A Time To Keep - Rochelle Alers

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moved on in a pace that could not be measured by seconds, minutes or hours. The sound of the approaching ferryboat shattered the stillness of the afternoon. Gwen stood up and walked down to the pier. It was time she returned to the boardinghouse, checked out and went home.

      She knew that dust, grime and the musty smell associated with long-shuttered houses awaited her. But she welcomed the challenge. She couldn’t wait to begin Bon Temps’ makeover.

      Gwen worked nonstop around the clock, averaging five hours of sleep each night in order to make Bon Temps habitable. She knew she should’ve hired a cleaning company, but considered the housework she’d done therapy. She didn’t have an office to go to, so airing, dusting, mopping floors and cleaning windows gave her a sense of purpose.

      It took half a day to air out and clean the bedroom, sitting room and adjoining bath that she’d selected for herself. A search of the pantry yielded a large tin filled with exotic teas, and as dusk descended she’d sat on a cushioned love seat on the second-story veranda watching a cluster of fireflies illuminate the velvety darkness while listening to the unfamiliar nocturnal sounds.

      The rest of the week was spent cleaning the other bedrooms, the kitchen and shopping in an upscale mall in Morgan City, twenty miles southeast of Franklin. It was the first time she chided herself for not having purchased a sport utility vehicle, considering how her trunk and the inside of her car now over-flowed with grocery bags and other household items.

      A moving company delivered cartons filled with her clothes, favorite books, electronic equipment, CDs, DVDs, her computer, photographs and family mementoes. And once a telephone technician installed the data lines she needed for a telephone, computer modem, and fax machine, she finally felt in control of her life. Aside from her cell phone she’d felt cut off from her family and friends.

      Sitting at her computer, she opened a new document: Bon Temps Restorations. She wanted to replace the wallpaper throughout the house, reupholster sofas and chairs, repair and hang the magnificent living room and ballroom chandeliers, and repair the plasterwork on the ceilings. All of the wood floors and tables in the rooms on the first story were in need of refinishing. Bedroom closets overflowed with colorful dresses and costumes, suggesting that Gwendolyn Pickering had not led a reclusive lifestyle. The task of emptying the many closets still awaited her, a project she planned to tackle at her leisure.

      The telephone rang, shattering her concentration. Peering at the display, she saw the name of her late aunt’s attorney. She’d called his office in New Orleans, as he’d suggested during their last conversation, with her new number. Picking up the receiver, she introduced herself.

      “Gwendolyn Taylor.”

      “Afternoon, Miss Taylor. Billy Sykes here.”

      She smiled. He’d referred to himself as Billy whereas stuffy Boston lawyers would’ve been Mr. Sykes. “Please call me Gwen.”

      A chuckle came through the earpiece. “I was hoping you’d allow me that honor. I suppose you’re settlin’ in all right.”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      “Good. I’d love to come down and sit a while with you, but right now I’m up to my eyeballs in a case that’s sure to get a lot of media coverage. I just wanted to tell you that your aunt left a package with me about seven months before she passed away, and I’m going to send it to you by a bonded messenger.”

      “What’s in it?”

      He chuckled softly. “You’ll see when you get it. He should get it to you by Thursday.”

      Her curiosity piqued, Gwen wondered how much Billy knew about Gwendolyn Pickering. She hadn’t had much contact with her mother’s favorite aunt. Gwendolyn, as she wanted to be called, traveled from Louisiana every five years to reconnect with relatives in Delaware, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. She refused to vary her schedule, not even for a funeral. The year she celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday the visits, telephone calls, cards and letters—always without a return address—stopped. Everyone suspected she’d passed away until William Sykes called to inform Gwen that her great-aunt had left all of her worldly possessions to her namesake.

      “How well did you know my aunt?”

      “I didn’t know her as well as my daddy did. But, he can’t tell you anything because the Lord called him home last year. All I can tell you is that she didn’t want me to contact you until after she’d been cremated.”

      “I’m glad she could trust you to follow her wishes, and I look forward to receiving the package.”

      “All I can say is Gwendolyn Pickering was quite a woman.”

      “Thank you, Billy, for everything, and if you’re ever in the neighborhood, please come by.”

      “Why, thank you.”

      “Goodbye, Billy.”

      “’Bye, Gwen.”

      She hung up, wondering what else her aunt wanted her to have. Her gaze shifted back to the blinking cursor on the computer screen. Her fingers touched the letters on the keyboard with lightning speed as the list lengthened. She’d just saved what she’d typed when the melodious chiming of the doorbell echoed throughout the house.

      Walking out of the sun-filled room she’d set up as her office, she went to answer the door. It was probably the head of the landscaping crew who’d come earlier that morning to cut and weed the grass, and prune the fruit trees and flower beds. The aroma of freshly turned earth, cut grass and flowering blooms wafted through the many screened-in windows.

      Peering through the security eye, she saw the face of a young man in a tan uniform. He wore the same hat she’d seen on Shiloh the night he’d answered her nine-one-one call.

      She opened the door. The star on the man’s shirt identified him as a deputy. “Good afternoon. Is there a problem, Deputy Lincoln?” she asked, reading his name badge.

      Frank Lincoln removed his hat, cradling it to his chest. The sunlight glinted off his thick orange-red hair. “Good afternoon, Miss Taylor. I just came by to give you something from Sheriff Harper.” He reached into the pocket of his shirt and handed her an envelope. “He said he’ll come by later to talk to you about it.”

      Gwen took the envelope. She smiled at the deputy. “Please let Sheriff Harper I know I’ll be expecting him.”

      Frank put back on his hat, grinning broadly. He’d recognized Gwendolyn Taylor as the woman who’d sat in the unmarked SUV with his boss. “You have a good day, Miss Taylor.”

      She returned his friendly smile. “Same to you, Deputy.”

      Gwen waited until he slipped behind the wheel of his cruiser and drove away before tapping the envelope against her palm and ripping off a corner. Opening the envelope she shook out two tickets. PAID, stamped in red, covered the face of the tickets for a fund-raiser given by the Bayou Policemen’s Benevolent Association for Needy Families.

      She closed the door to keep out the sultry heat, smiling. She’d been so engrossed with cleaning Bon Temps that she’d forgotten her commitment to purchase two tickets for the fund-raiser.

      Sitting on a formal high-back chair in the entryway, Gwen placed the envelope and tickets on a mahogany table. Fatigue washed over her and she closed her eyes. It wasn’t until she sat down that she became aware of how hard she’d worked, pushing herself to the point of exhaustion.

      A knowing smile softened her mouth. She’d told Shiloh she was disciplined, focused, but he had countered, saying she was anal. He was right, but that was something she wouldn’t readily admit.

      What she did not want to acknowledge was that she was an overachiever. From the first time she won a school-wide spelling bee, made the high school honor roll and finally the college’s

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