Chapter 4 #2
“Not silly at all.” Mrs. Gallagher smiled at her, though it seemed to be forced, and her eyes took on a watery glow.
Sheridan smoothed her hand over the envelopes on the floor. “She saved them. All the letters she wrote to me, like she knew someday I’d read them and come to know her.”
“And are ye coming to know her?”
Sheridan nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed by emotions so powerful, they threatened to break her.
“I’ll leave you to it then. Just call me if you need me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She waited until Mrs. Gallagher left the room, poured herself a cup of tea, added milk and sugar then pulled another letter from the peppermint tin.
Mon chéri, you would love this little town.
The people here, most of them anyway, are kind and gentle and the new house Madam has started is doing well.
There is a need for female companionship here.
Cowboys are a curious breed. Proud. Polite.
Living by a code only they know and understand.
I haven’t been ‘ma’am’d’ so much in my life.
I will admit that their behavior amuses me.
It doesn’t make me miss you any less though.
How I long to see you, to talk to you, my darling girl.
Sheridan smiled, imagining what it had been like for Josie arriving in Serenity. The move here must have been good for her mother. Josie seemed happy, or at least as happy as she could be and that made Sheridan happy, too.
She tossed the letter aside, adding it to the growing pile on the floor and picked up another one. Taking it from the envelope, she unfolded it and read:
Happy birthday, my darling girl. You’re eighteen now, full of life and hopes and dreams. I saw you graduate from Bouchard’s because I could not stay away from you on such a special day.
I heard you play the piano and sing during the ceremony.
It brought tears to my eyes. You play and sing so beautifully.
I think you may have gotten that talent from me, at least the piano part, since I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.
I heard you would be staying at the school to teach.
I am so proud of you, my beautiful angel.
Unfortunately, your grandmother saw me as well.
She hasn’t grown softer with age and still regards me as a fallen woman.
Estelle is no better. For a sister, actually, for a human being, she seems to not have very much compassion.
They threatened me, made me feel as if I was unworthy of you, said things no one should ever say to another person.
They may be right, mon coeur. As much as it hurts me, and as much as I want you with me, I cannot, in all good conscience, ask you to join me here in Serenity, even though you are of an age to make your own decisions.
You have a bright future ahead of you, mon chéri.
Grasp it with both hands and know that I love you with all my heart and will always choose the best for you.
Josie had been proud of her. Warmth filled her even as the contempt for Odette and Estelle continued to grow.
Imagine Josie’s own mother threatening her.
And to follow through on that threat. She remembered, quite clearly, the two burly policemen escorting Josie from the graduation ceremony.
She remembered Josie not making a sound, but walking between those two men calmly, her head held high, and her esteem for the woman who had given up so much for her grew.
Not only had Josie been a good woman, but she’d also been a lady as well.
“I am so sorry. I wish I had known it was you all those years ago.” She spoke aloud to the letter in her hand, even as teardrops stained the paper. “I would have loved to have spoken to you. Been offered the opportunity to know who you were.”
Sheridan thought briefly about putting the letters away, saving the rest for another day, another time, because reading about her mother’s life was painful.
But she knew if she stopped now, she might not have the heart to try again.
She wiped her eyes and tried to find the courage her mother had.
She reached into the tin but didn’t touch an envelope.
Instead, she found a folded piece of paper.
It began: My dearest Sherry, I have met the most wonderful man.
He reminds me very much of your father. And he loves me, despite the fact that I live here, in a parlor house.
Startled, Sheridan read the words again.
Josie found love? After all those years?
Joy filled her heart. She turned the page over, but the letter was unfinished, no mention of the man’s name, no mention of anything.
She flipped the page over again and looked for a date, but there wasn’t one scrawled across the top of the page like all the others.
She put the paper down and grabbed the next letter and the next, but there was nothing further about the man her mother had fallen in love with.
I’m afraid I have some distressing news, ma petite.
Madam Sylvie has passed. You would have liked her.
She was a tough, pragmatic woman, but she always treated me well.
I think, in her own way, she loved me like a mother should love their child.
The house? It’s mine now. She left it to me in her will.
I have such plans, Sherry. I hope you are happy, my love.
Sheridan continued reading the letters until she came upon the last one—the first one she had touched hours ago.
Some had been gossipy, going on about the people in town.
Those made her laugh. Some were filled with the charitable deeds Josie had done for people, such as Mr. Langston.
Some were filled with heartbreak at what Josie had missed not being in her life, and those made her cry harder.
She had missed the opportunity to know such a kind and fearless woman, too. What Odette had done was unforgiveable.
She looked at the envelopes scattered on the floor and slowly put them back in the tins. She felt, after reading everything, she knew a little more about Josie, about the life she had lived without her. It wasn’t a bad life, just not the one she was sure Josie would have chosen.
She rose to her feet awkwardly after sitting so still for so long and stretched.
She looked around the room, the sun’s fading rays coming through the French doors, and caught sight of the desk in the corner.
She could picture Josie sitting there, writing the letters she would never send, pouring out her heart and soul.
She left her room, taking the tea tray with her, and wandered downstairs.
Already, the girls were gathered in the parlor, waiting for the customers who would walk through the doors.
She nodded toward them and pushed through the kitchen’s swinging door, the aroma of whatever Mrs. Gallagher was cooking reminding her that she’d had nothing but tea all day.
Still, she wasn’t hungry. Her heart was too heavy.
Mrs. Gallagher looked up. “Are you all right, lass?”
“Yes and no.” She placed the tray on the table, then pulled a chair away and sat. “But I think I know why my mother did what she did. Why she didn’t try to come for me. Why she left me at school and didn’t interfere. She loved me.”
“She did, lass. With her whole heart, and I know that for a fact.”
“I also know why she was so kind to everyone. It’s because kindness had been missing from her life, and she knew what it felt like to be treated so cruelly. She refused to treat anyone else that way, and I love her for it.”
“That is true as well. Your mother didn’t talk about Odette very much, but I do know she went out of her way to be generous, to be loving, because of that woman.
” Mrs. Gallagher pulled a ladle from the hook above the stove and filled a bowl.
She added a slice of hearty sourdough bread and brought the bowl to the table, placing it in front of her.
“Look what she did for me, taking me in when no one else would. Look what she did for Lily and the rest of the girls. And so many others. Too many to name. It’s like she went out of her way to be the opposite of her mother. ”
The aroma hit Sheridan first, making her mouth water. “Beef Bourguignon. One of my favorites.” She picked up a spoon and tasted it. “It’s wonderful.”
The woman winked at her. “I know.”
Sheridan dipped her spoon into the hearty stew but paused before she brought it to her mouth. “I feel like I’ve been cheated.”
“You were. So was she.” Mrs. Gallagher poured a glass of milk and set it in front of her. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try to be more like her.”
And the first step on that journey of becoming more like Josie was to write a letter to her grandmother and Estelle, letting them know what she had learned. Letting them know she would forgive them—eventually—but she didn’t want to see them until she did…and maybe not even then.
She finished the Beef Bourguignon, then soaked up the juices with the bread, drank her milk, and went upstairs, taking the back staircase so she wouldn’t run into any customers.
She could already hear the raised voices of the men and the soft laughter of the girls.
She closed the door to her room, added a few more logs to the embers in the fireplace, then made herself comfortable at the desk in the corner.
Pulling the lilac-tinted stationery from the drawer, she spread it out on the desk’s shiny surface, then grabbed the fancy fountain pen from its holder and began to write.