Rochelle Alers - A Time To Keep

A moving company delivered cartons filled with her clothes, favorite books, electronic equipment, CDs, DVDs, her computer, photographs and family mementoes. And once a telephone technician installed the data lines she needed for a telephone, computer modem, and fax machine, she finally felt in control of her life. Aside from her cell phone she’d felt cut off from her family and friends.

Sitting at her computer, she opened a new document: Bon Temps Restorations. She wanted to replace the wallpaper throughout the house, reupholster sofas and chairs, repair and hang the magnificent living room and ballroom chandeliers, and repair the plasterwork on the ceilings. All of the wood floors and tables in the rooms on the first story were in need of refinishing. Bedroom closets overflowed with colorful dresses and costumes, suggesting that Gwendolyn Pickering had not led a reclusive lifestyle. The task of emptying the many closets still awaited her, a project she planned to tackle at her leisure.

The telephone rang, shattering her concentration. Peering at the display, she saw the name of her late aunt’s attorney. She’d called his office in New Orleans, as he’d suggested during their last conversation, with her new number. Picking up the receiver, she introduced herself.

“Gwendolyn Taylor.”

“Afternoon, Miss Taylor. Billy Sykes here.”

She smiled. He’d referred to himself as Billy whereas stuffy Boston lawyers would’ve been Mr. Sykes. “Please call me Gwen.”

A chuckle came through the earpiece. “I was hoping you’d allow me that honor. I suppose you’re settlin’ in all right.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. I’d love to come down and sit a while with you, but right now I’m up to my eyeballs in a case that’s sure to get a lot of media coverage. I just wanted to tell you that your aunt left a package with me about seven months before she passed away, and I’m going to send it to you by a bonded messenger.”

“What’s in it?”

He chuckled softly. “You’ll see when you get it. He should get it to you by Thursday.”

Her curiosity piqued, Gwen wondered how much Billy knew about Gwendolyn Pickering. She hadn’t had much contact with her mother’s favorite aunt. Gwendolyn, as she wanted to be called, traveled from Louisiana every five years to reconnect with relatives in Delaware, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. She refused to vary her schedule, not even for a funeral. The year she celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday the visits, telephone calls, cards and letters—always without a return address—stopped. Everyone suspected she’d passed away until William Sykes called to inform Gwen that her great-aunt had left all of her worldly possessions to her namesake.

“How well did you know my aunt?”

“I didn’t know her as well as my daddy did. But, he can’t tell you anything because the Lord called him home last year. All I can tell you is that she didn’t want me to contact you until after she’d been cremated.”

“I’m glad she could trust you to follow her wishes, and I look forward to receiving the package.”

“All I can say is Gwendolyn Pickering was quite a woman.”

“Thank you, Billy, for everything, and if you’re ever in the neighborhood, please come by.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Goodbye, Billy.”

“’Bye, Gwen.”

She hung up, wondering what else her aunt wanted her to have. Her gaze shifted back to the blinking cursor on the computer screen. Her fingers touched the letters on the keyboard with lightning speed as the list lengthened. She’d just saved what she’d typed when the melodious chiming of the doorbell echoed throughout the house.

Walking out of the sun-filled room she’d set up as her office, she went to answer the door. It was probably the head of the landscaping crew who’d come earlier that morning to cut and weed the grass, and prune the fruit trees and flower beds. The aroma of freshly turned earth, cut grass and flowering blooms wafted through the many screened-in windows.

Peering through the security eye, she saw the face of a young man in a tan uniform. He wore the same hat she’d seen on Shiloh the night he’d answered her nine-one-one call.

She opened the door. The star on the man’s shirt identified him as a deputy. “Good afternoon. Is there a problem, Deputy Lincoln?” she asked, reading his name badge.

Frank Lincoln removed his hat, cradling it to his chest. The sunlight glinted off his thick orange-red hair. “Good afternoon, Miss Taylor. I just came by to give you something from Sheriff Harper.” He reached into the pocket of his shirt and handed her an envelope. “He said he’ll come by later to talk to you about it.”

Gwen took the envelope. She smiled at the deputy. “Please let Sheriff Harper I know I’ll be expecting him.”

Frank put back on his hat, grinning broadly. He’d recognized Gwendolyn Taylor as the woman who’d sat in the unmarked SUV with his boss. “You have a good day, Miss Taylor.”

She returned his friendly smile. “Same to you, Deputy.”

Gwen waited until he slipped behind the wheel of his cruiser and drove away before tapping the envelope against her palm and ripping off a corner. Opening the envelope she shook out two tickets. PAID, stamped in red, covered the face of the tickets for a fund-raiser given by the Bayou Policemen’s Benevolent Association for Needy Families.

She closed the door to keep out the sultry heat, smiling. She’d been so engrossed with cleaning Bon Temps that she’d forgotten her commitment to purchase two tickets for the fund-raiser.

Sitting on a formal high-back chair in the entryway, Gwen placed the envelope and tickets on a mahogany table. Fatigue washed over her and she closed her eyes. It wasn’t until she sat down that she became aware of how hard she’d worked, pushing herself to the point of exhaustion.

A knowing smile softened her mouth. She’d told Shiloh she was disciplined, focused, but he had countered, saying she was anal. He was right, but that was something she wouldn’t readily admit.

What she did not want to acknowledge was that she was an overachiever. From the first time she won a school-wide spelling bee, made the high school honor roll and finally the college’s dean’s list, Gwendolyn Paulette Taylor was motivated to come out on top at all costs. And she hadn’t needed a psychologist to tell her she was overcompensating and silently crying out for attention from her parents, who obsessed about their terminally ill son. Langston was gone, yet her drive for acceptance and approval continued until she turned thirty.

With her New Year’s resolution to streamline her life and her decision to relocate to Louisiana, she’d finally accepted that she hadn’t needed anyone’s approval except her own.

* * *

Shiloh slowed down as he maneuvered his sports car under a live oak allée, coming to a stop at the end of a circular driveway. He parked and turned off the engine. He’d called himself king of fools for chasing after Gwen Taylor, but there was something about her that wouldn’t let him stay away.

He’d lost count of the number of times he’d driven past the road leading to her house and hadn’t stopped to find out how she was settling in. What excuse would he use to explain his unannounced visit? He was certain Gwen would’ve recognized his deception if he told her that he was checking on residents in the area.

Shiloh reached for a decorative shopping bag on the passenger seat, opened the door to his Mustang convertible, stepped out, and glanced around him. The smell of grass and flowers hung in the air. It was a smell that had become an aphrodisiac, pulling him back to Teche even when he hadn’t wanted to stay.

Soft gold light spilled from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the first story of the understated house with a full-height columned porch wrapping around the front and sides. He stepped onto the porch, rang the bell, waiting to come face-to-face with Gwen again. Less than a minute later he was met with the image of his ongoing musings bathed in light from an overhead fixture, and the sound of classical music.