Page 54 of Curious Hearts (The Healing Hearts #2)

"She knew,” Ali said softly. “Somehow, she knew we would find each other. She says...” Ali cleared her throat, reading aloud.

“‘You, dear doctor, have the rare gift of seeing the souls of creatures others consider unremarkable. It is my fervent hope that by the time you read this, you will have taught my stubborn great-niece to see her own soul with the same compassion you extend to your four-legged patients. If you have also managed to fill my house with laughter, love, and perhaps another generation of Taylors, then you have my eternal gratitude.’”

“Uncanny,” Jessica murmured, looking down at their daughter, named for the great-aunt who had orchestrated their meeting. “It’s like she arranged the whole thing.”

“Maybe she did,” Ali said, leaning against Jessica’s shoulder to peer at the manuscript in her lap. “What's that?”

“Vivian’s memoirs, apparently. Warning: she promises they’re scandalous.”

Ali’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Oh, we are definitely reading these. Tonight. After Vivi’s bedtime.”

“Ms. Taylor?” Mike asked, looking at the three of them sitting on the floor, backs against the wall. “What do you want us to do with the boxes?”

Jessica exchanged a look with Ali, who nodded encouragingly. “Bring them downstairs,” she called back. “All of them. They’re family heirlooms.”

That evening, after the contractors had left and Vivi was sleeping peacefully in her crib (with Empress standing self-appointed guard nearby), Jessica and Ali settled on the sofa surrounded by Vivian’s boxes.

The manuscript lay open between them, and two glasses of wine sat on the coffee table beside a plate of cheese and crackers.

“Chapter One: How I Scandalized the Ladies’ Auxiliary and Found My First Love,” Ali read aloud, her voice filled with delight. “Paris, 1952.”

“Paris?” Jessica repeated, intrigued. “The family always said she went to Europe to ‘study art.’ No one ever mentioned anything scandalous.”

“Listen to this,” Ali said, continuing to read.

“‘The first time I saw Camille, she was arguing with a gallery owner about the proper interpretation of Matisse’s use of color. Her passion was mesmerizing—hands gesturing wildly, voice rising with conviction, dark eyes flashing with intelligence. I knew before she spoke a word to me that she would change my life.’”

Jessica’s eyebrows rose. “Well. That explains why she never married.”

“Oh my god,” Ali exclaimed, flipping forward a few pages.

“Jess, your great-aunt had an affair with a French model who posed for Picasso! There are photographs!” She held up a black and white image of a young Vivian, arms wrapped around a striking woman with short dark hair, both of them semi-naked, laughing on what appeared to be a Parisian balcony.

Jessica leaned closer, amazed to see this youthful version of the elderly aunt she’d known only as a distant, eccentric relative. “She looks so... free. So happy.”

“There's another letter,” Ali said, pulling an envelope from between the pages. “It’s addressed to both of us.”

Together, they opened it, finding a single sheet of Vivian’s distinctive lavender stationery.

My dears,

By now you’ve discovered that my life was not what our family believed it to be. I lived by my own rules, loved whom I chose, and regretted only the times I surrendered to fear rather than following my heart.

The world tells women like us that we must choose—career or family, passion or stability, convention or authenticity. It is the cruelest lie. We can create lives as expansive and complex as our souls demand, if only we have the courage to defy those who would confine us.

Jessica, you were always more like me than anyone in the family cared to admit. That fire in your eyes, that drive—I recognized it immediately. It served me well in my adventures, as I’m sure it will serve you. But remember to let it be your servant, not your master.

Ali, your gentle heart reminds me of my Josephine. Cherish that softness—it is not weakness but the deepest kind of strength. The world needs more souls who heal, who see beyond the surface, who bring light to dark places.

Together, you have what neither could fully realize alone. My house has always had room for love in all its forms. Fill it with more of the same.

And perhaps, when the time is right, share these stories with your children. Let them know that great passions, remarkable adventures, and unconventional choices are her birthright as a woman of our line.

With all my love and mischief, Vivian

P.S. In the basement behind the grate on the front wall there's a safe. It might be old and rusty now, but the combination is set to the date I first met Josephine: 05-17-54. Inside you’ll find some items I believe will secure the foundation’s future quite nicely. Consider it my final donation.

Jessica and Ali stared at each other, then simultaneously looked toward the basement stairs.

“There’s no way,” Ali said, already standing.

“Only one way to find out,” Jessica replied, carefully setting the manuscript aside.

They raced down the stairs, clicking on the single rickety light like excited children, Jessica leading the way. Just as Vivian had promised, there was a dirty, large black ventilation grate.

“If we pull this out the house isn’t about to fall down around our ears, is it?

” Ali asked with a grimace. Jessica shrugged, sliding her finger between the metal slats and pulling.

Like the door they’d found in the attic, it didn’t budge at first, so she widened her stance and pulled again and this time it came loose, sending her stuttering back into Ali.

Balance regained and metal discarded, neither spoke as their eyes settled on an old metal safe which looked unequivocally last century.

Jessica knelt before it and, grabbing an old cloth from the side, she wiped the large dial on the front before entering the combination: 0-5-1-7-5-4.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open to reveal stacks of papers, jewelry boxes, and a sealed envelope labeled “Healing Paws Foundation—Endowment.”

“Oh my god,” Ali whispered as Jessica opened the envelope to reveal legal documents establishing a substantial trust fund specifically designated for the foundation’s work. “This is... this would fund our operations for decades.”

“She thought of everything,” Jessica said, shaking her head in amazement. “Right down to making sure your work would continue.”

Ali’s eyes filled with tears. “I wish I’d known her better. The real her, not just the eccentric old lady with cats.”

“I think,” Jessica said slowly, gathering Ali in her arms, “that we’re getting to know the real her now, exactly when we’re ready to understand her.”

From the baby monitor attached to Ali’s hip came a soft cry, followed by the distinctive sound of Empress’s paws hitting the floor as she abandoned her post to find the adults.

“Perfect timing,” Ali laughed, wiping her eyes. “Just like her namesake.”

Later that night, with baby Vivian fed and settled back to sleep, Jessica and Ali returned to the sofa and Vivian’s manuscript.

They read late into the night, alternating between laughter and amazement as Vivian’s extraordinary life unfolded before them—her travels, her loves, her quiet revolutions against the constraints of her time.

“Listen to this part,” Jessica said, reading from a later chapter.

“‘People often asked why I returned to Denver when I could have stayed in New York or Paris. The truth is, home isn’t a place—it’s wherever you can be fully yourself, surrounded by those who love you without condition.

I found that first with Josephine, then Birgit in London, and countless other women on my travels.

My exploits led to wealth in the most unexpected ways, giving me the option of laying down an anchor.

We all need anchors that don’t restrict us but rather give us the security to explore who we truly are.

My final freedom and love came with my cats, and the house itself. ’”

Ali rested her head on Jessica’s shoulder, her fingers absently playing with the charm bracelet she still wore daily. “She was right. About everything.”

“She certainly knew what she was doing when she left me this house and those cats,” Jessica agreed. “Best inheritance I never wanted.”

“Speaking of cats,” Ali said, nodding toward the doorway where Ernest sat watching them, “I think they’ve been in on the secret all along.”

“Conspirators in Vivian’s grand plan,” Jessica laughed, reaching out to scratch under Ernest’s chin. “Seven cats to change the heart of one stubborn, hard-headed fool.”

“To be fair,” Ali said, turning to press a kiss to Jessica’s cheek, “it was a particularly stubborn heart.”

“Worth the effort, though?” Jessica asked, voice soft with vulnerability that still sometimes surfaced despite everything they’d built together.

“Every single minute,” Ali assured her, taking the manuscript and setting it aside. “Now, I think we should continue this exploration of Vivian’s legacy upstairs.”

“Is that your professional recommendation, Dr. Ritchie-Taylor?” Jessica asked, smiling as Ali pulled her to her feet.

“Absolutely,” Ali confirmed, leading her toward the stairs. “Doctor’s orders.”

Behind them, Mr. Darcy jumped onto the sofa, curling up on the spot they’d vacated, his amber eyes watching them go.

In the nursery, baby Vivian slept peacefully, Empress once again standing guard.

Throughout the Victorian house, generations of stories settled into the walls—some concluded, others just beginning.

And somewhere, Vivian Porter was undoubtedly feeling quite pleased with herself.