The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  Mia finally came to a stopping point in her monologue about her recent travels, which I would usually find fascinating. I was able to ask her a few questions. “So when did you get in?”

  “Yesterday—I just told you that! I knew you were pretty busy, being the boss and all.” She was kidding, but her tone irked me a little. “Alright, now. Don’t start.” I reached for the loofah. “Where are you staying?”

  “Oh, you know me. I’m couch-surfing. I’ll always be an anthropologist. I’ve got to check out the locals.” I heard her rummaging in my medicine cabinet.

  “Mia, are you sure that’s safe? Do you know this person? Whose couch are you on? Where exactly are you staying?”

  “Not far from here. I walked it, actually. Down off Royal Street. My host works at a nightclub down there, but he has fabulous reviews on the surfing site.”

  “Is that really a good idea?” I wasn’t really surprised by anything Mia said or did. She was definitely her own person. She always had been since I’d known her. I simultaneously worried about and admired her.

  “Oh, yeah, my host is pretty legit—and interesting. He works at Gabriella’s. It’s very exclusive, and it’s beautiful inside. They completely restored the building. Love that brick.”

  “You’ve been inside?” I tried not to sound shocked.

  “Stop worrying, Mom. Besides, Henri Devecheaux is absolutely fascinating, and he’s very spiritual. He also looks great in a dress!” She laughed wickedly.

  “Well, if you change your mind…” There was an awkward silence, and then came the question I was expecting.

  “Hey, have you talked to William in the past few days?”

  I wanted to ignore the question but felt obligated to explain myself since it was Mia who had introduced us. I had thought that at one time William and Mia could have made a go of it. They had spent a lot of time working together, huddling together on a private project, but apparently it was just work. I turned the oversize shower handles slowly, stalling for time. I reached my hand out for a towel, and Mia obliged.

  “I’ve been meaning to call him, but I never do. I guess I don’t know what to say. I mean, what we had was nice. He was nice… I just don’t know. Something is just not quite what I need it to be.” I squeezed the water from my hair and wrapped my body in the pink, fluffy towel. I pulled back the curtain slowly. “I really like him, but on so many levels we…”

  “Oh my God! What happened?” Mia’s dark eyes were fixed on my right foot.

  I followed her gaze to a massive bruise on my right ankle. My tan skin was blue and purple and seriously swollen. Nausea swept over me, and I sat clumsily on the commode. I stared at the wounded area, then pulled up my towel to check for more bruising. I half expected to see welt marks along my legs. I stared at Mia. “I don’t know…” I couldn’t process what I was seeing.

  “Don’t give me that. There’s no way you could not know. Look! It’s obvious that these are fingerprint bruises. Who’s been manhandling you? Was it William?” Mia’s dark eyes flashed angrily.

  “No! Never, he’d never. I don’t really know…” I could feel swollen tears filling my eyes. I didn’t want to believe that a “ghost” from the past could actually reach me, touch me.

  “Does it hurt?” She lifted my foot and examined it carefully.

  I pressed on the skin. “It’s a little sore, but that’s it.”

  “You want to tell me what’s really going on here?” Mia looked into my eyes, laser-like.

  I sighed. “Sure. But this may take a while. Let me get dressed. We’ll grab some breakfast, and I’ll tell you what’s happened.”

  She nodded, and I left her to get dressed. I opted for some purple jeans and a casual red top. I wound my wet hair up on top of my head in a perky bun and took a minute to tap my lashes with mascara and dab on peach lip gloss. I scribbled a note for Bette, asking her to check out the air conditioner, and left it on her door. Thankfully, she wasn’t home this morning. I would hate to refuse her company. I was relieved that she hadn’t gone to the trouble of making those biscuits she had promised me.

  We rode in silence to the Golden Egg, a tiny breakfast shop I had spotted on my drive into Mobile. Sliding into the vinyl-covered booth, I felt calmer, even hungry. We ordered some bacon and eggs and thanked our young waitress for the basket of biscuits and butter she cheerfully deposited on our table. Mia sat looking at me expectantly.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I muttered with a shrug.

  “Don’t be shy around me. You know I’m jealous. I don’t think you’re crazy—just tell me! How many dreams have you had here?” She leaned forward.

  I took a deep breath. “Here’s how it started.” I told her about my embarrassing fall my first night at Seven Sisters and about Muncie.

  She broke in, “Well, that’s it! That’s how you got the bruises.”

  “Shh…” I looked around, embarrassed. “That’s not it. Besides, that’s the wrong foot—and there’s more.” Her eyes widened as I told her what I saw in my second dream; about the soft-voiced Calpurnia, the handsome yet suspicious Captain Garrett and of course, the cruel, larger-than-life Jeremiah Cottonwood. I was not surprised to see Mia pull a small notebook out of her purse and jot down some notes as I talked. When it was all over, she looked at me with her mouth open.

  “Carrie Jo, this is amazing. All of this is simply amazing. Are you okay, though?” She paused, looking at me carefully, “Are you really sure you are okay? We could call Dr. O’Neal,” she finished in a whisper.

  “I’m perfectly fine. I just can’t believe this is happening. These dreams are different than the ones I’ve had before. I can actually feel what she feels, what he feels. I know what they’re thinking. I could smell the wisteria, taste the lemonade and see the clouds sailing by. I know it really does sound, well, crazy but it’s like I’m them.” My voice shook, but I was determined not to burst into tears in the middle of the Golden Egg.

  Mia didn’t say anything—she just watched me. Finally, she leaned back against the cracked vinyl seat and tilted her head. “Do you know how lucky you are? What I wouldn’t give to experience just a few minutes of seeing the past, of being there? I love the past. I love history. You are a real dream catcher. The real thing, and you don’t even see it.”

  I looked at my plate that I had barely touched, surprised at the scolding. The over-easy egg had congealed; the once creamy grits were stiff and unmovable. I felt a shift in the air. The uneasy “invisible” moved around me, and I shivered. I stared back at my friend and said, “Lucky? Is that what you think?”

  I could feel her anger rising. “I just mean you have something that other people wish they had. It’s not a curse, CJ. It’s a gift,” she said matter-of-factly and leaned forward to touch my hand. I couldn’t help but pull away.

  “Pardon me if I don’t share your perspective. Where have you been the past ten years, Mia? You of all people know how weird I am, how different. You would really want to live like this? Afraid to lay your head down and close your eyes in a strange place?” I felt aggravated and a little mean. “I don’t think you’d be doing much couch-surfing.”

  Her perfect red lips curled up in a rueful smile. “Ouch, okay. I’m sorry.” She reached across the table once more with her manicured hand and tapped mine. “Tell you what, I’ll tap into some resources and see what I can find on your cast of characters. I’ll help you find answers, CJ. You aren’t alone.” With a squeeze of my hand, all was forgiven, at least on her side. And for Mia, I guess that was really all that mattered. Her indifference stung.

  Before I could respond, she gasped, “Look at the time! It’s 8:30!”

  “Oh, Lord,” I said as I scrambled out of the booth and threw some cash on the table. We didn’t say much as we drove to Seven Sisters, and the silence continued when we pulled into the long drive.

  “Wow,” I heard her whisper.

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed.

  Looking quite like a butler in his black dr
ess pants, vest and white shirt, Matthews met us at the door. “This must be Miss Reed,” he said jovially. He extended his hand to Mia, and the two chatted for a moment while I slipped past them. I took a moment to stop by the ladies’ parlor. It was bare now, with only the makeshift desk, two dusty chairs and the reclining sofa. It was all wrong and missing so many details. I walked to the door that led to the porch and discovered that the old door wouldn’t budge. Still, I could see the wilderness that was once a garden through the dirty window. I pushed aside the sadness and instead quietly pledged to make it right…whatever “it” was. “I will make it right,” I whispered into the air.

  “Hey, daydreamer,” Mia teased, “Come show me the setup, then take me on a tour.”

  I laughed, my sadness forgotten. I left the stuffy room behind and took Mia on a tour of the house. We finished in the Blue Room, where we had installed the computers.

  I found Chip, our IT guy, hunkered over his computer. He had short, curly hair, which made his ears appear even larger than they were. He gave me the usual nonchalant wave but perked up and sat a little straighter in his chair when Mia strolled in behind me with her red fingernails, retro ballet flats and vintage dress. I made introductions and listened to them chatter about the new program that he had designed for our “little” project. He clearly knew what he was doing; although he was no history major, the young man had more than adequate knowledge about networking, firewalls and password control. We’d be working with some expensive antiques, some that had been delicately restored. It was so important that nothing came up missing. Butterflies flipped in my stomach, reminding me that I would be the one responsible for anything that went wrong. Still, for a few minutes, I felt sane and happy and completely in control.

  Ashland walked in with perfect timing. I was beaming from ear to ear, and he gave me an equally brilliant smile. He wore an untucked blue linen shirt with jeans. He looked comfortable and sophisticated, even with his tanned arms full of boxes.

  “Oh, here, let me help you with that,” I said with a laugh.

  He looked as if he wanted to say something but instead looked past me. I turned to see Mia standing there, looking a schoolgirl holding a notebook and pencil to her chest.

  Before I could say anything, Ashland spoke. “You must be Mia. I recognize your face, even though your bio picture looks very different. Can’t change those eyes.” He gave her a half smile and extended his hand for a shake.

  She took his hand slowly and rubbed her pencil eraser against her lip. I felt uncomfortable, mostly for Ashland. With a grin and a low voice, she said, “I am Mia. I suppose you are the Master of this Plantation, Ashland Stuart?”

  “I’m not anyone’s master, but I am the boss.”

  Mia playfully slid on top of a nearby desk and tapped it with her fingers. “So, boss, is this where you want me?” I couldn’t believe my ears or eyes, and I felt my face flush bright red. I had seen her use the direct approach before, but never on a client or someone she barely knew.

  I jumped in. “Um, over here, Mia. This is your spot, I believe. Right, Chip?” Changing the subject and hopefully the trajectory of the conversation, I asked, “Chip, is the wireless printer online yet?”

  “Should be, but let me print a test page just to be sure. If you and Mia could do the same from your computers, that would help.”

  I nodded, too embarrassed to look at Ashland until he tapped me on the shoulder. “Got a minute?”

  “Sure, I can spare a few minutes. What’s up?” I spun around in my chair to face him.

  “I want to show you something, but you’ll need to put your tennis shoes on. Did you bring them?”

  I nodded and went to my desk for my gym bag. I pulled on some socks and my Nikes and was ready to go.

  I repositioned my ponytail on the way out of the Blue Room, purposefully avoiding Mia’s stare. What just happened? Did Mia think Ashland would be won with a little awkward flirting? He was certainly not her type. Usually, Mia’s guys were quirky—sometimes handsome, sometimes plain, but always quirky. There was nothing quirky about Ashland Stuart.

  He didn’t mention Mia’s show or what he thought about her, and I was too professional to bring it up. “Have everything you need? For the office?” he asked. “Matthews promises me that you do, but if you need something else, please let me know.”

  “Certainly, I will. I think, so far, we’re doing all right. I expect this place will be like a beehive for the next few months with remodeling the house and setting up the museum.”

  “Yes, it will be, but that’s the fun of the whole process. You know, I minored in history in college. I love the history of Mobile, but there is so much we don’t know. I feel honored that I get the opportunity to help others remember it like it should be remembered.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

  “I have something to show you. I hope you’re feeling better. How’s that bump?”

  “Great! Thanks again for your help. I can’t believe how clumsy I was.”

  “As long as you’re okay.”

  I felt a surge of happiness knowing that he cared. In the back of my mind, I heard Calpurnia’s question: “Are you a scoundrel, Captain Garrett?”

  Ashland continued, “I want to show you an interesting discovery. It takes a little walking, but it’s nice out. And I think we’ll have a clear path getting there. They’ve cut back some of the underbrush already. This find is truly amazing. TD found it this morning. That’s why I was late.”

  He had certainly piqued my curiosity. “What is it?”

  “You’ll see, but wait; do you have your phone?”

  I patted my back pocket to make sure. “Yes, of course!”

  “You’re going to need it.” He laughed.

  “How mysterious.”

  We jumped off the back porch; the steps were soft and spongy, too hazardous to use. I was happy that I didn’t embarrass myself and fall in front of him—again.

  “It’s a ways ahead, past this small section, into the…”

  “Moonlight Garden…” I blurted out.

  “Yes, the Moonlight Garden. How did you know about that?” He paused on the pathway, looking like a Greek statue standing in a wild, green garden.

  “I must have read about it someplace. I mean, I am a researcher.” My excuse sounded weak. I knew about it because I had already been here, along with Calpurnia and Muncie, cowering under a sculpted fir tree. I had seen the two friends huddled in the wet rain, fearfully praying.

  “Not many know about the garden. Even I’m not sure about the actual layout, and I own it. Still, it’s not common knowledge that it’s called the Moonlight Garden. Do you happen to know why it has that name?”

  I felt my cheeks redden again. I wondered how much I should tell him, from what I had heard in Calpurnia’s mind in my dream. How she had subconsciously named the statues as she wove through the complex arrangement of hedges and trees. The Moonlight Garden was a maze, with seven landmarks, statues of the demi-goddesses of the Pleiades or the Seven Sisters. They were Sterope, Merope, Electra, Maia, Taygete, Celaeno and Alcyone. Their parents, Atlas and Pleione, stood in the center. I decided not to tell him these details; how could I explain that? Instead, I said, “The statues of the garden were made of white marble that reflected the moon. During a perfectly full moon, the statues shone bright, like a Moonlight Garden. It’s not as mysterious as you think.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it. I’m glad I hired such a good researcher.” He led the way to the beginning of the maze. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as it had been, but I was happy to see that some of the important spots remained—a tree here and certain flowers there. I caught my breath just realizing how much I could remember.

  “Well, I’m not psychic. I promise you that,” I said, a bit tongue-in-cheek.

  “What do you mean by that?” He stopped and looked at me sharply.

  I couldn’t understand it, but I knew that I had made him angry. The joy of the day drained away un
der the stare of his blue eyes. “It was a joke.” I laughed nervously. “You know, that I’m not a psychic telling you these things. I’m just an average researcher.”

  His jaw popped a little. “It’s not far ahead, just beyond the first two clumps of trees there.”

  For the second time that day, I had to ask myself, What just happened?

  We walked a few more minutes, and I managed to avoid most of the sticker-filled dewberry patches but chided myself for not giving my skin a good douse of bug repellent before setting off on this journey. I tried not to be irritated by Ashland’s unpredictable moods. He swung his machete at some branches and ignored me. And I returned the favor. I made myself a thousand promises to keep him out of my mind, although it was tough not to watch his muscles ripple under his blue linen shirt. But I silently pledged to speak as little as possible to him until we entered the clearing.

  We stopped in a small clearing, and under a copse of oaks and pines stood a forgotten mausoleum with the name “Cottonwood” etched above the door. It was made entirely of hewn stone blocks that fitted together masterfully. The mausoleum doors were green, evidence of copper, with a huge keyed lock below the right door handle. It had a peaked stone roof that looked intact, down to the window grates. It stood about eight feet high and was large enough to hold a large family.

  Large tears welled up in my eyes. I thought of Calpurnia’s hopeful face, how she imagined a life in the world beyond her privileged prison. I wondered if she managed to escape, and if she did, was it to another pretty jail nearby? I slid my sunglasses down, over my eyes, quickly dabbing away the wetness.

  “And there’s more. We found a dozen small crosses over here, but there’s nothing written on them. There’s really no telling who else is here.”

  “This is pretty amazing. Let me grab my phone.” I began snapping pictures and emailing them to myself so I could examine them later on my computer. I couldn’t believe TD had found this.

  “I wonder who we have here. I mean, obviously, someone in the Cottonwood family, but who? I suppose there are some records somewhere?” He seemed genuinely curious about who lay at rest on his property, and I couldn’t blame him. I shuddered to think that Jeremiah Cottonwood may have been lying just a few feet away from me. The wound on my ankle twinged.