I turned to Cecilia’s will. No surprises here, and no mention of Essie Mae. Cecilia left everything to An’gel and Dickce.

The lack of provision for Essie Mae disturbed me even more. Had Cecilia booted her out of the house after Richard’s death? I could understand Cecilia’s feelings in the matter, naturally, but still.

Perhaps there was an explanation in the journal. I had read about two-thirds of it, I estimated, and if the journal extended to the time of Richard’s death and after, the answers to my questions could be within its pages.

The last document was the last will and testament of Esther Mae McMullen Hobson. She left all her worldly goods to her daughter, Vera Micaela Hobson, and her son, Amory McMullen Hobson. I wondered where the Micaela came from, and then I remembered reading that Essie Mae’s father was called Mick, probably short for Michael.

No answers in Essie Mae’s will, either.

It all came down to the journal, then.

I returned the documents to Ms. Sanders. She checked them carefully, one by one, to make sure they were not damaged in any way. After she was satisfied, I thanked her again and left the courthouse.

I checked my watch. It was a quarter to ten. I had accomplished a lot in a surprisingly short amount of time.

On my way out of the courthouse I spotted Hank Beauchamp down the hall. He wore that same rumpled suit, and I recognized it as the one he had worn to the gala. Evidently it was the only one he had. He was busy chatting with someone and didn’t see me, and I had no reason to interrupt his conversation.

Instead, blessing the efficiency and speediness of Ms. Sanders, I hopped into my car and headed for the archives office.

Seven minutes later I sat at my desk, Cecilia’s journal in my hands. I found the place I’d left off and began to read again.

Cecilia professed to be ecstatic over her two darling girls, and Richard adored them as well. There was no mention of Essie Mae for several pages. There were accounts of social events, a short trip to New Orleans with Richard, and then the entries grew more sporadic. Months passed without one, and in a few pages two years sped by. Evidently Cecilia was too busy with the children or with the social activities entailed by her position as Mrs. Richard Ducote to have much time to spare for her journal.

I persisted, however, in hopes that I would find another mention of Essie Mae. The first one I found shocked me.

I am in complete despair. I thought Richard was happy with our two dear little angels, but he confessed to me this morning that he still longs for a son. He needs a son, he says, to keep the Ducote name alive. He owes it to his ancestors to make sure the name goes on. I was furious with him, because I knew what he wanted. Essie Mae is still here, though I do my best to forget her completely, and apparently willing to bear him another child, but I WILL NOT HAVE IT!!!