The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection
Page 37
She piled her blond hair on top of her head in a ponytail and looked at me expectantly. She didn’t look a bit tired. “I’m nervous as heck. What do I do?”
I smiled at her. “You don’t have to do a thing. I might read a little before I go to sleep. Sometimes it helps me relax.”
“Listen, do you really think this will help TD? You weren’t just putting me on?”
“I would never joke about this kind of thing, but it’s just a hunch. You see, we all had a connection. Ashland was connected to Calpurnia, I was connected to Muncie, but TD…I’m not sure about.”
“I see.”
“I sound like a crazy person, but all I can tell you is what I think and feel. There are no books I can read that teach me about all this stuff. You know, growing up, I never considered myself a spiritual person. But I guess I am. Weird how that works.”
“No, I get it. I’ve never seen anything. Except that fan stopping on the porch and the figurine crashing earlier. And both of those things happened with you around.”
I hadn’t thought about that before. She had a point.
“Another thing. If everyone involved is connected, who was Mia connected to?”
“That’s what we need to figure out—and what happened to Christine. That’s important, that much I know.”
We chatted some more until Detra Ann began to yawn. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to plug in my headphones and listen to some music. It’s kind of my nighttime routine. I love sleeping to music. It drives TD crazy, but it helps me sleep.”
“Sure, go ahead. Is this light going to bother you?”
“Not at all. I don’t have a problem sleeping with the lights on. In fact, it might help because I admit I’m a little freaked out. Not because of you—because of what happened earlier.”
“I get that. Me too, but I don’t feel any sort of presence right now. Thanks, by the way. I appreciate you allowing me to do this.”
She was quiet for a minute. “I have never known anyone like you, Carrie Jo. Before I met you, I thought that supernatural stuff was nothing but hokum—just shills trying to make money on whoever would believe them. But you’re not like that. You’re just a real person. Have you always dreamed about ghosts?”
I had never thought of it like that, and I admitted it to her. “I always just thought of it as dreaming. When I was a kid, I thought everyone did it, but I learned the hard way that I was wrong. Completely.”
“What did your parents think? Are they supportive about your…powers?”
“I would hardly call it a power,” I said with a laugh, “but I can see why someone would think that. Until I came to Seven Sisters I considered it more of an impediment. It used to drive my mother crazy. I don’t think she knew what to do with me. She never quite got it. She thought I could turn it off, like I was having these dreams on purpose. It upset her to think I could see people’s dreams.”
“So she wasn’t a dreamer? A dream catcher?”
“If she was, she never told me.”
“What about your dad? Did he dream?”
“I don’t know. I never met him.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You can’t miss what you’ve never known, right?”
“I guess that’s true. Well, Ashland sure loves you.” She stretched out on the rollaway and smiled. “I’ve known him all my life and have never seen him fall in love before—ever. Don’t get me wrong, there have been plenty of girls interested in him, but he’s always been kind of standoffish. Never committing to anyone. I am so glad he has you.”
I was curious to hear about my husband from someone who knew him better than I did. “Bette told me that your mother used to hope the two of you would get together.”
She chuckled. “My mother is a control freak. Ashland and I kind of got one another—we left each other alone. He was always talking about what he’d like to do for Mobile, how he wanted to restore his family’s name. I was always talking about leaving this city. Little did I know I would end up loving it too.” She chewed her lip and added, “Everyone in Ashland’s world wanted something from him. Hollis wasn’t the only one who wanted his money. I felt sorry for him—he got used a lot. Our senior year, we used to skip school together and go to the beach, but I swear nothing ever happened. We didn’t like each other that way.”
I smiled. “I’m glad he had a friend.”
“What else did Bette tell you about me?”
“Nothing bad. Well, except that you were cross-eyed. Imagine my surprise when I met you and you were just drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Ha! Don’t I wish!” She laughed aloud. “I had a lazy eye for like one summer, but the eye doctor corrected it with a patch. What an amazing summer that was—me wearing a patch for three months, all the guys running the other way. It did do one thing, though. It made me more sympathetic toward people with physical challenges.”
“Yes, I guess it would.”
She yawned and smiled. “I guess I’m going to try and sleep. If you need me, I’m right here. Kick that fan up a notch, will you?”
“Sure.” I slid out of bed and turned up the oscillating fan. It was comfortable to me, but then again this old house didn’t have central air and heating. Before I got back into bed, I dug the envelope out of my purse.
Detra Ann had her back to me; she was playing on her phone listening to music. I examined the envelope again and sighed. Why was I doing this? Could I trust anything that Mia might tell me? What did I care about her reasons for trying to kill me—and William? She did kill Hollis Matthews and God knows who else.
Nothing else to see, just my name and new address and a crumpled envelope. I pulled out the book inside and held it under the yellow lamp light. It was apparently the first in a collection of biographies of actors and actresses. The words THE STARS THAT FELL were embossed with gold, or they had been. I could see a just fleck or two of gold now. I ran my fingers over the peacock and opened the cover.
Published in 1921 by the Nelson-Howell Publishing Company. Well, so what? What did this have to do with Mia? Another delusion?
I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes for a minute. Mia was crazy—there was no doubt about that—but she had been right about so many things. When it came to research and hunches, she was the best. I felt a twinge of sadness. Mia had been the first to discover that the Beaumont treasure was real and the first to have an idea of where it might be. She was right about the fact that the statues were a map, a map that was echoed with the markers in the Cottonwood cemetery. She knew, even before I did, that Calpurnia had never found the treasure.
I held the book to my chest and took a deep breath. I guess it was time to know what else Mia knew. I hoped I wouldn’t regret this.
I probably would.
Chapter 5
I could tell the book was old by the font and the page layout. And I recognized that “old book” scent, probably one of my favorite smells in the world. The book began with a note from the author and some commentary about his subjects, which included a woman named Delilah Iverson.
Dear Reader,
I am not merely an author but a collector of unusual lives. THE STARS THAT FELL is a representation of my life’s work. Many of you, no doubt, will recognize some of the more famous names like Delilah Iverson, Nate Daniels and Edwin McCarthy.
I must confess that it took some convincing on my part to compel my first subject, the talented Miss Iverson, to agree to speak to us concerning personal matters. In the end, she graciously yielded to my pleas and allowed me that privilege. As I have such great respect for the lady and consider her a dear friend, her story begins THE STARS THAT FELL.
Your Faithful Scribe,
Ernesto Halderon
I flipped to the first chapter and read the first few sentences. Nothing unusual yet. I sighed and hunkered down in my bed, reading by the dim light. A light pattering of rain began tapping against the window. The house was quiet except for the occasional squeak of w
ood, which one would expect in a house as old as this.
Dear Ernesto,
What should I say? So, you wish to hear my story? I am willing to tell it, but I insist on doing the telling. Perhaps if you knew how crowded my mind would become with the faces of those who are gone, those I have loved and lost, you would forget this idea, have mercy and find a more worthy muse for your book. Yet I can see by the anxious look on your face that you will not allow me to depart without first having told all.
For myself, I cannot imagine that any intelligent person would care to read about my life, for I have not found it so unusual or interesting. Surprising? Yes! But it was my life, and I have enjoyed every sun-filled and rainy day included within it. Even when the storms came and the war rolled over the South like the devil drove it, I wanted to live! I guess you could say that I have a strong will to live. As I am now seventy, this I certainly have proven.
Where shall I start? Should I tell you all my secrets? Whom I have loved and whom I have hated? Should I tell you about the stolen kisses, the promises we made and the inevitable betrayals? Should I tell you about the time I missed my happiness by mere minutes? Oh, but those were the times when I felt the most alive, alive in my pain! If it’s a tale you want, then a tale you shall get.
Hmm… I liked her already.
***
My life began quite happily, dear Ernesto. I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth—quite the contrary! At an early age, I learned the value of hard work, and it is not a lesson I regret having learned. Yet we had fine things when it was possible. Hard work has paid me well, as you can see by my many achievements here. But things were different then.
My parents, Jacob and Katharine Iverson, owned a sundries shop in downtown Mobile, Alabama. My father was also a master carpenter, and his fine Norwegian workmanship was always in high demand. Our shop was right on Conception Street, across from the Irish church that rang bells for matins and whenever a good Catholic child was born in the parish that surrounded it. Near our shop was the dress and hat shop where I later went to work. Our home was above the sundries shop. It was nothing large, but I had my own room, which was quite a treat for the time.
My brother and I spent many happy days there until right before the war. My parents loved America, but my father had no desire to take sides in a war that would divide the great country he so passionately loved. My parents weren’t quite Southerners yet, although they loved living in Mobile. My mother always said that Norway was the most beautiful place on Earth but Alabama was certainly the warmest. She liked that. She told me on many occasions that the cold hurt her bones.
My brother had other ideas. Neither he nor I remembered Norway, although he was born there. I was four years younger than Adam, and we were very close, as close as a brother and sister could be. I was born an American, born at home in Mobile. Although he had been born in Norway, Adam was a Southerner through and through. I still remember him young and happy. He had the blondest hair; it always fell in his eyes. Mother would say, “Delilah, cut your brother’s hair. He looks like a sheepdog.” We would take the chair out behind the shop, and I would cut his hair as best I could. He was kind to me, even when I cut gaps into his hair or made him look like a beggar boy. He would say, “Yes, this is what I wanted, thank you, Delilah.” I would smile, and he would give me a coin, just like I had been a true barber. He always had a way of making me feel special.
When other young men his age began to sign up to serve in the Confederate Army, he felt it his duty to do the same. Mind you, we were not slave owners; my parents abhorred slavery, but they equally abhorred the heavy taxation by the Northern states—it was a concern for all local businessmen and indeed businessmen everywhere I would imagine. For many men, that alone was enough reason to go to war. They were fighting for their wealth and happiness. There were plenty of raw materials in the South but no way to manufacture anything. All those factories were up North. Mobile was the Cotton Queen, but she had nary a one cotton processing company.
What arguments my father and Adam would have on this subject! That was a difficult time for all of us. I was only fifteen when the talks of war turned serious; Adam was nineteen and a young man—ready to prove himself as such. My Uncle Lars wrote us inviting us to travel to Canada until the war was over. That idea didn’t sit well with my brother; he knew that the local families would call our father and him a yellow coward.
“It’s always better to fight,” Adam would say to Poppa. Then Poppa would speak Norwegian, and Adam would join him. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. I always regretted that. Eventually, it would become clear that Adam had lost the argument. At the request of Uncle Lars, we prepared to head north to Canada to ride out the war. I didn’t want to leave my hometown, but I also didn’t want to see the city destroyed. It surely would be—and to some degree it was! Adam was angry, of course. As a grown man, he could make his own decision. I knew he wanted to leave us. I couldn’t let him go!
I had followed Adam that afternoon. I watched him walk into the military station and talk to the sergeant. He had not yet signed up, but I knew he was intending to do so. That evening, when Poppa put the violin away and Mother finished the dinner dishes, I ran upstairs and went into Adam’s room. He was in bed, wearing his nightgown, his hands behind his head. He stared out the far window, looking at the moon.
“What is it, Lila?”
I sulked toward him and crawled in the bed with him. “You cannot leave me, Adam. You would send me all the way to a land where I know no one. All the way to Canada.”
“Hush now. You want me to be a kid forever. It’s only for a little while, and then I will be home with my jacket full of metals and ribbons.”
“That’s not what will happen, and you know it.” I held him tight as if it could really be the last time I saw him. He held me too.
“I don’t know anything of the sort.” He rubbed my hair playfully. “Wouldn’t you feel proud to have a brother who served in the war? Wouldn’t you want me to show them that I am not a coward?”
“Yes, you could show them, but then I would lose you. That’s not fair, Adam. You would do this just to show off?” I sat up, my dark curls falling around my face.
Adam took my hand and kissed it. “You’d better go to bed, Lila. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”
I walked slowly to the wooden door, my lower lip quivering. “Please don’t do this, Adam. Will you make me a promise?”
He rolled back over to face me. “What is it?”
“If it is raining in the morning, you will stay with us. If it’s sunny, you will go. Isn’t that fair?”
“Really? That’s the deal you want me to make?” He smiled sadly and covered back up. I was an excellent deal maker—just ask anyone who came to the shop. “That’s too easy. You know it’s going to rain tomorrow.”
“Okay then, let’s say that if you see a rainbow in the morning sometime before 8 a.m., you will stay.” Even as I said the words, I could see Adam actually seeing the rainbow and then looking at the clock. My mother called it intuition; I mostly kept my knowings and seeings to myself, but that day was special.
Adam laughed at the idea. “Not giving yourself much of a chance to win, Lila. You do like these silly tests, don’t you? Okay, I agree. If I see a rainbow tomorrow before 8 a.m., I will stay with you and our parents. We will go to Canada. If not, I go to join the Army. That is a deal. Now go to bed.”
“Thank you, Adam!” I slipped out of his room feeling as if I had won the argument. Somehow I knew that God was on my side. Adam would see a rainbow, and he would be okay. Best of all, we would be together.
Little did I know he would hate me for it later.
Chapter 6
Closing the book quietly, I placed it on the nightstand. I didn’t want to sleep with it. She wasn’t the girl I wanted to see right now. Her story was beginning to intrigue me, especially in light of the fact that THE STARS THAT FELL was on Mia’s required reading list.
The air around me moved fast at first, and then suddenly it stopped. I was in Miss Christine’s room, standing at the end of the bed. I was standing behind the doctor who was sweating so hard he asked me to wipe his brow with my apron. I did as I was told. My name was Hannah, and I was new to Seven Sisters. I came from some place called Philadelphia, a long way from here. My former mistress, a woman who ran a house of ill repute in the Blue District, lost me in a card game to one of her rich lovers. It had been a joke to her, sending me away from the only family I had ever known. How she laughed and drank and laughed some more that night. Fortunately, my new master was a nice man who taught piano. He moved to Mobile, but he died quite suddenly from pains in his chest.
I come upstairs to bring him his morning cornbread and milk mush, and the old man was cold dead. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat down, ate the mush and then walked down to the sheriff’s office to tell him the news. Soon, I was sold to another family, and some folks say I was very lucky to get to work at Seven Sisters. It was a grand place with many rooms and plenty of food to eat. But it was full of sadness. Everyone here was sad. At least at Madame LaMont’s everyone was happy, but that was probably because they were always drunk. Here, in this big fine house, it was like they was all under some sort of magical spell, the kind that slowly crept in and couldn’t be removed no matter how many prayers you say.
The baby’s head began to show, but Miss Christine never made a sound. She tried to sit up a few times but refused to speak. She just stared up at the ceiling. Her mouth was slack, and Hooney had to wipe it often. “Miss Christine, please try. Push that baby out, Miss Christine. You’ll feel so much better if you do.” Hooney pleaded with her kindly, but the woman was gone. She was like the living dead. It broke my heart.