A Red Red Rose

by Susan Coryell

  EIGHT

  I curried Sasha, one eye on the doorway, hoping for a Luke-sighting. Luke had a terrific workload. I knew that now. He was no stable boy. Not only did he care for a dozen horses, but he also maintained all the books and accounts having to do with them, ordered feed and equipment, and oversaw the boarding business. He was in charge of breeding, showing, and general sales of the horses. On top of this, he gave riding lessons to children from neighboring estates, ran the 4-H Club, and organized horse shows. Maybe, just maybe, he was too busy to take much interest in a visiting Overton relative. Then, again, there was always that possibility of a girlfriend of long-standing. Absorbed in my thoughts, I was startled by a noise from the small room off the stalls. Luke called it his “office,” and it was where he worked on and kept the books and ledgers, but I had never been inside.

  Whispering a promise to Sasha to come back soon, I returned my horse to his stall and peeked in the door, hoping to find Luke. Instead, I looked straight into the uncompromising cobalt eyes of my uncle.

  “Well! Good morning, Ashby. What a nice surprise.”

  “Currying Sasha. I thought Luke might be in here. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’ve been wanting some one-on-one time with you. Sit down. I’ve just finished my work here.” He shut the large accounting ledger and patted it. “Luke’s records. Impeccable as always.”

  From where I sat, I could see Sasha in his stall. I threw him a kiss.

  My uncle caught my gesture. “It seems you’ve developed a real love affair with that horse.”

  “What’s not to love?”

  “My sentiments exactly.” My uncle nodded. “Horses. They’re in our blood.”

  “You sound like my dad.” My eyes went to the row of trophies and cups on the shelf hanging behind the desk where he sat. There must have been a hundred ribbons attached to a tack board. “Wow! That’s a lot of trophies? Yours, Uncle Hunter?”

  “Actually, it’s the horses who win the trophies.” He turned and looked over his shoulder. “Some of these beauties go as far back as my mother’s time.” Standing, he reached for a dusty, tarnished loving cup and removed it from the shelf. “Old Dominion Horse Show. Grand Championship. Capitola,” he read. He handed it to me. “Cappy was my mother’s favorite horse—an exquisite Thoroughbred and a wonderful show ring hunter. Cappy and my mother were so in tune with one another, many people believed that my mother could merely think commands and Cappy would follow through without a hitch.”

  “My Grandmother Lenore.” I touched the darkened silver. “I wish I could have met her. Dad told me she was an amazing horsewoman.” I looked at my uncle. “Uncle Hunter, my birth father, Washington, did he ride, too? Are any of those trophies his? I mean his horse’s?”

  “Washington was…he was a rider of a different sort.” My uncle gave a slight frown. “His passion was race cars. The faster the better. Actually, Wash became quite a skilled driver. Today he might well have been a NASCAR champion. Our father never approved, though. He could see no parallel between horseback riding and race car driving.” He looked back at the trophy shelf again. “No. None of these trophies have anything to do with Wash, although I believe he did have quite a trophy collection of his own. From stock car races.” His look brightened. “Yes. I know where they most likely would be. In the trunk with Marian’s things. Their trunk in the attic. It was sent back here after, well, after the accident—the accident that killed them both. I’m sorry. It must distress you hearing about this. They were your mother and father, after all.”

  “Oh no. I mean, I want to know everything about my birth parents.”

  “Then, I suppose you’d like to see the contents of that trunk, eh?”

  Dumbly, I nodded.

  “I’ll have Miss Emma show you the attic. I’ll tell her right now, in fact. I have to go up to the house to change before I leave.”

  “Oh, thank you, Uncle Hunter. Please understand, I love Mom and Dad. They’ve been wonderful parents to me. They’re the only parents I’ve ever known, but I’ve always been curious about my past.”

  “I quite understand, my dear. No need to explain. If you have questions, any questions about anything, please ask.” He gave me a curiously piercing look and I had the sudden thought that Hunter Overton would be a hard man to keep a secret from. “Just ask,” he repeated. He rose from his seat and escorted me to the door. “By the way, Ashby, I want to tell you how pleased your Aunt Monica and I are with the way you’ve taken on Jefferson. I believe he is absolutely smitten with you. He talks about you constantly.”

  Flattered and surprised at his praise, I felt myself blush as I watched him stride purposefully away. Not until he was out of sight did I realize I’d lost an opportunity. Why hadn’t I told him about the rose on my balcony, the strange music in my room, the self-burning candles? And why hadn’t I asked about Rosabelle?

  “Hey!” a familiar voice broke into my thoughts. “I’ve got some downtime. Wanna work on your canter?” Luke moved to Sasha’s stall and knelt to examine my horse’s hoof. “Sasha needs a hoof pick here. Know how t’ use one?”

  “I was just going to take care of Sasha when I found Uncle Hunter in your office.” I was tired of waiting for Luke to move on from the teacher-student role. Enough, already. Couldn’t we just be friends?

  Luke didn’t even look at me. “Warm up with a trot aroun’ th’ ring. Then we’ll have time for a canter.” He readied his horse for a ride.

  I tightened Sasha’s girth and led him from the barn. I wanted more than horse talk with Luke; I wanted a real conversation, a date, a night out. Surely, even in the sticks young people had some kind of social life besides horses. As much as I was enjoying my summer, I was getting itchy spending all day every day with old people and a seven-year-old. There was no denying my growing attraction to my riding instructor. How could he be so oblivious? Of course, I knew that Luke drove off some evenings. That inescapable date with the phantom girlfriend, I thought ruefully.

  In the ring, I buckled on my helmet, ran down the stirrup, and then stepped into it. I slung my right leg over the horse and eased my butt into the saddle. Posting with the trot, I followed Sasha’s outside foreleg, admiring his strength as we rode in unison. It happened every time: Once astride Sasha, I forgot everything else, especially my fear. After a good warm-up in the ring, Luke led us on a brisk canter over the fields. Cantering is heavenly, my favorite gait. The gentle rocking sensation, with the wind and sun on my cheeks and the good smells of summer grass and trees—it’s absolutely exhilarating. Aware of the smooth, sensuous rhythm, I moved in sync with the horse under me. I was in the zone! Thirty minutes later, I wiped the sweat from my brow and patted Sasha’s flanks.

  Luke reined his horse beside me and gave me a half-grin. “You’re an awful fast learner, for a city girl.”

  “Thanks. I’ll betcha I could even learn to water ski, with the right instructor.”

  “I hear ya’. But, one thing at a time, okay? Are y’ plannin’ to enter a tri-athelon or somethin’?”

  Not exactly, I thought. Just trying to monopolize as much of Luke Murley’s time as possible. I flashed my brightest smile.

  “Anyway, I’d say you’re about ready for th’ trail.”

  “Whoa! Now, that’s good news. Jeff will be thrilled.” I hesitated a moment, before adding, “Thanks for the lessons, Luke. Jeff’s right. You are a great teacher.”

  Making all sorts of plans in my head, I led Sasha back to his stall. I’d completely forgotten about the trunk in the attic.

  * * * *

  Strolling through the green tunnel to collect Jeff that afternoon, I couldn’t wait to tell my cousin I’d been declared fit for the riding trail.

  Without warning, a thunderous crash in the underbrush broke the quiet; a snarling growl electrified the air. What appeared to be a huge, gray wolf bounded from the woods into my path. I screamed, then froze, as I stood staring down the barrel of wolf-muzzle, paralyzed at the sight of slavering jaws
and pointed teeth and wildly flickering eyes of an odd, clear blue. The beast continued to growl low in its throat. Flecks of foam flew about its mouth; it poised for the jump. I knew I was a goner as the light funneled inward and I felt myself go limp. My throat closed. Darkness sucked up the light until only a pin-point remained and I felt myself slump to the ground.

  I awoke to confusion. Luke leaned over me, his face close to mine. Jeff held my hand, patted my cheeks. They both wore worry on their faces.

  “W-what happened?” A shaking voice broke through my consciousness and I realized it was my own. Struggling to a sitting position, I stammered, “The animal…d-dog…wolf? It jumped at me.”

  “Dog? Wolf?” Luke looked around. “I didn’t see any animals, but I sure heard y’ scream. Time I got here, you were passed out cold.” He peered into the trees on both sides of the green tunnel. “Wolf. Blue eyes? Dark grey? Huge?”

  Weakly I nodded. “Bolted out of the woods. I must’ve fainted.” I inspected my limbs and touched my neck and face. “I was sure it was going to tear my throat out.”

  Luke kicked at the ground and stewed. “I know that animal. It’s a crossbreed. Half shepherd, half wolf—an’ it’s mean. Belongs to Eddie Mills.”

  “Who’s Eddie Mills?”

  “Mills property, or what’s left of it, borders Overhome. Eddie an’ me went to high school together. He rode with a rough group, then, an’ I suspect he’s leadin’ th’ Night Riders, but I can’t prove it.”

  Jeff watched us with big eyes. “What’re we gonna do, Luke? He can’t get away with scarin’ Ashby like that.”

  “My guess is it was an accident. Most likely he was in th’ woods on a recon mission. Gettin’ ready for another evenin’ of fun with his Night Ridin’ buddies. Maybe I’ll just do some night work of my own. Make a neighborly visit after dark. I’ve been itchin’ for an excuse to take Eddie on. Him and his mongrel.”

  Luke reached for my arm and helped me up. “Better let Miss Emma take a look at you, just t’ make sure nothin’s broken.”

  I shook my head. “I’m okay, Luke. Really. I fainted from fright.” Shakily, I began to walk, and Luke put a strong arm around me.

  “Sure?”

  Nodding, I felt myself go giddy again, but it had nothing to do with the wolf-dog’s attack. It was Luke’s touch that made my knees weak this time.

  Jeff ran ahead, calling for Miss Emma, who met us on the porch steps.

  “There. Miss Emma will take care of you.” Luke delivered me over to the housekeeper, who, in turn, put her arm around me and led me to the chaise on the sun porch.

  She sent Luke and Jeff on their way, then examined me in great detail, lifting my eyelids, taking my pulse, feeling up and down my arms and legs for tender spots. “Looks like nothing is injured” she said in the most feeling voice I’d ever heard her use. “But you’re pale as paper, child.”

  “Really, Miss Emma. I’m fine. I’ve never done that—fainted from fright. It’s totally not me.”

  “Well, you’ve had a real scare. I’ll just sit here with you for a while.”

  It was the opportunity I’d been hoping for. The last time I’d asked about Rosabelle, Miss Emma’d backed away like a crab. This time, I wanted some answers. I sat up on the chaise. But the first thing that emerged from my lips was about my uncle’s promise to let me see Marian’s trunk. My body might be unscathed, but my mind was a real scramble. “Uncle Hunter said there’s a trunk of my mother’s and father’s things in the attic. He said he’d speak to you about it.”

  “Oh, yes. He did mention that trunk. I can show you the attic. But…are you sure you’re up to it? I mean, do you really want to go dredging up the past?”

  “They were my birth parents. I’ve never known anything about them. Dad and Mom felt there was no need for details. I’m the one who feels the need. Can you understand where I’m coming from?”

  The old woman sighed and sat on the foot of the chaise. “Yes. I can understand your need. My own family heritage is very important to me. But there’s so much you don’t know, dear. There’s so much you probably shouldn’t know.” She looked at me then for a long, silent moment. I remembered our first meeting my first night here. It was the same appraising look.

  Apparently, she came to some kind of decision. “I’ve been putting it off, but I realize now I can’t hold back any longer.” She readjusted her weight and sighed again. “Do you know how much you look like your Grandmother Lenore, sitting there?”

  Oh, God, I thought. She’s running off the track again.

  But she continued. “Lenore and I were best friends as far back as memory serves. We shared everything, and when she died, it was me she called to her deathbed. Not Thomas, her husband, and not Abe Murley. It was me, Emma Coleville.”

  “Please go on,” I urged.

  “You see, Lenore trusted me. I told you before that Lenore made me promise to fulfill her dying request. But, actually, there were two things she asked of me at the time.”

  I nodded encouragement, afraid to break her stream of consciousness by speaking.

  “First, Lenore asked me to look out for Hunter, to take care of him and bring him up to be a fine gentleman. The other two boys were older and less vulnerable, but Hunter was her baby, really, just a child when the accident happened. Lenore was thrown from her horse, you know. Lenore, who never fell off a horse. A freak accident. She hit her head and was in a coma for days. One night, she revived, just long enough to call for me. Then poof! She was gone. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “And the other request, Miss Emma? What else did Lenore ask of you?”

  The old woman turned her eyes on me then. “She asked me to watch for you, Ashby.”

  “Me?” A chill coursed through me. “Why me? I-I wasn’t even born. How could she possibly ask you to watch for me?”

  The housekeeper wagged her head from side to side. “Oh, I’m making a mess of explaining this. I knew it would be difficult.” She took a deep breath and went on. “Lenore said to me—I remember every word as if it were branded on my brain. She said, ‘Emma, when I die, Rosabelle will go away. But she’ll come back. You know Rosabelle only comes for the women, and you know the signs as well as I do. You must be on the lookout. You must be prepared to explain everything.’”

  I stared at Miss Emma, too flabbergasted to say anything.

  “You see, Lenore knew Rosabelle would come looking for you…that she would be waiting for you…or someone like you.”

  “But, you say Rosabelle comes for the women? What about my mother, Marian? Or Monica?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, no. Neither of them. There was never a sign of her return. Until you got here, of course.”

  At last I found my voice. “Rosabelle?” I reached over and clutched the housekeeper’s thin hand. “Miss Emma…who is Rosabelle? I’ve got to know.”

  She hesitated so long, I was sure she’d lost her focus. At last she spoke. “You know, at first, I thought it was only Lenore’s wild imagination. She was such a fanciful young girl. I was always the pragmatic one. She was the dreamer. But there were signs, all kinds of things that happened at Overhome, that could only be explained by… Why, even now, now that Lenore’s been dead ’lo these many years. I’ve seen her in the dining room mirror.”

  Seen who? Rosabelle? Lenore? My mind was tangled with confusion.

  “Don’t you know there’s all kinds of spirits, Ashby? Good ones…bad ones. How am I to sort them out?”

  “Then, you’re telling me that Rosabelle is a spirit? A ghost?”

  Miss Emma lifted her delicate frame from the chaise. “You said that, Ashby. Not me. I’ve never voiced it outright like that.” Slowly, she shook her head. “I’d be real careful what I say, if I was you. You never know who might be listening.” Leaning over, she felt my head, to check for fever; instead, her hand encountered a wash of cold sweat. “You’ll be all right now,” she said. Without waiting for my response, she walked into the house, leaving me t
o stare at her retreating back in awed silence.

  NINE

  By dinnertime I’d put Miss Emma’s confidences of the afternoon in my memory bank to bring up and think over later. While Uncle Hunter, Jeff, and I waited for my ever-tardy aunt to make her appearance, my uncle used the opportunity to give me a history lesson on the house.

  “This room and the keeping room next door are what we consider the original house, though they were actually part of a barn.” He pointed up. “Your room, Ashby, is right above us. That barn was built back in the eighteenth century. Overtons have lived on this land for over two hundred years.”

  I took in the floors covered in carpet and the walls papered in silk. For sure it did not look like a barn, but things somehow sounded different and felt different in this room. I wondered if Miss Emma felt the same way. I couldn’t help but think of her terrified look at the mirror over the buffet when I asked her about the weird stuff going on in my room. I jerked back my attention to my uncle.

  “…and by the mid-1800s, Overhome was a thriving Southern plantation. The ‘great house’ had been expanded from the barn, and the slave quarters, kitchen house, and sheds fanned out behind. Some of the ruins of these buildings still exist out in the yard.”

  “Slave quarters? Did you say slave quarters?” I asked.

  “Well, yes. In order to survive at the time, Overhome depended on a small cadre of slave labor, as did all the plantations. I believe at one time there were as many as several dozen slaves living and working at Overhome.”

  “B-but slavery?” I could not wrap my mind around the idea that my own family had been slave-holders.

  “It was a deplorable practice, no question about it. Nonetheless, slavery was the basis for our Southern economy then.”

  “Oh,” was all I could muster. Of course, I’d studied U.S. History. I knew about slavery in the South, but it was a completely abstract idea. The professor lectured, the text described. It was too long ago and too far away to be real. “If I had thought about it, I guess I would have realized…” I trailed off. “It’s hard to visualize people sitting in this room being served by slaves. I…I just find it hard to accept.”