Undying Love (Secrets 0f Roseville Book 1)

by Betty Bolte

  Grandma O’Connell had documented the timeline of the fighting and troop movements from 1861 until the war’s end. The Union troops had moved south from Roseville, Tennessee, to Huntsville, Alabama, in early 1862. Grandma had surmised that was the time frame during which the Union Army encamped at Twin Oaks en route. Grandma detailed the timeline of the many letters Grandpa Joe wrote to distant family members trying to ascertain where Grace, his favorite little sister, had gone, but he failed to locate her. He never gave up hope and even bequeathed her an interest in Twin Oaks in his will should she return.

  How sad. Meredith closed the binder and pressed it to her chest for a long moment. Why would Grace have left without a word? Maybe she tried to defend Twin Oaks and the Yanks killed her? Or maybe she died of cholera and nobody knew who she was, a nameless victim in an overcrowded hospital? Most likely she died in one way or another, since she never came home. Meredith sighed, laying the book back in the trunk. She’d never know now. Not if her grandmother had been unsuccessful in her search.

  Meredith had no clue where to even begin genealogical research. She fingered the tobacco-leaf-colored letters, gently lifting another packet out of the trunk. Her family’s history lay captured within the leaves of these pages. She trailed a fingertip along the short end of the folded letters, thinking about how much time and effort her grandmother must have devoted to digging into the O’Connell family past. No wonder she didn’t want little hands digging through the trunk. She peered at the packet, contemplating the secrets hidden within the handwritten letters. Secrets she’d like to one day expose to light.

  Griz rose up to a sitting position beside Meredith, her tail twitching, ears alert. Meredith glanced over her shoulder, listening. She heard footsteps on the floorboards below and tensed.

  The steps stopped. “Hello?”

  Meg. “Up here!” Meredith quickly replaced the letters and lowered the lid.

  “Gracious, what are you doing up here among these old things?” Meg ambled into the room and let her gaze skim the contents of the dusty attic. Sean came up behind her, peering over her shoulder. “Wow, I need to get in here and clean this place up.”

  “Hey, Meg. Sean.” Meredith stood and swept an arm through the air to indicate the attic at large. “My curiosity got the better of me. I’ve wanted to know what these old trunks hid ever since I was a little girl.”

  “It’s all yours now, so have fun exploring to your heart’s content.” Meg’s eyes widened when she spotted the replica of Twin Oaks. “Goodness, there’s your old dollhouse. I remember the summer you and your dad put it together.”

  Not wanting to explore her personal family history and that particular sore point, Meredith diverted the conversation. She brushed off the knees of her blue jeans. Griz chose to strut out of the room, careful to avoid contact with their guests. “Did you need something?”

  “Where did you want us to focus today?” Sean asked. “Inside or out?”

  “Inside, definitely.” She glanced at the trunk. “Can you take the trunk down to the sewing room for me?”

  “Where did you want it?” Sean moved to do as she asked.

  “Beside Grandma’s favorite rocking chair, I think.” Meredith stepped back while Sean hefted the trunk. “I want to read these letters Grandma studied, as well as the thick binder of genealogy research she did, to learn more about my family’s history.”

  “Is that what’s in there?” Meg asked. “Your grandmother spent a lot of time on some online genealogy site, but I didn’t realize she’d documented it all. Of course, I’m not surprised, given how much she loved this place.”

  Sean lugged the trunk down the stairs, his steps heavy on the treads, though he didn’t seem to have any difficulty with the bulk. The two women followed him. As Meredith placed her foot on the floor in the foyer, a light breeze chilled her arms. This drafty old house would be the death of her yet. She considered the front door, its solid wood firmly closed against any intrusion. She’d always been drawn to the front porch of the house. No matter the season or weather, the entrance lured her. She and Paulette used to play with their dolls on the front steps and beneath the immense columns. Before they’d started arguing over every little thing between them. Still, the porch held many happy memories from her summer visits. She took a step toward the locked door, a compulsion pulling her toward it and beyond.

  “Where you going?” Meg asked, pausing in her progress down the hall. “Did you hear somebody at the door?”

  Meredith shook her head as she turned toward the housekeeper and then glanced back at the wooden barrier. The impulse increased, pulling her toward the door. “No, but I thought I’d like to go out onto the porch.”

  “Come on, we’ve other tasks to tend.” Meg motioned for Meredith to join her. “Sean needs you in the sewing room. Right, Sean?”

  His grunt sounded muffled.

  “Okay, I’m coming.” With a last longing glance at the door, Meredith strode toward Meg. She took a breath to clear the sigh forming inside, only to inhale the familiar sweet scent once more. She reached Meg in several strides. “Do you smell honeysuckle?”

  “No.” Meg regarded her silently for a long moment, brows furrowed. “Why?”

  “Never mind.” Meredith rubbed her nose with the backs of her fingers, trying to obliterate the scent. “It must be my imagination.”

  “Or your nose is better than mine.” Meg entered the sewing room and headed toward a mussed, crocheted afghan on the settee’s seat. She refolded the blanket and smoothed it into place. “Honeysuckle is really out of season, though.”

  “Exactly.” Meredith stopped inside the doorway and surveyed the room.

  Sean placed the trunk beside her grandmother’s rocker. Meg had brightened the room, no cobwebs or dust visible anywhere. Fresh-cut daffodils and tulips in the crystal vase perfumed the spring air. The floorboards gleamed in the sunlight. Despite the faded and peeling wallpaper, a cheery atmosphere prevailed. Beyond the partially open window, the songs of birds blended into a symphony. She rested a hand on the back of the settee, the soft wool of the afghan recalling the image of her grandmother’s hands working the crochet hook. No wonder this was her favorite room in the house.

  “Maybe the scent comes from the potpourri I threw out this morning.” Meg fluffed a pillow and replaced it on the chair. “I didn’t notice it, but then I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “The smell must be coming from somewhere,” Meredith said, frowning. “And I’m going to find it.”

  Chapter 5

  “I can’t locate the source,” Meredith said hours later. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “Don’t fret. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” Meg finished polishing the kitchen countertop, all traces of mold removed from its gleaming surface. “Maybe in the basement? Or some little secret compartment beneath the floorboards. Folks used to hide things around the house, especially during the Civil War, to protect their valuables.”

  “Right, I’m sure somebody hid a supply of dried honeysuckle vines so they wouldn’t be without after the fighting stopped.” Meredith laughed and shook her head at her own sarcasm. “I doubt that.”

  She crossed to the table and flopped down where she could gaze out to the rear of the property. God, she was tired. She’d been all over the house, into closets and cabinets, poking behind drapes and doors. She’d opened stubborn drawers on dressers in several bedrooms. Nothing accounted for the sweet scent she’d pursued.

  The family cemetery drew her attention, the magnolia trees showing the first signs of buds forming among the large waxy leaves. Azaleas huddled nearby, tightly furled petals hinting at the deep pinks and reds soon to be in full color. Such a beautiful property, lovingly tended for generations, only to be handed down to her ungrateful care. She looked closer at the plants in the yard. What she didn’t spot was honeysuckle.

  Her grandmother had wanted her to inherit the family property, but Meredith had not been in touch with her for years. Wh
y? She hadn’t expressed interest in Twin Oaks since she was a little girl, building the dollhouse. At that time she’d dreamed of living in the manor and raising a huge family. Her childhood dreams included her version of Mr. Right: tall, handsome, creative, fun-loving, and intelligent. Together they’d make beautiful babies—at least three and hopefully many more—to fill the multitude of bedrooms with laughter and love. Maybe her grandmother remembered how she’d adored visiting the plantation. Obviously she’d kept the dollhouse all this time. Now Meredith had the real house, but no hope of the family. Rubbing her arms, she glanced at Meg.

  “What would you do?” Meredith contemplated the panorama before her.

  “About what, dear?” Meg came and stood beside her, resting one hand on the back of Meredith’s chair.

  “Would you live here, take on all this obligation, if you were me?” Meredith stared out the window, not wanting to detect censure in Meg’s eyes. “Even if you knew in your heart you didn’t deserve it and never could?”

  Meg gasped and sat down. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  Meredith shifted to regard the older woman. “Because it’s true.”

  “I can’t believe after all the time you’ve spent here, the joy you felt staying here, that you’d turn your back on your heritage.”

  “I’m a city girl now.” As good an excuse as any other. Meredith ran a hand through her hair, slipping the ponytail holder off with a sigh of relief.

  “That’s by location, not heritage.” Meg gripped her shoulder and squeezed until Meredith met her eyes. “Your Irish blood will speak to you, remind you of the legacy the land represents. Both past and future for the O’Connell family.”

  “I haven’t heard an Irish brogue in my head yet.” Meredith grimaced. “Don’t know that I want to, come to think of it.”

  “You know it’s a matter of time. You’ll always come home to the one thing that has bound this family and Twin Oaks together for generations.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Meg leaned toward Meredith and pointed out the window, indicating an area to the right of the cemetery. “Have you forgotten the fairy tree?”

  Meredith’s eyes widened as she followed the direction of Meg’s finger, finally sighting the old hawthorn standing alone in the middle of the meadow. She’d forgotten all about it. Or perhaps ignored it on purpose. The fairy tree. Her grandmother loved the ancient hawthorn and the myths associated with it. Despite the fact they only technically existed in Ireland, Grandma insisted on protecting the little tree as though it were from their ancestors’ homeland. To her grandmother, the fairy tree symbolized the unity of the O’Connell family, across time and space, no matter what befell them. She claimed the tree alone protected the many generations of O’Connells.

  She stared at the hawthorn. Roads had been relocated in Ireland because a fairy tree happened to grow in its path and the workers dared not harm it. Good men trying to provide for their families had died who had cut down a fairy tree. The tree’s one mission, according to Grandma O’Connell, was to keep Twin Oaks safe from all harm. What should she do?

  “I wasn’t planning to cut down all the trees, Meg.” She stared out the window at the little tree, wishing it and her grandmother’s traditions away. No luck there, though. “In fact, I wasn’t planning to harm any of the trees and bushes.”

  Meg sat down beside her and grasped Meredith’s hands. “I can tell you’re having a difficult time returning here.”

  Meredith leaned back in her chair, sliding her hands out of Meg’s. Her choices had seemed so easy from the comfort of her apartment balcony. “I thought I knew what to do before I came.”

  “So you’re having a time figuring out how to do what your Grandma wanted. Right?”

  Meredith fiddled with the salt shaker. “From what Max told me, she wanted me to live here and keep this place as a home. To renovate it and maintain it the way she wanted. I don’t know that I can do so.”

  “Why not?” Meg peered at her. “It’s a lovely house; it merely needs some work to make it right.”

  “Roseville, to start. This family home, to finish.”

  “You don’t want a family home?” Meg angled her head, considering Meredith for a long moment. “Or you don’t want a family?”

  “I had a family.” Meredith gazed at Meg, seeing her as though for the first time. The memory of talks with Meg as a younger woman, taking time to listen to a young girl’s childish heartache and disappointments, floated past her mind’s eye. Meg had always been willing to stop mid-task to squat down and hug a young girl. Her caring eyes radiated laugh lines across her face. She was probably the only person in Meredith’s world who would truly understand. Meredith took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But it was taken from me.”

  Meg slowly nodded. “Your husband.”

  Startled, Meredith narrowed her eyes and gazed at Meg. “How much do you know?”

  “Your grandmother told me about Willy.” Meg grasped Meredith’s hands again, squeezing twice before releasing them. “I am so very sorry you had to go through such a horrific time in your life.”

  “Nobody should have to experience that kind of grief.” Meredith stayed mum about the other life lost in the attack. Only she and her doctors knew about the needle-sharp loss, and she intended to keep it that way. “I loved him so much it hurts to breathe without him.”

  Nodding still, Meg relaxed back in her chair. “When I think of the prospect of losing Sean, I imagine an immense black hole I’m falling into, and a huge knot forms in my throat so large I fear I’ll choke on it. I cannot fathom my Sean dying, of him not being with me. I am truly sorry for your Willy.”

  “When I was young and built that silly dollhouse, I wanted nothing more than to have a large family to fill these rooms with laughter. Willy was the foundation of my dream coming true.” Meredith looked around the kitchen, letting her gaze touch on the familiar stove, the tiled table, and the landscape pictures on the walls. A small aerial photo of Twin Oaks caught her eye, patchwork fields surrounding the large brick-and-stone building. A house, though not a home any longer. “Now I can’t stomach the idea of living here without him.”

  “Meredith, your husband would never have wanted you to live in the past. He’d want you to find the strength to move on. Such strength comes from your family, and of course, from the land, Twin Oaks.”

  Meredith turned to look out the window at the gravestones visible through the wrought-iron fence surrounding the cemetery. Willy lay buried in a cemetery outside of Baltimore. She visited him frequently when she was home and not traveling on assignment, taking a single yellow rose to place on his grave. She fiddled with the ring he had placed on her hand years ago. She couldn’t stay here when he waited for her in Maryland. The graves here held the bodies of people she did not know, would never know, in fact. But they were her family, so maybe she should spend some time learning who they were.

  “Do you know who all is buried out there?” She waved toward the cemetery.

  “O’Connells and others stretching back two hundred years.” Meg stared out the window for a long moment. “Those who have lived and loved Twin Oaks as much as you and your family.”

  “It’s so interesting to contemplate the many lives of people who lived here and cherished each moment only to end up below the ground.” Meredith glanced at Meg and then stared out the window. “What does it all mean in the end?”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Meg said.

  “We each do our best with what we have but never know if it’s the right thing.” If she didn’t stay, she’d be letting her ancestors down, no doubt. “All the striving and trying and failing and trying again while we live, and then after we die…” A cloud shaded the sunshine, chilling her so she wrapped her arms around herself. “We disappear from sight except for a piece of stone aboveground. Do you suppose it matters, once you’ve passed, where your body lies in order to be happy?”

  “No, it’s the soul that’s importa
nt, not the human form.” Meg folded her arms and considered Meredith. “Though perhaps where your body lies determines how your soul reacts to the act of dying. More importantly, the timing and manner in which a person dies probably affects how peacefully they rest. I do believe those who die before their time are restless souls looking for answers.”

  “Restless? You believe in ghosts?” Meredith sighed, unfolded her arms, and played with the salt shaker. Willy had died saving her life, an honorable death in his eyes. “Willy is buried in Baltimore. I know he’s happy there since he’s close to our home.”

  “I and Sean have made plans to be buried in Lynchburg when our time comes.” Meg smiled wryly. “We’ve always enjoyed some Jack Daniels in the evening.”

  Meredith grinned and thumped the shaker onto the table before linking her fingers together. “You’ve thought ahead, I see.”

  “Do we really know what happens once we die?” Meg shivered and then laughed, the sound echoing in the room. “Ooh, someone must have walked across my grave. What maudlin talk for a pretty spring day.”

  Meredith looked outside at the white gazebo, its black iron trim in stark relief among the surrounding trees. Her grandmother had loved to sit on one of the Adirondack chairs in the shade and tell Meredith and Paulette about the fairies and their many antics. Unlike the happy and carefree fairies of many tales, Irish fairies tended to play tricks and wreak vengeance for perceived wrongs. While Meredith never wanted to confront angry fairies, she had to admit their dealings made for entertaining stories. The cloud drifted on and sunlight splashed down on the gazebo and surrounding yard, highlighting the tulips and daffodils nestled around the exterior and along the sidewalks.