As soon as the maid entered the darkened master suite, she felt her mistress's heartache. The Creole felt as if she could reach out and put her hands on the sadness, and how she wished she could. Delia would get ahold of the melancholy and pitch it out the door just like dirty water from a mop bucket. The whole estate had been filled with grief since Monsieur Broussard's untimely death. She still expected the Frenchman to waltz through the door, beckoning his children to him and showering his wife with affection. But most of all, she missed the laughter and lively chatter of the children. The maid's heart was in pieces over how the little ones were grieving. Alexandre had been quieter than usual since his father's death, trying to be the man of the house at the tender age of five. Vivienne had been plagued with nightmares, screaming for her Papa and sobbing when she realized he'd never comfort her again. Luc had been confused, wondering why his Papa wasn't returning home and why his precious Maman wasn't her normal, bubbly self.
Delia set the breakfast tray on the nightstand, glancing at the sleeping redhead. She'd been astonishingly strong in the days following her husband's murder. After the funeral, she'd taken to her bed and hadn't left. The Creole set her eyes on Luc nestled in his mother's arms. He'd tried his best to heal his mother's heart. She placed a gentle hand on the toddler's face, stroking his cheek. "Baby, go downstairs and eat breakfast with your brother and sister," she whispered, watching him gingerly ease out of bed and sweetly kiss his mother's cheek.
As Luc scampered out of the room, Delia strode to the curtains, opening them wide to let in the sunshine. She looked over her shoulder, offering her mistress a gentle smile. "Good morning, Madame. It's a beautiful day."
Kitty rubbed her swollen, bloodshot eyes while she pushed herself up to rest against the pillows. Her hand touched the empty side of the bed. She sniffled and wiped the tear streaking down her cheek. "Where are my babies?" she croaked.
"Havin' breakfast with their Pépère."
Kitty nodded and took her café au lait, shaking her head as Delia took the lid off the tray. "I don't want anything."
"Madame, you haven't eaten since…" Delia trailed off, trying to remember when the mistress of the house had eaten a full meal. "Sadie made your favorite, eggs Hussarde and stuffed tomatoes."
"Delia, please, I'm not hungry."
"Yes, Madame," the maid responded glumly, putting her hands on her hips while sighing heavily. "Let me draw you a bath," she offered, thinking of how she'd washed Monsieur Broussard's blood off the traumatized redhead almost a week ago.
Kitty looked over the rim of the floral painted mug. "Leave me be, please."
"I'll check on you after I see about the little ones," Delia said, passing by the elderly man on his way in. She solemnly shook her head. "Just drank the café au lait."
Doc ambled to the foot of the bed, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his vest as he cleared his throat. "Kitty," he swiped his hand over his mustache.
Without a word, she pulled her husband's smoking jacket over her chest, burying her nose into the red and gold brocade quilt-stitched silk, inhaling deeply. The sumptuous fabric still smelled of his Cuban cigars and warm vanilla.
Doc dropped onto the mattress, eyeing the untouched tray. He'd been gentle with her for days, but he'd had enough. She hadn't tucked her children in. She'd eaten like a bird. She'd been hiding from the world. "You need to eat, Kitty."
Her red-rimmed eyes narrowed on him. "Don't speak to me like I'm a little girl."
"That's what you're actin' like, instead of a forty-year-old woman."
Kitty groaned in annoyance as she sunk into the jacket, rolling over to put her back to him.
He placed his hand on her arm, tenderly squeezing. "Henri would want you to take care of yourself."
She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears from pouring out of her eyes. "Don't tell me what he'd want. He'd want to still be here. You didn't even try to…" her voice broke, envisioning the way Henri had bloodily coughed, telling her he'd love her forever before his final breath. She buried her face into the jacket.
"Kitty, if I could've saved him, I would have. There was nothing I could do for him," he wiped at the corner of his eye and drew in a calming lungful, exhaling slowly. "But dammit, Kitty…you know he'd want you to take care of that baby. His last, I might add," he sighed at the noise of her quiet weeping. Doc picked up the fork, cutting into the egg dish. "Kitty, take one bite. Just one bite, and I'll leave you alone."
With a huff, the bereaved redhead sat up, glaring at him. She snatched the fork from him and took the bite.
"Thank you," he murmured, turning his head as Luc bounded into the room.
"Maman!" the toddler ran to the bed, pulling on the sheets as he maneuvered onto the mattress. "Merci, Pépère," he mumbled as his grandfather pushed him the rest of the way. He scooted to his mother while he dug a deck of cards out of his pocket. "Maman, watch," he chirped excitedly, wanting to show off the trick he'd learned from Yves.
Doc scrubbed his hand over his mouth with an amused shake of his head. Out of the three children, Luc would be the one to handle cards. He ruffled his grandson's hair, slipping off the bed to slowly amble to the door.
Luc's tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as his dark brows wrinkled in concentration, attempting to shuffle the cards with his chunky hands. He decided he was finished and displayed the disorganized deck to her. "Pick one."
Kitty chose a card and glanced at it, wondering what sort of card trick her almost three-year-old could possibly show her. "Alright, Luc."
The boy dipped his head, gnawing on his lip as he reshuffled the cards. He giggled as the cards flew into the air from his clumsy shuffling. He fell backward, rolling around while laughing madly.
She couldn't help but softly chuckle at her son's antics. "C'mere, silly boy," Kitty leaned forward, pulling him against her. She held him as he examined the playing card, turning it over in his small hands. "That card's the joker," she stroked his hair out of his eyes, taking comfort in how those brown eyes gazing up at her reminded her of Henri. Kitty blessed Luc's forehead with a kiss. "A joker's a good thing to have."
Doc grinned, grateful to hear the smallest bit of laughter from the redhead. He admired his youngest grandson's ability to cheer his mother up. He closed the door and leaned against the wall, tugging on his earlobe, muttering to himself. Doc wondered where the big man he'd sent for was. He hoped he'd show up soon. He knew Kitty needed him even if she'd fight tooth and nail against accepting his help.
He punched the pillows, grumbling under his breath. The nagging feeling badgering his gut wouldn't leave him alone. His concern wasn't with the man he'd brought to Hays. Matt knew the man hadn't been wrongly convicted. After all, he'd witnessed the killing with his own eyes. The small brass bed creaked as he sat up and bit down on the inside of his cheek. The clamorous knock at his hotel room door broke him out of trying to pinpoint what had him troubled.
"Matthew," Festus somberly warbled as his friend opened the door. He was dusty from his nonstop ride. After Newly had read the wire to him, the hillman knew he couldn't have waited for the Dodge City Marshal to return in a day or two.
"Festus, what's happened?"
With a dim expression on his whiskered face, the deputy handed his friend the telegram. "It's from Doc, Matthew. You best get to New Orleans."
His heart pounded in his ears as he unfolded the telegram.
Come immediately STOP H Broussard murdered STOP
The petite redhead flipped through her picture book, humming to herself while lazily dragging her hand through Cadeau's thick, curly coat. She giggled as the dog licked her cheek. "Non."
The silver poodle scrambled to his feet and barked before running out of the sunroom. The five-year-old arched a ginger brow and followed her dog to the front door. She chewed her lip, scrutinizing the large figure on the other side of the leaded glass door. Vivienne stepped closer at the sound of a knock. Her dog didn't growl as she twisted the knob. She craned her neck, staring at the giant of a man in front of her.
Matt felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. He hadn't expected to be greeted by one of the twins. Doc had updated him through the years with letters and a few photographs, but that didn't compare to seeing his little girl in person. His eyes drifted over his precious daughter, taking in how much she'd grown since he'd last seen her. Her dark navy, long-sleeve tiered dress intensified the blue of her eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed the gold necklace with three charms around her neck. He racked his brain, trying to remember the French word for hello.
"Miss Vivienne Serena!" Delia bellowed, "What have I told you about answerin' the door?"
Vivienne's sapphire eyes widened, knowing she was in trouble. She slammed the door and scurried off, copper braids swishing from side to side.
Matt sighed, resting his hands on the buckle of his leather belt. "Just like her mother," he mumbled to himself. He smiled at the Creole maid as she opened the door, wiping her hands on her apron.
Delia yanked the big man through the threshold. "Good to see ya, Marshal," she beamed, taking his bag from him. "Did you just get in?"
He nodded, surprised by the warm welcome from her. "I came as soon as I heard."
"Matt!" Doc shouted, quickening his pace to greet his old friend. "By golly, it's good to see you, even under the circumstances," he clapped him on the back.
"Doc, what happened?" he asked, glancing around the quiet foyer. "Where's Kitty?"
"Elle s'appelle Kathleen," Vivienne corrected, peeking around the wall of the formal sitting room. She ran her finger along the millwork, averting her gaze when the visitor looked at her.
Doc shook his head while fiddling with his ear, glancing at a dumbfounded Matt. "Vivi, you need to take Cadeau out. Don't you?"
"Oui, Pépère," she answered, beckoning the silver poodle to her. Vivienne looked over her shoulder at her grandfather and the tall man, wondering why he'd called her mother 'Kitty' like her grandfather.
Matt kept his eyes on Vivienne, reminding himself that he was now a stranger to his daughter. He watched her until she was out of sight before refocusing his attention on Doc.
"I know you have questions, Matt. Let's go in here," he directed him to the sitting room and pulled the doors closed.
Matt sat down in the armchair in front of the fireplace while Doc poured cognac into two glasses. He took the proffered glass and turned towards his old friend, impatiently waiting to find out why Henri Broussard had been murdered.
Matt walked down the stone steps of the St. Charles Avenue mansion in a daze. His soul was taxed from all that he'd learned. His head still spun from the facts of the Frenchman's murder. His heart was shattered once he'd learned that the children had witnessed the tragedy. He couldn't bear to imagine the pain Kitty felt, widowed and with child. Matt needed to get his bearings before he saw her.
He ventured through the pristine neighborhood, heading to the French Quarter. Doc had offered him the masonry cottage during his stay in New Orleans. He'd wanted to stay in the mansion, but Doc informed him that it wouldn't be proper.
The out-of-towner took a wrong turn and found himself on an unfamiliar street. He put his hands in his pockets and read the plaque on the white wall, Saint Louis Cemetery Number One. Matt walked through the wrought iron gate, wandering into the graveyard until he found the Broussard family mausoleum. The big man stared at the large, stately crypt of black granite with impressive ionic columns. He stepped inside and drew in a breath, spotting Henri's resting place. Matt put his hand on the cool marble, remembering one of the last conversations he'd had with the Frenchman.
"Henri, I'm sorry you weren't the one to grow old with Kitty. I'll take hold of that second chance and won't let go. I'll take care of her and the children. You have my word."