This had clearly been a mistake. He had only been seeing Molly for a week, and sporadically at that. He hadn’t expected her to get the wrong idea. He was not interested in dramatics, in a permanent sort of arrangement. It had only been two months since Anne’s death, and he wasn’t ready to attach himselfto another woman.

He suspected he had loved Anne.

Her hand grappled with his arm. “Promise me you’ll be back tomorrow. I can’t go a whole day without you, I just can’t.”

The vehement statement was so odd, Gabriel found himself pausing to glance down at her tear-streaked face, her dark brown hair tousled and sticking to her cheek in disarray. “Why on earth not?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” she said passionately, leaning her lower body flush against his. “I have to have you.”

Gabriel reared back in horror. There was nothing about him worth loving. Not one thing.

He had done nothing to encourage, to deserve, such exaltedemotion.

“You’re not in love with me. The very idea is ridiculous.” Gabriel stepped into his shoes, dodging her fingers, as she got a grip on his waistband.

“I am! You can’t say that I’m not. I will die if you don’t come back tomorrow.”

That overwrought and childish proclamation, that mockery of life and death, disgusted Gabriel. Breaking free, he moved forward, not wanting to touch Molly, not wanting to use force to hold her back, but needing to get away. “You’re not going to die, and it’s offensive to me that you would suggest such a thing in light of what we have all endured in grief for Anne.”

But the chastisement had no effect on Molly. She threw her head back in defiance, pulling her hair off her cheek, chin thrusting up. “I’m glad Anne is gone. If she hadn’t died, you never would have come to me. And all I want is you.”

Gabriel grabbed his coat and fled, slamming the door behindhim on her tears, his heart pounding. The encounter had been illogical, but he was too raw to decipher it.

He’d go home and have a drink.

Everything always made more sense after a drink.

Mrs. Jane Gallier
117 Esplanade Avenue
New Orleans, Louisiana

Mr. Jonathon Thiroux
34 Royal Street
New Orleans, Louisiana

17 December, 1849

My Dearest John,

I know it is somewhat improper for me to be writing you in such a forward manner, but I have not been able to prevent myself from contacting you. I am entitled to some leeway given my status as a widow, but I know it is still not the thing to engage in correspondence with you. However, it has been three days since I have seen you, and I cannot bear your absence any longer.