The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  “Bookmark?”

  “Yes, or whatever it is you are looking for.” I pointed to the messy stack of dusty books piled on the table.

  “Oh, bookmark. No, I think I will retire too in just a few minutes. It is getting late. Good night, cousin.”

  “Good night, Karah.” Feeling unhappy, I left her in the ladies’ parlor and walked down the hall toward the staircase. No candles had been lit in the hallway, and the entire top floor was like a yawning black cavern. The hem of my blue dress had torn as I stepped out of the carriage earlier. I would need to repair it, but now I just wanted to prevent myself from tripping over it and tumbling up or down the stairs. I picked up my skirts to climb up to Calpurnia’s room when an odd amber-colored light shining in from the glass door to the Moonlight Garden caught my eye. I paused to decide if I should call out to Karah, but the events of the evening still stung. I decided to have a look myself. It was not unusual to see lights on the property at night, but the color of the light attracted my attention. I had never seen anything like it. As I walked toward the door, the light moved away from the garden entrance, but I could plainly see it shining through the trees.

  I opened the door and hoped to avoid waking Stokes, who slept in the small room under the stairs. He was an odd man—an empty man who did not enjoy idle chitchat, especially with women. From what Karah whispered to me on the few occasions we had the opportunity to speak without enduring Docie’s disapproving stares, Stokes had been Mr. Cottonwood’s right-hand man, never too far from his master. I wondered what the former slave thought about me—if he even knew or cared who I was. The door clicked behind me, and I stepped out on the brick walkway.

  Karah and I had walked through the garden during my initial tour of the home, but there had been plenty of daylight to see by. In the day it was a marvelous place, full of hidden spots for reading a book or, as Karah put it, stealing a kiss. But it seemed a forlorn place at night. It was completely dark, with the exception of the half-moon above me and the odd amber light hovering on the other side of the trees.

  I walked the half circle to the opening of the maze path, pausing to see if I could determine the source of the light. Tendrils from my usually neat bun slapped my face as a blast of wind blew through the garden, almost pulling me down the path. My hand flew up to shield my face from an unexpected shower of damp magnolia leaves. Then I heard my name whispered on the breeze, “Delilah, Delilah.”

  “Who’s there?” I asked in a near whisper. My heart was pounding in my chest as if I had run through the whole garden. My skin tingled, and my lips felt dry. I stopped on the path, my mind torn between the choices—run back to the house or continue my search to determine the source of the unusual light. “Who’s there?” I said in a stronger voice. The wind blew steadily, but at least the trees were not pelting me with foliage. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I watched the light bounce further into the maze. Curiosity won the battle with fear, and I pressed on. In the half light of the moon I could at least see the path ahead of me, and the strange bouncing light seemed to have stopped on the path to wait for my arrival. Walking more quickly now, I called out again, “Who are you? Is that you, Stokes?”

  I walked deeper into the twisting garden, to the left and then to the right again until I felt disoriented.

  What was I doing? This was none of my business, was it? This was not my house or my property. I was only a visitor here. Who did I think I was, policing the grounds as if I were a true Cottonwood? I had no weapon or any other way to defend myself, but I wasn’t thinking clearly as I pushed toward the light that now began to pulsate. The amber color darkened, and suddenly the light disappeared. I scrambled down the hedge, scratching myself on a thorny branch. I swore under my breath—it was a word I had never used before, but I had heard Maundy use it plenty of times. Yet I did not stop. I could not explain this compulsion, but I had to find and identify the source of the light. I stepped out of the maze into a clearing and nearly fell over dead.

  Standing in the center circle of the maze was a man, a tall man wearing a fine suit with white collars and no hat. Unmoving, he watched me as I approached just as if he were a statue. I had passed many statues in this garden on my journey here, but none were as frightening as the man who stood before me. I paused about twenty feet from him, waiting for some indication that he was a living being. Another breeze blew through the Moonlight Garden, and on the breeze I smelled magnolias, burning leaves and something else…

  My hands flew into fists, and I looked around to see if anyone else had joined us. If there were two men I should certainly run, but I saw no one else. What should I do? Should I turn to flee the garden? I stared in disbelief as a whirlwind of leaves blew between us, blasting my gown and hair. In seconds, it had lashed my hair completely free from its pins. As the wind blew past me I could plainly see that the intruder’s hair did not move! He was certainly a statue—or something. A feeling of dread filled my soul with horror, and finally I gained control of my legs. As quickly as I had run into the garden, I began to run out.

  I took a right turn down the long hedgerow and ran left, traveling under the blooming dogwoods. I took another left and ran the length of the magnolia-lined trail. My eyes were wide, and my breath came fast and hard. I knew I was heading the right way—there were pods and leaves covering the ground, and the white petals shone bright in the moonlight. My forgotten torn hem caught my foot, and I tripped and went sliding across a pile of damp, musky leaves. I skinned my elbow, but I could not really feel the pain.

  I heard footsteps behind me on the leaves and knew I was not alone. I was too afraid to move.

  Maybe if I remain very still, he will not see me!

  Slowly I pushed my hair out of my face and could see a pair of shoes a few feet from me. With complete horror, I looked up…and there he was, glaring down at me. The stranger reached his hand toward me, and his long nails were dirty and gray. I scrambled away from him, scooting back on my hands and climbing awkwardly to my feet. I stood breathing hard as the thing surveyed me. Since I stood frozen, afraid for my life, I stared back. His unearthly pale skin appeared as if it had never seen the sun. He had a thin, narrow nose, sculpted lips and dark eyes—eyes that had no life in them. On closer inspection I could see that his jacket and trousers were dusty as if he slept in the dirt. My soul was offended on such a deep level, but I could barely understand it. Then it occurred to me. This man was not alive—I was looking into the face of a ghost.

  As the awareness of my situation dawned upon me, I could see the amusement in his eyes. I knew who he was—or at least what he was, and he knew that too. Since he was not leaving or moving I asked him, “What are you doing here?”

  He took a step toward me, and instinctively I moved backwards. In an elegant dead voice he said, “I am waiting for someone.”

  “Who are you waiting for?” I whispered in the darkness. He moved toward me without moving his feet. It was a sort of glide. He was only a few feet from me now, and as I watched his face began to change…the skin became pinker, the dark eyes took on a dark blue color, and he appeared to breathe. The breeze blew again, lifting the hair off of his collar. Despite the amazing effect, I knew it was all an illusion. He wanted me to think he was alive, but I knew he was not. A smile curled on his lips, and I could see his perfect white teeth.

  “It does not matter now, Delilah. She is not here, but you will do. Would you like to take a walk with me?” He offered his hand to me as innocently as a child, but I had no intention of reaching for it.

  “No, I don’t think I will.” There we stood facing one another, he unmoving and my feet locked in place. Then I heard a voice, a familiar voice, a living voice calling to me from the house.

  “Delilah? Come inside! There is a storm brewing.” The garden intruder glanced at the doorway and then at me. He smiled and rudely licked his lips before he disappeared, melting away until his image vanished. Finally free to move, I bolted toward the door, remembering to lift my tattered h
em as I ran. I climbed the steps and scurried through the open door and into the arms of my cousin.

  “Delilah! Look at you! What happened? You are as cold as ice. Come inside now and I’ll make you a hot cup of tea.” I wept on her shoulder and clung to her as if she were the only thing that could save me from death. “Docie! Come quickly!”

  Kara’s servant walked serenely into the hallway, her hands clasped before her. “Yes? What is it?” The older woman was wearing a long flannel nightgown, and her gray hair hung in a long braid over her shoulder.

  “My cousin has seen something that frightened her. Have Stokes search the garden, and please bring us a cup of tea. Quickly now!” Karah led me away, her arm about my waist. I glanced over my shoulder at Docie. The woman had not moved. In fact, she stood in the hallway watching us with a smile on her face.

  She knew exactly what I had seen in the garden, and she wasn’t surprised by it.

  Chapter 13—Carrie Jo

  Before I left the house, I checked my email and was delighted to see that Desmond Taylor had replied with his answer: the Idlewood project was a go! I had done it—no, our team had done it! I felt excited by the prospect of beginning a new project. It would take a lot of time, probably a few years, but it would be worth it if we could stop the house from rotting into the Mobile landscape and return Idlewood to its proper place in society.

  Ashland had left early for a meeting with his attorney about some mysterious project. I wasn’t too sure about this new attorney. She seemed very hands-on, but she was a friend of his from high school; working with him would kind of be her big break. I trusted Ashland. He had been unfaithful to me only subconsciously. I had no reason to believe that there was anything funny going on, but my gut still told me to keep an eye on her.

  Rachel greeted me and pointed to the coffeepot. “Made some fresh. Get it while it’s hot.”

  Just the idea of drinking coffee made me queasy, and she must’ve seen the expression on my face. “What? I thought you loved my coffee.”

  My hand flew to my stomach, and I nodded glumly. “I do love your coffee, but my child? Not so much.”

  “Oh my God! Are you serious?” Rachel ran around her desk and put her arms around me. “I’m so happy! I’m going to be Aunt Rachel! When is he due? Or she due? Do we know what we’re having?”

  I laughed at her excitement. It felt good to tell my secret. “Not yet, but I’m sure we will find out soon enough. I have another appointment in a couple of weeks. Maybe by then they can do the ultrasound and we can see something.”

  She hugged me again, and before I could get to my office the front door opened. A very happy-looking Henri and Detra Ann walked in. “Hey, guys.” I greeted them with a smile.

  “Is this how you always start your workday, with a group hug?” Detra Ann laughed and hugged me too.

  Before I could say anything, Rachel blurted out, “It’s so wonderful! Carrie Jo is going to have a baby.”

  “I heard! I’m so happy for y’all!” Detra Ann hugged me again.

  Henri put his arm around me. “I had to tell her. You and Ashland will make wonderful parents. Congratulations again, CJ.”

  “Thank you. It is pretty wonderful. So what brings you two by? Not that I’m not glad to see you for any reason.”

  “Actually I came to talk to you about Lenore.”

  Thinking that Henri would want privacy I said, “Let’s go to my office. Rachel made some wonderful coffee if you’d like some.”

  “I think we’re good.”

  I sat behind my desk and invited them to take the two seats in front of me. I tossed my purse in the bottom drawer and turned my attention to my friends. “You should know she’s gone. I mean, she left this morning before Ashland or I got up. She mentioned something yesterday about getting a job as a housekeeper. I didn’t ask Doreen this morning, but I think she plans on talking to her.”

  Detra Ann leaned back in her chair and glanced at Henri. He said, “Lenore has always walked to the beat of a different drummer, even before Aleezabeth disappeared, but her behavior has gotten worse since. I am grateful that you allowed her to spend the night with you, but that is not a solution. I cannot put you guys in the middle of her mess, especially with a baby coming. I am not sure what she’s capable of.”

  “I agree that Lenore is…quirky. But I’m not sure she’s dangerous. Then again, you know her better than I do.”

  “I think I have a way to help her. What if, somehow, we could find out what happened to Aleezabeth? I mean, I would never ask for myself, but…she needs to know or she is never going to move past it. That’s why I am here, Carrie Jo. I know you and Ashland both have skills in this area. What if we could solve the mystery, find my cousin and bring her home? I think that would…” Just then, my phone rang. Despite my attempts to ignore it, Rachel poked her head in the doorway.

  “I hate to interrupt, but that’s Desmond Taylor on the phone. He’s on a cruise. I’m not sure when you could call him back. Do you want to speak with him?”

  I didn’t know what to say to Henri. Was he asking me to dream about Aleezabeth? “Forgive me, y’all, but I have to take this. Just give me a second.”

  “We can talk later.” Henri stood, and Detra Ann just stared at him.

  “It’s not that you guys aren’t important to me. It’s just that—”

  Henri raised his hand and gave me a dismissive wave. “I should never have asked.” He walked out of the office; I could hear the front door chimes, and I sat staring open-mouthed at Detra Ann.

  “What did I do?”

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s just worried about Lenore. And no matter what he tells you, he’s not over what happened to Aleezabeth. Tell you what—why don’t we meet you for dinner and then we can talk.”

  “That sounds great. Why don’t you guys come over about six? I’m really sorry, Detra Ann.”

  “Nothing to worry about. You leave him to me. We will be there.” She walked out of my office in her shiny taupe heels.

  “Okay!” I called after her, still puzzled by what just happened. I picked up the phone.

  Desmond Taylor might have been on a cruise, but he was certainly in work mode. He had a slew of questions, and I did my best to answer them. After the thirty-minute call ended, I couldn’t help but worry about Henri. It was not like him to be short-tempered with me—I knew something was seriously wrong.

  The day dragged by, but finally five o’clock came around and I waved goodbye to Rachel as I headed home. Doreen had graciously agreed to cook for our dinner guests, and my stomach was grumbling. I found Ashland in my office using my computer. I dumped my purse and briefcase on the side table, slid my arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Just checking on a few things. You know, I never did give you my anniversary present.” He turned the wooden chair around and patted his leg playfully.

  “You’re right.” I slid into his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. “But unfortunately your gift is going to have to wait. We have dinner guests coming, remember? I texted you earlier.”

  He smiled wickedly and said, “This will only take a minute.”

  I blushed and scolded him, “Ashland.”

  “It’s not that, and I’m pretty sure that those kinds of gifts take a little more than a minute.” I smiled back at him and punched him playfully on the arm. “Open the browser,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Open the browser on the computer. I want you to see this.”

  I reached over and pulled up the browser window he had minimized. It was a website featuring historic Mobile landmarks. I had to admit that I was puzzled. “Okay, so this is Widow’s Row. I have seen this before. What am I looking for?”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “This house was originally part of Widow’s Row. It was housing for Civil War widows—there were quite a few of them. But there was something of a scandal there around the turn of the century.
At the end of this street would have been the Southern Market. Right here.” I pointed to a map that showed the layout of the old city. “One row of houses ran east, and the second ran west, that way. Of course, the county courthouse was across the street back then. It’s a shame that most of those houses are gone.”

  “Not all of them are.”

  “Really?”

  “A few have been wonderfully restored, like the Murray House, but there is one that’s kind of been left behind. It’s on Eslava Street.”

  “Eslava…it runs parallel to Virginia Street, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what am I looking for?”

  He reached around me and clicked on another screen. A tiny house, sometimes called a “shotgun” house, popped up on the screen. “It’s yours. I thought it would make the perfect office for your new business. You could restore it and really show off your talents. And of course, you’d be restoring a patch of Mobile. What do you think?”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. “I think it’s wonderful.” I put my arms around his neck again and hugged him. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “And I didn’t get you anything.”

  “Nonsense. You gave me the best gift of all.” He nervously touched my stomach. I nodded and put my hand over his. I kissed him, feeling so grateful not only for the wonderful gift but for the fact that I had someone as wonderful as Ashland in my life. What a fool I had been to make such a big deal out of his stupid dreams! I felt blessed beyond belief.

  I heard voices in the hall. “Oops. To be continued. Our guests have arrived a few minutes early.”

  With one last kiss I scooted out of his lap, and together we walked out of the office holding hands like two teenagers.

  “Hey, guys!” I called to them. “Glad you could make it. I’ll check with Doreen on dinner. Be right back.” Ashland squeezed my hand, and I went to see if I could help in the kitchen. As expected Doreen was a whirlwind of activity; a sauce pot on the stove filled the kitchen with delicious flavor. She slid the pork roast out of the oven and set the pan on the stove top before she spun around and gasped.