“Does it have pineapple in it?”
Sara looked confused.
“No pineapple, no bread. At home in Florida we put pineapple in everything. Or coconut.”
It was Sara’s turn to laugh. “Okay, I’ll stop stereotyping. It’s just that Edilean is so near Williamsburg that we get more than our share of tourists. They think we fry everything.”
“You don’t?”
“Not since we heard the word cholesterol.”
As Joce took the sandwich on a plate, she said, “You don’t have to do this. Really. I can feed myself.”
“You have a lot to learn about us Southerners. We feed people. I think it’s in our DNA,” Sara said. “Do you mind if we take this outside so I can finish that dress?”
“Gladly,” Joce said as she carried her glass and plate and followed Sara out to the table. When they were seated, Sara with the dress across her lap, needle in hand, Joce took a bite. “Did you make this?” It was chicken salad and had sliced grapes and apples in it. It was delicious, like something from an expensive deli.
“No, my mother did. She’s sure I’m going to starve living alone. Or worse, that I’ll eat something that isn’t homegrown and organic. She raised those chickens, and the apples are from our trees.”
Joce looked at the sandwich in doubt. “You knew this chicken?”
Sara shrugged. “By the time I was three I learned not to name any living thing around our house. Except my sisters. I named them, but they still didn’t end up in a pot.”
Joce nearly choked. “Don’t get me started! Whatever sister story you have, I can top it.”
“Think so? Both my sisters graduated from Tulane with cum laude degrees. Both of them got married the week after they graduated—to doctors, of course. And both of them got pregnant the week after they married. And they were virgins on their wedding nights.”
Joce took a drink, then gave Sara a smug look. “No competition. My sisters are Steps. They’re identical twins, beautiful, naturally blonde, and are five feet eleven inches tall. You know what they call me? Cindy.”
“Cindy?” Sara’s eyes widened. “Not…”
“Right. Short for Cinderella.”
Sara didn’t want to concede the title just yet. “I have four utterly perfect nieces and nephews, two of each. They never, ever forget to say please and thank you.”
“Ever hear of Bell and Ash?”
“The models? Sure. Last week they were on the cover of—No!” Sara gasped. “You can’t be telling the truth. They’re your…?”
“Stepsisters,” Jocelyn said.
“You win. Or lose, I don’t know which. I think I’ll call my sisters and tell them I’m glad they’re mine.” She looked at Joce in speculation. “How do you stand it?”
“I get by,” she said, shrugging as she looked at Sara. “I don’t think I would have made it if it weren’t for Miss Edi. She was the one who saved me.” She looked down at her sandwich. “Speaking of Miss Edi, she said you’d lived here all your life.”
“In the town, not in this house.”
“Sure,” Joce said cautiously, then chewed while she tried to think of a polite way to bring up what she wanted to talk about. “Do you know a man named Ramsey McDowell?”
“Of course,” Sara said, but she didn’t look up.
“What’s he like?”
“Beautiful, brilliant, sophisticated. What exactly do you want to know about him?”
“I take it then that he’s a heartbreaker.”
Sara took a while to answer and when she did, there was caution in her voice. “He’s broken some hearts, yes.”
“But he’s never had his broken?”
Sara looked up from the dress. “I think I should tell you that Ramsey is my cousin, so there’s family loyalty there. I’d have to know you a lot better than I do now before I say much about him.”
“It’s just that he’s coming here tonight for dinner, and I’d like to know more about him than just the one conversation we had. He seems to be—”
“Rams is coming here? Tonight? What did you do to rate that?” Sara looked impressed.
“Nothing that I know of,” Joce said. “He’s handling all the paperwork for the house, so I guess—”
“That’s work, and he does that at his office. What did you do to get him to come to your house?”
“I…I don’t know, except that I knew the date the Emancipation Proclamation was issued.”
“That would do it. Rams loves smart people, and he loves history.” Sara took a spool of thread from the box and rethreaded her needle. “That’s where the girls make their mistakes with my cousin.”
“What do you mean?”
“They think Rams is like all the other men and goes for low-cut dresses. He likes those but he likes brains more. Besides, Tess erased the dress theory forever. As for what else he likes, you can ask Tess about women or food or whatever. She knows him better than we do.”
“Tess? Oh, yes. The other tenant. What does she have to do with Ramsey…Rams?”
“She runs his life.” When Joce raised her eyebrows, Sara shook her head. “No, not in that way. Tess runs his law office and she’s so good at it, she tends to run his life as well. If you get flowers on your birthday from Rams, they were probably chosen and sent by Tess.”
“Ah, one of those secretaries. Dotes on him, half in love with him? That sort of thing?”
Sara smiled. “She says she can’t stand him, and she frequently lets him know it.”
“So why does she work for him? Why does she live here in Edilean?”
Sara shrugged. “I have no idea. Tess is a mystery to me, and I know she’s a mystery to Rams. But she lets him know when he does something she doesn’t like.”
“So what does she have to do with a low-cut dress?”
“You’ll have to get Rams to tell you that story.”
“You know, I think I read in some book that when you go on a first date with a man, you do not ask him what his secretary and a low-cut dress have in common.”
Sara laughed. “I’m sure you’re right, but Rams has always been able to laugh at himself. Listen, this is just a warning, but when you meet Tess, don’t call her a secretary, and do not ask her about that dress. She’s sick of the story.”
“All right,” Jocelyn said as she pushed her empty plate away. Already she was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed with all she had to learn.
Sara seemed to know what she was thinking. “You’ll do fine. Everyone is just curious, that’s all. But I do warn you that everyone in this town—who actually lives here, that is—is going to want you to tell them about Miss Edi.”
“I can understand that,” Joce said. “The townspeople must have loved her very much.”
“Loved her?” Sara said. “The truth is that there are few people still alive who really knew her. Except for Aunt Mary Alice, that is, but she can’t very well love her, now can she?”
“I don’t know,” Joce said. “Why couldn’t your aunt Mary Alice love Miss Edi?”
“I thought you two were friends. Surely you must know Miss Edi’s tragic love story?”
Joce gave a sigh. “Until a few days ago I would have said I knew nearly everything about her, but I’m learning that I didn’t know that much. She never mentioned Edilean, Virginia, or this house. I do know that she was once deeply in love with a young man from here who was killed in World War II.”
“Killed!” Sara said. “Killed by feisty little Mary Alice Welsch getting herself pregnant by him and making him marry her. When Miss Edi came home from the war there was the man she loved, married to someone else.”
Once again Jocelyn had that feeling of betrayal. This wasn’t the story she’d been told. All the love that Miss Edi had told her about, her great, deep love for David Aldredge, hadn’t ended in death. It had ended in a shotgun wedding. No wonder Miss Edi never mentioned Edilean and no wonder she lied about her beloved’s death. Better death than betrayal!
Jo
ce tried to compose herself so Sara couldn’t see what she was feeling. “Didn’t all this happen a long, long time ago?” Joce asked. “You make it sound like it happened yesterday.”
“This is Virginia and we remember things. My grandmother used to tell me stories about the War Between the States. She knew who loved whom and who was jilted. So now I tell stories from another war. Whatever, I’ve heard Miss Edi’s story a thousand times. The Harcourt family started the town, owned the biggest house, laid out the town square, all that. Even after they lost most of their money, they were still the most important family. By World War II, the McDowells were far richer, but they didn’t have the cachet the Harcourts did.”
As Joce finished her tea, she tried to put the real story together. “So Miss Edi came home from World War II, her legs a mass of burn scars, and she found out that the man she loved had married someone else?”
“That’s right.”
“So what did she do?” Joce asked.
“The house and what money the family had left was in Miss Edi’s name, but she turned the house over to her younger brother. I don’t know about the money. My Great-aunt Lissie used to say that Bertrand wasn’t much of a man.”
“What does that mean? That he didn’t ride horses up the staircase at midnight?”
“Now, now, don’t let the Yankee in you come to the surface.”
“Sorry,” Joce said, but she was smiling. “I’ve read too many romantic novels.”
“Haven’t we all? As I was saying, Miss Edi came back, saw her man had been stolen from her, so she gave the house to her lazy brother and left town. But not before she had MAW draw up a forty-five-page contract for her brother to sign. She may have been hurt, but she wasn’t stupid.”
“MAW?” Joce asked.
“The local law firm. McDowell, Aldredge, and Welsch.”
“Aldredge,” Jocelyn said under her breath, then louder, “always the same names. Tell me, do you people ever move away from your hometown like the rest of the U.S. does?”
“They do, but we stay.”
Joce nodded. “Right. The tourists. The outsiders. They come and go, but yawl stay.”
“You didn’t say it correctly, so you might as well quit trying. You have to be at least third-generation Southern to be able to say ‘you all’ correctly.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. What happened to Miss Edi’s brother?”
“Died in his sleep years ago. Aunt Lissie said he was a man who could do absolutely nothing and make himself believe it was work.”
“I think I may have met him,” Joce said. “I might even have dated him.”
“I knew the moment we met that you and I had a lot in common.”
They smiled at each other, two women in mutual understanding, then they sat in silence for a while and Joce looked out over the grounds. She still wasn’t used to the idea that she was now a property owner. She glanced back at the house, at the sheer, perfect beauty of it, and felt cold chills come over her arms.
Nor had she reconciled herself to the fact that the woman who’d practically been her mother had either left out a lot about her life, or had outright lied to her. Jocelyn had lived with the idea of the “perfect love” Miss Edi’d had for a fallen soldier since she first heard it when she was a child. In fact, the image of that love had been her guide, her yardstick that she’d measured her every relationship against. When a man got serious, Jocelyn asked herself if this was a man she loved with the passion that Miss Edi had felt for her David. No man, no feelings Joce had ever had, had come close to the picture of “true love” that Miss Edi planted there.
But now Jocelyn was finding out that Miss Edi’s great love was just a tawdry affair. The man had jilted her for another woman.
“So what are you going to do with the house?” Sara asked, bringing Joce out of reverie. “Sell it? Make it into apartments?”
Joce wasn’t fooled by her tone of not caring, of seeming to just be asking a question. So this is why the welcome carpet was rolled out so lavishly, she thought. Had someone told Sara to do whatever she needed to to find out what Miss Edi’s heir was planning to do with the old house? “How much do you think I could get for all those old bricks?”
She waited for Sara to laugh, but she didn’t. She kept her head down as she sewed on the beads.
“Sara,” Joce said, “I’m a lover of history. Since I got out of school I’ve made my living by helping people research the past.”
Sara looked at her with cool eyes. “It would make a wonderful B and B.”
Joce groaned. “That’s not me. I’m more of an introvert. I can talk with one person at a time, but put me among crowds of strangers and I crawl into my shell.”
Sara kept looking at her, obviously waiting for something she could tell the townspeople. Joce had a vision of the telephones lines becoming so busy they caught fire. Or maybe the overuse of cell phones would make the TVs go out.
Joce couldn’t hold out under Sara’s unblinking stare. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I really don’t. Miss Edi left me the house and I assume some money, but I have no idea how much.” Suddenly, Jocelyn didn’t want to tell more about herself than she already had. There were too many things going on inside her mind that were confusing for her to think clearly—and she certainly wasn’t about to tell anyone of her ideas of writing about Miss Edi. “You know of any job openings?”
“Tess got the last good job in town.”
Joce glanced toward the far side of the house at the other wing. The doors were closed and the windows shut. “By the way, what do you do? Other than repair dresses, that is.”
“That’s what I do,” Sara said as she cut the thread. “Mostly, I tailor dresses for ladies who buy a size six, then can’t get into it on the night they’re supposed to wear it.”
“You can make a living at that?” Joce asked.
Sara gave a shrug.
Joce was sure there was more to what she did for a living, but she didn’t seem to want to tell what it was. All Joce hoped was that it wasn’t something illegal. She hoped Sara wasn’t growing marijuana in a back bedroom. At that thought, she wondered if all landlords felt like this. What would she do if the bathtubs started leaking? What about termites? Miss Edi mentioned a gardener. What was his salary?
Joce glanced at the house and wondered where she was to sleep tonight. Was there a bed in the house?
Sara pulled a cell phone out of her sewing box, opened it, and looked at the time. “I have to go. This dress has to be back to its owner before hubby gets home.” Hurriedly, she rolled the dress in the towel and gathered it in her arms. “Would you take those things in for me?” She nodded to the dishes and sewing box.
“Sure,” Joce said. “If you trust me.”
“I not only trust you, I think it’s possible that I like you. See you soon,” she called as she ran back toward the house.
Jocelyn sat where she was, looking at the house and trying to make some sense of all that she’d heard since walking into the lawyer’s office. One time when Joce was sixteen she’d come home from school to find that all the Steps, mother and sisters, were gone and the house was quiet. Her father was alone in the garage, working on one of his bikes. She’d stood in the doorway, watching him for a moment. They rarely had time together, as his “new family,” as Joce always thought of them, took all of his time and energy.
“Off to Miss Edi’s?” he asked.
“Sure. We’re reading Thomas Hardy.” As she knew, he had nothing to say about that. Gary Minton wasn’t given to contemplation.
“Honey?” he said as she walked past him. “I hope you don’t give her all of your life. I hope you save some for yourself.”
She liked that he called her “honey” but she didn’t pay attention to his words. As always, her only thought had been to get away before the Steps returned and took over. Their noise and demands ruled the house, her father, everything. Sometimes it seemed that when her stepsisters were around, they controlled the
universe.
Now, she glanced at her watch. She had hours before Ramsey McDowell was to arrive, but she wanted to see the house and take her time getting ready. She’d bought a dress that was perfect for a picnic in an old house.
Her house, she thought, and smiled up at it.
3
LUKE WATCHED AS she—the new owner of Edilean Manor—left the house and strolled across the lawn to sit with Sara. He knew how she felt. Sara was a magnet for people and had been since they were children. Sara always cared, and always had time to listen to other people’s problems. He well knew that half of the reason women called her to repair their clothes was because they wanted to talk to Sara.
Last summer he and some of the cousins, Charlie, Rams, and Sara, were having dinner in Williamsburg when Charlie said she should put out a shingle and get paid for all her hours of listening to people about their problems.
“I couldn’t stand all those years in school,” she said.
“Who said anything about school?” Rams asked. “Just put up the shingle. Luke here will carve it or paint it or whatever for you.”
“And you’ll draw up a contract and charge her more than she makes in a year,” Luke shot back.
“If you two start going at each other tonight I’ll walk out,” Sara warned. “I want a nice, quiet dinner without you two playing one-upmanship.”
When all three men were quiet and looking as though they planned to stay that way, Sara shook her head. “All right, go to it. Tear each other up for all I care. Charlie, order me another one of these drinks.”
“You sure?” Charlie asked. “You’ve never been one to hold your liquor.”
“Then one of you will have to hold my hair while I throw up, and another one will have to carry me to the car.”
Luke pulled a quarter from his pocket and looked at Ramsey. “Heads and I get the hair. Tails and you get the rest of her. She’s put on too much weight for me.”
Lavender Morning Page 5