by Karen White
“I’m hungry,” Chloe said loudly.
Tripp faced her. “Why don’t you go on back to the kitchen. Cora’s getting lunch together for Carol Lynne and I’m sure she won’t mind making you a sandwich, too.”
“As long as it’s gluten-free and vegetarian I can eat it. My dad says everything else is poison.” She glared at me as if we were both remembering the chicken-fried steak and gravy I had once served her and her father for dinner.
Tripp shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’m not one to go against your daddy or your upbringing, but seeing as how my doctor says I’m healthy as an ox, I figure I can offer you some good advice. I can pretty much promise you that there is nothing in Miss Cora’s kitchen that will poison you. Having been the recipient of many of her meals, I can attest to the fact that not only are they nutritious but tasty, too.”
I wanted to tell him to save his breath, that Chloe would starve herself if it meant winning her father’s approval. And even then he’d find something lacking.
“Whatever. Sir,” she added hastily. Then she headed back toward the kitchen but not before we could see her rolling her eyes.
Facing me, Tripp just looked at me without saying anything, making me nervous, which I was pretty sure was what he intended.
“I just took one pill. Carol Lynne was waiting down here with her suitcases and asking Chloe for a cigarette. I needed something to help me deal with it.”
He didn’t say anything.
I headed for the stairs. “I need to go get dressed and figure out what I’m going to do with Chloe, and try to reach Mark again.”
“You didn’t ask me why I was here.”
I paused with my hand on the newel post. “Why are you here?”
“Because I found something with the remains that I wanted to show you. See if it rings any bells.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag, just like the ones Tommy used in his workshop. Unzipping the top, he reached inside and pulled out a gold ring. It was small enough to have been meant either for a child or for the pinkie finger of an adult.
He held it out to me and I took it. “It looks like it’s only one half of a ring,” he said, pointing to the top, where half of a heart, separated from its invisible partner, was hacked through the middle in a zigzag.
I took it and turned it around to better read the partial inscription.
I LO
Y
FOR
“I think it’s supposed to read ‘I love you forever.’” I gently ran my thumb over the inscription. “Was she wearing it?” I asked, trying not to think of this ring on the dead finger of the unknown woman.
“Not on her finger. She wore it on a chain—the kind of large-linked chain you find on an old-fashioned pocket watch.”
Our eyes met, both of us thinking about the coincidence of the watch chain.
Tripp continued. “The other half of the ring would fit on top of this one so that it looked like a double band. I’m hoping somebody will recognize this, or maybe have seen the other half.”
I continued rubbing my thumb over the gold ring, knowing I’d never seen it before, but having a flicker of memory that made me think that I had. “I don’t think so. At least, I can’t think of it right now—I’ll let you know if anything comes to me.” I quickly gave it back to him, eager to get it out of my hand. “I’ll ask Cora and Carol Lynne. Maybe it might jog a memory.”
He dropped the ring back into the bag. “Would you and Chloe want to go see a movie with me this weekend? Carrie Holmes—Tommy’s old girlfriend—has refurbished the old theater and she’s having a Twilight marathon, starting Friday. Thought Chloe might enjoy that, and I’d like to support Carrie’s new business venture.”
“Technically, Chloe’s not supposed to enjoy anything. But I’ll let you ask her. She’s too afraid of you to say no. And assuming she’s still here. No word from her father yet.”
“Will do,” he said as I began to climb the stairs. “You don’t need those pills, Vivi. You were always a good problem solver on your own.”
Without turning around, I said, “Yeah, well, when you find that old Vivi, let me know. Until then, the new Vivi does just fine with her pills.” I kept walking without turning around until I got to my bedroom door and had closed it behind me.
I lay down on my bed and stared at the butterflies on the wallpaper, hearing in my mind Bootsie’s voice telling me something about life being tough but us Walker women being tougher. I closed my eyes, for the first time since my return glad that Bootsie was gone so she couldn’t see how very wrong she’d been.
Chapter 14
Adelaide Walker Bodine
INDIAN MOUND, MISSISSIPPI
JULY 1923
The light of the moon and stars and the song of the swaying cypress trees filled my room. My eyes stung from reading by candlelight long after Aunt Louise had come in to turn off my lamp and remind me to get my beauty sleep. But I could not let the story go, and still clutched F. Scott Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise in my arms as if to let it go would allow the characters to walk out of my life.
I wanted to talk to somebody about the book, but knew that Aunt Louise and Uncle Joe—both of whom believed in having only two books in the house, the Bible and the Farmers’ Almanac—wouldn’t approve. Especially when they found out that Sarah Beth had filched it for me from her mother’s sitting room when I’d mentioned that I’d heard about the book and wanted to read it. I’d made the mistake of saying that to check the book out from the library, I needed a permission note from my parent or guardian, since I was just sixteen. I should have known that any mention of going against authority would have been like white on cotton to Sarah Beth.
I kicked off my covers, my nightgown sticking to my skin, the lace curtains moving languidly in the muggy breeze. I closed my eyes, still picturing John as the book’s hero, Amory, and me as the wild and reckless Eleanor, hoping to fall asleep with the characters whispering in my dreams.
Something hard hit the wood floor, right inside the window. I jerked up, praying it wasn’t a disgusting hard-shelled june bug flying into my room. The dark-wood posts of the bed stretched long fingers over the shadowed floor, and for a moment I was paralyzed with fear, wondering if I was no longer alone.
The sound came again, but this time I saw the small stone hit the floor and roll to a stop next to its shadowed sister.
“Adelaide? Are you awake?” a loudly whispering but definitely masculine voice called from the lawn below.
I ran to the window and stuck my head out to peer into the moon-washed yard. John stood in the middle of my rosebushes, looking up at me. His white shirt, rolled up on his forearms like the last time I’d seen him, gleamed with the same brightness as his hair, making me think of the white marble angels Mrs. Heathman had in her back garden. I wondered if he knew that roses had thorns, and how he was going to explain all those snags and holes in his trousers.
“What are you doing here? If my uncle Joe sees you, he’s like to get his shotgun after you.”
He didn’t say anything right away, but stood staring up at me. “What’s in your hair?”
I thought of the june bug again and quickly reached up, hitting something soft. Groaning inwardly, I flicked both hands through my hair, pulling out the twists of fabric I’d stuck in it before I’d gone to bed in the hopes of giving myself curls. Aunt Louise said I couldn’t get one of those new permanent waves, but one of my friends at school had sworn this would work.
I quickly ducked back inside, ripping them out—and a lot of hair in the process—not caring to think about what my half-curled hair would look like. I stuck my head back out the window as if nothing had happened. “I’m supposed to be asleep,” I said, realizing that he could have probably figured that out on his own.
“We need your help.”
“We?”
“Willie and me. Mostly me. Willie is completely ossified, and can’t stand up on his own.” He stopped whispering and looked around as if he’d heard something. I was quiet, too, listening to the screech of a bobcat somewhere in the night. “Come down so I can talk to you.”
It didn’t occur to me that I could say no. I ducked under the window and ran to the bedroom door, grateful that I had the large room with the old bed near the rear kitchen stairs. As long as I avoided slamming any doors, I was home free.
Barefoot, I crept down the stairs to the kitchen, the light from the windows guiding my way toward the back door. The grass was cool beneath my feet as I lifted my nightgown so Aunt Louise wouldn’t find any grass stains on my hem.
John met me at the corner of the house, his hair still glowing like a halo. I skidded to a stop, suddenly aware that all I wore was a long white nightgown. It had little-girl ruffles around the throat and at the wrists, but when I heard John’s intake of breath, I knew they made no difference.
Without saying anything, he reached for my hand and I took it, then allowed him to lead me down the front drive, where I could see Sarah Beth’s new car. Peering closer, I saw the forms of two people, each slumped over their respective doors. I couldn’t see their faces, but I figured it had to be Sarah Beth and Willie.
“What happened?”
John opened Willie’s door, catching him by his tie before he slid out onto the drive. “A little too much hooch. Don’t worry—it’s good stuff. Nothing that could kill them. Although in the morning they might wish that it had.”
A whiff of gasoline, vomit, and summer grass mixed with something strong and pungent traveled past my nose and I gagged. “What’s that smell?”
I felt John staring at me in the darkness. “We went to a new gin joint near Leland. Sarah Beth upchucked in the backseat. I tried to clean it up with an oil rag but I think I just smeared it. I need you to show me Willie’s room and I’ll carry him to his bed. Can’t leave him passed out in the roses.”
“A gin joint? But Willie doesn’t drink. Uncle Joe and Aunt Louise are teetotalers.” In a hushed voice, I added, “And it’s illegal.” I felt stupid saying that, recalling Sarah Beth and her flask the last time I’d seen her at the Ellis plantation. But she was different. Her parents drank wine with their supper, and I knew her father kept spirits locked in the bottom drawer of his desk in his study. Sarah Beth knew where he’d kept the key and had shown me.
She’d explained that it was illegal only to sell or distribute alcohol, not drink it. Because I knew she wouldn’t appreciate my logic, I didn’t bother pointing out that her father had to get the alcohol into their house by somebody buying and selling it.
John’s teeth shone in the dark and I knew he was smiling. “Well, now, I don’t like to contradict a lady, but your cousin most definitely drinks. I’ve seen him worse off than tonight, too.” He reached in and lifted Willie from the backseat, easily throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of picked cotton.
He looked at me expectantly.
“This way,” I said. “But you’ve got to be real quiet. My aunt and uncle have the room next to his.”
“Does your uncle sleep with his shotgun?”
I couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “He might,” I said over my shoulder. “So you’d better hush.”
Lifting my nightgown again, I led the way to the kitchen through the back door, then up the stairs. Turning to put my finger to my lips—realizing too late that he couldn’t see me in the darkened hallway—I went up the short flight of stairs, then opened the door to the second hallway where the rest of the bedrooms were, then tiptoed to Willie’s bedroom.
I pulled down the bedspread and sheets before John dumped my cousin on the bed, a small groan coming from Willie’s open mouth. John knelt by his feet and took off one shoe, so I did the other, wanting to be helpful.
“Go get a washbasin and put it by the side of the bed.”
I grabbed the bowl off Willie’s dresser and put it on the floor by the bed while John flipped Willie over onto his stomach. “So he doesn’t choke if he throws up,” he explained, making me wonder how John knew what to do.
When he was finished, we stared at Willie’s still form, only the loud sound of his breathing telling us that he was still alive.
“Will he be okay?” I whispered.
“It might take a couple of days, but he’ll be fine.” Putting his hand on my back, he led me toward the door. “You might want to change your clothes. I’ll need you to go with me to Sarah Beth’s house so I can get her inside to her room.”
Letting a boy see me in just my nightgown was scandalous enough. Sneaking out of the house at night with a boy would be enough to send my aunt into heart palpitations. “Can’t she just stay here?” I whispered back.
“No. Her parents are still out at a party, and if they find her gone when they get back, they’re going to send her to a convent in France.”
I’d heard the threat many times, but I took it seriously now after her stint at Miss Portman’s school. It wouldn’t be as easy for her to be expelled and come home if she was halfway across the world. “What if the door’s locked?”
“We’ll figure it out. Now go get some clothes on.” There was something about his confidence that seemed to feed my own, and I could almost believe that he and I could will ourselves past a locked door.
He waited out in the hall while I got dressed in the dark, slipping on the dress I’d worn the day before but not bothering with stockings. Hopefully this wouldn’t be a social call where I’d be seeing anybody who cared.
I’d already opened my door before I’d thought to try to run a brush through my hair, and as I led John to the kitchen door, I prayed we wouldn’t be anywhere near a light, where he could get a good look at me.
As I stepped off the porch, he grabbed my hand, stopping me. “Hey, not so fast.”
“What about Sarah Beth?”
He smiled at me in the moonlight. “She’ll be all right for a little bit. I just never get the chance to see you alone.”
He moved toward me, but I took a step back, remembering everything Aunt Louise had told me about young men.
“Are you afraid of me?”
I shook my head. A cloud passed over the moon as a breeze blew over us, bringing with it the scent of rain and the song of the cypress trees.
“What’s that noise?” he asked.
“The trees. They say it’s the sound of spirits trapped inside the trunks, and the wind allows them to sing.”
“Could be—sounds spooky enough.”
We both looked toward the swamp, where the moonlight skipped over the tops of the trees as if it were too scared to cut through the dark spaces. Even on the brightest nights, it always seemed darker in the swamp, a line drawn between the firmer earth and the soft swampland as if the world had drawn a curtain.
John and I faced each other without saying anything, listening to the night sounds of the tree frogs and the trees in the wind. “Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked, his voice soft.
I started to shake my head, then stopped. “I’m not supposed to—at least, Aunt Louise and Pastor Barclay say I’m not. But it just seems to me that sometimes a life’s not really over when it ends. Maybe some people are allowed to come back to finish something. Or to say good-bye.”
I thought of my mother and how I’d sat in the dark for hours waiting for her to come back and tell me good-bye. I’d heard that if you stared in a mirror in the dark for long enough, a departed loved one would come back with a final message. I couldn’t admit to John that I still paused in front of a mirror if I passed one in the dark.
“I bet if ghosts were real they’d live in the swamp.” He took a step closer but this time I didn’t step back. “Willie says in the winter the ground goes dry and you can walk right across the swamp from one side to the other. Have you ev
er done that?”
“No. Aunt Louise says I can’t. It’s too dangerous—lots of big, poisonous spiders. And bobcats.”
He reached up and touched my hair, making me think that I might have forgotten one of the strips of fabric. “Do you always do what you’re told?”
I looked up into his eyes where the moon made them shine like stars, or maybe that was my imagination. “Yes,” I said quietly. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t always obey because I was afraid of getting in trouble, but that I was afraid of disappointing my aunt and uncle like I’d disappointed my mother. If they left me, I didn’t know where else I could go. But I said nothing, any words I might have spoken swallowed by the gentle press of his lips against mine.
He pulled back. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.” Emboldened by his kiss, I asked, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
I thought for a moment. “Uncle Joe is six years older than Aunt Louise.”
His teeth shone again in the moonlight. “Is that a proposal?”
My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and I was glad he couldn’t see me blushing. “No!” To hide my embarrassment, I added, “Is that why you didn’t ask me to come out with you tonight? Because I’m too young? Sarah Beth is only a year older than me, you know.”
He stopped smiling and leaned close to me, blocking out the moonlight. “No, Adelaide. I didn’t invite you because I don’t want to corrupt you. You’re the one good, honest thing in this crazy, crooked world. I can’t see you hoofing it up on a table in a gin joint, and I don’t want to. You’re different from all the other girls. That’s what I like about you.”
“I know how to dance the Charleston—Sarah Beth taught me,” I protested, not really hearing his words but instead seeing myself as he did—dull and boring. A baby just out of diapers.
He threw back his head and laughed loudly enough that I worried my aunt and uncle would hear. “I’ll let you show me sometime, then,” he said, leaning in even closer to kiss me lightly.