First Love: A Crimson & Clover Box Set: Crimson & Clover Collections, #8

By Sarah M. Cradit

Dive into the secretive, ancient, powerful world of the Deschanels and Sullivans...

Five tales of first love, from New Orleans to Portland to the rolling highlands of Scotland.

St. Charles at Dusk follows the forbidden but powerful love story of Oz and Adrienne. Oz foolishly falls for his best friend's younger sister, Adrienne, putting in motion a series of events that will upend the lives of both families forever. When Adrienne's family is killed in a tragic accent in the bayou, Oz is left with all questions and no answers when Adrienne's body is not among those recovered. Those closest to him insist his need to dwell on the past is killing him, but it isn't until Oz finally accept she's gone, years later, that he gets the phone call. It's Adrienne. With no memory of anything, except a name. Oz.

In Surrender, a story that tales place years before the events of St. Charles at Dusk, Anasofiya ends up at the prom with one of her best friends, Oz, after her date rudely abandons her at the dance. What she initially sees as an act of mercy leads to a night that she will never forget.

Then, in Pandora's Box, we meet Jasper and Pandora. Jasper is a peculiar young man from a peculiar New Orleans family, who's interest is piqued by Pandora's eccentric tastes and unusual passions—things frowned upon by her proud blueblood family. Their unlikely bond changes both their worlds forever, and a serious of tumultuous events will tear them apart and then, in an unlikely twist of fate, find them in the same city once more, this time Paris.

The Ephemeral takes readers to Portland where New Orleans native Autumn is attending college. Going to school so far from home was a bold and defiant choice, but it doesn't lead to the serenity she was seeking. Her past and future will collide in an irreversible way when the mysterious Gabriel appears...

Finally, finish the collection with A Band of Heather. Colleen arrives in Scotland, eager to pursue her dreams of a life in medicine, despite her homesickness. She writes to her sister of the sweeping, gothic charms of Edinburgh, and the peculiar—and strangely familiar—professor's aide, Noah, who dislikes her from day one. On a whim, Noah proposes a getaway to the Highlands for the holiday weekend and Collen accepts, against her better judgment, setting off a chain of events that will put everything Colleen knows into question.

Jump into the First Love set today and discover part of the magic of the world of the Saga of Crimson & Clover.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Storyville Press
• Release date: Dec 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201094447

Sarah M. Cradit

Sarah is the USA Today and International Bestselling Author of over forty contemporary and epic fantasy stories, and the creator of the Kingdom of the White Sea and Saga of Crimson & Clover universes.   Born a geek, Sarah spends her time crafting rich and multilayered worlds, obsessing over history, playing her retribution paladin (and sometimes destruction warlock), and settling provocative Tolkien debates, such as why the Great Eagles are not Gandalf's personal taxi service. Passionate about travel, she's been to over twenty countries collecting sparks of inspiration, and is always planning her next adventure.   Sarah and her husband live in a beautiful corner of SE Pennsylvania with their three tiny benevolent pug dictators.     Connect with Sarah:   sarahmcradit.com Instagram: @sarahmcradit Facebook: @sarahmcradit

Book preview

First Love in New Orleans

First Love in New Orleans

A Saga of Crimson & Clover Box Set

Sarah M. Cradit

Contents

Praise for The House of Crimson & Clover

Also by Sarah M. Cradit

St. Charles at Dusk

Part I

1. 1- Oz

2. 2- Adrienne

3. 3- Oz

4. 4- Oz

5. 5- Oz

6. 6- Adrienne

7. Oz

8. Oz

9. Adrienne

10. Oz

11. Oz

12. Adrienne

13. Oz

14. Oz

15. Oz

16. Oz

17. Oz

18. Oz

19. Oz

20. Oz

21. Oz

22. Adrienne

23. Oz

24. Adrienne

25. Oz

Part II

26. Oz

27. Adrienne

28. Oz

29. Oz

30. Oz

31. Adrienne

32. Oz

Epilogue

Surrender: The Story of Oz and Ana

1. Anasofiya

2. Oz

3. Anasofiya

4. Oz

5. Anasofiya

6. Oz

7. Anasofiya

The Ephemeral: The Story of Autumn and Gabriel

1. Autumn

2. Gabriel

3. Autumn

4. Gabriel

5. Autumn

6. Gabriel

7. Autumn

8. Gabriel

9. Autumn

10. Gabriel

11. Autumn

12. Gabriel

Pandora’s Box: The Story of Jasper and Pandora

1. Jasper

2. Pandora

3. Jasper

4. Pandora

5. Jasper

6. Pandora

7. Jasper

8. Pandora

9. Jasper

A Band of Heather: The Story of Colleen and Noah

1. Letters Home

2. A Christmas Invitation

3. A Band of Heather

4. Half-Confessions

5. Blissful Ignorance

6. Damages

7. Words From Home

8. Loose Ends

9. Christmas Eve

10. Christmas and Heather

Also by Sarah M. Cradit

Crimson & Clover Connections

Praise for The House of Crimson & Clover

About the Author

Copyright © 2011-2020 Sarah M. Cradit

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

---

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Sarah M. Cradit

---

Publisher Contact:

[e-mail]

www.sarahmcradit.com

Praise for The House of Crimson & Clover

"Cradit’s words flow in prosaic candor like a melody of the ages: pronounced, patient, lingering, and beautiful.

Dionne Charlet, New Orleans Examiner

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Her (Cradit's) talent for creating atmosphere rivals Daphne du Maurier. This is modern Gothic with fierce smarts. Can't say it enough. I loved this book.

Christopher Rice, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Heavens Rise

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It takes a great writer like Cradit to weave the threads of so many characters into an enjoyable story. I have no doubt that the name Cradit will one day be associated with the echelon of gothic fiction writers, namely Radcliffe, Blackwood, and Rice.

Becket, Bestselling Author of The Blood Vicicanti and Assistant to Anne Rice

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Sarah Cradit's writing is tight and masterful. Her keen sense of how to pace a book and her ability to use just the right language to express the desires, fears and hopes of her characters is flawless.

Ionia Martin, Vine Top 100 Reviewer, Readful Things

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Cradit does an incredible job of building suspense. It's a slow, moody, edge of your seat suspense with a palpable sense of foreboding. This atmosphere kicks the book off and slowly escalates as you sink deeper into it.

Julie Whiteley, Clue Review

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The books are well written, the plot flows so quickly that you reach the end of the story well before you are ready and without realizing how much time has gone by since you were enchanted, committed and flung into the world of the Sullivans, Deschanels and their friends. You become a part of their lives as you are reading the books and think about the characters long after you have finished reading the book.

Stephenee Carsten, Nerd Girl Official

Also by Sarah M. Cradit

Kingdom of the White Sea Cycle

The Kingless Crown

The Broken Realm

The Hidden Kingdom

THE SAGA OF CRIMSON & CLOVER

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The House of Crimson and Clover Series

The Storm and the Darkness

Shattered

The Illusions of Eventide

Bound

Midnight Dynasty

Asunder

Empire of Shadows

Myths of Midwinter

The Hinterland Veil

The Secrets Amongst the Cypress

Within the Garden of Twilight

House of Dusk, House of Dawn

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Midnight Dynasty Series

A Tempest of Discovery

A Storm of Revelations

A Torrent of Deceit

and more

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The Seven Series

1970

1972

1973

1974

1975

1976

1980

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Vampires of the Merovingi Series

The Island

and more

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The Dusk Trilogy

St. Charles at Dusk: The Story of Oz and Adrienne

Flourish: The Story of Anne Fontaine

Banshee: The Story of Giselle Deschanel

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Crimson & Clover Stories

Surrender: The Story of Oz and Ana

Shame: The Story of Jonathan St. Andrews

Fire & Ice: The Story of Remy & Fleur

Dark Blessing: The Landry Triplets

Pandora's Box: The Story of Jasper & Pandora

The Menagerie: Oriana’s Den of Iniquities

A Band of Heather: The Story of Colleen and Noah

The Ephemeral: The Story of Autumn & Gabriel

Bayou’s Edge: The Landry Triplets

For more information, and exciting bonus material, visit www.sarahmcradit.com

St. Charles at Dusk

Full Page Image

Part I

Such being his [Antony’s] temper, the last and crowning mischief that could befall him came in the love of Cleopatra, to awaken and kindle to fury passions that as yet lay still and dormant in his nature, and to stifle and finally corrupt any elements that yet made resistance in him of goodness and a sound judgment. He fell into the snare thus.

---

Antony, Plutarch

1- Oz

2 Years Earlier

Summer 1999

Oz: 24

Adrienne: 19

---

With a single phone call, my life was turned upside down.

I’d been sitting at my desk for hours, the morning phone call dancing through my thoughts. The summer rains of the yearly monsoon storms were beating down outside our law office, the shallow light illuminating only the paperwork in front of me. Rain appeared like shadows on the windows and I could almost feel the mix of cold and humidity. I’d always adored the storms of New Orleans. Loved watching them from the safety of inside.

Arriving at Carondelet, off Julia Street, shortly after noon, I’d made my way up the dark, quiet steps leading to the law office that had been my family’s since 1839. With a casual, practiced toss my car keys landed on my desk, next to my gold-plated nameplate, C.A. Sullivan. Born Colin Austin Sullivan III, I adopted the nickname Oz as a child and it remained with me into adulthood. Very seldom did people call me Colin. My father was the exception.

I released a guttural, long-held sigh before sinking into my chair. Not in a million years, had I expected the story to turn in this direction. Never saw it coming. Regardless, I had no choice but to deal with it.

---

I’d been lacing up my shoes for a morning run when the call came in. Unknown Number, Louisiana. I didn’t normally answer any calls I didn’t recognize. However, something told me to answer this one.

May I speak with Colin Sullivan? a very familiar female voice requested.

Of course, it couldn’t be her, so I responded casually, Speaking.

There was silence for a few moments, and I thought the line had dropped. Then, Oz, this is Adrienne.

Letting go of her was something I'd done because there was no possibility of seeing her again. It wasn’t something I’d decided with this phone call looming in my future.

My voice shook. I was completely thrown. Hello, Adrienne.

In the moments before Adrienne revealed her actual reason for calling, I concocted a half-dozen scenarios which might explain her being gone for so long. They included:

I was calling to tell you I’ve been held captive for three years by a madman.

I’ve been in a coma since the accident in a small hospital.

I was abducted by aliens.

And so on. The consistent theme in each was the key and important fact of her being held against her will.

The answer wasn’t far off. Unfortunately, it didn't matter because she’d been suffering from memory loss for the past three years. She didn’t even know who I was.

I’m so sorry to bother you, Adrienne began hesitantly. I was given your name by someone who said my family was a client of your firm. He said I should call you, specifically, to discuss the details of my estate. I understand you and your firm have been looking for me. Um, for a while now, maybe. She sounded rehearsed, and very unsure of herself.

I was having difficulty listening, or concentrating at all. I... so... I’m sorry, I was taken a bit off guard by your call. I tried to collect myself. Later, I could reflect on how weird this was, but I needed to focus long enough to get through the conversation. Self-control was the key to avoiding insanity, according to my father.

Of all the questions flooding my mind, the coincidence of someone stumbling upon her and giving her my name, after months of searching, seemed the most tangible. The safest question. Who gave you my number?

I, well, I can’t remember. See, this guy, he, uh, came to Abbeville and, uh… she was stammering.

Sorry?

When Adrienne spoke again, she sounded collected. I really don’t remember his name, but he recognized me from a newspaper and said people had been looking for me. When I told him I had no memory, he made a phone call, found out you were my lawyer, and gave me your name. So, here I am, calling you.

Yes, here you are, calling me. Back from the dead, in more ways than you know. Adrienne. Adrienne. Adrienne.

My head was light, my heart pounding. Was this real?

How did you…? The end of this question was open to interpretation.

I don’t exactly know how I got here, to Abbeville, Adrienne answered, guessing correctly at the larger question looming in my head. I was in some sort of an accident, three years ago, which I suppose you must already know. But when I woke, there was nothing, except the people in front of me. I was told I nearly drowned in the swamp. The lack of oxygen may have been what triggered me to lose my memory.

So, I had ventured, not sure I wanted the answer, do you remember now?

No. She had paused. Sighed. Nothing.

Did I doubt her sincerity? I couldn’t imagine why she would lie. If she were hiding under this pretense to avoid me, surely I would’ve been the last person she’d have called.

Well, I said, as if I were talking to anyone in the world, if you let me know when you’ll be in town, I’ll be glad to set up an appointment with you at the office. I’ll get the papers prepared for you in the next couple of days.

How I managed to sound so casual I may never know. But Adrienne seemed as surprised as me. See, uh, that’s the thing…

What?

Never mind. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have called you! I’m sorry!

And then she was gone, again.

Just like when she disappeared, I had far more questions than answers.

---

You do know it’s Sunday, right?

Looking up, I saw my father standing in the doorway. Even on the weekend, he maintained the traditional seersucker suit and tie, always the distinguished gentleman. He kept his salt and pepper hair combed neatly back and to the side, not a single strand askew; suit pressed, without a wrinkle or an ill-spaced crease to defile it. Colin Sullivan, at fifty years of age, was always ready for anything.

I examined my jeans and sweatshirt with growing dismay.

I gather you know what this means, then? my father asked. He perched on the edge of my desk, a habit which usually bothered me. Today I barely noticed.

I gather it means Adrienne is back, I responded, a bit defensively.

Had I really expected privacy when I decided to come down to the office?

---

I joined the firm six months ago, and still was the boss’ son. More so to him than anyone else, but his behavior toward me fueled the general opinion and perception of the rest of the firm, which happened to be comprised mostly of other Sullivans.

I wasn’t given anything provocative to work on. Mostly the pro bono cases, or maintenance requests. I’d also been assigned to cases our prime clients asked us to take on for their friends and relatives as favors. I knew the newest member of the firm was traditionally broken in with this type of work, but I was no longer the newest member. I hadn’t much say in the matter, so I continued to work hard to prove myself, an attempt to show the team they could use my talents toward better things.

My father had gone out on a limb when he gave me the Deschanel family, one of our most elite clients. This caused quite a stir inside the walls of Sullivan & Associates, though I couldn’t imagine why. For the past three years the work had been restricted to ongoing maintenance. The only interaction with the client family was the annual estate review with Nicolas Deschanel, and the occasional oversight of financial contracts. But though it seemed irrelevant, the associates continuously found ways to show their displeasure at what they thought was obvious nepotism.

There existed a measure of success in their eyes simply for being born a Sullivan, and protecting each individual under that name was one way we sustained that. My father’s two brothers, Uncle Patrick and Uncle Rory, were partners. My Great-Uncle Jerome’s daughter, Olivia, had been there as long as my father, also a partner, and my Great-Uncle Jamie’s son, Connor, even longer, also a partner. Uncle Rory’s oldest daughter, Robyn, was in her last year at Loyola and would be joining the firm next year; his son Cameron was an undergrad at University of New Orleans with plans of attending Loyola Law as well. Aunt Chelsea, my father’s sister, had fifteen year old male triplets, Dillon, Kieran, and Kelley, who did odd jobs for the firm, and would, undoubtedly, follow the path.

In other words, nearly the entire family worked at the firm.

While being a Sullivan didn’t necessarily qualify one as a great attorney, the name was accredited with loyalty and success in New Orleans. Due to the line of direct-descent leadership, which had been customary since my third great-grandfather, Aidan, first purchased the brick building, my father was the most senior partner. If I remained with the firm, I would one day hold that respected title. The day would come when I would need to stand out and make decisions others may not always agree with. The meaning of the Sullivan family motto, Family Before All Else, was least obvious when faced with difficult choices.

The open hostility could be toxic at times. I found myself conflicted between staying and continuing to go the extra step to prove myself, or joining another firm and proving the folly in their narrow mindedness.

But if I did defect, I could never face my father again.

I worked my tail off to get through undergraduate studies, and then law school. I held two jobs as well as attending class full time. Never asked my father for any help, though I knew he would have given it to me at the slightest mention of my needing it. I’d wanted to do it all on my own.

One thing was for sure, though: I was tired of being the boss' kid. I didn’t bury myself years deep in student loans for this.

I remembered Adrienne once wrote a paper about my family of lawyers. I gave it to my father, potentially to piecemeal some of it into a brochure for the firm, but I never saw it again.

Adrienne. Was it possible she was really back?

---

How long have you been here? my father inquired.

I glanced at the clock. About five hours, give or take.

He studied me closely. I knew what he was thinking. I always knew what he was thinking. Could I blame him for his concern? No, he was probably right to be worried. He should have kicked me out of the office and sent me home, but perhaps he thought that would have been crossing a line. In the end, I think he was experiencing one of his rare moments of helplessness.

Your mother is making fried chicken tonight. You haven’t been over in a while, he said finally.

I’ll be fine. I was just leaving to go meet someone, I lied.

My father paused, considering his words carefully. Colin, be careful about assumptions at this juncture.

As he moved closer, I realized my first impression of him had been wrong. His face bore extra lines, the start of darkish circles under his eyes. His attention flickered down toward the Deschanel file, open and spread across my desk haphazardly.

I know these past few years have been hard on you. I know, in the back of your mind, you’ve always imagined a day like this would come, you could pick up where you left off, and everything would fall into place.

I didn’t respond, but he was very wrong. I had not imagined a day like this would come. I thought Adrienne was dead, like the rest of her family. I’d mourned her, experienced all seven stages of grief as a mourning lover should, and now this?

But Oz, you’ve worked damned hard to move on. Your life is finally in order! You have a great career ahead of you, and you’ll meet a responsible woman who will make you a great wife, and be a wonderful mother to your children. He leaned over the desk and started pushing the papers back in the file, but I reached out and stopped him. His eyes moved momentarily down to my hand in disbelief, then he met my gaze.

Colin, don’t you understand what will happen if you get involved with this?

I dropped my eyes, having no answer for his question. Did I even know why I was here, poring over her file? I hadn’t taken a moment to be honest with myself about what this news meant to me, or what I intended to do with it. Would he believe me if I told him these hours had been spent staring blankly at the falling rain?

I need some time. But what would I do with it?

He closed his eyes for a moment. I recognized this as his way to regroup when he was at a loss for words. Well, he would easily win this round. I was not at all prepared.

In the end, though, he surprised me by saying nothing more on the subject.

Your mother is waiting with dinner. If you change your mind, call, and I’ll ask her to set a plate on the warmer.

He started to walk out, but, impulsively, I gave voice to a question that had been on my mind. You didn’t know about this... right?

He stopped. I always wondered. But no, Colin, I didn’t know. I wish I had, so I could have better prepared you for it.

I offered him a small smile. I’ll be fine.

I know. My father softened, seeming more human at that moment. But I think you know why I’m concerned. Under the circumstances, maybe I should handle this. When it’s all over, you can still manage the Deschanel case, but for the time being—

Something in my gaze chilled my father. I could see it in his eyes as the words died on his lips.

I’m the one she called. She asked for my help. This is my responsibility.

My father nodded slowly and left.

2- Adrienne

Adrienne’s dreams were slowly turning into nightmares. There was no longer solace from the possibility they may be relevant to her past. She couldn’t hide from the visions they brought. Instead, they taunted her, dangling themselves to show what could have been, what was, but never how to get there. Never how to remember!

For many months leading up to this recent transition, the dreams had become an almost welcome visitor into her long nights on the bayou. They were part of her passage into morning, where she’d wake and start her daily chores, including preparing for the family table in the tourist-laden Bayou Market. She thought of the dreams almost as a comfort, though she didn't share them with Jesse, who always looked troubled when she spoke of anything vague or distant from him.

In these dreams, much was presented, but very little explained. All of it was blurred: the stately plantation, a stout man, three tall and beautiful girls, the woman whose stature alone indicated a deep bitterness, a slight woman standing off by herself in the shadows. And two boys, men really, standing together. One of them always gazed intently in Adrienne's direction, although his face and intentions were a blur, like the rest. All the while, the tingling in her abdomen grew, alongside mixed feelings of joyful anticipation and growing dread.

More recently, the parts that had eluded her completely were slowly coming into clarity.

Each morning, since this change, she awoke with sweat dripping, her nightshift clinging rudely to her. As the minutes of wakeful awareness wore on, she would slowly–and mercifully–forget the details, but the core of the message never left her: somehow, these dreams tied in with reality. My reality. More specifically, and definitely most terrifying, her reality prior to three years ago when her memory suddenly vanished, taking with it the first sixteen years of her life.

These dreams seemed to be the only conduit between the two periods of her life, and so they served a soothing, reassuring purpose. It was a relief that some part of her remembered what her life had been, and how it had come to be as it was now.

Adrienne couldn’t rely on real memories, for she had none to speak of. She couldn’t bring it up around Angelique, because the woman's only response was anger. That Adrienne should even question her past seemed an insult to her.

Is what you have now not pleasing enough for you? Perhaps you’d like to be an heiress, or maybe the daughter of a famous actor? Jesse’s mother would ask her, derisively. Angelique’s husband—Jesse’s father—died of a heart attack years ago, leaving Jesse to the duties of man of the house. And while Jesse’s mother was pleased about Adrienne’s relationship with him, she was not at all thrilled Adrienne desired more. Angelique could be a very pleasant companion when Adrienne’s questions were not mixed into the discussion.

Angelique was a woman Adrienne might never completely figure out. Jesse had given up his future to stay home and care for her, something she desperately needed. She was severely epileptic, and nearly died from it more than once. And then there was the other little detail. The one no one talked about but kept everyone’s nerves on edge: how certain levels of anxiety in Angelique triggered fits of severe psychosis. Jesse refused to acknowledge his mother was suffering from any mental health issues, and so outwardly dismissed them. Everyone else knew better.

Every effort was made to keep conversations neutral, and certain topics were avoided entirely. Adrienne’s desire to understand where she came from was one of those topics.

So, she stopped asking. Instead, she waited for clarity in her dreams. The excitement of a romantic past mingled with the possibility of disappointment.

---

One evening, in the middle of a heat wave, Adrienne awoke with a start. In the bed next to her, Jesse stirred softly.

I don’t understand, she whispered to the moonlit room. What does this have to do with me?

This time, the blurred entities in her dreams had voices.

All of you, bastard children, said Bitter Woman. Adrienne had come to know her dream visitors by their appearances, which was all she knew about them. The woman’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, head held high.

This is not proper talk, Stout Man replied, as he paced the room from one end to the other.

"Mon dieu," whispered Shadow Woman, with a short, sad shake of her head. She sounded beautiful, but her stature suggested a timid and weak woman. No one else in the room seemed to recognize, or even acknowledge, her presence. It was as if she didn’t exist at all. A specter.

But Father, I don’t understand why you won’t let me go out tonight! I’ve been planning this for so long! This was from one of the three girls, a tall blonde. Though her face remained out of focus, she was clearly in a pout.

It’s simply not proper, Stout Man replied. Most likely, this was Adrienne's father, if she was indeed seeing her family before her, a fact she had guessed, and hoped at, long ago. This must mean the other girls were her sisters, and one of the two women, either Shadow Woman, or Bitter Woman, was her mother. She hoped it was the first.

Bastard children, all of you, repeated Bitter Woman, this time with more force.

Have you no sense of propriety? Stout Man complained.

"Mon dieu!" echoed Shadow Woman.

"You side too often with these girls, these children born bastards who will die bastards! What of my son? Our son?" Bitter Woman seemed to spit these last words.

Mother, spoke one of the two young men standing off to the side. Not the one who looked intent, but the other, Carefree. He was speaking to Bitter Woman. I’m happy to share with my sisters…

Stout Man turned toward them in confusion. She spun to face Carefree, her body trembling with annoyance. Not now!

The other young man, turned toward them but said nothing.

Carefree seemed genuinely confused. "Je suis désolé, Mama. Adrienne realized he’d been trying to change the subject, though she was still unsure what the subject really was. You keep saying Father’s fortune should belong only to me; that my sisters wouldn’t share with me if given the chance—"

Hush!

At this, Intent turned back toward Adrienne and winked, breaking the unspoken fourth wall. His face was sad, though. She felt the familiar tingling in her abdomen again.

Mon dieu, mon dieu! Shadow Woman whispered. She was trembling. Like Intent, she was also staring directly at Adrienne.

One of the three girls, the tall dark-haired one, stepped forward and put a protective hand on the shoulder of the blonde. Neither said anything, but Adrienne sensed the girl’s relaxation.

All three girls watched Bitter Woman suspiciously as she crossed the room toward Stout Man. When he looked up at her, there was contempt in his eyes. It’s late. We’re done here, he said.

As they left the room, Carefree also left, choosing another direction. The dark-haired girl’s hand left the shoulder of the blonde, and the three girls departed the room together, hand-in-hand. The girl on the left end held her hand out to the side, as if waiting for a fourth person to join them. Shadow Woman retreated.

This left only Intent in her mind’s eye. Adrienne watched him closely, wishing for him to come into focus. When she blinked to strengthen her gaze, he was gone. His presence remained, heavy upon her.

Je n'arrive pas à me réveiller, she whispered to herself in her dream, unsure why her thoughts were in French. She didn't speak French.

I can’t seem to wake up…

---

But Adrienne did wake up. And as she did, a single name ran through her mind. One she didn’t recognize, but, without a doubt, formed the needed bridge to her past: Oz. The lawyer with emerald eyes, and the smile for years.

It was this dream which propelled the coming events into motion.

3- Oz

Despite the mess I’d made of the file, I hadn't actually looked at any of it. When I pulled it out of the cabinet, I spread the papers around the desk, as if waiting for something important to materialize before my eyes. When nothing did, sitting there doing nothing seemed to help order my tangle of emotions.

My father’s visit broke this trance. I was determined to review the information so I could plan my next move. I was her lawyer now, all else aside.

I pulled out a studio photo taken her sophomore year in high school, only months before her disappearance, indulging in a study of her long red hair and blue eyes. People used to say her eyes changed color with her moods. I knew that to be true, though it was the hue which changed, not the color itself.

Attached to the left side of the folder was a brief history my father wrote on the family before I was born. He revised it right after the accident. It was not formally part of the legal file, rather intended as a quick point of reference for anyone new to the case who needed some background.

---

File: Deschanel, Charles

An Informal Family History

Scribe: Colin Sullivan, Jr.

Last Update: Fall 1996

---

Nuclear Family:

Charles Deschanel 1950-1996

Cordelia Hendrickson-Deschanel 1951- 1996

Nicolas Deschanel 1975

Nathalie Deschanel 1977- 1996

Giselle Deschanel 1978- 1996

Lucienne Deschanel 1979- 1996

Adrienne Deschanel 1980- Status Unknown

Lisette Duchéne* 1958- 1980

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*Nanny; Birth mother of Nathalie, Giselle, Lucienne, and Adrienne. Mother of legal record is Cordelia Deschanel.

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History

Charles Deschanel, and his wife Cordelia, were among the wealthiest of the New Orleans upper society. They owned and inhabited the great plantation, Ophélie, one of the few plantations on River Road still occupied by its original family owners. Charles’ second-great grandfather, a wealthy landowner also named Charles, emigrated from France to Louisiana and purchased the thirty acres of land in 1844, the same year he married Brigitte L’Allarde.

A series of shrewd investments and boom profits left the family with immense wealth, both in physical land (their local properties included two Garden District homes, a townhouse on Esplanade Ridge, three French Quarter apartments, several office buildings in the Central Business District, and two entire city blocks in the French Quarter zoned for commerce), in addition to investments all over the world.

Charles and Cordelia were married in 1974. Cordelia was the daughter of a German textile merchant, Franz Hendrickson, though she was raised in New Orleans. Their marriage was skillfully arranged by Cordelia’s father, who was once an acquaintance of August Deschanel, father of Charles.

Both of Charles’ parents are deceased; August Deschanel passed in 1961, and his wife, Colleen, in 1994.

As of record, Charles has five living siblings: Augustus, Colleen, Maureen, Evangeline, and Elizabeth, each with children, and in some cases, grandchildren, of their own. Refer to individual files for further information.

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Ophélie

In 1844, Charles Deschanel (the second-great grandfather of the above-mentioned Charles), emigrated from France to Louisiana and purchased thirty acres of land. While the source of original funds for this purpose is unknown, the family met with immediate success in sugar crops, as well as a boom in real estate investments just prior to the War.

In order to please his child bride of twelve years old, young even for that time, the original Charles Deschanel built the Big House, a forty-five room Greek Revival. The house sits back about an eighth of a mile from the road, and large parterre gardens flank either side of the dirt driveway (partial brick was added later). It was one of the few to upgrade to modern innovations such as indoor plumbing and running hot and cold water, although the original privy house remains intact. Galleries run the entire circumference of the Big House with two-story columns of Ionic capitals and un-fluted columns. The balconies are adorned with wrought iron lacework imported from Spain, and a belvedere was added to the roof several years after completion. Italianate bay windows line the back and left wing of the house. Although the floorboards were built from cypress, most of the building materials were imported from New England and Europe. The home was complete by the time their first daughter, Ophélie, was born, and it was after her the plantation was named.

Similar to the other great plantations of the time, the farm was almost completely self-sufficient, with over two hundred buildings behind the Big House that kept daily life in the antebellum South smooth and efficient. Among them were kitchens, a chapel for family prayer and a cemetery, sugarhouse and sugar mill, plantation store, blacksmith shop, pigeonniers, overseer’s cottage, cisterns, storage sheds, curing huts, a carriage house, horse and livestock barns, silversmiths, and along the back, several neat rows of slave cabins, followed by acres of undeveloped cypress swamp. The home enjoyed privacy due to its position off the road as well as the numerous live oaks, magnolias, and banana trees that provided shade and shelter to the entire plantation. In the fifteen or so years preceding the Civil War, an extra wing was added as well as a garçonierre for their sons Jean and Fitz. For Brigitte, Charles contracted a botanist from Italy to come design a romantic and ornate garden to the rear of the house. Her diary suggests she spent many long hours roaming its paths.

During the Civil War, Ophélie, and most of the outbuildings, were spared due to the size and ability to accommodate an entire company of the Union army. New Orleans was captured early, and Charles’ brother was a remarkably gifted doctor whose services saved many Union lives. The family was able to retain most of their valuables, many of which are still in the Big House today.

Following the war, the plantation saw only a few more decades of its once fertile and plentiful crops. Though the farming ceased, and the slaves were freed (in some cases, offered a salary to stay on), the Deschanels continued to live at Ophélie. During Reconstruction, the family profited from the boom in shipping and textiles.

Ophélie was passed down, through the men of the family, from one generation to the next in strict tradition. Over the years, many of the buildings were torn down and at least half the acreage sold off to various oil refineries or other interested parties. By the time Charles and Cordelia inherited Ophélie, all that remained was the Big House, a handful of out-buildings, and half of the original sugar crops. The Deschanel estate, however, was another matter.

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Paranormal Elements

REFER TO CONFIDENTIAL FILE OF SAME NAME. LIMITED ACCESS.

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The rest of the file was mostly legal paperwork, excepting the few news clippings from the accident:

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MILLIONAIRE INVESTOR AND FAMILY MEET TRAGIC END NEAR LAFAYETTE; FAMILY OF 6 PERISH IN GRUESOME CAR ACCIDENT DURING SUMMER RAIN STORM; TRAGIC FAMILY ACCIDENT LEAVES SURVIVING SON GRIEF-STRICKEN AMID SPECULATION ON MISSING BODY OF SISTER; MONTHS AFTER SOCIETY TRAGEDY, BODY OF DESCHANEL TEEN STILL EVADES SEARCH AND RESCUE TEAMS.

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I couldn’t bring myself to read any of them. I knew the story already. Knew more than the papers reported. The clippings relayed facts: names, places, events, devoid of feeling and the burden of experience. They said nothing of how beautiful those four girls–Nathalie, Lucienne, Giselle, and Adrienne–were; how their father doted over all four of them. It didn’t give any history of the family dynamics, nor did they tell of Cordelia’s cold regard for the four girls not born to her.

I closed the file and reflected upon my deeper understanding of the Deschanels. Details passed safely, only by word of mouth, not part of this document, nor any journalist’s account.

Having represented the Deschanels for many years, Sullivan & Associates were involved in many of the family’s affairs and dealings. The family, while universally of good intentions, had its share of oddities, many of which were documented, to some extent, in the locked file titled Paranormal Elements. Only a select few of us had access, as