“Who’s there?”
The skin on my arms goose-pimpled up like it wanted to climb clean off my body. Oh yeah. I should go back now. I really should go back.
Nothing doing, as my Momma used to say. I had to see this through. I knew that voice; I’d heard it in a dream. I waited as the camellias shook again. A face so pale I could almost see through it appeared before me, and then her arms and upper body. It was a familiar young woman wearing a gray dress, gray like the gathering clouds. It was sleeveless and too thin for this time of year, more like a petticoat, really. I noticed that she wore a dark gray cape; although the hood hid part of her face, I knew her.
I was looking at the ghost of Memphis Overstreet. Was I dreaming? Had I dream walked without knowing it?
“Have you seen him?” Her sad eyes were fixed on mine, her lips pale and almost as gray as her skin. “I cannot find him.”
“Who are you looking for?” I asked as I took another small step back. You shouldn’t interact, Carrie Jo. Watch and observe. That’s it. Remember?
A woman’s scream came from somewhere deep in the maze, not one of pain but of anger, fury. Memphis’ hooded face turned in the direction of the scream, and as she stepped back into the hedge, she vanished before my eyes. Rain pelted me, the wind blew, and somewhere close by I heard footsteps running in my direction from deeper in the maze.
Oh God, oh God, oh God!
That was it for me. I ran for Seven Sisters.
Chapter Three—Lafonda Delarosa
My view from my room offered no respite from the monotony of these past weeks and months. Cloudy skies dimmed the moonlight and left the front lawn covered in shadows. I trembled at the sight of so much darkness. Stop being so ridiculous, Lafonda. There is nothing out there, nothing as frightening as living under the same roof as a murderer. The lawn was nothing much to look at even in the daylight hours. I had recommended some suitable blooms to my mother; there was evidence that the Cottonwoods once had a beautiful front garden, and I could certainly recreate a lovely view for everyone to enjoy. But as usual, my ideas fell on deaf ears.
“Oh, Lafonda. You spend enough time in the sun already. Just look at your skin. Go ask Lettie for a vinegar-soaked rag; that will remove the redness quickly enough.” Of course, I did not. Who wanted to smell like vinegar all day? There was no sense at all in asking Papa to approve my project, he was so preoccupied with his own pursuits nowadays that I barely saw him at all. Things weren’t going so well at the shipyard, I gathered. I suspected we had become the subject of gossip, and in Mobile, Alabama, that was a merciless place to exist. No one came to call, no invitations came. Yes, that must be it. But at least Mama appeared happy, despite the gruesome death of someone in her employ.
Blood! Blood everywhere! I closed my eyes and clenched my fists. No, I will not remember it. I will not think about the blood. Or Max’s staring eyes.
Jonatan’s marriage pleased Mama a great deal, despite the horrible murder that preceded it. How strange that no one spoke the name “Max Davenport” anymore, when not long ago it had been on everyone’s lips. More than one housemaid had cried over his passing, but no one except the sheriff said anything about him. Even Lettie, Mama’s maid, kept quiet and paled at the mention of him.
I knew for a fact that Jonatan had nothing to do with Max’s murder, but I understood why the sheriff would want to speak with him.
And anyone who truly knew my brother would understand how inadequate he would be in planning an elopement. He had to be led in all things, schooled before every event. Judging from Mama’s pleased expression, her absolute lack of worry, I believed her to be the guilty party. As if Jonatan would have ever thought of such a thing on his own. My brother could arrange his clothing well enough, and his button and tin soldier collections, but an elopement? Out of the question. He did not have the mind for such complex thoughts, and how could he have afforded to marry without Mama’s help? I sighed and opened the window. It was so hot tonight that I found it difficult to breathe.
Whenever my brother and his wife reappeared after their long honeymoon, they would find the world had not moved one inch in their absence. Mama thought of nothing else but preparing for their return to Seven Sisters and making Jonatan’s room suitable for a couple. There were even breathless whispers about a Delarosa baby. I had my doubts about such reports and blushed when Lettie mentioned it to me.
I glanced outside one last time. The last time I’d seen Jonatan had been right here at this window box. I’d watched him disappear into the woods with Memphis on his arm. But there was nothing to see tonight, nothing more than an expanse of grass with thick woods and a red dirt road beyond. The only thing to break the dullness was the odd statue. I thought I heard a carriage earlier, but it never arrived and must have passed by the house. The hour was late, well after nine o’clock, but my restlessness drove me to take a walk in the gardens.
I’d spent the last few hours reviewing The Delarosa Compendium of Flowers and Plants. It was an empty dream now. Each sample brought back memories of long days in the sunshine with my brother. How I missed his silly way of looking at life, his attempts at insulting me when I angered him. Go now, Miss Fancy! The truth was that I missed him deeply; I even missed his neediness. How could I have ever thought of him as a burden? He was the other part of me, and I could not shake the belief that he needed me, that he was hurting or frightened or alone, maybe lost and unable to find his way home. I wiped a sweaty tear from my face. He was married, and I thought Memphis a sensible, sober woman, but I could not be sure she would see him for the wonderful soul he was, beyond her infatuation with his good looks. All I could do was pray for his safety and his speedy return.
I wrapped myself in a linen shawl just in case I stumbled upon Mama, who would never forgive me for “flitting about provocatively in my nightgown.” I’d neglected to take my hair down earlier, which was fortunate now. It was too hot to go about with unbound hair. Would it never rain? With my slippers in my hand, I crept into the hallway and quickly breathed a sigh of relief. Mama was already snoring. I quietly made my way down the creaking staircase and, wonder of wonders, encountered not a soul. The groaning of Papa’s leather chair and the shuffling of papers in his study let me know he had arrived. He had not come home for supper, but that was not unusual nowadays. I paused outside the half-closed door but decided against knocking when I heard the clinking of his crystal glass. Papa had taken to drinking quite a lot lately. Certainly, troubles plagued his mind.
Opening the great French doors, I stepped outside and was immediately glad I did. It was cooler out here and the air not as heavy on the ground. Noisy bugs played their songs, and I swatted absently at one buzzing insect that sought shelter in my ear. Easing the linen wrap off my shoulders, I left my slippers at the back door. I could not risk visiting the Rose Garden, as the housemaids slept on that side of the house, but I would have the Moonlight Garden all to myself. I scurried down the steps and hurried along the grassy path leading to the statue that pointed to the maze’s entrance. At least Mama appreciated the beauty of such a rare garden. At Jonatan’s birthday party, the garden had been full; we received so many compliments on it, yet we really had nothing to do with the design. I tried to explain that to Mama, to curb her pride and her insistence on pretending we did, but I was not successful.
Somewhere a dog yapped, and I heard the splashing of water as if a squirrel or a bird were taking a late-night bath in one of the fountains. I walked a while but felt tired after very little exertion. The heat had sapped my strength, but I found a cool spot in the shade of a large tree. Jonatan and I had spent many a happy afternoon here near this bench. Once we’d spotted a red-breasted robin and chased it unsuccessfully. Jonatan had smartly discovered a fallen feather, which became one of his many treasures. I wondered absently what his wife would think about his cigar boxes of found “treasures.”
As I pondered that scenario, I heard the bushes moving. Someone was coming this way! Would it be M
ama, angry to discover I had managed to escape the house without her say-so? No. It was not.
A man appeared at the nearby fountain. He held a lantern in one hand and waved it around as if trying to get his bearings. The meager light gave me a good view of his handsome face. He had light blond hair, a tall build and a proud yet confused expression. I felt as if I recognized him, but I was sure I had never met him before. I froze, hoping he would not spot me. Instinctively, I drew the linen wrap around me but realized right away I’d made a mistake.
He waved his lantern in my direction, but I did not move. Perhaps he would not see me if I was very still now… No. It was too late. He was walking my way. Prepared to run, I suddenly changed course and decided to hold my ground. This was my garden, after all, and escape would likely be unsuccessful. The gentleman in my garden, for he was dressed as a gentleman, looked at least as fit as Jonatan. And my brother always beat me in a footrace. I had no choice. I must stand my ground and hope that this stranger was indeed a gentleman.
If not, I would be undone.
Chapter Four—Carrie Jo
Catching my breath, I blinked repeatedly as if that would help me clear the dream fog. I’d stepped into a dream walking session without even knowing it, but that wasn’t absolutely true. I’d felt it coming on; the restlessness, the uneasiness. Those were sure signs that a dream walk was about to take place, but it had been so long since my last walk that I’d completely overlooked the indicators.
Way to go, Carrie Jo.
I was standing in front of the pantry door in my own kitchen. “Shoot! Where did you come from?” Henri exclaimed while dropping a pot on the floor. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry, I…”
“Whoa. Hold on. Here, have a seat.” He took my hand and led me to a nearby barstool, where I obediently sat and tried to calm the pounding of my heart. “Need some water?”
“That would be great. Is Ashland around?” I could smell the faint traces of pancakes in my kitchen. Obviously, I’d missed breakfast. How long had I been gone?
“Yeah, he took AJ to get cleaned up. That kid loves syrup.” And then he quickly added, “This is paranormal, isn’t it?” With an apologetic smile, I sipped the water he offered me. In a whisper, he said, “Whatever happened to you, please don’t tell Detra Ann. My wife isn’t up to chasing ghosts, Carrie Jo. I think…I think it might push her over the edge.”
“Okay, Henri,” I agreed. Since Chloe’s arrival, my best friend’s sunny attitude had all but vanished. Her doctor labeled her as post-partum depressive, but knowing all they had been through recently, I believed it might be just straight-up depression in general. Or something. Henri was doing his best to make it up to her; he’d gotten involved with some shady characters until the law intervened. But they had their antiques store back now, which they were rebranding as Cotton City Antiques, and they would be moving into their own apartment above the store soon. Maybe having her own place would help Detra Ann find her wings again.
I sipped my water and gathered my bearings for a few minutes. Henri cleaned the kitchen and was oddly distant; it was just the two of us in here, but I could take a hint. What did I expect? He had a wife and daughter to think about, not just me and my crazy dream walking.
“I left you some pancakes in the refrigerator, CJ. I’ve got to go help Detra Ann get ready for Chloe’s photo shoot. The photographer will be here soon.”
“Oh, is that today?”
“Yes, you should see what she has planned for her.” He smiled his easy smile and rolled his eyes. No doubt at all, for all his flaws, Henri loved his wife and daughter more than anything in the world.
“I can’t wait to see. I’d better go find Ashland. What time is the photographer coming?”
“Twelve o’clock. I thought you knew about this…it’s in the Rose Garden.”
“Yeah, you know me. I’ll be there to witness baby’s first photo shoot.”
“Let’s hope Chloe actually took her nap this morning, or else this afternoon is not going to go all that easy.”
He left me alone, and I put the empty glass in the dishwasher. I hurried off to the Blue Room, happy to hear the normal sounds of life echoing from it. Thankfully, AJ had moved on from “Bob Bob,” the irritating sponge cartoon character, but his new obsession was no less annoying. At least the “Builder Guy” might inspire him to do something besides run around the house yelling, “I weady, I weady!”
“Hey, babe. Where’ve you been?” Ashland said as he looked up from his book. He wore glasses now for reading, another change partially thanks to his recent surgery.
I hurried over to him and said, “Ashland, I have to talk to you.”
He put his book down and laid his reading glasses beside it. AJ jumped up and down as his show came on. “What is it?”
“The Moonlight Garden. I took a walk there this morning, and the next thing I knew…”
The elegant Seven Sisters doorbell rang, and I took a deep breath. He got up to go see who was there, but I put my hand up. “No, I’ve got this, but don’t move. I have to tell you about this.”
I jogged down the downstairs hall and opened the front door. I was surprised as heck to see Cynthia Dowd, Detra Ann’s mother, and a few other members of the Mobile Historical Society standing on my front porch.
“Hey, Carrie Jo. We’re ready to party.” Cynthia sang her greeting and held up a bag filled with pink tissue and God knows what else. Her entourage greeted me with equally brilliant smiles. As always, they were dressed to the nines in dresses or pantsuits, high heels and perfect makeup, like a group of devoted Mary Kay ladies. What was going on here? I should’ve known that anything Detra Ann was involved in was going to be a major social event. How had this whole thing slipped my mind?
“Come inside, ladies. Come into the ladies’ parlor, and I will let Detra Ann know you are here.”
“Thank you, Carrie Jo. Love what you’ve done with the place,” Cynthia cooed. I smiled appreciatively even though we hadn’t done anything at all except gather a collection of strollers, baby toys and other mommy necessities on the foyer table. It had been so cluttered that we looked like we were running a day care at Seven Sisters. I led the ladies to the parlor as if they had never been here before and was surprised to see the room decorated with pink balloons. Soft tablecloths covered some folding tables, which held trays of finger foods and a bowl of punch.
Geesh, how long had I been dream walking?
I went upstairs and knocked on the guest room door politely. “Detra Ann? Your mom’s here…with a few of her friends.” Detra Ann opened the door. She still had hot rollers in her hair, and Baby Chloe was complaining loudly as her frustrated Daddy tried to dress her.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” she said as she looked me up and down. “Those aren’t party clothes, CJ.”
I rubbed my forehead absently as I tried to force a threatening headache to retreat. “I’m not even sure what day it is, Detra Ann.”
“How could you forget? You helped me plan this.”
“No, I didn’t. I would have remembered a party-planning session with you, my friend.” I shook my head with a smile. I didn’t want to make an issue out of this, considering all the stuff Detra Ann had been through recently.
“Do I need to get my phone out and show you the text messages, CJ?” She grinned back, letting me know she wasn’t giving ground on this argument. She was convinced that she’d told me all about it. The truth was she’d probably sent me a random text or two with ideas about such a party, and any response from me counted as “party planning.” That’s how things worked in Detra Ann’s world.
I shrugged it off. “It’s okay, Detra Ann. It’s not that big of a deal. Just let me know what you need me to do. You need help dressing Baby Chloe, Henri?” I looked over my best friend’s shoulder at Chloe, who was now red-faced and full-on wailing.
“I don’t think she wants to wear the tutu or this other thing, honey,” he said sweetly. “Carrie Jo, ma
ybe she’ll let you put it on her.”
Henri was doing his best to position a curly blond wig on Chloe’s bald head. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You have to be kidding me, Detra Ann. Don’t make that baby wear a wig.”
“It’s just for the first session. She has three scheduled.”
“But a wig on a baby?”
“Now, Carrie Jo. It’s all in good fun.” She smiled as she picked up her hollering child and the doorbell rang again. Who knew I would get such a workout this morning?
“That must be the photographer. Would you get that? We’re almost ready.”
“Sure,” I agreed, happy to get out of the task of putting a wig on Baby Chloe’s head. Henri gave me a desperate look that said, Help me. I chuckled and reminded myself to be patient and kind to the guests—and our housemates. I eased back down the main staircase and walked to the front door, tidying my wild hair as I went.
Sure enough, there was a photographer on the front porch with bags of camera gear. Okay, this whole thing was out of control. How much equipment did you need to take photos of a baby?
“Mrs. Jardine, I mean, Mrs. Stuart.”
I’d met this woman before, and I knew she knew my name. She was probably just getting in a dig about the fact that I didn’t come from a “good family” like Ashland’s. “That’s right, Stuart. Remind me of your name, please?” I responded with fake sweetness.
“Pamela DeHart. You spoke to our ladies’ group back some time ago.”
“Oh, yes. Come in, Miss DeHart. I believe the photo shoot will be in the ladies’ parlor and the Rose Garden. If you’d follow me, I’ll take you to the guests. There’s quite a crowd here to see Baby Chloe’s first photo shoot.”
“I have been here before a very long time ago. I could use an extra hand…would you mind?” Before I could answer her, she handed me her heavy black bags and headed toward the ladies’ parlor, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Feeling less charitable than I had earlier, I set the bags on the floor in the foyer. If she wanted her gear, she could get it herself. I wasn’t her assistant. I scurried back to the Blue Room.
Return to Seven Sisters Page 23