It was hard to decide now if Aunt Carole had been a monster or a hero, but perhaps she had done what she thought best. But she had in no way warned Marie-Ange of what was coming to her. It came as a complete surprise, and a huge shock, as Andrew McDermott handed her a manila envelope filled with documents and suggested she review them. He needed only one signature to open an account for her, and as he left, he congratulated her on her good fortune, and even then she wasn't sure if that was how she viewed it. She would far rather have had her parents and brother alive, and grown up with them at Marmouton, than have spent the past ten years in Iowa with Aunt Carole, enduring endless loneliness and hardship. No matter how rich she was now, Marie-Ange still couldn't understand what had just happened to her, or what it would mean to her, as she stood and watched him drive away, as she continued to clutch the envelope he had left her.

“When are we having dinner?” Aunt Carole barked at her through the screen door, and she rushed inside, and put the envelope on the counter as she hurried to prepare dinner. And for the entire meal, Aunt Carole said nothing to her, until Marie-Ange broke the silence.

“Did you know?” Her eyes searched her great-aunt's face and saw nothing, not affection or warmth or regret or tenderness or joy for her. She looked as she always had, bitter and tired and old and as cold as ice in winter.

“Not all of it. I still don't. It's none of my business. I know your father left you a lot of money. I'm glad for you. It'll make things easier for you when I'm gone,” and then she stunned Marie-Ange further. “I'm selling the farm next month. I've had a good offer, and you're all right now. I'm tired. I'm going to move into the home in Boone.” She said it without apology or regret, or any concern about what would happen to Marie-Ange, but admittedly she had no reason to worry about her, except that she was a girl of twenty-one, and for the second time in her life, she was about to become homeless.

“How much longer will you stay here?” Marie-Ange asked, looking concerned about her, and seeking some trace of emotion that had never been there.

“If I sell next month, it'll be in escrow for thirty days. I should be in the home by the end of October. Tom said he would wait till then.” But it was only six weeks away, and Marie-Ange realized that she was going to have to make some decisions. She was about to start her senior year, and wondered if she should move closer to school, or take the year off to go home to France and at least see it. And for an instant, she had a brief dream about buying Marmouton back. She had no idea who owned it now, or what had happened to it, and wondered if that information would be included in the papers the lawyer from the bank had left her.

“I'll have to move out when you do,” Marie-Ange said pensively, wondering if she had ever known this woman. But she already knew the answer to that question. “Will you be happy in the home, Aunt Carole?” She felt as though she owed her something, however disagreeable she had been, or cold. She had still taken care of her for ten years, and Marie-Ange was grateful for it.

“I'm not happy here. What difference does it make? And I'm too old to run a farm now. You'll go back to France, I expect, or get a job somewhere, after you finish college. You have no reason to stay here, unless you marry that boy you say you don't want to marry. And you probably shouldn't now. You can catch yourself a real big fish with all that money.” She made it sound like an ugly thing, and the way she said it made Marie-Ange shudder. The idea of loving someone never entered into it for her, and Marie-Ange couldn't help wondering, as she had before, what her life had been like with her husband, and if she had ever loved him, if she was even capable of it. It was impossible to imagine her young or loving or happy.

Marie-Ange cleaned up the kitchen after their meal, and her aunt said she was going to bed early, and wheeled herself silently down the dark hallway. But when Billy called a short time afterward, Marie-Ange said she had to see him.

“Is something wrong?” He sounded worried.

“No … yes … no … I don't know. I'm confused. Something happened today I have to talk to you about.” She needed to talk to him very badly. There was no one else for her to talk to, although she knew he was as unsophisticated as she was about financial matters. But he was sensible and intelligent, and he wanted nothing but the best for her. It never occurred to her for an instant that he'd be jealous of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she hesitated.

“I think so. Yes.” She didn't want to worry him. “It's a good thing. I just don't understand it.”

“Come over whenever you want,” he said comfortably. His new girlfriend was there, but she lived on a nearby farm, and he offered to run her home before Marie-Ange came over, and she didn't seem to mind it.

Marie-Ange was on his front porch twenty minutes later, and she had brought the manila envelope with her. “What's that?” He noticed it instantly, and wondered if it was a transcript from college. He wondered suddenly if she had won another scholarship, but the look on her face told him it was something more important.

“A lawyer came to see me today,” she said in an undervoice, so the rest of the family couldn't hear what she was saying to him, and she trusted him completely. Her faith in him had never been unfounded, and she knew it wouldn't be this time.

“What about?”

“Some money my father left me when he died,” she said simply, and his mind went swiftly, as hers had, to amounts in the thousands, if she was lucky. At least it would help her finish her education, and he was happy for her. “A lot of money,” she tried to adjust his thinking for him. But what had happened to her was inconceivable, and she knew Billy wouldn't understand it any better than she did.

“Like how much?” And then he corrected himself quickly, “Or would you rather not tell me? You don't have to, you know. It's none of my business,” he said discreetly.

“I guess I shouldn't say anything,” she said, looking at him, terrified that it would change something between them. “I don't want you to hate me for it.”

“Don't be stupid. Did he kill someone for it, or steal it?” he teased her.

“Of course not,” she smiled nervously at him, “it's from the house and his business, and some investments. What he left has grown a lot in the last ten years. Billy,” she hesitated for a long moment, “it's a lot of money.” She suddenly wanted to apologize for it. It seemed sinful to have that much. But she did. And now she had to deal with it.

“You're driving me crazy, Marie-Ange. Are you going to tell me or not? And did your Aunt Carole know, by the way?” He was curious about it.

“Apparently, she did, more or less. And she never let them give her anything to support me. I guess that's nice in a way, but it sure would have made life easier if she had. Anyway, it's all mine now.” Their eyes met and held as he waited, and she took a breath and whispered the words to him that even she didn't understand, and wondered if she ever would. It was beyond thinking. “Ten million dollars,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear her.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, laughing at her, and sitting back in his chair on the porch, amused by the joke. He had been leaning forward waiting to hear, and now he just guffawed at her. “And I'm Mickey Mantle.”

“No, I'm serious. That's what it is.” She looked as though she was sharing something terrible with him, and suddenly he stopped laughing and stared at her.

“You're not kidding?” She shook her head in answer, and he closed his eyes as though she had hit him, and then opened them to look at her in disbelief. “Oh, my God, Marie-Ange … what are you going to do with it? What are you going to do now?” In a way, it scared him for her. It was an overwhelming amount of money. Beyond either of their imaginations.

“I don't know. Aunt Carole told me tonight she's selling the farm next month and going into the home in Boone. I'm not going to have anyplace to live six weeks from now. She already has someone who wants to buy the farm, and she's decided to sell it to them.”

“You can live here,” he said generously, but she knew there was no room for her, and she knew that wasn't right either.

“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.