False Pretenses by Kathy Herman

of how the British had abused the Acadians. In spite of his apology, hadn’t his offensive posture revealed his resentment? What would it take to reverse his unfounded core belief that no person of British descent was worthy of his trust?
    Vanessa wiped the perspiration off her upper lip, finally realizing how hot it was getting outside. She suspected that Zoe agreed with Pierce but was too polite to admit it. If she and Ethan were ever going to belong here, they had to make sure they weren’t permanently labeled.
    A twig snapped. Her pulse quickened. She moved her gaze across the weed-covered grounds and glanced in the rearview mirror.
    “Hello?” she heard herself say. “Is somebody out there …? Hello …?”
    Suddenly everything was still, even the breeze.
    Vanessa started the car and quickly rolled up the windows, making sure the doors were locked. A chill scurried up her spine. She scanned the trees along the forest’s edge. Was the intruder out there? Was he watching her?

    Zoe walked out of the dining room at Zoe B’s and into the alcove, holding tightly to the weekly food order she needed to call in. She unlocked the door to the office, flipped the light switch, and let the door close behind her. On the floor was an envelope with her name typed on the front. Her heart sank.
    She stared at it for a moment, her pulse racing, then reached down and picked it up. Who had pushed it under the door? Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the people coming into the eatery?
    She grabbed the letter opener, slit the envelope, then pulled out a sheet of white paper, on which the same five words had been cut and pasted: I know what you did.
    She slid down into the desk chair, filled with dread, her thoughts racing back ten years—to the scheme she had devised so she could get out on her own and support herself. She had executed each step with great care and without anyone realizing what she was up to. Or so she thought. Why would someone wait an entire decade before coming forward? Was it to extort money from her? Was she willing to get caught in that trap? And what if this person knew the truth about her family?
    She looked up at the framed photo of Pierce and her, enjoying the dance floor at their wedding reception. Nobody seemed hung up that none of the bride’s relatives were there. All that mattered was that Pierce loved her and she was now a Broussard. How could anyone know what taking his name meant to her? Any children born to them would have a Cajun heritage with strong family ties, free from the shame she left in Devon Springs and without any knowledge of it.
    Zoe tucked the note in her blouse and ran the envelope through the paper shredder. No way was she going to be the victim in this. She knew how to diffuse this situation before it had the power to undo everything she held dear. Did she have the courage? It was risky. But if it worked, whoever was sending these notes couldn’t hold the past over her head.

    Vanessa set the well-read copy of The Velveteen Rabbit on the nightstand, kissed Carter on the forehead, and whispered, “Mommy loves you. Sleep tight.”
    She turned off the lamp and tiptoed out of Carter’s room, through the living room, and out onto the gallery, where Ethan stood leaning on the ornate wrought-iron railing.
    “That didn’t take long,” he said.
    “I think preschool wears him out.” Vanessa linked arms with Ethan, noting that the muggy air hadn’t cooled much since the sun went down. He seems to love it.”
    “So … the men in your life are adjusting well. You haven’t said much about your day. Did you do anything special?”
    “Not really. I drove out to the manor house. I had no intention of going inside,” she quickly added. “I was just feeling a little lost with Carter in school and was trying to get revved up about the renovation.” Vanessa held her gaze on a man in a blue ball cap walking by himself. “A weird thing happened. I was sitting in the car, listening