My hands and feet were dirty, and one sleeve of my dress was torn. I pinched my cheeks to give my face some much-needed color and rubbed my lips furiously in an attempt to make them look healthy and desirable. My stomach cramped, and I took a deep breath against the pain. I twisted my hair into a loose braid and let it hang over my shoulder. I looked like a strumpet, but I defiantly thought, “Let him see how he’d left me!”
I stepped out of the carriage and walked up the steps on wobbly legs. It sounded as if there were a party inside, a celebration of some kind. I shouldn’t go in, but what choice did I have? I had to see him—I had dreamed of this moment for so long!
Still, my inner voice advised caution, and before walking inside I called to the driver, “Do not leave until I’ve dismissed you.” He begrudgingly agreed, and I walked onto the porch and into the house. I did not tap on the door knocker or wait to be announced. I walked in as if I were still mistress at Sugar Hill.
Iona saw me first. She was walking into the house from the open back door, carrying a tray of boiled shrimp, sliced lemons and salt. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and I thought she would drop her tray, but I raced past the closed dining room door and caught her before she stumbled. “Miss Susanna, you ain’t supposed to be here. I thought you were dead. They told us you were dead! Oh God!”
“No, Iona. I am not a ghost. It is really me.” I hugged her, but she stiffened under my embrace. No, she was not happy to see me, although I believed she had genuine affection for me. “Let me have the tray. I will take it in.”
“Oh no! That would never do. He is not alone. His other—I mean to say, he’s not by himself, Miss Susanna.”
“I have never asked you for anything, Iona. Please let me do this. Let me carry the tray in. He will not punish you. I swear it.” She must have felt pity for me because she agreed, despite her misgivings. And what could she do? Technically I was still Mrs. Dufresne, wasn’t I? Or at least one of them.
“It’s going to be bad if you go in there, miss. Don’t go in there. He’s not the same.”
I touched her face and stared into her frightened eyes. “None of us are. Let me through, Iona.” I tossed my hair behind my back and raised my chin. I wanted to see Chase, and if this was the only way, so be it. I was tired of being his secret sin! He would see me—and so would his friends and his new wife!
I took a deep breath and walked in with the tray of food. At first, no one addressed me. Chase entertained six couples, men in stiff collars and women dressed in fine silks, just as I used to do. When they broke from their various activities and deigned to notice me, they looked shocked. The golden candelabras were lit on the shiny wooden tables where the couples were playing cards and drinking. A petite woman with red hair and extremely pale skin hovered near Chase. She whispered in his ear and pointed at the cards he held in his hand. It was an intimate moment, and it broke my heart to see it. By the way she kissed his cheek, I gathered this was the new Mrs. Dufresne.
And yes. She knew me too.
Then everything stopped. Chase’s light blue eyes fell on me while everyone else watched to see how he would respond to my invasion. Yes, they would know me. Surely they’d heard rumors about me. I could almost hear their whispers.
That’s Chase Dufresne’s mulatto woman. His sinful indulgence. His forgotten whore.
Athena touched his shoulder and looked at him questioningly, but he did not answer her. He rose from the table, his face unreadable as he came toward me. Feeling weak now, I nearly dropped the tray. A few boiled shrimp fell off the silver platter and hit the ground. I felt myself fainting, yet I could hear the others whispering behind me.
“Susanna…”
“Chase…I…”
“Susanna, come out here,” he said, but there was no love in his voice. It was an empty, wooden sound. I knew there was no hope for me. And none for my daughter. He would not help us. Chase took the tray from me and placed it on the buffet table. “My friends, please excuse me.”
“Chase?” Athena whispered.
Chase gripped my elbow and forcibly propelled me toward the door.
“No! I want them to see me! You can’t just forget me!” I stammered foolishly at him. “I am your wife, Chase!” His face was unmoving, like granite. The redheaded woman had a wretched look on her face. She was not a great beauty, not at all. Her forehead was large and her green eyes even larger. She was petite but fierce looking, like a wild forest creature. I believed she would kill me if she could.
“Chase, please, listen to me. I have to speak with you,” I pleaded with him. “Please, we must talk. Etienne, she has our daughter. You cannot abandon us!” He did not answer me, but I felt his heavy breathing. He was practically dragging me down the hallway now. I cried and fell on the plush burgundy carpet. Without mercy he snatched me up by my shoulders and continued pushing me to the door. The party tumbled out into the hallway to watch how my husband would deal with me.
“Chase! Stop, please!”
No, there was no trace of the man I once loved. He was gone. I had burned out the love he had for me as one would snuff out a candle. And that was the agony of it all—I had done this.
A servant flitted in front of us. “Open the door,” he commanded him. We were only a few steps away now.
“No, Chase. Our daughter! She needs us! Help me find her! Despite what you think about me, you must help our daughter. Please!”
Finally he spun me about and peered into my soul with murderous eyes. “Madam, you are not in control of your mental faculties. Our daughter, if she is mine, is dead. I don’t know what game you are playing. What did you think you would accomplish by coming here? I do not want you here, Susanna.” The ferocity of his words would brand my soul forever. “Now leave. Do not come back, unless you wish to serve as a slave in this house.”
I gasped. “You cannot mean this?”
“As far as I am concerned, you are dead. Do not return.”
“Why won’t you believe me? Ambrose betrayed me—he betrayed us both. I know that now. Please, my husband. Do not send me away!”
With one mighty shove he pushed me out the door, and I fell in a heap on the porch. I wept and begged him to speak to me. He did not immediately leave but said nothing for a long time. It felt like forever, and I was in misery. If only I could will myself to die! I could die with my daughter. Then maybe we could be together, for I would rather be with her than live without her and without the love of her father.
“You will not return here. You are not my wife. The only reason I have not served you divorce papers is because…I understand what that will mean for you. Despite your shortcomings, I do not want that. I loved you once,” he whispered as if the thought repulsed him, “but if you return I will not hesitate to do just that. I never want to see you again.” I could not bear the expression of disgust on his face. I watched his shiny black shoes as he went back into the house. The heavy door closed between us, and I was left on the dimly lit porch with the dogs.
I could not have imagined this. What to do now?
I felt weaker by the minute, and I was certain I had a fever. For the second time tonight I pulled myself out of the mud and walked like a soulless corpse to the carriage. I didn’t think about my destination. I allowed Fate and the carriage to decide for me. Wherever it stopped was where I would disembark. And then I would find somewhere to die. What was there to live for?
I closed the curtains and lay on the seat, and soon I fell asleep.
When I woke again Ambrose was there. I was inside Thorn Hill, I assumed. The blue painted bedroom was filled with a ridiculous number of candles. The place seemed more like a chapel than a bedroom. Yes, I certainly had a fever now, and blood was pouring even more freely down my thighs. How much blood could I have left? Perhaps I would bleed to death! Busy hands patted my thighs, and as I pushed them away I screamed, “Let me die! Let me bleed!” I passed out and woke to just a few burning candles. The room was dim. Someone was near.
Sulli
? Mother? Is that you?
It was not Sulli but Ambrose and a dark-skinned doctor who clucked and fussed over me.
Ambrose’s face revealed no emotion as he watched the other man attend to my injuries. The strange little man placed cool cloths on my forehead and examined my eyes. “Now behave yourself, so we gwan get you better. You’s fever is gone, but it is God’s wonder you not dead.” His voice was soothing. I recognized him from somewhere—yes, I’d seen him at the Quadroon Ball.
Ambrose smoked his cigarette in the corner of the room. He watched the doctor’s ministrations as if I were some sort of specimen, a butterfly he would like to add to his collection. I watched him too. How aloof he was; as always his face revealed nothing. And he had been right. I had been a fool. Twice the fool. Wasn’t that the beginning of a poem?
For a moment I was back in the gazebo, watching myself make the choice that would change my life. I had spoken the words. They could not be unspoken. Sulli’s magic sealed me to my fate. Yes, I had wrought this with my silly heart. And by doing so, I had consigned myself to eternal misery. All hope of reconciliation with Chase vanished in that moment. I would no longer be a fool for love, for it had taken me low—lower than I’d ever imagined.
Ambrose had warned me what it would mean if I rejected him. What torments now awaited me?
Yes, I tumbled into the deepest pit of despair, where no light shined and no relief would find me. This was where I would dwell. I would never love again, and I would forever dwell in this pit.
But somehow I would find a way to bring Chase and Ambrose down with me.
Part I
Chapter One
Avery Dufresne
Dufresne board meetings were refreshingly different from any meeting I attended at News Quarter. The offices weren’t in a glass skyscraper but in a wide, brick building quite by itself. They weren’t located in a commercial complex but rather tucked away off Hickory Lane on a rounded hill. If there weren’t so many pecan trees in the way, I could have very easily seen Sugar Hill from here. With the coming of fall, most of the trees in the county were bare, except for a few lonely pines and other evergreens. There was a wooden sign on the front of the building that read “D & D Properties,” but there was nothing else to identify who and what we were. I doubted that even the locals would know what was happening here. And how could they know? Dufresnes didn’t flaunt our money, but we did put it to good use.
As Matrone, the symbolic CEO of our family fortune, that was my purpose—do good things for as many people as possible. So the humble building suited us just fine.
Inside was no different; there were no ostentatious chandeliers or spiral staircases, not like what you would see at Sugar Hill. According to Reed, the small office complex was built in 1975. There had been a much lovelier older building here, he said, but it burnt to the ground in 1974 and this was put up in its place. It was a comfortable place with wooden paneling and fantastic mahogany and cedar furniture. I loved the smell of it. It smelled like tradition. So different from my corner office on floor seven of the News Quarter building. There it smelled of nothing except expensive coffee and a mixture of colognes and perfumes, the scents of the affluent who called NQ their work-home.
As always when we arrived at the board’s building, Minnie Dufresne met us at the reception desk. The young woman had dark blond hair, almond-shaped brown eyes and honey-colored skin. She had a tendency to speak slowly, but she was not unintelligent; she was very careful with her words.
She smiled politely at me as she handled phone calls and inquiries. We did not chitchat today. Maybe after the meeting, if we got out of here at a decent time, I would have the opportunity to catch up with her. I had no idea what else she did, but she was obviously a lovely young lady. It was such a relief to be here and not at the NQ building.
There were no shiny anchormen and women here. No fake smiles and hidden knives. No hidden ambition and secret plans for mergers and takeovers.
No cold-hearted backstabbers or murderers here.
This was my family, and these were real salt-of-the-earth people. For all their net worth, they didn’t strut around or flash their money. The Dufresnes seemed comfortable with their wealth, and that was so diametrically opposed to my former life, where being the alpha was all that mattered. For the first time in my life, I felt as if I belonged somewhere. For the life of me I could not understand why Vertie wanted to keep me away from all these friendly faces. It seemed so out of character. Reed had no official information to offer me on the subject, and Summer swore she didn’t remember ever meeting Vertie. She suggested I ask Mitchell. I had not quite worked up the courage to quiz my shy cousin because I desperately wanted to make him my friend. I got the distinct impression that pushing him to talk would only push him away. But if Miss Anne valued him and treated him as her second-in-command, shouldn’t I at least consider doing the same?
I smiled as I watched Reed work the room. Of all the Dufresne men, he was the most handsome—no, beautiful would be a better word for him. Not in a feminine way but exceptionally handsome, of that there was no doubt. He dressed impeccably and even now, with his suit jacket folded neatly over the back of a vacant chair and the cuffs of his crisp white shirt rolled up, he looked like a man who could easily star in a cologne commercial. He caught me staring and grinned flirtatiously at me. I tried to pretend I didn’t see that. We were cousins, for goodness’ sake! We couldn’t “hook up” or whatever you called it down here in Alabama. That would be too weird, even if he was a beautiful hunk of a man.
“Good Lord, calm your hormones,” I whispered to myself. Suddenly as if she knew what I was saying, a voice beside me said, “I don’t blame you. If I were thirty years younger, I’d be on him like white on rice.”
“What?” An embarrassed laugh escaped my lips.
“We all think he’s gorgeous. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. He’s a man and you are a woman. It’s not unusual for cousins to be attracted to one another, especially in our family when the name means so much. And the bloodline.”
“No, Pepper, I wasn’t saying that I was ashamed. I mean…”
She snapped her gum and grinned. “Okay.” She tossed her gum in the garbage can, ignored the receptionist and walked into the boardroom, leaving me behind.
As a newscaster I had covered many stories about family pride, family perseverance, the enduring love and strength of familial ties. It had always been a powerful thing to hear, but I didn’t quite understand it until I experienced it myself. Since my “return” I felt as if I’d gotten a fair dose of it. Even Pepper, as blunt and in your face as she was—I respected and valued her too. She was family!
I had family members show up with homemade baked goods every week. Once a week, Dufresne men volunteered to do repairs on Sugar Hill, and one morning a group of Dufresne women showed up to dust the library. It was a strange and wonderful thing to experience. Summer always reminded me I could tell them no, but how could I?
“Suit yourself,” she’d said. “But one day you’ll want to. And if you wait, you’ll hurt their feelings. Don’t let them get into a habit of doing all these things for you, or else they may make you feel as if you owe them somehow. And you don’t owe them a thing.” I ignored her advice and kept my mouth shut, accepting all their help, their gifts of time and service. It was a humbling thing for sure.
Next week marked my three-month anniversary. Yes, I’d been at Sugar Hill for three whole months. In that short time I’d gotten quite close to many in my family, including little Dolly Jane, her family, Reed and Summer. Even Mitchell had begun to come around now, occasionally leaving the comfort of Miss Anne’s Rose Cottage to visit me. He didn’t say much at first, and I often felt as if he wanted to say something but never did. Mitchell was kind and frequently looked for little tasks to do for me, like prune the roses or walk the brown and white spaniel that showed up in my house one day.
And then there was the house.
It was hardly just a house.
It was like a living museum that never gave tours. And maybe we should give tours a few times a year. I would love to see others enjoying the Angel Gallery and hear music playing in the gazebo. I would love to see children playing on the Great Lawn.
Funny how that worked out. The very things I wanted with Jonah, the white picket fence experience, going to church and working in the garden—all that had come true. Seriously, that argument all those months ago almost seemed prophetic now. Only Jonah had not been a part of the plan.
As much as I loved the family, I also loved Sugar Hill. It was more than just an old house. Every corner held an important artifact, a glimpse into my newly discovered past. And since the ghosts had vanished, or at least quieted down, I felt much safer in the grand old place.
Reed broke into my quiet contemplation as he took on his I’m-the-boss voice and said, “Everyone take a few minutes to read over the reports. Let me know if you have any questions.” He slid the last stack of papers to me, and like my fellow board members I flipped through the sheets. This was my third board meeting, and so far I had no questions at all, except maybe, How in the heck did the Dufresne clan come up with this kind of cash? Of course, it seemed very uncouth to ask such a thing, so I didn’t. I swallowed as my eyes fell on the final page. Even three months in, the numbers staggered my imagination. Was I really responsible for overseeing this kind of capital? I gave the report a perfunctory flip-through and waited for everyone else to do the same.
The Hauntings Of Sugar Hill: The Complete Series Page 21