Red Curtains

by Leanna Sain

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Does that mean, yes?”

  That netted me a real smile.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll do it? Really? Yippee!” I squealed. “Okay. We need to brainstorm. What story can we tell? Hey, I know. Why don’t you come to my house for dinner? Minnie won’t mind. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve never done anything like this before. Aunt Patricia used to spring last minute dinner guests on her all the time and you’ve never heard such ranting and banging of pots, but one guest shouldn’t set her off.” Careful, Cleo…you’re making her nervous. And you’re rambling. You never ramble!

  “Who’s Minnie?”

  “She and her husband live with me. Well, not exactly with me. Minnie cooks and takes care of the place and Tobias used to be my aunt’s driver. The gardener, too, I think, though mostly what he does is piddle. They have an apartment on the ground floor of my house.”

  “They work for you.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I felt an irresistible need to answer it anyway, to explain. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d tried. “Technically, yeah, but they’re really like family. I wouldn’t have made it without them. Minnie is kind of why I got interested in art in the first place. For my eleventh birthday, she gave me my very first paint-by-number set…a wolf standing in snowy woods. Never had a young girl worked so hard on something as I did with that painting. I wanted it to look perfect, alive and ready to jump off the canvas. I still have it; the painting. It’s a sort of talisman to me. A turning point…the moment I decided I wanted to be a painter.”

  “Where?”

  Huh? “Where, what?”

  “Your house. Where’s your house?”

  “Oh. On Gaston. Right across from the park.” Uh-oh. Her expression just shut down. Why? My house? She’d been fine until I’d told her where I lived.

  “No.” Her voice and mannerisms were nervous, agitated. “Chippewa Square. Eleven o’clock. Tomorrow.”

  Before I could do more than gape at her, she turned and scurried into the twilight.

  I watched her leave, awash in a haze of numbness and confusion. What just happened? I replayed the conversation in my mind. What went wrong? Well, besides the fact that I talked waaay too much. I couldn’t believe that the chatterbox from minutes before was me. I never did that, especially with a complete stranger. If I talked at all, I usually tried to keep it monosyllabic. But I don’t think that was it. She’d been fine until I mentioned my house. What was it? Did she not want to eat with me?

  I pushed my hurt feelings away. My questions would have to wait. I wouldn’t be getting any answers tonight. Lily shuffled away from the square even faster than her usual hurried pace, and never looked back. Though stung by her refusal, I couldn’t help worrying about her. Where did she sleep? What and where did she eat? Her clothes looked like they came from a dumpster. Did she get her food there too?

  Ick! I sure hoped not.

  Maybe there was a homeless shelter or soup kitchen nearby where she could grab a bite, but why would she rather eat there than with me? Maybe the thought of coming to my house was too intimidating. After all, she didn’t really know me.

  It wasn’t just the fact that she’d said no; it was the way she’d said it that gave me a sinking feeling, like a balloon with a slow leak, all of the air escaping, leaving me feeling flat and deflated. I thought we’d been developing a sort of camaraderie, maybe even the beginnings of a friendship, not that I had much expertise in that area. It was a little embarrassing to admit it—even to myself—but, I was actually starting to feel pretty close to her, closer than I’d felt toward anybody in years, besides Minnie and Tobias. It was a sad commentary on the state of my life when after only a couple of hours spent with a complete stranger—a homeless woman, who may or may not be crazy—I was ready for us to be BFFs.

  Jeez. I’m pathetic.

  It was when Lily turned left at the corner, that a little tremor of panic started vibrating in the pit of my stomach. I hurried to catch up with her. I needed to make sure everything was still okay. What if she’d changed her mind? What if she didn’t show up tomorrow, and I had to start back at square one in my search for a model? What if I’d lost my friend? That last option was the worst one of them all. Definitely more painful that it should be.

  When I reached the corner and faced left, I fully expected to see her strange silhouette outlined against the street lamps, but there was no one there. I shot a glance the other directions, even though I knew she’d gone left, but that sidewalk was empty, too.

  I turned back to the left, facing the empty sidewalk. The feeling of deflation felt even stronger. My pace slowed, almost to a stop, before I sped up until I was nearly running, peering into every shadow, every doorway, any place I thought it might be possible for her to slip into and hide, but she was gone. Disappeared without a trace. How was that even possible? I’d been only a few steps behind her. She was an old woman, for heaven’s sake. Yes, I knew she was fast, but not that fast. An all-star sprinter couldn’t have accomplished such a feat.

  An unwelcome idea was trying to push its way into my brain, and I was trying just as hard to keep it out.

  “It’s not possible,” I spoke the words aloud, hoping that hearing them would help me believe them.

  It didn’t.

  Savannah had the reputation of being the most haunted city in America. I’d never encountered a ghost before. I didn’t believe in them, but Minnie swears she’s seen several and there were always stories in the local news, with verifying photos, in some cases. Had I spent the last several hours with a ghost? The sane part of me refused to believe it, but what other explanation did I have? How else could she have disappeared like that?

  A gust of wind hit me in the face as I made my turn onto Drayton Street, and I wasn’t sure if it was the cold or fear that made me shiver as I hurried toward home.

  ****

  I was gasping by the time I turned right at the corner of Gaston Street and Aunt Patricia’s house loomed into view. That was probably due to the fact that I’d been flat-out running the last several blocks. I stumbled to a stop, breathing hard and bending at the waist, trying to ease the cramp in my side. I wasn’t a runner by any stretch of the imagination, normally only doing so as a last resort, but with each step of tonight’s trip home, I felt more and more like every ghost in town—real or imagined—was watching me, lurking in every shadow, ready to pounce, if that’s what ghosts did. This “feeling” gave me incentive to move quite a bit faster than I normally would have.

  I cast a wary glance back over my shoulder before turning toward the house. It felt safer here, sort of like the ghosts wouldn’t dare tread on Aunt Patricia’s turf. They were probably scared of her. They should be.

  Light glowed from nearly every window; Minnie’s attempt at making it look “homey,” though I doubted I’d ever consider this house my home. In my mind, it belonged to my aunt and always would. But after tonight, I was never so glad to see its hulking mass. I drew a long breath, feeling more at ease than I had since Lily had disappeared.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like the house; it was beautiful. I’m talking, Architectural Digest sort of beautiful, even at night when I couldn’t see all the magnificent details, it could still knock my socks off. It’s never lost its “wow factor.”

  “So why did mentioning it scare off Lily?” I muttered, then shook the question away. It wouldn’t do any good to think about that now.

  Aunt Patricia had always had a professional decorator keep the front door—and stairs leading up to it—decorated according to the season. As a teenager, I remember asking my aunt if I might try my hand at it, but she’d flatly refused. You’d have thought I’d asked to set up a stone altar and sacrifice puppies the way she’d reacted. I never made that mistake again, just resigned myself to the decorator’s elegant, but stuffy, style. After Aunt Patricia’s funeral, I thought I’d finally get my chance, but I should’ve known better. I was informed that my dear aunt had a non-nego
tiable, non-breakable written contract with that decorator, valid for the next fifteen years! Another example of my dear aunt’s ability to control things from the grave. I guess I should be used to by now, but I wasn’t.

  But back to the house itself…like most of historical Savannah, it’s been around a while. William Brantley built the four-floor showplace back in 1857 with coveted Savannah pink-tinged, gray bricks. Of course, it was located across the street from Forsyth Park just north of Gaston Street because every true Savannahian stayed “NOG” (north of Gaston). The first time I heard that statement, it sounded silly to me too, but it didn’t take me long to realize that these people were serious about it, almost fanatical, really. All shopping, dining, any business dealing or socializing was done in the old part of town. To a true Savannahian, anything south of Gaston Street was just north Jacksonville. They looked down their noses at anyone or anything not located NOG. The closest comparison I can think of is an Amish shunning. They’re that serious.

  My stomach growled, interrupting my musings as I unlatched one side of the double gate and sped up the stairs, two at a time.

  As I swung the door open my cat, King Tut was there to greet me. Yeah…King Tut. Hilarious. I decided to continue the Egyptian theme my mother so kindly began when she named me. I scooped him up from the faded red Oriental rug, touching my nose to his and giving him an energetic scratch behind his ears. His loud purr showed his appreciation. “Did ya miss me, Tut? ’Course you did, you big lug.”

  Oh, how I loved this cat. Aunt Patricia hadn’t allowed me to have a pet; never allowed animals in the house, period. But shortly after her death, I made a trip to the local animal shelter with a goal of getting a dog. I’m still not quite sure how I ended up with Tut, but it doesn’t matter. We were meant for each other.

  I took a deep breath, nearly fainting with hunger. The tantalizing aroma of garlic mixed with the citrusy bite of lime made my mouth water. Mmm-mm…I recognized that smell and it was just what I needed to recover from my nerve-racking trip home. Nothing can get you over a possible close encounter of the spectral kind like Minnie’s yummy garlic-lime chicken. It was one of my favorites. I whispered to Tut, “You think she knew I needed it tonight, boy? Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “That you, Miss Cleo?”

  I rolled my eyes. Who else? “Yes, Minnie,” I replied as I sat Tut on the floor, then turned to hang up my jacket. “Mmmm. Something smells dee-LISH-us! I’m starved. You can probably hear my stomach grumbling all the way in there. How’d you know I needed this particular meal?” I followed my nose to the kitchen, Tut right on my heels.

  She chuckled, “Honey, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times; I got the gift. Got it from my momma, and she got it from hers. When someone’s got the gift, they just know things.”

  As soon as I entered the room, I planted a kiss on the top of her head. I had to lean down in order to do it and I wasn’t that tall myself. At four feet, nine inches and nearly the same measurement around, Minnie was—as she liked to say—“longitudinally-challenged.” She always left out the latitude part. “Can’t argue with that, but I’ve got to say, I don’t think I’ve ever needed it quite as much as I do tonight.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at me as she was dumping drained pasta into a bowl, then froze, nearly dropping the pot. She managed to set it back down on the stovetop before turning to face me head-on. Her eyes were so wide that they sort of bulged out with the whites showing. Uh-oh! What did I look like? Maybe I should’ve detoured by the bathroom mirror to make sure I was presentable first.

  She stared at me like that for a long minute before narrowing her eyes. That was my cue to move. I headed to the sink to wash my hands, ignoring her and trying to act like nothing was out of the ordinary.

  “What on earth happened to you, child? You feelin’ all right?” she demanded.

  Jeez, I really should’ve checked a mirror first. “Hmm? What do you mean?” I replied, reaching for a towel. I was striving for nonchalance, but it was pointless. I’d never been able to fool Minnie.

  Her hands went to her hips. “Now, don’t you be tryin’ that with me, little girl. I been on this here earth for long enough to know when someone is tryin’ to pull a fast one on me. You forgettin’ I practically raised you the last eleven years? You ain’t any good at actin’. You should know that by now and you might as well quite your tryin’. You ain’t no Julia Roberts.”

  I could tell she was upset. Minnie usually practiced pretty good grammar. Aunt Patricia had insisted on it. I knew it required her to pay attention and concentrate since it wasn’t the way she’d talked growing up, but when she got riled, like she was now, her subject/verb agreement went south in a hurry. I just kept quiet, hoping she’d get it out of her system.

  “I mean…have you seen your face? It’s white! And I ain’t talkin’ white-person white. I’m talkin’ white like a…like a ghost!”

  At the word, ghost, my mouth instantly dried out and I had the dickens of a time working up enough spit to swallow. I opened my lips to reply, but she waved away anything I’d planned on saying. She wasn’t finished yet.

  “…and that ain’t even the worst part. Your eyes are too bright. Shiny…like marbles. You got a fever? ’Cause that’s what it looks like…like you’re burning up with a fever. Now, you jest set your fanny down at the table right this minute and tell Minnie what happened. Make it snappy. No lollygagging!”

  “Oh, Minnie,” I whined. “Please? Can we eat first? I promise I’ll tell you, but if I don’t get something in my stomach soon, it’s going to start eating itself. I didn’t have time for lunch today, and that granola bar I had for breakfast was gone a long time ago.”

  I could see the battle raging within her, but she finally relented and served my plate, thunking it down in front of me and glancing pointedly at her watch. There would be no leisurely enjoyment of this meal. I sighed and picked up my fork.

  ****

  I’d no sooner put the last bite in my mouth, than my plate was whisked right out from under my nose. It should be against the law to make a person rush while they’re eating something as delicious as garlic-lime chicken. Holding out my fork, I glared at her. I couldn’t help it. “You want this too?” I snipped.

  She ignored my attitude, crossing her arms expectantly under her prodigious breasts. “You’ve had your supper, now. Start talking, missy.”

  “Shouldn’t we clean the kitchen, first? Wash up the dishes?”

  She tilted her head and gave me her “look.” “The dishes can wait.”

  Hoping to stall a little longer, I opened my mouth to ask her where Tobias was, but she arched an eyebrow at me, her short, silver-dusted hair almost bristled with agitation, her fingers drummed impatiently along the side of her meaty arm. I decided that I’d probably pressed my luck far enough and that I shouldn’t try her patience.

  “Okay, okay.” I blew out a breath to calm myself. “I think I met a ghost.”

  Her posture relaxed immediately and she collapsed into a chair opposite me, her weight causing it to emit loud creaks and groans of protest. “Is that all? You got me all worked up over you seein’ a ghost? And here I thought it was something serious. Honey, you do live in Savannah, you know. It’s about time you seen a ghost. I can’t believe you’ve lived here all these years and haven’t seen one yet.”

  Her attitude, combined with the fear I’d experienced earlier, made my hackles rise. “For your information, I think meeting a ghost is kind of serious. It’s not something that happens every day; not to me, anyway. And besides, now that I’m home and not out there walking dark streets, I’m not completely sure it even was a ghost. There might be a perfectly logical explanation—there probably is—I just don’t know what it could be, yet.”

  Minnie’s expression changed and she smiled sympathetically. She could afford to be benevolent, now that she knew it wasn’t “serious.” Reaching across the table, she squeezed my hand. “Maybe it’ll help if you t
ell me about it.”

  I shook my head a little defiantly, trying not to pout. Her lackadaisical response to my announcement was like rubbing a cat’s fur the wrong way—me being the cat—and I hadn’t decided whether or not I’d forgive her yet. My gaze dropped to where our joined fingers rested on the tabletop, and my resentment melted away. The color of her skin was like warm, thick caramel, her hands capable, but worn and wrinkled against my own pale, thin fingered ones.

  “Thanks, Minnie, but not right now. I think I’ll wait to see what happens tomorrow, first.” I looked up, meeting her concerned gaze and forced a smile. I just couldn’t explain all the emotions I was feeling at the moment. I didn’t want her to know how much this whole thing was bothering me.

  She nodded, giving my hand another squeeze. “If you change your mind, honey…”

  “Yeah, I know,” I muttered as I got up from the table and turned to leave. “Thanks, Minnie.”

  Chapter Five

  Lily

  I stood at my window, too busy arguing with myself to notice the weak morning sun struggling to warm the alley. Supposed to be at the square at eleven. That’s what I told the girl. Need to head out if I want to make it on time. That’s the question, though, isn’t it? Do I want to make it? Should I go or stay? Why am I being so indecisive? Never used to be like this. Until I found that bag, I made a decision and stuck with it. Never a question. Now everything is a question…voices arguing in my head, mixing me up. Should I tell someone what I saw, show them? Who’d believe me?

  Maybe I could tell the girl.

  No. Stay away from her.

  But why? Because that’s how its been for almost fifty years? That’s not a reason. It’s an excuse. Because Rose won’t like it? That’s not a reason, either. She doesn’t like me talking to anybody, not even Raymond. The plain fact is that I need help. Has to be a credible source, though. Means it can’t be a homeless person…or a ghost. Eliminates two of my three possibilities. Cleo is my only other choice. She needs me for her project, too. Which makes it even better. I help her, and she helps me…even trade. The solution sounded fair, but it scared me.