saw him and remembered him.

  In their line of work, that could mean a mission compromised. Could that be what was on the general’s mind?

  Ezra shrugged off the concern that came with the general’s ambiguous response. “Keep your mind on the mission,” he muttered as he thumped the file on the seat beside him. “How hard can it be to evict a hospital employee and two elementary school students?”

  A scan of the terrain revealed few significant changes in his grandmother’s house. The doors now matched, both wearing a fresh coat of black paint. The crack still shimmered in the stained glass above 421A, but that was the only flaw he could find.

  In fact, the old place never looked better. A potted palm stood between the matching front doors, flowers in feminine colors arranged around its base. On either corner of the porch, a hanging fern’s fronds swung in the warm breeze. The only thing missing was the For Sale sign, temporarily removed until the judge ruled.

  Last night upon arrival, Calvin assured him the issue would be settled in two weeks, three at the most. At this point Ezra didn’t know how he would make it two days here.

  Life on the edge suited him. Loafing on Cal’s lounge chair with mindless American reality shows on the television and fast food in his belly was not his idea of how to live. “Give me a jungle, a mission, and a blanket under the stars any day.”

  Ezra sighed and mopped his neck. Spending any amount of time in south Louisiana in the warm months had to be the closest thing to spending an eternity without the Lord. It certainly was the same temperature.

  And the mosquitoes and humidity? Only the devil himself could have come up with those.

  Yet he had happy memories associated with this place and season. How many summers had he spent sitting with his nose pointed toward Granny Nell’s silver metal floor fan, only blinking when the cool breeze forced his dry eyes to shut. And, oh, the ice cream he ate—homemade vanilla ice cream churned right on that porch until his arm ached.

  For a kid from the other side of the river, he’d done all right. He might have been born in the little village of Algiers across the Mississippi from New Orleans, but his home was here in the heart of Cajun country on Riverside Avenue.

  Always had been; always would be.

  “I hope those orphans appreciate this.” As soon as the words were out, he cringed. “I’m sorry, Lord. That sounded awful.”

  He leaned against the headrest and jammed the handkerchief into his shirt pocket. “Let me try that again, God. Granny Nell gave me this house to provide for the widows and orphans, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Ezra slunk down in the seat and reached for the sunglasses resting on the console. As a secondary measure, he pushed the brim on his hat lower. For a moment he regretted his decision not to involve Calvin in this phase of the mission.

  One pint-sized female wearing a red polka-dot dress and braids emerged from 421A with some sort of fabric toy draped over her right arm. A second female of similar size and coloring clothed in yellow followed, carrying a small pail and shovel.

  The pair proceeded to the patch of flowers on the southern-most perimeter of the property amid some amount of discussion. He couldn’t hear the words over the roar of the air conditioner, but the conversation seemed to revolve around the ownership of the spatula-sized shovel.

  A moment later a third juvenile, this one smaller in a jeans outfit accessorized with a straw cowboy hat and green galoshes, walked across the street and onto the premises to enter the fray, wrestling the shovel away from the warring parties.

  Ezra watched while the girl with the shovel negotiated some sort of peace treaty with the others. Before he could blink twice, the trio were sitting happily together and laughing as they took turns digging.

  “They could use a negotiator like her up in Washington,” he muttered.

  The door swung open once ag
ain, and out stepped a woman far too young looking to be the parent of a school-age brood. Nothing in the file the lieutenant gave him indicated another adult was in the household, so the female in the pink T-shirt and white shorts with matching pink flip-flops must be the babysitter.

  The file.

  He opened it and hid behind its manila cover. As he alternated between studying the enemy on Granny Nell’s porch and the first page of the file, a dull ache began to form between his brows.

  The woman stepped to the edge of the porch and began to speak. From his vantage point, her lips moved, but the words were lost in the whoosh and hum of the air-conditioner. He briefly considered trying to read her lips, then realized there was only one thing to do.

  Groaning, he reached to shut off the air conditioning, then discreetly cracked the passenger-side window an inch. Instantly a wave of heat hit him. So did the pain between his brows.

  “But, Mommy!” the one in yellow called.

  Mommy?

  Ezra took another look at the slender woman now kneeling alongside the girls. With her glossy dark ponytail and fresh-scrubbed face, she looked no more than a decade older than any of them.

  She’d left her pink flip-flops on the porch and now held court barefoot in the dirt with a trio of pigtailed jesters dancing around her. As the woman reached to flatten the loose earth around a patch of white flowers, no queen ever looked so fair, even with a noticeable smudge of dirt on the side of her shorts.

  So this was Sophie Comeaux. Funny how she’d never quite looked like this in his mind. No, the interloper who refused to return Granny Nell’s home to its rightful owner had always resembled more of a shrew than someone’s sweetheart.

  “Buck up, Marine,” he said on the release of a long breath. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he ignored it. “Just another mission. Sometimes the enemy surprises you.”

  The girl in red met his gaze and stared a moment too long for his liking. Another five minutes in the car and he’d be toast.

  Either he had to confront the enemy head on, or he had to retreat. Given the fact he wanted—no, needed—to have this situation under control, he chose the former.

  Throwing the car door open, he stepped out onto the uneven sidewalk. In his estimation, a direct approach would get the job done.

  Tossing his hat and shades on the seat, he let the door slam and palmed the keys. “Sophie Comeaux?”

  Four sets of eyes swung their attention in his direction. “Yes, I’m Sophie,” their leader said as she rose. “Who wants to know?”

  Great. Now what?

  He waited for a blue sedan to pass, then sprinted across the street to thrust his hand in her direction. “Ezra,” he said. “Ezra Landry.”

  ❧

  Ezra Landry. Nell’s grandson, the marine.

  Great. Now what?

  When Nell’s grandson missed the hearing and the For Sale sign was removed from the yard, she’d felt as if she’d won a well-deserved reprieve. The silence that marked the days since then enforced that feeling.

  It had been more wishful thinking than anything else; she knew it, but still she’d hoped for a long period of peace before the next battle with Nell’s grandson.

  And from the looks of this man, he’d survived a battle or two before.

  Sophie clapped her hands together to knock the dirt off, then accepted Ezra’s handshake, all the while staring into eyes that frightened her terribly. Oh, they were nice enough, almond shaped and fringed in thick black lashes, and his cheekbones beneath them looked to be cut from granite and covered in skin the color of café au lait. He might have been a handsome man if he smiled.

  No, it was not the appearance of those eyes, that face, the man that frightened her. It was what lay behind them that sent a jolt of fear through her.

  Somewhere in the mahogany depths, his eyes spoke a warning. This was not a man used to obstacles in his path.

  And he was a marine. Old feelings threatened. She pushed them away.

  Before she came out to call the girls, she’d been reading the story of Samson at the kitchen table. Funny, but this man reminded her of the biblical figure from her daily devotional. Well, except for the hair.

  She broke the handshake as soon as was appropriate, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The girls now stood beside her, each staring with the same look she, too, must be wearing.

  “Girls,” she said with forced calm, “this is Mr. Landry. He is Miss Nell’s grandson. Say hello to him.”

  “Hello,” Chloe said reluctantly. Caroline, who lived down the street, repeated the greeting with a similar lack of enthusiasm.

  Then Amanda stepped forward. At first it seemed as though Sophie’s quieter child would echo her more-outgoing sister’s response. Instead she motioned for the man to come down to her level. To Sophie’s surprise, he did just that.

  He wasn’t an overly large man, but he did have a certain presence. Kneeling before her younger daughter, Ezra Landry still seemed intimidating.

  Funny, but Amanda did not seem to notice. Rather, her daughter seemed to peer into the face of the stranger with something akin to curiosity. He ran his fingers through his military-style haircut and let out a sigh.

  “What’s your name?”

  Before she spoke, she touched his hand, then worked her expression into a frown. “I’m Amanda Comeaux. Are you the man who makes my mommy cry at night?”

  Ten

  “All right, Amanda,” Sophie said quickly as she whirled the girl around to face her. “That’s enough. It’s time for Caroline to go home.” She turned to address the twins. “Why don’t you two say good-bye to your friend and go get washed up for supper?”

  “But, Mommy, we were planting flowers and—”

  “That’s enough, Chloe.” She gave the older twin “the look.”

  “Yes, Mommy,” Chloe said. “ ’Bye, Caroline. Race you to the sink, Amanda.”

  “Be sure you move the Bible off the counter before you turn the water on, please.”

  “I will,” Amanda called as the screen door opened with a squeal. “ ’Bye, Caroline.”

  “No, I will,” Chloe said. “You always drop everything.”

  “I do not.”

  Off went two sets of dusty feet heading toward the kitchen she’d just scrubbed. The door slammed twice, most likely jarring loose the wreath of dried sunflowers and daisies she’d hung this morning. And yet that was the least of her problems.

  Sophie watched the object of her thoughts rise to his full height, then dust off the knees of his jeans. When they finally met her stare, those determined eyes seemed a bit less intense, although no less purposeful.

  “Cute kids,” he said. “That all you’ve got, just those two?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly.

  He nodded. “Cute kids.”

  “So you said.”

  The Landry fellow brushed something off his starched shirtsleeve and seemed in no hurry. “Guess I did,” he said.

  “Yes, you did. You know, a wise and dear friend of mine used to say that when one begins to repeat oneself, that is a sure indicator there is nothing left to say.”

  His gaze collided with hers, and Sophie resisted the urge to take a step backward. Rather, she stood her ground because it was just that: her ground.

  Sophie squared her shoulders and prepared to end the politeness if necessary. Whatever it took, Ezra Landry needed to go back to wherever he came from. Preferably permanently.

  “Look, I know you’re Nell’s grandson, but why are you here?”

  “As you said, I am Nell’s grandson.” Ezra looked past her to grin. “And by virtue of that relationship, I am here to reclaim my house.”

  “Well, Mr. Landry.” Sophie took care in pronouncing both syllables of his last name as she watched his smile fade. “I had a relationship with Nell, too. And I wonder which of us had the closer relationship.”

  He quirked a dark brow but said nothing.

  “Remind me.” She p
aused for effect. “When was the last time you saw your grandmother? Alive, I mean?” The moment she said the words, she wanted to reel them back in. Sophie was a lot of things, but cruel was not one of them. “I’m sorry. That was terribly rude of me. I—”

  “Hey. I might not have been around much the last few years, but at least I’m not trying to steal from the elderly.”

  Sophie’s breath froze in her throat, and she forced herself to blink. Steal from the elderly? What an awful man.

  “You have no idea what you’re saying, Mr. Landry. I started as her home-health nurse when I was with the county. She and I developed a friendship, and she sort of took me under her wing.” When his expression remained skeptical, she pressed on. “Nell wanted me to live next door to her. She practically begged me to, in fact. Said I’d never be able to finalize my adoption of the girls without a better job and a permanent home, and she couldn’t let that happen.”

  “Did she now?”

  “Yes, she did, and besides that, she gave me the courage to finish my schooling and go for a job at the hospital. She also gave me a place to live.” Sophie paused for effect. “The operative word here,” she said slowly, “is gave. I tried paying her rent, but she returned my checks and gave my cash to the church. Finally I gave up and added the amount I would have paid for rent to my monthly tithe.”

  His posture went rigid. “Can you prove that?”

  “Prove what? That Nell wanted the house to go to me?” When he nodded, she returned the gesture. “I have a note from her stating this. Would that satisfy you?”

  “Did it satisfy the courts?”

  It hadn’t—at least not yet. Bree said the legal wrangling would go on until Ezra Landry came forward to defend his claim.

  Some provision was made for property claims that went undefended, but she hadn’t quite grasped the details of it. The question of what Nell intended for the empty half of the house also remained unanswered.

  Indeed, Sophie and the girls were temporarily in limbo, but they weren’t there alone. The Lord was with them.

  “I asked a question, Mrs. Comeaux.”