The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  Lenore didn’t talk on the drive back to our home. I was dying to ask Ashland about what he saw at Henri’s, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear Lenore declare Detra Ann a ghost again. When we pulled into the driveway, Lenore didn’t move right away. I got out of the car and waited on her. “Are you coming, Lenore?”

  She was watching the house, her penetrating eyes examining the exterior for God only knew what. Slowly she opened the car door and stepped outside clutching her two Wal-Mart bags that overflowed with her colorful wardrobe. I sighed and walked up the sidewalk. She’d either come inside or she wouldn’t. Ashland opened the door and gave me an amused look. “I know, I know,” I whispered.

  Eventually she did come in and was the perfect houseguest. I showed her the guest room, guest bathroom and kitchen, telling her to grab something to eat if she got hungry. “What are your plans tomorrow? Are you working somewhere? Do you need a lift?”

  “No. I have applications out, but nobody has called me yet. I don’t suppose you need a housekeeper or something?”

  “No. We have a housekeeper. You will probably meet her tomorrow. Her name is Doreen, and she makes an awesome…well, everything. But if you’re interested in that type of work, she might be able to tell you where to go. I bet with the approaching Mardi Gras festivities you could find a job easily.”

  “That might work,” she said, looking hopeful.

  “I am going to the office in the morning, but you tell Doreen what you’re looking for. If she can’t help you, we’ll look somewhere else.”

  Her face softened, and she smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  “Good night, Lenore.”

  “Good night.”

  I closed the door and went upstairs to pass out. It didn’t happen—Ashland was keyed up and ready to talk about what he’d seen. In fact, he wanted to tell me about everything he’d seen. If Lenore helped no one else, she had helped Ash. Sure, she was quirky, but underneath I could tell she had true empathy for people. Plus, she claimed to know a great deal about the supernatural world, and Henri didn’t dispute her knowledge. If anyone knew the truth about her, it would have been him.

  She seemed like a lost child, wandering through the world depending on the kindness of strangers. She was friendly to everyone…except Detra Ann. I wondered why that was. Perhaps she was jealous of Henri’s blooming relationship, or maybe she opposed the idea of her cousin involved with someone ten years younger—or someone white.

  Ashland continued talking, and I nodded attentively. He described the ghost man he saw in the car, the many ghosts in the windows of the houses along Conception Street, even the creepy one he used to see regularly when his mother took him to Sunday brunch at the Admiral Semmes Hotel. I listened patiently, pretending that I wasn’t creeped out. The poor guy. I couldn’t imagine seeing stuff like that all the time and then forcing myself to forget it just to keep my sanity.

  I stifled a yawn. I seemed to have no energy today. Boy, missing those pre-natal vitamins even for a day made a difference. I undressed as he talked and finally slid on his old football jersey. I had silk nightgowns aplenty but couldn’t resist sleeping in oversize shirts—especially ones that smelled like Ashland’s expensive cologne.

  “That’s not fair.”

  I folded back the coverlet and slid under the sheets. “What’s not fair?”

  “You…undressing right now.”

  I rubbed scented lotion on my hands and feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He was undressing too and was under the sheets with me in a few seconds. “I love you, Carrie Jo Stuart. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

  “That’s a good thing, ’cause I feel the same way.”

  “Say it, then.”

  I kissed his perfect lips and whispered, “I love you, Ashland Stuart.”

  For the next hour, we lost ourselves in one another, totally uncaring that someone else was in the house. Afterwards, Ashland dozed off to sleep, but our lovemaking had the opposite effect on me tonight—I couldn’t close my eyes. I decided a nice long shower and maybe then a snack would help settle me down. If the butterflies in my stomach were any indication, the baby approved of that idea. After drying off and pulling my hair on top of my head in a messy bun, I padded down the stairs to see what treats Doreen had left me. I was happy to see that she left me a container of mandarin orange fruit salad topped with sweetened pecans. It may not have been comfort food for some folks, but ever since I got pregnant I couldn’t get enough of the citrus fruit. Taking the whole container, a spoon and a bottle of water, I slipped into my office and quietly closed the door behind me.

  After a few spoonfuls of the tasty treat, I flipped on my laptop in hopes of seeing an email from Desmond Taylor. Nope, nothing yet. I deleted a bunch of junk mail until just the important stuff was left. Digging into the fruit salad, I reread the email from the Reeds. Of course I wasn’t going to go to Mia’s funeral, but it wouldn’t do any good to be mean about it. I felt sorry for Alice and Myron, even though they had considered suing Ashland and me. I wrote them back thanking them for the honor but declining their invitation without giving them a specific reason why. That would have to do. I hit send with a sigh and deleted their original email. That was easier than I’d thought it would be. I hoped that would be the end of the whole sad situation.

  Goodbye, Mia.

  On a whim, I searched for Father Portier and the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. An image of the friendly white-haired priest appeared. It was the picture of an oil painting—a commemorative portrait from 1829 marking Portier’s appointment as the first bishop of Mobile. I could hardly believe it. I had a full-on conversation with a ghost, and I hadn’t been asleep. I saved the photo and dug deeper into the history of the cathedral. How was it that I had walked through the gate and ended up in the church three blocks over unless I somehow stumbled into some sort of supernatural portal? Was there such a thing? It had been a common practice in the 1700s and 1800s to build churches atop old religious centers. It was actually a common way to show the natives who the new boss was. I continued to read until my stomach was full and my eyes began to glaze.

  That’s enough. I need to rest.

  I closed the laptop, leaned back in my chair and spun around to enjoy the view of the moonlight bouncing around the backyard. Our little house was quiet except for the occasional sounds of a beam creaking. That sort of thing was to be expected in a home this old. But then I heard another sound, someone talking. It was quiet but distinct. As silently as possible, I went to my door and opened it. Lenore was talking to someone, and from the tone of her voice she was frantic.

  “No, I can’t do that. You don’t understand…I don’t know what you mean….”

  I knew it was an invasion of her privacy, but I crept into the hallway and stood outside her door. If Lenore was going to do something crazy in my house, I wanted to know about it. I held my breath and took a peek. She had the house phone up to her ear and was sitting on the bed in her pajamas. Her hair looked wild and unbrushed, as if she’d just woken up.

  “Why are you asking me to do this? You know I love you…”

  Hearing her move around the room, I leaned flush against the wall. That’s enough of that, Carrie Jo. Now go to bed and quit snooping.

  I sprinted down the hall in my sock feet and slid through the open door of my office. I closed the container of fruit salad and put the lid back on my water. I paused to slow my pounding heartbeat.

  Lenore’s whispering continued, and my hand went protectively to my stomach. I couldn’t let it go. I had to know what was going on. Who was she talking to at this time of night, and why was she so upset? My hand rested on the old-fashioned princess phone on my desk. Should I? What if she was in danger? It sounded like someone was trying to convince her to do something she did not want to do. As quietly as I could, I picked up the phone just to make sure Lenore was okay.

  “I’m not ready…I
can’t do it…yes…I understand. I know what this means. This is forever, ain’t it?”

  There was nobody there—just Lenore speaking into the phone, the dial tone buzzing in the background. With a lump in my throat I put the phone down, left the food on my desk and slinked out of the room. All I wanted to do now was brush my teeth, go to bed and cuddle as closely to Ashland as I could.

  This couldn’t be good.

  Chapter 12—Delilah

  As the weeks flew by, the excitement in Mobile grew almost to fever pitch. The city’s hotels were filling up as dignitaries and curious visitors from the surrounding counties descended on the downtown area. Lampposts were festooned with purple and gold ribbon, but the city held back a bit on some of the festivities, remembering to honor their war dead with the appropriate decorum. The lost “sons of the south” would be honored during the first parade with an Ash Processional. Relatives of the lost would march in silence dressed in black and doused in ashes, and Maundy and I had spent all morning sewing black ribbons to sell to the supporters. According to Honoree Daughtry, the wife of the commissioner responsible for this year’s Mardi Gras activities, this event was expected to help the city begin to “heal from its wounds.” I thought the whole thing was morbid, but it kept my hands busy and my mind off my situation.

  Parade watchers were already lining the streets and covered the walkways like flies on a watermelon carcass prepared to fully enjoy Mobile’s Mardi Gras opening spectacle. We quickly sold our baskets of ribbons, and I took the empty containers back to the shop while Maundy stayed behind to watch.

  From what she told me, festivities like the debutante auction and the Night of Masks ball were quite decadent. I wondered what the austere Miss Claudette Page would think about those. I was certain that she would be staging a rally against this sort of revelry, but in fact, Miss Page was a former Boeuf Gras Society queen. Although that mystical organization had dissolved right before the Civil War, Claudette continued to work on behalf of many such organizations. To my disappointment, that had been the most scandalous tidbit I had learned about my estranged aunt thus far. As my court date approached, I began to see my chances of persuading Miss Page to acquiesce to my father’s will all but disappear. Perhaps Maundy’s idea of gathering information on her had been a waste of my time, just a ruse to hire a decent dressmaker. Thus far, Maundy had gotten much more information from me than I had from her. She pressed me all the time about Adam, leaving me with no doubt that she had was interested in him.

  As I pushed my way through the crowd, I reflected on the past few weeks. There had seemed no end to the line of women that flowed through Maundy’s parlor and dress shop. We worked as fast as our fingers would allow us, sometimes late into the night. Karah had gotten into the habit of sending the Brougham carriage around to pick me up at five o’clock, which was a blessing. But many was the night when Stokes had to wait for me, sometimes for hours. Regardless of the time of my return, my cousin would be there in the Blue Room with a plate of food and a smile, eager to hear about my day at Mobile’s busiest dress shop. I often invited her to visit me at the shop, to come get to know Maundy and the other women I worked with, but she always refused, saying that she did not want to miss her mother’s arrival. I pointed out that her mother was not set to arrive for a few days, but she said that she wouldn’t put it past her to arrive early.

  After all these weeks of being with Karah, I knew very little about her mother other than that she was a popular and gifted actress and quite a beauty. Karah showed me handbills with her image and even shared a tiny portrait of her in a locket that Karah wore about her neck. From what I could see, Karah looked very much like her only thinner and not nearly as flamboyantly dressed. I did not feel anxious about her arrival. I assumed that anyone related to Karah would be kind and friendly.

  During one of my late nights at work Adam came by the shop, but Maundy sent him away. She told him we were rushed to finish ball gowns and could not be bothered with a social visit. Listening on the other side of the parlor door, I heard the entire conversation. Maundy was polite but firm in her refusal to let him see me, yet she invited him to visit her for dinner after Mardi Gras ended. I said nothing when she returned but tucked the information away for later use.

  The following evening I arrived at Seven Sisters as usual, tired and hungry, but I immediately knew something was wrong. Karah wasn’t at her usual place at the round cherrywood table that we often used for our late-night suppers. She was thumbing through one of the many books of poems in the ladies’ parlor and barely noticed when I arrived. A stack of books was beside her on the table and I could tell she was looking for something important.

  “Good evening, cousin,” I said pleasantly and reached for the plate that Hooney left for me. The bread was dry and the soup was cold, but I was so hungry it didn’t matter. I dipped the bread into the oniony broth and snacked away.

  She turned around, her face in a book, then looked up and gasped. “Oh goodness. What time is it?”

  “It’s nearly nine o’clock. I didn’t mean to startle you. I spoke, but you were immersed in your book. Must be an interesting read.”

  “I was just…well, you’re here now.”

  “Yes, and I think this is the last late night for me, unless Mrs. Broadus brings her daughter’s dress back for some reason or another—which wouldn’t surprise me in the least. The way that young lady puts on weight is astonishing. Is there something I can help you find?”

  She shook her head and placed the book on top of the others in the nearby stack. Docie walked in, scowled at me and walked back out. Looking even more uncomfortable, Karah said, “Please excuse Docie. She’s not used to socializing with other people.”

  I wiped the crumbs from my hands and said, “Why do you keep her, Karah? She isn’t only unpleasant, she also is dangerous and has no regard for our family’s things. Not to mention how abominably she treats you. I do not understand. Surely you can find another maid.”

  She shrugged and absently ran her finger across the spine of the book. Since she was content to stare at her hands, I asked, “What is it? I can see that something is on your mind. Is it your mother? Should I leave?”

  “No, I do not want you to go. I think when she meets you she will like you, just as I do. But the truth is my mother is very changeable and I am never too good at predicting her thoughts or her moods. That’s not what has me puzzled, though.”

  “Oh? What is it?” My eyes hurt, and my fingers felt stiff and dry, but I waited to hear her revelation.

  “Adam Iverson came by Seven Sisters today.”

  I sat up straighter and began to apologize. “I will speak with him. I promise he won’t come back again. Did he behave inappropriately?”

  My lovely cousin pursed her lips in thoughtful expression. The ivory candles on the table sputtered on their shiny candlesticks. I felt an unmistakable draft in the room. The flickering flames cast strange shadows on the wall beside us. “He is in love with you, I think.” I could not hide my surprise at her observation. “Mr. Iverson is unashamedly flirtatious, but all he wanted to talk about was you. Do you love him, Delilah? He is rather handsome in a rugged, farmhand sort of way.”

  “I…” I felt my skin warm, and I toyed with my bread.

  Karah quickly added, “Perhaps your affections lie somewhere else now, as Mr. Iverson seems to believe.”

  How would I navigate this turn in conversation? Until tonight, Karah had never asked me about Adam or our relationship, and I was too tired to play parlor games with her. My rebellious heart won over the intelligent part of my mind that encouraged me to tread lightly.

  “I loved him as a brother, until I knew he was not my brother. I thought he felt the same way about me.”

  “So he mistreated you? Took advantage of you?” She tilted her head and folded her hands in front of her on the table. Seeing my hesitation, she poured me another glass of water.

  “No, not intentionally. Adam cannot be anything but who
he is. I think we were naïve—I was naïve—but there were no promises made. I had no promise.”

  “You yielded yourself to him?” Karah leaned forward, the tiny lines on her forehead deepening as she whispered. I sipped my water and did not answer her but merely gave her a glum look. She obviously had never been in love. “What about Jackson? Are you interested in him, Delilah? Not to be crass, cousin, but I do not know any other way to ask.”

  Surprised by the question I unthinkingly blurted an answer. “Mr. Keene and I have a business relationship. I consider him a friend but only a friend.”

  “Then you would not mind if he called on me?”

  “I have no reason to object.”

  She reached across the table and squeezed my hand happily. “I am so pleased to hear that. Forgive me for being so forward, cousin. I just had to know. If I thought you had your cap set for him, I would never encourage his attention. I have strong feelings on this matter. I never want to be accused of competing with my dear cousin. There are too many men in the world for that.”

  I smiled back at her, pretending to be happy. Why hadn’t I told her the truth, that I was not sure how I felt about Mr. Keene? Now it was too late say so. Quietly I internalized the meaning of all this. Because of my confession, Karah now knew all about my involvement with Adam and she made it plain she had designs on our attorney. Maundy was right—I was too quick to speak my mind.

  “Did you hear me, Delilah?”

  “Yes,” I lied, then took a sip of my water. I did not drink often, but I suddenly felt the need for a glass of wine or some of Maundy’s strong drink.

  “Really? What did I say?”

  “I apologize, Karah. I guess I am more tired than I thought.” I stood up and stretched my sore back.

  “It wasn’t important. We can talk tomorrow. Can I count on you to help me get the house ready for Mother tomorrow? I want everything to look its best. I am sure Maundy can spare you one day.”

  “Yes, I will gladly help you. I think I will go to bed now. Do you need help finding your lost bookmark?”