by Amy Reade
I was immersed in my work for the next several days. Lucy played with Cora-Camille and Ruby, spending time indoors with tea parties and doll dances, and outdoors walking around and picking flowers. Her clear, sweet voice was never far away, and I knew I would miss her terribly when she went to nursery school.
I was right. That first day of nursery school was a hard one for me, much harder than it was for Lucy. She smiled and waved as I stood in the doorway of her classroom, tears streaming down my face. I spent the rest of that miserable day wandering around downtown Charleston, looking into shops, ordering lunch only to find myself too depressed to eat, and counting the minutes until I could pick her up. When I finally got her back at the end of her school day, I cried again. She chattered excitedly all the way back to Peppernell Manor. She talked about the artwork she did, about her teachers, and about her new friends, none of whose names she could remember. She asked what I thought Ruby and Miss Cora had been doing while she was at school. I told her that Ruby was probably baking and that Miss Cora was probably waiting anxiously for Lucy to get home. She seemed thrilled. She enjoyed repeating her stories to Cora-Camille and Ruby, then again at dinner, and finally again to Brad that night on the phone.
As the next few days passed, it became easier for me to drop off Lucy and work while she was in school. During those days, I worked diligently with the plasterer on the ceilings in the entry hall and drawing room. He was an older man with a great talent and I learned some valuable skills from him. We had decided that it made sense to start work on the ceilings in the drawing room, withdrawing room, and dining room before moving forward with the restoration of the walls and floor in the entry hall.
But as much as I was learning and enjoying my work, the best part of my day was always when I picked up Lucy and brought her home.
CHAPTER 3
I was working alone in the drawing room on a quiet, drizzly day when there was a knock at the front door. I was on a scaffold so I hoped there was someone else around who could answer it. But no one appeared, and as I was stepping down from the scaffold, the door swung open and Harlan stepped in, beckoning to someone behind him.
I was surprised to see not one, but several people walk into the entry hall. Besides Harlan, there were four men and one woman. Harlan saw me at the bottom of the scaffold and stepped into the drawing room, inviting the others to join him. My hands were covered with a powdery film from the plaster; I tried to wipe them off onto my cutoff jeans as I glanced down at my flip-flop-clad feet, sharply aware of how I looked compared to all these polished professionals in suits and expensive shoes. I wiped a few strands of hair out of my eyes and made a feeble attempt to straighten my ponytail. Harlan smiled and turned to the somber-looking group behind him.
“I’d like you all to meet Carleigh Warner, the genius restorer behind all the work being done at Peppernell Manor.” Embarrassed by his praise, I smiled and received several thin smiles in return, but nobody attempted to shake my powdery hand.
“Carleigh, this is the group of investors I was talking about the other night. I thought it would be helpful for them to see the manor in person before we move forward with discussions about setting up a funding schedule for the restoration.”
I looked around at the group. “If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them,” I said.
Nobody spoke.
“If we have questions after the tour, we know where to find you,” Harlan declared.
I got back to work. I didn’t know Cora-Camille had changed her mind about the investment group. Then again, maybe she hadn’t. She hadn’t seemed enthusiastic about their participation in the restoration and funding. She was spending the afternoon in the new barn down the road; maybe Harlan had chosen this time for the tour because he knew Cora-Camille wouldn’t be around.
I could hear Harlan discussing the history of the old home and its dependencies as the group made its way slowly around the first floor. Then they all trooped down to the basement and came up again several minutes later. They were a little more animated now, asking questions of Harlan and engaging each other in conversation and speculation. Harlan brought several of them back into the drawing room, where they proceeded to ask me several questions about the length of time it would take to complete the restoration work, some of the techniques I would be using, and the estimated costs of certain aspects of the project. I answered their questions as best I could, then Harlan saw the group to the front door. He came back into the drawing room alone. “I’m not sure how that went,” he began. “They didn’t seem too happy, did they?”
“They didn’t look happy to me, but maybe investors are always sour,” I told him with a grin.
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll talk to them tomorrow. Say, are you busy for dinner tonight? I thought you might enjoy a meal at one of Charleston’s fine eateries.”
“Uh, I don’t know,” I stammered, suddenly in a panic. Is this man asking me out on a date?
Harlan spoke again. “Evie can come if you’d like. We could make a little party of it.”
I sighed inwardly with relief. Not a date, just a dinner with friends. “Okay, that would be fine. I have to make sure someone can help Lucy with her dinner, though.”
“There’ll be someone here to look after her, and you’ll be back before her bedtime. Shall we meet in Charleston at around six?”
“Sure. Where in Charleston?”
“I had a place on Broad Street in mind. An old, old restaurant with excellent food. I’ll write down the address for you. Sound good?”
“Okay.”
No sooner had he written down the address for me than Cora-Camille walked in the front door.
“Who were all those people?” she asked Harlan. So she didn’t know about his tour after all.
He appeared uncomfortable as he shifted position, flicking a glance in my direction. “I thought I’d bring out a few of the people who are interested in possibly helping to fund the restoration. They just wanted to see the place.”
Cora-Camille frowned. “Darlin’, I’ve been thinking about it and I just don’t believe that it’s a good idea to bring investors into this project. I have more than enough money to pay for the restoration. If we invite your investor friends, they’ll want to see a return on their money, and my home will end up being used by people looking to get rich.”
“But Gran, just think of all the good we could do if this house were used to teach people about the antebellum South.”
That’s when Cora-Camille dropped her bombshell.
“That may happen anyway, Harlan. I’m thinking about changing my will and leaving the management of Peppernell Manor to the state of South Carolina. That way people will be visiting this home for many years to come, but the proceeds will go to the state. Not a bunch of people looking to make a quick buck.”
Harlan’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that, Gran. I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing those people through here.”
“That’s all right, dear. I know you were just trying to help.”
I interjected. “Cora-Camille, maybe we should sit down and talk about this. If you’re thinking Peppernell Manor may be opened up to the public, that will change how I go about my work. We’ll need handicap access—”
“Let’s worry about that when the time comes,” she interrupted. “For now I just want you to restore my home.” She smiled.
Harlan gave her a hug and she went into the kitchen, his eyes following her. He turned to me and said, “See you tonight.”
“Sure. I’ll be there at six.” With that, Harlan let himself out the front door. I ran lightly upstairs and knocked on Evie’s door. She opened it a moment later and I asked her if she had time to go into Charleston for dinner with Harlan and me. Unfortunately, she had a conference call with colleagues on the West Coast, so she would be busy at six o’clock. She smiled broadly at me. “You have a date with Harlan? That’s great!”
“No,” I hastened to clarify. “It’s just a friendly m
eal. That’s why we invited you, too.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry I can’t go.”
Now that Evie couldn’t go to dinner, I didn’t want to go anymore. But I had already told Harlan I would meet him at the restaurant, so I didn’t have a choice. A few hours later I put on a crisp, white, silk tank top and a pair of capris and left the manor, promising Lucy I would be back before her bedtime.
When I got to the restaurant, I was dismayed to see Harlan waiting for me outside wearing a three-piece suit. I was obviously not dressed appropriately for dinner. He looked me up and down and suggested that we go to another restaurant down the block, one that was a little less formal. I apologized to him, explaining that I hadn’t realized we were going to a fancy restaurant.
During dinner Harlan and I talked a little about the restoration, but Harlan mostly regaled me with stories about his job. He seemed to love his work, but I privately thought that all the meetings about money . . . and the stress over money . . . and the searching for new sources of money . . . sounded dreadful. Eventually the conversation got around to the investors he had brought to the manor earlier that afternoon.
“I’m going to have to talk to the folks who went through the house this afternoon,” he said. “Gran’s announcement certainly came as a surprise to me. The plans of the group may have to wait.”
Sounds like they’ll be waiting forever, I thought to myself. He must have read my thoughts.
“I think Gran will come around. Family is the most important thing to her, and eventually she’ll realize that investor funding is the best course for the family after she passes.”
“How do you figure?” I asked.
“She’s always talking about what will happen after she dies. You’ve even heard her. The best way to assure that the family continues to get an appreciable income will be to accept an infusion of cash so we can modify the property to become a travel destination for folks who want to know more about the South before the War of Northern Aggression.”
“I guess you have your work cut out for you, then.”
He smiled wryly. “I sure do.”
After dinner, he walked me to my car and bid me good night, taking my hand and bowing over it as he had when we met. Even though Harlan had suggested that I invite Evie to this “little party,” I felt through the entire meal like I was on a date—but all I wanted from Harlan was friendship. I was so relieved that he didn’t try to kiss me that I actually felt weak-kneed when I got in the car. I was happy to get home to my very wound-up daughter who had spent most of the evening riding Graydon’s back as though he were a horse.
CHAPTER 4
The next day I was working on the ceiling in the withdrawing room. I was alone; the plasterer had decided that I could be trusted to perform repairs to the plaster ceilings without his constant presence, so he had gone back to Charleston until later in the day. I was focused on my work when I thought I heard a sound behind me. I turned quickly and saw Phyllis standing in the doorway to the withdrawing room. She held a broom and a dustpan in her hands and was staring at me with her dark eyes. I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I wondered how long she had been standing there.
“Hi, Phyllis. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m just watching,” she replied.
“Okay. Just let me know if you need me to move or something,” I told her, still puzzled as to why she was just standing there.
She turned to leave the room, shaking her head. I heard her say, half to herself, “Sarah isn’t going to like this at all.”
I had no idea who Sarah was. I didn’t really have time to figure it out, either, since I had to finish what I was doing and get into Charleston to pick up Lucy.
Dinner that night was an uncomfortable affair. Vivian had apparently been apprised by Harlan of the possible change in Cora-Camille’s will, and she insisted upon talking about it at the table.
“Cora-Camille, I hear you’re thinking of letting the state of South Carolina manage this home and property.”
Silence. Harlan shot his mother a warning look.
Cora-Camille, unruffled, continued eating. Finally she spoke in her clear Southern drawl. “Yes, Vivian, I am. I’ve been thinking that Peppernell Manor could do the most good for the most people if it were managed by the state and used as a cultural center.”
“But why? What will happen to the people who live here after, God forgive me, you’re gone?”
“Vivian, please,” Graydon growled.
“I would make sure that the family is allowed to live here,” Cora-Camille assured her. “I wouldn’t leave you all homeless.”
“But how could we continue to live here with people coming in and out all the time?”
“It would be no different from the living arrangements if this home were taken over by the investors that you and Harlan keep trying to push on me,” Cora-Camille noted, a small crack appearing in her calm veneer.
“Well!” Vivian exclaimed, apparently highly insulted. “I think we’d have more control over the situation if this beautiful old treasure weren’t managed by the state.”
“I don’t.” Cora-Camille shot her a look that indicated that the conversation was over. Harlan hadn’t said anything during the exchange. I wondered what he was thinking.
I was frantic to change the subject and stop the tension that was rising between the two women. I suddenly remembered my brief conversation with Phyllis.
“Phyllis came to watch me work in the withdrawing room today,” I began. “Who is Sarah?”
All eyes turned to me in surprise. Vivian put her napkin down slowly, sighing with disgust. She turned to Graydon.
“Graydon, we cannot have a domestic who goes around talking of such things. I am going to have to sit her down. The way she goes on is foolish.”
Graydon looked at his wife gravely. “Vivian, she’s entitled to say whatever she wants. Who cares if she wants to talk about Sarah?”
“I do.”
“Well, let her be. She’s not hurting you.”
“She’s embarrassing me and the rest of this family.”
Graydon shook his head and went back to eating. I gave Evie a bewildered look.
“Sarah was Phyllis’s great-great-great-great-great-grandmother or something like that,” Evie explained. “She was a slave who lived on this property. She worked in the manor and had her first baby when she was fifteen. Phyllis feels very close to Sarah and talks about her all the time as if she still lived here.”
“Phyllis talks to a ghost?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Yes. Believe me, everyone has that same reaction at first. But you’ll get used to it—we all have.”
I shrugged. “If you say so. So why wouldn’t Sarah like what I’m doing?” It felt strange to be wondering about a ghost’s opinion.
“Talking about ghosts is disgraceful,” Vivian grumbled.
“Vivian,” Graydon warned.
She shot him a dark look.
“I don’t know,” Evie responded to my question. “Sarah’s opinions aren’t always easy to figure out.”
I wasn’t sure what to say next, so I turned to Lucy to help her with her dinner. I hoped to talk more about Sarah with Evie later that night, but she got a call from Boone and spent the evening in her room. I didn’t mind too much, since I was very tired; I fell asleep just after Lucy did.
I had been asleep for a couple hours when the house phone rang just after eleven o’clock. There was no phone extension in my bedroom, but I had seen one out in the hall on a small table. With everyone in the house carrying a cell phone, this was the first time I’d heard the phone ring. I heard Graydon’s deep voice answer the phone, then I heard a soft knock at my door.
“Carleigh,” Graydon whispered. “Are you awake?”
Fuzzy-headed from sleep, I shuffled to the door and opened it. Graydon handed me the phone with a smile. “Got a new boyfriend?” he teased.
I frowned. Why would anyone be calling me this late, and not on m
y cell? Why wake the entire household?
“Hello?”
A gravelly voice answered in a thick Southern accent. “You better get outta there, Carleigh. You’re gonna find yourself in grave danger.”
“Who is this?” I demanded angrily. When there was no reply I slammed the phone down. Graydon, who hadn’t even gotten back to his room, turned around.
“What’s the matter, Carleigh?”
I was trembling. I was afraid my knees wouldn’t hold me up. I told him wildly, “I don’t know who that was. He just said I’d be in grave danger if I stayed here.”
Graydon had obviously seen his fair share of hysterical women and knew just what to do. “Carleigh, take it easy, honey. It was just some joker playing a stupid prank. Come here.” He held me in a big bear hug for a few minutes, smoothing my hair, then spoke again. “You are perfectly safe in this house. No one is going to hurt you here. I can sleep outside your bedroom if you’d like.”
I took several slow, deep breaths. His words made sense. Of course some jerk was just playing games, acting stupid. I would have loved for him to sleep outside my bedroom, but I was too embarrassed to admit it.
“Thanks anyway, Graydon. We’ll be okay. I can’t let some prank get to me.” I forced a laugh.
“That’s a good girl. Now go back to sleep.” He took the phone off the hook before going back to his own room. I returned to my room, brought Lucy into bed with me, and wrapped my arms around her. She remained asleep, but I lay awake for the rest of the night.
Who could it have been? The only men I’d met were Graydon, Heath, Harlan, and employees of the stores I’d visited. There was Brad, of course, but he wouldn’t waste his time with silly tricks—would he? No, it had to be someone I’d met since arriving in South Carolina. My mind turned the possibilities over and over, but no one had any reason to want me to go away.
The next day dawned hot and humid again. I got an early-morning text from Lucy’s school stating that there had been a pipe leak in two of their classrooms overnight and the nursery school would be closed that day. I was actually happy to get the text, since there was no way I’d be able to focus on my work after that late-night phone call and it was about time that I took a day off anyway. I told Lucy I would take her into Charleston for a girls’ day out and some touristy sightseeing. I hoped spending a few hours away from the manor would help me stop worrying about the phone call.