Return to Seven Sisters

by M. L. Bullock

  I asked him with tear-filled eyes, “What of my happiness? Our happiness?” He had no answer for me, and I never saw my brother-in-law again. He died not long afterward in some foreign war, and I grieved for him as if he had truly been mine. But then he came back to me the following year when I gave birth to my beautiful son. How delightful it was to look every day at the mirror image of the face of the only man I had ever loved! Yes, it was as if Jonatan were Jacques’ son and not Nobel’s. My husband never reproached me or questioned me about the child, although I would have respected him more if he had shown some emotion. Any emotion. But where I was hot-blooded, Nobel was cold. Nevertheless, our arrangement had suited me over the years.

  Except when it came to our second child, Lafonda. To him, she could do no wrong, even when she disobeyed me, when she refused to behave properly and defied me at every turn. My husband acted a fool over his daughter, at least while she was young. But as she grew into a young woman, he became more distant.

  That was the way it was for some men. They did not know how to manage their daughters when they came of age. It had been that way with my father too. I never spoke to Nobel about it; in fact, I felt relieved at the distance between him and Lafonda. It was proof that he left the management of the children to me, and I was good at it. And although Lafonda often frustrated me beyond belief, I loved her as well as I loved Jonatan. But he always needed me so much more.

  Luckily, Nobel and I both wanted to see our children married well and happy with their own families. I suspected Nobel had other goals as well, such as to continue building a formidable shipbuilding empire as he often mused over brandy, but those dreams were more for him.

  Nobel liked to conquer.

  If he had been born in another time, he would have been a warrior of some sort. I liked that about him. He had a singular vision, a drive to achieve, and that drive had paid handsomely for the family. I reminded myself that if I had married Jacques, I would now be a poor widow with no one to care for me. At least with Nobel, I would never be penniless.

  Yes, we had mutual goals. The second goal—for me, at any rate—was to raise the status of the Delarosa name. I would no longer be remembered as the daughter of a boot maker, an unknown foreigner whom no one trusted or accepted into their inner circle. I would no longer see the women of Mobile hiding their silk purses when I entered the room as if I were a gypsy fortune-teller, eager to steal their money. I could truly hold my head high knowing that my son, my beautiful Jonatan, would be the unofficial “prince” of Mobile. And I had the secret, Memphis’ secret, in my hand. Anne could deny me nothing now. And what a romantic story! Nothing untoward like the marriage of an heiress to a social climber like that Jack Fairway. That had been a shame. But Jonatan was different, his beauty famed. I could almost hear the whispers now.

  Oh, that lovely boy Jonatan Delarosa married Memphis Overstreet. How in love they must be! To run away together. Have you ever heard of anything so romantic? I heard they married in New Orleans at the Church of St. Mark’s.

  Yes, if the word got out too soon, there would be shame. But that shame would bring rich dividends that would benefit not only Jonatan but all of us if we were to build a future here—the future we deserved!

  My mind felt tired now, as if it were full of sticky spider webs. One couldn’t scheme properly when one was this tired. I yawned and held my hand over the short flame of my candle. The sting of the flame reminded me that I had work yet to do on this earth. No lightning strikes for me this evening.

  I walked around the bottom floor of Seven Sisters in slippered feet, quietly searching for my daughter. There was nothing for it; I would have to look, just to please myself. Perhaps she was walking in her sleep again. She used to do so on occasion when she was a small child. The physician assured us she would outgrow the infirmity. Perhaps he had been wrong. But that wouldn’t explain the crying. I’d never known her to go about crying in her sleep.

  There it was again! Whimpering, and a woman’s voice. No, moaning. But that didn’t sound like my daughter! It came from the ballroom. I saw the dim light again; it came from under the closed doors of the ballroom and quickly vanished. But there was no way out of there. If either of the entrances opened, I would hear the heavy wooden doors slide. The outer doors were securely locked, or so I hoped.

  “Lafonda?” I tapped on the door.

  Why so timid, Jacinta? You’re the lady of the house here. Seven Sisters belongs to you, along with everything in it. From the Blue Room to the hidden rooms to the Moonlight Garden.

  I tugged on the door, but it would not budge and felt cold to the touch, so cold that my fingers burned. I felt around my waist for my key ring but remembered I did not have it with me. My thin nightgown didn’t offer me any protection from the chill that now crept up my legs. Even my slippered toes felt cold. Tossing my long braid behind my back, I squatted down and leaned forward to peer through the keyhole. “Lafonda!” I whispered more forcefully. I was tired and in no mood for games. What was she doing in there? I didn’t see anything at all now, but the light appeared again. Someone was certainly in that room! I pressed my face closer to the door and stared hard with my left eye, the candle in my right hand near my face for illumination. Every hair on my body stood up. Visceral fear gripped the pit of my stomach, but I could not bring myself to pull away from the keyhole.

  And then I saw it—the eye staring back at me, red and unblinking. With a muffled scream, I dropped the candle and fell back, igniting the hem of my dress. I patted it out hurriedly with my hands, but not before I managed to singe my clothes and my left leg. I had no time to dwell on the pain, for it was then that the double doors began to open.

  The blackness of the room yawned before me, but slowly an image began to appear. It illuminated itself somehow, for I could see it clearly enough. It was a woman—not my Lafonda. She had dark blond hair and pale skin and wore a bloody dress. She came toward me, not walking but floating, as if she were a leaf pushed forward on a strong, invisible wind. Her eyes were wide with fear, and I couldn’t help but let out a startled scream. I had never seen anything like her. I made the sign of the cross as if that would protect me. Her face twisted as she began to cry, and my terror gripped me as the cries rang out all around me like an unholy choir. I crawled backward on my hands and knees, unable to take my eyes off the ghastly spirit.

  Nobel! Lafonda! Someone!

  Unable to speak, move or scream, I could ask no one to come to my rescue. Then her pale, reaching hands grasped for me, and I could see them clearly.

  They were covered with bright red blood. With one loud cry, she wailed again and then vanished just a few feet away from me. Relieved that the phantom had left, I realized I could once again move. I scrambled to my feet and stood shaking in the hallway. All this time, I thought I’d heard Lafonda, but it had been this…this woman! I reached for the candle stub. I couldn’t leave it here where someone could find it.

  As another pop of lightning illuminated the hallway, the truth of my own hands was revealed. I had blood on my hands! As I raced outside to the water spigot near the back porch, a horrible truth surfaced in my mind.

  The apparition knew the truth about me—that I had killed Max Davenport—and her message was clear. My secret wasn’t safe.

  I had blood on my hands!

  Chapter One—Carrie Jo

  “Carrie Jo, I did not just brush off Nick Saban’s cousin so I could come here and listen to this.” Detra Ann frowned at me through her Crimson Tide red lipstick and continued whispering like a freight train. “You can’t say things like that. Ashland isn’t going to die. People have headaches and brain malfunctions all the time. Modern science can handle it. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” She wiped at a falling tear with a red-painted fingernail.

  I didn’t know why I wasn’t getting through to her. This response was way out of character. “He isn’t having a brain malfunction, Detra Ann Devecheaux. It’s a blood clot!”

  “Y
ou are just making it sound bad, Carrie Jo Stuart. I saw him the other day, and he seemed just fine to me. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to call Roy Saban back and reschedule that appointment. I’ve got the perfect antiques for him. A cigar table, with a cutter stand, some Nancy Gardner retro sofas and the cutest collection of glass elephants you’d ever want to see.” She scrolled through her phone, and I thought for a minute she’d really call him.

  “Okay, I don’t know how you aren’t hearing me, but this is serious. The doctor says there’s a chance we could lose him!” I said as I dabbed my tears with a crumpled-up old tissue. “Ashland didn’t want you to know, but I had to ask you to come so I could tell you what the doctor said.” I sniffled as I clutched my friend’s hand. “Dr. Sumrall says that we need to make plans for Ashland now. That it’s best to do these things now so I can…I can…” And it was at this point that my best friend lost it. The blond former beauty queen usually exemplified southern charm in all things, but apparently not today.

  “Are you telling me that you’re giving up on Ashland, Carrie Jo? Seriously? What the hell is wrong with you? We don’t talk like this—you don’t talk like this! I mean it! No, Henri, I need to say this. Now look, you and Ash have been through things that most people couldn’t dream of, and you’re still here. So what? He has a blood clot. That happens all the time, and people recover. I refuse to even listen to this garbage—and you should too. Really, Carrie Jo!” She stomped away in her houndstooth high heels and went down the hall somewhere to cool off…and probably make that phone call.

  Henri sighed and shook his head with a half-embarrassed smile. “You have to forgive her, Carrie Jo. You know how close she is to Ashland. I don’t think she was expecting to hear this, and she’s not handling it well. Add in her pregnancy difficulties, and that’s what you get. She’s just worried that you’ll give up on Ashland or that he’ll give up on himself, which I know he won’t do because he has you and Baby Boy.” Sunlight shone through the squeaky clean windows at Springhill Memorial Hospital. I couldn’t believe we were here again. Another tragedy awaited me, if I believed the doctor. But did I? Maybe Detra Ann was right. I’d been too keen on thinking the worst. I believed in miracles, didn’t I?

  I didn’t know what to believe.

  Just last month I was married to a strong, vital man who had his whole life ahead of him. Now I faced the possibility of a life without him. And what about Baby Boy?

  “Hey, look who it is,” Henri said as my husband strolled into the waiting room and sat down to join us with a vending machine sandwich and a bottle of iced tea.

  “I’m starving. You want some of this?” Ashland offered his questionable-looking egg salad sandwich to me.

  “Uh, no. And aren’t you supposed to be fasting for some test? I could’ve sworn you were scheduled for a CAT scan in about ten minutes. Isn’t that why we’re here?” I couldn’t believe this guy. The doctors were ready to print him a toe tag last week, and here he was stuffing his face with funky vending machine sandwiches. “I’m sure you’re supposed to be fasting.”

  “I’m not going to need to fast, Carrie Jo. They got me in early, I took the test and they didn’t find a thing wrong with me. Whatever was there is gone now. It’s like it was never there. So, I’m good to go. Want half?” He held out half of his sandwich, which I refused again in a stunned voice. I was on my feet stomping my sandaled foot at him with some irritation.

  “Wait a second, Ashland. Just last week, you were dying. I heard Dr. Sumrall. The pain, the night sweats, the vomiting. Then the doctor tells me yesterday—tells us both—what was on that last scan, the earlier one. Says that we have to prepare for the worst, that it couldn’t be fixed, but all of a sudden you aren’t sick? What has happened?” I clutched my blue jean purse like it was a life preserver.

  “I don’t know. But I swear to you, babe, I’m okay. I feel like a new man. Trust me, I’m all right. Honestly. Tell me the truth, Henri. Don’t I look okay to you?”

  “You look kind of ridiculous with that egg on the side of your face, but yeah, you look okay to me. You handsome fella.” Henri pinched Ashland’s cheek playfully and punched him in the shoulder.

  That’s what these two always did with one another, act like fools, but this wasn’t the time for joking around. I knew firsthand how quickly death could take you. I’d seen it with Momma. And many others. They had too, or had they forgotten about all the losses we’d experienced in the past few years? I could hardly believe what I was seeing. It was like I was in a Twilight Zone episode.

  My handsome husband smiled at me. “Stop frowning, babe. Honestly, I thought you would be happy about this. And I thought you were the kind of girl who believed in miracles, Carrie Jo. Anyway, I have a new zest for life. I want to eat, drink and be merry. What do you say we go do something tonight, the four of us? Maybe charter a boat? Head out into the bay?” Ashland smiled as he squeezed my hand.

  “I think you need to slow down there, sweetheart. Yes, well, it would be a miracle if I ate that sandwich. Oh no, here comes Detra Ann.”

  Sitting down beside Ashland, Detra Ann dug through her red purse for her mints, popped one in her mouth and began to question her oldest and dearest friend. Taking his hand, she closed her eyes and asked, “Ashland Stuart, are you dying?”

  He nearly choked on his food. “What? No. I was sick, but now I’m better. End of subject, guys. I really wish CJ hadn’t called you down here. I know you meant well, babe, but do you see this? Can we leave now?” I couldn’t ignore the accusatory tone I heard in his voice.

  Detra Ann closed her eyes and held his hand tighter. “Say it again. Are you going to die?”

  “Are you going to die?” he repeated mockingly.

  She punched his arm, her red fingernails shining perfectly. “You know what I mean, jerk, and you know what I’m doing. If you’re lying to me, I’ll know it. Have you forgotten I’m a human lie detector? Now tell me, are you dying?”

  “No, Detra Ann, oh, swami, enlightened one. I am not going to die.”

  She shrugged and said, “Well, he’s telling the truth. He’s not going to die unless I choke him to death for being a smartass.”

  My hands up in the air now in frustration, I asked, “How does he know if he’s going to die or not? He’s not a psychic, Detra Ann. He sees ghosts, remember? Is everyone here forgetting how sick he was? I haven’t.”

  “Maybe he should see a psychic,” Henri suggested matter-of-factly. “I know a good one. I’ve seen her myself recently.”

  Detra Ann narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you do that?” He offered an embarrassed shrug as an answer.

  “Come on, guys. Really? I don’t need a psychic to tell me I’m going to live—or that I plan to go home and make love to my beautiful wife.”

  “Oh my God, Ashland!” I laughed awkwardly. “I can’t believe you’re talking like that in front of our friends.”

  He said in a playful whisper, “They know we fool around sometimes, babe. I mean, we do have a son, and…well, just look at Detra Ann. They might fool around sometimes too.”

  The three of them laughed like it was the biggest joke ever. I didn’t find any of this funny. How was this happening? How could a man be at death’s door one minute and completely healed the next? Even if the tests showed him free of clots and obstructions, his symptoms had been real. But maybe it really had happened just like that.

  Or maybe what Austin told me was true. I’d tampered with the past, tinkered with fate, and now I’d have to roll with the punches. And all because I tried to warn Lafonda.

  Detra Ann and Henri didn’t know what I knew. But Ashland knew all about it.

  He knew I had dream walked, that I had talked to Lafonda, warned her…or tried to warn her. In doing so, I had somehow changed her life in ways she would probably never understand. I did it despite Austin’s warning, and I knew now that I made the wrong choice. I had changed things for the Delarosas and for Ashland, our friends and me. Ashland didn’t seem
convinced that my first solo dream walk had affected anything, but I knew the truth. Deep down in my soul, I knew it. The knowledge weighed heavily on me. And now, living at Seven Sisters, I could feel it.

  But how do I make this plain to them?

  Subtle differences had occurred as a result of my dream walk. Baby Boy’s eye color had changed—and I didn’t care what the pediatrician said; that wasn’t normal. My friends behaved like weirdos, and I too had changed. In a way, Detra Ann had nailed it. I wasn’t the carefree, optimistic girl I used to be. No, too many things were changing, strange things, and together they testified to a greater truth. I had indeed disturbed the past and changed the future for us all.

  It was time to have a heart-to-heart talk with everyone. Time to spill the beans.

  Time to confess to the Devecheauxs and explain why I ignored Austin’s warning and what it might mean for us. I hoped that I wasn’t too late—that I might still fix things. And if I did, I prayed to God that it meant I wouldn’t lose Ashland.

  Yeah, I’d changed a little too. I could feel it deep in my bones. Old Carrie Jo would have sacrificed everything to do the right thing, one hundred percent of the time and twice on Sunday. But the way I was feeling now, I cared less about doing the right thing and more about my happiness.

  If someone had to die, I didn’t want it to be Ashland. I would hold on to my happiness with everything else I had.

  No matter what it cost me.

  Chapter Two—Carrie Jo

  The three were chattering away now like excited teenagers. Clearly, I was the grown-up in the group today. I stood up and cleared my throat. “Guys, if we’re done here…I’d like to talk to you all, but not in this waiting room. Would you mind stopping by Seven Sisters, Henri and Detra Ann? It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Babe,” Ashland said in a whisper. He was near me now, smiling and leaning into my ear. “I was serious about what I said. Can’t we be alone awhile?”