“Yes, I’m just seeing things. How about that food you promised me?”
I paid Natalie, and she went home. Then our little family enjoyed one another like any normal family would.
But we weren’t a normal family. Ashland immediately began seeing ghosts again. In fact, he saw a girl ghost in our backyard garden. Baby Boy was staring at her too as he sat at the bar playing with his fruit cup.
And me, I was hearing a sound.
Crying. Lafonda was crying.
I knew I would have to go back to Seven Sisters soon. I would have to make it all right.
I had to. My future depended on it.
Epilogue—Carrie Jo
I lovingly arranged Momma’s things on the bed of the guest room. There were only a few things, her favorite dress, her hairbrush—the one that my sticky-fingered son had somehow stolen along the way. Beside them, I positioned one of her worn prayer books.
The house was quiet now, so quiet you could hear a piece of paper flutter to the floor. Or as Bette used to say, it was so quiet you could “hear the shadows moving.”
Many of the rooms of Our Little Home were now empty, and packing boxes containing our possessions were shuttling toward Seven Sisters, which would be our home now—and forever. If we were going to turn things around at the property, we’d have to go all in, give it all we had. By moving in, we’d pick up some sweet tax deductions and make some money from the sale of this house, which we really needed to do.
I was comfortable living with the ghosts of Seven Sisters because they were ghosts we knew and loved, for the most part. I was unsure about what we’d uncover with the unfolding Delarosa story, but the idea of moving back had certainly pleased Ashland. He was almost giddy with excitement, and goodness knows it was hard to make him happy nowadays. I hoped his neurologist would have answers for us and find him some relief from his constant pain.
I couldn’t disagree with Ashland’s argument that we needed more room. Our Little Home had gotten quite small recently, but we’d made memories here. Memories of Momma and Baby Boy getting to know one another. I missed her so much. Still.
I touched Momma’s dress. How amazing that someone who’d spent most of her life so fearful of everything had turned out to be the bravest of us all. She’d given her life to save another, and what greater gift could there be? I’d made up my mind that I could no longer spend my days crying at her grave—I would honor her life by loving my family with all I had. Just like she would want.
Nobody was in the house right now; Ashland accompanied the truck to Seven Sisters, and Baby Boy went to the Mobile Art Museum with his Aunt Detra Ann and Uncle Henri. It was apparently finger-painting day, and Baby Boy was over the moon about it. This seemed like the perfect time to take a dream walk in search of my mother before I no longer had access to this house. Once again, I thought of her and remembered Austin’s instructions. Focus on an object and think about nothing but that object. How it was made, who might have used it, what it feels like. Tell me about the object.
“I love that dress, Momma. I love the tiny blue flowers all over it. It has a Peter Pan collar and the perfect hemline. I remember when you wore it last. Such a beautiful dress…” Since there was no one there to hug—no Austin, no Ashland—I hugged myself. That little bit of contact, that slight movement made all the difference. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. And then I opened them. I saw the familiar honey hue, the world awash with muted sepia color. As I watched, my eyes adjusted and then I saw the world in a different way. I was dreaming that I was awake. And best of all, sitting on the bed next to her dress was Momma.
My hand flew to my chest, and I gasped. I couldn’t believe this had actually worked. “Momma? Is it really you?”
“Carrie Jo? I knew you’d find me,” she said serenely. She looked beautiful, as if she’d just left the beauty parlor. Her eyes were bright and shiny—she looked so happy—and her hair was neatly brushed and warm looking. As she reached out to me, I took her hands in my own and stared at them, promising myself to remember every crease, every vein. I didn’t want to forget anything!
“Momma?” I said again. Although my heart told me she was here, I still couldn’t believe it.
She hugged me, and I sobbed in her arms as she stroked my hair and patted me. “It’s okay, Carrie Jo. It’s okay. I love you, my sweet daughter.” I cried on her shoulder and enjoyed being in her arms. I wanted to stay here forever.
“I love you too, Momma. I miss you every day. I’m so sorry for everything.”
“Hush now. All is well.”
As my sobs subsided, I felt her slowly fade away. She left me softly and quietly. She’d stayed only a minute, but it was enough. My heart was unburdened. The grief was alive and well, but at least I had been granted the one thing I wanted. I had seen her one more time. And that was much more than most people got. Suddenly, I found myself wrapped in that tight blanket again.
No. This is not a blanket. I’m in someone’s arms. I opened my eyes as the honey hue faded and stared up into deep blue ones, eyes I loved so much.
“Ashland? Promise me you will never leave me. I don’t think I could go on without you.”
“I will never leave you. I love you, Carrie Jo.”
“Thank you for everything.”
He kissed the top of my head and continued to hold me tight. After a few minutes, he released me and I wiped my face with a tissue. I gathered up Momma’s things and tucked them back in the bag I’d brought with me. I could hear the movers outside, probably ready to disassemble this bed and add it to the moving truck. Together, Ashland and I walked through Our Little Home for the last time. This was a brand new chapter for us. We’d come full circle, and now it was time to move forward. We paused in the doorway and kissed one last time in Our Little Home.
“You ready for this?” he asked with his crooked grin.
“Yes, I’m ready. It’s time to go back. It’s time to go home.”
We closed the door behind us and stepped out into the sunshine.
All the Summer Roses
Book Two
Return to Seven Sisters Series
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2017 Monica L. Bullock
All rights reserved
Dedication
For James West. You were the worst boyfriend a girl never had.
For the grand dames fell to pieces in the midst of their revolving,
Jewelled arms, brows and bosoms, starry eyes, soft tresses—all,
In a bright phantasmagoria flashing around me, and dissolving,
As I fled, with cries of terror, from that haunted dancing hall.
Excerpt from The Phantom Ball
Rosa Vertner Jeffrey, 1881
Prologue—Jacinta Delarosa
Mobile, AL, 1881
This would not be my finest hour, but I would see the thing through now. As the Good Book said, there was no turning back from this. Or maybe it wasn’t the Good Book. I could not for the life of me recall who said it, but the meaning was clear. Things would never be the same.
And I, Jacinta Delarosa, set these particular stars in motion. For good or for evil, we must all bear the outcome, no matter what that might mean. If those stars of fortune brought shame and ruin, so be it. But this I did know: Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Nobel repeated this to me often enough whenever he wanted to invest in the shipyard or pondered a new business alliance.
Yes, the momentary embarrassment would be nothing compared to the accomplishment. I turned the screw on the lamp, giving the flame a bit more wick. It wouldn’t last much longer. I would have to retreat back up the stairs and into the darkness of my room. But now, now was the moment to do the dirty work. I penned a few more lines and sat staring at the sheet of paper.
The women here in Mobile were no different from women around the world—this was how I reasoned with Anne Overstreet. We all wanted the same things, to see our children make good matches, to continue our family lines. And if we c
ould do so while bringing our children happiness, it was certainly a blessing. And she was well enough pleased that our two families would come together, but it took much persuasion to convince her to allow the elopement. In the end, she saw reason. She saw it through, and the arrangement had been made. “Can’t you see how beautifully this works for our purpose, Anne? No one need ever know of your daughter’s problem, and my son will have a wife. It is to everyone’s benefit.”
“I am deeply embarrassed by my daughter’s condition, Jacinta. How could I have imagined such a thing, such a horrible thing? She has always behaved with dignity, and now, to find her ruined like this…” Anne broke into tears, but I did not offer to comfort her, beyond my proposal. “I cannot imagine why you are being so kind to us, Jacinta dear. Why?”
“I believe Jonatan loves Memphis,” I said with a sweet smile, as if it had been a true consideration of mine. “He loves her so well, I think he would walk to the ends of the earth for her hand.”
“Yes, but she’s…”
“Do not speak of it again, Anne. They will marry quickly, and we shall all move on. Besides, you and I know too well how precarious life is for infants. We do not know what the future holds, do we?”
She’d gasped but quickly covered her mouth with a lace-fringed handkerchief. Even in the midst of scandal, Anne Overstreet appeared the picture of femininity with many ruffles, lace touches and a myriad of curls around her face. So different from her daughter and her austere portrait.
But who knew that still waters ran so deep? Jonatan will need someone experienced in the ways of love. Anne had nodded in agreement and left my presence quickly. She made no effort to plead for the life of Memphis’ bastard. And well she shouldn’t have. But then, I’d set that up too. And now to reward my faithful servant without whose help I could have achieved none of this.
I paused with pen in hand as the sounds of crying filled the hall outside my door. My daughter’s petulant attitude and constant crying did not move me, for I knew a greater truth. Greater powers were at work here.
We Delarosas had survived much greater scandals than this. There were things Lafonda knew nothing about. If she did not cease her whimpering, she would wake the entire house. She was whimpering and whining as if Jonatan were dead; however, I couldn’t tell her that he was merely gone for a few days. Lafonda had no head for scheming and would never approve of my methods. My only daughter had a strong sense of right and wrong, a sense she was born with and displayed at an early age, along with her lovely, shiny hair and the full lips she inherited from me. When she would listen to me, before she became a headstrong young woman, I tried to teach her that she needed to step back and look at the bigger picture in every situation.
You can’t always view the world through the filters of good and evil, Lafonda. The lines must blur at times. Otherwise, you doom yourself to live a life dictated to you by others. Trust me, it is a miserable existence.
My daughter scoffed at my words, but one day she would understand. One day, she’d see the truth about these things if she was fortunate enough to marry someone worthy of her. I had to admit, at least to myself, Mobile’s offering of potential husbands did not impress Nobel or me. But we must press on. Sometimes a woman had to roll up one’s sleeves and get her hands dirty. Occasionally, in the name of good, lines had to be crossed and chances taken. Yes, one day, when Lafonda had a family, she would agree with me. She would certainly agree. My daughter was not unintelligent. Not in the least.
Placing my pen back in the inkwell, I blew gently across the paper to dry the ink and decided I must end this crying nonsense tonight. It was far too late for Lafonda to be wandering around the house wailing. I arched my back and rubbed the sore spot at the lower part. My back pained me more by the day recently; I should have much preferred writing at my comfortable desk, but Nobel slept in my bed tonight and I couldn’t risk him reading my letter. We had shared a brief and rare yet welcome encounter before he fell into a deep, snoring sleep. I did not like sharing a bed with anyone, but I never told him such a thing. I could not afford to wound him at this juncture of my plan.
Lightning cracked across the sky; the brightness flashed through the room and startled me. I had heard no thunder and suspected no rain. I walked to the window and stared into the darkness waiting for the sky to illuminate the rose garden just outside the ladies’ parlor. Ah! There it was! Watching thunderstorms roll into our village back home had been a particular hobby of mine. My own Mama would scold me, warn me that the lightning would kill me, but I felt no fear. I imagined that death by lightning strike was a beautiful way to end life. How beautiful it would be to be struck by one of those heavenly bolts. Straight from the stars they came!
If I had a choice of death, that would be mine.
I heard Lafonda again, in the hallway outside my door now, and a dull light slid under the crack and passed by in a dim flash. Her constant noise threatened to wreck my nerves and would certainly wake up the entire house if I allowed it to go on much longer. Reluctantly, I tore myself away from my memories of home and the spectacular show that thundered across Mobile and Seven Sisters.
If anyone should be crying, it should be me. I have done the unthinkable for my son.
And where was she going? I glanced at the clock with tired eyes, it was nearly midnight. Satisfied the ink was dry now, I folded the letter and slid it into an envelope, then tucked it into my pocket. With a yawn, I doused the lamp and reached for the candle holder. Although I knew every twist and turn in this house, it wasn’t safe to go traipsing about in the dark. Seven Sisters had many hiding places, even hidden doors; I had found one in my own bedroom. Not even Nobel knew about these hidden spaces, I was sure of that.
“Lafonda,” I said in a raw whisper as I opened the door to the ladies’ parlor. It made a ridiculously loud squeaking sound, which struck me as odd. I did not recall that door squeaking at all before. The sound grated my already stretched nerves. I paused in the doorway, hoping to retrieve my daughter quickly. This house was too large and too chilly tonight to go searching for my willful child. “Lafonda?”
Where had she gone? She must know I can hear her. I think she has gotten soft in the head with all this caterwauling.
And then it stopped. I heard no more crying. Maybe she had found her way back to bed after all. I shuffled down the hallway to check the Blue Room just in case. There was no one there, only an alcove of ceramic figurines, embroidered furniture and a treasure trove of books I would never read. I made sure the door’s lock had set tightly—these housemaids could not be trusted. For another few moments, I indulged myself by leaning on the back of the settee and watching the lights flash above and around us. If I had been younger and free from the burdens I carried now, I might go dance in the rain and tempt fate for my beloved lightning. However, I felt tired, so tired now, and the dull ache in my back was beginning to throb. I needed to rest. There was nothing else I could do tonight. This letter would go off in the post tomorrow, and that would be that.
What’s done is done.
That was what I told Nobel when I felt sure he would buckle and tell the sheriff about Jonatan’s elopement, but there was no need to do so. I assured my husband that I had nothing to do with the death of Max Davenport—and neither had Jonatan. He quickly agreed that some unscrupulous person had done the deed and calmed himself by tightening our security, bringing additional guns into the house and suggesting we acquire a vicious dog to protect the property. I refused to live in the same house as a dog, especially one that couldn’t be trusted not to bite me, but I had no objection to the guns.
Yes, there was no need to bring our son home before he consummated his relationship. Nobel and I had worked too hard to have Max—or Lafonda—destroy that work now. Max’s unfortunate demise had certainly caused me great worry. What an evil young man! How could he think that I, Jacinta Ademar Delarosa, would give in to his blackmail? That I would allow him to demand anything from me, much less my own daughter? But he
had his uses before he turned on me like a vicious snake. He’d proved an excellent tutor and a sometimes-friend for Jonatan.
Max and I had given Jonatan specific instructions, and my son knew what he must do with his new wife. He was good at following directions, as long as they were simple and clear, and he almost always listened to his Mama.
“If you want your heart’s desire, my son, listen to Mama. Memphis will be yours. She will be your wife, but you must be kind, patient and gentle. Say it with me, kind, patient and gentle.”
“Kind, patient and gentle. I can do that, Mama. May I pet her hair or hold her hand?” Jonatan’s joyful yet uncomprehending expression worried me. Could he really be trusted to do the deed?
“In time. Keep silent for as long as possible, Jonatan. Ladies like a quiet man. You see how quiet your father is, so you be silent and let her do the talking. Trust Mama, Jonatan. When you are wed, you will no longer need to worry about such things. She will love you for your beautiful face and be proud that she married you.”
As expected, Jonatan vowed to obey me. With all my soul, I wanted to believe he would. Such a beautiful boy, always trusting me with that dreamy-eyed expression of his, his lips curved up into a perfect smile.
How much he looked like Jacques!
It was as if he were Jacques’ son, truly his son, when I knew he could not be. Jacques never laid a hand on me after my engagement to Nobel; never would he betray his brother in such a way, even though Jacques had been the one I wanted.
How I had longed for him, and how foolishly I had given myself to him. All in the hopes that he would have me afterward. In that, I was no better than Memphis Overstreet. But like most men, Jacques played me for a fool and made no offer for me. As he explained later in our only conversation after my marriage to Nobel, “I will not steal my brother’s happiness.”
Return to Seven Sisters Page 12