Annie pulled back her caramel-colored hair and put it into a ponytail. “Jon has hardly any flaws. There’s only one habit of his that bothers me. I guess I’m resentful of all the time he spends painting. I feel like he loves painting more than he loves me. We both work at home but he’s in his art studio all day long. I rarely see him.”

Claire nodded. “Men are different creatures. Women deal with the complexity of their thoughts and emotions by talking them through, usually with other women. But men simply bury themselves in their hobbies. It’s how they work things out. Some men hunt and fish, others golf or tinker on old cars. Jon paints.”

“I just wished he looked at me the way he looks at his paintings.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Annie. And I’ve seen the way Jon looks at you. He can’t take his eyes off you. The desire in his eyes makes me blush.”

“Oh, Claire, you exaggerate.”

“No, I’m speaking the truth. Jon loves you dearly. I know he would gladly step in front of a bullet for you.”

“I guess I’m simply the jealous sort. Luckily I don’t have to worry about other women, just paint tubes and canvases.”

“Jon is a gifted artist. God gave him his ability to create masterpieces. And I believe God wants Jon to paint. It’s who Jon is. Take away his paintings and he’s not the same person at all.” Claire touched Annie on the shoulder. “Can I ask you something personal?”

Annie nodded her head warily.

“How is your love life?”

Annie blushed. “Its fine, Claire, we’re trying to have kids. And Jon seems quite happy with the whole process.”

“Okay, good. Unless one of you is sick or injured, keep the lovemaking a priority. Dale and I had an active love life throughout our marriage. Without it we may not have stuck it out. There are two main components to a happy and lasting marriage: a mutual and vibrant faith in God and an active love life. And you must keep the components in that order. There are other things that will help too, like a positive and forgiving attitude, but those are the two biggies.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Annie said. She looked at her older friend. Claire’s muumuu hid her plump figure, but could barely contain her giant bosom. With her gray hair piled up on her head, Claire resembled Aunt Bee from Mayberry.

Claire shook her head. “Oh, it’s not easy being married, Annie. It takes a whole lot of effort. Sometimes it’s the hardest work you’ll ever do. But it’s worth it. Say, I just thought of something that might help you.”

“I’m game for just about anything.”

Claire set down her watering can. “Every since I’ve known you, Annie, you’ve talked about how you intend to write a book someday. Why don’t you ask Jon if you can have a small corner of his art studio and make it into a writing nook? That way you’ll be spending more time with him. As it is now you’re in the main house all the time while he’s in the studio at the other end of the yard.”

“But I can’t spend all day in the studio. I have to clean rooms and get them ready for the guests.”

“I understand, Annie. But you could probably spend an hour or two with Jon. That beats no time with him.”

Annie smiled briefly. “You’re right as usual, Claire. I should do that. But there’s something else bothering me.”

Claire nodded her head. “I think I know what it is.”

“You do?”

“It’s written all over your face. The miscarriage you suffered two years ago is still crushing you.”

Annie looked down. Her eyes filled up. “I don’t understand why God would allow this to happen. Babies are aborted every day, and countless more are born to deadbeat parents who will never love them. It’s not fair. I think Jon and I would be good parents. So what gives?”

Claire moved forward and embraced Annie. “You’re right, Annie, it isn’t fair. The world can be a dark and unforgiving place sometimes. Dale and I tried repeatedly to have kids but I could never get pregnant. I fumed at God for probably thirty years before the anger and pain went away. I know that doesn’t help lessen the pain, but I do know how you feel, Annie.”

Annie let out a deep breath. “But I need to get over this resentment, Claire. Jon and I are going to take custody of our adopted newborn in three weeks. I want to be able to love this baby as if she was my own.”

“You’ll make a fine mother, Annie. This baby is so fortunate and blessed to be coming into your home.”

“I just hope the teenage mother doesn’t change her mind at the last moment and keep the baby. I don’t think I would handle that very well.”

Claire squeezed her harder. “I’ll pray night and day that the mother doesn’t do that. But I want you to promise me something.”

“I hate making promises.”

“This one will be easy to keep. I want you to promise me, Annie, that I’ll be your number one babysitting option. No matter how often you need me, I’ll be there.”

Annie smiled. “You’re right, that’s an easy one. For that matter, you’ll be our only babysitting option, Claire. We’ll even call you Nana.”

Chapter 3

Copeland, Louisiana

Arcadias Charbonneau parked his vehicle at the end of a long, tree-shaded driveway. Looking through binoculars, he sat in a rented Chevy pickup truck and studied the nineteenth century plantation house from a safe distance, admiring its architectural splendor and carefully maintained grounds.

Someone has sunk a great deal of cash into this house, Arcadias thought. The Greek-Revival style house looked as if it were built only yesterday. He didn’t see any decay, and the paint looked fresh. Double galleries with Doric columns soaring to the roofline fronted the mansion. Well-tended flower gardens surrounded the house, while magnolia and live oak trees lined the driveway.

If a car didn’t sit in front of the house, and if a sign at the end of the driveway didn’t say Whitcomb Bed and Breakfast Inn, Arcadias could almost imagine he’d traveled back in time to a simpler era, back into the early 1800s. A carriage house sat about fifty yards from the house. All that was missing from the historical property was a row of slave quarter shacks.

Arcadias shifted his binoculars away from the house. He studied the acreage to the west side of the house, where the lush yard ended at a vast tree-studded field and beyond that the swamp better known as the Atchafalaya Basin. Having studied the history of the house for the past several days, Arcadias knew he looked at what was once a sugar cane field. He could see the remnants of a sugar house, a building where the juice was removed from the cane stalks and converted into raw sugar.

Pecan trees had all but overtaken the sugar cane field where Rutherford Whitcomb made his fortune so many years ago. Sugar production had had pretty much stopped at the place around 1900. But there is still a fortune to be made here, Arcadias thought with a crooked smile.

Today was actually his third visit to the property. To avoid suspicion he’d driven here in a different rental vehicle each time. And before each visit he’d plugged the coordinates from the treasure box note into the vehicle’s GPS system. He was brought here to the plantation house every time.

On his first visit Arcadias knocked on the door and asked the attractive woman who answered if he could relic hunt on the property. She smiled and politely turned him down even though he assured her he wouldn’t damage her yard in any way.

During a treasure hunt, Arcadias always cut a u-shaped divot into the ground whenever his metal detector got a hit. The divot always laid back down nicely, the grass no worse for wear. But he couldn’t persuade the woman to give him a chance.

So now he had to resort to disingenuous methods. But one way or another, he would recover the hidden Lafitte treasure. If he had to tear down the house board by board to find the treasure, he would do it.