Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5)

by Monique Martin

  “Beautiful table,” Elizabeth said, hoping to start a pleasant, innocuous conversation mending whatever fence she'd apparently busted. “Are these plates French?”

  The Colonel grunted, mumbled a yes and then turned and joined a conversation with Mrs. Goode to his left. Elizabeth floundered for a moment. Each guest at the table was involved in a conversation with a partner or two except for her. She fiddled with her water glass

  “And that is why I can no longer have Claret,” Mrs. Goode intoned. “And I do so love it. My one vice, you understand.”

  Eli offered his condolences to Mrs. Goode for her brave fight against gout and gave Elizabeth a wink.

  As was Victorian custom it seemed, dinner was an endless affair of soup, salad, fish, mutton, and roast chicken. House slaves in spotless liveries brought the food out on silver chargers in wave after wave. It took Elizabeth a few times of twisting awkwardly the wrong way, but she finally got the hang of serve-from-the-left and remove-from-the-right.

  Elizabeth made a few more attempts to engage Colonel Stanton and each one floated like a pricked balloon to the floor. That was until she remembered some of the stories Gerald had told her when she and Simon had stayed with the Eldridges in 1906 San Francisco. Before Gerald had been rescued by Evan Eldridge, he'd served with the 21st Infantry Regiment in the Battle of Stoney Creek during the War of 1812. Elizabeth dropped a few details and must have asked the right questions, because the Colonel actually responded with more than a grunt.

  By the time their last course had been taken away, Elizabeth's corset was feeling decidedly smaller than it had at the start. What she wouldn't give for some comfort clothes right now. Sadly, her lucky sweatpants were a thousand miles and one hundred and fifty years away.

  The men and women split into groups each retiring to their own adjoining parlor. The ladies were offered cordials and brandy. Mrs. Goode declined sadly, but took out a small snuffbox and inhaled half of it.

  Two of the women Elizabeth hadn't had a chance to talk to much during dinner were happily gossiping about the next entertainment that was going to arrive in town and how it had to be an improvement over Tom Thumb, who was shockingly small, but bereft of much other talent.

  Rose told Elizabeth about River Run and Catherine offered stories about young Eli that made Rose blush. Whatever Catherine's proclivity to get a rise out of everyone whose path she crossed, she had a genuine affection for Rose. Although she hadn't known Rose for long, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel the same way, as if she were a small china doll that needed protecting.

  After an hour the gentlemen joined them in their parlor. Eli slipped next to her on the small sofa forcing Simon to sit opposite. Simon arched an eyebrow, but didn't force the issue.

  When a discussion on politics broke out, everyone including Mrs. Goode had an opinion to offer, everyone except Simon and Elizabeth, who remained as silent as possible on all topics. When a serious argument between Dr. Parish and Mr. Cobb erupted over whether Stephen Douglas or James Buchanan should receive the Democratic nomination for the presidency, Elizabeth knew they'd been wise to stay on the sidelines. The names might have changed, but little else about politics had.

  Elizabeth caught Simon's eye. He smiled and subtly raised his glass to her. She did the same and took a sip of her port. Her eyes dipped down to her glass briefly before flicking back to Simon.

  But it wasn't Simon that grabbed her attention. Standing just beside his chair was a pale little girl, the little girl from the woods. The little girl in the white dress with the ribbon tied around her wrist. Mary.

  ~~~

  Elizabeth gasped, but so softly only Eli, who was sitting right next to her, heard. He turned and asked her if she was all right. Elizabeth blinked and caught her breath, turning to him. “I'm fine.”

  When Elizabeth turned back to look at Simon, the little girl was gone. It was clear no one else had seen her. She was pretty sure if anyone else had they'd be using smelling salts right about now. Heck, she could use a whiff herself.

  “There aren't any children here tonight, are there?” she asked Eli.

  “No,” he said drawing out the word in that way people did when they thought the questioner was half-nutty.

  Elizabeth smiled and rubbed her temple. She glanced around the room. She'd only glanced away for a moment; there was no way a child could have gotten out of the room so quickly. It was Mary. She was sure of it. It was definitely the girl from the photograph Catherine had shown her. Why was she here? And why was she staring at Simon?

  “Are you sure you're all right,” Eli asked.

  Honestly, she wasn't sure, but announcing that she'd just seen a freakin' ghost probably wasn't the best idea. “Just tired, I think. All the travel.”

  Eli nodded, concerned.

  “Perhaps I should call it an evening?” Elizabeth stood and Eli reflexively followed suit.

  Simon caught her eye as she approached and rose from his seat, his face full of worry. She smiled, but there was no way she could hide the fact that she'd been shaken, not from him.

  “What's wrong? Are you unwell?”

  “I think perhaps we should go.”

  “Elizabeth—”

  “Now,” she said quietly and very insistently. “I'm afraid the day is catching up with me,” she said for the benefit of the rest of the room.

  They begged off citing the fatigue of travel and so much good wine and food and politely, but quickly, made their goodnights. Rose Harper reminded them of their promise to visit River Run tomorrow and a groom was dispatched to bring their buggy around.

  “What is going on,” Simon said, tense and worried.

  Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. “Not until we're away from here.”

  She could hear Simon grinding his teeth, but he kept his questions to himself.

  Once they were a few blocks away from Cypress Hill Elizabeth let out a shudder and a deep breath. “Oh, boy.”

  “Are you going to tell me what happened or should I just let my imagination continue to run wild?”

  Elizabeth took a bracing breath and shifted in her seat to face Simon, fighting the urge to look for the ghost at every turn. “I saw Mary tonight.”

  His eyes shot to hers. “In a photograph or—”

  “Well, yeah, but that's not the only place I saw her.”

  “Elizabeth—”

  “She was there in the parlor,” Elizabeth said almost afraid to let the words out.

  Simon's hands tightened on the reins. “What?”

  She couldn't help but feel a chill creep up her spine and nervously looked around expecting to see the child floating along beside them. “Mary Stewart was standing in the parlor right next to you.”

  Elizabeth expected some remark about her corset perhaps being too tight, but instead Simon asked, “What did she look like?”

  “She was pale, ghosty pale. About this tall,” she said holding her hand about three and a half feet high. “With big blue eyes and a round little face. She had on a white dress and a little ribbon—”

  “Blue ribbon tied to her wrist,” Simon finished.

  Elizabeth's goosebumps got goosebumps. “How did you know that?”

  Simon shook his head. “I didn't think anything of it at the time. I thought she was just another one of the girls at the orphanage.”

  Elizabeth felt a chill grip her stomach. “You mean you saw Mary there?”

  “Apparently.”

  Elizabeth pulled on her gloved fingers nervously. “I guess I should mention that I probably saw her in the woods at the cemetery too,” Elizabeth added and cut off Simon before he could chide her, “I wasn't sure; it was dark and I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I promise though, if I see anything else, you'll be the first to know.”

  “How can you be sure the child we've seen is Mary?” Simon asked. She told him about the photograph Catherine showed her.

  “And no one else saw her?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I don
't think so. It all happened so fast though. She was there one minute and poof the next.”

  Simon eased the buggy off the main road toward the livery stable. “Was she doing anything? Gesturing?”

  “Like charades?”

  Simon rolled his eyes and pulled to a stop.

  Elizabeth conjured the image in her head again. “No, she was just standing there. Staring.”

  “At what?”

  Elizabeth felt a fresh chill. “You.”

  Chapter Seven

  Simon put the globe back on the freshly lit oil lamp and closed the door to their hotel room behind him. Elizabeth fought the urge to check under the bed for ghosts.

  Simon placed the lamp on the bedside table and slipped off his jacket. “It's remarkable really.”

  “It's creepy is what it is.”

  “Elizabeth,” Simon said not unkindly.

  She turned her back to him and he began to work on the long row of hooks at the back of her dress. “It is, after all, why we're here.”

  “I know.”

  Simon helped her lift the dress over her head and hung it in the armoire.

  “Maybe I've just seen too many Spanish horror movies,” Elizabeth said as she stepped out of petticoat after petticoat.

  Simon unbuttoned his vest. “No doubt.”

  “It's just the way she was looking at you,” Elizabeth said with an involuntary shiver.

  “How do you mean?”

  “All,” Elizabeth said, wiggling her fingers in the air. “Ghosty.”

  Elizabeth unhooked the front of her corset and sighed happily as it fell away.

  “As opposed to?” Simon asked.

  “I don't know.” She scratched her ribs to ease the sudden itch of finally being unconfined. “That…now, I'm here, now I'm not. Corporeal, non-corporeal. It's disconcerting.”

  Simon pulled down his bracers and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I imagine it's far more so for her.”

  Elizabeth stopped fussing with her clothes and plopped down next to him. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

  Simon squeezed her hand. “Don't be. We're dealing with something new. It's difficult to accept.”

  “You do, don't you? Accept it, I mean. That what I saw was a ghost.”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “That's not like you.” Simon was usually the Scully and she was the Mulder.

  “No, it's not,” he said with a frown. “And I can't explain why exactly. I just…know it.”

  Poor Simon appeared utterly flummoxed at the idea of having taken something on blind faith instead of relying on his usual rigorous examination of the facts. Elizabeth kissed his cheek. “I'll be the cynic this time.”

  Simon laughed outright at that and then tried to pull off his boot, but it wouldn't budge. “Would you?”

  Elizabeth gripped the heel of his boot and, with some effort, pulled it off, before moving to the left. “What do we do now? Wait for her to contact us again? How will we know what she needs from us?” She placed the boots by the armoire and then crawled into bed.

  “We'll keep doing exactly what we have been doing.” Simon finished undressing. “Learn as much as we can about her life and death and identify that man from the cemetery. Find the connection between the two.”

  He pulled back the covers and slipped into bed next to her.

  “Right.”

  “But now, we'd better get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth nodded and Simon blew out the last candle. He leaned over and kissed her. “Good night, darling.”

  “Good night, Simon.” Elizabeth rolled onto her back and sighed. “Good night, Mary.”

  ~~~

  It was a little before one in the afternoon when Simon and Elizabeth's buggy neared River Run, or at least, Simon hoped they were near. The sun blazed down onto the black roof of their little carriage and only the breeze of the journey brought relief. They'd been on the road for nearly two hours and he cursed himself for not having thought to bring along something to drink.

  The road wound along the bluffs above the Mississippi, but seldom gave them a view. Tall oaks and maple trees or the grounds of a large estate obscured most of it. The inland side of the road was mostly pasture land and freshly plowed soil for the farms and plantations beyond.

  Elizabeth watched another empty field go by. “I remember some of the cotton farms when I was little back in Texas. Just fields of white as far as the eye could see. Most of it's oil or gas land now.”

  “Everything changes,” Simon said and then spotted the sign he'd been looking for. An engraved wooden sign on the edge of the road pointed down a side road. Simon eased the buggy down it.

  “Well chit my chitlins and corn my pone,” Elizabeth said in wonder.

  The entrance to River Run was magnificent. They drove under an enormous wrought-iron arch with “RR” at the top in a fanciful script and onto the main drive to the house. Each side of the road was flanked by a row of one-hundred-year-old oak trees, their branches reaching out to each other and forming a canopy over the road. Streams of sunlight broke through gaps and gave the whole thing a golden, slightly ethereal feel.

  “When they said it was beautiful, they're weren't whistling Dixie.”

  Simon had actually been looking forward to Elizabeth's bad Southern jokes and painful puns. Her silliness and his feigned admonishment had become part of their routine and, honestly, they both loved it. He knew she'd be disappointed if he didn't play his part and offered his best admonishing, but amused, “Elizabeth.”

  She simply shrugged and smiled.

  It took them another minute or so before they could fully see the house beyond. Bright white and three stories tall, it was a classic antebellum home in the traditional Greek Revival-style. Eight massive Doric columns lined the front of the house; behind them a double-sized gallery with black trimmed railings ran the length of the house and appeared to wrap around each side. Tall black shutters stood on either side of French doors, four up and four down.

  King Cotton had certainly been good to the Harpers.

  Simon helped Elizabeth from the buggy and then up the steps to the oversized front door. He turned the lever for the doorbell. A few moments later the door opened.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Cross calling to see the Harpers,” Simon said.

  The slave, an older black man with grey hair and simple black livery, bowed and invited them inside. Just as they entered the towering main foyer, Rose Harper appeared at the top of the grand staircase. “Hello, so wonderful to see you both,” she called out and then quickly made her way down the stairs.

  Simon hadn't had much of a chance to speak to Rose at the party last night, but she was every bit as attractive and warm as Elizabeth had said. Men had called her the most beautiful woman in Natchez. As she glided down the long staircase, tall and slender, her full skirts swaying musically, he had to concede she was quite comely. Her distinctly Southern grace and the elegance of River Run would be missed when the Old South ceased to be.

  Rose reached the end of the stairs. “I was just putting Louisa down for her nap. I'm so pleased you could come.”

  She took Elizabeth's hands. “Are you feeling more yourself today?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  Seeing them together struck Simon. Despite Elizabeth's claim to the contrary, she was as lovely and as lissome as Rose. Although, perhaps, he was slightly prejudiced in his wife's favor.

  “You both must be parched after that long ride. How about a nice glass of sweet tea?”

  “That sounds perfect,” Simon said.

  Rose led them through the long main hall. “James and Elijah are on the porch out back.”

  As they got closer to the rear of the house Simon heard their voices, raised in argument.

  “You're a fool, James. That Southern Pacific stock will triple in five years. More than that!”

  “It is not your decision to make, little brother.”

  “The futur
e is in the West. The first men to get there will profit, but the men who help the rest get there will be kings.”

  It was fascinating to hear a conversation straight from the history books. Men like Cornelius Vanderbilt and the Big Four including Huntington and Stanford were just some of the railroad barons who made a virtual mint out of the nation's westward expansion. Older brother might do well to listen to his little brother, Simon thought as he emerged onto the back veranda where the men were arguing.

  “I won't give you the—” James stopped mid-sentence and cleared his throat, embarrassed. “My pardon, I didn't realize…” He glared at Elijah who didn't appear ready to let the argument drop, but a pleading look from Rose bent him to her will.

  Rose called to a servant, who lingered obediently close by, and asked for fresh tea. She smiled graciously at Elizabeth and Simon and looked out at the land behind the house with unabashed affection. “Welcome to River Run.”

  The rear porch was really just a continuation of the massive double-deep gallery that ran all the way around the house on both upper and lower levels. The back gallery overlooked a well-manicured lawn with lush, ornamental gardens on either side. Tall trees lined the edges closest to the house and a few outbuildings were barely visible. It was an impressive estate. Every aspect was a show of power and wealth, but unlike Simon's home in England, Grey Hall, it managed to feel like an actual home as well.

  Elizabeth walked to the railing and breathed in deeply. “It's beautiful.”

  Rose joined her. “I think so.”

  Shortly, the servant brought out a tray with glasses of sweet tea. It was far too sweet for Simon's taste, but it was cool and wet so he drank it gratefully. Elizabeth hummed happily and held the cold class against her cheek. “Heaven.”

  Eli leaned casually against the railing. “I was going to ask if you were feeling better, but I can see that you are,” he added with a broad smile.

  Simon swallowed his displeasure with another sip of tea. The sweetness did little to change his disposition toward Elijah Harper. It was too soon to tell if he was simply too charming for his own good or potential trouble. He had never liked men who played games with other people's affections, whether it was for business or pleasure. Whatever Elijah's end game, his attention to Elizabeth set Simon's teeth on edge.