Page 77 of The Unforgiven
“Mum, he won’t be back tonight. Give him some space. He’s angry, but he’ll come round. He’ll understand that we were simply worried.”
“Gabe called the police on him,” Sylvia cried.
“And I would do it again,” Gabe replied calmly. “Now, can we put this behind us?”
“Not just yet,” Sylvia replied. She was still angry, but the fight had gone out of her. “You go on. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Come on then,” Colin said, eager to lighten the atmosphere. “Emma, what kind of pizza do you like?”
“Just plain. Can I wear my wings?”
“Only if we walk to the restaurant. They’ll break in the car.”
“I’m tired of walking. Jude made me walk. Here.” Emma turned to Gabe, allowing him to remove the wings. “Keep them safe.”
“I will. You can wear them tomorrow.”
Emma smiled hugely. “And I’ll have my pink hair for months,” she said, pleased with herself. “Bridget has purple hair. Jude said it looks fierce. What does that mean, Daddy?”
“Means it looks great.”
“Do I look fierce?” Emma demanded.
“You are the fiercest of them all,” Logan interjected. “You make me want to get pink hair.”
“Logan, pink is for girls.”
Logan and Colin exchanged looks and burst out laughing.
“Come, I’m starving,” Logan said, and they trooped out of the house, leaving Sylvia to stew.
THIRTY-NINE
MAY 2014
New Orleans, Louisiana
Quinn set aside the fan and exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She finally had her answer, the answer she’d been searching for since she was a little girl. Madeline was the one with the psychic gift, and she must have passed it on to her child, who appeared on the family tree as the son of Amelia and George. But how had Madeline come by her ability, and what had become of her? Why was there no record of her existence? Had she died during the Civil War, which began shortly after her baby was born, and been forgotten by history, or was there something more sinister behind the obvious omission?
Quinn buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to know. She really didn’t, but she couldn’t stop now. If her hypothesis was true, then Madeline was her ancestor, her only link to those who came before her. And if Madeline had come to a violent end, Quinn needed to know. Madeline’s story had to be told, and her voice needed to be heard one last time.
The fan lay on the bed, an inanimate object from a bygone era, a lacework in ivory, and a ghostly reminder of a girl who had lived long ago. Quinn had searched every source, both digital and physical, and every archive in New Orleans. She’d even gained access to cemetery records in the hope that she would find a reference to Madeline Besson, but she’d come up empty-handed. Madeline had vanished like a puff of smoke.
“What happened to you, Maddy?” Quinn asked the silent room. “Where did you go?”
Quinn leaned her head against the padded headboard and considered that question. Perhaps nothing had happened toMadeline, other than an ordinary life. There could be another scenario that fit, one that was ridiculously simple. She might have handed over her baby to Sybil and left the plantation. She wasn’t wanted there, and her father’s banishment was the reason her birth and death were never recorded in the family records. She’d never wished to marry Gilbert Montlake, so it stood to reason that she’d married someone else at a later date. Madeline could have gone on to have a long life and was probably safely buried somewhere, her death listed under her married name. There had been countless Madelines in the archives, countless women whose lives had not taken a violent turn and whose legacy lived on in their descendants, just as Madeline Besson’s lived on in Quinn.
There was only one way to find out, so Quinn gingerly reached for the fan and closed her eyes, ready to witness the next chapter.
FORTY
JANUARY 1859
Louisiana Bayou
Madeline sat on the hard wooden chair, her eyes fixed on the stagnant water of the bayou. The water sparkled in the bright sunshine that managed to penetrate the gloom of the towering trees and shine a light onto this forgotten corner of Louisiana. She shuddered with revulsion when the scaly head of an alligator broke the surface, dangerously close to shore. The cabin could only be accessed by steep wooden steps, so they were safe, but the hideous creatures sent shivers of fear down Madeline’s spine every time they came near. Mammy didn’t seem bothered. She said that alligators tasted just fine, when barbequed over an open flame and basted regularly to prevent the meat from getting tough.
Madeline tore her gaze away from the gator and looked off into the distance, hoping to glimpse a canoe nosing its way toward the cabin. Joe came every Monday, bringing supplies and news of the outside world. But it wasn’t Joe Madeline was waiting for—it was George. The New Year had come and gone, and January was almost at an end, so George had to be back at the plantation, even if he’d decided to visit Amelia’s family for a few weeks. He had to be back, and he had to know about the child and Madeline’s banishment.
