That door would never be opened again.
Epilogue—Carrie Jo
Ashland walked into the house with the stack of paperwork we were expecting. I clapped my hands like a kid about to go trick-or-treating, and together we examined each page at the kitchen table. Lily and Baby Boy had gone to the fair with the Devecheauxs, and although I was glad for the time alone with Ashland, I found it hard to relax knowing the official documents were arriving today. We didn’t have much downtime nowadays, but I’d gotten used to the constant movement of managing two children and a husband. Nope. I wasn’t complaining. I loved our family, and Lily fit in perfectly, as if she were always meant to be with us.
Yes, Ashland and I had been like two old people sitting by the window in the ladies’ parlor all afternoon waiting for the mailman to arrive. Only we weren’t hoping for a chance to win a clearinghouse lottery. This package was much more precious—these were Lily’s temporary adoption papers. After our four-month ordeal, I had a new appreciation for people who decided to adopt a child. It was a discouraging process, and I had so much respect for anyone who tried to do the right thing in such a difficult situation. I was so glad that we’d persevered and that Lily had become an official member of our immediate family. It was a surreal and wonderful moment.
We studied the papers, and I broke down crying. This wasn’t the way I had expected to grow our family. I sure couldn’t have predicted that my brother and his wife would abandon their child all because she was a dream catcher. But whatever the reason, however she got here, I was glad for it. Lily was a piece of my heart, a piece I never knew I was missing. And with this paperwork, we would keep her close, safe and happy. This wasn’t a touchdown, but we’d made a first down, as Ashland liked to say. He held me, and I felt him sob too. We were like two blubbering kids.
“I love you, Ashland Stuart. I love you big time.”
He held me tight a little longer, and we kissed like honeymooners. “I love you, Carrie Jo. Every day I love you more,” he whispered in between kisses. If I didn’t remind him that the kids were coming back soon, I knew how this kissing session would end. Not that that would be a bad idea. Ashland hadn’t stuttered in weeks, and I was glad to see him hitting the gym again. It always made him feel better, stronger. He was like his old self, confident, happy and full of life.
“Let’s make the call before we get on to other business,” I flirted with him as I handed him the business card. “No distractions, babe.”
He accepted the card and asked again, “And we’re sure we want to do this?”
“We said we were. No backsies. Besides, Henri and Detra Ann recommended him. They say Midas Demopolis is a total professional, and I’d like to know if we can breathe a sigh of relief. If everyone is, you know…safe. With our restoration business getting started again and our plans to make Seven Sisters the premier event venue in Mobile, we need to make this call.”
Ashland gazed down at me, his blue eyes full of concern. Even though he could see ghosts occasionally and believed in the paranormal, Ash still held a deeply ingrained distrust for professionals in the paranormal field. “Gulf Coast Paranormal, huh? Alright. Let’s give him a call, then.”
I kissed him one more time before he dialed the number. Midas answered right away, and he and Ash began to talk about the house and some of the activity we’d experienced here recently. We’d already agreed that we wouldn’t tell him everything. I mean, who would believe us? Ash gave me a thumbs-up and went to the office to nail down a date for a meeting. I’d join him in a minute. I had something to do first.
I went for a walk in the garden, and it felt great. The sun warmed my bones; we’d had a cold winter, so much so that we worried over the gardens. It was well into spring now, and the roses were blooming, much to our relief. The Rose Garden was awash with color; it was absolutely beautiful this year. Ash said these Bourbons were fine specimens, and I remembered him telling me how much his mother loved roses. I wondered what she thought about us living here at Seven Sisters. I knew for a fact that she had loved this place wholeheartedly when she was alive. She most certainly loved Ashland then and now. Love transcended time, dimensions, whatever you wanted to call it. Love could become a living thing.
And that’s what made me think of Lafonda.
I hurried out to the garden and found the prettiest pink rose I could. Lafonda liked pink the best. I didn’t make it a practice to snap off thorny flowers with my bare hands, but I wanted to do this now and not put it off until later when I might forget. It was easy to push things aside with Lily and AJ running around getting into mischief—and Ashland leading the way.
Carrying the rose inside, I headed to our office, which used to be Mr. Cottonwood’s study, and Mr. Delarosa’s after that. Ashland flipped off the light and grinned at me flirtatiously. “Come upstairs with me.” He caressed my cheek, and I squeezed his hand.
“Invitation accepted. Let me just put this in here. Be there in twenty.”
He frowned. “Twenty minutes? The kids might be home by then.”
“Nope. Twenty seconds. I’m giving you a running start, Ashland Stuart. You better take it.”
With one last half smile, he left me alone, and I heard him walking up the stairs. No staggering, no stumbling. Just steady steps. I went behind the desk and kneeled down in front of the bookcase. I removed the books and put the key in the lock. It was probably a silly thing to do, but we kept the key in one of the “fake” books. It nearly took an act of Congress to get a new one made because the thing was so old and rare, and we sure didn’t want to lose this one. I opened the safe and peeked in, even though I knew it was empty. I placed the rose inside, closed the door and turned the key before I put it back in the book.
I patted the safe and put the books in front of it. I had no way of knowing if Lafonda would find it or if she would think anything about it, but I wanted her to know that spring had come. That happiness and hope were just ahead. All she had to do was keep looking for it, keep fighting. Keep loving. I didn’t know if she would get that message from a simple rose, but I hoped with all my being that she would. In my dreams, I had seen so many souls come and go, so many gone with no happy endings. But Seven Sisters wasn’t going to be a place of tragedy anymore. No more roaming shadows and desperate ghosts. Lafonda had saved me—and Lily—and I would never forget that. Never. And if the opportunity ever arose, I would return the favor. Regardless of Austin’s advice.
Don’t interact, Carrie Jo.
“No more,” I said to the air around me. “No more tragedy. Just love and light.” I stood up and turned off the desk lamp.
“Love and light, Lafonda. That’s what I want for you.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard the air sigh around me and then a light, feminine laugh. A pretty laugh, like someone heard and believed me. Was it Lafonda or Christine lingering in the study, watching over me? I couldn’t be sure. Maybe they both were here. Maybe one day I would be here too.
No, I couldn’t be sure, but I was happy. And that was enough for now.
Wreath of Roses
Book Five
Return to Seven Sisters Series
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2019 Monica L. Bullock
All Rights Reserved
Dedication
This is dedicated to everyone who loves Historic Oakleigh House.
Welcome to Seven Sisters!
That whisper takes the voice
Of a Spirit, speaking to me,
Close, but invisible,
And throws me under a spell
At the kindling vision it brings;
And for a moment I rejoice,
And believe in transcendent things
That would make of this muddy earth
A spot for the splendid birth
Of everlasting lives,
Whereto no night arrives;
And this gaunt gray gallery
A tabernacle of worth
On this drab-a
ired afternoon,
When you can barely see
Across its hazed lacune
If opposite aught there be
Of fleshed humanity
Wherewith I may commune;
Or if the voice so near
Be a soul’s voice floating here.
Thomas Hardy
In a Whispering Gallery
1919
Prologue—Lafonda Delarosa
Mobile, AL 1884
I carried another bucket of dirty water out of the house. My hands burned and I smelled of cleaning solvent, but at least now I could no longer smell the sickness. The disease had lifted, but Seven Sisters must be purged from floor to ceiling. No board must be left unwashed. That was the physician’s instruction, and my rough, red hands were evidence of my obedience. As the city mourned the deaths of so many, I quietly prepared the house for its new role.
Seven Sisters would no longer be a place of mourning. Her role as a makeshift hospital for Mobilians suffering with Yellow Fever—just one of many such homes, sadly—would evolve. However, the City of Mobile had been generous in their grant to us.
But was it worth it all, Lafonda? Was it worth those coins? That’s all you think of now, as if we were paupers!
I shook my head at remembering Mama’s complaint. In her mind, Seven Sisters was still a showpiece and Jonatan, Papa and I were all as happy as clams living beneath her elegant roof.
Have mercy on her. She doesn’t remember that they are dead. I turned the bucket upside down again to get every drop of the dirty water out. It was all over and done now. Time to move on. Time for things to change.
Seven Sisters had been a death house. It was time to bring back laughter and joy. I had plans to make her into the finest boarding house this side of the Mississippi. Yes, that was my decision, and it was a perfectly respectable one, if I cared about such things as being respectable. Goodness, I sound like Mama! There weren’t many homes as beautiful as Seven Sisters in Mobile County, or even Alabama, so I had heard from others. Now that the epidemic had lifted, I could bring some of her treasures out of the attic. I could finally light the chandeliers and polish the wood—treat the old home with some dignity. She deserved it. And then by doing so I would shake off this horrible almost-tangible fog of grief that had settled in every room. Children died here. The elderly. Many men and women. In fact, if I closed my eyes, I could see the bodies stacked up in front of the house. It had been a daily routine for weeks, carrying out the dead for the undertaker. I shivered. No, I couldn’t see them now, and I wouldn’t imagine them again. But the memory of the smell…that would be with me forever.
I stretched in the sunlight. I wasn’t dead; I was alive, and the time for mourning was over. I’d had enough of mourning. It felt good to think about other things. It was as if we Mobilians were emerging from a graveyard, only not all of us made it out alive. And for my part, I would make Seven Sisters presentable again. She would be a welcome retreat to the upscale market that I hoped to appeal to.
I traipsed back to the house with my empty wooden bucket. I was tired, but I’d been tired for months. Why would today be any different? I paused in the yard and basked in the warmth of the sun. I was one to love the sun, much to Mama’s chagrin. But she didn’t really care whether my skin freckled anymore. Not that I ever had freckles, but that had always been the worry, back when she halfheartedly hoped I would marry some fine local aristocrat. Ah, but she’d given up on that dream. All her dreams died with Jonatan. And mine? I had no dreams, not anymore. Except to restore Seven Sisters. That alone was my dream. And to never be left wondering about my financial future. It was too easy to fall into the hands of some grasping scam artist. Oh, Philip. Why?
I held my hand up to shield my eyes from the setting sun and studied the lines of the house. Papa had loved Seven Sisters so. He’d been enchanted by her “lovely bones,” and it had been his dream to repair her broken beams and replace the rusty balustrades. It would be my dream now too. But beyond that, I wouldn’t think about dreams. Not anymore. Nor would I think of Philip Beaumont ever again. Not that he had truly been a Beaumont.
“All done with the top floor, ma’am. Should we start on the lower floor now?” Yvette frowned as she rubbed her neck with a faded red cloth. She’d quite easily snuck up on me.
“I think we should. Ask Johnny to give us a hand with the carpets. They’ll need to be rolled up and shoved out of the way in order to clean the floors. On second thought, let’s wait until tomorrow, Yvette. Look, the day is escaping us. We’ve been hard at it for hours. We’ll start first thing in the morning in the ladies’ parlor. I’ll see if I can round up a few more hands to help us clean those rugs while we’re at it.”
To my surprise, she smiled at that suggestion. Yvette never smiled. Never. It was an odd sight. She had a round face and a round figure, and her hair was always an untidy, rebellious mess. Hairpins had no power over those unruly tresses.
“I’m glad to hear it, ma’am. I’d like to go visit my sister this evening. She’s in her bed again.”
“Oh no. Yellow Jack, Yvette?”
“No, thanks be to God, it’s not the fever. She’s expecting again; this is her fifth. Honestly, I don’t know why I worry so…it’s not that she doesn’t know what to expect, but she is the only family I’ve got. There is something about welcoming a new face into the world that appeals to me. You know, after all this.”
I smiled at the idea and briefly imagined myself holding a baby of my own but quickly pushed the image away. Why do you dream of such things, Lafonda Delarosa? That’s not for you. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a curtain move on the second floor of the house. Mama! Spying on me from her perch. When would she come down from her tower? She’d retreated up there the first day the sick arrived. I hardly entered her room anymore; we’d cleaned the entire floor, except her room. At least she hadn’t cried all day. She’d been quiet, so quiet that Yvette went to check on her several times.
Yvette had said, “She’s just sitting in her chair like the Queen of England. She’s still asking for Lettie.”
But that had been much earlier in the day. Apparently, she was moving about now. Perhaps I would visit with her this evening when I took her supper dish up. Yvette and I chitchatted for a few more minutes before she headed back to the house to gather her things. She was eager to set out for home. My steps led me in another direction; I decided to linger a bit on the pathway that led to my long-neglected gardens. Ah, the roses, Jonatan. You would be so upset with me if you could see them. So upset. But I’m not going to leave them like this. I promise. I would have so much work to do if I could ever turn my attention back to such things as gardens and flowers. Or the Delarosa Compendium. That had been our project, Jonatan’s and mine. Our book of flowers and plants, and I would never finish it. I just could not complete the task without him.
Feeling tired suddenly, I sat on a nearby dirty bench and closed my eyes again. If I tried really hard, I could almost imagine the scents of roses, all kinds of roses. Ah, yes, I could imagine a fragrant medley of vine Bourbons, other climbing petites and bushy shrubs. And I could see them too in my mind’s eye. Yes, they were loaded with intensely colored blooms. Just like they used to appear when we first arrived here by carriage. Oh, that had been a wonderful sight with such lovely scents.
A shiver crept up my legs and then my back as if a rabbit had run across my grave. Or at least half of it. Speaking of graves, there were quite a few here now. I’d overseen the burials of two housemaids and a man named Rabbity John. No one knew his real name, but he’d been a kind man with a willing pair of hands and a caring heart. He’d been one of the last to die here. He’d made it so long, just as I had. I’d found him dead at the back door one morning last week. I could not say how he died, but he was there and I buried him with much respect and dignity.
And as I walked, try as I might, I could not help but replay the events of the past months. It felt like a lifetime ago when I’d been fighting
for my life in the strange hidden room. When I’d struggled with Maggie Davenport and seen the ghost child. The memory of it all, as horrible as it had been, was replaced with the memories of the sick and dying who came to my home for comfort and hope. But most left dead or hopeless.
Yes, there had been many deaths at Seven Sisters since the beginning of the outbreak. Yellow Jack presented itself with a sickening smell; for a long time, it lingered on my skin and in the air all around me. Yellow Jack had a chokehold on Mobile, Alabama, and the residents of Seven Sisters for months; we were not immune from it, not protected. Mama retreated to her room and refused to come out, leaving me to care for the sick and dying by myself. She retreated from life and from me, but then again, perhaps that was a good thing. Mama was at least alive. And although the disease was waning, it had ravaged large portions of the city, striking the wealthy and the poor without deference to either. This horrible plague had been the great equalizer; it revealed the truth about all souls—that we were all flickering flames, and each held only the briefest of lives. Fortunately for me, I had none of the symptoms, no high fever, yellow skin or vomiting.
Yes, thanks to her fear, Mama had endured the Yellow Jack outbreak easily enough. The same could not be said for her maid and companion Lettie, who died at the very beginning of the sickness. I hated to see Lettie sicken so horribly, and it had not been an easy passing; the whole process took its toll on me, and I had seen many deaths in the house in the past few months. I had lost count of them all, but the children, oh, the children. Losing them hit me the hardest.
My thoughts returned to poor Lettie. We had come to a late friendship. Only the two of us understood how deeply Mama’s mind was ravaged, partially due to her own machinations, machinations which twisted upon her and quite brutally visited its own kind of curse on the Delarosa household. Papa was gone. Jonatan too.
Return to Seven Sisters Page 40