The Move (The Creek Water Series Book 2)

by Whitney Dineen

  “Sometimes,” my dad laughs. “Mostly, we do it for laughs and wind up ordering in something new.”

  Beau collects some papers before leading the way down to his car. As my dad gets in the back-passenger side, Beau opens the door for me.

  He leans in and whispers into my ear, “I had a wonderful time yesterday, thank you.”

  His hot breath sends shivers through my nervous system like the sure slow crawl of hot lava. It’s a good thing I’m leaning against his car or I’d surely puddle to the ground. I realize I might be starting to embrace colorful southernisms. “Puddle to the ground” sounds like something Emmie’s mom might say.

  “I had a very nice time too, thank you,” I reply. I don’t say anything else as I climb in and try to calm my racing heart.

  My dad fills the ride to my new house with excited chatter. When we arrive, there are already several cars parked in front of the house. “Who’s here?” I ask. But before Beau can answer, most of his family converges on us. His mom, Emmie and Zach, Gracie, Davis, and Amelia. The only people missing are Jed and Jesse.

  I get out and ask, “What are you all doing here?”

  Emmie is the first to speak. “We’re here to welcome you home. Beau told us everything over breakfast this morning, and we’re so excited we can hardly stand it.” She throws herself into my arms to punctuate her enthusiasm.

  Lee tackles me next, and says, “This is the most excitin’ thing that’s ever happened in our family!”

  Davis offers, “We’re here for whatever you need.”

  “You let us know what that is and we’re on it. I love to paint walls, so you can sign me up for that,” Amelia says.

  Gracie claps her hands together and exclaims, “Can I do the kitchen?”

  I’m so overwhelmed by their eagerness I could cry. I have an extended family in Creek Water that I’ve never had before. It’s a wonderful feeling.

  When the building inspector pulls up, he’s a bit taken aback by the number of people waiting on him. Beau says, “Homer, push us out of the way if we’re a bother.” Then he jokes, “But good luck with that.”

  Homer, an older man wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt, responds, “As long as all y’all aren’t in the same room with me at the same time, we’re good.”

  We head toward the front door like a crowd of Christmas carolers. I don’t care what problems the inspector finds, I’m buying this house. I walk through the front door and fancy that a host of long-lost relatives are welcoming me home.

  Beau’s family splits up and starts taking stock of the work that interests them, leaving me and Beau in the entryway by ourselves. He says, “You’re going to have to rein them in at some point or they’ll take over.”

  “I like that they’re this excited,” I tell him.

  He suggests, “We need to get Myrah over here. I bet she’ll be a lot of help knowing where to put the furniture.”

  “We have to close on the house before I can even think about bringing the furniture over. But I agree. I can’t wait for Myrah and Clovis to visit.”

  Beau reaches over and takes my hand in his. I quickly pull away and say, “Beau, about last night …”

  But he doesn’t let me finish. He says, “We need to do that again soon.”

  “Don’t you think we should talk about …”

  He doesn’t let me finish. Instead he leans in and kisses me. And sure enough, I let him. Sensational fireworks explode through me, shooting down my extremities and beyond. Kissing this man feels as right as buying this house. I finally push him away long after I should have, and say, “We shouldn’t.”

  He smiles with a glint in his eye and says, “You’re wrong. We should do that all the time.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, there’s a knock on the door. Who in the world could that be?

  Chapter 44

  “Mom?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”

  My mother is standing on my new doorstep looking mad, determined, and a little something else that I can’t quite define. “What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve come to ascertain whether or not your father has lost his mind.”

  I step back to indicate that she should come in. “How did you know where we were?

  “I installed an app on Bertie’s phone that lets me track him,” she answers. “The older he gets the more I worry about him.” That’s actually a really good idea. My mom looks around and demands, “Whose house is this?” then, stating the obvious, says, “It’s empty.”

  Beau interrupts, “I’m Emmie’s cousin, Beau Frothingham.” He extends his hand and adds, “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He’s turning on the charm.

  My mom came here in a snit, and I’m pretty sure no display of Southern manners is going to change that. If anything, it’ll annoy her more by reminding her that she’s not in New York. I’m guessing she’ll cling to her mood until she completes her mission, which is most likely to rip my dad a new one.

  Beau says, “This amazing home is one of the first used in the Underground Railroad. I’m the listing agent.”

  My mom is momentarily at a loss for words. While I’m sure she’d be interested in knowing more about the house, her desire to see my father is too strong to be sidetracked. She takes Beau’s hand, gives it a perfunctory shake and says, “Nice to meet you, Beau.” Then to me she asks, “Where’s Bertie?”

  Catching my eye, Beau suggests, “Why don’t you take your mama for a walk around the grounds. That way you can talk privately.”

  “Great idea.” I march out the door, pulling Regina with me.

  She demands, “Alexis, what’s going on here?”

  “I’ve been trying to call you to explain all kinds of things, but you didn’t answer. Mom, this house is one of the things I’ve wanted to talk to you about.”

  Looking confused, she asks, “What about it?”

  I might as well get it over with. “I bought it.”

  “You what?” she demands. “What do you mean you bought it?”

  “I mean that in a couple weeks, I’m moving in. I already have my financing in order, and I’m going to apply for some grants to help me renovate, then I’m going to turn the place into a bed and breakfast.”

  “I thought you were moving to Atlanta,” she says, her voice heavy with confusion.

  I shake my head. “Not anymore. Once I saw this house, I knew that I needed to live here. There’s something about it, Mom.” Now to tell her the unusual story of its history.

  She stares at me in shock for a minute and then turns away and looks at the property like I told her I was going to relocate to Saturn to open a massage parlor. When she finally turns around, she asks, “When were you going to tell me this?”

  “When you returned my phone call.”

  Ignoring that her ignorance is actually her own fault, she asks, “What does Bertie think?”

  “He loves the idea as much as I do. He’s excited that I’m moving here. He’s inside seeing the house for the first time.” While I’m sure I made things a load worse for my dad, it’s better to get the whole truth out in one fell swoop.

  My mom looks a little unsteady on her feet. “Where?” she demands while zig-zagging her finger at the windows of the house.

  “Dunno. But Mom, I need to tell you the rest.” I’d love to relay the story in pieces, but with all the Frothinghams inside, I have to tell her now. She cannot walk inside without knowing everything.

  “What rest? What more could you possibly say than you’re leaving home to move god knows where?”

  “Well, we know where. I’m moving to Creek Water, Missouri. Which turns out to be the home of your ancestors,” I say, lowering the boom.

  “Alexis, what are you talking about? My family has never lived here. We’re New Yorkers.”

  I spy a bench near the rose arbor and say, “Let’s sit down, Mom.”

  Seated, I relay everything Myrah told me. I explain how our ancestor, Elsie, used to live in this house and that
she even foretold my buying it one day. I describe the letter from Regina Frothingham, the woman she was named after.

  My mom declares, “I wasn’t named after anyone. I’ve never heard of Regina Frothingham before now.” She adds, “Mimi said she named me Regina because she wanted me to know that I was always queen of my own destiny.”

  “Are you sure that’s all she said?” I ask.

  “She might have mentioned that she went to see that crazy fortune-teller of hers when she was pregnant with me. The old coot told Mimi she thought it would be a fitting name.”

  Then I pull out the letter I’ve been carrying since Myrah gave it to me. I hand it to my mom and wait while she opens it up.

  “What’s this?” she demands.

  “It’s from Regina Frothingham.”

  My mom’s eyes bug open and she takes the envelope. She pulls out the stationery, unfolds it, and begins to read. She doesn’t look up until she’s finished. “This can’t be real,” she says. It’s the exact reaction I expected her to have.

  I point to the date on the letter which clearly shows that it was written in 1864. She shakes her head and asks, “How? Why didn’t we know about this before now? Why didn’t my mother know?” She’s as shocked as I was.

  “I guess because Mimi’s mother never told her.”

  My mom looks like she’s digging through her memories before she answers, “All I know is that my great-grandmother moved to New York with her husband because the house they were working in was being sold and the family they worked for wouldn’t need as many household staff in their new situation.”

  If this is so, then surely Myrah’s family would have kept in touch with them. I’ll have to make sure to ask her about this.

  “Mimi’s mother told her they’d heard all about New York City from someone and thought it was the perfect opportunity to see what life there was all about. They liked the idea of redefining themselves.”

  “And you never knew they moved from Missouri? Didn’t you wonder about their accents?” I ask.

  “They died while I was very young. I guess I never consciously realized they had one.” Trying to process this information she reiterates, “You and Emmie became friends in New York City, and it was her family that saved ours all those years ago, right here in Missouri. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “It’s big, right?” Then I announce, “Mimi took me to her fortune-teller once.”

  “I’m not surprised. What did she tell you?” my mom asks.

  “She told me that in my thirtieth year, a dog would jump over me, and my life would change in the most unexpected ways.” I tell her about that afternoon in Central Park when Hanzie the German shepherd jumped over me, immediately followed by learning that my apartment was going condo, and that I was begin promoted to Atlanta. “If all of that isn’t unexpected, I don’t know what is. Then I found this house and learned the truth about our family history.”

  “I always thought that woman was nuts,” she says, shaking her head like she’s trying to get this information to fall into place.

  “Did she ever tell you anything?” I ask.

  Regina answers, “She told me all kinds of crazy stuff.”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Like I’d get married under the tracks of change. I don’t even know what that means. Obviously she was wrong, because as you know, I’ve never been married.” Then she adds, “Currently, I don’t even feel like I’m in a good relationship.”

  “Mom, how can you say that? You know what dad is like. Just because he didn’t discuss his trip with you before leaving doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you or that your relationship isn’t good.”

  “That’s your opinion. I say a good relationship doesn’t involve packing up and leaving your partner without talking about it first. Now, while this,” she waves Regina Frothingham’s letter in the air, “is very interesting and I have many questions I’d like to have answered, I think it’s time you take me to your father.”

  Poor Bertie. I was hoping to not only share my future with my mom, but perhaps derail a bit of anger she was feeling toward my dad. I don’t think it worked.

  Chapter 45

  I lead my mom into my new home ostensibly to search for Bertie. While I know we’ll eventually run into him, I take her to the bedroom at the top of the second-floor stairs, hoping to prolong that eventuality.

  When I ask her to join me in the closet, she says, “Quit stalling, Alexis. I want to see your father.”

  “I’m not stalling,” I say. “Come in here.”

  Unable to ignore her curiosity, she does so. She jumps like I did when I dislodge the clothes rack and cause the back wall to pop open. “What’s this?” she demands as she follows me up the back stairs.

  “Wait,” I tell her.

  When we reach the landing in front of the secret room in the attic, I explain, “This is one of the rooms the Frothinghams used in the Underground Railroad.”

  Regina can’t help but be affected by this news. She walks in slowly before gently touching the walls. The dingy gray looks like it hasn’t been painted in decades. She circles the full perimeter of the space quietly, before asking, “Are you feeling what I’m feeling?”

  I answer, “I feel hope. What about you?” I’m excited to hear her response.

  She looks up wild-eyed. “I feel fear and confusion, not to mention a good deal of panic.”

  “I’m sure there was a lot of that in here,” I reply. How could there not be with people fleeing for their lives?

  “Why do you want to live here?” my mom asks, truly confused.

  “Because it’s a part of history. I want schools, genealogy groups, history buffs, whoever comes up here, to shut the door for a couple of minutes. I want them to imagine what it was like for the slaves who came through here to be hidden away, afraid.”

  “Lexi, it was such a horrible time. How can you want to live with that every day?”

  I’m completely surprised by my mom’s reaction. I thought she would love the historic element of my new home.

  “You need to visit Myrah,” I tell her. “What happened in this house wasn’t horrible. It was beautiful. People were helped and their lives changed forever.”

  She nods her head slowly. “I believe this history needs to be taught and never forgotten, but to live here … I’m not sure I understand your desire to do so.”

  “This house has been on and off the market for years and no one has ever bought it. It’s a rare treasure. Someone has to be the bridge between the past and present. Why not me?”

  “Are people down here going to welcome such a thing?” she asks.

  “Mom, people have been nothing but kind and welcoming,” —if you don’t count Shelby’s mother, that is— "You need to stay for a while so that you can see that for yourself.”

  “I have classes to teach, Alexis,” she tells me. While that’s true, she’s also using that as an excuse to avoid learning more about my new life.

  “You have a teaching assistant,” I reply. “And, if I recall, you’ve taught via Skype in the past when you were sick and didn’t feel up to going in to work. Why can’t you do that from here?”

  She gives me the side-eye; she’s not at all happy I’ve come up with a reasonable-sounding plan that would allow her to stay. Then a brilliant thought comes to me. “Imagine doing a lecture series on the power of women from as far back as the Civil War. You could do that from this very house and give your class a tour as you speak. Sounds like the perfect women’s studies topic to me.”

  “Don’t try to manipulate me, Alexis,” my mom snaps. But I can tell from her expression that I’ve successfully planted a seed that she’s going to have a tough time ignoring. “Where’s your father?” she demands.

  I shrug. “Don’t know, but I’m happy to show you through the rest of the house. We’re bound to run into him.” She probably doesn’t pick up her phone and call him because she’s relying on the element of surprise.

/>   We wind up running into everyone but my dad. Lee and Gracie spot us in the second-floor hallway. I introduce, “Lee, Gracie, I’d like you to meet my mother, Regina.”

  My mom is in no way prepared for the storm of excitement that meets her. Gracie throws herself into my mom’s arms and declares, “We’re so thrilled to have you here!” She hugs my mom for a bit before dancing around a little more. Regina acts as nervous as if she were being attacked by band of roving leprechauns. She doesn’t seem to know how to react, but you can tell she wants her space.

  Lee joins in with, “Aren’t Lexi’s plans for this house exciting?” Then, in pure attention-deficit fashion, she changes the subject and says, “You have to come to dinner tonight.”

  Lee and Gracie start chattering like magpies about where we should eat. They finally decide that going back to the club would be the best option. My mom looks like she’s about to spray mace on them to get them to calm down.

  Regina finally says, “I’m not sure what I’ll be doing for dinner, but thank you for your invitation.”

  Lee grabs her hand and acts like she doesn’t understand the brush off. “Lexi, have your folks there at six. I’ll make sure Chef Jarvis has something special prepared for us.”

  Then Gracie says, “If y’all are going to be here for a while, I’ll run down to the Piggly Wiggly and get some pastries and coffee.”

  Lee says, “What a wonderful idea! You get those and I’ll go over to the Delish Deli and pick up some sandwiches for lunch. We can have a picnic.”

  The Frothingham women become completely enraptured by the idea of a picnic lunch and run off to make good on their threat. As they go, Emmie and Amelia come out of one of the bedrooms.

  Emmie gasps like a heroine in a medieval romance when she sees my mom. “Regina, what are you doin’ here?”

  My mom smiles at my friend before answering, “I’m looking for Bertie.”

  Emmie blanches. “Don’t be too mad at him,” she says. “I mean, I know what a dumb fool thing that was to run off like he did, but I think he’s really gonna to make some magic down here.”