by Harper Lin
“Girl, you know you didn’t need to get all dolled up to visit kin.” He patted her gently on the shoulder as she stretched up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek.
“I knew for sure the most handsome men in all of Savannah were going be to here. I most certainly was going to dress to the nines.” She batted her eyelashes.
As Becky descended the stairs, she felt her insides writhe and twist uncomfortably. This was torture. If only Fanny had arrived thirty or even twenty minutes later, Becky could have already been on her way to Martha’s. But there was no use fussing about it now. For her mother, Becky cleared her throat, pulled her lips into a grin, and walked out onto the front porch.
“Is that Cousin Rebecca?” Fanny asked, putting her hand to her throat. “My heavens, Aunt Kitty. I never thought I’d see that day where Rebecca didn’t have a stain or rip on her dress. Have you given up your tomboy ways?” she tittered as she walked up and wrapped her arms around Becky in an awkward hug.
“Not quite,” Becky replied, smiling while crossing her eyes and looking at her father over Fanny’s shoulder. He chuckled in reply. “I’ll help you with your bags, Fanny. It’s nice to see you. I think you’ll be staying in the yellow room?” She looked at her mother for approval.
“Oh, no. Put her in the white room. That way she’s right next to your room, Becky,” Kitty instructed.
Becky nodded and picked up one of the satchels the driver had set on the porch steps.
“One more,” Fanny said to Becky, pointing down at the second satchel, which was bigger than the first. With clenched teeth, Becky hoisted the bags up in her arms and headed inside while Kitty and Judge ran their mouths a mile a minute, with Fanny joining right in.
“Now you be sure to come down and have some sweet tea before y’all leave for the party,” Kitty said as Becky headed up the stairs.
Becky bumped and rocked from side to side as each bag felt like it contained half a quarry.
The white room was a monument to Southern femininity. Everything was pristine white. The lace curtains. The down comforter. The chaise lounge next to the French doors that led out onto the upstairs porch. The white was made even crisper by the dark color of the oak furniture.
“I’ve always loved this room,” Fanny gushed as she entered behind Becky, who dropped the bags with a thud. “Rebecca, please be careful. Those bags must get me back to Paris someday.”
“If they survived your boat trip, I think they’ll survive me,” Becky replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish getting ready for Martha’s party.”
“Thank heavens,” Fanny sighed. “For a moment I was afraid that was what you were wearing.” Becky was about to reply when Fanny suddenly changed gears. “I have always loved this room. They’d never have anything so obscenely lacy in Paris, but it does have its own quaint charm.”
“We should be leaving soon. Mama and Daddy are driving themselves. I’m sure you’d love to catch up with them. You and I will have plenty of time at the party,” Becky insisted.
“Well, are you driving yourself?” Fanny asked.
“No. My friend, the neighbor boy, Teddy, is picking me up. He should be here any minute, and I still have to wrap Martha’s gift.” Becky saw the sudden interest in Fanny’s eyes. They flickered like those of a wolf suddenly hearing the cry of a sheep separated from the flock. Every woman at Martha’s party had better hold on to her beau tonight.
“Well, I’d just love to tag along. I’m sure your beau wouldn’t mind,” Fanny said coyly.
“He’s not my beau. He’s just… Teddy.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me, Rebecca. I won’t tell.” Becky was sure she could trust the snake in the garden more than her cousin. “Does Martha know?”
“Know what?”
“That you are interested in this Teddy fellow.”
“I’m not interested in him. He’s just my friend. We’ve been friends for ages. Oh, but I think that you might enjoy the company of one of the fellas who I know will be in attendance. His name is… uh, the Heathcliff boy. His first name escapes me at the moment, but I’ll bet you two will have a swinging time.” Becky backed into her bedroom. “I just have to wrap Martha’s gift.”
“Well, if you need any help with your hair, give me a shout,” Fanny said just before Becky closed her bedroom door. She walked over to her window and watched as the sky got darker. A little thunderstorm wouldn’t stop Martha from having the biggest soiree in the county. She squinted as she looked across the tobacco fields toward the edge of the cemetery. It looked like the sky had cast a darker shadow there. Were her eyes playing tricks on her like they had been when the picture of Adam had changed? Yes, that was what it was. She just wasn’t getting enough sleep. After Martha’s party, Becky would hibernate like a bear for a couple of days.
Still, as she looked out the window, the dark shadow remained.
Chapter Seven
As Becky listened to Fanny from the rumble seat of Teddy’s car, she let her mind drift. As much as she’d like to bask in her distaste for her cousin and pick apart everything Fanny said with a fine-toothed comb, she couldn’t concentrate on anything except those words in Martha’s invitation. Who could she have invited?
“I’m telling you, Teddy, you’d be a natural in Paris,” Fanny gushed.
“Thanks, doll, but I think I’ll keep my feet right where they are. I think I might sound a bit like a rube with my Southern twang interfering with all that flowery dialect,” Teddy replied.
“Nonsense. Wouldn’t Teddy sound dapper speaking French, Rebecca?”
“Who’s Rebecca?” Teddy asked.
“He’d be one dapper egg,” Becky said before tickling his ear with the fingers of her gloves. He gave her a wink, clicking his tongue, then hit the gas, causing both girls to squeal with excitement.
“Goodness, will you look at this?” Teddy said as they neared the Bourdeaux property. Cars were lined up along the road, and dozens were parked in the grassy field leading up to the house. “I hope you ladies don’t mind walking a piece.”
“Not me.” Becky pulled off her strappy evening shoes before hopping out of the car and swinging her purse over her shoulder.
“It looks like the Bourdeauxs invited the entire population of Savannah to Martha’s party,” Teddy said.
“I do hope you’ll help make introductions,” Fanny said as she wrapped what Becky would call her talons around Teddy’s arm.
“Of course, Miss Fanny. But I do believe your reputation might have preceded you. Besides, you’re like kin to Martha, ain’t you?” Teddy asked.
“Our mothers have been the greatest of friends for years. But due to my traveling so much with Granny Louise, I’ve only just now gotten my bearings back here in Dixieland.”
Becky could have fallen into a bottomless hole, and she was sure neither Teddy nor Fanny would have noticed if she did. But she had to admit she was quickly feeling the excitement mount as she hurried toward the house.
Lanterns along the grass lit a path to the front porch. As much as she wanted to be grumpy, Becky just couldn’t. If Adam White was there, well, he was there, and so was she, and she’d dance with him and let him whisper in her ear, no matter what anyone thought of his Yankee upbringing. Besides, the war was long over.
A few fellas hung around the front of the house, smoking thick cigars, holding drinks in their hands, and clapping one another on the back as they told jokes and wove yarns. From inside she saw the shadows of couples cutting a rug as the music poured out of the open doors and windows.
Before she was discovered, Becky went wide around the house, straying off the lantern-lit path. The house looked like a wedding was going to happen there. Mrs. Bourdeaux had wildflower bouquets with lovely pink ribbons attached to every post around the place.
Without drawing any attention to herself, Becky walked toward the back door. Some people were there, too, but they’d retreated to the quieter end of the house to continue their conversations or even engage in
a little necking. What was a party without a kiss or two?
“Hi, Becky,” one woman said quietly as Becky climbed the back porch steps.
“Hi, Delilah. My, you look lovely. I love that color on you. Is that that handsome Zachary with you?”
“Hi, Becky.” The fella standing dangerously close to Delilah smiled and tipped his straw hat.
Along the porch, long tails of pink crepe paper and curly ribbons dangled down from the ceiling. The kitchen was bustling as the servants chatted loudly with one another, pulling things out of the icebox and oven. The staff brought silver platters of delicious-looking dainties out to the guests and took empty silver platters to the kitchen at the same time.
Just as she was about to head into the house to find the guest of honor, Becky saw the birthday cake. It was a three-tiered beauty covered in white frosting and pink flowers. She walked up to it and locked eyes with Penelope, the Bourdeauxs’ housekeeper.
“Don’t you come nowhere near this he’yar cake, Miss Becky.”
“I just wanted to take a peek, Penny,” Becky said as she innocently strolled closer to the counter where the cake was perched.
“Don’t you dare. You goin’ to stick you finger in my perfect frosting like you do all my cakes.” Penelope pulled a dishrag from her apron and started to swat at Becky, who tried not to laugh.
“You always blame me, but it isn’t me. Penny, would I lie to you?”
“Every chance you git. Now, go on! The party is in the other room and out in half the yard.” Penelope swatted her with the dishrag.
But just as Becky was about to give up and leave, one of the servants collided with another, causing an empty silver platter and a full pot of water to crash to the floor, making a huge ruckus.
Becky made her move and gouged out a scoop of frosting with her index finger from the right corner of the cake.
“What in the name of Sam Hill are you two doing… Oh, Becky Mackenzie! I’m goin’ to tell your mama!”
Becky hurried from the kitchen, smirking with her finger in her mouth as she waved to Penelope with the other hand. The big woman shook her head, but Becky knew she secretly loved it. Becky had seen Penelope’s boy coming home from World War I. After Penelope hadn’t heard from him in over three months, she was sure he was dead. But Becky assured her he wasn’t.
“He’ll be wearing his uniform and looking as handsome as ever,” Becky said soothingly. She couldn’t bear to see Penelope so lost and sad. “You just trust me. You’ll be seeing him within the month.”
As with many of Becky’s quiet predictions, this one also came true. Penelope’s son arrived home safely.
“I’ve got to get a piece of that cake,” Becky muttered as she slipped past a table full of men playing a serious game of cards.
“Hey, Becky. Pull up a chair. We could use another player,” said one of them, winking at Becky as she squeezed past.
When she looked down at the guy shuffling the deck, she recognized him from a couple of places Teddy had taken her to. His name was Tim or Tom. Something with a T, she was sure of that. He shuffled the cards until they were a blur. When he looked up at Becky, it was obvious from the glaze over his eyes that he’d had quite a few drinks. Becky smirked as she looked down at the cards. A yellow-eyed devil looked back at her as she watched each card slide in front of the men.
“Ha. So you can take my money, Pete? I ought to tell your mama you’re trying to lure me into this game of sin. Even got Beelzebub on the suit.” She laughed. “Save me a seat. I’ll be back.”
All the men chuckled except the dealer, who watched Becky as if he were seeing what her dress covered. As the weight of his gaze got heavier, Becky quickly walked into the first door on her right that led right into the study. She was going to exit through one of the open French doors that led to the porch but froze in her tracks.
There in the corner, staring up at the shelves of books, was that Heathcliff boy. With about as much grace and subtlety as an English bulldog in a bed of tulips, Becky ran to the door and quickly made her getaway in the direction of the front of the house. Sure, she was behaving rather rudely to the Heathcliff boy, but she’d make it up to him later.
“Becky Mackenzie!” called a familiar voice from the corner of the porch where a small group of people had gathered.
Becky squinted then smiled when she recognized the full figure of Aunt Rue. She waved and sauntered along the porch, finally slipping her shoes back on.
Aunt Rue wasn’t really an aunt of Martha’s. She was a woman from town whom everyone called Aunt Rue. She was very wealthy but for all intents and purposes looked like she just stumbled into town, perhaps falling out of an open train car door or shuffling up some dusty back road. But she was the kindest heart anyone ever could meet and was holding up a tall glass of something to Becky.
“What is this?” Becky asked.
“No matter. Take a sip.”
Becky did as Aunt Rue ordered, and her eyes bugged.
“Yikes. That hooch will peel the paint off the walls.” Becky handed the tall glass back to Aunt Rue. “Is Martha’s mother serving that?”
“No. I brought my own,” Aunt Rue said, pulling a slender flask from her robust bosom. “Let me know if you want a snort.”
“I think that swig will do me the rest of the night,” Becky replied.
“Good. I never did like sharing. But the real reason I wanted to call you over was to thank you.” Aunt Rue linked her arm through Becky’s and led her into the house. It was at least ten degrees warmer inside, but Becky didn’t mind. “Thank you for John.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Aunt Rue.”
“I do. I had myself all in knots over that man. I was sure he’d taken up with some Sheba and that was why he was sneaking around all the time. You have to believe me when I tell you he was acting a mite out of sorts.”
Aunt Rue pulled an elaborate black lace fan from the other side of her bosom and began to fan her sweaty face. John, who she fretted over like a mother hen over a chick, was her gardener. Some people suspected he did more than tend her magnolias, but Becky knew better. They were the best of friends, like brother and sister. But there had been a rift that Aunt Rue was sure had something to do with some harlot trying to steal John from her. For his gardening ability, of course. Aunt Rue had won the blue ribbon for her flowers from the Home Garden Club of Savannah for the past seven years. She wasn’t about to give up that title just so John could have a woman.
“So, who was the person he was seeing?” Becky asked.
“A friend of his from the war had stumbled into town. Hard on his luck. Nowhere to go and suffering from the shakes. John had put him up in the cellar without my knowledge. Like I’d have tossed an American soldier out on his ear.” She shook her head and pinched her lips together. “Aunt Rue is a lot of things, but heartless ain’t one of them.”
“Have you both squared things away?” Becky asked. She waved to several familiar faces and searched for Martha as Aunt Rue bent her ear.
“We have.” Aunt Rue squinted at Becky. “How did you know? Did you follow John? Did you spy on him?”
“Aunt Rue, sometimes it just takes a keen eye and a little distance to see what someone else is missing.” Becky couldn’t very well tell her that the spirits she spoke with gave her the skinny on half the town. “I’m just glad it worked out for you.”
“Mitsy Hamilton was right about you.”
Becky shivered at the name Mitsy Hamilton.
Mitsy had asked Becky for similar assistance as Aunt Rue. But the conclusion was at the opposite end of the spectrum. Becky told her she’d find the truth in her barn, which was nothing more than a small, dirty unused shack that was home for a few cats and some spiders. At least, that was what Mitsy thought. When she found Mr. Hamilton in that dirty, cramped shed with her best friend, well, Mitsy Hamilton was ready to hang them both from the nearest tree. It was only the other woman’s screaming that saved them. Becky had almost sworn off peerin
g into the spectral plane for answers to questions about cheating spouses. Had Mitsy succeeded, Becky would have turned herself in as an accomplice. She could not have lived with the guilt. But who would believe her?
Fortunately, Mr. Hamilton and his mistress escaped the wrath of Mitsy by the skin of their teeth. Rumor had it they were somewhere in Tennessee, penniless and miserable, or so Mitsy was telling people.
“Mitsy Hamilton knew all along. She just needed someone to confide in. That’s all.” Becky finally spotted Martha, but Aunt Rue held her arm tightly.
“You can weave that yarn, Becky Mackenzie, but some of us see that there is more to you than meets the eye.” Aunt Rue smiled while her right eyebrow arched up her broad forehead. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with us.”
She winked and finally let Becky’s arm go. With a blush and a shake of her head, Becky squeezed Aunt Rue’s hand.
“Take it easy on that hooch, Aunt Rue.”
“I’ll take it any way I can get it.” She raised her glass, took another sip, and gasped as she let it take her breath away before turning back to the group she’d left on the front porch.
“What was Aunt Rue chewing your ear off about?” Martha asked as she latched on to Becky tightly.
“Oh, you know. Old ladies like to ramble to anyone who will listen. Something about a shed and some rope. I don’t know. She’s lit,” Becky fibbed.
“Good. It’s about time you join her.” Martha pulled Becky through the crowd to the bar, where a good amount of liquor of varying colors in multitudes of jars, bottles, and barrels was on display. “Here, try this. Daddy got it from a fellow pulling a wagon down the back roads just this morning.”
“Is this what Aunt Rue is drinking? Because I’m already daffy after a sip of her poison,” Becky muttered.
“Where’s Fanny?”
“Bringing up the rear with Teddy,” Becky replied.
“That didn’t take long,” Martha replied before tossing back the last of whatever was in her glass. “Can you believe all these people?”
“Funny thing is I know just about all of them since they are your kin. My goodness, is there ever a party that they don’t come to?” Becky teased as she smoothed Martha’s brown hair and tucked a couple of stray strands behind her friend’s ear. “I love how they never seem to change. Like Tallulah.” Becky pointed at a hefty woman laughing while she sat at the picnic table in the backyard.