Mimosa Grove Read Online Free PDF Page B

from tree to tree in a colorful game of aerial hopscotch.
    Moments later she pulled to a stop only feet from the steps leading up to the veranda. She killed the engine and got out, anxious to see if the interior of the house looked as abandoned as the exterior. She circled the car and had started up the steps when suddenly a large peacock appeared on the porch above her. Its tail fanned to full display as it let out a piercing and territorial shriek.
    Laurel paused nervously, uncertain whether to broach the peacock’s territory or wait until it moved away. Before she had time to decide, the front door was flung open, and a tiny, cocoa-skinned woman of indeterminate age, wearing a red-and-white muumuu, her hair wound up in a bun and yellow flip-flops on her feet, came out on the run.
    “Shoo! Shoo!” she cried, waving her arms over her head. “Get on with you!”
    Like the bird, Laurel took a nervous step back, not quite sure if the warning was meant for her or the peacock. Moments later, the peacock gave one last shriek, which set the hair on the backs of Laurel’s arms on end, then moved away in slow, elegant steps, its long, multicolored tail now dragging behind in grand, sweeping motions.
    Now that the bird was gone, Laurel found herself motionless beneath the woman’s dark, piercing stare.
    “Hello. I’m Laurel Scanlon. Marcella’s lawyer sent me a letter about—”
    “You didn’t look much like Phoebe when you was little. You still don’t. Look more like Chantelle herself, I think.”
    Laurel’s mouth dropped open. She knew, because she felt air moving between her teeth, but for the life of her, she couldn’t find the will to close it. Mesmerized by the intensity of the little woman’s dark stare, she stood, waiting for whatever came next.
    “Yeah, like Chantelle,” the old woman muttered, then reached forward, first touching the dark copper strands of Laurel’s hair, then running the back of her forefinger down the side of Laurel’s cheek.
    “So,” the old woman said. “You came.” Then she nodded approvingly. “Marcella said you would. I should have known better than to doubt her words. Come. Come. You must be exhausted.”
    All the breath went out of Laurel in one instant. Until the old woman had mentioned it, she hadn’t realized how tired she really was. Still, she needed clarification of a few simple facts.
    “Are you Marie?”
    A wide smile shifted the wrinkles on her face.
    “You remember me?”
    Laurel was embarrassed. “No, I’m sorry to say I do not. But I met a woman named Tula back in Bayou Jean who mentioned your name.”
    Marie nodded. “Ah, yes…Tula. She and Miz Marcella grew up together. Friends from way back, you know.”
    Laurel nodded. “I gathered as much.” She hesitated, then had to ask. “Marie…the people here—”
    “What about them?” Marie asked.
    Laurel wasn’t sure how to approach the subject.
    “Speak up, girl,” Marie said. “You never learn answers if you don’t ask questions.”
    “When the people I saw in Bayou Jean learned I was Marcella’s granddaughter, they seemed pleased.”
    “But of course,” Marie said. “What else would they be?”
    “But they had to know she was…that she could—”
    “You mean, did they know she had the sight? But of course! Over the years, many came for help. She turned no one away.”
    Laurel shook her head in disbelief. “Somebody pinch me or I’m going to think I’ve just died and gone to heaven.”
    Marie frowned. “This is not so where you come from?”
    “Hardly,” Laurel said.
    Marie shrugged and then tugged gently at Laurel’s wrist.
    “So it is good you are here, yes? Now come. You must be tired. Your room is ready, and when you have rested, we will have supper.”
    “Wait,” Laurel said. “I need to get my bags.”
    “No…no, this I will do for you.”
    “But, I—”
    “It is my job. It is my honor,” Marie said. “Now, no more arguments.”
    Laurel could tell it would not be