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Aurore Gerritsen watched her lover kill her father. It was just one act of violence in a dramatic chain of events.
Behind the iron lace gates of wealthy New Orleans, beneath the veneer of her society name, linger truths that Aurore Gerritsen has hidden for a lifetime—truths that threaten to change forever the lives of her unsuspecting family. Now, as Aurore faces her own mortality, she needs to reveal the secrets that have haunted her for so many years.
Aurore seeks out Phillip Benedict to disclose her story. He’s intrigued, but wonders why the matriarch of a prominent white family would choose to confess her sins to an outspoken black journalist. Finally, Phillip agrees. But nothing prepares him for the far-reaching impact of Aurore’s shocking revelations.
“…intricate, seductive and a darned good read.”
"A fascinating tale of the tangled race relations and complex history of Louisiana. . . this is a page turner."
—New Orleans Times-Picayune
One of the advantages of living in so many different places is the opportunity to investigate new cultures. Every region, every city, even the most seemingly ordinary small town, has its own, but some are more unusual and more instantly captivating than others.
So it was with my six year sojourn in Louisiana. The City that Care Forgot is filled with so much life and color. I spent my early years there drinking it in and reading about Louisiana’s fascinating history.
One of the first books I devoured was Bayous of Louisiana, a colorful travelogue by a man named Harnett Kane. One tale in particular captivated me. In 1893 a terrifying hurricane devastated bayou country, but nowhere worse than on a peninsula–or chénière–near Grand Isle. Throughout the storm a bell, said to be minted from pirate doubloons, rang from the small Catholic church that was the chénière’s pride and joy. Mr. Kane brought this true story alive for me, and a trip to Grand Isle and a peek at the bell set my imagination whirling. Eventually the two books that were to become Iron Lace and Rising Tides emerged.
Several years after I first read Harnett Kane’s wonderful book, my husband, a minister, received a telephone call from Mr. Kane’s sister. Harnett had just died, and she wondered if Michael would be willing to do his memorial service. Michael considered it an honor.