Free The Legacy by Shirley Jump Page A

at St. Timothy’s, and eventually the two struck up a friendship. My dad loved the history of this town, too, nearly as much as Hugh.” She added some more soap to the water, then began washing again. “I was a little hard to handle as a kid—”
    “I find that so hard to believe.”
    She splashed him with soapy water. “Hey. I wasn’t that bad. I just…well, I hated to go to bed at night. Hugh had come by once for dinner, and Iguess I latched on to him and made him tell me a story before I went to bed. Within five minutes, my dad said, I was out like a light. The whole plan eventually backfired, though, because as I got older, I became more interested in the stories Hugh would tell…and then not want to go to bed.”
    “Have you ever been anywhere else? Traveled outside of Indigo?”
    “Not really, other than the occasional trip to Lafayette or New Orleans,” Marjo said. “I’ve lived in the same place all my life. I love Indigo.”
    “How do you know you love it if you’ve never lived anywhere else?” He thought of his family, who had struggled financially because they’d never wanted to leave the place they loved.
    “I can’t imagine anywhere else on earth that could make me as happy as the bayou does.”
    “But haven’t you ever been curious to see the rest of the world?”
    She shrugged, and Paul got the feeling that Marjo Savoy hadn’t always wanted to stay in Indigo. “Once, I guess. Back when I thought I was going to be the next Mariah Carey, with a definite touch of the bayou.”
    What couldn’t this woman do? She could handle a dead body with calm, had, from what he’d heard around town, spearheaded a historical revival in Indigo and was Gabriel’s primary caretaker, something that must have had its challenges over the years. “You never told me the other day. What do you sing? Or rather, what did you sing?”
    She rinsed the bowl she held before answering. “Do you really want to know? Or are you planning on signing me up for the next American Idol competition to get me out of the way?”
    He laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that one. If I get desperate, maybe I’ll give them a call.”
    She made a face and he laughed again.
    “Seriously, Marjo, I do want to know. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”
    “Me? I’m as ordinary as they come.”
    The cozy kitchen, the heavy warmth still hanging in the air and the quiet, mournful songs of the night animals seemed to intensify the moment. “You’re definitely not ordinary, Marjolaine.”
    When he said her name, his voice a song all its own, a thrill went through Marjo, skating along her nerve endings. Had anyone ever said her name quite like that? For a moment she forgot what she was doing, forgot about Hugh, the restoration committee, the opera house. Forgot everything but the way her name had seemed to roll off his tongue.
    “Sing for me, Marjo,” Paul said, his voice low. “Please.”
    She opened her mouth to protest, to argue that there were dishes to be done, and a home to get back to, but instead, what came out were the first few notes of “ Le Pays des Etrangers. ”
    The French words, which she’d memorized years ago, came easily to her, carried on the soft melody, telling a story about another country, another world.
    When a smile crossed Paul’s face, she continued with the tune, her voice increasing in volume as the song took root inside her.
    How long had it been since she’d sung? Too long, clearly, because with every note, a remembered joy began to enrich her spirit.
    “I’ve never heard that song sung quite like that before,” he said when she finished.
    Heat filled her face. “I’m out of practice and—”
    He put up a finger, shushing her. “I meant, I’ve heard that song a hundred times and never has it made me feel that way.”
    She pulled back, surprised. “Feel how?”
    “Almost…homesick, which is crazy, because since leaving Cape Breton, I’ve never looked back.” He paused for a