The Dowry

by C W Lamb

  The carpets on the floor left the wood exposed around the edges of the room. The chairs and accent tables had all come from the attic, where Robert had them sent out for refinish and reupholster as they were beyond just a cleaning. Finished in a dark leather, he felt the chairs in the room had a distinctly masculine appeal.

  Unlike the décor of other areas of the house, where he finally acknowledged that it was something akin to Charlotte’s spirit asserting its influence, this room he had been allowed to do on his own. But then, that wasn’t entirely true either as the tower, accessed only from this room, had been his as well and he had made no real changes there.

  The thought of the tower and the barking dog brought him back to his one irritation with the location. While Charlotte had desired a room with a view of the river, which the tower provided, this study allowed Robert hardly any view out front at all.

  Should he choose to move up to the tower, his view was still limited to the rear and north of the house, as was the study’s only set of windows on the north wall under the tower. Views to the front of the house on the second floor were the privilege of the bedrooms placed all around the open foyer. Unless he chose to relocate his office to one of them, he was just out of luck.

  Rising from his chair, he made his way down the front staircase and arrived just in time to see someone exit a cab through the tall, narrow window next to the door. The diamond pattern glass and lead inset allowed him a restricted view out the front as he neared the door. From the limited view he had, he could see it was a woman, but not much more than that.

  She was standing with her back to Robert as she watched the driver pull a small suitcase from the trunk of the car. With the sun setting behind the pair, he couldn’t discern much more than their role as driver and passenger. The action both surprised and alarmed Robert; he hadn’t invited anyone to come visit, much less stay with him.

  Stepping back from the window lest he be caught peeking, he waited as the shadow appeared through the companion glass pane in the door. After a moment, as if the person on the other side was preparing themselves, there came a gentle rapping on the door.

  Giving it a moment to prevent the appearance that he had been waiting on the other side, Robert stepped forward and slowly opened the door with Hunter at his side. Standing before him was a woman, her blonde hair cut mid length and ending just above her shoulders. The oversized sunglasses she wore dominated almost half her face and if Robert had to guess by her posture, he would say she was either drunk or hung over.

  “May I help you?” he asked as he noted the carry-on-sized travel bag at her side.

  “You can give me my house back,” she replied as she extended her arm, weaving slightly as she did so.

  In her outreached hand, Robert could see a familiar looking parchment envelope, already opened, with its red seal in pieces. Accepting the envelope, he pulled the folded parchment from within and opened it. Inside, he found a simple pair of sentences.

  Your inheritance has been sold away from you. Inside you will find enough money to go and reclaim your future.

  Below was the address for Foxworth House, and any funds that might have been included were not to be found inside the envelope. Looking back at the front of the envelope, he could see a California address, but no name and no postage. The disturbing part was that Robert had seen that handwriting before, on a similar note he had upstairs.

  Before Robert could say another word, the woman pushed past him, leaving her suitcase behind, and made her way into the foyer. There, she stopped dead in her tracks as she gazed into the parlor. Robert noted Hunter had slid up next to the woman, tail going in excitement as if she were a friend. She absently reached out to stroke the dog without looking down, eyes still locked on the parlor.

  “Who are you?” Robert asked as she continued to stare into the parlor before turning and facing him again.

  Removing her sunglasses, Robert’s heart skipped a beat… he was looking into the face of the woman in the portrait.

  “I’m Charlotte Foxworth, but you can call me Charlie.”

  ----*----

  It took Robert several seconds before he was ready to respond to the woman before him. Her demeanor and appearance gave him the impression of someone who had been on the down and out recently. Her clothes were a mess, somewhat threadbare but clean and serviceable. He also suspected that she was drunk.

  Finally regaining his composure, he grabbed her suitcase, setting it just inside the door, and led the woman into the parlor where they both studied the painting on the wall. Robert noted Hunter standing nearby inspecting the woman as well, his tail still going in excited acceptance.

  “So that’s her?” Charlie asked finally.

  “Charlotte, yes, your…” Robert tried to gauge the connection to the family name. As Charlotte had no known children and Victoria was Christina’s direct descendant, via the Baines name, he was at a loss to the association.

  “God, I hate that name; that’s why I use Charlie. Anyway, yes, she was my Great, Great, Great Aunt…I think? Her dad’s brother was my Great, Great, Great, Grandfather.”

  “And you got this, how?” Robert asked as he waved the parchment envelope at her before dropping it on the small table nearby.

  “Came in the mail a few days ago, not sure how without a stamp,” she said as she unceremoniously plopped down on one of the couches.

  “You got anything to drink around here?”

  She scanned the room, not waiting for his answer.

  “Water, soda and iced tea, the unsweet kind,” he replied, estimating she didn’t need any more alcohol.

  “Oh, you’re one of those, huh?” she replied, looking offended at his offer.

  “Oh, I have booze, but I don’t think you need any more.”

  “In your opinion. Look, I just want my house back, so you can just pack up and leave so I can get on with my life.”

  “Well, there is just one problem with that… it’s not your house. I have a legal title from Charlotte’s sister’s Great Granddaughter. They took sole possession after her death and there is nothing in any of the documents from that time until now granting her uncle even partial ownership.”

  “But I am a Foxworth,” she replied, standing and picking up the envelope on the table where Robert had dropped it. She began waving it in his face, but as she did so, her unsteady balance caused her to waver which led her to fall into Robert, where he caught her before she hit the floor.

  “Look, I’m sure you are tired from your trip. Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything?” he asked as he gazed into the flesh and blood image of the portrait nearby.

  “I ate something at the airport, maybe, this morning. I really hate flying,” she said uncertainly as she softened her attitude.

  “Come with me to the kitchen.”

  He offered her his hand to steady her.

  “I can do it myself!” she snapped as she passed him by and started to head out the front door, still carrying her note.

  Quickly catching up with her, he turned her around and guided her to the kitchen. Once there, he sat her on a stool at the island counter and then began pouring her a glass of milk from the ice box. Expecting an outburst, she surprised him by taking the glass silently and draining half its contents before setting it back down.

  With the first hurdle passed, he went back into the ice box and began pulling out sandwich makings. He could see her watching him with bleary eyes as he assembled a ham, turkey and cheese sandwich. Pulling some chips from the butler’s pantry, he set the plate in front of her and watched as she attacked the meal.

  “You aren’t eating?” she asked with a mouth full of food.

  “I had dinner earlier,” he replied as he sat a few stools down.

  “This is good!” he heard through another mouthful, but he could see her losing steam fast.

  He managed to make it just in time as she started to pass out. When was the last time she’d eaten a full meal, he wondered to himself? He paused
, thinking for a moment, and then carefully picked her up and carried her up the stairs. Placing her in the bedroom near his, close to the spare bath, he removed her shoes and tucked her in under the blankets, still clothed.

  Heading back downstairs, he grabbed her bag and carried it up to her room. When he was sure she was out for the night, he started to close the door, but halted as Hunter jumped on the end of the bed.

  “You keep an eye on her, make sure she’s safe,” he said to the hound.

  Turning, he went back to his study. Once there, he fired off an email to his lawyer, explaining the events of the afternoon, and looking for assurances he was in the right. He then sent a few more messages, hoping to get some additional information about his guest.

  Next, he did a little digging into the Foxworth family tree, looking to verify Charlie’s story. By the time he was finished, he had a much better idea of who the woman in the other room was and was appalled at what you could learn about people on the internet.

  Chapter 16

  Foxworth Landing, March 1864

  Charlotte was particularly anxious as there had been news from Jacksonville of a battle in Florida. Near Olustee, it was reported that Jefferson’s 2nd Cavalry had been part of an engagement between Union troops from Jacksonville and the Confederate forces to the west.

  The numbers she was hearing for the dead and wounded on the Confederate side had her worried and questioning every boat captain that put in at the landing. None had heard more than the information the Union soldiers had provided and made available, and no one trusted them.

  The relief she felt when she finally received word that Jefferson had survived the Olustee engagement was tempered by the pain she had felt before knowing. It was a reminder to her that her love could be taken from her at any moment, lost for eternity.

  With the fighting so close, her business was at a standstill; no one was anxious to risk being shot on accident as they traveled the roads or riverways. The Union soldiers had been particularly trigger-happy with the Confederates at their doorstep, so Charlotte did her best to keep busy around the house as she waited for Jefferson’s return.

  Foxworth Landing, Present day

  Charlie awoke with a start, a slight gasp passing her lips as she quelled the panic she felt from the unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly replaying the events of the previous day, the parts she remembered anyway, she slowly gained control of herself.

  A quick check confirmed she was still dressed from the night before and had not been otherwise molested. Her bag in the corner of the room provided some assurance that she was at least a partially welcomed guest. The dog resting at the end of the bed, watching her intently and tail wagging intermittently, added to the assessment. His presence made her smile.

  There were clear memories of packing her meager belongings into a carryon bag, borrowed from her last employer, without his consent. Working as a house sitter had only provided room and board, with barely enough money to pay her phone bill. The implied references to more money if she would sleep with the owner was all she had needed to jump on the first plane east.

  The mysterious letter appeared at just the right moment, the cash inside enough to escape before the jerk returned home. Just one in a long line of men looking for her to trade her affections for an easy life, she latched onto the letter’s reference of a future. An early taxi to LAX and enough cash for a ticket and several Bloody Marys found her at the doorstep of a man she had never met.

  She recalled part of a conversation denying her ownership to the house and a well needed meal in the kitchen. That was the last thing she recalled. Scanning the room, she noted the antique furniture, almost new in appearance, and the open door leading into a hall.

  Slipping from the bed, she peered into the hallway, listening for any indications of the home’s owner. Sounds from below gave her confirmation that her host was up and about. Turning, she pulled her bag onto the bed and sorted through its contents. Nothing seemed amiss, in fact the bag appeared unopened since clearing security in LAX.

  Pulling a few clean items from inside, she crossed over to the open bath, closing the door behind her. The bathroom was a surprise, its fixtures and 19th century décor polished and gleaming, but fully functional. Starting the shower, she found the towels in a nearby cabinet and quickly undressed.

  Closing her mind out to the doubts and questions flooding her head, she let the warm water work its magic, soothing her body and soul. All her life she had been a runner, fleeing from one place to the next, always searching for somewhere to call home but afraid to do so. Not usually a heavy drinker, she had been self-medicating lately to cope. Finishing her shower, she quickly dried and dress, leaving her soiled things by her suitcase.

  “That may be who I am, but it’s not who I want to be,” she said aloud to herself before she headed downstairs to face her host and confront her future.

  ----*----

  The following morning Robert headed downstairs and started a pot of coffee. As he worked, he began to hear movement upstairs that indicated his house guest was up and around. Water running in the bathroom was a welcome sign that she had decided to clean up a little, which gave him hope that she was at least a little more sober.

  By the time he could hear her making her way downstairs, the coffee was ready, and he had hot scones pulled from the oven.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed the bathroom to clean up a little,” she announced as she entered the kitchen and slipped onto the stool she had nearly fallen from the night before.

  With her hair still wet and her makeup gone, Robert verified he hadn’t been dreaming; he could still see the spitting image of the woman in the painting.

  “Coffee?” he asked as he held up the pot.

  “Please. And before we go any further, I must apologize about last night. I hate to fly, and one drink always turns into five or six before I reach my destination,” she offered in the way of an explanation.

  Pouring a cup and setting out the fixings for cream and sugar, he waved off the apology.

  “No worries, I understand. I feel the same way when I’m being shot at,” he said with a laugh.

  The humor must not have translated well because he noted a bit of panic in her eyes.

  “I was in the Army, two combat tours,” he added quickly.

  “I’m sorry. Some of the people in my past had, well, questionable professions. It always made me nervous when they talked about guns,” she explained as she accepted one of the scones Robert offered.

  “Where did you come from anyway?”

  “LA. I was hanging with some friends, well, house sitting, when I got that.”

  She pointed to the parchment envelope still on the counter from the night before.

  “I was in San Fran before coming here,” Robert offered.

  “Yeah, I spent some time up there as well. It’s too cold for my blood.”

  “You move around a lot?” he asked, curious about her.

  “You could say that. I don’t tend to stay anywhere too long,” she replied with a shrug.

  “How did they know where to find you, whomever sent that?” he asked as he pointed to the envelope.

  “Hey, that’s a good point, I never thought of that. I hadn’t told anyone where I was. Particularly not my family,” she added sourly as she ate.

  Robert did note in passing that, sober now, her table manners had improved quite a bit as had her attitude.

  “So, what is the story here? Do I have a right to this place or not?” she finally asked, cutting to the chase.

  “Like I said last night, all the paperwork says you don’t. I did send an email to my lawyer’s office and the city asking them both to look into it. In the meantime, I presume you have no friends or family in town? Anyone you could stay with?”

  “Only you,” she replied casually.

  “Money for a hotel?” he asked softly, trying not to be overly rude.

  A look of panic was replaced with one of resignation
before Charlie replied.

  “Look, I’m flat broke, OK. I spent the last money I had getting here, expecting to stay in my house,” she said softly.

  “I could spot you enough for a few days, maybe,” he said without thinking.

  “I don’t want your money, I want my house,” she replied back at him, almost pleading.

  “Just a thought,” he replied, trying to calm the rising tension in the room.

  Robert watched her as she ate her breakfast. The resemblance to the Charlotte in the painting was unbelievable. Her behavior, however, bore no resemblance to the Charlotte he imagined from his readings in her diaries. He imagined Charlie might represent the Charlotte devoid of love and affection a stable homelife provided. With no apparent options at the moment, he made a snap decision, more from expedience than good sense.

  “Then let’s say you take the room upstairs until we get this sorted out. I do have something I think you should see though.”

  With that, Robert picked up the envelope and waved Charlie to follow him. Heading upstairs to his study, he looked through some of the books on the shelf before he found what he was looking for. Opening the volume, he pulled his parchment invitation from between its pages. Handing her both his invitation to a private viewing of the house and her own note, he watched her study them closely.

  “These were written by the same person,” she replied as she handed both back to Robert.

  “That was my thought as well.”

  “Why would someone offer to sell you this house and then tell me it was being stolen from me?” she asked in confusion, frustration evident on her face.

  “I have no idea, but I intend to find out. Do you mind if I hold on to your letter for a bit?”

  “Might as well, it’s no good to me against your pile of papers and lawyers,” she answered with a sigh of resignation.

  Charlie then headed back down the stairs, presumably back to the kitchen. As she did, Robert looked at the first volume of Charlotte’s diary and held both notes up against the entries there. Without a doubt, the pair of notes matched the entries in the book, handwritten over 150 years ago.