“I could get an apartment at school, I guess, or live in the dorm. I don't know what you do when something like this happens.”

“Neither do I,” he grinned shyly at her. ‘Your father must have been one hell of a rich guy when you were a kid. I guess I never understood that. That chateau you talk about must have been the size of Buckingham Palace.”

“No, it wasn't. It was beautiful, and I loved it, I guess there was a lot of land, and his business must have been pretty successful. He had money saved too, and … God, Billy, I don't know … what'll I do now?” She had come to him for advice, but they were both young, and what they were talking about was inconceivable to either of them, particularly given the life they both led. Their lives in Iowa were very simple.

“What do you want to do?” he asked her thoughtfully. “Do you want to go home, and start over there, or finish school here? You can do anything you want now. Hell, Marie-Ange, you can go to Harvard if you want to.” To him, at least, it represented an unlimited amount of freedom, and he was happy for her.

“I think I'd like to go home for a while, and at least see Marmouton again. Maybe I could even buy it.” And never come back here, he could hear the reality of it echo in his head as he listened to her, but he didn't voice his fears to her. He was suddenly afraid he'd never see her again when she left. But she knew what he was thinking.

“I'll come back. I just want to see what it looks like. Maybe I'll take a semester off, and come back here for Christmas.”

“That would be nice,” and then he decided to put his own feelings aside and think of her. He loved her enough to do that. “But you might be happier there.” She was French, after all, and she had no relatives in the States except Aunt Carole. And although she had spent nearly half her life here, in her heart of hearts, she was still French, and always would be.

“Maybe. I just don't know what to do now.” She didn't feel as though either place was home anymore. And with options open to her, it was all the more confusing. “If I stayed, would you come to visit me? You could use your French finally. I'd send you a ticket.” She knew him well enough to know he would never accept it, and it would be a hardship for him to take the time to visit her even if he had the money to buy the ticket. ‘You have to promise me you'd come over if I stay there.”

“Do you think you'll finish school?” he asked, concerned about her again, and she nodded.

“I want to. I think I probably will come back here. Maybe I'll just take this semester off and see what happens.”

“It would be a shame not to finish school,” he said, sounding like an older brother, as she nodded.

She took the contents of the envelope out then, and they pored over them together. But neither of them understood them. It was the portfolio of the trust's investments.

“I just can't believe it,” he said, looking at her again before she left. “Marie-Ange, this is amazing, “ and then he grinned at her and gave her a hug. “Hell, who knew you'd turn out to be a rich girl.”

“I feel like Cinderella,” she whispered.

“Just make sure you don't run off with a handsome prince in the next ten minutes.” He knew this meant that there was no hope for them, but according to Marie-Ange, there never had been. And now there was no way he could ever ask her. She was an heiress, but she was also his best friend, and she made him swear it would never make any difference between them.

“I'll be back for Christmas,” she promised faithfully, and meant it as she said it. But he wondered if that would be true, if she really would come back, or even want to, after the miserable years she'd spent here. It seemed right to him that she should go home now.

He walked her out to the car when she left, and gave her another hug. The car he had given her seemed foolish to him now in light of everything that had just happened. “Drive carefully,” he smiled at her, still in awe of what she had told him. They both needed time to absorb it.

“I love you, Billy,” she said, and meant it in the very best of ways, and he knew that.

“I love you too. You know that.” And with that, she waved and drove away. She had a lot to think about on the drive home, and she drove to Des Moines the next morning. There was something she knew she had to do there. She had thought of it the night before, and she didn't want to wait another day. She called Andy McDermott and explained it to him, and he sounded a little startled at first, but she was only twenty-one, after all. It was an interesting first step, but she was very determined when he questioned her about it.

She completed the transaction in under an hour, and they agreed to deliver it to the farm for her that morning. They were stunned by the speed with which she had made the purchase. And when it arrived, it caused endless comment amongst the farmhands, and Aunt Carole was livid when she saw it.

“That is just the kind of stupid thing I thought you would do. What are you going to do with that thing?” she asked accusingly, but there was nothing she could do to stop her.

“I'm giving it to Billy,” Marie-Ange said calmly, as she slid behind the wheel of the bright red, brand-new Porsche she had bought for him that morning. Three years before he had made it possible for her to go to school and get an education, and now she was going to do something for him, something he could never do for himself in a lifetime. She had paid the insurance on it for him for two years, and she knew he was going to love it.

She drove it up in front of his house, just as he came in on the tractor with one of his brothers, and he stared at her in amazement.

“Did you trade the Chevy in for that? I hope they gave you back some money!” He laughed and hopped off the tractor to look more closely at the remarkable machine she was driving. “How are you going to tell people you bought it?” he asked, looking concerned. He knew she didn't want everyone talking about her, or knowing what she'd inherited from her father.

“I haven't figured that out yet,” she grinned at him, “maybe I'll just have to tell them I stole it. But at least I won't be driving it.”

“Why not?” He looked confused, as she quietly handed him the keys and kissed him on both cheeks, French style.

“Because it's yours, Billy!” she said softly. “Because you're the best friend I have in the world, and you're my brother.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn't know what to say to her, and when he could finally speak again, he insisted that he couldn't accept it from her, no matter how much money her father had left her. But she refused to discuss it with him, or to be swayed. The pink slip was already in his name, and she slid into the passenger seat, waiting for him to drive her in it.

“I don't know what to say to you,” he said in a choked voice as he slid behind the wheel. It was hard to resist, and everyone on his father's farm was staring at them. They knew something unbelievable had just happened.

“Does this mean you're marrying him?” his mother shouted from the kitchen window, wondering if she had won it in a contest for him. Maybe she had won the lottery or something.

“No, it means he has a new car,” Marie-Ange shouted back at her with a grin, as Billy turned the key in the ignition and the little sports car roared into gear. They took off at full speed, as Billy gave a wild whoop of glee, and Marie-Ange's long blond hair flew out in the wind behind her.





Chapter 6




Aunt Carole sold the farm, just as she had said she would, and two weeks later she moved to the home in Boone. Marie-Ange helped her pack her things, and she couldn't help thinking of Carole's cruelty when she had taken Marie-Ange's suitcases to the Goodwill and left them there with nearly everything she'd brought with her. But this time, Marie-Ange packed all her little mementos and favorite belongings for her. And when they reached the home, the old woman turned to her, and looked at her long and hard, and said, “Don't do anything stupid.”

“I'll try not to,” Marie-Ange smiled, wanting to feel more for her than she did, but she just didn't. Aunt Carole had never allowed it. Marie-Ange couldn't even tell her that she'd miss her. They both knew she wouldn't. “I'll write to you, and tell you where I am,” she said politely.

“You don't have to. I don't like to write. I can call the bank, if I need to find you.” After ten years of living together, it was a dry, unemotional departure. Carole was simply not capable of more than that, and never had been. And after Marie-Ange left her, she felt sad, for all that had never happened between them. Emotionally at least, except for Billy, it had been ten years wasted.

She went back to the house and packed her things. Tom and his wife were already gone, and the house seemed strange and empty. Marie-Ange had her ticket and her passport, and her bags were packed. She was leaving in the morning, back the way she had come, first to Chicago, and then to Paris. She was going to stay there for a few days, and maybe look into classes at the Sorbonne, and then she was going to rent a car and drive to Marmouton, just to see it. And she was going to find out what had happened to Sophie. She assumed that she had died, but maybe someone could tell her how or when it had happened. Marie-Ange suspected she had died of a broken heart, but whatever had happened to her, she wanted to know it. She knew that if Sophie had been alive, she'd have written to her, and she hadn't. Not a single letter in answer to her own, or since then.

She ate dinner with Billy and his family that night. Everyone in the area was still talking about his new Porsche, and he drove it every chance he got. His father had teased him that he spent more time in it than on the tractor. And his girlfriend Debbi was in love with it. But it meant the most to Billy because Marie-Ange had given it to him. He had finally stopped arguing with her about it, and agreed to accept it, although he said he shouldn't have, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it. It was his dream car, and her thank-you for getting her to college in the Chevy.