Son of Texas. Linda Warren

WWII. Living with Ms. Gertie had been a blessing. She was truly an angel in disguise and she and Belle had formed a bond that would never be broken. Dr. Oliver had said that the relationships Belle formed now would build a strong foundation of trust and deep roots, which would help strengthen an inner connection within herself. But the doctor also warned that once her memory returned, those foundations wouldn’t be as strong. Her old life, the person she used to be, would take precedence.

      Belle lived cautiously, taking each day as it came, and was grateful for the kind people who now filled her world. Gertie was a wealthy eccentric of undeterminate age, but Belle guessed she was somewhere in her eighties. The woman had wrecked four cars in one year; her lawyer deemed it unsafe for her to drive. Ms. Gertie had resisted her loss of independence, firing chauffeur after chauffeur. Gertie was a cousin of Caleb’s stepfather and when Caleb heard about the problem, he thought Belle would be a perfect companion and helper.

      And Belle desperately needed a home. Caleb had arranged for her to get a driver’s license and Gertie hired her at their first meeting. Now she had a home and she’d found a measure of peace in Ms. Gertie’s colorful world.

      Gertrude’s Victorian home had been in her family for years. It was equipped with a pool and tennis courts, and filled with priceless antiques and artworks. She lived in the big house with two cats, Prissy and Prudy, and a Jack Russell terrier named Harry. Belle was sure she’d never lived in such opulence before. Despite the comforts of her present life, everything felt foreign to her, and she lived with this unsettled feeling every day.

      She ran her hands through her long dark hair, then reached for the colorful band and tied it into a ponytail, then looped it again to make a knot so it wouldn’t bounce around. The action was natural, as if she’d done it many times before. This was an implicit memory, behavioral knowledge without conscious recall, as Dr. Oliver called it, just as Belle knew how to read and write but she couldn’t remember how she’d learned those skills.

      From what she’d learned about her condition, parts of her memory should have returned by now. After a year, there was less chance of it returning at all. She feared she’d be in this limbo forever.

      Sighing, she glanced at her watch—just after twelve. Gertie was resting as she did every day unless she had an appointment. This was the time Belle used to practice the exercises the doctors had taught her to help regain her memory.

      Taking a deep breath, she asked out loud, “What’s my name?”

      There was no answer, just a numbness of her mind and her spirit.

      The sky darkened to almost black and Belle watched a thunderstorm roll in, chasing away the spring day. Crazy Texas weather. She didn’t know much, but she knew about the unpredictable weather in Texas, another implicit memory. Thunder echoed loudly and lightning zigzagged across the sky. Wendell, who’d been fertilizing the yard, hurried to the garages just as the skies opened up.

      The rain made a drumming noise against the windows and lightning zipped across the grass with dangerous flashes of lights and spine-tingling sounds. Belle knew she should move, but something was happening in her mind. She could feel it.

      In her sessions with Dr. Oliver she’d learned a current event or experience could trigger long-forgotten memories. Sounds, smells or other stimuli such as the weather had the capabilities of sparking her mind. And the memories could return bit by bit or all at once or not at all.

      Thunder rumbled through her as continual flashes of the lightning streaked the sky. She shivered, watching the storm and waiting for a miracle. Rain poured down the windows in trails and she was mesmerized by the movement. She could almost feel it reaching into her—washing away. Washing away. She grabbed her head as it began to throb. Thunder blasted like a gun and memories, beautiful forgotten memories, floated to the surface.

      “Tell Daddy your name.” The words were clear almost as if her mother was standing beside her.

      “I scared. Don’t like rain. It’s too noisy.”

      “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Mommy and Daddy are right here. Tell Daddy your name.”

      “Don’t know.”

      “Yes, you do. We practiced all day. Tell Daddy your name.”

      “My name is Joscelyn Marie.” She said it proudly and loudly.

      “Yes. Yes, it is. Now what’s your last name?”

      “Beckett. My name is Joscelyn Marie Beckett.”

      Her mother clapped. “Isn’t that wonderful for a two-year-old?”

      Belle could feel her father’s arms as he held her and she could smell Old Spice, his favorite cologne. “My girl is getting big. What does Daddy call you?”

      “Josie Marie. Josie Marie. Josie Marie.”

      The storm ended and so did the memories. “No. No. No,” she cried. “Please let me remember more. Please.” But the blankness returned and all she was left with was a name. A name! After all this time, she knew her name.

      Josie Marie Beckett.

      She jumped from the window seat, eager to call Caleb. She should call Dr. Oliver, but she had to tell Caleb first. Hurrying toward the phone, she stopped in her tracks. Ms. Gertie came into the sunroom with a large hat on her head. That wasn’t unusual as Gertie was known for her hats. But in the midst of the bright flowers and feathers on the hat was a small birdcage with a live yellow canary inside. Prissy and Prudy trailed behind her, looking at the hat as if it might be their dinner.

      “What do you think, Belle, darlin’?”

      Gertie, a tall, big-boned woman, moved with an inherent grace. Her white hair was coiled neatly at her nape and she wore a purple suit to match the purple in the hat. As always there were pearls around her neck. But Belle kept looking at the little bird.

      “Ms. Gertie, there’s a live bird on your head.” Pointing this out seemed unnecessary, but she didn’t know what else to say.

      “Of course, darlin’. We’re going to auction off this hat at the charity ball. They just delivered it and I think it’s a wonderful idea. A definite attention grabber.”

      She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t even heard the doorbell. Josie Marie. She had a name.

      “Wendell has a cage for the canary and before we go to the ball tomorrow night, Wendell will put him in the hat-cage again. The highest bidder will get the cage, the hat and all the food the little thing will need for a year.” Ms. Gertie made a face. “I just hate the thought of a bird pooping on my head. But I’ll do anything for charity—at least once.”

      “Whose idea was this?” Belle asked, trying to keep her thoughts on the conversation.

      “Mine, of course. No one else is that brilliant.”

      “Of course not,” Belle agreed. One of the things she loved about living with Gertie was that she laughed a lot. And she needed that.

      Prissy reared up on Gertie’s skirt, her eyes on the bird. Prudy, fearing Prissy might get the prize, joined her.

      “Look at this.” Gertie sighed. “You’d think they were never fed. Get down, you spoiled cats.”

      Prissy and Prudy crept to a corner, their feelings hurt.

      “Oh, my babies. I didn’t mean it.” Gertie tried to soothe the cats. “You’ll get a special treat tonight.”

      Harry raced into the room, barking at the hat. Just then the doorbell rang.

      Gertie straightened the hat and her suit as if she knew who was at the door. Martha, the housekeeper, showed Caleb into the sunroom. Dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt and cowboy boots with his Texas Ranger badge proudly displayed over his left pocket, he smiled a welcome. Belle’s heart rate kicked up a notch as it always did when she saw him.

      He was without his gun and white hat. He usually left those in the car