The Last Dupont

by Rachel Renee

  The sights fall off as we approach our destination. I turn the radio back down, listening only to nature and my tires running over the asphalt. The area is quiet, all trees and road until we hit just outside of my destination city. We pass a small motel, which I put in the back of my mind in case Granny’s house is not livable. There’s a cute diner, The Crimson Café, that looks pretty new right off the side of the road, and as I pull into town, there’s a sign that reads Welcome to Crimson Falls. Not one single thing stands out in my memory. Passing where I assume the general store that momma worked at used to be, I notice that it’s now called Franny’s Market which is noted on the sign in the window. Even seeing the façade, I have no recollection of it.

  I slow down just to look around, hoping memories of my time here will creep in, but this place is as unfamiliar to me as any destination I’ve never visited. I look for signs for the bakery as that is where I’m intended to meet the lawyer handling Granny’s estate. He said it would be easier for me to find than his home outside of the town itself. Once I get to the bakery, I’m to ask to use their phone to call Mr. Jones and inform him I’ve arrived.

  After making a couple of turns, I find the street I’m looking for. I had assumed it would be on Main Street, as Mr. Jones told me it was right inside town. I think maybe he said turn right once I’m inside town. I missed the turn when I was trying to reminisce and now find myself on the first street off of Main. The town is quiet and as I pull up in front of the bakery, I wonder if they’re open yet. Most places are open by nine, but in a town this small, maybe they have different hours. The lights look dim as I peer inside, but I decide to get out of the car and stretch my legs to get a better look. Rusty agrees, and the two of us hop out of the car, heading straight for the sidewalk. “Stay close,” I tell the dog.

  Approaching the door slowly, I realize there are actually lights on and a small sign on the door reads, Open. I turn to grab Rusty to put him back in the car when the door opens, a small ding alerting me to someone’s presence.

  “We’re open. Come on in.”

  I turn back to see an older woman standing inside the gaping doorway. She’s plump, but not overly, her fifties housewife look still intact, and there’s a huge grin spread across her lips. “It’s okay. We don’t bite,” she tells me with a chuckle.

  “Oh, I wasn’t…” I change the look on my face to a smile of my own. “I was just going to put the dog in the truck so I could come inside.

  “No need. Bring him with you. Bet we have something he might like.”

  Rusty wastes no time. He’s at the door sniffing the lady’s hand before I even have a moment to react. “Well, apparently, he likes that idea.”

  The woman laughs again. “Why don’t we see if we have something that will tickle your fancy as well?” She waves her arm, directing me to head toward her.

  I wasn’t really planning to eat a pastry, but now that I think about it, I’m quite hungry. Plus, if I’m to ask to use her phone, I probably should make some sort of purchase while I wait. “Thank you,” I say to the woman after passing by. She lets the door close as she bends over and ruffles Rusty’s fur on his head.

  “You need to get ahold of Jones, I bet.” The words are spoken as she moves behind the counter of all sorts of wonderful smelling baked goods.

  “Yes, how did you know?” I ask, although I’m sure they don’t get a ton of visitors in this town.

  “He said a young woman would be stopping in some time this morning and would need to get in contact with him. Lucky guess.” She winks.

  “Sure is.”

  “I’ll just phone him real quick and let him know you’ve arrived. You and your pup take a look at the goods and we’ll get you set up while you wait for the lawyer to get to town.”

  “How long will it take?” I ask without thought.

  “Ten minutes or so. Depends on if he’s in the middle of breakfast or not.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to interrupt. If he is, will you tell him I’ll wait as long as he needs me to?”

  “I won’t say that. You might be waiting all day. But I will tell him you’re having breakfast yourself so he’ll get the picture.”

  With a small grin, I say. “Thank you,” once more.

  It feels strange to have Rusty accompany me into a place of business. Nowhere near me do they allow pets inside. The dog sits at my feet, panting and whining, waiting for the delicious smell to become something that he can eat. There are muffins and homemade breads, what looks to be donuts and even a couple breakfast cakes adorn the shelves of the displays. I’m not sure which to choose and the overwhelming smells aren’t making it any easier. Blueberry and lemon, yeast and sugar are among the fragrances wafting through the air.

  “Well, did you decide?” I look up at the woman who seemed to appear out of thin air.

  “How about your specialty? Everything looks amazing so I’m not prepared to make a decision on my own.”

  Her warm brown eyes light up. “I know just the thing. You and your pup go sit over there.” She points behind me. “I’ll get something out to you I think you will enjoy. Just got it out of the oven when you pulled up. Want coffee?” she adds.

  “That would be wonderful,” I tell her.

  Rusty and I walk over to the table in the corner of the bakery and take a seat, me in the chair, him on the floor. It isn’t long before the woman is before me with two plates and a cup full of coffee sitting atop a beautiful blue saucer.

  “Coffee cake with cherries for you,” she sits the plate of goodness in front of me, cherries and white icing dripping over the sides of the crumbly cake below. “I didn’t know how you took your coffee, but if you need cream and sugar, say the words and I’ll go grab it.”

  “Black is perfect.” I tell the woman, my mouth held agape at the sight of the breakfast in front of me.

  “Apple muffins for the pup.” She places a plate on the floor, scratching Rusty’s head once more. “You two enjoy. Jones will be here in fifteen minutes or so.”

  Rusty looks from me to the plate a few times before I smile and tell him to go ahead. You’d think he would just devour the food put before him, but he doesn’t. He waits until he’s invited and then he actually lies down and eats slowly, enjoying his warm treat. He’s not as slow as I am and is finished in less than a minute, but he stays on the ground, relishing in this meal as I sit quietly and enjoy my own.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The town is bustling after my conversation with Mr. Jones. People have come in and out of the bakery, looking to me and then back to the owner, whispering about the stranger’s presence. Jones handed me the keys the moment he sat down and then proceeded to read to me everything that I now own. About fifteen minutes into the dissertation, I told him there was no need to continue. I was planning to go and see what was in the house, take what I wanted, and then would auction off or sell all of the rest. The huge smile on his face told me that I was making a good decision and one that I’m sure he will also profit from. As he is the only lawyer in the area, he will be the one to help me carry out my plans. With him assisting me, I will have to pay him or he will keep part of the proceeds from the sale.

  People stare at me as I approach my truck. They must not get many visitors. I wave at a couple whose eyes linger for too long, but they don’t wave back. You’d think for a small town, its inhabitants would be a little more welcoming. No matter, I won’t be here that long, anyway, so there’s no reason I should get to know anyone or care whether they accept me as a visitor or not.

  Heading back to Main Street, I turn right, going just the way Mr. Jones informed me to go. Left at Crimson Chronicle storefront, the town’s newspaper, cross over a main thoroughfare, go three quarters of a mile, then look for a gravel drive on the right and the house will be at the end of that. If I remembered anything, I truly believed that once I saw the house, memories would come flooding in. Wrong again. I looked down at the paper twice to make sure I was pulling into the drive of the correct h
ouse. Compared to the homes I saw in town, Granny’s house looks like a mansion and even as I put the truck in park, I’m still uncertain I’m at the right place.

  Rusty jumps out of the open door as I stand, mouth agape, staring at the place in front of me. Two stories of white wood stand in my view. The porch wraps around the entire front and even up the right side, with columns supporting the ceiling above it. The garden is immaculate and I wonder how that came to be. I assumed since Granny was in her eighties, she wouldn’t be able to maintain her home, but the evidence before me says otherwise.

  A black shutter flaps as a gust of wind awakens me from the trance I was in. I jump slightly at the voice that follows. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, um, I think I’m at the right place.” I turn and see a handsome man standing to my left. His blond hair falls over his right eye but he reaches up with his hand and pushes it out of the way as we make contact. “I think this is my Granny’s house. The Dupont Estate?” I ask.

  “This is it,” his voice rasps. The man’s hand reaches to me, and mine instinctively lifts to greet it. “Tucker. Nice to meet you, Miss…” He pauses and stares down at our connected hands before he enters my name. “Dupont?” he asks, eyes widening.

  “That’s me. Ella Dupont. Nice to meet you Tucker.”

  “I’ve been helping Gladys keep the place up the last few years. I live right across the highway, inside town.”

  “I was curious how Granny had kept the place looking so nice.”

  He finally lets go of my hand, his warmth leaving with it as he juts his thumb toward his chest. “That’d be me. Daddy helped build most of this town and you can say I’m following in his footsteps.”

  I think back to the homes I saw as I passed through town and wonder why he’s living over there when he could be here where the homes are so much nicer. Then I figure, he might not be living at home anymore. At least, I’d hope not. Tucker is at least as old as me, maybe a little older. His clothes look well worn, but the jeans fit him like a glove, flaring out at the bottom. His button-up shirt is tucked in, the sleeves rolled up slightly revealing the bulging forearms underneath. My eyes travel back to his, piercing blue, I now notice, revealing the smile he’s displaying without even having to look to his mouth.

  “You want to go in? I’m sure you’re feeling anxious about your new home.”

  “I’m not staying.” Comes out before I think it through.

  I can tell the moment his happiness falters. “You were left this big old house. Gladys said you’d want to stay.”

  “I have a home in Georgia. I just came to…” Get what’s mine sounds so callous.

  Tucker’s head bobs in understanding. He’s offended. His voice gives him away the second he opens his mouth. “Let’s go get what you came for then.”

  My quick inhale causes him to pause. “I…” I don’t really know what to say.

  “It’s fine,” he says, his voice softened. His hand reaches out and brushes mine. “I’m sure the thought of living in a small town after being in the city is a little unsettling. Maybe you will change your mind.” His shoulders rise and fall before he turns once more, striding toward the stairs of the porch.

  “Your granny left specific orders for me to help you get settled. Since you aren’t planning to stay, there are some things I don’t have to do, but I think I will anyway.” He turns quickly, his mouth spread wide, and he winks before twisting the knob and opening the front door for me.

  Rusty is exploring the grounds, but his head pops up at the sound of the opening door. “Come on pup, let’s see inside Granny’s house.”

  “Your house,” Tucker adds.

  This is not my house, or that’s what I tell myself. The moment I cross the threshold, the thought vanishes, and in an instant, I want nothing more than to stay. The smell of fresh baked bread lingers in the air. I know that smell, I remember. On a rare occasion, Granny would let us sit with her and have a slice before she sent us off to visit Momma. The sitting room. I turn to my left, the high-back chair exactly where I recall it sitting. Granny wouldn’t allow Samantha and me in it, but Momma, if she were home, would perch right inside, the tall arms encasing her like a cocoon.

  My feet carry me into the room, my hands gliding across the barely worn old couch, the same one that was old when I lived here twenty years ago. It didn’t look ancient then, and still looks as if it was just brought into this home. The colors of the flowers are vibrant red, the etching of the needlework in gold, perfectly intact. Without thought, I sit. Plop down in the spot my mind remembers me sitting upon long ago. I don’t sit up straight like I was told. Instead, I lean back, slouching against the cushion I was never supposed to touch when Granny was around.

  I don’t allow myself to linger for long. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I move, righting myself and standing from the couch. Just the thought of Granny yelling at me must have put me on edge.

  “It’s coming back to you, isn’t it? This place has a way of calling you home.” Tucker is smiling again, his teeth slightly yellowed, probably from coffee.

  “Yeah. That must be what’s happening,” I say. My eyes search the surrounding area. The candy dish with no candy, the flower vase always filled with something fresh, the rug under the stone coffee table that I often tripped on. It’s still here, still the same, and I’m not sure if I’m comforted or if the feeling is something more unnerving. “She didn’t change a thing,” I let out.

  “Not a thing,” he repeats. “Said she wanted to preserve the memories. Knew she’d spend the rest of her days here alone. She preferred it, she told me often.”

  “She lost so much in this home. Wonder why she chose to stay.” I wonder why she didn’t come with us when we left. I don’t remember ever talking to Momma about it, and now I wonder why I hadn’t thought to ask before now. When it’s too late to get an answer.

  “She stayed because it was her home. She had an obligation to it.”

  “It’s a home. Just a place, not a living thing.”

  A snicker comes from Tucker’s mouth. “Crimson Falls is more than just a home. It’s a community. A place where people build lives and families and have lived for generations. This house is just a place, but this town is alive. Living just the same as you and I.”

  My eyes widen at his comment. A very interesting way to think. Without dwelling on his words, I allow myself to explore this place from my past. Around the corner of the sitting room, there is a long table adorned with an old rotary phone, a golden lamp, and knickknacks of glass bowls and ceramic animals. My eyes scan the items, not one speck of dust upon them. Tucker takes such good care of the place and I wonder how much it would cost to keep him on. Then I remember I’m not staying. I’m going to sell this place and it won’t matter whether anyone is here to take care of it or not. It won’t be my problem.

  I turn my body toward the stairs when something catches in the corner of my eye. The calendar’s little papers flip up as the wind from my movement hits them. Instantly, I’m taken back to the night Momma and I fled from this place. My sister, cold and graying as her lifeless body laid upon our bedroom floor. Momma and Granny huddled above her whispering, arguing about something I couldn’t hear and wouldn’t understand even if I had. Granny pushed me, that’s the last thought I have of her. There was pain, sharp and quick. Over as quick as it came. When the light of day entered my eyes, I was sprawled across the back seat of our car. Momma sobbing from the driver’s seat. I didn’t know what had happened, where we were, and Momma was no help in solving that dilemma. It was days later, when Momma finally spoke more than a couple of words to me. Days later when she was able to utter the words that my sister was dead. Days later when she left me with a stranger for a few days to attend Samantha’s funeral without me. It was months later when she finally revealed we were never going back to Crimson Falls.

  Why did Granny leave the calendar on that fateful date? October thirteenth stands out like a beacon. My first instinct i
s to tear the paper, then to tear the whole thing from the wall. My hand reaches out but an even larger, warm hand grasps my wrist. “Think you should leave that. Your granny left it as a reminder of the day the last of her family was taken from her.”

  “I don’t want to have a reminder of that day. I remember. The color of my sister’s face, the look in her eyes as she gasped for air. It’s the last act I committed in this home. If I hadn’t pulled that twelve off the calendar, maybe things would have been different?”

  It’s the first time I even let myself have the slightest thought about that stupid curse. It never seemed plausible before. Being here, seeing all this once more, the threat trickles through my veins. Is it even possible that a curse is real? A cursed town, a cursed house? Maybe it’s just a cursed family?

  I point to the paper with my free hand. “This. This makes me question my granny. Why? Why did she want the reminder? Why would she stay?”

  “There’s so much more to this house. To this town. Stick around for long enough and you’ll understand why she stayed.”

  I want to question Tucker about the curse. Does he know about it? Does he believe in it? I don’t really want to sound like a crazy person if he doesn’t, so I’ll let it go for now. Maybe a good opportunity will arise before I leave. Just to get some closure, if nothing else.

  Goosebumps appear over my arm, causing Tucker to let me go. The spot where he grasped my forearm is red. Slight fingerprints were starting to form along the skin on my protruding wrist bone.

  “I’m sorry about that. Guess I don’t know my own strength.” His face turns the same color as my wrist as his eyes lower, staring directly at his handiwork.

  “It’s fine.” It didn’t feel like he was trying to hurt me or even that he was holding that tight. My skin is very fair so it just marks much easier than others’. Plus, I know no one in this town and my only contact is at least thirty minutes out, so I don’t want to make things too weird so quickly by saying anything else about it. “I’m going to go look upstairs.” I change the subject.