Heir of Hope: Return to Ironwood Plantation (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 2)

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Dee beamed at me when I stepped into the kitchen. “Mornin’ deary. Have a good night?”

  “Yeah.” I rolled my shoulders back. “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

  “Good! I’ve got the biscuits over there on the counter, if you want to get them out.” She gestured to a round metal pan sitting on a wooden cutting board.

  “Okay.” I stepped around her, glancing at the white gravy she was stirring in the skillet. Talk about carbs. I picked up the pan and looked at it, feeling a bit foolish. Was I supposed to fix myself a plate or put these things on some type of platter? Thankfully, Dee answered my question before I could ask it.

  “There’s a big plate on the shelf just above your head. You can dump them on there and put them on the table.”

  I followed her instructions, taking care to place each one carefully on the plate in some semblance of order. Dee followed behind me with a bowl of gravy and a plate of bacon and sausage. “You go ahead and sit down, I’ll bring the plates,” she said.

  I chose to sit toward the end of the table in the dining room with my back facing the foyer. That way, I could still see into the kitchen and look out the large bay window across from me.

  I heard the front door open and turned to see who entered without knocking. Luke. Of course. Apparently, Dee expected him because she called from the kitchen, “Luke, go ahead and sit down, I’m bringing the plates.”

  Luke smiled at me but didn’t follow Dee’s orders. He walked straight into the kitchen. I heard low voices but couldn’t make out their words. I could only hope it had nothing to do with me. They soon returned with Dee carrying plates and a pitcher and Luke following her with three glasses.

  “Are you two related?” I blurted as soon as they sat down.

  Luke laughed. It was an easy kind of laugh, the sort that came from someone who practiced it often. “No,” he said, “but I’ve known Dee all my life. She’s kinda like an honorary aunt.” He shot her a lopsided grin. “Or grandma.”

  “Ha!” She swatted at him and he ducked. Dee rolled her eyes and turned her attention to me. “Yes, this boy’s been like kin. Though sometimes I wonder why I claim him.”

  I suppressed a laugh at their antics as we fixed our own plates family-style. Luke drowned three biscuits in gravy and piled several pieces of bacon on his plate. I opened one of the large, fluffy biscuits and drizzled a small spoonful over the top. I waited, wondering what kind of prayer Dee would say this time. I hoped it wasn’t as weird as last night’s, especially with Luke sitting right across from me.

  Dee turned to Luke. “Would you say the blessing, please?”

  He bowed his head, and I followed suit. I was relieved to find his prayer much simpler. “Lord, we thank you for this beautiful day that you have given us and for this time of fellowship. Thank you for this meal and for the loving hands that prepared it. In Jesus’ holy name, amen.”

  I whispered amen and picked up my fork. We ate in silence for several moments before the inevitable happened.

  “So, what brings you to Oakville?” Luke asked after downing half of his cup of orange juice.

  It was simple question, although the answer was decidedly less so. I opted for brief honesty. “Mr. Cornwall contacted me and said I inherited Ironwood from Adela Harper. She was my great-aunt.”

  Luke exchanged a look with Dee. “Ironwood, huh?”

  Had I said something wrong? I shifted in my seat. “Dee said that was what they used to call it, anyway.”

  Luke just nodded. “So, then, what are you going to do with it?”

  I shrugged. “Sell it, I guess. I live in New Jersey. I can’t really have a house down here.”

  “But that house has been….”

  Dee held up her hand to interrupt him. “Luke, it’s her house. She can only do what she can do.”

  I shot Dee a grateful look. What did Luke care if I sold it?

  “Does your family live in New Jersey?”

  “I don’t have any family.” I stated it bluntly, as I usually do. But, despite my matter-of-fact delivery, invariably I always got the same response. Luke was no different, although his look of sadness seemed remarkably genuine.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused. “But, then, why can’t you just move….”

  “Luke.” Dee dragged out his name and cast him a sideways glance. He snapped his mouth shut.

  I studied them both, unsure what to make of the conversation. I sighed. “Anyway, nothing’s been finalized yet. I still have to go over some stuff with Mr. Cornwall first.”

  “Speaking of Buford,” Dee said, glancing at the small gold watch on her wrist, “he should be here shortly.”

  I frowned. I hadn’t scheduled a meeting. Was Dee up to something? I watched her eat her breakfast. If she felt me looking at her, she didn’t acknowledge it. Oh, well. So, Dee was a busybody. I had a nice, safe place to stay and good food for cheap. I could put up with pretty much anything else.

  Dee started clearing away the dishes. Luke looked as though he were about to say something to me, but she didn’t give him a chance. “Luke, why don’t you go on and get started? Just be careful pulling down that attic ladder. It can stick sometimes.”

  Luke pushed away from the table. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Dee turned to me, and I was again reminded of a storybook grandmother, that, or a mother hen. “You go wait in the sitting room for Buford. He’ll be here soon to go over a few things with you.”

  I resisted the bizarre urge to echo, “Yes, Ma’am,” and followed Luke from the dining room. He turned to go up to the second floor, and I slowed to watch him ascend. He dressed much the same as yesterday, with a slightly too small tee-shirt that accented his defined but not bulky muscles. I’d always hated those guys who lifted weights until their arms couldn’t touch their sides and had that weird thing where the muscles went from their ears to their shoulders, making them look as if they had no neck at all. I preferred a lean, toned look and… I shook my head. Enough of that.

  I nearly dashed into the parlor and sat on a floral-printed Victorian chair that was much too low to the ground. Were people shorter back then? Their furniture certainly seemed too small. A soft tap on the doorframe interrupted my wandering thoughts.

  “Good morning, Miss Emily.” Buford smiled at me. Apparently, he’d let himself in. Did Dee even bother locking her front door? That seemed dangerous. And stupid. I’d have to remember to ask her, if I planned on sleeping here again.

  “Good morning.” I stared at him dumbly, not knowing what I should say. Let him do the talking, I thought. He’s the one that set this thing up anyway. Buford looked at me a moment and then sat in a wing-backed chair near the tall window.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, guess we might as well get started. I wanted to talk to you about having the house appraised. I’ve been looking over some things, and it looks as though the rest of the paperwork should be finished by the end of this week, but I’m happy to help you with whatever else you need.”

  Ah. Of course. He’d come here on a Saturday morning to try to secure further legal fees. Well, that at least made sense. Everyone looked out for number one. I sighed. “Like what? What kind of legal fees am I looking at to get this thing finished?”

  Buford looked surprised. “That’s not what I meant. Anything having to do with the estate closing is already covered.” He pressed his lips together and studied me. I dropped my eyes to the floor. Buford drew a long breath as if summoning patience. “Adela was very…. well, she was a special lady. I offer you my assistance purely as a personal tribute to her memory. Nothing more.”

  I wanted to sink through the floor. I straightened my shoulders and forced my gaze to reach his. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

  He dipped his chin. “I’ve arranged for you to meet with a realtor. She can give you a good idea about the details of the house.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Let’s get going, then.” He checked his watch. “Kristin should be at the ho
use soon.”

  I went upstairs to grab my purse and ran full into Luke as I rounded the corner at the top of the staircase. I stumbled backward, but strong hands caught my arms and steadied me. I looked up into Luke’s eyes. He was close, his face only inches from mine, and his hands still rested on my arms, even though I’d regained my balance. “I, um….” I swallowed. This man must have found me incredibly clumsy. I am, actually, but not usually so often. I stepped back. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”

  He released me. “No problem. Are you okay?”

  No. My heart galloped, and my palms were actually sweating. “Yes, I’m fine.” I stepped around him. “Thanks again.” I glanced back as I reached for my doorknob. He still stood in the hallway staring at me. We locked eyes. Something, I’m not sure what, seemed to pass between us. I ducked into the safety of my room before it could continue.

  I closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a heavy breath. I didn’t have time to ponder the strange moment with Luke. I had other things to do. Pushing it from my mind, I grabbed my purse and quickly checked my reflection, surprised to see my cheeks flushed. I tucked a stray hair behind my ear and peeked into the hallway. Relieved to find it empty, I hurried down the stairs and to Buford waiting by the front door.

  “Ready?”

  “Yep.” I followed him outside and opened my car door. “I’ll follow you back to the house,” I said before getting in.

  He nodded and slipped behind the wheel of his car. We pulled from the driveway, and I turned down the thermostat. How could the air possibly be this thick? I whisked away beads of sweat popping up on my forehead. So much for spring. I could only imagine what this place would be like in August. I’d be drinking my air instead of breathing it. How did people live in this humidity?

  A strange feeling panged my heart as we turned into Ironwood, as if something here called to me, drawing me into its invitation to ease my ache for family. I drew my bottom lip through my teeth and willed the feeling away.

  I followed Buford in and parked next to an older-model red pickup with a woman about my age leaning against the hood. She had wavy brown hair several shades lighter than mine, with the top half pulled back from her face and the rest of it falling around her shoulders. She wore dark jeans, a green sleeveless top, and open-toe sandals. Buford and I exited our vehicles, and the woman wrapped Buford in a hug as soon as he shut his door. He patted her back. “Good to see you, Kristin. Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem. Anything for Miss Adela. Is this her niece?” She looked around Buford’s large frame and smiled at me.

  I stuck out my hand, just in case she had any thoughts about hugging me, too. “Hi, I’m Emily Burns.” She took my hand and shook it with a firm grip, her hazel eyes full of light. I forced a self-conscious smile.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Kristin Cruz. I’ll be your realtor.” She chuckled and turned back to Buford. “So, let’s check it out. I’ve always loved this place, but I’ve never been inside.”

  I followed them through the front door. I’d never owned a house. My parents had always rented. Kristin’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Well, here’s what I know about the house.” She opened a folder in her hands and scanned the contents. “It was originally built in 1852 by Charles Harper. The outer buildings were finished by his son, William Charles Harper, after his sudden death not long after the construction was completed. It survived the Civil War because the Union soldiers used the third-floor ballroom as a lookout post. According to the records, the house has remained in the family for six generations.” She looked at me, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

  I just stared at her. William Charles Harper. That was the name of the man in the diary! “That’s a long time.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Yes, it really is. Not too many people have a family legacy like that.”

  All I could do was nod. She didn’t know anything about my family. They were nothing but shadows and slips of memory. The ancestral home of a family my father didn’t want had nothing to do with me. It was just a house, wood and nails, brick and mortar. The pull I felt could be nothing more than my active imagination and curiosity.

  We toured through the first floor and stepped into the master bedroom. Kristin pulled the knob on the tiny door in the back corner of the room. She studied the narrow staircase that led to an upstairs bedroom. “How strange. I figured this was a closet.”

  “It just goes to a room upstairs.” We both turned to Buford for his opinion, but he seemed engrossed in studying something on the dresser and appeared not to have heard our exchange.

  “Maybe that room up there was an office. Or maybe a nursery,” Kristin said.

  “Well, that would make sense, I guess,” I said, eying the staircase. “But I think I’d rather have the baby down here than try to traipse up and down those steep stairs by lamplight.”

  “Good point.” Kristin circled back around to the main staircase, probably because it was a more comfortable ascent for Buford, and continued to the second floor. We stopped in the hallway.

  “Do you know why the hallways are so wide in these old homes?” Kristin asked.

  I shook my head. This lady was supposed to be doing an appraisal, not giving me a history lesson.

  “Back then, this is where the family would gather. It was like the den or living room. They would sit out here and play games or socialize. In the summer, they would open the doors at each end of the hall to catch the breeze.”

  “But, there’s a parlor downstairs.”

  “That’s for guests. Parlors were formal rooms where the family received company and daughters entertained suitors. This is where they would spend time together in the evenings and where children often did their studies.”

  I tilted my head. “They didn’t go to school?”

  “Most of the wealthier families had in-home schooling, usually with a live-in tutor. Boys would then continue to a college for higher education before returning to help run the plantation.”

  “You sure know a lot about this place,” I said, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

  She smiled and glanced at Buford. “Yeah, I kind of have a thing for old houses. I just love Natchez in the spring.”

  I stared at her blankly.

  “Oh, you simply have to go.” She grabbed my arm. “They have pilgrimage every spring and fall. People dress up in the big hoop skirts and act like it’s still the plantation era. You can go through a tour of all the houses, even the ones that are not usually open. It’s a lot of fun.”

  I raised my eyebrows. It sounded a little odd to me, people dressing up like it was 1860. Kind of interesting, maybe, but I didn’t want her to know I thought so.

  When I didn’t respond, she released me and turned to business again. “Buford, I really think we should consider an inspection. This house is over a hundred and sixty years old. I’m sure Emily would like to know if there are any major problems.” They both swept their gazes over to me.

  “Yes,” I said. “I guess that would be a good idea. What do you think a house like this would sell for, assuming there are no major problems?”

  Kristin sighed. “Well, the market is tough everywhere right now, but even more so in Itawamba County, I’m afraid. I don’t think there are many around Oakville who could offer much for it. Your best bet would be someone who is interested in historical homes and isn’t worried about a long commute to work.”

  That didn’t sound good. This place could be on the market for years.

  “But,” she continued, “I’d say the house, with the twenty acres that are left, should still be worth a good bit.”

  With the seventy-five thousand that Buford had estimated would be left in Adela’s accounts, I was still looking at a huge payday. I’d never expected such an opportunity. Not unless I won the lottery. I grinned. “So, let’s call the inspector.”

  Buford and Kristin exchanged a look, then silently started down the staircase. I mentally kicked myself. These people
had cared for Adela. She’d spent a long time looking for her lost nephew, and all she’d gotten for her efforts was a callous gold-digger.

  I returned to Dee’s house not twenty minutes later. Buford had said he would set up an inspection for Monday, and Kristin promised to help with whatever I decided to do. Despite my rude behavior, she’d even asked me to lunch on Monday. Under the circumstances, I’d felt inclined to accept.

  I didn’t see Dee anywhere, so I trudged up the stairs, feeling drained. Then I heard voices. I looked both ways down the upstairs hallway but didn’t see anyone. I followed the sound to the last door at the end of the hall and poked my head into a small bedroom. A door stood open in the back wall.

  “That should take care of it. Just an old pipe. You really should have them all checked out. It would keep you from having to call me so often,” Luke said, his voice sounding slightly muffled.

  “Ah, well, you know I like having you over. Besides, with a pretty young lady in the house, I figure you won’t mind,” Dee said.

  Embarrassed, I backed out of the room as quietly as I could. Of course, I somehow managed to find a squeaky floorboard that had magically appeared since I’d first crossed into the room. Two heads popped out of the doorway. “Oh, um, there you are, Dee. I was just looking for you.” I fidgeted, not sure what else to say.

  Dee broke into a big grin. She must have known I’d been eavesdropping. I was mortified. “Well, here I am. Luke was just showing me another leaky pipe.”

  Luke looked as awkward as I felt.

  I shifted my weight. “In the closet?”

  Luke laughed. Dee and I joined in, and I was grateful for the break in tension. “Yes,” he said. “It runs through the wall. This is the best place to access it.”

  “Yes, yes,” Dee said, waving her hand around as if she could shoo the awkwardness from the room. “Old houses have their issues. How was your meeting with Buford?”