Ugh. Three in the morning. Well, at least I had good news for Jan. I wondered what the protocol should be. Call her and tell her what I saw? I didn’t want to leave Amara in harm’s way. I’d been so sleepy earlier, so supernaturally sleepy that I couldn’t even think about doing such a thing. But now, now I was awake. My phone was in my bedroom. I grabbed it as I closed the door quietly behind me and climbed back into bed.
I yawned as I sent Jan a simple text. My bleary eyes wouldn’t allow me to write it without a few misspelled words. Fixing the message with clunky fingers, I read it again just to make sure I wasn’t sending something incoherent.
I saw Amara in the springhouse. Tell them to look there.
She didn’t answer, not that I expected her to at three in the morning. Who was up at this ungodly hour except dream catchers? I curled up with my phone and fell back into a dark, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Nine—Kendal
1848
Disappointment often follows the honeymoon. But rest assured, Kendal, for every crude humiliation you endure now, there is an advantage for you later, if you remain patient. Let him enjoy all his marital advantages as you will also enjoy yours in due time. The worries you hint at are normal for a bride newly married, and his many needs will endear him to you.
I set the letter on fire and placed it in the fireplace to allow the fire to finish its purifying work. I should have never written her. Or I should have been more specific in my letter, but I could not fathom how to achieve that without being vulgar. With the exception of our wedding night, there had been no marital advantages for either one of us. I did not feel humiliation or degradation. My heart told me the truth—Derry regretted marrying me. His heart remained in the firm grasp of his late wife, my predecessor. Grace Starlett had been the true inspiration for Derry’s vision—a beautiful palace in the middle of nowhere, the center of a kingdom. What else would a man do with a thousand acres of farmland and a sizable fortune except build a kingdom? Only I wasn’t the lady of Gracefield, not the lady he wanted beside him.
Oh, but I wanted him.
From that opening moment at the symphony to this one, I wanted to be his wife. I wanted to come here to this forsaken place and make Gracefield my home. For the life of me, I did not know what led me to experience such depth of feeling for a stranger.
As the paper burned to a crisp, I reached for my violin and rubbed the wood under my chin. I chalked my fingers and reached for the bow. Without much thought about what I would play, I rubbed the strings delicately and stretched out a single note and then another, and then another. The music rose higher as I played until my arms ached. I watched the shadows grow longer as I passed the time. How long had it been since I played? Too long. The house grew still, as if I had put it to sleep. But then I heard the rustling of fabric and caught the hem of a dress disappearing around a corner. Who would be lurking outside the door? I heard a strange laughter, a voice I did not know. The laughter chilled me to the bone. And who would be wearing black? Rich black taffeta at that. Only a few people were allowed to serve in these particular rooms, but none of the select few were here today. While Derry did not observe religious holidays—he was in no way a religious man—he thought it his duty to see to it that his servants and slaves attended church on Sundays. There was a small ramshackle church building on a hill about a mile away. That’s where the slaves went to worship and attend those mandatory observances. So they weren’t here today. I put the violin in the case and waited for the skirts to make another appearance. I was just about to seek out the intruder when I heard horses’ hooves outside in the yard.
Derry! He was home early from Stockton! I hadn’t expected him until tomorrow.
My hair wasn’t pinned properly, and the dress I wore had a ragged piece of lace at the sleeve. It was dangling down and needed to be trimmed and repaired. It was too late now. Too late to change into something more appealing. This had been the first time we’d been apart since our marriage, and I missed him desperately. I smoothed my hair with my hands and whisked cracker crumbs off my skirt. It took a great deal of control not to run to the front door like a child. As my shoes clicked on the wooden floors, I forgot all about the black skirts, the feelings of being watched and the strange sickness I had experienced last night. It was a kind of sea sickness, as if the world were spinning beneath my feet. I was so glad that I was no longer alone. Derry was home! When I reached the bottom stair, I could not restrain myself any longer. I ran the rest of the way and swung the door open with the largest smile I could muster.
Derry was not alone. Another man rode beside him, and I watched in astonishment as they spoke as if they did not see me at all. Maybe they didn’t. I hadn’t bothered to light a candle or carry a lamp.
“What a beautiful home, Mr. Starlett. Even in the dark, I can see it is a fine place. It appears as if you have already begun a great work here, but I look forward to assisting you in this notable endeavor.” The stranger’s voice had a deep, southern drawl, the kind I only heard when the symphony’s tour had carried me through the hills of Tennessee. It was hard to believe that there were sprawling cities in the middle of the hilly countryside. But there had been, including the Memphis Play House. I was not an actress, but once I had been a celebrated violinist and Derry Starlett had been impressed with my performance. If I closed my eyes and focused, I could recall everything about that moment with perfect clarity, from the scent of peppermint on Father’s breath to the wisps of cigar smoke and the sounds of the audience’s excited voices as they enjoyed champagne after the orchestra’s performance. I, the only woman in the orchestra, had enjoyed a strange sort of celebrity, a woman musician, a young woman musician whom some called beautiful. I could not bring myself to read the newspapers the day after a performance, but my parents insisted on reading the articles to me. Most were favorable and yes, many of them described me as beautiful.
Father’s voice in my ear was what first drew me to the widowed heir of the Starlett fortune. “That’s Derry Starlett, the richest man in Alabama. Newly widowed, Kendal. Be kind to him. He brought you roses.” And I had been kind, but not because that’s what anyone wanted. It was because Derry was so awkward and clearly heartbroken. It was easy to fall in love with him because he needed me. Nobody had ever needed me before. In my small family, I was the one everyone doted on, cared for. I barely had the opportunity to make my own decisions about what to eat, what to wear, and it wasn’t like I could not do those things for myself. And I did not really mind any of it, but here was someone who needed me. He was kind and thoughtful and had a mind to marry again.
And now here he was, but he wasn’t alone. I could not run to him and wrap my arms around him, kiss his cheeks and shower him with affection. Those moments had been so rare. Partially because Derry had a reserved nature and also because I wasn’t skilled at being a wife. My parents were hardly good examples. Their first love, beyond one another or their children, was music and the next performance. I believed they loved me in the best way they could, but it wasn’t enough.
“Good evening, Kendal. I am sorry I am late. I had hoped to be here earlier, but…”
“It is my fault, Mrs. Starlett. My apologies for keeping your good husband away from you and Gracefield for so long. I hope you will pardon him and your unexpected visitor.”
Standing straight and as poised as I could muster, I smiled at them both. “Any friend of my husband’s is a friend of mine. Please come inside, husband and Mister…”
“Where are my manners?” Derry hugged me; his tanned cheeks were warm as he kissed my cheek. “This is Mr. Wade. He is an architect, a renowned builder, and I am sure he will help me complete the wing before winter.”
Mr. Wade tugged on the brim of his black hat and flashed a friendly smile. “Madam, it is very nice to meet you.”
I dipped a slight curtsy and greeted our guest. “I am happy to meet you, Mr. Wade, but you will have to forgive our state of affairs. Sundays are very quiet here, and there is no
one around to serve you supper. I could bring you wine and cheese, if you think that would settle your hunger.”
“For my part, I am not hungry at all. Only tired. If I could claim one of your guest rooms, Mrs. Starlett, I would be in your debt.” Derry smiled his approval. Until their arrival, I had not noticed the lateness of the hour. That clock could not be right because here it was full dark and I was not remotely tired. Where had the time gone? After Derry settled the horses, the three of us went inside. I was dying of curiosity, dying to know how my husband came to know this stranger who would tonight sleep under our roof. Why was he here? Derry had made no mention of bringing on an architect. He hadn’t said a word except to say he was going to pick up building supplies and a few other things. I did not see any wagons. Nothing at all except Mr. Wade. These seemed questions I should have answers to.
To my surprise, Derry walked upstairs and left me to manage my unexpected guest alone. I lit a lamp and with an awkward smile led Mr. Wade to one of the rarely used guest rooms. This one had white painted walls, a lovely bed with clever leaf scrolling on the posts and an advantageous view of the wisteria and oaks in the grove outside. It was one of my favorite views in the house, but I rarely came in here anymore. I used to love napping in this room but not since I saw the ghost of Grace Starlett looming above me, her ungodly pale face swinging above me like a strange sort of lantern. She hated me, I knew that from her expression and the cool grip I felt momentarily around my neck. And then I knew who had visited me earlier. I knew who was wearing that black taffeta! It must have been Grace laughing at me! But why? Why would she come here? She was dead!
“Are you alright, Mrs. Starlett?” Mr. Wade placed his leather bag on the floor by the door as I set the lamp on the table. “Pardon my asking. I do not wish to pry into your personal matters.”
I turned the wick up a little to brighten the room. “No, I am well. Would you like me to turn down the bed for you, Mr. Wade?”
“I would not think of asking a lady such as yourself to do anything as menial as that. Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am. One question, where is your well? I would like to wash up in the morning. I have been traveling a great deal recently and feel I am now carrying every inch of the road on my clothing.”
“I cannot allow you to bathe in the well. You are our guest, Mr. Wade. I will ask Cadence to make you a warm bath in the morning before breakfast so you can clean properly. You can bathe in the water closet, just there.”
Mr. Wade raised a curious eyebrow and opened the door that I pointed to. “Your husband thinks of everything, doesn’t he?” he complimented Derry as he closed the door. “I look forward to helping him complete the construction of Gracefield. From what I hear, it has been a long time coming. Mr. Starlett is quite an ambitious man to build such a home. Although I haven’t seen it in the daylight, I think of this place as the proverbial land of milk and honey. Yes, indeed. Milk and honey. You must be very happy.”
I was sure he was merely making a comment and not so much asking me a question, but some small part of me was not at all comfortable with confiding in the mysterious and handsome Mr. Wade.
“Yes, it is our own piece of heaven, minus the flies and the heat,” I said in an attempt at humor. My earlier sickness threatened to return; I felt the strange clamminess around my neck and the uneasiness in my stomach. “I’ll make sure Cadence comes to see you before breakfast, Mr. Wade.”
“No need to go to all that trouble. After all this time of not having such a luxury, I will forego a heated bath, if you please. Best to keep the flesh under control, I think. Thank you again for your hospitality, Mrs. Starlett.” Mr. Wade walked to the door to kindly end our conversation. It was no bother to me; I was ready to go upstairs to see Derry. After a week away, I was certain he would be eager to spend time with me.
I was very mistaken.
By the time I locked the locks and put my things away, Derry had fallen soundly asleep in his bed. Although I had a room of my own, for Derry was nothing if not proper, I wanted nothing more than to be close to him. I quietly undressed, leaving only my petticoat on, and eased into the bed beside my dreaming husband. I slid my arm around Derry’s waist and pressed my face against his back. He smelled like horse and sweat, but I loved him. I snuggled up to him until I became too hot and then lay on my back staring up at the ceiling.
“Derry, what has happened to us? How can I make this right?” I whispered into the darkness. He did not wake up, nor did he answer me. Derry’s snore gave the impression that he did not care at all. But that was a silly thing to think, wasn’t it? My husband was merely asleep. I decided to get up and open a window. Maybe a breeze would usher in sleep for me too. After struggling to get the window to move, it finally swung up and I breathed in the still air. The gardenias were blooming and filled the night with their heady fragrance. Tomorrow, I would have to cut some blooms and put them in jars. That would help smother any unpleasant smells of staleness and body odor. There was too much of that lately. Too many people in this house. I suddenly longed to travel. How I loved traveling by train. There were no trains out here, nothing at all except woods, and shacks and fields. But one day, maybe one day we would travel again, Derry and I. I sighed at the thought and dragged the rocking chair to the window. The room was dark, the yard even darker. I watched a night bird swoop down and snare its wiggling prize. Poor mouse.
Ah, it was cooler now. So much cooler. I reached for the small quilt on the back of the chair and tucked it around my bare arms. The next thing I knew, the sun was shining in my face and the sounds of an active house were echoing up from the floor below.
Oh dear. I overslept, and my back hurts. Derry had left already, and he hadn’t even bothered to wake me. My heart sank at the knowledge that he didn’t care enough to put me to bed or waken me. Or kiss me. Or anything else.
Slipping through the door that led to the adjoining room, I found Mary already spreading out today’s dress. “Thank you, Mary. I slept far too late. Can you help me with my hair after I change? And open that window. Oh, never mind. I can do it myself. Would you find me a clean petticoat?” My window opened much more easily than Derry’s. As I slid it open, I glanced down at the already busy courtyard. A yellow dog ran through the yard after a fat waddling duck. I wasn’t too worried about the duck; he was meaner than the dog. Someone was already chopping wood, and chickens were squawking at the sight of their breakfast. White gardenia flowers were scattered on the ground, but my eyes didn’t linger on the various scenes of life here at Gracefield.
My eyes were on a bare-chested Mr. Wade.
He was standing by the well with a scoop in one hand and a soapy rag in the other. The only clothing he wore was a pair of black pants and suspenders that hung from his waist. I had never seen such a fit man, such a specimen of male beauty. He scooped water from the bucket with his hands and wet his hair and chest. With the cloth, he scrubbed his neck and prepared to shave. Someone had kindly set up a table near the well for him. He moved the mirror stand and raised his shiny blade to his neck. That seemed precarious, downright dangerous to shave without foaming up his face. That’s how men usually did such things. I had seen my father and Derry shave many times. I paused another moment and took in the sight of his half-nude body. I could see sculpted muscles in his back, a testament to a life committed to physical labor. His skin was smooth-looking and…
As I daydreamed about Mr. Wade, he suddenly turned and stared up at me. How could he have seen me? I yelped in surprise and leaned against the wall, ignoring Mary’s questioning face.
I closed the curtains and turned away with my face on fire.
Chapter Ten—Carrie Jo
I hung up the phone and tapped my fingers on the wall. How could I have been wrong about Amara’s whereabouts? According to Jan, there was no sign of Amara in the springhouse. Her father had searched the place, and not a hair of her head had been found. But she was there somewhere! I’d been dreaming and seeing the other woman, Kendal, but A
mara was there too. Only I couldn’t connect with her, not like Kendal. Or the Widowmaker.
There was nothing for it. I had to go to Gracefield and look myself. I just had to do it. I took a deep breath and wracked my brain for an alternative. I couldn’t think of one. The police weren’t going to get involved until the forty-eight hours were up, and even then, they might drag their feet. At least, that’s what Jan believed.
“You shouldn’t go by yourself,” Ashland said as he dropped an empty juice box in the garbage can. He must have overheard the conversation between Jan and me.
“I have to. I don’t want to get anyone else involved in this. I know she’s there, babe. I know that like I know my own name.” I leaned against the wall with my arms crossed. “Rachel is at Idlewood, and you know Henri and Detra Ann are steering clear of all things paranormal these days.”
Ashland’s wry smile spoke volumes. “Detra Ann might be steering clear, but Henri is never going to give up the paranormal. I could go. I don’t have to go to this second interview. We could probably ask Detra Ann to keep the kids for a few days.”
“With Chloe sick? Wait. You got the second interview? Where? The radio? The television station? Which one? Ash! When?”
“Television. Channel 15. I’m sure I can call them and…”
I hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Don’t you dare do anything. You keep the interview. I can do this on my own, Ashland. It’s not going to take me long because I know she’s there.” The question hovered between us: Is she alive? But neither of us spoke it aloud.
“You don’t plan on staying at Gracefield, do you? That old place has way too much history in it. You and I both know that’s definitely a bad idea.”
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