Yes, there was going to be another rift. It was coming tonight. And it would be severe.
She had to get over to that house.
28
Nate was exhausted. But he only had twenty pages left in Susannah’s journal and he was dying to see the final thoughts of this girl long gone. He couldn’t imagine the hardship of a baby being born with special needs, especially after multiple failed attempts at having children. In the 1800s no less! That was a time full of slaves and war and no air conditioning. Add to that a wife with whom Rufus fought all the time, but now lost to a coma during a downswing and incapable of reconciliation? What kind of impact could that have on someone? Nate understood the male mentality perfectly well; it was fairly consistent all the way back to caveman days. When stressed, women talked. Men withdrew to their caves. Or, conked a woman on the head so that they couldn’t talk. Something like that. No wonder Rufus was being such a bastard.
And with the timing being on the eve of a nation about to plunge into war, Nate couldn’t imagine things getting any worse.
The next entry he read showed that they could.
1 August, 1861
Oh, my Aunt Sophie is gone! Oh, God, why? Why?
4 August, 1861
The funeral service was today. As far as funerals go I’m sure it was lovely, but my heart is not in it and thus follow my words. The gathering was small. A few friends came from nearby. No extended family was given the time to make the journey. The official justification was of course that in this hot period of summer, one’s mortal remains must be buried quickly lest the decomposition makes for an unsuitable event. But my sense is that there is still embarrassment of poor Jacqueline’s condition, and fear of who may be allowed to know.
Reverend Hawley said a number of prayers and recitals from the Good Book, and I myself sang one of several simple hymns. Then Rufus stood up and went to the front. In his eulogy, he spoke of happy times when he and Sophie were first married, of the life they hoped to build with each other. Of how they had wanted many children and the cruelty of being unable to conceive. And then the ultimate sadness of how Sophie was finally able to carry a child only to have “the terrible twists of fate cause it to not be the joyous occasion it should have been, but yet another trial for one’s existence on Earth.” The twinge of bitterness in Uncle Rufus’s voice was heartbreaking, for here he was, denied a chance at making a home with his wife and daughter. Rufus has been through so much. One must wonder what path lay before him.
I suppose if there has been any good of the last few days, it took the form of Uncle Rufus remembering some of my words to him that night of his drunken stupor. He has not gone into the fields. He has avoided the bourbon. Instead, he has been spending time with little baby Jacqueline. It was very slight at first. Rufus ordered Slave Daisy to board the infant in the very nursery Aunt Sophie had intended all along, and of course that is where I have been spending most of my own time. Rufus would pop in and pretend it was an accident, that he had been on his way elsewhere and just happened to find himself next to the baby room struck by some mild curiosity, but no more. Then he would appear again and hover over the crib while baby Jacqueline slept. Soon he was visiting several times a day. Even now as I write this he has come and gone, between inspections of the gravesite where Aunt Sophie now lay.
I know part of the reason. Despite her facial deformities and retardation, Jacqueline looks very much like Aunt Sophie. I see it. Daisy sees it. And now, with Rufus finally giving her a chance, he even sees it.
For sure, he is still in agony at Sophie’s passing. The more I learn of their marriage, the more I understand of the legendary fighting and incredible venom they could spew at each other. But he did love her. They always made up.
9 August, 1861
It is with mixed feeling and a heavy heart that I write this entry. Uncle Rufus received orders last night from a General G.T. Beauregard to muster himself for service with the Confederate army. Two days ago, he made the decision to send me back home. Initially I protested, but as my pragmatic side settled in, what rebuttal could I possibly offer? Aunt Sophie was gone. Soon, Rufus would be as well. There is no other family here save for the baby. I know nothing of running a plantation and would be of no use to the men in Rufus’s employment. If I were to remain, I would be relegated to an old maid, decades before her time.
So I asked Rufus to take the baby with me.
I was steeled for him to fly into a rage. Why would he allow it? Indeed, other options might seem far more preferable to a man in duress. I know his temper. Perhaps he would order her to be left with the slaves, to be lost and forgotten. Or worse, drown her in the creek? I suspect no one would mourn a retarded child for very long, if at all. I have no illusions of the cruelties in the world, no matter what I might hope from my own family.
Instead, Uncle Rufus looked at me for a long time. I felt quite uncomfortable and almost suggested we dismiss the idea and I excuse myself. But finally he replied, and to my amazement, he said it would be a fine and noble thing.
So it was decided. Yesterday I packed my belongings and said goodbye to the family’s associates. In the afternoon I strolled about the grounds one last time, past the old pecan tree, along the creek. I even sought out little Junie in the evening after the slaves had come in from the fields, and thanked her (discreetly and privately, of course) for all of her help.
As morning came and the carriage awaited, I went to the nursery to collect the baby. I heard noises within and stood at the threshold to observe Uncle Rufus in there, alone, holding her. It was a sight. He was singing softly to her, cradled in swaddling in his arms, rocking her gently back and forth. I watched in amazement as he cooed at her, calling her name again and again, “Baby Jacq, baby Jacq, oh little baby Jacq.” I announced myself and gave him a long embrace as I entered. When he was ready, I took the infant from his arms and held her one last time between us. The way he stared at her, I suspected he was admiring this little creature and her distant resemblance to her mother. Indeed, my suspicions were confirmed a few moments later, when Rufus broke down in stifled sobs, calling out to her, “Oh, Sophie …”
Now I finish this entry as we prepare to leave the plantation. It is morning and I can see the road that cuts through the fields. The cotton is in full bloom, as if winter has come to the South and dropped a foot of snow across the plantation. I recall Uncle Rufus’s lecture many months ago and I cannot help but wonder, where will all this cotton go when the Union navies have blockaded New Orleans? What will sustain the economy of the Confederacy when no other nation comes to make a challenge? I fear it will not bode well for the future.
Indeed, I saw the resignation in Uncle Rufus’s eyes. It is clear he accepts his duty, even if he does not embrace the inevitable change. For just as winter snow cannot challenge the melt of spring, perhaps too goes the concept of a nation predicated on enslavement.
Only time will tell. But I know one thing. Baby Jacq will be safe, and she will live a life determined by God instead of Man.
29
Nate moved the broom across the front porch, sweeping in a meticulous pattern as the sun crept toward the treetops. Every now and then he would stop and think about the journal. What a tough spot for someone to be in. He couldn’t imagine the heartbreak Colonel McAuliffe must have felt, to lose his wife—and then a daughter, before he even had time to reconcile the conflicted feelings he surely felt as he went off to war? His entire family, his home, his world had been destroyed. Is that what caused his spirit to be so restless, to make him haunt the home of the family that never had a chance to be, determined to dwell on the tattered memory of love forever lost or never known?
Is that why he was a ghost?
Did Nate really believe in ghosts?
Nate tried his best to not care. He was so close now. His friends and family were pounding away at the task list and they would all be done in the next day or two. He didn’t know how much money he’d make selling this place. It didn’t m
atter. As long as he at least broke even he would be happy, ready to move on and close this particular chapter. And having met Anna along the way made it all worth it.
Nate swept the remainder of the deck and stretched his back. As he gazed across the open field in front of the house, he noticed how overcast the sky was.
Huh. That was strange. Hadn’t the sun been shining just a few minutes ago?
He shook it off and went back inside. Shelby sat on the couch in the parlor, staring at the glass in his hands.
“You need another one, Shelby?”
The old man perked up with an intoxicated smile. “Oh, now-now, thank you sho … much, but I really … shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Nate prompted. “You worked hard today.”
“There’s shtill more to do tomorrow, Nate. Besides, if I … drink too much, it gives me … gas.”
“So?”
Shelby’s eyes closed. “I get so … embarrassed. Tobey would always warn me about what would happen if I was getting carried away.” The smile started to fade and his voice took on a sorrowful tone. “T-Tobey … would remind me. Oh, Tobey. What am I going … t-to do?”
Nate waved his hands back and forth. “No—stop. We talked about this. You’re not going to dwell on that today. I’m getting you another bourbon.”
“Oh…” Shelby said in protest.
Nate ignored him and went back into the kitchen. Brad was leaning against the counter with a sly smile on his lips. Sarah stood across from him, her arms folded, looking amused.
“Hey guys,” Nate said.
“Hey, Nate,” Sarah said. Her eyes didn’t leave Brad’s.
Nate stepped next to the sink and rinsed out Shelby’s glass. Brad moved over without saying a word. Nate filled the glass with ice and poured a double, swirling it around to cool it off. The room was completely devoid of conversation the whole time it took to prepare the drink.
“Did I interrupt something?” Nate asked.
“Huh? No,” Brad said.
More silence.
Nate stopped, watched, and waited.
Sarah unfolded her arms and stretched. “Well, I’m tired. I’m going to go lay down for a little bit. Maybe I’ll take a nap. Don’t wait up on me for dinner.”
“Okay, babe,” Brad said. His gaze didn’t leave hers. “Maybe I’ll be up in a few.”
Nate snorted. “Jeez guys, you’re giving each other the eye like it’s some kind of big secret. Just get naked already.”
A shit-eating grin crept across Brad’s face. Sarah feigned indignation but quickly gave up. “Sorry. We’re not trying to be improper.”
“Whatever. Mom’s soaking in the tub, and my dad won’t be back with dinner for a half hour. That leaves just me and Shelby, and I’m working on getting him to pass out.”
“Why?” Brad asked.
“He keeps going on about Tobey. The first two hours were okay, but I couldn’t take anymore. So I’m just helping him … you know.”
“Shut up?”
“Yeah.”
Brad nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll be upstairs.” He winked at Sarah and dashed out of the room. Sarah laughed and patted Nate on the arm as she went by.
Nate returned to the parlor and had just finished putting Shelby’s drink in his hand when he heard a car engine turning off outside. He walked out the front door to see Matt’s pickup truck.
Matt climbed out and marched toward him with a plastic tote bucket. He was apologizing before he got to the first stair.
“I’m sorry, dude. I talked to my other client about pushing out his job. It didn’t go well. He said I’d better get my ass working by tomorrow at six or I’m fired. I need to get all my tools back, and I need to do it right now.”
“Now?” Nate felt his stomach drop. “Matt—you can’t mean now. I thought we agreed to wait a couple days?”
“Sorry, Nate. I know this messes up your world. I wouldn’t do it if I had any other choice.” He pushed by and went into the parlor. Nate turned to follow and barely noticed the cool breeze blowing dirt across his swept porch.
“Okay, look. Compromise. What tools do you absolutely have to have first? Take those, and leave the rest.”
“I need all of them.” Matt saw a claw hammer and chisel in the corner and put them in the tote.
“No, you don’t. Come on, Matt. There’s no possible way you need every tool at the exact same time. You’re not some kind of carpentry octopus.”
Matt went into the dining room. While it was no longer the makeshift workshop, the room still acted as the de facto storage area. “Not sure what that means, but yeah, I do need them all.”
“Why?”
Matt put the tote down next to his circular saw. “Because my job site is all the way out in Decatur. That’s way the hell away from here, and I can’t be driving back and forth because I ended up not having some tool that I need at the last minute.”
Matt started to load up his woodworking tools with brutal purpose.
“You can’t do this, Matt!”
“Doing it.”
Nate spied the wrenches he’d been using to finish the plumbing in the upstairs bathroom. He grabbed them and ran like a squirrel clutching its acorns during the first snow. Matt protested and tried to stop him, but Nate hauled ass out until he was out the front door, where he desperately searched for someplace to hide them.
A second car was parked next to Matt’s truck now. Anna’s. Anna’s?
“Anna?” Nate said aloud.
A child’s wailing sounded from inside the house. Nate turned and walked right into a glaring Matt in the doorway. Nate stepped around the redneck, still holding the wrenches, and shouted out Anna’s name again. She appeared out the side hallway from where the crying was coming.
“How did I walk past you?” he asked. “No—never mind. What’s going on?”
“Oh, Nate! Des is freaking out. She lost her Barbie and thinks she left it here.”
“She lost her Barbie?” Nate was incredulous. The sobbing from the hall sounded like a wounded fire engine.
Anna grimaced. “Yeah, I know, it’s stupid—”
“It’s NOT STUPID!” came a little girl’s voice from the hall.
“—and, well, she’s totally inconsolable as you can see, so I had to drive her out. Have you seen it?”
“No, not lately.”
Anna shook her hands in the air. “Well, can you help me look already?”
Nate noticed Matt was suddenly standing next to him again. With a pair of vice-grip hands, his ex-contractor started to extract one wrench at a time from Nate’s grasp.
“Matt, really. Can you please just work with me, here?”
“No.”
Des was bawling from the hallway.
Trapped, Nate let go of the tools. He would pick a different battle. He started asking Anna questions, trying to reconstruct earlier in the day when they were last over. Anna had been painting the baseboards in the hallway (why was there always so much painting?) Where had Des been playing? Upstairs? Out back?
“What does her doll look like?” Nate asked. “I remember she had a couple—”
“She’s not a doll, she’s Barbie!” came an angry shout from an angry girl.
Anna lowered her voice. “Don’t provoke her. It’s ugly enough.”
“What do you want me to do, communicate by mime?”
Another noise crashed from the kitchen, the sound of more metal objects being tossed into a heavy-duty Rubbermaid tote. Matt.
Nate frowned. “This sucks.”
“BARBIE! WHERE ARE YOU?!” Sobbing followed.
Anna dashed off to the hallway. For a moment, Nate was left alone with a sleeping Shelby on the couch. Nate grabbed his neighbor’s bourbon and downed it in one gulp.
On cue, more car engines rumbled into the front yard. Nate stepped outside to see what was going on now. The sky was incredibly dark, and a flash of heat lightning signaled some kind of front blowing in. Two more cars were parked next to M
att and Anna’s. One of them belonged to his parents. And then he saw Elvira, climbing out of her El Camino and shuffling toward him with her giant Walmart bag.
“This is a joke,” Nate said.
“You are in grave danger!” Elvira boomed. She scaled the porch, taking each step in a ponderous waddle. “There is a rift. A rift!”
“This is a bad time, Elvira. A little busy.”
“You don’t know how right you are. It is very bad. All of you are in danger. You’ve got to get out of the house!”
“What are you talking about? No one’s going to leave—it’s about to rain.”
“You must! The rift!”
“What’s a rift?”
Elvira pushed past him and went into the parlor. She raised her hands and shouted, “Attention! We must leave! You are all in great danger!”
Shelby snored in reply.
Nate heard a rustle outside and turned to see the first big splatters of rain coming down. “Elvira, this isn’t funny. And it’s a really bad time. I’m going to have to ask you to leave—”
A thud from the kitchen sounded as Matt apparently dropped his tote.
“What was that?” Elvira shrieked.
“It’s my contractor. Well, ex-contractor. He’s picking up his tools—”
From a back bedroom, Des let out a confused babble of anxiety that she would never find Barbie.
“What was that?” the voodoo lady demanded.
“That’s Des. She lost her doll—”
“She’s speaking in tongues! Oh my God, I pray it isn’t too late!”
“No—stop—wait—”
But Elvira was already off to the hallway, digging through her Walmart bag, pulling out what Nate hoped was not another frog.
More tromping on the front porch. Nate saw his dad hunched over against the wind as he hauled in multiple sacks of take-out.
The House That Jack Built: A Humorous Haunted House Fiasco Page 18