by Betty Bolte
She hardened her resolve. Emotional reaction must not sway her course.
She’d let an auction company take the furnishings and furniture. Then arrange for the dismantling of the house and outbuildings. Nothing would remain standing when she was finished returning the property to a green field.
While she and her sister delved into the genealogical research, she could start the process of taking the buildings down. It would take several weeks to make the necessary arrangements and have the right people do the right things to carry out her plans. Given the very real resistance from local historians and her own family, she’d likely have to allow extra time. She hated to draw this process out any longer than required, but she’d learned long ago to be realistic when setting the timeline for a project. Her reputation rested on her ability to carry through with the detailed plans. Once she’d set the schedule for a project, she had never missed her deadline.
She pulled a small notebook from her pocket and began jotting down tasks to add to her list. She’d have to contact the auction houses to arrange for appraisals, as well as the antique architecture firms to determine what they’d offer for the more unique decorative and structural appointments. The columns and the cornice pieces would be hot ticket items, certainly. Same for the hardwood floorboards and wallboards, at least those not faux painted to look like marble or a more expensive wood grain. And of course the old handmade bricks, made from the clay on site, may be worth the effort to clean and reuse, assuming they were still in good shape. Even the antique glass encased in the double-hung windows would be valuable.
Three weeks to dispose of the antique furniture. Another two to sell off the architectural antiques. Add on four more weeks to line up the necessary permits and equipment, as well as the manpower required to conduct the actual demolition. Altogether, no more than nine weeks she’d be forced to spend in the house, living among the many memories struggling to snag her attention. She’d originally hoped it would only take a month at most to make the transition from house to park-like garden, even though the garden part would stretch far into the future. But the takedown of the house must be done right in order for her to realize the inner peace she craved.
Max had tried to convey why the plantation house deserved to remain standing. Yet, once she’d dismantled it, once she’d filled in the stone foundation, once she’d converted the site to a park, then she would finally have peace. A rebirth from the death of the house. She’d bury the pain consuming her by finally putting to rest the dreams she and Willy had shared. At least she hoped so.
Then there was the emotional consideration she struggled to push aside. She moved away only to be dragged back to the very roots she’d tried to dig up and throw away, like some Irishman bent on removing a fairy tree only to find himself and his family cursed by the angry fairies. In order to follow through with her plans, she’d have to go against the O’Connell family’s tradition of keeping the ancestral home and its property safe, like the Irish faithful protected the fairy tree to bring good fortune to the land and its owners. That would include razing it by a family member. Wouldn’t it?
Willy’s love of horticulture had spurred her decision to turn the old building into a park filled with living plants. Had her own ancestral ties to the land also informed the choice? She pictured a flower-lined path winding through a park-like setting. Memorial signs would indicate specific bushes or trees planted in memory of a loved one. Benches would be tucked into shady nooks where visitors could rest and enjoy the serenity of the park. The fairy tree would remain safe in its meadow, set apart from the formal garden paths, keeping its vigilant watch.
Max believed she belonged on the plantation but she couldn’t for the life of her figure where he developed such a notion. She exemplified the fish-out-of-water kind of person. City life and its hustle and bustle, the honking of horns and wailing of sirens, spoke of living. Being surrounded by the sounds and smells of humanity suited her much more than country life, with its cacophony of silence punctuated by crickets and birdsong. Oh, and don’t forget the damn roosters.
But times changed, and Twin Oaks remained her one hope for starting fresh and burying her pain and anger. To tear down the pain and build calm acceptance of her life. But what would Grandma have to say of her intent? Or even Grandpa Joe? Would they understand or condemn her sudden perhaps ill-considered decision? A shiver wiggled down her spine at the thought of their reaction. Maybe this once she should back away, but how?
Chapter 9
An owl hooted from outside the kitchen, dragging Meredith’s attention from loading the dishwasher. She leaned onto the sink and stared out the window. The black, velvety sky sparkled with untold stars and a sliver of moon. She let her gaze slide back to the ground, touching on the white gazebo gleaming in the night.
The dishes could wait. She closed the door of the appliance and dried her hands on a towel. Flicking the light switch by the back door, she peered through the window. Yes, the fairy lights glowed across the ceiling of the gazebo. Hurrying, she strode through the house.
“Paulette, where are you?” She poked into each room she passed and then took the steps two at a time to the second floor and went down the hall where light peeked from beneath Paulette’s door. She tapped twice before pushing it open. “There you are. Come on, it’s a lovely night to sit outside and share a bottle of wine. You game?”
Paulette lay on her bed, her head propped on two pillows, a book open and resting on her tummy. She laid the novel aside and pushed to a sitting position, a grin on her lips. “If you insist.”
Before long they rested beneath the mass of tiny white lights, an open bottle of merlot between them. The soft glow of a citronella candle flickered on the table. Crickets chirped in the background.
“I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed sitting out here,” Meredith said, stretching her legs and crossing her ankles.
“Grandma had great taste in vino too.” Paulette sipped the dark red liquid.
“Her latest interest, apparently.” Meredith angled her glass, watching the candlelight dance in the reflection. She sipped, swallowed. “So, want to share why you came here? What happened to Mr. Perfect?”
The cricket symphony hushed in anticipation as Paulette sighed. “He’s probably wrapped up in a parka somewhere in Alaska.” She shook her head, peering into the darkness surrounding them.
“Really? Whatever for?”
“His dream job. Wildlife journalist for National Geographic. Ugh.”
“I can’t imagine you among the polar bears and penguins, anyway.” Meredith chuckled. “You’re too much a hothouse flower.”
Paulette laughed. “You’ve got part of it right. First, there aren’t penguins in Alaska. Second, you’re dead-on about me needing a warmer climate. That’s why I’m here.”
“I thought you wanted to make me squirm.” Meredith sipped her wine, imagining the crickets rubbing their legs to create their unique music like a symphony orchestra warming up.
“I love seeing you squirm, but that wasn’t why I really came to find you.” Paulette scooted back in her chair, sitting more upright. She leveled her gaze on Meredith, resting her wineglass on her tummy. “Truth be told, I missed you. Or more accurately, I missed our friendship.”
“That was eons ago.” Meredith looked away. Although she longed for the closeness they once shared, she would never allow her sister to maneuver close enough to hurt her ever again. The emotional barrier she’d erected had to remain in order to protect herself from Paulette’s barbs.
“Hm.” Paulette twirled her glass slowly, the fairy lights glinting off the wine’s dark surface. “We can’t see the future.”
“No, yet we both know the past.”
“Do we?” Paulette cleared her throat, the sound harsh in the gentle spring evening. “I’m never certain I understand what happened, let alone the underlying meaning of events. It’s like music, as far as I’m concerned.”
Meredith focused her attention on her then, puzz
led by the analogy. “How is music a mystery?”
Paulette waved her hand, palm up and open. “Music flows around me but is elusive, fleeting. I enjoy listening to it but don’t entirely comprehend what it’s trying to say.”
“Not everything has to have meaning, does it?”
Paulette nodded. “Absolutely. People crave to know why things happen. Think about all the symbolism applied to everything. Even the clothes we wear are said to show the kind of person we are.”
“Music is a different medium, though.” Meredith sat up, her back pressing into the Adirondack chair. “The notes speak to me, share a mood and a feeling simultaneously that carry the meaning. Don’t you hear the ambiance when you listen?”
Paulette slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She shrugged. “But maybe some of that seeps into my subconscious.”
“Even the crickets are sharing their mood, playing their sense of peace and joy.”
“It’s the soundtrack of their life, you mean?”
“Brilliant.” Meredith nodded and stared at her sister. She’d never thought of each person having a soundtrack of music that reflected who they were during their lifetime. The myriad of tunes and compositions heard during momentous occasions as well as the day-to-day happenings, all combined into a tapestry of sound. “What would yours be?”
Paulette put her glass to her lips but lowered it without drinking. “Mine would include nursery songs and ballads as well as show tunes. And sewing.” She lifted her wine and sipped.
“Sewing?” Meredith cocked a brow. “How is sewing a kind of music?”
“To me, the stitches are like notes. When you combine different colors and patterns, you achieve music.”
“I can see that. Mine would be a blend of classical and new age with highlights of children’s and R&B.” She smiled, imagining the playlist she’d create for her iPod. “This is kinda fun, isn’t it?”
“What about your sexy lawyer? What would his look like?”
Meredith tossed her head and laughed. “He’s not ‘my’ lawyer, and more importantly, why would I care about his soundtrack?”
“Aren’t you curious? He’s such a hunk. I’m surprised you haven’t snapped him up.”
“Not interested.” Meredith gripped her knee with one hand, balancing the foot of her wineglass on her other leg. Not much, anyway.
“Can I have him?” Paulette cut her a glance, her smile mischievous.
“Fine by me.” The image of Max’s laughing eyes played in her mind. “But you’ll have to clear it with him.”
Paulette chuckled. “Well, I’m not really interested in him, either. He’ll have to figure it out for himself.”
Meredith tapped glasses with Paulette. “To Max.”
“And Grandma.”
“Yes, indeed.” Meredith drained her glass and then refilled it before hovering the bottle over Paulette’s. “More?”
Paulette nodded, and Meredith poured. “Thanks.”
Meredith considered her sister’s pensive expression as she sank back against the chair. She wriggled into a more comfortable position. Took a sip. “So, since Johnny is out of the picture, what are your plans?”
“As in, how long am I staying?” Paulette stared at the liquid in her glass as it reflected the lights above. She shrugged. “As long as you’ll let me, I guess.”
Meredith worked her lower lip with her teeth, tasting the subtle fruity hints of the merlot. She wanted to be alone so she could enact her plan without interference. Yet Paulette displayed a vulnerability Meredith had never seen before. Curious. Was it the result of Johnny’s uncaring dismissal of their relationship?
“I make no promises as to how long I’ll be here myself.” Meredith swirled the fluid in her glass. They claimed to be adults, so perhaps they could manage to survive in the same house for a few weeks. “But I suppose it’s only right for you to stay with me for as long as I do.”
“Thanks, sis.” Paulette glanced at Meredith, a smile flitting across her lips. “I have nowhere else to go. Soon I’ll have to find a job, but for now…thanks.”
The crickets suddenly stopped their singing, and Meredith could swear she heard blues floating on the spring breeze. Impossible, of course. But then so was smelling honeysuckle this time of year. “I want us to try to be friends again. I know it won’t be easy, and we’re as likely to resort to fisticuffs as hug. But, well…what do you say?”
“Sharing secrets and fixing your hair? That kind of friend?”
Meredith nodded. “Yes. So do you know any?”
“Hairstyles?” Paulette’s voice squeaked out her question.
Meredith started, surprised at the hint of alarm in her sister’s eyes. “No, secrets.”
Paulette swallowed and nodded. “Actually I do. But you have to swear to keep it to yourself. I haven’t told anyone because I haven’t decided what I’ll do.”
Meredith leaned forward, the stem of her wineglass gripped lightly between her hands. She had suspected Paulette hid something. Now she’d finally learn what. “I swear. Spill.”
Paulette set her glass down on the table. She linked her fingers together over her stomach. Reclined against the white Adirondack chair, her skin glowed in the soft light. She turned to look at Meredith. “There’s no easy way to say this. I’m pregnant.”
“Oh.” What could she say? Paulette hadn’t married Johnny, only lived with him for the past four years.
“Exactly. Now I have to decide what to do with it.” Paulette shot upright, shaking her head and frowning at Meredith. “No, I can’t refer to this child as a thing, an ‘it.’ He or she was conceived out of love, even if that love has flown to Alaska.”
“Will you keep the babe or put it up for adoption?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Her sister had come to Twin Oaks, the family home, because she needed family to help her through this new challenge in her life. Meredith gazed at her, imagining how she’d feel if in her shoes. The need for loving support, not recriminations, would be first and foremost on her list. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be here to support your choice. I’m glad you’re not considering an abortion.”
“For me, that’s not a choice.”
“Your fall earlier. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I expect so.” She rubbed her hands over her flat stomach. “Everything seems fine.”
Meredith rose and went to her sister, pulling her to her feet. “I’m here for you.” She gave her a long hug, feeling her sister’s deep breaths within the embrace.
“Thanks, little sis.” Paulette was the first to flop back in her chair. “Just, please, don’t tell Mom and Dad. They’d freak.”
“Double-dog swear. They’re far away, at any rate. You don’t have to let them know anything until you decide which direction to take.”
Paulette smoothed a hand over her abdomen. “I’m only eight weeks, so nobody can tell by looking at me. I have some time to decide how to proceed. Now it’s your turn.”
“For what?” Meredith asked, puzzled.
“A secret. Surely you have one?”
Only one, which she’d never shared with anyone. Meredith looked at Paulette’s expectant gaze and sighed. “I do. I’ve never told a soul.”
Paulette’s gaze intensified, eyes glinting in the fairy lights. “That’s the best kind. Spill.”
“I was pregnant when Willy died. The same man who killed him also killed our baby. Willy never even knew he was going to be a dad.” The words rushed from Meredith’s mouth.
“Oh my God, Meredith.” Paulette gripped her hands together as her eyes flew wide open. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t know.”
Meredith shrugged. “Nobody knew.” She drew a deep breath and let it ease from her chest. “Now it’s no longer a secret, which feels good.”
Paulette reached to squeeze Meredith’s hand. “Thanks for trusting me again.”
Meredith sank back on her chair and picked up her glass. “Should
you have had wine tonight, knowing you’re with child?”
“Recent studies have shown a glass now and then won’t hurt.” Paulette fingered her glass but left it on the table. “Thanks for letting me stay.”
“You can help me try to unravel the mystery of Grace’s disappearance. You said you know something about the online genealogy site, right?”
“A bit.”
“Tomorrow you can start searching for whatever you can find. I’ll keep reading the journals and letters for clues.”
Paulette lifted her glass and leaned toward Meredith. “To family.”
“And to uncovering the truth.” Meredith clinked glasses, the ring of crystal punctuating the cricket symphony.
“Truth about?” Paulette asked.
“What really happened to our great-great-great-aunt.”
__________
A sliver of moon appeared through the sliding glass doors leading onto Max’s tiny balcony. Streetlights added their luminescence to the night sky. He sat in his leather recliner, a legal brief spread across his lap. The lamp on the end table to his right cast light across the ignored pages. Distracted, he gazed out the doors to where a small plastic table and single chair occupied the balcony’s square inches.
The pages in his lap contained important details about the limitations he had to work within for a new trust he needed to complete. He picked up the next page. Stared at the sentences. Yet his brain refused to absorb the words. Meredith’s face floated in his mind, obliterating the letters and their meaning. Her voice echoed in his ears, tantalizing and seductive. Despite her desire to raze Twin Oaks, she drew him in a way no other woman had ever before. He reread the sentence, but nothing stuck. Screw it. He flung the pages aside and stalked to the kitchen.
He poured a glass of Macallan scotch and adjourned to the fresh air outside. Standing at the railing, he surveyed the established neighborhood lying quiet so late in the evening. Maple trees stood outlined by the streetlights, sporting new leaves on their skeletal limbs. Few cars drove past on the street below as he grasped the metal rail with one hand and sipped his drink. Fantasizing about that woman had to stop or he’d never be promoted to senior partner. The promotion would enable him to afford a historic home of his own. Her intent to destroy the very thing he longed to possess rankled deep in his chest, at odds with the desire spearing through him when he thought of her voice, her long legs, her strawberry-blonde hair he’d love to plunge his hands into. And her eyes. My God, they mesmerized him. She’d turned his world upside down the moment she’d stepped into his truck. Her mysterious ways coupled with her beauty and intelligence made her a dynamite package. One that may well blow up in his face.