by Hope Ramsay
“What?” Topher asked.
“I know who Abimael is.”
“Please don’t tell me he was a member of Captain Teal’s crew,” Ashley said, picking up the coffee carafe and pouring herself a third cup—or was it a fourth? She’d lost count. She needed to cut back. In fact, her hands were a little shaky even as she poured.
“He wasn’t a pirate,” Micah said. “He was—”
The doorbell rang, interrupting the conversation. “That will be the historian,” Ashley said, pushing up from the table and running after Jackie, who beat her to the door.
Laurie Hawkins, a thirtysomething professor with the joint College of Charleston–Clemson University Historic Preservation Project, stood on her doorstep, head tilted back, studying Howland House’s facade.
“Early 1800s, I would guess,” the woman said. She had chin-length black hair and wore a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. In her jeans and a College of Charleston T-shirt, the woman didn’t fit Ashley’s idea of a college professor.
“Professor Hawkins?” Ashley asked.
The woman shifted her gaze and met Ashley’s stare. “Hi,” she said. “Mrs. Scott, I presume. You must be Jackie, the boy who found the treasure,” she added, squatting down to meet Jackie on his level.
“I am,” Jackie said with a wide smile.
The professor looked up, meeting Ashley’s gaze. “Nice house you have, Mrs. Scott.”
“Ashley,” she said. “And yes, Howland House was built in 1827. But there was a much older house on the property before that. Not far from where Jackie made his discovery.”
“I’m excited. I can’t wait to see it.” The professor’s childlike enthusiasm was contagious.
In short order, they all went out to the site by the old oak tree, where Professor Hawkins brought out a paintbrush and some tiny trowels and began sifting through the sand.
“It’s definitely an eighteenth-century writing desk,” she said as she lifted out a piece of the rotting wood, her hands covered in neoprene gloves.
“Why would Rose bury something like that?” Ashley asked.
“The more important question was who she was burying it for,” Micah said.
“I think we can assume it was for Henri St. Pierre,” Topher said.
Laurie turned around. “I don’t know the history of the people who lived here. Who were Rose and Henri?”
Ashley gave the professor the short version of the history. “So it was just Rose and Henri living on the island,” Ashley said when she’d finished with the basic details. “I can’t imagine why Rose would have buried a writing desk.”
“Maybe it was intended as a legacy,” Micah said.
“For whom?”
“Abimael.”
“Who’s Abimael?” the professor asked.
“In her diary, the woman who buried this desk said it was for someone named Abimael, but we don’t know who that person is,” Ashley said.
“No. We do know who he was,” Micah said. “He was Henri St. Pierre’s son, and one of my ancestors.”
Everyone turned toward the Rev. “Oh my goodness. Why didn’t you—”
“I was about to tell you that when the professor arrived.”
“Oh. Wow. So I guess that means Rose and Henri weren’t the only ones living on the island back in the 1720s,” Ashley said.
Micah cleared his throat. “Well, Thomas Howland Teal lived here with his mother. And then Abimael, when he was born some years later.”
“Oh, look,” Laurie said, interrupting the conversation that had suddenly taken an unexpected turn.
Ashley shifted her gaze to the hole in the ground where the professor was digging. A moment later the woman pulled up a small heart-shaped brooch of tarnished metal.
“It’s a Georgian heart,” the professor said.
“Oh boy. I knew there would be jewels,” Jackie said.
The historian laughed as she met Jackie’s excited gaze. “Well, I suppose so. But not valuable ones. The garnets crowning the heart aren’t worth that much. But whoever put this here treasured it, I’m sure. A heart brooch like this was a token of love.”
“From the cap’n to Rose?” the boy asked.
“No,” Micah said. “I’m thinking maybe it was from Rose to Abimael.”
Ashley turned. “What? Why—”
“Ashley, Abimael and Henri ended up at Oak Hall. There are records of them living there in deeds of property and wills and such. We also know that Abimael was Thomas Howland’s most trusted slave. He was well educated and worked side by side with Thomas to build an empire.
“It’s only a guess, but I think we know now why your grandmother didn’t want anyone to read Rose’s letters. I think Thomas Howland Teal and Abimael St. Pierre were half brothers.”
Chapter Twenty-One
On Saturday morning, after a long two days of travel and meetings, Jessica got up and dressed for tea with Granny, making a point to put on one of her pinkest dresses.
It was a tiny rebellion against her grandmother. One she’d been subconsciously waging for the better part of a year. But today she picked the hottest pink dress in her closet.
She had a lot to say to Granny, starting with the fact that she’d just been offered a dream job in Miami with a salary and benefits that were nothing short of amazing. Damon Brant wanted her, and he was determined to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse.
In fact, Jessica had halfway accepted the job Thursday night during dinner at a swanky restaurant. But Damon had told her to think it over for a few days before saying yes. “Giving up your own business to go work for someone else is a big step,” he’d told her. “Make sure it’s what you really want to do.”
It had been what she’d wanted to do on Thursday night, but today, as she sat down in her own little office space to get a few hours of work done before going to Granny’s house, her certainty had evaporated.
If only Caleb Tate hadn’t tried to intimidate her. If only the people in town hadn’t told lies about her. If only…
Yeah, Magnolia Harbor would be a perfect place to live if it weren’t for the past.
At two o’clock she left her office and made the short walk down Harbor Drive to the historic section of town. It was a gray day, with rain in the forecast, but a crew was busy hanging the Heritage Day banner across the main street anyway. The big weekend was coming up in mid-September.
The festivities would start the Friday after next, with the winners of the third-grade history project being announced. On Saturday, there would be historical demonstrations at the park, pirate cruises down to the spot where Captain Teal’s ship had been sunk in the hurricane of 1713, a craft fair at the high school, and a dinghy regatta.
And just for fun, every restaurant in town would offer a special drink with the word “hurricane” in its name.
The whole campy event would be topped off with a swanky ball at the yacht club, where only the most important people were invited.
Momma and Daddy used to go to the Heritage Day ball. Jessica had never possessed any desire to attend, which was fine because she’d never been invited. To this day Granny regarded her disinterest in the social event of the year as slightly blasphemous.
As Jessica made the turn onto Tulip Street, her attention was drawn to a neon green flyer that had been taped to one of the streetlamps. The large-print headline stopped her in her tracks.
STOP THE DESTRUCTION OF LOOKOUT ISLAND.
Jessica pulled the flyer away and read the small print. Evidently, the Moonlight Bay Conservation Society was on the warpath, and Topher was in their sights. The flyer claimed that Christopher Martin, billionaire and friend to corporations everywhere, was planning to build a gargantuan eyesore on the island. The Conservation Society was determined to stop this rape of the land and invited concerned citizens to a town hall meeting at Grace Methodist Church next Saturday to discuss the efforts of State Representative Caleb Tate, who was ready to introduce legislation that would prohibit the development of Lookout Island in per
petuity.
“Damn him,” Jessica whispered out loud. She almost jumped at her own audacity in using that kind of language. But she was furious. This flyer felt personal. The house she planned was not a monstrosity, but more important, Topher wasn’t a callous billionaire. And no one was going to rape the environment.
Tate had to be behind this. The man must be desperate for cash, and he was squeezing Topher where it would hurt the most.
He was a despicable human being.
She folded the paper and headed off to Granny’s house. She was still out of sorts when her grandmother opened the door.
“Why do you wear pink?” Granny asked instead of greeting her like a member of the family.
Jessica squared her shoulders and looked her grandmother in the eye. “Because I like pink. It’s my favorite color.” Then she walked right past Granny, invading the older woman’s space as she made her way to the living room and the tea tray that awaited her.
She was suddenly weary of the role she’d been playing since her return to Magnolia Harbor. She didn’t want to be a nice, polite Southern girl. She wanted to be herself, warts and all.
She sat down on the camelback sofa and stared at the Lenox tea service, fighting the urge to pick up the teapot and hurl it across the room.
Granny sat down facing her, a strange, sly look in her eyes. “Darling, I am so pleased that you’ve come to your senses.”
“About what?” she asked as she picked up the teapot and started pouring, her hands surprisingly steady considering her state of mind.
“About Christopher Martin.”
This time Jessica didn’t slosh the tea, which she regarded as a minor victory. She calmly handed a cup and saucer to her grandmother.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
“I’m talking about last Wednesday night, when your car was seen at Howland House well into the wee hours.”
She picked up her own cup and saucer, pot poised. She wasn’t surprised by this news. For once the gossips had their facts right. And she didn’t even care.
If people wanted to talk about how she’d slept with Topher, then they could just have at it.
“I hope,” Granny continued, “that this puts the whole Colton St. Pierre phase to rest. Because, really dear, he—”
“Stop. Not another word.” She put the teapot down without pouring herself a cup.
“But—”
“I don’t know what people are saying. But Colton and I were never a thing. And it’s time for you to realize that.”
“But, darling, when you came back home you said—”
“Yes. I remember what I said. And I lied to you. And you know what, Granny, that’s the first time I lied. All the rest of the time—you know, when you and Momma and Daddy wouldn’t let me come home—I was telling the truth. Colton has always been my friend. And if you can’t stand that, then I guess you’ll just have to sit on it.
“And as for Topher. I have no intention of trying to land that fish, as Aunt Donna put it.”
“Are you out of your mind? You could have that man if you wanted him. I know he’s not as handsome as—”
“Stop. Just. Stop.”
Something snapped inside Jessica, and a poisonous pool of rage flowed up from the deep well she’d been hiding for all these years.
She stood up. “I’m done,” she said, her voice calm.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m done coming over here every Saturday and enduring your endless criticism. If you want me in your life, you’ll apologize.”
“For what?”
Really? She didn’t even know? “Granny, you always lived with Momma and Daddy and me, so it’s not as if you weren’t around when Daddy decided I wasn’t worthy of being a member of this family. He chose not to believe me when I told the truth. And the only way to get back into this family was to tell a lie.
“I don’t want to do that anymore. What I want is your apology. And you know what, even if I had done something bad with Colton, I’d want your forgiveness. But if I can’t even get an apology, how could I ever hope for forgiveness?”
She headed toward the door.
“Jessica, you come back here.”
She stopped and spoke without turning. “No. If you want to have a relationship with me, you know where to find me. You know what you have to do. Just apologize. That’s nothing more or less than Daddy wanted from me.”
She took a few more steps toward the door and stopped again, turning this time. “And one other thing. You should know that I’ve been offered a job in Miami, and I’m seriously considering it. So don’t wait too long. I might be gone soon.”
* * *
Professor Hawkins spent four hours excavating the “treasure” Topher and Jackie had discovered. The woman was so meticulous that the little boy quickly lost interest when he discovered there were no more jewels in the small hole. Eventually, Jackie had scampered off to climb the tree.
The Reverend also left early, excusing himself to finish tomorrow’s sermon. And Ashley left soon after that, needing to take care of her house guests.
Professor Hawkins widened the hole in the hope that more artifacts would be found, but nothing else turned up. She took half an hour to study a pile of ballast stones near the tree and confirmed the family’s suspicion that they had once been the foundation of Rose Howland’s cabin.
“I know it doesn’t seem like much, but it’s quite a find,” she said.
“I’m not sure the powers that be will be so happy about it though,” Topher said as he walked her back to her car.
The only salvageable portion of the box had been the brass hinges, but the inkwell and brooch were now safely in Professor Hawkins’s possession. She would take them back to Charleston and confirm the dates.
And then Ashley would have to decide what to do with the artifacts. By rights they should be donated to the museum the town was planning as part of the new City Hall.
Topher had only just learned the scope of the project, and he now understood why Jessica wanted to win the bid. The building would be large and include government offices as well as a museum and community meeting rooms.
Rose Howland’s letters should be displayed in the museum, and the truth about Rose and Henri needed to be further researched and ultimately revealed. It was time for people to accept the true history and not the story the Howlands had wanted told. The truth was that Rose Howland had defied her father at every turn.
Topher said goodbye to the professor and made his way back to the cottage, his mind turning toward Jessica now that it wasn’t otherwise occupied.
Had she returned from Miami?
Had she had a good time there?
Had she gone partying at some trendy place in South Beach? He could almost imagine her dressed in something sparkly, even though she usually dressed conservatively.
Boy, he’d love to buy her something expensive.
Damn. The itch was there, and he wanted to scratch it. But he had no hold on her.
So instead of calling her, he settled into his rocking chair with John Grisham’s latest book. He’d have to get used to this new life he was living.
An hour later, his phone rang. It was probably Erik, calling about the latest land deal, which was proving more expensive than either of them liked. But when he saw the caller ID, his heart soared. It was her.
An insane joy bubbled up inside him as he connected the call. “Hey,” he said, sounding exactly like the besotted idiot he’d become.
“Hi.” Her voice sounded tense.
“What’s the matter?”
“We’ve got a problem with the house.”
“Oh. What?”
“It’s kind of complicated. I thought maybe…” She stopped speaking midsentence, sounding awkward.
“What?”
“Well, I thought we could meet for dinner or something to talk about it. But, um…”
“What, dammit?” He ground his teeth as a fam
iliar frustration surfaced.
“Sorry. I just don’t want to be seen meeting you at Rose Cottage—or any of the restaurants in town for that matter.”
“Why not?”
“Well, if you must know, I don’t want to feed the gossip mill.”
“Oh. What are people saying now?”
“Someone saw my car in the Howland House parking lot after midnight on Wednesday.”
“And drew a reasonable conclusion?”
She let go of a long breath that hissed in his ear. “I guess. But gossip is gossip even if it’s true. I keep telling myself I don’t care what people are saying, but I do. Is that screwed up?”
“No.”
“So,” she said into his silence, “maybe we could meet somewhere discreet or—”
“I’ll bring food over to your place.”
There was a small hesitation before she said, “Okay.”
“Before you hang up. What’s the problem?”
“Just a complication. But I’d rather talk to you face to face about it.”
“Oh.” He didn’t know whether to relax or to worry. Maybe a little of both. “I’ll be there around six, okay? Chops from Annie’s work for you?”
“That’s fine. See you then.” And she hung up without one word about what had happened on Wednesday.
He might as well have been speaking to his architect.
* * *
Topher rang the doorbell precisely at 6:00 p.m., sending a flight of butterflies through Jessica’s middle. She hadn’t exactly been looking forward to this meeting, but she hadn’t been dreading it, either.
The truth was complicated. She didn’t want to lose her focus because of some man in her life. She didn’t want to become dependent the way Momma had. She needed her independence the way some people needed air to breathe.
And Topher was a threat to that. A big, beautiful, sexy threat.
She opened the door to find him with a bag from Aunt Annie’s Kitchen in one hand and a bouquet of bright-pink roses that had probably come from Ashley’s garden in the other.
He looked more adorable than threatening standing there in a blue Tommy Bahama shirt, his hair still shower-damp, his spicy scent mingling with the barbecue. He’d trimmed his beard back again, to the thinnest of scruffs, almost as if he didn’t care what she thought about his scars.