The Inheritance Read online

  A groan came through the earpiece. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I made plans to send the kids to Hawaii to stay with my parents for the summer. But I promise to bring them to New Orleans a week before they’re scheduled to return to school. I’ll tell Wyatt to put in for vacation and we’ll all come together.”

  Hannah bit her tongue to keep from chastising her daughter-in-law about not checking with her before planning the children’s summer vacation, when Karen knew she always scheduled time during the summer months to reconnect with her grandchildren. When her son and his family had lived in Texas she saw them more often; however, once Wyatt accepted a position with a carrier with international flights, they’d relocated to a Los Angeles suburb.

  “Okay.” The single word lacked emotion. “Don’t forget to send me pictures of them in Hawaii.”

  “I won’t. I’m going to ring off because I have a dental appointment. I’ll have the kids call you tomorrow. Right now they’re at a birthday sleepover.”

  “Kiss my grandbabies for me and give Wyatt my love.”

  “I will. Good-bye, Mother.”

  Hannah ended the call, staring out the open side window. The drive from Kenner to New Orleans was accomplished quickly, and she experienced an emotion she couldn’t quite identify when the taxi maneuvered up the winding path to the historic house where she’d spent her childhood and adolescent years. In the past she’d come for a visit; but now she had no idea how long she would stay. She’d paid her rent several months in advance, emptied the refrigerator of perishables, and arranged with the post office to forward her mail to her New Orleans address.

  The taxi came to a stop, and the fragrance of roses and jasmine came through the open windows, reminding Hannah that she’d truly come home. The sight of the antebellum mansion set back behind wrought-iron gates and surrounded by lush gardens and ancient oak trees draped in Spanish moss never failed to take her breath. The rose-colored limestone Greek Revival–style house, with pale pink marble columns, a wraparound porch, and tall black-shuttered windows was one of the finest homes erected in the historic Garden District.

  The front door opened, and Paige and LeAnn DuPont walked out onto the front porch. The last time they were together had been Christmas, and seeing them again made her aware of how much she’d missed them. With the exception of a few distant cousins whom she’d never met, they were Hannah’s only link to the past. Sixty-six-year-old Paige and LeAnn, sixty-eight, were fiercely independent free-thinkers who’d come of age during the time of civil rights and anti–Vietnam War demonstrations.

  As a girl, Hannah overheard her father’s younger brother complain that he panicked each time the phone rang whenever his teenage daughters left New Orleans over the summer to join the many civil rights workers coming down from the North to register blacks to vote. Although the sisters had elected to remain single, they had never lacked male attention or companionship.

  She paid the fare, retrieved her carry-on bag from the driver, and walked up to the porch, which held many happy memories for Hannah. It was where she’d sat with her parents, grandparents, and brother whenever the intense summer heat abated enough for them to sit outside. All were gone except Paige and LeAnn, who’d taken up residence at DuPont House at Hannah’s request once she decided to move to New York. LeAnn had sold her house and Paige rented out her condo to a young teacher at the school where they’d taught together.

  LeAnn went on tiptoe, pressing her cheek to Hannah’s. “Welcome home, little cousin.”

  Easing back, Hannah angled her head. At five-nine, she was nearly a half head taller than the sisters, who’d inherited their mother’s petite body, dark hair, and dark eyes. “When am I going to stop being your little cousin?” she teased.

  LeAnn placed an arm around Hannah’s waist. “It’s not about height, Miss Daddy Longlegs, but age,” she countered.

  Hannah wrapped her arms around her cousins’ shoulders, leading them into the house. The first thing she noticed in the expansive entryway was the number of bags. Seeing the luggage made her more than aware that she wouldn’t see them for months. Their vacation itinerary included touring Europe, Russia, and China.

  She strolled into the parlor, sat on a bench covered with a faded needlepoint cushion, and slipped off her running shoes. “My being laid off came at the right time, because we won’t have to close up the house.” Whenever Paige and LeAnn went on vacation, they either arranged for someone to housesit or they closed up the house completely.

  Paige combed her fingers through her short salt-and-pepper hair, frowning. “I still can’t get over folks firing you without proper notice.”

  “I wasn’t the only one. Half the bank’s employees were terminated because of the merger.”

  “How did you react when they told you?” LeAnn asked.

  “I didn’t,” Hannah replied truthfully. “I was too shocked to say anything, and then I realized they’d done me a favor. My life didn’t stop because of what I think of as a setback. Getting fired is only one piece in the puzzle of my life, and now I need to complete my future.”

  “If you’d known you wouldn’t be working, you could’ve come with us,” Paige said, folding her body down to a Louis XV–style chair, while her sister sat on a matching loveseat.

  Hannah wanted to tell Paige there was no way she wanted to be away from the States for months on end. Whenever she and Robert had embarked on an extended vacation, she always experienced an intense longing to return home.

  “I don’t mind hanging out here, because it’s been years since I’ve spent more than a month in this house.” At that time she’d buried her father, and then extended her stay to settle the estate.

  Paige scrunched up her pert nose. “Are you still thinking about turning this place into an inn?”

  “Yes. I’ve filed for the permits and licenses, and as soon as they’re approved, I’ll put everything into motion. Of course, I’ll have to move my bedroom downstairs, because I plan to use the second-story bedrooms for guests.” There were nine upstairs bedrooms and nine on the main floor.

  LeAnn smiled. “It appears as if you’ve really thought this out. And I’ve always said out of evil cometh good.”

  “Amen,” Hannah said under her breath.

  There came another pause, this one longer than the previous one. LeAnn crossed and uncrossed her legs. “What about staffing the house?”

  Hannah tried unsuccessfully to hide a smirk. “Don’t worry. You guys won’t have to lift a finger. I plan to hire a housekeeping staff.” A local maintenance company gave the house a thorough cleaning twice a month, and the gardens were maintained by a family of landscapers who’d worked for the DuPonts for many years.

  She pushed to her feet. “I’m going to take a shower, and then y’all can give me an update on your love lives.”

  LeAnn rolled her eyes upward. “There’s not much for me to tell. I gave John his walking papers when he started talking about us living together. And when I asked him where we’d live, he had the unmitigated gall to open his mouth and say DuPont House.”

  Paige giggled like a little girl. “I felt sorry for the poor man after LeAnn gave him a tongue-lashing he’ll probably remember for the rest of his life.” She sobered quickly. “What about you, Nah? Is there anyone special you want to dish about?”

  Hannah smiled. It was only in New Orleans that family members referred to her by the childhood nickname her brother had attached to her. “Not a one.” Her cousins knew she’d gone out with two men after moving to New York, but neither relationship progressed to the point where she’d want to sleep with either of them. Twenty-nine years of marriage to a philandering husband had left her distrustful of the opposite sex.

  She left the parlor, picking up the bag off the porch, and walked into the great room with its curving staircase leading to the second story. She remembered her mother going into vapors whenever Clarissa found Hannah sliding down the banister to land unceremoniously on the black-and-white marble floor. Her prim an
d proper mother failed to realize her daughter had inherited the dormant wild DuPont streak, which surfaced every few generations. Clarissa’s greatest fear was her daughter would turn out like her brother-in-law’s daughters who refused to become proper DuPont women. Fortunately for her mother, Hannah had become the dutiful daughter, marrying well and making her a grandmother.

  Her steps slowed as she stared at the rug running the length of the hallway. Not only had it faded, but portions were noticeably threadbare. Although she hadn’t had to sell off priceless antiques and heirloom pieces to maintain the upkeep of the historic mansion, Hannah realized many of the paintings and rugs were in need of restoration. She stood in the doorway to her bedroom staring the furnishings that portrayed an air of gentle Southern tradition. Creamy-white fabric draping the canopied mahogany bed, a pale sisal rug, and a pedestal table with two pull-up chairs with beige brocade seat cushions complemented the cream-colored wallpaper dotted with sprigs of lavender. A sitting area with a floral loveseat, bookcases filled with first-edition classics, and a window seat beckoned one to come and sit a while. She marveled how different this space was from her New York City bedroom where the no-fuss, functional furniture mirrored her big city state of mind.

  Unconsciously she’d morphed into the laid-back Southerner when talking to Paige and LeAnn. When in New York she was forced to slip into the armor needed to communicate and navigate the city of more than eight million people. She talked fast, moved even faster, and there was little or no time to reflect on what had happened during the day because the instant her head touched the pillow she fell asleep, only to wake up and begin the grind again.

  Grind. Hannah froze when the single word came to mind, lingering like a temporary tattoo. It was the first time she’d likened her career to a grind. She had always wanted to be a lawyer, like her father, but at her mother’s insistence she’d gone into education because Clarissa felt it was a more genteel profession for a woman. It wasn’t until her son had gone to school on the base she’d begun studying to take the LSAT, scoring high enough to be accepted into Stanford Law, but finally selected the University of San Diego School of Law because she didn’t want to be away from Wyatt. Conversely, her law school graduation was bittersweet. Everyone in her family attended, while Clarissa refused to come. Although she was disappointed, Hannah experienced a measure of independence for the first time in her life, because it was she, not her mother or her husband, who’d determined her future.

  Hannah entered the bedroom, flipping a wall switch, and the blades of the ceiling fan rotated slowly, dispelling the buildup of heat. She unpacked, taking out the dress wrapped in tissue paper she planned to wear to the reunion. After browsing through several Madison Avenue boutiques she’d found the perfect outfit: a black lace long-sleeved sheath dress with a royal blue silk slip ending at the knees. They were the colors of Jackson Memorial High School. A pair of black silk-covered, three-inch pumps completed the chic ensemble.

  She looked forward to reconnecting with classmates with whom she’d shared classes, many she hadn’t seen in twenty years. When she’d returned to New Orleans for the twentieth reunion she’d attended unaccompanied. Robert had been assigned to an aircraft carrier in the Indian Ocean. Now, two decades later, she would attend alone again, but this time as a widow.

  Hannah returned to the parlor after showering and changing into a loose-flowing sundress and sandals. Aside from the kitchen, it was her favorite room in the house; it had become the perfect space in which to begin the day. It was where she and her younger brother had shared breakfast every morning, and on weekends they turned it into their pretend castle, fort, pirate ship, or classroom. There wasn’t a day when she didn’t miss Jefferson, or Jeffrey, as everyone called him, who died unexpectedly at nine from an undiagnosed bout of meningococcal meningitis. His death affected the entire household, her mother in particular, who’d gone into a period of mourning and depression lasting years.

  Paige closed the magazine resting on her lap and smiled at her. “I know they didn’t feed you on the plane, so we ordered takeout of your favorite dishes from Chez Toussaints. When was the last time you had authentic Nawlins red beans and rice, chicken-andouille gumbo, and jambalaya?”

  “It’s been too long since I’ve eaten anything prepared by Eustace Toussaint,” she admitted. “I’ll eat later, because I managed to grab a bagel while waiting to board.” What Hannah missed most about New Orleans was the cuisine. Whether Creole or Cajun, she never tired of eating the food indigenous to the region, although she was adept in preparing many of the traditional dishes.

  LeAnn scrunched up her nose. “I prefer a beignet to a bagel.”

  “So do I,” Hannah said in agreement, “but a bagel is to New York what a beignet is to New Orleans.”

  “Are you certain you don’t mind staying here by yourself while we’re away?” Paige asked.

  “Of course I don’t mind. Remember I was alone here after my mother passed away.”

  Paige lowered her eyes. “I know she was your mother, but Aunt Clarissa was a little hard to swallow. What bugged the hell out of me was her always putting on airs.”

  Hannah flashed a half-smile. “What can I tell you? She always wanted to be a DuPont.” And marrying a DuPont topped her mother’s wish list. “What time are you leaving for the airport?” she asked, deftly changing the topic.

  LeAnn glanced at her watch. “The driver should be here in about forty minutes. Once we arrive in New York, we’ll have at least four hours before we leave for Germany. That will give us an extra hour to browse the duty-free shops.”

  “Just make certain you don’t come back with more luggage than you leave with,” Hannah teased.

  “Paige and I decided whatever we buy we’ll ship back to the States. I know you like silk kimonos and perfume, so those will certainly be among our must-haves.”

  A mysterious smile softened her lips at the same time attractive lines fanned out around Hannah’s eyes. If she had any weakness, it was the feel of silk against her bare skin and the distinctive scent of Chanel No. 5. The perfume had been her grandmother’s favorite, and she’d given all her granddaughters a gift set for their sixteenth birthdays. Throughout the years Hannah experimented with other perfumes, but the signature scent had remained her all-time favorite.

  She chatted with her cousins until the call box chimed. Rising to her feet, LeAnn went over to view the call box screen. The house had been updated every generation with the addition of electricity, indoor plumbing, and central heating, air-conditioning, and a sophisticated security system. Intercoms were installed throughout the downstairs and in several bedrooms. The indoor and outdoor kitchens and all the bathrooms were also updated, while the bedrooms had retained the charm of an authentic early nineteenth-century Southern mansion.

  “The driver’s here,” LeAnn announced. She pressed a button, opening the wrought-iron gate protecting the property.

  Hannah exchanged hugs with the two women, promising to keep in touch by email. She stood on the porch long after the Town Car drove away, and then went inside. Her yearning to turn the house into an inn grew even stronger as she stared up at the massive crystal chandelier in the great room. The notion of three single middle-aged women in a centuries-old house with more than six thousand square feet of living space was the perfect plot and locale for an author wishing to set his or her period novel in the Crescent City’s historic district. It was also perfect for those wishing to relive the past. Hannah didn’t want to recreate the past, but to build a new future for the house for ongoing generations of DuPonts.

  Ideas tumbled over themselves as she climbed the staircase. An excitement Hannah hadn’t felt in a while eddied through her as she walked into her bedroom and exchanged her dress for a nightgown. She lay in bed, staring up at the delicate fabric until Morpheus welcomed her, and she sank into to a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Decelerating, Hannah drove along a street leading to the hotel in the warehou
se and central business district. It was one of her favorite neighborhoods, especially the narrow streets lined with Victorian warehouses, office buildings, and banks. The commercial area was also home to the headquarters for banking, energy, and oil corporations.

  She looked forward to this reunion with the same excitement as she did going to prom. Hannah knew if she still lived in New Orleans, the reunion wouldn’t hold as much significance as it did since she had left her hometown. Over the years she’d become more of a tourist than a resident.

  The reunion committee had reserved a block of rooms in the hotel for out-of-town alumni. The program included a cocktail hour, sit-down dinner, cash bar, masquerade ball, and a DJ spinning tunes spanning decades. Smiling, she wondered what theme they would come up for the fiftieth.

  She maneuvered to the entrance of the hotel, smiling at the valet as he opened the door to the vintage Mercedes-Benz. Her father had purchased the sedan after his appointment to the bench, and with more than two hundred thousand miles on the odometer, it ran as smoothly as the day Judge Lester DuPont drove it out of the dealer’s showroom.

  Gathering her evening handbag and the envelope with the printed invitation off the passenger seat, she placed her free hand on the valet’s extended palm as he eased her gently to stand. “Thank you.”

  The young man nodded. “You’re welcome, ma’am. I’ll park your car where it will be safe.”

  “Thank you again.”

  The reunion committee had selected an elegant boutique hotel just a block from the French Quarter. The women who sent out quarterly newsletters kept everyone abreast of what had been going on in the lives of their former classmates, and each time the email arrived in her inbox Hannah perused it, reading about birthdays, wedding anniversaries, the birth of grandchildren, and career changes. Unfortunately, a few of her high school classmates had died or lost their spouses because of illness, and others to accidents. She’d been one of those: she had reported Robert’s passing from a massive heart attack.