Free Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) by Shirl Henke

dressed like an old lady, not the lovely young woman we visited here two years ago.”
           Melanie sighed. “I should think my clothes would please you. Honestly, Mama, you of all people should realize it's not how a woman looks but how she thinks that's important.”
           “Well I think you will take a bath, dress in some appropriate clothes, which your mother will select for you, and we shall continue this discussion at dinner,” her father pronounced with finality.
     
    * * * *
     
           “The letter must have followed us on the very next steamer,” Rafe said dejectedly. He sat at Adam's desk, rubbing his fingers in small, tight circles on his temples.
           Adam was surprised to detect a few faint flecks of gray in his son-in-law's curly black hair. “You must tell Melanie. Lily was her natural mother. What will you do about Claude's estate?”
           Rafe unfolded his long body from the chair and stood to face Adam. “I'll have to go to New Orleans and deal with my mother. The lawyers doubtless have her in tears by now. Damn that stubborn old fool, to die leaving me the whole estate just as if I'd stayed there and done as he wanted!” Rafe pounded the table in agitation.
           The law firm of Beaurivage and LeBlanc's neat letterhead lay on the study table, as did another letter from the same packet, written in the bold, clear script of Rafe's brother-in-law, Caleb Armstrong. A late summer yellow fever epidemic had claimed both Claude Flamenco and Lily Duval Bertin.
           “I’ll have to talk to Caleb about the estate. Hell, Adam, I don't want it! I told my father when I left New Orleans that he still had a daughter. He should have left his wealth to my sister and her husband as well as to his wife. I wanted no part of it or the hold it would have on me.”
           “You can never undo family ties, son. Maybe you and your mother can reconcile your differences now,” Adam said.
           Rafe gave a snort of disgust. “She and the rest of my illustrious Beaurivage and Flamenco cousins still refuse to admit Lenore and Caleb are alive, much less part of the family. When my sister eloped with an American, they disowned her forever.”
           “Yet your father willed you and your children everything, although you married an American.”
           “It's an old Creole tradition. Men can be forgiven any excess; women, none,” he replied in disgust.
           Adam half smiled. “Sounds like some of Deborah's ideas have been rubbing off on you over the years.” He walked over to the desk and placed a hand on Rafe's shoulder. “You'll have to go to New Orleans not only for your mother, but to deal with the attorneys, son. Your sister doesn't need the Flamenco fortune, but your mother must be provided for.”
           Rafe's shoulders slumped. “If only I didn't have to drag Melanie into this.”
           “You have to tell her, son,” Adam said gently.
     
    * * * *
     
           “Why should I care if she's dead?” Melanie stood in the center of her bedroom with her hands on her hips. “She never loved me. She let Grandmère and Aunt Thérèse raise me—then you and Deborah. Deborah's my real mother, the one who loves me. Lily Duval never did!” Melanie's golden eyes were filled with pain. Her tiny body vibrated with fiercely restrained anguish.
           Rafe understood her hurt. Lily had never accepted her firstborn child after the second one, a boy, died in an epidemic. Melanie reminded him of Lily in physical appearance, the high cheekbones and smooth olive skin with just a hint of copper in the complexion, the big eyes and long silky wealth of ebony hair. Yet anyone admiring the beautiful young woman would see the obvious resemblance to his own French-Spanish Creole ancestry and never suspect her Cherokee or African bloodlines.
           “Lily's husband, Charles Bertin, died last year in a duel,