House on the Forgotten Coast

by Ruth Coe Chambers

  Someone yelled from the porch, “Maybe you can afford Park Place for real now, Jill. Think about that.”

  She turned with one parting shot. “Maybe you can get on the train and leave town too!”

  “John, that wasn’t nice. Jill’s right. It wasn’t her fault.”

  “Well, my dad wanted to buy that property. Why wasn’t his money good enough? No, he sells to a total stranger.”

  “The stranger’s money wasn’t any better. Maybe there was just more of it.”

  “Maybe so, but my dad sure was upset.”

  It wasn’t long before Elise picked up on the scheduled activities hosted on the porch. Monopoly night was fun, but Tuesday night was her favorite when four women of varying ages gathered to play bridge. She moved closer to the porch, shielded from sight by a giant camellia bush and watched as they tapped cards on the table. Slippery sounds echoed from the hands they dealt for bridge.

  The woman called Frances reminded Elise a bit of a high-class hooker. She wore a smart pants suit, and her red hair was expertly dyed and coiffed. She was the only woman at the table wearing spike heels and smoking. She blew smoke up over her head and ground her cigarette out in a beanbag ashtray she kept on the floor. “I still can’t believe Sarah sold her house to those new people from Atlanta. That house gave her dignity she never deserved, but she always acted like it was her birthright, some special dispensation that had been passed down to her. That’s why she always acted like she was a cut above the rest of us. It was that house.”

  Pulled by the conversation from the porch, Elise had difficulty turning away, but the voices in her own head, growing more familiar each day, came unbidden and gave her pause.

  Seth! You’ve drawn plans for a house?

  I’ve drawn plans for lots of houses, but this one is special, Annelise. You gave me the idea with your talk about your dad’s love for boats, and paddle wheelers reminding you of women in long, flouncy dresses. You could make me famous, you know.

  You’re already famous with me.

  She knew the women had to be talking about her house, its previous owner having been someone named Sarah, and there seemed to be some kind of argument about it.

  “Now, Frances, don’t be catty. Life wasn’t always kind to Sarah, and anyway, you know there are other beautiful houses here, albeit some of the nicer ones are run down now.”

  “Don’t you ‘Now, Frances,’ me, Sue. You always want to play the peacemaker, but you know it’s true. Somehow I think just growing up in that house made Sarah like she is, made her think she was too good for Peyton too.”

  “Well, its history had to have an impact. But for what happened, her family might never have had that house in the first place.” This from the woman they called Dallas.

  “Impact, my arse.”

  Dallas laid her cards on the table. “Frances, don’t be crude. It isn’t becoming, any more than your smoking is. Smoking doesn’t make you sophisticated any more these days.”

  “Do I care?”

  Sue, tall and plain with short-cropped blond hair, held her cards against her bosom and drawled, “Of course you do. But you can’t let go of that image or that silver cigarette case. And you’ve never cursed, Frances. Why should you start now?”

  “Never?” Frances countered.

  Sue smiled. “Well, hardly ever.”

  “Good lord,” Dallas interrupted, “you two have never gotten over that high school production of The H. M. S. Pinafore, have you?”

  “Is there a need to get over it, Dallas? That play was a high point for lots of us. But anyway, people can change, you know. Maybe I want to be someone else, someone who curses on a regular basis. Everything else is changing, why shouldn’t I?”

  Louise, owner of the porch, interrupted. “Okay, ladies, who wants their iced tea freshened?”

  “Iced sugar, you mean,” Frances muttered quietly.

  “I heard that, Frances,” Louise said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how Bob has put up with your barbs all these years.”

  “Bob has no complaints. He always said he wouldn’t give that,” she said, snapping her fingers, “for a girl without a little vinegar.”

  “He must be a mighty happy man then,” Dallas drawled. “Well, don’t you know he is?” Frances smirked.

  “This tea pitcher is getting heavy, Frances. Tea or not? I’ve never heard you complain about my tea before.”

  “You know I like your tea, Louise, but I hear all these Yankees complaining when they’re served sweet tea in a restaurant. Anyway, I need to watch my weight.”

  “I don’t know what’s happening to us.” Louise let out a deep sigh. “We can’t play a decent game of bridge without being at each other’s throats. Maybe you don’t want to play bridge any more. Want to give Tuesday evenings over to something else?”

  Dallas replied in her throaty, cigarette voice. “I vote to keep the bridge club going. I’m a tad older than the rest of you. It keeps my mind active and gives me some place to go at least once a week. It isn’t easy being a widow, ladies.”

  “Frances?” Louise queried.

  “Count me in, but I can’t promise not to curse.”

  Louise laughed. “We’re not asking for miracles, only a little consideration. And I don’t guess I need to poll Sue. She was born with a deck of cards in her hand.”

  Sue stretched her arms over her head. “A long line of gamblers, I guess.”

  Frances leapt to the bait. “Too bad you weren’t born in a riverboat house.”

  “Okay,” Louise said, “we’re playing cards and that’s all. No more talk of real estate or I’ll bring out the Monopoly board.”

  You’re letting Papa have your house plans? Our house plans, Seth?

  I need the money, darling, and I’ve never seen anyone so taken with a house. He said it was as though I’d read his mind.

  But it’s our house. I can’t believe you’re . . .

  Please don’t cry. Please. Annelise, if I tell you something, will you promise never to tell?

  Never?

  Never.

  I promise.

  Your daddy is having the house built for you. It’s to be a surprise, a wedding gift when you get married.

  Married?

  You’re sixteen. He figures it won’t be long before, before . . .

  I fall in love? I’ve already done that.

  My hope is that it’ll be our house some day. In a way it’s already ours, our idea. No matter what, it’ll always belong to us.

  Oh, Seth!

  Your daddy loved the stable I built, and now these plans even more. Maybe I’ll earn his respect and can ask for your hand.

  I’m already yours. Not just my hand, all of me, my very spirit. Always.

  Sue’s voice cut through the night air, and Elise blinked hard and shook her head.

  “We can talk about neutral people, can’t we, Louise?” Sue placed her cards face down on the table. “I keep wondering if Sarah or Doris or anyone told the new people about the history of the house they bought.”

  “I doubt Sarah would take the time, and Doris sure wouldn’t. Ever know a real estate woman to give a bit of information she didn’t have to, and why should they? It’s not like a murder was committed there or anything.”

  Frances coughed. “We don’t know that. Remember after the house had been shut up all those years, and when it was finally sold, the workers sent in to clean and repair things found human bones.”

  “I’d nearly forgotten that,” Louise said.

  Sue slapped her hand on the table. “Only you could forget something like that, Louise. There was a hidden stairway, or would have been hidden, had the door not been slightly ajar. That’s where they found them.”

  “It still wasn’t murder,” Louise insisted. “They figured some vagrant wandered in there and suffocated hiding in that small space.”

  “I never bought that for one minute.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t, Dallas.”

  “I wasn’t
the only one, Sue.”

  “Well, nobody wanted a scandal, and it was all history by then anyway.”

  “It had been deeded over to Coulton and Annelise. They never found Coulton. Poor man must have been crazy with grief to just walk off and leave, furniture and everything. The house finally went back to Mr. Lovett. Not that it did him any good. He couldn’t bear the memory or the heartache, never set foot in the door after Annelise died. That house has had a life all its own.” Dallas sighed. “If that isn’t a tragedy, I don’t know what is.”

  Frances smirked. “You’re right, Dallas. Don’t you suppose the new people have wondered why they couldn’t hire anyone to help clean the place up? The poor, ignorant servant women are scared of that house. Don’t think Sarah didn’t have her hands full keeping help there and her mother before her, probably the grandparents too. They labored under a curse living there.”

  Dallas folded her cards. “Stop it, Frances. Such ridiculous rumors have grown up about the place. I feel sorry for the new people, I really do. But maybe they can change things. All the problems and unhappiness Sarah had there didn’t do a thing to improve its image. Poor Sarah. Sometimes I think the only reason Chandler married her was to get her house. He’d always had this idea he wanted to be an architect. He doted on it as an architectural marvel.”

  “Why, Dallas, I’m surprised at you.”

  “Surprised how?”

  Frances smiled. “Well, now, this is all water under the bridge, but since you think I have my mind set on high school, I’m reminded that a little bird told me you were kind of sweet on Chandler yourself at one time. Are you saying Sarah had the advantage over you by owning that house?”

  Dallas sat up straighter. “Wipe that smile off your face, Frances. It doesn’t change what you said one bit.”

  Sue turned her cards face down on the table, hard. “Leave it to you, Frances, to bring up ancient history.”

  “Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” Dallas said with obvious disgust. “I may not be a girl any more, Sue, but I surely don’t consider myself ancient by any means. And Frances, yes, since you brought it up, at one time I was sweet on Chandler. Oh, ladies, are you so old that you’ve forgotten how easy it is to love a scoundrel? Oh my God, but it’s easy to love a scoundrel. And Chandler was the classic scoundrel, so handsome and dashing, so full of himself. How could I, or anyone else for that matter, ever forget that dark hair and quick smile? When that boy smiled the whole world stopped spinning. And the way he walked like he had springs in his feet. Oh, he was a scoundrel all right.”

  “If I didn’t know better, Dallas, I’d say you never got over him.”

  “Oh, I got over him all right, Frances. It’s easy to love a scoundrel. It’s just not easy to be married to one. Sarah could have told you that. He drank her money and womanized her into ill health. We all know he did. My Tom was worth ten Chandlers. No, a hundred Chandlers.”

  “Peyton Roberts was worth more than Chandler too,” Louise added.

  “Well, of course he was. He just never had the dash and dander Chandler had, and Sarah couldn’t see beyond that no matter how much Peyton loved her. Furthermore, Peyton made the mistake of trying to ride on the coattails of all his illustrious ancestors. No, I would never have traded my life for Sarah’s, not even for that grand riverboat house.”

  “Or a romp in the hay with Chandler?”

  Louise gasped. “Frances! Honestly, I can’t believe we’re having this discussion.”

  Dallas raised her lovely arched eyebrows. “How do you know I didn’t?”

  “Dallas!”

  “I didn’t say I did, but then, I didn’t say I didn’t.”

  Rolling in soft and quiet as fog, Frances began singing, “Things are seldom what they seem,” and Sue followed with, “Skim milk masquerades as cream . . .”

  Dallas interrupted, “Ladies, I’ve had enough Pinafore for one evening.”

  “Me too,” Louise said, her voice so soft Elise had trouble hearing her. “Sometimes I feel like that house really was cursed. Built with such good intentions, it never brought anything but heartache to the people who lived there. Sarah’s mother was an invalid most of her life.”

  Frances put the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed. “Here we go again.”

  Sue picked up her cards. “It could all be coincidence. If there’s a curse on a house, I’d say it’s the Lovett house on the river. That’s where it all began.”

  “We’ll never know if there’s a curse on either house, not any more than you’ll know if Chandler had his way with me. Oh, ladies, I was desirable, even without a riverboat house.”

  The three women stared open-mouthed at Dallas. She ignored them and studied her cards with downcast eyes.

  Frances was the first to regain her composure. “Lord, y’all are giving me chills. Let’s play cards or I’ll start cursing again.”

  They laughed, and with the serenity that comes from the security of age and familiarity, they resumed their bridge game.

  Only Elise was shaken by the experience. She rubbed her arms, chilled with goose flesh. A curse? What curse? She walked back to her beautiful home, determined to avoid the carriage stone. She stumbled over it just the same.

  Careful. Don’t trip. I had the carriage stone put in today.

  Seth took Annelise’s arm and guided her through the moonless night.

  Elise stared downward, puzzled how she could have hit the carriage stone, but maybe the voices had distracted her. What did they have to do with her? Was she not afraid because they were like leftover dreams? She didn’t dare talk to her mother about it. If Margaret thought her fear of mirrors was weird, Elise couldn’t imagine what she’d think if she knew her daughter was hearing voices. She turned and sat on the hard surface, rubbing the toe of her scuffed shoe. It was cold as a tombstone, but she sat for some time with her chin on her hand, staring at the mysterious riverboat house.

  8

  Without realizing it, Margaret set in motion Elise’s obsession with Apalachicola. As they looked into possibilities for Margaret’s shop, Elise felt herself drawn deeper and deeper into the town’s essence. She hungered for it, longed to know its history, its dreams, and disappointments. Every day she walked, retracing her steps, trying to be one with something she couldn’t fully comprehend. She threw her shoulders back, quickened her pace, and sensed somehow she was meant to be there.

  Meanwhile, the disturbing dreams were becoming more distinct and troubling, men shouting obscenities . . .

  How did you get in here?

  It was easy. I built this house, remember.

  You bastard. I’ll see you in hell.

  Go ahead. Kill me. You’ve had practice.

  Ahhhh!

  Elise’s scream was only a whisper, but enough to wake her. The dream didn’t vary and was no less frightening than the night before. Many mornings her parents found her already in the kitchen with a cup of coffee clutched between her palms to still her trembling hands and fight the chill that clung to her.

  “I can never get over your sudden taste for coffee.” Margaret looked at Elise and shook her head.

  “Neither can I, but some mornings it’s the reason I get out of bed,” she replied dully.

  “You come by it honest, Elise. Gene loved his coffee.” Edwin spoke defiantly, as though daring Margaret to say anything.

  Elise froze, the cup midway to her lips. Why lately did Edwin persist in mentioning her father? For years his name wasn’t uttered. Seeing her mother’s stunned look, Elise jumped up and put her cup in the dishwasher. “Well, I’m off on my explorations.”

  “You’re in the sun so much,” her mother replied weakly, “The sun can do terrible things to your skin. Protect yourself.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Elise was hardly out of the room when she heard her mother say, “Edwin, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. I know you’ve had problems, but . . .”

  Elise didn’t hear the rest as she con
tinued upstairs to her room. She didn’t want to hear more, afraid of what she might learn. Lost in thought and dream-groggy, she wandered into her parents’ room by mistake. The antique cheval, left by the previous owner, faced Elise from the corner of the room. She started to turn away, but not quickly enough to stop the blinding flash, this time accompanied by voices, distant and muffled but definitely angry.

  Seth! What are you doing here?

  I might ask you the same thing.

  This is my father’s stable. You only built it.

  Yes, but at this late hour I thought all debutantes were in bed.

  I repeat. What are you doing here? The stable is finished.

  There were a few finishing touches I wanted to make here in the office. Mr. Lovett was so taken with the idea of an office in his stable, I want it to be perfect.

  We thought it was perfect—finished, in fact.

  Yes, but the frame for your picture isn’t. I don’t start things I don’t finish. He laid his knife down and put a drape over the wood laid out on the workbench.

  I won’t look. Do you know I’ve never seen the painting? It’s still in that hidden closet you built.

  Think I did that bad a job, huh?

  No! I mean, that isn’t it at all. It’d be painful for me after all the hours we spent together while you worked on it.

  I figured Coulton made you forget all that.

  We’ve been over all this. Papa won’t allow me to see you. Coulton comes to the house a lot, on business mostly.

  Mostly?

  Some. Look. He’s nice to me. He doesn’t yell at me and say hateful things.

  Just remember who caused me to say those things. Think why I said them. Think for once how I hurt. I hadn’t figured on Coulton coming into the picture again.

  Again?

  I knew him once.

  You never mentioned it.

  It isn’t altogether a pleasant memory.

  Was a girl involved?

  You might say that.

  I see.

  No, you don’t see at all, and I don’t want to tell you about it—not now anyway.

  Fine. Have it your way. I just came to get my dress.