The Legacy (7 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING
,
the scent of brewing coffee and the brightness of the sun streaming through his windows finally roused Paul a little after nine. He rolled over, glanced at the clock then looked at it again.

The numbers nine-zero-seven gleamed back at him from the digital display. He flicked out his wrist and focused his bleary gaze on his watch. Yep, same time there.

He hadn’t slept past 5:00 a.m. in years. A decade maybe. Ever since he’d taken his first picture for pay, Paul had been out of bed before the roosters crowed, intent on getting the story. He prided himself on being the first on the scene, the last to leave.

He got dressed and went downstairs for a late breakfast. The buffet in the breakfast room was generous for a B and B. Beignets, pain perdu, bacon, fresh country eggs, toast, home-cooked preserves in every flavor from fig to watermelon, café au lait, juice…everything he could have imagined on a Louisiana table. Paul selected a little of everything, his plate filled to overflowing by the time he sat down.

A few minutes later, Luc Carter, who owned the bed-and-breakfast, stopped by his table to ask him if he was enjoying his stay. “I am, thank you,” Paul replied.

Luc gestured toward the opposite chair, then sat when Paul nodded. “Did you know you’ve stirred up quite the controversy around here?”

“With the opera house?” Paul grinned. “Yes, Marjo made it clear that I’m not the most popular guy around.”

“Marjo means well, but she’s a little…intense when she believes in something.”

“Just a little.” Would she be that intense in bed? Paul wondered. A part of his mind went down that path, imagining Marjo in his bed, showing him just how intense she could be.

Luc chuckled. “Actually, I came by to put my two cents in. While you’re considering your options with the opera house, I want to tell you how important it is to Indigo that this CajunFest happens. Indigo is not exactly a hotbed of tourists, and being a small business owner engaged to a small business owner, I know what an impact this festival can make.”

“I’m not standing in the way of the festival. I just don’t need to own an opera house. To me, it’s like buying a helicopter for a dog.”

“I understand. Before I moved here, I used to be the kind of man that didn’t hang on to much.” He looked up at the pixie-ish woman with spiky
strawberry-blond hair who was bringing in a basket of fresh bread. “But eventually you find something—someone—you’ll do anything to hold on to.”

Luc smiled as he watched the woman cross the room. Clearly, she was his fiancée. She turned, caught him looking and exchanged a private smile with him. It was obvious to Paul that the B and B owner had found something very special.

Paul had never experienced that feeling, not really, despite all his travels and all the people he had photographed. He’d married Diane on an impulse, thinking that marrying her would curb his wander-lust and give him everything he’d missed out on in his childhood.

But if anything, marriage had done the opposite. Although he had seen that look before between dozens of couples, he’d never gotten any closer to it than through the lens of his camera.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” Luc gave the table a pat, then rose. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay better.”

The friendliness of the people here astounded Paul. It was as if Indigo was a giant family and every visitor the prodigal son. Everyone from the owner of the general store to the gas station attendant who’d filled his tank had offered a smile and a kind word.

Paul finished his meal, then headed out into the warm sunshine, his camera bag, as always, slung over his shoulder. For some reason, the urge to leave town at first light had dissipated. Maybe the slow-
moving bayou had affected him. Everything seemed to move at a different pace here—the river, the people, the meals. People even talked slower here, as if they had all the time in the world.

He stepped onto the veranda, a cup of coffee in his hand, and stretched the kinks out of his back.

“Hey, Paul!”

He turned to see Gabriel sitting on the bottom step, as if he’d been waiting all morning for Paul to appear. Given the excited gleam in the young man’s eyes, Paul wasn’t so sure that was far from the truth.

“Hey, Gabriel. How are you?”

“Good.” He beamed. “I have a little time before I have to go to work, and I was thinking…” He rose, shifted from foot to foot. “I mean, hoping…”

“You want to take some pictures with me today?”

Gabriel’s face instantly brightened. “Sure!” He sobered just as quickly. “Only…if you don’t mind. Marjo said you like to be like a black bear, stay by yourself and all.”

Marjo was right. On any other day, Paul was a one-man show, making his way through cities, forests and war zones. He’d never liked the encumbrance of a reporter or another photographer, preferring to work on his own.

But today the thought of company was appealing. Clearly, he
had
slept too long, because he was getting soft. Sentimental.

“I don’t mind you coming along,” he said to Gabriel. “In fact, I have a spare camera in my bag.
You can use it, take your own pictures, and later, we can compare notes.”

Gabriel gave him a quizzical look. “How can we compare notes if we’re taking pictures?”

Paul laughed. “You have a point.”

The two of them made their way down toward the bayou, walking in the direction of Indigo. From time to time, Paul stopped. He’d train his camera on a gnarled cypress or a small rowboat tied along the banks. As he snapped a cormorant standing in the shallow waters along the edge, an alligator slipped into the water, silent and deadly. Paul took a photo just as the animal came into the frame, capturing what he saw as the true essence of the bayou. Beauty and danger, tangled together as surely as the twisted branches of cypress.

He looked over at Gabriel, who was mirroring Paul’s actions, being selective about his shots, looking through the viewfinder before judging if a picture was worth taking. “Can I see what you’ve got so far?” Paul asked, coming up beside Gabriel.

“Sure.” Gabriel handed over the camera without hesitation. Paul liked Gabriel. He was a simple soul, whose trust and openness were rare in most people.

Paul flicked on the review button, then scrolled through the photos Gabriel had taken. A close-up of a delicate flower, a bird in a tree, a mole poking his head out of the ground. “This one’s really good, Gabriel,” Paul said, holding it up so Gabriel could see, too. “I love the composition in this photograph, the
way you blended the light and the dark of the water and the land. It’s fabulous. And this one—” he pushed the button again “—is great. Look how you zoomed in on this bird just enough to make him the focal point, yet left enough negative space so that he really stands out against the bayou. It’s a spoonbill, isn’t it?”

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, it is. But what’s composition and zoom?”

Paul explained the terms as he reviewed the photos, using Gabriel’s pictures as a kind of show and tell.

He hadn’t exaggerated. Gabriel had gotten a wonderful shot of the pink-and-white bird as it stood on one leg in shallow water, its long flat bill and dark eyes turned in their direction. “You’re really good at this, especially for a beginner,” Paul said again.

Gabriel beamed with pride. “Do you think I can get a job?”

“Yeah, I think you might.” He rarely said that, all too aware of the danger of encouraging someone to pursue a career path they weren’t equipped to handle. But in Gabriel, he saw something, as if the young man’s gentle spirit imprinted itself into his photographs. He placed the camera back into Gabriel’s hands, closing the boy’s palms over it. “You keep this.”

It took a long second for the words to sink in, but as they did, Paul watched the light in Gabriel’s eyes turn from misunderstanding to astonishment. “I can really keep this?”

Paul nodded.

“I can take my own pictures?”

Paul nodded again.

“And I can keep them, forever?”

“Sure,” Paul said. “If you want to print them out, you can e-mail them to me, no matter where I am, and I’ll get them done for you.”

Gabriel’s smile grew wider. He turned and wrapped Paul in a hug so tight, for a second Paul couldn’t breathe. “You’re a good man,” Gabriel said, patting Paul on the back.

When Gabriel stepped back, Paul had to clear his throat a couple of times before he could speak. No one had ever said those words to him before, and to hear them coming out of Gabriel’s mouth had double the impact. “Thank you,” he said at last.

Gabriel smiled again, this time a softer, secret smile, the same one Paul had seen on Luc earlier today. “I want to take a picture of my girlfriend. Darcy.” He cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered, “We’re gonna get married someday.”

“You have a girlfriend, eh?” Jeez, was every man in Indigo involved in a relationship except for him? Maybe it was the kind of place where people came in two-by-two, like a Louisianan version of Noah’s ark.

“I should have known I’d find you here.”

Paul turned and saw Marjo striding down the grassy lawn toward them. She was dressed in a long white dress with a thousand tiny, enticing buttons
running down the front. With her long dark hair loose around her face and those devastatingly clear blue eyes, she looked very much like an angel.

When she saw him, a smile flitted across her face and something powerful lurched in Paul’s heart. He found himself smiling back, enjoying for a second that same special, private moment that Luc had shared with his fiancée in the dining room of La Petite Maison. Just as quickly it was gone. Paul caught himself and went back to business mode. He wasn’t staying here, and it would be crazy to give the impression there was a relationship building between them.

“Paul gave me a camera!” Gabriel said, running up to meet his sister, showing her the digital camera and explaining how it worked. Clearly, Gabriel had paid more attention to Paul’s words than he’d expected. Gabriel scrolled through the photos he’d taken, showing his sister the images he’d captured.

“Wonderful, really wonderful,” Marjo said, laying a loving hand on her brother’s shoulder. “But it’s time to quit now. You need to get over to Savoy and help Henry. We have Hugh’s wake tonight.”

Gabriel frowned. “I’m gonna miss Hugh.”

“Me, too.” Marjo gave him a quick hug, then sent him on his way. Gabriel turned back every few feet and waved at Paul as he made his way up the lawn.

“I have to go, too,” Marjo said. But she didn’t move.

“Don’t leave,” Paul said, reaching for her, mean
ing only to have her stay a moment to enjoy the scenery. But when he touched her, a deep longing roared through him. “Just for a little while.”

“Okay,” she said, relenting, and he wondered if she had felt the same connection he did. “But only for a little while. I have to get back to work. I have…” Her voice trailed off.

“Hugh’s wake?”

“Oh, yeah, that.” A flush filled her cheeks.

“Do you need help with anything? Dishes? Pillow fluffing?” He grinned.

What was he doing? This was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Why was he still here, anyway? Did he think he’d settle down, get married, have a couple kids?

Of course not. He wasn’t going to repeat the mistakes of his parents, or the ones he’d made in his first marriage. Or the ones he saw among fellow Cape Bretoners, so firmly cemented to their community that they gave up their dreams to stay.

Paul had a job that required distance—literally and figuratively. Bringing a relationship into that life would be unfair to Marjo.

But maybe, just for a little while, he could relax his no-involvement rule. Relax, in general. During the last few assignments, a weariness had come over him every time he got on a plane, coupled with a sense of déjà vu, as if he’d already done this, shot that.

Which was crazy, because the one thing Paul
prided himself on was never doing the same story twice. In every shot, in every assignment, he sought uniqueness, a perspective that had never been done before, and in doing so, he had been well rewarded by
World.

What he needed was a story. One good story that could jump-start his passion for his job again, and he didn’t think it was going to be his upcoming assignment in Tibet.

He glanced at Marjo and an idea formed in his mind. Maybe…that story was here already. “Tell me about the opera house and Alexandre Valois.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I’ve been thinking. You were right. I should be looking at this as an assignment. If it’s the kind of thing
World
runs, I’ll see if my editor is interested in a piece on Indigo.”

The light in her eyes, so bright five seconds ago, dimmed a bit. What had he said? Wasn’t that what she wanted? Publicity for her cause?

“A win-win,” Marjo said, echoing her earlier words.

He nodded. “I’d like to see the opera house, on the inside. Will you show it to me? Please?” he added, a teasing note in his voice.

The soft smile, the one that he liked the best of all her smiles, slipped across her lips. “Yes, but later, because I really do have to get to work.” She turned to go back up the grassy slope.

“Marjo!”

She turned back.

“What time is the wake?” Paul asked. “I’d like to come by and pay my respects to Hugh.”

“Come by anytime tonight. Hugh will be there.” Another, quicker smile. “And so will I.”

Paul didn’t know if it was because of his bloodline link to this place, but as Marjo walked away, Paul was shocked to feel a keen sense of loss—

And, at the thought of seeing her again, an even stronger sense of anticipation.

“Y
OU REALLY OUTDID
yourself this time, Marjo,” Cally said, crossing the room with Marjo. “Hugh looks great.”

The room where Hugh Prejean’s wake was being held was the largest in the Savoy Funeral Home and furnished in a French Provincial style. Marjo was glad she’d chosen it. Judging by the number of visitors and the multiple floral arrangements, she’d needed the space. Hugh’s daughter and two sons had flown in from opposite ends of the country. Marjo had met with them earlier, and they had expressed their gratitude for the way Savoy had handled Hugh’s arrangements. Hugh’s niece, Amelia Prejean, who lived in Indigo and helped run the antique shop, Past Perfect, had been out of town on vacation and was flying in the following day.

“Henry gets all the credit,” Marjo told Cally. “He insisted on doing it right for Hugh.” She let out a sigh. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to all our plans for Indigo without Hugh around. He was the
one who got people excited about the restoration and the town’s revival.”

“You worry too much. Everything will work out fine.” Cally gave her a final pat on the shoulder, then crossed the room to greet Jenny LaFleur.

Marjo made her way through the room, doing what she always did—ensuring perfection. She straightened floral arrangements, made sure tissue boxes were full, greeted people who had come to pay their respects. She paused from time to time, glancing over at Hugh. She wished he could still be here, supporting the town, the bayou, that he’d loved so much. He would be missed for his wit, his intelligence and, most of all, his passion for this tiny town and its history.

Gabriel stayed on the sidelines, uncomfortable with this part of the funeral business. He could help Henry with the bodies, but there was something about the wake and funeral that Gabriel couldn’t handle. Perhaps it was the finality. Or perhaps it was the memory of his parents lying in this very room when he was seven.

Gabriel rarely attended the viewings, but today he’d insisted on coming, out of respect for Hugh, who had always been so kind and patient with him. Nevertheless, Gabriel had yet to move away from the wall and come into the room.

Just as Marjo was moving toward him to make sure Gabriel was okay, a young blond woman came up beside Gabriel and slipped her hand into his.

Darcy.

Marjo liked the girl well enough, but worried Gabriel was seeing too much of her. They’d been inseparable since graduation and saw each other before and after work and every weekend. Marjo had thought the relationship would cool with the arrival of fall, when Darcy started her beauty school course in New Iberia, but instead it had seemed to heat up. She made a mental note to speak to Gabriel again. He was far too young and immature to be “falling in love” or tying himself up with one girl.

It had been just the two of them for so long, Marjo and Gabriel, their own little micro-family. She simply couldn’t imagine a day where she’d walk into the house and not see her brother.

Jenny came up and laid a hand on Marjo’s shoulder. “It’s a real shame about Hugh.”

“It is. He was such a big part of this town.” She looked over at Hugh again. He seemed so peaceful, she could almost believe he was sleeping. His children stood in the receiving line, visibly shaken by the loss of their father. “I think we should look at the CajunFest as a way to honor his memory. He was so excited about the reopening of the opera house and—”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Jenny cut in.

“About what?”

“The CajunFest and…” Jenny paused. “Well, the future of the opera house.”

“We’re moving forward as planned,” Marjo replied. “It’s what Hugh would have wanted.”

“The committee has been talking, and we think…” Jenny took in a deep breath, and Marjo felt sure she knew what was coming. “Well, we think maybe we should stop trying to stand in the way of the Clermont guy and let him sell it,” Jenny said. “Maybe some business will snatch it up and bring money to Indigo that way. The festival will still happen, of course, but we’ve been thinking we should just give up the idea of using the opera house during the festival.”

“
Sell it?
For what? So it can become some hardware store or clothing boutique?” Marjo noticed people looking at her and lowered her voice. “Are you serious?”

“Listen, Marjo, it’s not about the opera house or you or anything. I hate to even bring it up, especially here. But time is ticking away and nothing’s happening. The festival is supposed to happen in ten days and we have nothing ready in the opera house. We need to retreat to Plan B.”

“Plan B?” When had there been another option? She couldn’t believe the committee would desert Hugh’s dream of reviving the opera house.

“The committee feels that without Hugh, there’s no way the rest of the town will continue to back this project,” Jenny explained. “We still don’t have all the money we need, and people are tired of being asked to contribute. Sophie’s campaign raised a lot of
money, but funding a restoration is costly and a much bigger task than we expected. Besides, what’s the point in raising all this money if Paul Clermont sells the place? It’s not that we don’t love Indigo, it’s…well, we’re a small town—a village, really. We don’t have a big pool to draw from for any additional funds and support, and we don’t have the resources to go after outside donors. I know you’re passionate about this project, Marjo, but you, well, you’re only one person, and you’re so busy with this—” Jenny swept her hand to indicate the funeral home “—and Gabriel. You can’t do it all.”

Marjo wanted to argue, to tell Jenny that yes, this could still work, that they could get the opera house back to its former beauty, but then she saw the resignation in the other woman’s eyes and knew arguing would be pointless. Marjo had lost the battle before she’d even known there was one. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll call a meeting and figure out where to go from here.”

Jenny gave her a soft, indulgent smile, one that said the cause was already lost. “Okay.”

Marjo watched Jenny walk away. She knew that the committee members didn’t mean her any harm. There wasn’t a malicious bone in the group. They were just being smart business people. And as much as Marjo hated to admit it, they were right.

The numbers for the opera house were daunting—there were too many expenses involved in restoration and not enough money to cover them. The
committee had hoped the festival would bring in the rest of the money, but if it didn’t, even Marjo had to admit that it would be near impossible to reignite their enthusiasm, especially with Hugh gone.

They had tried, Lord knew they had. Hugh had always said not to worry, that someday the Indigo ship would come in and everything would be fine.

He just hadn’t predicted that the crew would mutiny.

For Marjo, the fight was far from over. If she had to do it alone, she would somehow find a way to fund the restoration and get the opera house up and running as a viable business, thus keeping Alexandre and Amelie’s memories alive and giving a much-needed boost to the town.

And to hedge her bets, she’d keep praying for that ship. Although at this point she figured she needed the
Queen Mary II.

“You’re here awfully late.”

She turned around to see Paul Clermont, dressed in a navy-blue suit, with a white shirt and navy-striped tie. He looked more handsome than any man she’d ever known. Given the khaki shorts and white shirts he normally wore, she was willing to bet the suit was new, bought solely for this event. She was touched that he’d done that. “The wake’s just getting started.”

“Just getting started?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “But it’s after ten. Aren’t most wakes from two to five and seven to nine or some such thing?”

“In the rest of the world, yes, but here in Indigo, we do things a bit different.” As she talked, she made her way through the room, making sure everything was tidy. “Up until World War II, there was a custom of all-night wakes in this area. A family member, or several, would stay with the body all night. It dates back to the days of grave robbers. Someone always sat with the body until it was in the ground. There are still a few Indigo residents who want that option for their loved ones.”

“I’ve seen some tribes on the other side of the world where people did that, too,” Paul said. “I think it’s a nice custom, bringing the town together to honor someone who has died.”

“Well, if there’s one thing people like in Indigo, it’s tradition,” she said, moving to tuck a wayward mum back into an arrangement. “That’s why the funeral home is still here. People like being buried in the cemetery behind St. Timothy’s Church, they like knowing the family’s all going to be together, that the priest who married them will also be the one to give them a proper goodbye.”

Paul nodded. “What you said earlier about Indigo is right. I’ve noticed when I’ve walked around town that this place is like a whole other planet, as if God carved out this little corner without a mold.”

Marjo smiled. “That’s a really nice way of putting it.”

He moved closer to her, making room for Louella Purcell. The older woman lumbered past him, the
feather on her wide-brimmed black hat bobbing along and her little dog, JoJo, trying to squirm out of her tight grip.

“I noticed something else, too,” Paul went on when Louella had passed them. “The pictures Gabriel took captured different elements of Indigo than mine did. He saw details that were important to him. A chair on a veranda, a baby bird in a tree. When you look at his pictures, you see the town through his eyes.”

“And if I looked at your photos,” she said, moving closer still as the room filled up, “would I see it through your eyes?”

“Those were shot through the vision
you
gave me,” he said, his voice low and soft.

“Me?”

“The story you told about La Petite Maison, the passion you have for this place—it’s all impacted the way I now see this place.”

She considered Paul for a long time, the conversation with Jenny still fresh in her mind. Maybe…maybe there was a possibility she could get Paul to support the opera house, to see it the way she did. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“No, not at the moment.” He grinned. “Why? Do you have plans for me?”

She winked. “Nothing nefarious, I promise.”

“Pity.”

The way he said that made her wish she did, indeed, have some other purpose in mind. “Meet me
at the opera house at ten. I did promise to show it to you.”

She was called away by Henry to answer the phone, but as Marjo left Paul, she felt more buoyant about the future than she had in weeks. If it was the last thing she did, she would bring Paul Clermont around to her side.

And then, maybe, she could win back the support of the rest of the town. Of the two, she suspected Paul was the harder sell.

Maybe Cally was right. It was time to get out a little honey.

W
HEN
P
AUL GOT BACK
to his room at La Petite Maison, he saw the green light on his cell phone flashing, telling him he had a message. He unhooked the phone from the charger, then took it outside on the veranda to enjoy the cool evening breeze.

Frogs croaked somewhere in the bayou, crickets chirped, night birds sang their songs. It was the melody of Indigo, and it was oddly peaceful.

When he connected with his voice mail, he heard the deep bass of Joe, his editor, barking into the machine. “Hey, Paul, I’ve got one you’re going to like. Right in your own backyard, too.”

Indigo?

He quickly realized that wasn’t the place Joe meant.

“There’s this group of fishermen in Nova Scotia,” the message continued. “Survived a near sinking
and a hell of a storm. Sort of like
The Perfect Storm,
but with a happier ending.” Joe chuckled. “Anyway, I want you to get up there ASAP and get me some photos of the guys, the boat, for next month’s issue. They’ve avoided the media, wouldn’t even take the money from the
Enquirer
for a shoot, but I know
you
can get their story. Hell, you could pull a story out of roadkill. Besides, this one’s got human interest written all over it. Might even get you one of those awards.” His editor laughed, then hung up.

There it was, the out he had wanted. But for the first time since Paul had picked up a camera, he didn’t want to rush out on assignment. He wanted to stay right here, snap another picture of a cypress or an alligator, take a few minutes to show Gabriel how to make the most of every shot, help him find the story in each picture.

And most of all, he wanted to show Marjo a bit of his world.

Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to show Marjo more than that. He wanted to spend time with her, this spitfire woman who pushed all the wrong buttons and yet still managed to intrigue him as no one ever had before.

She was fire and ice, both strong and distant, full of a passion that lurked beneath that all-business exterior.

For the first time since his divorce, he found himself considering a relationship, something that lasted longer than the few days of a photo assign
ment. That was
not
a good sign—it was the kind of thinking that had a man tossing away a damned good career for a dream that didn’t exist.

He knew that far too well from watching his parents’ marriage disintegrate because of the lengthy separations and his mother’s growing despondency. Each time his father came home to visit, he had grown more bitter and distant.

Paul’s mother had retreated from a life that wasn’t what she’d envisioned, either, leaving the two adult Clermonts more like roommates than spouses whenever Renault was home. Paul had once thought he could live a different life with Diane, but after a month of marriage, he’d realized he’d walked into the very trap he’d been trying to avoid. He and Diane had very different expectations of life, and that had only led to unhappiness.

Which was exactly why he should leave Indigo now and forget about any kind of relationship between him and Marjo Savoy.

He stared at the phone, replayed the message from Joe a second time, figuring that hearing it again might make it sound more exciting. It didn’t.