Shades of Twilight

pretty the way Jessie was. Roanna’s odd mix of features didn’t fit her small face. Her nose was too long, her mouth too wide, her eyes narrow and slanted. Her hair, with its un Davenport-like tinge of red, was always untidy. No matter what she wore, give her five minutes and the garment would be dirty and likely torn. She favored her mother’s people, of course, but she was definitely a weed in the Davenport garden. Lucinda had looked hard, but she couldn’t see anything of David in the child, and now any resemblance would have been doubly precious had it existed. But she would do her duty by Roanna, and try to mold her into some sort of civilized being, one who would be a credit to the Davenports.

Her hope, though, and the future, lay with Jessie and Webb.

Lucinda wiped away the tears as she sat in Janet’s bedroom and slowly folded and packed away her daughter’s clothing. Both Yvonne and Sandra had offered to do this for her, but she had insisted on doing it alone. She didn’t want anyone to witness her tears, her grief, and only she would know which items were precious, because of the memories, and which could be discarded. She had already performed this last task at David’s house, tenderly folding away shirts that still faintly carried the scent of his cologne. She had wept, too, for her daughter-in4aw; Karen had been well liked, a cheerful, loving young woman who had made David very happy. Their things had been stored in trunks at Davencourt for Roanna to have when she was older.

It had been a month since the accident. The legal formalities had promptly been taken care of, with Jessie and Roanna permanently installed at Davencourt and Lucinda as their legal guardian. Jessie, of course, had settled right in, commandeering the prettiest bedroom as her own and cajoling Lucinda into redecorating it to her specifications. Lucinda admitted that she hadn’t needed much cajoling, because she understood Jessie’s fierce need to regain control of her life, impose order on her surroundings again. The

bedroom was only a symbol. She had spoiled Jessie shamelessly, letting her know that even though her mother had died, she still had a family who supported and loved her, that security hadn’t vanished from her world.

Roanna, however, hadn’t settled in at all. Lucinda sighed, holding one of Janet’s blouses to her cheek as she pondered David’s daughter. She simply didn’t know how to get close to the child. Roanna had resisted all efforts to get her to choose a bedroom, and finally Lucinda had given up and chosen for her. A sense of fairness had insisted that Roanna’s bedroom be at least as big as Jessie’s, and it was, but the little girl had merely looked lost and overwhelmed in it. She had slept there the first night. The second night, she had slept in one of the other bedrooms, dragging her blanket with her and curling up on the bare mattress. The third night, it had been yet another empty bedroom, another bare mattress. She had slept in a chair in the den, on the rug in the library, even huddled on the floor of a bathroom. She was a restless, forlorn little spirit, drifting around in search of a place of her own. Lucinda estimated that the child had now slept in every room of the house except for the bedrooms occupied by others.

When Webb got up every morning, the first thing he did was go on a Roanna hunt, tracking her down in whichever nook or cranny she had chosen for the night, coaxing her out of her blanket cocoon. She was sullen and withdrawn, except with Webb, and had no interest in anything but the horses. Frustrated, not knowing what else to do, Lucinda had given her unlimited access to the horses, at least for the summer. Loyal would look out for the child, and Roanna had an uncommonly good touch with the animals anyway.

Lucinda folded the blouse, the last one, and put it away. Only the contents of the nightstand remained, and she hesitated before opening the drawers. When that was finished, it would all be finished; the townhouse would be emptied, closed, and sold. All traces of Janet would be gone.

Except for Jessie, Janet had left precious little of herself.

After she’d gotten pregnant, most of her laughter had died, and there had always been sadness in her eyes. Though she’d never said who fathered Jessie, Lucinda suspected it was the oldest Leath boy, Dwight. He and Janet had dated, but then he’d gotten in an argument with his father and enlisted and somehow ended up in Vietnam in the early days of the war. Within two weeks of setting foot in that miserable little country, he’d been killed. Over the years Lucinda had often looked at Jessie’s face, searching for some resemblance to the Leaths but instead saw only’ pure Davenport beauty. If Dwight was Janet’s lover, then he had been mourned until the day of her death, because she had never dated anyone else after Jessie’s birth. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had the opportunity either; despite the awkwardness of Jessie’s illegitimacy, Janet was still a Davenport, and there were plenty of men who would have wanted her. The lack of interest had all been on Janet’s part.

Lucinda had hoped for more for her daughter. She herself had known deep love with Marshall Davenport and had wished the same for her children. David had found it with Karen; Janet had known only pain and disappointment. Lucinda didn’t like to admit it, but she had always sensed a certain restraint in Janet’s manner toward Jessie, as if she were ashamed. It was the way Lucinda had expected to feel but hadn’t. She wished Janet could have gotten past the pain, but she never had, Well, putting off an unpleasant chore wouldn’t make it any less unpleasant, Lucinda thought, unconsciously straightening her spine. She could sit here all day musing over the intricacies of life, or she could get on with it. Lucinda Tallant Davenport wasn’t one to sit around whining; right or wrong, she got things done.

She pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand, and tears filled her eyes again at the neatness of the contents. That was Janet, tidy to the bone. There was the book she’d been reading, a small flashlight, a box of tissues, a decorative tin of her favorite peppermint candy, and a leather25