Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig

Epilogue - Chapter One

A year later

Emma

Warm rays of sun shone down from the open skylight. Alternating between pacing and practically bouncing on my toes, I waited for Miss Guidry to finish reading.

Content with my suite on the second floor, I’d decided to make the third-floor suite my writing room, my office. While I loved my suite on the second floor, and more importantly, the connection it shared with Rett’s, there was something about this third floor, the library, and the sunshine. I felt at peace in this suite.

Finally, Miss Guidry wiped her tears as she turned away from the manuscript and smiled at me. “It’s wonderful, Miss Emma.”

“I know it’s not one hundred percent accurate.” I shrugged. “That’s why they call it fiction.”

She shook her head. “It’s more accurate than I expected. Tell me how you knew.”

“Knew what?”

I’d finished the story I began when I first arrived.

While I’d written short stories and novellas in college, this was my first full-length novel. The sense of accomplishment was greater than I expected. The story was women’s fiction, the story of two friends. One was promised in marriage, the other was a modern-day lady in waiting. Through the years they shared their love for one another as only best friends can do. They celebrated and cried, rejoiced and mourned. They lived life devoted to one another, as well as the family the first woman bore, and the family the second woman adored. Even death couldn’t stop their connection.

Miss Guidry stood, remaining unusually quiet, and looked out the window no longer obscured by shutters. The street below was lined with wrought-iron fences and beautiful hedges filled with flowers. The lawns were maintained to perfection as if ready to be featured on the Garden District tour.

“Is there something that I should change?” I asked.

“No.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I think that it’s hard to explain choosing a life like mine. I’m sure there are people who believe it was wasted, not marrying or having my own family.” She turned as silent tears streamed from her hazel eyes. “In your story, you don’t call Miss Marilyn or me by name, but your story is about us, and you make it seem significant. It’s beautiful.”

I reached for Miss Guidry’s hands. “You have a family, us. And I believe friendship is both significant and beautiful.”

“It’s as if you saw or heard us, two scared young women on a journey that would change both of our lives. I’ve only spoken to Miss Marilyn about some things that my character sees and feels.” Her eyes opened wider. “Did she tell you?”

I shrugged. “I’m trying to listen. Maybe I am. Sometimes when I was up here” —I turned a full circle taking in the beauty of the bookcases and the delight of the skylight— “I would just write. I can’t explain it. No one was speaking, yet my fingers knew what to type.”

Her smile grew. “Miss Marilyn loves you very much. She also wishes she could hug you.”

“Also?” I took a step back. It was what I’d thought when I imagined her and Miss Delphine in the sitting room. I couldn’t remember saying the words aloud.

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Emma. Spirits mean no harm—well, most of them. Miss Marilyn knows she needs to go and she’s trying to hold on.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Beyond with Mr. Abraham. You understand, she couldn’t leave, not when Mr. Ramses was alone. That’s why I stayed when he offered me my own home and all the money I could spend. If I’d left, I’d be leaving her and him.” Miss Guidry smiled at the manuscript on the desk. “Few people are as blessed as I’ve been. And in there, in your words, you show that.”

I sat on the long chair. “I never thought about her leaving.” There was an ache in my chest that was as real as if we were discussing a living being. “I don’t want her to leave.”

“That’s kind.”

“No, it’s not.” I looked up. “It’s egocentric. I’ve lost people in my life, and then Rett found me when I didn’t know that I was lost. I had forgotten what life could be and how I’d missed being loved and being around others who care about me and who I care for. The parents who raised us loved us. I’m certain of that. But they died. And now I have Rett, you, and my mother.” I sighed. “There is also Ian and Leon, so many people.” I tilted my head. “And included in that mix is Miss Marilyn. I started trying to talk to her when I was taken to Jezebel’s house. I asked her to tell Rett I wasn’t scared and that I was safe. I was more worried about what he might do to try to save me.”

Miss Guidry nodded. “She heard you, child.”

“And she told you and you told Rett.” It wasn’t really a question.

“I did.” Her head shook. “He doesn’t believe.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m not sure he believes or not. Rett’s just...a man. What can we do to keep Miss Marilyn here?”

“She isn’t sad about leaving,” Miss Guidry said. “She knows Mr. Ramses is in good hands. She trusts you.” She looked back at the manuscript. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Publish. It’s always been my dream.”

“Does Mr. Ramses share that dream?”

“He asked me to use a pseudonym.”

“And are you all right with that?”

“I am. Emma Ramses’s place is here with Rett, doing what I can do for New Orleans.” I shrugged. “The writing can be a separate part of my life. When I first met Rett, he told me I could pursue my dream to write and that there’s no better place to do it than in this city. I believe he was right.”

“Have you decided on a name?” she asked.

“Betsy O’Brien.” I grinned. “It’s my way of honoring both of my mothers.”

Miss Guidry smiled as she looked down. “I’m not supposed to tell you this.”

“Is that going to stop you?”

She looked up through her lashes. “Miss Marilyn is concerned about Mr. Ramses’s age. You see, before she leaves, she hopes she’ll see at least one of her grandchildren.”

My hand went to my stomach as my eyes opened wide. “You better tell her to hold off on crossing for a while. Rett and I haven’t discussed children.”

“Oh, child, talking doesn’t make children.”

I nodded with a grin. “Thank you. I’m aware of what makes children.”