Page 25 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

“Sheesh. Yes, sir.” She didn’t bring it up again, and instead focused on how to construct a routine for all of them that even he could live with.

Augustus built, at Elizabeth’s request, an enclosure around the broad back porch at Magnolia Grace. Summers in New Orleans were too hot for infants, but with the netting of the screen and the four fans running overhead, it was perfect for Ana, who seemed somehow drawn to the sun, just as she was to fire.

Elizabeth rocked her niece against her chest, sipping the iced tea Connor delivered. He’d added another flavor. Lavender, she thought, although flowers had no place in anyone’s food, as far as she was concerned. It wasn’t bad. Connor, she was learning, as they bridged the journey from kids who had others to care for them to adults responsible for their own selves, was decent in the kitchen. His mother only had boys, and Savannah Normand Sullivan was determined someone would carry on her recipes; her passion. With her cancer in remission, she’d been even more dedicated to documenting the culinary family traditions, making sure both her twin sons took this process with the gravity it deserved.

Irish Colleen hadn’t let any of her kids near the kitchen, and if any of them turned out to be decent with a spatula, this was purely coincidental.

Ana stirred against Elizabeth’s neck, slipping in and out of her baby sleep.

Elizabeth was rocked with an immediate, powerful vision.

A series of images, one after the other. No clarity, only snapshots in time.

Anasofiya, no more than a toddler, in a full body cast, Augustus pleading with her to do something.

Anasofiya, sobbing over a silver frame that held a picture of a mother she’d never meet.

Anasofiya, as a preteen, lying under a broad oak tree with Nicolas as he played with her vibrant red hair.

Anasofiya, blushing as her father slipped a corsage over her wrist.

Anasofiya, holding hands with a young man—had to be a Sullivan, with his black hair, green eyes, and Sullivan jawline—as she walked down Prytania, magnolia trees in full bloom.

Anasofiya, hovering in a dark bar in a part of town not her own, waiting.

Anasofiya, lifted from the cold ocean.

Anasofiya, bleeding out on someone’s kitchen floor.

Anasofiya, fighting against the love building in her heart as she watched a beautiful blond man sleep.

Anasofiya, running away from that same man, heart breaking.

Anasofiya, holding her son for the first time.

Elizabeth surged forward so hard she had to wrap her arms tight around Ana to prevent her from flying, too. Her breaths came ragged and fast, too fast to catch up and steady herself. She rarely had visions like these. Hers were tied to single events, usually playing out like a movie, not a montage. What was this? Would she see more? Was she evolving?

And why now? Why with Ana, who was still so new to the world?

“Sweet girl,” Elizabeth whispered against her niece’s bright hair. She’d stopped rocking, but her body trembled. “It’s okay, sweet girl.”

A shadow fell over her, dropping several feet before her on the flagstones. “I’ll take her now.”

Elizabeth let him peel Ana from her arms. She resumed rocking. Thinking.

“Not gonna argue this time?”

Elizabeth ground her hands into the rocker to hide the trembles. “Nope.”

CHAPTER 7

Bicentennial

A stir of activity whizzed by Charles at the top of the steps to the second floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Moving back in,” Cordelia said casually. She demanded Richard and his staff take her bags back to the heir’s suite before Charles had a chance to put his foot down.

“I’m sorry… why?”

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