Hmm…maybe Doreen had popped in while I was in the shower. Yeah, that was probably it. Anyway, no harm, no foul.
I pretended I didn’t hear the faint sound of giggling.
Chapter Three
By six o’clock, I had made a significant dent in the chaos. The built-in bookcases in my office, gifts from Ashland, were full of my research books and a decent collection of leather-bound classics. I arranged them by color first, then changed my mind and lined them up by author. When I was finally satisfied with my library, I turned my attention to the various papers, pictures and other materials I had collected over the years. Ashland had also surprised me with a custom-made desk, deep enough to allow me to spread out my papers but not so long that it hindered access to the French doors leading to the private backyard garden that would one day spring to life. I did love this room; it reminded me of a study in an old 1940s movie, like Rebecca, down to the small fireplace on the outside wall. I imagined spending long days here, happily buried in forgotten manuscripts. I wanted to continue working simply because I loved it. That was one reason why I volunteered to help Roz Tillman organize her family’s estate. What else would I do with my time if I wasn’t working?
One day, Ashland and I would raise a family—I believed that—but now wasn’t the time.
Sipping my iced tea, I walked to the window and pulled back the white linen curtain. The sun was sliding down the sky. It would have been the perfect sunset to watch on the Happy Go Lucky. I had meant to catch the sunset earlier, but time had gotten away from me. The jazz station played something by Etta James, which made me miss Ashland all the more. I had stopped checking my phone half an hour ago. He would probably be in New Orleans by now. Maybe I should have tagged along after all.
I opened the door and breathed in the fresh air. The gas lamp kicked on, its amber light casting a few fall shadows in the baleful garden. The all-too-brief rainstorm earlier had blown through, taking with it all the warmth of the day. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the coolness. I toyed with the idea of abandoning my office project and maybe grabbing a bite to eat somewhere—I’d made so much progress already—but then my neighbor stepped out on his porch. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear his very private phone conversation. Closing the door as discreetly as I could, I stepped back inside. I turned the lock and nearly jumped out of my skin for the second time.
Someone walked past my door quickly and without saying a word to me.
“Doreen? Is that you?” Setting the glass down on the corner of the desk, I walked into the hallway. “Doreen?” I froze—the front door was standing wide open once again. More leaves were in the hallway, as if someone had deliberately brought in baskets of shriveled leaves and scattered them on the hardwood floor. My half hour of work sweeping them all out earlier had been for naught. I turned off the radio and called again, “Doreen? Ashland?” Chills ran down my spine. I know I saw someone! I walked to the front door and closed it again. And I know I locked this door!
I didn’t bother calling again. Something was happening, but the ghosts of the past were silent, at least the ones I knew personally. The urge to flee was overwhelming. I ran back to the dining room and grabbed my keys and purse off the sideboard. Just as I turned to walk out, I noticed a fat, worn envelope resting on top of a stack of unopened envelopes. As frightened as I felt, it caught my attention. I didn’t remember ever seeing it, and I had been working in this room and the adjoining one all afternoon. It was addressed to me with no return address, but that didn’t matter. I recognized the tight, controlled handwriting.
This was from Mia! Had she been here? Had she escaped from the facility?
I stared at the return postmark. It had arrived a month ago—no wonder I hadn’t seen it. Ashland and I had been gone for months. Why would Doreen set this here and not where she put the rest of the mail? That familiar, unsettled feeling began to creep over me. No, I didn’t want to be here anymore. Not right now. Taking the envelope with me, I left my Victorian home behind. I pulled onto Government Street and headed to Bette’s house. Anywhere would be better than here, and I could use some comfort and advice. As I closed the door behind me, I heard a stifled giggle. It was her—Isla was here! In my house!
Stopping at the red light just past my house, I reminded myself to breathe. My knuckles were white—I had a death grip on the steering wheel. This was no time to freak out. Surely I was wrong. We had defeated Isla, right? Breaking my rule about using my phone while driving, I dug in my purse. I had to talk to Ashland, now! Trying to beat the light change, I tapped on the screen and called my husband. “Hi, this is Ashland…” Voicemail. Rats! How would that message sound? “Honey, please come home. I think the ghost is back.” I tossed the phone back in my purse.
Focus on the road, girl! It was a pleasant drive for a Friday night. Not a ton of cars out on the normally busy street, and many of the old houses along Government were decorated for fall. The sight of porches full of pumpkins and the trees draped with goofy sheets meant to look like ghosts helped calm my nerves. Still a bit panicked, I pulled into Bette’s driveway. From the road I could see that she wasn’t home, and my heart sank in my chest. Her light blue convertible, a gift from Ashland and me, was gone and the house lights except the side porch light were off. I pulled into the driveway just to have a place to think for a minute. I checked my phone again but Ashland hadn’t bothered to call me back. What was going on with him?
Glancing up at my old apartment, I wished I could barge in and make myself at home. That’s where my life here in Mobile had begun, in Bette’s over-the-garage apartment. I missed that place. Bienville, Bette’s orange tabby, was nowhere to be found. I spied Iberville, his less than friendly brother, staring at me from the gardenias that grew beneath Bette’s kitchen window. Now what? My appetite had disappeared, but I didn’t want to go back to the house right now. I tore open the package on the seat next to me. All that was inside was a scrap of paper and a worn leather-bound book. With some trepidation, I unfolded the note. Yes, this was from Mia.
Nothing I can say will ever make up for what I have done. However, after reading this, maybe you will understand.
–M
Refolding the note, I examined the unusual book cover. The leather cover was embossed with the image of a peacock showing his feathers. Flipping on the map light, I studied it closer: The Stars that Fell by E. Halderon. I didn’t see anything that jumped out at me as I leafed through the pages, just faded letters on delicate paper. I closed the book and slid it back in the envelope. Now wasn’t the time to read an old book from a former friend. Lightning cracked across the sky in the distance. I had to go somewhere—I couldn’t just hang out in Bette’s driveway all night.
Seven Sisters! Detra Ann mentioned that they were having nightly tours during October. I put the car in reverse and made the quick trip to the plantation. It had been three months since I had stepped foot on the property, and the thought of returning thrilled me. Maybe my former intern and fellow historian Rachel Kowalski would be there. I turned down the long drive that led to the house. Someone had trimmed back the hedges, and I could see the top floor of Seven Sisters shining brightly all the way down the driveway.
It was barely dark, but there were half a dozen cars in the driveway, presumably to take the Halloween tour. I was thankful there were no inflatable cartoon witches on the lawn or plastic bats hanging from the live oaks. Detra Ann and her crew had lined the pathway to the house with hurricane glasses that held white flameless candles. It was lovely and simple, evoking a certain understated magic.
I parked the car, stuffed Mia’s envelope in my purse and followed the sidewalk to the massive front steps. I paused at the bottom, remembering the first moment I stood here, the night I met Ashland. He had emerged from the overgrown brush like a phantom, but his easy smile had won my heart.
Standing near the front door was a perky young woman, an Azalea Trail Maid, according to her massive purple antebellum dress. The gown moved as she waved to me and walked to t
he porch edge. She handed me a tour brochure. “Hi! The next tour starts in 30 minutes, but you can step into the foyer and enjoy some refreshments.”
“No, thank you. I am not here for the tour. Is Rachel around? Rachel Kowalski?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I don’t really work here, but the lady in charge, Miss Dowd, is inside. Maybe she can help you.”
“Alright, thank you.” I smiled at the teenager and walked through the open door. How different it was now than the first moment I saw it! No more lumpy carpet and musty rooms. The walls were meticulously painted, and hardwood floors shone brilliantly throughout the house. Someone had placed a round table in the foyer, covered with more brochures and information about local historical landmarks. I didn’t like that, but the house wasn’t mine anymore. Not that it ever really was. It had belonged to Ashland’s family, but now it was just another historical property owned by the City of Mobile. Nobody greeted me in the lobby, so I made myself at home. I walked first to the ladies’ parlor, where everything was exactly where I left it. As I looked around the room, scenes from my dreams played out in my head. Over by the fireplace was where Calpurnia had first laid eyes on David Garrett. It was such a sad room, really. The side door was closed, but I could hear voices in the Rose Garden.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the tour is in the Moonlight Garden now. Just out the back door. Oh, Carrie Jo! I didn’t know you were here.” It was Detra Ann, surprised but polite.
Suddenly, I didn’t know what to say. “I was just in the neighborhood. I mean, I thought I could…”
“No need to explain. Come on into the Blue Room. We can chat in there unless you prefer to sit in here.”
“No, the Blue Room is fine.” I followed behind her, anxious to see what my old office looked like now. The walls were still painted a cool blue. Calpurnia’s painting hung over the fireplace, as it should. All of our desks and equipment had been removed, replaced with period furniture. There was a modern piece, a small love seat, by one of the tall windows. Detra Ann and I sat, and I fumbled for what to say. I needn’t have worried; she was still the take-charge kind of gal. Like I used to be before all this. What happened to me?
“What can I help you with, Carrie Jo?”
“I, uh, I just wanted to come by and see the place. It feels like forever since I walked these halls.”
Detra Ann sat with perfect posture on the couch beside me. I felt an awkward smile stretch across my face. She gave me a sweet smile of her own in return. “I understand that. This place must feel like home. You are always welcome to stop by, Carrie Jo. You know, you’re kind of a legend around here. Chip and Rachel just adore you.”
“That’s sweet to say. Those two were hard workers, and I am glad that at least Rachel is still here. I guess Chip got the job at the Mobile Museum?”
“No, he didn’t. To his credit, there was some stiff competition. He has been lurking around here, mostly to see Rachel, I think. He spends a lot of time working with his professor in the northern part of the county. Some project trying to find the old fort, Fort Louis de La Louisiane.”
“That’s interesting. Wow, if they found the actual location—that would be such an important find.” She nodded and then we sat quietly again, the sound of the clock ticking on the fireplace filling the emptiness between us. Seven Sisters still had the comforting smell of wet paint and fresh wood. Maybe we had done something good after all, Ashland and I.
Detra Ann’s blue eyes scrutinized me. “I know why you’re really here, Carrie Jo.”
I caught my breath. “You do?” You know that I’m hearing and seeing things again? That I’m not dreaming and that my husband barely talks to me anymore?
“Yes, you’re here about TD. Aren’t you?”
I didn’t know what to say. I came here because I think Isla Beaumont is in my house. “I won’t deny that I am curious. What’s actually going on, Detra Ann? Bette mentioned he had some sort of breakdown?”
She leaned back against the love seat, her posture collapsing under the obvious weight of their relationship. She slipped off her heels and sighed. “You could call it that. All I know is that things were going along fine, and then the incident in the Moonlight Garden happened. Everything went downhill after that. He tried to get over it—I tried to help him—but it didn’t happen. He had nightmares, bad nightmares. He’d wake up screaming.”
I hadn’t known that. How would I have? “Did you ever get him to go to church? You mentioned giving that a try.”
She nodded. “He went, but I guess he never found the answers he was looking for. Honestly, I don’t know how to help him. I am crazy about him—as you well know—but I am not going to date a man who refuses to work and mopes around all day. Have you seen him lately?”
Now was the time for some honesty. I couldn’t keep it from her. “He called me earlier. Says he wants to talk. I am supposed to meet him tomorrow afternoon.”
“Carrie Jo, I know you have a big heart, and I care about TD too. But he’s not the same guy you remember. He is angry all the time. The littlest things set him off. I mean, I do not think he would harm you, but then again, he is not the laid-back, sweet person we used to know. He is moody and…” Her pretty freckled nose crinkled. “He drinks a lot. One of my brothers is an alcoholic. I know the signs, and I refuse to enable TD.”
“I owe this to him. I feel responsible for what happened. If it were not for me, for my dreaming, we would have never been in that garden digging around. I am the reason he is drinking. I have to make it right.”
Detra Ann reached across the love seat and took my hand. “You can’t help who you are, any more than I can or anyone else can. You did not make TD drink. He fell apart on his own.” I nodded, but I was not convinced. “Look at all the good that has happened, Carrie Jo. Now we know what happened here. Calpurnia can rest now. All of them, they can rest because we all know the truth. That’s no small thing.”
“No, it’s not,” I agreed. But they’re not all resting!
Chapter Four
“Detra Ann, I have a huge favor to ask you. You do not have to say yes, but I need to ask it anyway.”
“Okay, what is it?” She looked at me intently, waiting for me to spill the beans. Would she think I was crazy? Until this conversation, I would never have believed that Detra Ann cared about how I felt, not one bit.
“First, I promise you, I will help TD. Whatever has passed between you two, I know you belong together, just like Ashland and I do. I can’t explain it, but I know.” She gave a tiny smile. “Fight for what you have—what you want, Detra Ann. Pray for it. Be patient…he’s going to come back around. Whatever is bothering him, we’ll uncover it, but I need you to help me.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
How to explain when I wasn’t sure myself? “TD had a part in what we uncovered. He helped us—he’s probably experiencing the same kind of resistance we have.”
Her big blue eyes widened. “You mean like spiritual resistance?”
“That would be my guess. Now you see why I have to help him—I know Ashland would want that too. Honestly, ever since that night, nothing has been the same. Not for me, not for Ashland. Obviously not for TD.”
Detra Ann’s eyes betrayed her feelings. She was telling the truth: she didn’t understand, and she was definitely afraid.
“You have to keep fighting. There’s nothing anyone, dead or alive, can do to keep you apart—not if you were meant to be together!”
At that moment, a glass figurine from a nearby side table, one of the less expensive ones in the arrangement, flew off the mantelpiece and shattered on the floor at our feet. Both of us jumped up, careful to avoid the glass.
Detra Ann clutched my hands, and we just stood there and waited for more strange activity, but nothing happened. Detra Ann breathed a sigh of relief. “What just happened?”
“I’m not really sure, but someone or something did not like our conversation. That means we’re going the right way! Tha
t’s where I need your help.”
“Anything. What is it?” Still looking around the room nervously, Detra Ann slipped her heels back on.
“I want to spend the night here, in Calpurnia’s room—no, wait. In Christine’s room. I won’t harm anything, and I can’t really explain it, but I feel compelled to stay. You see, I know I missed something. A piece of the puzzle is missing. When I find it, all will be well.”
“You want to dream, don’t you? I don’t know. What would Ashland say about this, Carrie Jo? He loves you so much. If you were hurt, or if something happened to you, he would never forgive me.”
“Nothing is going to happen. I am going to sleep with the lights on, but I need to try and dream here. I can’t help but feel that I left something undone. I missed something. We missed something. I have to find out what and make it right. Worst of all, Isla is still wandering around. Although I haven’t seen her yet, not fully, I know it’s her. I need her to be gone! Please, let me stay just this one time.”
Detra Ann smiled. “Okay, on one condition—no, two conditions. First, I stay with you, and second, you come to the Halloween Ball here. Agreed?”
“That’s not necessary. I can stay alone. I swear I’m not afraid to be alone.”
“I am sure you aren’t, but you won’t be. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.” She wasn’t budging, and strangely enough, I was glad. I hated the idea of taking part in a ball. I was the worst dancer on the planet! But if it meant I could stay at Seven Sisters, I would just have to put on my dancing shoes and a smile.
“Fine, agreed, but we can’t sleep together.” Her look of surprise spoke volumes. I chuckled. “No! I mean in the same bed. You see, when I dream, there is a chance I can transfer and see your dreams too. I don’t want to know what you are thinking when you are dreaming. That’s an invasion of your privacy. You can stay in the other room or set up a cot in Christine’s room. But are you sure you want to do this?”
The Stars that Fell Page 4