by Jane Peart
The evening had been a strain, and I was glad it was over. I was gratified that Randall had been proud of me tonight, but somehow it seemed an empty reward compared to the real desire of my heart.
I lifted my hands to unclasp the beautiful pearls and, as I did, my gaze fell on a square envelope propped against the mirror.
With shaking hands I picked it up. I recognized the handwriting. My first reaction was to rip it apart without reading it. But curiosity won out.
THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH. MURDER IS SIN. DEATH IS THE PUNISHMENT FOR MURDERERS. YOUR COUSIN WAS MURDERED, YOU ARE LIVING WITH HER MURDERER.
I dropped the note as if it had burned my fingers.
If Brett Tolliver were writing these horrible letters, then how had he managed to get inside the house and into my bedroom?
chapter
20
WINTER WAS SLOW in coming, and the lovely Indian summer lingered long into November. Peace seemed to settle in the valley like the blue haze over the hills. Yet, for me there was no real peace. The insidious, anonymous notes kept showing up at unforeseen times in unlikely places.
MURDER WILL OUT. H E MUST PAY.
DEATH OPENS UNKNOWN DOORS. HIS SECRET WILL BE DISCLOSED.
DAY OF RETRIBUTION NEAR. BE SURE, HIS SIN WILL FIND HIM OUT.
I'm not sure why I began to keep these vicious notes instead of tearing them up as I had the first one. Maybe I thought that by comparing them I could make some pattern of them, find out who was sending them. I was almost sure it was Brett Tolliver. I could understand his vengeful anger—but what if it were someone else? What if someone else out there suspected Randall of somehow being responsible for Alair's death?
The thought touched me like icy fingers of fear.
The little pile of envelopes in my dressing table drawer grew week by week. Would the writer soon make his move? Come out from behind the veil of anonymity? If there were a shred of truth to his accusations, should I pursue it?
I shuddered with distaste. The cloud of mystery still hung over Alair's death, since the details had never been fully disclosed. Uncle Clint had said Randall was too distraught to speak coherently about it. But who was the doctor who had attended her? And would he know what had caused her death? Being thrown from a horse—as good a rider as Alair had been—did not seem entirely plausible.
Randall had never spoken to me of his marriage to Alair. Her name was never mentioned between us. If anyone had evidence that Randall was responsible—as the writer of these dreadful notes implied and as Brett Tolliver certainly believed—why had he not come forward?
All these confusing, disquieting thoughts churned within me one day and I decided to seek out Vinny's old grandmother. Perhaps she could remember something that might give me a clue as to what had really happened. She was still supervising the kitchen when Alair married Randall, and I knew that everything that took place in a household eventually got back to the kitchen. If there had been foul play, she would surely have gotten wind of it.
I found the old woman sitting in the afternoon sunshine outside her little cabin.
"Afternoon, Tuley!" I greeted her as I approached.
She squinted into the sun as though trying to figure out who I was.
"It's Druscilla, Tuley, Miss Dove's little girl."
"Oh, shure, honey. Come on up." Her wrinkled black face broke into a toothless smile.
I tucked my skirt about me and sat on the wooden steps of the porch, near her woven-rush rocker.
"You wuz such a chubby lil' gel, and now you is all growed up into a pretty lady." She appeared to doze off. Then, just as I was about to prompt her, she spoke again. "Yes'm, time do go by. Seems lak yestiddy when all you chillun were itty-bitty, no bigger den toadstools."
Tuley had her own way of putting things. I remembered how she had described Alair the first time I visited her shortly after coming to Bon Chance as the girls' governess.
"Miss Alair wuz lak a hummin'-bird, a flittin' and flyin' to all de bright flowers . . . not stayin' long at any one, but takin' off afta a few sips of nectah."
In a way, it was a perfect description. Tuley was wise in a way that had nothing to do with education, so I wasted no time in launching into the reason for my visit, before she could doze off again.
"Was Miss Alair happy when she came here as mistress, Tuley? Were she and Mr. Bondurant happy together?"
Tuley compressed her lips and closed her eyes as if in deep thought. "Nobody but de Lawd knows fo' shure 'bout dat," she said slowly. "She shure had everythin' to make her happy." She shook her head. "She seem happy 'nuf. De babies made her happy . . . but den—"
Tuley was momentarily distracted when her old yellow tiger-striped cat who had been sleeping in the sun woke up, stretched, and leaped into her lap.
"Then what?" I prodded her memory.
"Cain't say fo' shure. Dey wuz gone fo' a long while, den when dey come back—Miss Alair she seem diffrent." Again Tuley shook her head. "Mr. Brett took to comin' 'round."
"Brett Tolliver?"
"Yes'm. Dat's him." Her gnarled fingers stroked the cat, her eyes misted with tears. "An' den Miss Alair—den dere was de accident—"
I did not feel it was right to distress the old woman any more. She had confirmed my suspicion that Brett was behind, not only Alair's unhappiness, but was likely the sender of the anonymous letters.
So I changed the subject, complimenting Tuley on her sunflowers that were still blooming this late in the year. I left her some pears I'd brought from the orchard, then I said good-bye and walked back to the house, deep in thought.
What should I do now? Should I go see Brett, demand to know what he knew about Alair's death? The thought terrified me. If his allegations somehow implicated Randall, I really didn't want to know.
That afternoon I forced myself to admit my real feelings for Randall. In spite of everything, I loved him and longed for him to love me. Between us now, however, was the unresolved mystery of Alair's death.
Nearing the house, I stood for a moment leaning against one of the giant elms, putting my tumultuous thoughts into some kind of order. As I did, the Scripture verse came clearly into my mind: "Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free."
If I sought the truth and found out that the accusations in the letters were lies, then I could rid myself of the dark shadow of suspicion hovering over Randall.
But what if I found out they were true?
I shuddered, but even then I knew I had no alternative. As if in confirmation of what I knew I must do, another letter arrived, slipped under the door at the very moment I was visiting Tuley.
IF YOU WANT TO KNOW THE TRUTH ABOUT ALAIR'S DEATH MEET ME. DATE, TIME, PLACE IN NEXT LETTER.
chapter
21
AS IF ITS FURY had been stored up by its long delay, winter arrived with a vengeance. The first week in December snow blanketed the ground. The children were ecstatic, and we spent many happy hours building snowmen and sliding down the slopes on makeshift sleds. Virginia snow, unlike that in New England, never lasted long, but the cold weather did.
Ironically, when the snow came, the anonymous letters stopped. The horrible strain of never knowing when to expect that letter suggesting a time and place to meet to learn the identity of the writer, finally wore away. I was limp with relief. Maybe whoever was playing this cruel game had given up.
Just then some happy news displaced my anxiety. Since Aunt Garnet, who had brought him up, and her husband, Jeremy Devlin, would be visiting Auntie Kate, Jonathan would be spending the Christmas holidays at Cameron Hall.
I was thrilled at the prospect of seeing Jonathan. It had been over two years since we had been together, although we had kept in touch by letter.
It was the Camerons' tradition to hold Open House on Christmas Day, and I particularly looked forward to this festive gathering.
We were sitting at the breakfast table when our invitation arrived, and after reading it, Randall tossed it toward me. "This
is the first time in the nearly twelve years I've lived in Mayfield that I've been invited. That must say something for being married to a Montrose."
I started to protest, then thought better of it. "You do want to go, don't you?" I asked. "You haven't met Jonathan, and I know Auntie Kate would love to see the girls."
Randall went on opening his own mail. At last, he replied, "If it will please you to see your relatives, of course we'll go."
That indifferent compliance had to satisfy me, but I was determined to make our first Christmas as a family a special occasion. When I broached the subject of attending the midnight service at Mayfield's community church, I was not sure Randall would agree.
I did not know him well enough to know if it was mockery I saw in his eyes when he said, "By all means! Let us keep all the Montrose traditions!"
I might have suspected sarcasm if I had not observed that he often masked his real emotions with such a remark.
As it happened, on Christmas Eve afternoon it was Randall himself who suggested the girls take a nap so they would not be sleepy when we left for the service.
Happily, a light snowfall covered the ground the day before, and Randall had the sleigh readied for our trip to church. Bundled in furs and blankets, we set off over snowy fields under a frosted moon. Church bells were ringing with a sweet clarity in the night air as we entered the small stone building.
Inside, candlelight glowed softly while the organ played the gentle ancient hymns. The little girls were quiet, taking in everything with an innocent reverence.
Afterward, when we left the church, the air was so clear and sharp that it almost hurt to breathe. We skimmed home over the icy, rutted road to hot mulled cider and cake laid out for us, and presents to open.
Nora and Lally, as usual, had dozens of gifts Randall had ordered for them both from a famous toy store in New York, as well as from abroad. The one that turned out to be their favorite was an enormous hand-carved Noah's Ark, complete with pairs of all the animals. They had spotted it in a store in Germany and had been fascinated by it.
"Here's another for you, Drucie," Nora said, handing me an oblong package, wrapped in a lovely piece of silk and tied with a lace ribbon.
When I opened it I found inside a beautiful porcelain shepherdess figurine. I looked up in surprise to see Randall watching me.
I lifted it out of the excelsior in which it nestled. It was so delicate and lovely.
"Oh, Randall, thank you! How did you guess?" I asked breathlessly. I had admired it in a shop in Austria, touching it carefully with my fingers, hardly daring to pick it up. Evidently he had arranged to buy it at some later time as a Christmas surprise.
"I thought you would like it," he said casually, then began to thank Lally for the pen-wipers she had so laboriously sewn for him with her stubby little fingers.
I made a pretense at examining the fragile figurine, too overcome with emotion to look at Randall again. I was afraid he would read in my eyes the love I felt for him. That he had gone to that much trouble for me must mean he cared. It had to, I thought with a quickened heartbeat.
We all went to bed soon after, and in my room I placed the little shepherdess on my dressing table where I could see it every day. I could not get over the fact that Randall had selected something with such care to give me.
The sun, glancing off the untrampled whiteness covering lawns, meadows, and fields, stung our eyes as we drove over to the party at Cameron Hall on Christmas afternoon.
I was hardly out of the sleigh when Jonathan came bounding down the steps, picked me up, and swung me around. "It's so good to see you, Dru! Let me look at you! Here you are a married lady. I can tell you cousin Norvie was heartbroken when he heard you'd got yourself married over in Italy last summer. He was all set to ask you to come to the fall Germans with him!" Jonathan teased.
I laughed gaily, thinking that attending a set of college dances at Harvard was the farthest thing from my mind last summer. Handsome as he was, Norvell Meredith seemed a mere boy compared to Randall.
Suddenly I remembered I had not introduced my husband to my cousin. I turned to see the little girls staring and smiling, but Randall did not seem amused.
"Randall, this is my cousin Jonathan. You remember . . . I've told you how the two of us . . . and Alair . . . grew up together."
Though Randall bowed politely, I felt the icy reserve before he turned away, while Jonathan and I, chatting simultaneously, tried to bring each other up to date on all that had transpired since we had last been together.
So intrigued was I with Jonathan's account of life at Harvard that I failed to notice the subtle rebuff of my relatives' friends. Auntie Kate could not have been more gracious and Uncle Rod was a correct, courteous host, but I realized at length that their guests were not ready to extend a warm welcome to us. There was no overt rudeness, of course, but as we moved from the dining room, where the sumptuous buffet was set up, small groups of people simply closed their ranks, deliberately excluding us. Others merely avoided my glance, pretending not to see me.
I looked around for my family, but the little girls were playing with other children in the parlor especially set aside for them. Then I saw Randall standing alone. He appeared nonchalant, sipping a glass of punch. But I saw the set of his jaw, the line of his mouth.
I was angry and hurt. Randall was as much a gentleman as any man here. I knew that if it were not for me, he would have stalked out. He had agreed to come for my sake. Now I must rescue him.
I touched Jonathan's sleeve. "Jonathan, dear, I must go."
He looked surprised, disappointed. "Go? But you've only just come. We have so much to talk about that you can't leave now."
"I must." I lowered my voice. "Randall is not comfortable. He doesn't know anyone and no one is making any effort to speak to him. Of course, it's because of Aunt Harmony and Uncle C l i n t . . . but I can't go into it all now. You must come over and spend some time with me at Montclair—Bon Chance."
"I'd like that. I haven't seen the place since I left, you know," Jonathan said eagerly.
"We've been restoring it. Randall wanted it all put back the way it used to be. You'll love seeing it. It looks the way your mother would have remembered it."
"Great! I shall be here all next week. But before you go, Dru, I must tell you my most important news. I have given Davida an engagement ring! We're to be married in June, right after my graduation from Harvard."
"Oh, Jonathan! How marvelous!" I hugged him. "You must tell me all about it when you come. Now, I better collect the children and say good-bye to Auntie Kate."
Randall stared straight ahead as he drove us home through the purple dusk of the early winter afternoon. The children's happy chatter covered his silence.
Back at Bon Chance, I took two weary little girls upstairs, helped them undress. Lally was almost asleep on her feet. They were both worn out from being up so late on Christmas Eve and the long day filled with fun and excitement. After I'd tucked them in, I went back downstairs.
I found Randall in the library. One arm was propped on the mantelpiece, and he was staring morosely into the fire.
"May I come in?" I asked. I wanted to say something to minimize the sting of his ostracism at the party, but I didn't know what to say.
"Yes, do."
"I just wanted to ask if it would be all right with you if I had my cousin Jonathan over to stay a few days."
He gave a harsh laugh. "Of course! Let us be shining examples of Southern hospitality—not the sort we saw so prominently displayed this afternoon." He bit off the sharp words.
"Oh, Randall, I'm sorry—"
"Don't be! I'm used to Mayfield's brand. Besides, it doesn't matter. Invite all your relatives, why don't you? I won't be here anyway. I'm leaving—tomorrow probably—I'm going to New York, then on to Boston. Business mainly. Although I may see friends. People who enjoy my company. Southerners don't have a corner on gracious entertaining."
I twisted my hands helples
sly. I felt so bad for him, but I could offer no comfort. He would have rejected any attempt on my part to explain or excuse.
"Thank you, Randall." I turned to leave, then added, "Have a good trip."
It seemed a melancholy ending to a day otherwise filled with such happiness. The pang of loneliness I felt in anticipation of Randall's leaving was somewhat assuaged by my joy at the prospect of Jonathan's visit.
chapter
22
IT WAS LIKE old times when Jonathan came to Bon Chance . . . Montclair! The children adored him on sight, for Jonathan was still a boy at heart in spite of his height and the new mustache he had grown since I last saw him.
He entered into all their games and invented new ones. He got down on the floor with them to play with the Noah's Ark, and after supper it was he who suggested a riotous game of blindman's buff or hide-and-seek.
Growing up in the warm, family circle of the Merediths, Jonathan had a natural ease and a happy outlook on life. Having gone to live in the North when still a little boy, he had not grown up surrounded by adults who knew deprivation, defeat, and despair. He had also inherited his mother's sweet personality, along with her beautiful dark eyes.
He stood for a long time in front of her portrait that hung beside the other brides of Montclair along the wall next to the staircase.
"I wish I'd known her—" he sighed— "or at least remembered her. All I have of her is what Uncle John has told me."
One evening after the children had gone to bed, Jonathan and I sat before the fireplace in my sitting room, reminiscing. We exchanged memories of the long-ago days when we had lived here with Aunt Garnet, Aunt Harmony, and Mama during the War.
"It's hard to believe there was a war going on," said Jonathan, shaking his head. "Mostly I remember you, Alair, and me having fun, playing. I do remember the day the Yankees came and took away my pony, though! I remember how Aunt Garnet ran out and tried to stop them. Mighty brave of her. Good old 'Bugle Boy'." Jonathan smiled in retrospect.