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

Melanie. The attorneys say she left everything to you now. There may be some mementos, something you might want to keep. I'll understand if you decide not to visit the house on Rampart Street, but we do have to visit your Aunt Lenore and Uncle Caleb and settle your Grandfather Flamenco's estate.”
           “Then home to Texas?” She smiled bravely though tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks as she slid into her father's waiting arms. “I'll think about what to do with her things,” she murmured hesitantly.
           “Talk it over with your mother,” Rafe replied gently.
     
    * * * *
     
    Everything is exactly as I remembered, Deborah thought to herself as she numbly unpacked in their old quarters, the private apartment across the courtyard connecting to the Flamencos' New Orleans house. Despite the high ceilings, the late fall humidity was oppressive. Oh, for the dry air of north Texas. She sighed.
           “You hate it here, too, don't you?” Melanie, looking small and forlorn, stood in the doorway to her parents' large bedroom. She had just left her own room at the end of the hall.
           “I have little good to remember that isn't overshadowed by pain, that's true,” Deborah said, a haunted note in her voice.
           “At least, Grandmère Celine is willing to admit you by the front door. If she had her way, I'd be sleeping downstairs with her slaves,” Melanie said bitterly.
           Deborah walked over and drew her daughter by the hand to the large four-poster bed. As they sat down, Deborah reassured her. “She won't have her way, because your father owns this house now and what he decrees stands. You are his child, just as Adam and Caleb and Norrie are, and equally loved.”
           “Oh, Mama, you are such a special person!” Melanie threw her arms around Deborah's neck.
           “Remember the first time you called me Mama?” Deborah asked softly. “You were twelve years old, such a proud, fiercely independent, and lovely little girl. I used every wile I knew to win you over, and it was worth it. Don't let the old hatreds here touch you, dear heart.”
           “I won't,” Melanie replied with a catch in her voice. “But when I think of how my G randmère Marie loved me and how this one hates me...”
           “As soon as we get legal matters straightened out, we'll go home,” Deborah soothed.
           “Do—do you think Aunt Lenore and Uncle Caleb will like me? I mean, they've lived here all their lives.”
           Deborah smiled confidently. “Lenore is much more like your father than like your grandmother. She and I were best friends when I lived here. That's why your baby sister is named for her. In fact, I helped Lenore and Caleb elope and scandalized the whole family.”
           “Including your papa,” Rafe added from the door, remembering the bitter fight he and Deborah had had the night she disguised herself in Lenore’s costume while his sister and her American slipped away from the masked ball and were secretly married.
           Pain and guilt for the way he had treated Deborah were etched on his face as he came into the room. “Perhaps, we should have stayed at Lenore and Caleb's house, and to hell with Maman's hysterics,” he said darkly.
           Deborah rose and went over to embrace him, her body transmitting a warmth and love that erased all the old hurts. “No, we can stay for the few days it will take to settle matters. We'll see the Armstrongs and their brood tonight.” Turning to Melanie, she said, “And I warn you, if you think two little brothers have been a trial, wait until you see all your cousins—Thad, Michael, Rafael, Burton, oh, yes, and one poor little girl as an afterthought!”
           “The one named for you?” Melanie asked Deborah.
           As her mother nodded, her father added with a grin, “And they all have red hair.”
           “Does Uncle