The Strangers on Montagu Street

by Karen White

  The two of them whispered to each other for a moment before Nola spoke. “I haven’t had any more music lessons. Miss Julia’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, as fresh tears threatened to spill. “That’s terrible. What’s wrong?”

  Sophie answered. “She’s having trouble breathing on her own. I guess mostly because she’s old. Dee said that the doctors can’t believe Julia’s still hanging on. It’s like there’s something holding her here.”

  They both looked at me as if I held all the answers. I quickly shook my head. Ever since Jack walked out of my life, I hadn’t even been able to see spirits, like dead people were shunning me, too, for being so stupid. “I can’t. I can’t see them anymore.”

  Nola spoke up. “Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.”

  I glared at her, and she jutted out her chin as if I were the one in the wrong. She continued. “Remember that newspaper article that mentioned how the Manigaults’ plantation house had been hit by lightning and that’s why it burned? Well, Sophie took me to see Miss Yvonne at the Historical Society to see if we could find weather records or news reports from that same geographical area and time. We found a little article about a church supper that evening in the neighboring town where the sky was clear and everybody was counting stars.”

  “It was apparently in the middle of a drought,” Sophie added. “It hadn’t rained for five straight weeks.”

  I felt a small stirring of interest. “So if there was a fire, it probably wasn’t lightning.”

  Sophie shook her head. “Nope. But it would certainly be a great cover-up. If you destroy the reason anybody would be visiting the plantation—namely the house—you get rid of the chance of anybody discovering two new graves.”

  “I’m guessing Harold Manigault paid somebody to print such a blatant lie about the lightning. Looks like everything is pointing to intentional deaths. Has there been any identification yet on either body?”

  Nola nodded. “That’s why Miss Julia had to be taken to the hospital. When they called to tell her about the DNA results, she stopped breathing and had to be resuscitated. She’s been in the hospital ever since.”

  “It was William, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Sophie said. “But they have no idea who the other male is.”

  “And you think that’s why Julia’s hanging on, to find out?”

  “Well, partly,” Sophie said. “She’s still looking for William’s forgiveness for something. But maybe that can’t be given until we know the whole story.”

  For the first time in three weeks, I felt a glimmer of the old me. Turning to Nola, I asked, “Since we moved the dollhouse, have you had any more dreams?”

  She shook her head. “No, but we still can’t find the dog figure, and General Lee keeps acting like he’s playing with another dog.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not going to even try to pretend I understand what that’s about.”

  “But someone keeps messing with my music and my mom’s guitar.”

  I looked at her gently, but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m guessing Mom’s still here, too.”

  “Yeah. I think you’re right,” I said.

  She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Can you help them, Mellie? Not just Miss Julia, but my mom, too? Your mom said she’d help, but she can’t do it without you.”

  I looked at Sophie and frowned. “Is this what today’s spa trip was all about? An intervention?”

  They both shrugged. “Does it matter?” Sophie said. “We miss you, and there are spirits who need you. Maybe if you turned your focus outward, you might heal a lot quicker.”

  I was angry that I’d been so manipulated, that somebody else was telling me how to run my life when I’d done such a good job of it. Until recently, anyway. I knew, in the shriveled place that used to be my heart, that they were right, and that I didn’t want to live my life feeling the way I’d been feeling for the past three weeks. Mostly I was angry that I’d let somebody else figure it out for me.

  I stood, trying to muster as much dignity as a person could while wearing a robe and flip-flops. “I’ll think about it. But I don’t think I can help. They don’t want to talk to me, and to be honest, I’m tired of trying.” I swept past them. “I’m going to go get changed.”

  I felt them watching me as I left, the all too familiar sting threatening to explode yet again into another torrent of tears and self-pity.

  CHAPTER 27

  I reached into the doughnut box, my fingers hitting only cardboard. I tilted the box toward me, surprised to see it empty. There’d been half a dozen doughnuts when I’d sat down only an hour before. I still had no appetite, and I hadn’t tasted anything for weeks, but a persistent and gnawing hunger never seemed to abate, regardless of what I put in my mouth.

  The wall-mounted TV flickered images of Mrs. Houlihan’s favorite soap opera, whose storyline was about a woman with amnesia who had accidentally married two men and didn’t know who the father of her baby was. I was vaguely aware of my mother sitting across the kitchen table with her arms crossed over her chest, regarding me with a frown.

  “When was the last time you combed your hair?”

  I reached up to pat my hair, realizing too late that I’d probably just dusted my head with powdered sugar. I caught sight of the sleeve of my nightgown, stained with spilled coffee and something that looked a lot like toothpaste. At least that meant I’d brushed my teeth at some point. “I don’t remember,” I said, slumping further in my chair and wondering if it would be impolite to get up and see what else might be in the pantry.

  “Do you think you might get dressed anytime soon?” she asked.

  I thought for a moment. “Probably not. I’m on vacation.” When I’d asked Dave Henderson for a couple of weeks of vacation, he’d nearly fallen out of his chair. In all the years I’d worked for him, I’d yet to take a real vacation, much less two weeks’ worth.

  “Jack called.”

  I sat up in my chair. “When?”

  “Yesterday. On my cell. He only wanted to speak with me.”

  “Oh.” I slumped back down.

  “He said the activity in the dollhouse has increased. Every night things get rearranged or thrown out. But there’s one new thing that he wanted to ask me about.”

  I feigned noninterest by shrugging.

  “The mother figure, Anne, keeps ending up in the same spot outside the house. Right next to the place we kept finding William. Do you think she’s trying to tell us something?”

  I thought about my promise to both Julia and Nola to try to find out what had happened to William and why he’d ended up in an unmarked grave. It stirred my conscience just a little bit. I nodded. “She’s always been silent, bullied by her husband or son to remain quiet. Why would she be taking a stand now?”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing. Maybe the discovery of William’s body has given her a certain kind of leverage or freed her somehow. Maybe an emerging truth is giving her strength.” She paused. “I mentioned that I could go over there and hold the doll figures again and see what I can find out.”

  I shook my head. “You know you shouldn’t do that alone.”

  “I wasn’t thinking I’d be alone.”

  I stood. “No way am I going back there. I . . . No. Never.”

  My mother stood, too. “Sweetheart, you and Jack have to talk and work this thing out. I’m not saying this to be mean, but you’re pretty pathetic right now.”

  My throat closed a little, and I was afraid I’d start crying. Again. I swallowed. “I told him I loved him, Mother, and all he said was ‘I’m sorry.’ I think we’ve done all the talking we’re going to.”

  She momentarily closed her eyes, as if summoning strength. “Regardless, you’ve got to get on the other side of this, and wallowing here in your nightgown is not going to make it happen.”

  I was silent, the TV blaring a detergent commercial. I picked up the remote and flipped it off. Gener
al Lee barked and began chasing his invisible friend around the table. He circled twice, then ran to the back door, stopping himself in time before colliding with the door. He sat up and whimpered, then began to paw at the wood. I moved to pick him up and he actually growled at me. Startled, I straightened.

  “He’s probably desperate for a walk,” my mother said. “Besides being let out in the garden to do his business, I don’t think he’s had any exercise in weeks.” Her gaze drifted to my swollen ankles. “A walk would probably do you both good.”

  I sighed heavily, knowing she was right. “Fine. Let me go throw some clothes on and I’ll be right back. But you’re coming with me in case we run into anybody I know. You can tell them I have the plague or something so they don’t get too close.”

  “All right. But please brush your hair. And some lipstick would help, too.”

  I was about to glare at her when the TV popped back on with no picture, just sound. “I’m Just Getting Started” blared loudly, making General Lee renew his efforts to exit the door. I hit the “off” button on the remote and then tried the actual television, but the sound continued. Finally, I pulled out the cord, an unnatural silence filling the kitchen.

  “Look what I found,” Nola shouted as she raced through the doorway, holding up the dog figure from the dollhouse. She stopped when she spotted me with the television cord in my hand.

  “Where was it?” I asked, feeling as if I already knew the answer.

  “Stuffed inside the shirt of my teddy bear. I have no idea how it got there.”

  General Lee whimpered at the figure, then threw himself at the door again, his small body making a thumping sound against the wood.

  My eyes met my mother’s. “They’re not going to leave me alone, are they?”

  My mother shook her head. “No. And neither are we. You can either come willingly, or we can drag you kicking and screaming. It’s up to you.”

  “I’ll take the dog for a walk, but that’s all I’m committing to right now,” I said. “I need to get dressed—could somebody please let the dog out before he messes on the floor?” I didn’t wait for a response as I headed out of the kitchen.

  “You might want to try to drag a brush through your hair while you’re at it,” Nola called out to me.

  My eye rolling was blocked by the closed door.

  When I returned, I found Nola, my mother, and General Lee on the sidewalk, the dog nearly choking himself on the leash because he was straining so hard to follow something the rest of us couldn’t see. I could make out the brief flash of a tail, but the rest was invisible even to me.

  “He won’t go potty, so I’m thinking he wants to take a walk,” Nola said. “We were just waiting for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the leash and nearly losing my balance as General Lee shot forward, his agenda known only to him.

  “What are you wearing, Mellie?” my mother asked.

  I looked down at the bright blue velour sweat suit as if I were seeing it for the first time. “Something I borrowed from Charlene. She said it was appropriate vacation attire.”

  “Isn’t it a little warm to be wearing velour with long sleeves?”

  I nodded, already starting to perspire. “You know how cold-natured I am. I’ll be fine.” I didn’t want to tell her that it was the only thing I could find that fit me. I was so bloated, and everything else seemed to be too tight. As Jack and Sophie had long predicted, the days of eating everything I wanted without gaining weight had come to a crashing halt. I knew that turning forty had been a bad idea.

  At least my mother either pretended not to notice or didn’t see the flip-flops on my feet, something I never wore in public except on the rare occasions I made it to the beach.

  “Where are we going?” Nola asked, sounding breathless as she jogged to keep up.

  “I’m not sure, but he seems to be following his invisible friend.” I stubbed my toe on a crack in the sidewalk and stumbled, cursing under my breath at the absurdity of wearing shoes without any kind of support or toe protection. “It’s best just to follow.”

  We continued our brisk pace, and I was relieved that he wasn’t heading in the direction of the Circular Church and its cemetery. When we crossed Broad Street to Rutledge, I had a pretty good idea of where we were going.

  “Hey, this is the way to Miss Julia’s house,” Nola said.

  “I think you’re right.” I glanced at my mother, who was delicately mopping her brow with a tissue she’d pulled from her purse. I was sweating like a horse but wasn’t about to admit it by asking whether she had another one.

  When we were still a block away, the hair on the back of my neck rose, an almost refreshing cold wave of fear racking my body. My mother stopped and I did, too, General Lee continuing to pull on the leash.

  “Do you feel that?” she asked.

  I nodded as our eyes met.

  “This might not be . . . good.”

  “Is it ever?” I asked.

  She didn’t smile. “I have a feeling that if we go any farther, it will be too late to turn back. And if you turn back, I’m going to have to turn back, too, because I can’t fight whatever is there by myself—it’s much too strong. So you have to decide now whether you’re going to see this thing through and let Julia die in peace, or go back to your wallowing as if your life is over. Right here, right now, you need to decide that your gift is something that will always be there, and will transcend even the disappointments in your life. It has always been that way for me, and I hope it will be for you, too.”

  I stood, staring at her while I dripped sweat in my velour sweat suit, feeling as ridiculous as I looked and wondering whether all of life’s big decisions happened when one was least prepared. I looked down the street in the direction from which we’d come and saw Nola with her arms crossed, her face expressionless.

  She’d changed so much in the last few months. She was still a teenager—I supposed we’d have to wait about seven years for that to change—and she was as comfortable in her own skin as she’d always been. But she didn’t seem so alone anymore, or so lonely. If I didn’t think she’d argue with me, I would almost suggest that she was feeling as if she belonged in Charleston now, with her father and the ragtag family that had come together to see her through. Despite all of that, I could still see the stricken little girl who’d arrived on my doorstep, the girl abandoned by her mother and not knowing why. My own heartache didn’t seem so bad in comparison anymore.

  Looking beyond Nola to the street behind her, I couldn’t see Bonnie, but I could hear the tune I’d begun to associate with her, the song that seemed to come from inside my head. I felt the pull of my old life, but now more as a memory than a necessity. Maybe by turning forty I had traded in my metabolism for wisdom. Or maybe it was just time for me to grow up.

  “Come on,” I said, allowing General Lee to leap forward and following at a slow jog. It was one thing to capitulate; it was quite another to admit to being wrong about so many things in such a public way. My mother didn’t say anything, but I caught her exchanging a glance with Nola and heard the slap of hands, as if a high five had occurred behind my back.

  Nola spotted the yellow caution tape first as we neared the old Victorian house, starting at the curb and marking off the entire side yard on the turret side of the house and going all the way to the back property line. A backhoe loader sat in front of a large hole, a pile of dark earth parked next to it. The yard was deserted, the equipment turned off, and as we stood staring and wondering what to do next, Dee Davenport came out of the house, running faster than I thought a person her size could, and carrying something in her hand.

  “Miss Middleton—you must have read my mind. I was just trying to call you!”

  General Lee stopped pulling at his leash, as if whatever he was chasing had gone, then lay down at my feet. “What’s going on, Dee?”

  She pressed a pudgy hand against her chest as she paused to catch her breath. “We had a water pipe burst in th
e yard—we’re thinking it’s from the roots of that big oak tree by the side of the house. Anyway, when they started digging they found bones.”

  “Bones?”

  Dee nodded. “Not human, fortunately. But dog bones—the whole skeleton. The skull was cracked—probably the cause of death.”

  I looked down at General Lee, sleeping off his exhaustion, and was glad he hadn’t heard what Dee said. “That’s awful. But why were you calling me?”

  She held out a rectangular wooden box, similar to others I’d seen at Trenholm’s Antiques. It was a Victorian glove box, used to store ladies’ gloves. “Because they found this, too. Not buried with the dog, but nearby.”

  I handed the leash to Nola and took the box. “But why are you giving this to me? If it was found on this property, it belongs to Miss Julia.”

  Dee nodded, her cheeks flushed with exertion, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. “I know. I just came from the hospital, where I showed it to her. And she asked me to give it to you.”

  I stared at the box as if it held spiders or other crawling insects. “What’s in it?”

  “Letters. I showed them to Miss Julia. She said you and Mr. Trenholm would know what to do.”

  My eyes smarted at the mention of his name and I quickly blinked. With a glance at Nola and my mother, who both gave encouraging nods, I opened up the box, revealing a pleated pink silk interior lining that cradled a small stack of letters. The envelopes were crisp and brittle, faded to yellow. There was no writing on the outside, the flaps torn unevenly, as if the person opening them had been too impatient to find a letter opener.

  “Go ahead,” Dee said. “Miss Julia wanted you to read them.”

  Handing the box to my mother, I took the top envelope and opened it carefully. The handwriting inside was small and precise, done in all capital letters, and definitely written by a male. My eyes scanned to the bottom of the page, searching for a signature, and found only the initials JCW. I thought hard, wondering whether I’d run across a name that fit the initials.