What?
Cara frowned. “Then why did you ... how can you translate your aunt’s journals?”
“I speak standard French, and as you know from your research, Missouri French is an amalgamation of Old Norman French, Native American languages, and frontier English. Some of my translation will be guesswork based on context, but I believe I’ll be able to decipher the gist of the text. MyFrench skills remain quite strong, thanks to my years at the Sorbonne and my continued use of the language.”
Cara stared at her as she absorbed that news. “You went to the Sorbonne? In Paris?” Why had her research on the woman not revealed that? As far as she’d been able to determine, Natalie had worked as an administrative assistant her whole life for a lawyer in a nearby small town.
“That would be the one.” Natalie leaned back and looked into the distance, a tiny smile playing at her lips. “Oh, I had grand plans for my life, despite the limitations imposed by my bout with polio. I was studying literature, aiming for a PhD and a university teaching career, like yours.” A shadow passed across her eyes, and she dropped her gaze. “But that wasn’t to be. I became ill near the end of my junior year with a serious case of mono accompanied by debilitating fatigue, and I had to come home. By the time I recovered, Papa had health issues of his own, and he needed me. I never went back.”
The poignant note in her inflection even after the passage of decades tightened Cara’s throat. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get to realize your dream.”
“Not every dream is meant to come true. But perhaps I can help someone else realize hers.” Natalie sent her a smile, then set her crocheting aside, rose, and gripped her cane. “I believe I’ll make this an early night. You’ll be all right on your own for the rest of the evening?”
“Yes.” Cara stood too. “I’m used to entertaining myself.”
“No young man in the picture back in Cape?”
Cara blinked.
That had come out of nowhere.
“No.”
Natalie exhaled. “Men can be very foolish—and shortsighted.”
“It sounds as if there’s a story there.” The comment poppedout before Cara could stop it, and she cringed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t apologize. I asked you a nosy question, and turnabout is fair play. But no, there’s no unrequited love in my past. My physical issues were off-putting, as were my face and figure. Men don’t tend to be attracted to homely, big-boned women who limp.”
“I’m sorry.” What else could she say in response to such a starkly honest statement? “And I do understand what you’re saying about the difficulty of appealing to the opposite sex.”
Natalie’s features softened, and she touched her arm. “Not the homely part. You’re a beautiful woman.”
If she was, her limited dating history would suggest that her appearance wasn’t sufficient to compensate for her other issues.
“Thank you.”
At her perfunctory reply, Natalie smiled. “Your time will come. I have a sixth sense about these things. Just focus on your career for now and let nature take its course.” She started for the door. “There’s a flashlight on the kitchen counter to use for your walk back to the cottage, since our dinner was delayed tonight thanks to all the excitement. The path can be rather dark. Good night.”
Cara returned the sentiment as her hostess disappeared through the door, still digesting their unexpected and enlightening exchange.
Who would have guessed that a woman who’d spent most of her life deep in rural Missouri had gone to the Sorbonne, spoke fluent French, and had journals that potentially held not only useful anthropological information but also family secrets?
And what had Natalie meant about her continued use of standard French?
This project was becoming more fascinating by the minute.
Cara wandered into the kitchen, picked up the flashlight, and pulled out the key ring Natalie had given her. After exiting onto the galérie that encircled the house, she flicked on the light and followed the winding stone path toward the compact guest cottage tucked among the trees fifty yards away.
Thank goodness she had the flashlight. Otherwise, she’d have been feeling her way. Who knew nighttime in the country meant utter and absolute darkness? Not this city girl. But the stars were unbelievable.
She stopped, lowered her beam until it pointed toward the ground, and gaped at the diamond-strewn heavens. The stars in Cape were a pale facsimile to this glittering display. It was a shame she didn’t know more about astronomy. It would be fun to identify—
A sudden flash of light, much closer to earth, redirected her attention, and she peered into the dark woods ahead.
Nothing.
Had she imagined that momentary bright flicker?
