by Betty Bolte
Nov 5, 1863—Just got home two days ago to find the old home abandoned. I thought Grace would be here, having not heard anything from her to the contrary. I’ll write to Edith today to see if she knows where our sister has gone.
Nov 6, 1863—Inventoried what’s left, which didn’t take long. Damn Yanks and maybe Rebs, too, carted off most everything they could. Even the good silver tea service. Wish I’d been here, but don’t know whether I could’ve stopped them if I was. At least they left a few pieces of furniture so I have a bed to sleep in and chairs to sit on while I eat my supper. Though the plates and silver have all vanished.
Daily entries continued, with Grandpa Joe’s cryptic yet insightful commentary painting a picture of the plantation’s state of disorder and chaos after the war ended. Meredith sensed the pain and sadness of her Grandpa Joe carried through the decades via ink upon yellowed paper. The very paper he had held in his hands. Again the sense of connection to the past flowed through her. Could feelings be transmitted through inanimate objects such as paper? Was that why the journal had warmth to its cover?
Nov 30, 1863—Heard from Edith she thinks Grace may have run off with a Yank officer to marry while I was away. Can’t believe that. I suppose stranger things have happened, especially during this awful war. But for her to leave without talking to me first is difficult to swallow. Then no word at all after that. I do wonder if something or someone has hurt my little sister. I vow to continue looking until I know the answer.
Meredith paused in her reading and laid her head on the lace doily fastened to the chair. What must he have felt when he came home to find she'd abandoned Twin Oaks without any word of explanation? To never discern her fate? Dealing with the loss of Meredith’s own husband remained difficult even knowing what had happened, though never having a satisfactory answer as to why. She had closure, which Grandpa Joe never realized. She closed her eyes, putting herself in his place, trying to imagine the house through his eyes as someone who loved what was then a practically new plantation home and all it stood for. She’d loved visiting her own grandmother in this big old house, running up and down the stairs and from room to room as though at a grand amusement park filled with fun. And love. Always a sense of love and caring emanated from the house’s woodwork like the sweet perfume of a rose.
The soft rustle of silk followed by the sound of light footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Meredith bolted upright, eyes flying open. She searched the room, looking for the source of the sound. “Griz? Is that you?” She put the journal on the chair seat beside her and stood. “Grizabella?”
Another rustle from the hallway. She moved slowly across the carpeted floorboards, hearing the telltale creak of her progress with each sneakered footstep. She held her hands out to the side as though to steady herself as she made her way across the room. In truth, she needed a sense of balance as she contemplated how she’d protect herself from this intruder.
“Who’s there?” Meredith reached the arched doorway and peered into the hall. Nothing. She turned and glanced the other direction and then gasped when the sweet scent of honeysuckle reached her nose. Again.
Cold seeped into Meredith, and she shivered as she inched toward the front door, summoned and unable to resist.
Meredith crossed her arms, trying to still the beginnings of another shiver. What happened to the sun warming the house earlier? The shadows had deepened into near darkness within the house. The light switch was out of reach at the end of the hallway. Something compelled her to walk forward, urged her to open the front door, to reach for the knob and turn it. Her fingers curled around the tarnished brass.
A flash of light caused Meredith to look behind her. The door separating the hall from the kitchen stood open. Knocking soon followed on the screened door in the kitchen. Who was that? It didn’t matter. First, she had to go onto the front porch.
Meredith looked toward the bolted-shut front door. Her fingers tightened on the knob as she reached with her other hand to flip the deadbolt open. More knocking on the kitchen door was accompanied by the sound of Max’s voice. “Meredith?”
Though fearful about what she’d find, she had to determine what waited for her on the other side. Max jiggled the kitchen door so hard it rattled as he ultimately jerked it open, his booted steps pounding through the house. She heard but didn’t turn around. She stared at the door, mesmerized by the tug of forces pulling her in opposite directions. She needed to open it but was afraid at the same time. She tightened her hold, fighting the compulsion building inside her. Sunlight broke through the clouds outside and streamed across the floor. Max ran into the hallway behind her, sliding to a stop.
“Damn it, Meredith, why didn’t you answer me?” He grabbed her by the arms and spun her around to face him. He searched her face and then shook her once. “Meredith?”
She blinked and stepped back, her arms falling to her sides, hands tensed. “I’m fine. I think.”
“What’s going on?”
How did she explain what she didn’t understand? She dragged in a deep breath, only slightly relieved she didn’t smell honeysuckle. Flexing her hands to ease the bizarre desire to hit something, anything, she looked at Max as she blew her breath out in one big release. That helped. She did it again, the tension inside her giving way with the spent air. She searched her memory for why she stood in the hall feeling this deep-seated anger coupled with pain emanating from outside herself. More disturbing was the compulsion to unbolt and swing open the front door. To let someone in? Or out?
“I thought I heard something,” she finally said. Was it the Lady in Blue again? She hadn’t noticed anything, or anyone. She rubbed one arm, noting the chill in the air had gone. “But I guess I was wrong.”
“You scared me,” Max said, shoving his hands in his front jeans pockets.
“Did you forget something?”
“No, I just had a feeling something was wrong, so I came back.” Max rocked onto the balls of his feet, and then back on his heels, a nervous boy in front of the schoolmaster. “To—to make sure you’re safe.”
“As you can see, nothing is amiss.” Meredith turned and walked back into the parlor, not waiting for his reply or explanation. She needed to ensure the journal remained safely tucked away, out of sight of casual readers. Like Max.
Said man followed her, as she expected he would. His boots sounded louder and less tentative on the creaky floor than her sneakers. She stuffed the journal back inside the trunk and dropped the lid before looking at him. That’s when she observed the vein in his neck pulsing beneath a clenched jaw. Big, strong man like him visibly shaken. Because of her?
“What’s the matter with you?” Meredith took a step closer, and then another, searching his expression. Stubble shadowed his jaw in sharp contrast with his worried gaze.
“I’m glad you’re not on the floor, writhing in pain, is all.” With a rush of air he exhaled and then squatted, resting his elbows on his knees. He let his head drop down, his dark hair obscuring his face.
Nobody, not even Willy, had ever been so upset like Max currently was on her behalf. Her heart softened, allowing compassion to ease into her. This big, strong man had fallen prey to concern for her safety, concern leaving him tense and even a touch afraid. Meredith squatted in front of him, willing herself to not stare at his jeans zipper and imagine what caused the bulge beneath the denim. “Hey. Look at me.”
In slow motion, he complied with her demand.
“I’m fine. Really.” She touched his clasped hands to reassure him. She almost believed it wasn’t for her own sake, kinda like the hug she’d given Meg to comfort her. Yet again she found herself wondering whether she was comforting or being comforted.
“Why were you standing in the foyer? Where were you going?” Max turned one hand over and snagged hers with his strong fingers. “You looked like you were under a spell.”
“I did?” Should she tell him, or would he think her crazy? She stared at his manicured nails as he use
d his index finger to trace the outline of her ring finger. She didn’t need him holding her hand, sending these unwanted sensations through her. Making her want him in ways she hadn’t wanted any man in a long, long time. She should stop him. But it had been an eon since she’d permitted herself to feel, to let another help her feel anything. His deep concern for her should be rewarded. She met his questioning eyes. “I thought I heard something and went to check.”
“What kind of something?” He stared at her, intent on her response.
“That’s the odd part.” She hesitated to reveal the truth but saw no reason to not do so. “Don’t call me crazy. Okay?” She waited for his nod before continuing. “It sounded like the rustle of silk and a lady’s footsteps.”
His expression didn’t change as he looked at her. “These old houses have a language all their own, using creaks and thumps like words. What did you find?” He captured her other hand and pulled them both to their feet, mere inches separating their bodies.
“Nothing.” He stood so close she could see a thin scar across the bridge of his nose. She imagined the air from their speech mingling in the space between them as she watched his pupils dilate, his gaze weighing on her lips. “Not even Grizabella.”
“Maybe it was a stray breeze, touching on things and making them move.” His gaze drifted up to her eyes. “Stranger things have happened, so they say.”
She moistened her lips with her tongue. His gaze zeroed in on her mouth. “I don’t think so.”
He squeezed her hands and pulled her closer until her breasts brushed his chest, causing her nipples to bud. “Why not?”
“It’s a calm day,” she said, trying to prevent her breasts from remaining in contact with him but not willing to break the intrigue quite yet. After all, he hadn’t done anything she didn’t allow him to do. She was adult enough to control the situation. No problem. “No wind.”
Without a word, he lowered his mouth to hers. She gasped against his lips—from the spark of the contact or from the sudden act?—and pulled back, severing the kiss. “Don’t.”
He dropped her hands and stepped back. “I thought you wanted me to.”
She did, and she didn’t. “I—You were mistaken.” She scrubbed a hand over her lips and then shoved both hands into her back pockets.
“Was I?” He kissed her again, a simple press of lips on lips.
Her body thrummed from the unwanted, but not unpleasant, kiss. “It’s not personal. It’s that—”
“What?”
Damn, he was handsome. Stunning blue eyes searched her face. His strong jaw jutted closer to her, raising his chin as he studied her. His interest in her drew her to him, nearly causing her to gravitate toward him like a ball bearing to a magnet. Putting distance between them proved harder than she’d imagined. “I can’t start a relationship with anyone.”
“I see.” Max tightened his lips and nodded once, letting her hands drop from within his long fingers. “My apologies. I must have misinterpreted your response.”
His language had become almost lawyerly. No more mingled words to tantalize. Only distance between them. He shifted, and she tried to feel relieved as he easily accepted the change in her position toward him. That was what she wanted. Really.
“Other than your gut feeling, why did you drive back out here?” She strove to put space between them, emotionally and physically moving away from him. “You could have phoned. Don’t you have other clients to harass?”
“It wasn’t far.” He shrugged. “Since I’m here, I’ll share some fantastic news.” He sat down on a chair, almost as though his legs wouldn’t hold him, but Meredith couldn’t imagine that a kiss affected him in such a way. He peered at her. “I heard from the Register.”
“And?” A chill swept through her as she watched him carefully place one ankle on the opposite knee. Being on the National Register wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, but it could complicate her aims. She kept her eyes on his face, not allowing herself to inspect that so-hard-to-ignore telltale bulge at his zipper. Why did men flaunt certain parts of their anatomy every chance they got, anyway?
“Twin Oaks is officially on the National Register of Historic Places.”
Damn. “So?”
“It’s fantastic. You should be thrilled.” He put both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Unless you want some apartment complex to buy out Twin Oaks?”
“No, of course not.” She sank into the rocker and crossed her legs.
“Then why aren’t you happier about this news?” He linked his fingers between his knees and stared at her, waiting.
“It’s nice to be on the list, if you like that sort of thing.” She hesitated, letting her attention drift to the window and beyond to the sunlit gazebo in the back. She’d take Grandpa Joe’s journal and go sit out there for a while once Max left, enjoying the twitter of birds and the gentle warmth of the spring breeze. “It’s just that it really won’t change my plans. You may as well see about removing Twin Oaks from the list.”
“Why?” His twining fingers stilled. “What sort of plans do you have?”
She dragged her gaze back to his captivating eyes and considered her response. Suddenly dreaded his reaction. “You don’t need to worry, Max. I’m not selling, and nobody will ever take this property from me.”
“You haven’t answered my question, and don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Max rose and looked down at her from his towering height.
If he wanted to harm her, he could. His much larger frame and strong biceps could be either welcome protection or threat. She and Willy had shared the same body type and height, so she’d never felt threatened by him. Nor totally protected, for that matter. She had often wondered if Willy was strong enough to defend her, and only once did he prove he could. The night he’d given his life for her. Max shifted his weight, drawing her attention back to the present. He stared at her where she sat in the rocker, slowly pushing it back and forth with one foot.
“My plans for Twin Oaks are not your concern.” She stopped the rocker and stood, reducing Max’s towering advantage over her. “Thank you for checking on me. I’ll be in touch if I should need your help again.”
“You’re dismissing me?” Max raised his eyebrows at her and then shook his head. “I’ll leave if that’s what you want, sweetheart, but we’re not done. Not by a long shot.”
Chapter 6
Cinnamon with a hint of cloves and nutmeg awoke her the next morning. Rubbing her eyes, her muscles protested her movements, almost as though she’d been in a battle the night before. She rested her arm across her forehead, realizing the only battle she fought raged within. Inhaling, she savored the combined spicy scent, saliva moistening her mouth in anticipation. Meg’s breakfast buns had won awards at the county fair for decades. No need to fight her desire to feast on Meg’s cooking. Pushing off the comforter, she swung her legs out of bed, her toes enjoying the coolness of the wood floor as she stood and stretched. Lacing her fingers together, she raised her arms above her head and angled left, then right. Sunlight flowed through the window, warming Grizabella where she lay in sphinx position, watching Meredith.
“Morning, kitten.” Meredith lowered her arms to slip her robe on over her shorts and tee.
Griz slowly swiped her tail from side to side and blinked in response.
Meredith padded on bare feet to her suitcase and selected fresh undies, blue jeans, and a scoop-neck black tee and tossed them onto the bed. Humming the theme of the seven little dwarves, she made short work of changing clothes and then attended to her morning ritual. Griz accompanied her to the bathroom, dutifully checking out the room for any signs of rodents or bugs. Meredith finished brushing her strawberry-blonde hair, seeing the same sad yet determined gold-flecked green eyes looking back at her between the black spots on the mirror. Another task she’d need to add to her list: replace the mirror since the moisture in the air must have interacted with the backing and the damage couldn’t be reversed. Griz rubbed agains
t her leg, and then turned and butted her head into Meredith’s shin. Meredith reached down and scritched the calico’s side.
“Let me get my shoes on, and we’ll head down to greet Meg.” Meredith strode back into the bedroom, pulled on socks and sneakers, and hurried downstairs.
As she approached the kitchen, Meg was singing “You Are My Sunshine.” She hesitated before pushing the door open, her hand trembling at the memories the song evoked. The sound conjured the almost forgotten hope of singing to her own baby. Meredith squared her shoulders and pushed on the door. She mustn’t dwell on the pain of never being a mother. Not today. Despite her recent lapses, both at the family cemetery and then later with Max, she could not allow emotions to affect her decisions.
“Good morning, Meg.” Meredith snagged a mug from the cupboard and poured herself some coffee.
“Mornin’, Meredith. I think the buns are about ready.” Meg opened the oven door and sniffed the heat rising from the resulting gap. “Smells about right.” She opened the door all the way and, using an oven mitt, removed the cake tin filled with golden-brown buns.
“Smells great.” Meredith sipped her coffee as Meg placed the pan on a hot pad on the counter.
Movement outside the kitchen window drew Meredith’s eye. A car pulled into the gravel drive. Paulette emerged, dressed in bright-green shorts and white top. She popped the trunk and withdrew a backpack, which she slung in place before dragging a wheeled bag from the depths of the car. Slamming the lid closed, she started for the back porch.
“Damn.” She sure didn’t need whatever Paulette had in mind. The sight of the suitcase did not bode well.
Meg used a spatula to lift the buns onto a china platter, arranging them in a daisy pattern. “What’s the matter?”
“Paulette’s here.” Meredith plunked her mug down, watching her sister pick her way across the gravel driveway to the back door. “I’d hoped she’d wait until later to make an appearance.”