Fireflies and Lies (A Summerbrook Novel Book 4)

by Vicki Wilkerson

  “Absolutely. I still own half of the farm, but I don’t need to live on it to do the work that I have always done for it—will always do for it. And, anyway, I want Colton to have the house—just like your parents want you to have the main house on DeBordieu Plantation. That’s always been the Thorpe way, as well. This place has been passed down for hundreds of years that way. Until now, my brother’s been my support staff. I’d like to see him take on a life of his own. Here.”

  “I think that’s wonderful. He’s a great guy. I would have loved to have hooked him up with one of my girlfriends, but they’re all taken now.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. They all must be good people if they’re your friends.”

  “They’d do anything for me. In fact, I wish I had a couple out here with me now to help me with those boxes outside.”

  “Would you like me to call Buck and the guys to come help?”

  “Yes. I’m exhausted from all the heavy lifting on the plantation. I’m going to have to work on my stamina if I’m going to manage a tea plantation.”

  He chuckled and called his foreman. In a few minutes, Buck and his crew were on the porch.

  Hogan and Jenna walked through the front door and took a couple of rockers. Savannah stayed in Jenna’s arms.

  “Thanks, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Hogan said.

  Buck smiled. “No need. I hadn’t seen you since we talked on the phone. I want to thank you for the opportunity to manage Thorpe’s Custom Cycles permanently.”

  “Well, I need you there more than here. Heck, you know more about motorcycles than I do anyway. You were the one with all the expertise. It had always been a hobby for me.” He looked at Jenna. “Now I have other…hobbies.” He smiled at the woman he adored—with the little girl he adored in her arms.

  Jenna stopped rocking for a moment and said, “Put them in the guest room, Buck. Across from Savannah’s.”

  Buck and his men took all the things out of Jenna’s car, and Hogan watched as his house filled up with Jenna’s things.

  As his heart fill up with…Jenna.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Land is the only thing in the world that amounts to anything, for it's the only thing in this world that lasts. It's the only thing worth working for, worth fighting for..."

  ~ Margaret Mitchell

  Jenna had a very important appointment this afternoon. At DeBordieu Plantation. With Mr. Smithers. She’d dropped calling him Mr. Slithers as she had for years. He had no more venom with which to paralyze her. And, of course, Mr. Halloway would be there to make sure the transfer went as planned.

  Her phone rang. Dr. Hacker’s office again. “Hello,” she answered as she put away the bag of groceries in the pantry.

  “Dr. Hacker asked me to call again. To see if you needed to make an appointment.”

  It wasn’t the receptionist’s fault that she was being a pest. Her therapist just simply couldn’t get it through his head that she didn’t need him any longer. He seemed…obsessed about it.

  She opened the door to the refrigerator and searched all the bottles of water and cans of LaCroix on the top shelf. She reached past them all to take Savannah’s apple juice from the shelf. As she pulled the juice out, she disrupted the mixed up mass of bottles and cans, knocking a few down. She closed the door without righting the bottles and felt…proud of herself.

  “I don’t think I’m going to need to see Dr. Hacker…ever again…like I’ve told you before, Miss Bonnie.”

  “I know, Miss Bellingham, but it’s my—”

  “I know it’s your job, Bonnie, so call away. It’s still nice to hear your friendly voice. And I still wonder how Doc’s plants are doing.”

  “Oh, Miss Bellingham,” she whispered, “They are not doing well. At all.”

  “Maybe that’s why he wants to see me so badly.”

  They both chuckled.

  “Talk to you next week, Bonnie.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  The educational strategies that incorporated behavioral therapy techniques, invoking attentiveness and mindfulness were working with Savannah. She was becoming more and more attentive. As the bells and chimes and other noises of a certain frequency triggered her presence, Jenna saw remarkable results with the child.

  In fact, Savannah’s doctor was extremely interested in the lesson plans and educational strategies she was using with the child. So much so that she was meeting with him to discuss them outside of the little girl’s usual appointments.

  No longer did she have time for dress shops, frivolous organizing and the Summerbrook Ladies League. Her life was filled with serious stuff—educating Savannah and taking over the reins of the plantation.

  And she was learning with ease. Without counting in French. The board had met yesterday, and she would have the official news that would affect so many lives. Not that she was terribly worried now. She opened the notebook she was keeping for the plantation. All her compulsive habits had really paid off—in a good way. The needless obsessions were gone. She had things to channel her drive into, and they weren’t silly, frivolous things, like dresses and shoes. People were counting on her, and she knew she wouldn’t let them down.

  But of all the things she was doing, the most important thing she was doing was loving Hogan. It colored everything she did. It healed everything that had been scarred in her.

  She walked back to her room, rang a bell and called out “Savannah. Savannah, sweetie, it’s almost time for us to go.” The little girl appeared at the door. Jenna pulled the brush through her hair one last time, drew some of the long, yellow locks away from her face, and clamped a big pink bow in it to keep it out of her beautiful, luminescent eyes—eyes that reminded her of fireflies.

  And that reminded her of another thing. She walked to her dresser and clasped the firefly necklace Hogan had given her around her neck. Her love for fireflies had returned.

  Her time with Hogan had been a time of restoration—for both of them. They had talked long hours about all they had hoped life would be for them—before the scars.

  Hogan suddenly appeared in the doorway. In a white cotton shirt and jeans that looked like he’d had a tailor fit them to within an inch of his life.

  Oh, the pull he had on her. If it weren’t for his little girl, she’d attack him then and there and plant a huge kiss on his delicious lips.

  Good thing for Savannah, or she’d be late for her appointment with Mr. Smithers.

  “You girls ready?” Hogan asked.

  “Yep. Let me grab her a sweater. In case.” Sometimes summer evenings on the dock at the plantation could be a little cool. And she wanted to show Savannah everything about the land where she’d grown up. She finished tying the little white Keds and picked up her sweater.

  Jenna opened her closet door. She stared at the Louboutins and smiled as she slipped on the comfortable flats she’d picked up a couple of weeks ago at a local department store. Funny thing was that she couldn’t remember the brand name of them for the life of her. Though they were not exactly the sophisticated image she’d carefully fashioned for so many years, it absolutely didn’t matter now. Because that image didn’t fit her life now. In fact, now she even owned a pair of Muck boots and found herself wearing those even more often than the flats.

  The three got into Hogan’s Land Rover and headed into Summerbrook, past Main Street and to the outskirts of town where the gates at DeBordieu Plantation were open.

  Hogan pulled in, and she eyed the gas lanterns burning atop the pillars as they passed. They burned day and night. She’d be officially illuminated about her plantation’s future very soon.

  She turned in her seat. “This is where I grew up, Savannah. We have lots of beautiful things on this land. I hope you’re going to love them, too, sweetie.” She reached to pat the little girl on the knee.

  Savannah continued to gaze out the window and moved her head up and down, to the right and to the left, like she was taking it all in. An
other good sign the little girl was reacting to her environment.

  The three bumped and jostled as they progressed down the old road, lined with timeworn magnolia trees, which were in full bloom.

  They were a little early, so Mr. Smithers wasn’t there yet. Good. She wanted to show Hogan and Savannah her playground while they still had light.

  Hogan held the child’s left hand, and she held her right. “First of all, I want to show you the camellia garden. It’s not in bloom right now, but it has a secret.”

  As they made their way through a labyrinth of plants, they arrived in the center.

  “It’s a joggling board. It’s been here since my grandparents,” she said.

  “My grandparents had one of these, too, but my brother and I were a bit too rough on it, and we broke it,” Hogan said, staring at her the entire time.

  She bent down. “Savannah, watch me. And then it’ll be your turn.”

  She climbed on the long pliable board that was loosely suspended between two wooden frames—one at each end. She proceeded to bounce—or jostle—on the board. From years of practice, she was really good, and she knew it. She joggled the swayed board harder and harder. And then she let the jostling subside and hopped off. The memory of her and Anson on the board on hot summer evenings made her smile. She no longer fought off her memories of him.

  “Okay, sweetie. Now it’s your turn. Daddy will hold one hand, and I’ll hold the other, and you can just tiptoe across the plank.”

  Hogan lifted her onto the board, and the two walked the little girl back and forth. Jenna had hoped that she’d like it, and she had.

  She heard the bushes rustling. It was Jasper.

  “Oh, looky here. We’s got us a new walker on our joggling board,” Jasper said. He looked straight at Savannah, “Honey, that used to be one of Miss Jenna’s favorite things to do when she was about your age.” He kept talking to Savannah. About all the things to do and see on the plantation. And he kept calling her “honey” and he didn’t seem to think anything of the fact that she didn’t acknowledge him. Even once.

  Wow. No wonder Jenna loved Jasper so. But it seemed she wasn’t his only honey any longer. And she loved him for that, too.

  Hogan turned to Jenna. “Wanna take her to the dock?”

  It was a new dock in the same place of the old one—the one where her brother had stood on the old railing—where he had grabbed the thick rope from the overhanging moss-draped oak tree and had swung out over the river. Until he was really far out into the water and really high above it. And then he would plop or dive into the murky waters.

  Today, though, no one would be swinging or diving or plopping. They’d just visit.

  They walked together, hand in hand. This time Hogan let Savannah’s hand go, walked around and grabbed Jenna’s.

  Jasper followed them and didn’t stop talking to the little girl. When they got to the dock, they all looked over the edge of the railing. The perfume of the Charleston Lowcountry was everywhere. The not altogether pleasant scent of the chocolate brown pluff mud wafted up until it assailed their senses. The mud was teaming with fiddler crabs.

  “Look at all the baby crabs, Savannah,” she said.

  Jasper bent down to address the little girl. “These can make a mighty decent meal. If someone was hungry enough,” Jasper said. “You can catch enough to fill your belly,” Jasper said. “Not much meat in them, though.”

  Hogan played with Jenna’s fingers as they watched the tiny crabs sneak out of their holes and dart to and fro over the river bed that was exposed at low tide.

  Her heart was as playful as his fingers. It was a perfect evening, sharing her love of her family’s plantation with her new loves—Hogan and Savannah.

  Jasper took Savannah’s hand and walked her to the end of the dock. He pulled up the crab trap he had set earlier in the day. He and Savannah kneeled down to watch the crabs crawl all over one another.

  She whispered to Hogan, “Those two are going to be great friends.” She checked her watch and looked at Hogan.

  “Is it time?” he asked.

  She nodded. Mr. Smithers and Mr. Holloway should be there by now.

  She leaned down to eye level with the little girl. “Savannah, we have to go back to the house now, sweetie.”

  “Miss Jenna,” Jasper said. “How about I finish showing this young one the statues and the ponds over there.” He pointed. “While we still have some light.”

  She looked at Hogan. “Will that be all right? Jasper’s the best babysitter this side of Charleston. He practically raised me. Kept me out of trouble. Mostly.”

  The two old friends laughed. Jenna had some secrets, after all—innocent as they were.

  Hogan picked up Savannah and told her the plan. “We’ll see you at dark on the front porch.” He kissed her and set her back down beside Jasper.

  The little girl either didn’t mind or she didn’t understand. Jenna hoped it was the former.

  Hogan took Jenna’s hand, and they walked back in silence. So much was at stake. So many plans had already been made. She prayed a little prayer that all would go as she had hoped—as she had planned.

  When they rounded the corner of the plantation house, the white wicker porch chairs were arranged around the table, covered in a crisp white linen tablecloth and set with a pitcher of sweet tea. Glasses were already filled with ice and had sprigs of mint from the herb garden in the backyard growing out of them. Lemons that looked like half rounds of the sun were perched on the glasses’ rims.

  So Southern. So Isabelle DeBordieu. Her mother knew how to do everything properly when it came to entertaining.

  Jenna, however, knew how to do that…and everything else.

  Mr. Smithers was unloading the contents of his briefcase on the table. He had on a blue and white striped seersucker suit, a straw hat that looked like a throwback to plantation days, and his round tortoise shell glasses. He looked like a pretentious ad from M. Dumas & Sons, a fine men’s clothier on King Street in downtown Charleston. His manner of dress and his manner of behavior were…forced.

  Her lawyer, however, was dressed casually in a blue Southern Tides shirt, some Ledbury chinos and Trask loafers, an unpracticed style that was no doubt inherited.

  There was her future. In that briefcase. This would be the official handover.

  She stood there and gazed for a moment. A few months ago, she would have been tempted to count in French. But she wasn’t this time.

  She glanced up at the handsome man beside her. He looked down at her.

  There was her real future.

  No matter what was to happen on that front porch in a few moments.

  Mr. Smithers put the briefcase against the wall and stood behind the chair in which he intended to sit. “Okay.” He let out a breath. “Let us all take a seat.”

  Her mother acted like she’d been lit on fire. “Oh, allow me to pour us all a glass of sweet tea first. I’m so thirsty.” She turned to Mr. Smithers. “Charlton, tea for you?”

  He nodded. He needed it. He was sweating. Buckets.

  He pushed the glass at her.

  “Tea, Mr. Halloway?”

  “Lawton, call me Lawton. Of, course, I’d love some tea, Isabelle.” His accent dripped with Charleston charm and affluence.

  She flashed him a smile. His relaxed demeanor set everyone—except Mr. Smithers—at ease.

  “Tea, everybody?” she poured and looked around the table.

  Jenna took her seat and drew a long swallow from the glass.

  Hogan grabbed his, took a sip and took a seat beside her.

  Mr. Halloway stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder. He stooped down and whispered in her ear, “I’d like to see whatever it is he hands you. I can read it from here. Don’t want him to pull any fast ones.”

  She smiled, knowing that her acclaimed lawyer had her back. Literally. Just like Anson did when he was alive.

  Her mother sat beside Hogan as her father paced the porch with a gla
ss of tea in hand. She’d never seen her father so nervous. He probably knew Isabelle DeBordieu would give him more than he could deal with if there were some unforeseen glitch, and she lost her family’s beloved plantation.

  For a moment all stood still. It was the plantation’s bewitching hour. Twilight. When all things changed. Day into night. Silence into humming and buzzing and croaking. The edge of the empty, dark woods into the magic of fireflies.

  The charm of it all never faded. She was always enchanted by it. And now it held the official proclamation of the plantation’s future.

  Charlton Smithers let out a breath that probably matched the air around them—hot and humid. “Well, it’s a moot point now, but your Letter of Intent was approved, Jenna, but you didn’t even need it after the will you found on the Amberjack was authenticated. You have inherited the plantation—for eternity. I placed all the remaining money in the old account in the family trust you told Mr. Halloway here to set up. With the money from the gold and coins, your descendants should be able to take care of this place…indefinitely. In fact, this form shows that the board was dissolved. It’s all yours—lock, stock and barrel.” He pushed some paperwork across the table and adjusted his tortoise shell glasses. “I do hope you’ll consider continuing to use me to augment your legal counsel for this plantation—since I’ve been involved for so long.”

  “Heavens to Betsy.” She didn’t even look at the paperwork. She stood and grabbed Hogan around the neck, and he spun her in a perfect circle.

  She heard her mother gasp and her father say, “Well, shut my mouth.”

  Hogan smiled. Those were his favorite words.

  She glanced at the table as R. Lawton Halloway, IV, Esquire was poring over all the documents.

  God had heard her prayers. He had directed her path, and now she had so much more than she could have ever imagined.

  Suddenly, she heard a little girl’s scream. The sound sent needles pricking her from the inside out.

  Everyone dashed to the end of the porch and leaned over the edge to see what was the matter. Beyond the lightning bugs twinkling in the woods, above the crickets and frogs and insects whose voices came to life at dusk, above all that was the little girl’s shriek.