Fireflies and Lies (A Summerbrook Novel Book 4)

by Vicki Wilkerson

  Her elegant life here on the plantation was being threatened on all fronts—from the menacing hurricane and from her own heritage—her Grandfather Henri’s will. But she was doing her very best to try to keep it—even though nothing was for certain.

  If she had to leave this place, all the really old, really rare antiques and their antique way of life would be left behind. Jenna would have to start using paper napkins and stainless like everyone else.

  Her mother didn’t know it, but she enjoyed a more casual way of life anyway—barefooted and running amuck on acres and acres of land. That part—the land—would be the most difficult…possession to leave behind—if things didn’t work out like Jenna had planned.

  The two women sat at the table, drinking their hot tea, mesmerized by what the weather forecaster was predicting—disaster. A category four.

  Jenna drew in a breath. “I’m calling the tree service company now.” She looked up the number on her phone and hit Call. She explained who she was and what they needed. She looked at her mother and nodded. She ended the call and said, “They’re coming first thing in the morning. I think we’ll move all the porch furniture and anything else that will blow away into the old kitchen house. Then I’ll get the golf cart and wagon, load up all the debris we collected from the graveyard the other day and take it to the syrup kettle to burn. I’ll get Jasper to tend it.”

  Her mother placed her hand upon Jenna’s. “Thank you, sweetie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She shook her head. “Your father doesn’t do much around here any more…and I don’t blame him. This was not his family’s home. He’s more…detached and realistic about it than me. He’s prepared to lose it. I just can’t help loving it like I do. Even if we have to turn it over to your cousin, I’m going to take care of it as long as it’s entrusted to me.”

  Jenna took a deep breath and closed her eyes. What should she say? She still couldn’t say anything. It felt kind of…strange to keep secrets like she had been and found that she was pretty good at it. Her proposal before the board—that her mother didn’t know a thing about—would get approved or denied soon enough.

  Jenna loved that same land, too, and had done all she could to save it for their futures.

  Now was the time to save it in the present.

  ⸙

  Jenna grabbed the golf cart from the shed and drove it to the carriage house where she saw Jasper digging holes. “I don’t think we need to worry about flowers today.”

  “Why in tarnation not? I’ve been meaning to plant these things for weeks,” he said as he stood, straightening his old back.

  “Well, it looks like a hurricane’s coming. A bad one.”

  “Them early ones can take you by surprise. I been through enough to know.” He brushed his gloves together. “What do we want to do first, Miss Jenna?”

  “Mamma’s got her heart set on cleaning up the downed limbs from the graveyard so they don’t blow into the old tombstones like last time. Let’s get the ones in the lane picked up first. The tree company is coming tomorrow to take down any that look dangerous.”

  He climbed in the passenger side of the cart, and they headed down the lane.

  “Jasper, do you want to burn these in the old kettle or down by the river in the clearing?”

  He looked over the pile. “Probably in the old syrup kettle because it’s too dry to be burning in open areas. We got to watch the fire right now. Won’t have to worry after the rain sets in.”

  “Right. Great idea.”

  The two worked together, lifting the big stuff first, and placed the large limbs in the dump container on the back that replaced the old club holders. When it was full, they drove to the kettle behind the cabin.

  Jasper’s small garden seemed to be flourishing—especially the sugar cane.

  “Are you going to make cane syrup this year?” she asked.

  “I plan to—if these old bones will cooperate,” he said as he began to lift some of the debris from the cart. “Now back that thing up and dump it in. I’ll go inside and get my lighter. I can’t believe I left it behind this morning.”

  Jenna dumped her load into the cast iron pot, shaped like a large shallow bowl from which a giant would eat cereal.

  Jasper returned, struck the flint, and in moments the kettle was ablaze. “Oh, what a sight. Just think of all the things this here old pot has seen.”

  Jenna stood mesmerized by the flames. “A lot of sugar, huh.”

  “Oh, more than that. I used to watch my granmomma boil up the hot water to clean clothes with. And all that amber-rosin she used to heat up to cook the potatoes like I told you about.”

  “I thought that the rosin was made in the turpentine still down by the river,” she said. “Where all the old bricks were.”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes, young people just surprises me about what y’all don’t know. The still was where they made the rosin, prettiest amber-colored stuff you ever did see. But this here’s where they used to cook the potatoes in it. And melt it for the boats.”

  She was still curious. She wanted to know all the information, the folklore and the legends about the old plantation—especially since she was hoping it would be hers. “So, tell me more about how it was made?”

  “Let’s see. They’d catch the pine sap from the old trees by cutting slashes in them. Then they waited for the containers to fill. Then they’d boil it down in that old still. They separated the tar from the pitch and the turpentine from the rosin, and then they’d pour it all into different barrels. The rosin would harden till it looked like amber, almost like gold. When they needed the tar and pitch and rosin, then they would heat it back up to turn it to liquid to paint the boats.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work to me.”

  He laughed. “Back then, everything was a lot of work.”

  “So, do you think that’s why the boat was called the Amberjack?”

  Jasper stoked the fire. “Well, if you believe that story. Another one was that your grandpappy used to like to catch amberjack fish off the bow.”

  “Then how do I know which tale to believe?” She was never going to get to the bottom of some of the old legends.

  “I guess we just have to pick one and go with it, like they did back then.”

  She guessed she would, but she’d sure like to have the right one to pass on. “I’d love to find some rosin from the river to see how it melts.”

  “Looks like liquid gold, it does,”

  “Um, huh. I’m sure that was where all the names on the tombstones came from. And they simply handed the name ‘Amber’ down like we’ve done all the others.” She stared at the fire.

  “Yup. That and the old prophesy that amber was gonna save this land one day.” He nodded. “Kept the name in the family, all right.”

  “So, tell me more. How’d they use all the stuff they made in the still?”

  “Ain’t no one ever told you about the boats?” He stoked the fire in the kettle.

  She shook her head. “They told me how to sit, how to sip tea and how to set a proper table for a dinner party.”

  “Well, that wouldn’t have got you far back in the day.”

  She laughed. “No, it wouldn’t have.”

  “Anyway, your Grandpappy Henri had himself a real fleet of boats back during that old war. And every one of them boats needed to be coated with the pitch and the tar on the bottoms and sides so as not to leak. The amber-rosin was used in places that needed something hard, but not on the bottom because that needed some flex. If they didn’t get them old ships water tight, that would mean a sinking. Those boats were money, and he couldn’t afford for even one to sink.”

  “Well, wouldn’t they do all that work in the harbor?”

  He nodded. “They did. They did. Most of them was fitted and painted with what they needed in the old shipyard. But not the Amberjack.”

  “That name keeps reappearing in everything. Old papers. Old books. Conversations. What was so special about the Amberja
ck?”

  “Let’s go get us another load of limbs, and I’ll tell you. If we pick up the little wagon-trailer, we can get twice the load.”

  They climbed back into the cart and headed back.

  As the motor rumbled loudly in her ears, she thought about Hogan and Savannah. She thought about them every day, but never more than today as she busied herself around the plantation. She was hoping Hogan would call after Bentley had left. Maybe Jenna didn’t really have a chance with him and the precious little girl she’d grown to love.

  She had been counting on Bentley showing her true colors, and she had. But what if things had changed? What if Hogan had changed his mind?

  What if Bentley had changed hers? What if she had learned her lesson this time? What if she missed her little girl? And Hogan? And she had returned? Maybe that was why Hogan hadn’t called.

  There was absolutely nothing Jenna could do about it right now. In fact, she had felt a little guilty…as she had waited for Bentley to abandon her daughter again. She closed her eyes. God, forgive me. That is not what I wished. I wish for the best for Savannah. And for Hogan. Whatever that may be.

  That needed to be said. Jenna hoped she was the right thing for them.

  She tried her best to put the whole Hogan affair out of her mind. She was definitely the only thing that was right for the plantation right now. She had to finish the preparations for the storm that was coming soon.

  Hogan and Savannah would be next on her list. After the storm.

  Jenna and Jasper went back to the shed and dropped the hitch for the light trailer onto the golf cart’s ball and drove back to the pile at the graveyard, the loud gas-powered motor roaring in her ears. She couldn’t wait to hear the rest of the story of the boats and the barrels of materials that kept them afloat.

  She hopped out. She needed to keep her mind off Hogan and Savannah anyway. “Now finish telling me about the Amberjack.”

  “From what I been told, it was your Granpappy Henri’s favorite. He sailed it up here on high tides. Kept watch over it like it was his baby. Like some men do to their little sports cars.” He chuckled.

  “I’ve seen the type,” Jenna said.

  “Kept it full of barrels of pitch and tar, turpentine and rosin for shipbuilding, too—way more than he’d ever need in two lifetimes for one boat. Least, that’s the story that’s been told down the years.”

  “Way more? That’s odd. Don’t you think?”

  “That’s exactly what all the hands on the plantation thought. That was where all the rumors started. That he wasn’t just protecting the stuff from the still in the barrels. The rumors were that something else was in some of them barrels besides what he needed for keeping his boat.”

  “Like gold?”

  “That’s what the rumor was. I’ve seen the two side by side. The amber-rosin’s near the same color as gold.”

  They both grabbed a rotten log and heaved it onto the small trailer.

  Jasper put his hands on his hips and stretched his back.

  “The story was that people checked in them barrels when your Granpappy Henri slept, though, and that there wasn’t nothing but the amber-rosin—on this here plantation.” He brushed his hands. “Let’s get this load back and check on the fire.”

  Humph. Though her head was filled with information to pass on, she’d hit another dead end to all the stories. No wonder her mother simply called it all folklore. She cranked up the cart and headed back. The fire was burning so hot they couldn’t back up the cart. They’d have to unload by hand.

  Jenna needed to just give up hunting down the tall tale about the second will. There was probably never a second will. There were too many legends and lore, embellished with years, about this old place.

  Jasper threw the last of the limbs into the old kettle. “Your brother had a different idea about it. Use to say that he bet your Granpappy Henri had something else up his sleeve, and he was going to prove it.” He shook his head. “Poor boy. Never had the chance.”

  “Jasper, do you think it had something to do with the rosin? What Anson called Ashley River gold?”

  Jasper chuckled. “Miss Jenna, who knows? That boy had ideas and thinking like you and I never had.”

  She nodded. “Anson would have made an awesome man.”

  “He was an awesome man, young as he was. He had plans to do great things with this here place.”

  She watched the little sparks above the fire, bright as fireflies at night.

  “I know, Jasper. I know. And I hope that I can make him proud—if I really do get the chance to do what I want to do with this place.”

  “That’s right, Miss Jenna, if the Lord’s willing, and the river don’t rise too high with that hurricane.”

  ⸙

  Hogan sat at the king-sized dining room table that had been made from the heart of an old pine tree on the plantation. Savannah was tinkering with her breakfast. In silence. Like usual.

  He’d had such hopes for her…with Jenna in the picture. He missed her as badly as his crops missed rain in a drought. But he couldn’t push her right now. Not after the Bentley encounter. No telling how Jenna still felt about all that.

  He wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to speak to him again—the way he’d allowed Bentley to mark her territory—territory she didn’t even want. He’d stayed quiet because of Savannah. He’d given Bentley unrestricted access anytime she’d wanted it. At one point, he thought that any of Savannah’s mother was better than no mother at all.

  He decided he’d let Jenna cool off first. Try to get her back out to the farm at some point. And try to convince her to come back to them. To help him. To help Savannah. It had all been going so well. She was just what he’d thought she’d be when he’d heard how she was helping that poor, sick little boy with leukemia. Until Bentley had shown up.

  He sipped his coffee. That he’d made for himself.

  He liked Jenna’s coffee better. Jenna had had nearly the same upbringing as Bentley, but Jenna actually knew her way around a kitchen. In expensive designer heels, no less.

  He heard someone come in the back door.

  “Colton?”

  “Yeah, bro, it’s me. I’m making a cup of this sick stuff you call coffee, and I’ll be right in.” After a couple of minutes, Colton came through the dining room door and took a seat at the opposite end of the farm table. “You been listening to the news?”

  “Not with all that’s been going on in this house. Today is the first day I’ve had to breathe in weeks.”

  Colton chuckled. “Yeah, that’s why I been staying in the apartment above the barn. You needed your space—especially when Money-for-brains moved in. No way did I want to get mixed up in all that.”

  “Me either, but no such luck.”

  They both laughed.

  “How’d it go last night?” Hogan asked.

  Colton sipped his coffee and winced. “Fine.”

  “Fine? That’s all I get?” Hogan wanted more information without appearing that he wanted more information.

  “Look, I’m not a messenger pigeon. You want to know something about Jenna? Call her. If she wants to know something about you, she’ll have to call you.”

  “So, she wanted to know something about me?” His heart raced.

  Colton lowered his head, his dark hair spilling into his eyes. “Call her.”

  Hogan shook his head. “I need to give her some time. Let her get past the whole Bentley thing. Heck, her bed’s not even cold. I can’t imagine how upset Jenna might be.”

  “Well, you won’t know until you call her.” Colton took another sip from his mug. “Anyway, about the news…or rather, the weather. There’s a crazy hurricane brewing up in the Atlantic right now.”

  “But it’s only the middle of June.”

  “Yeah, well that’s two weeks into the season. Unusual, but not unheard of. They say it’s going to be a really active season this year.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Anyway,
we’ve got to get this place ready. Remember the trouble Dad had after Hugo?”

  “Barely. We were kids. Mostly, I heard tales. Yeah, big lesson for everyone.”

  “Well, I thought we’d get in some of the tomatoes before we lose them. Some other stuff, too, if there’s time. Of course, we’ll want to board up the house if it’s going to be a direct hit to the area, but we’ve got some time to wait to do that.”

  “Man, that’s all I need right now.” Hogan thought for a minute. “The shop’s doing fine without me. I’ll help you all I can until…”

  “Are you sure you’re up for it? I mean—will you be able to get around well enough?”

  Hogan lifted his cane. “We work as one, and I am able. You know that sitting around drives me crazy.”

  “Boy, do I know. That was one of the reasons you opened the shop—not enough to do when it’s not planting or harvesting season.”

  “Speaking of…I’ll check on the shop just before the storm arrives to make sure the guys do all I tell them to prepare. Not that I’d have anything to worry about. The guys love that place more than me. Practically runs itself now.”

  Colton leaned over and touched Savannah’s arm. “And what about our princess?”

  Hogan struggled to stand and leaned on his cane. “Unfortunately, I had to call the tutoring service again. I see no end in sight to this revolving door of teachers for our girl.”

  “Poor baby.” He stood and patted her head. “Just make sure the next person understands how easily and quickly she can disappear from the house. Buck still feels awful about taking his eyes off her. I had to talk him out of quitting.”

  Hogan shook his head. “I hate that it happened, but I don’t hold him. It’s overwhelming dealing with a child with—.” He looked at his baby.

  “Whatever it takes, bro. We’ll take care of her—no matter what.” Colton walked around the table and hugged Hogan.

  Hogan buried his head into his brother’s shoulder, and they embraced with all their strength.

  ⸙

  Jenna had had four days to prepare for the approaching monster hurricane. Four had not been enough. The first day was picking up and burning loose debris that might blow into something. The second day was largely spent overseeing the removal of every tree and branch around the houses and graveyard that could possibly damage property. The third day was spent buying supplies and taking in all the benches, tables and chairs that they could. Each day ran into the next as the plantation was abuzz with the hurricane preparation plans.