The Ghosts of Summerleigh Collection
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2018 Monica L. Bullock
All rights reserved
Table of Contents
The Belles of Desire, Mississippi
The Ghost of Jeopardy Belle
The Lady in White
The Belles of Desire, Mississippi
Book One
Ghosts of Summerleigh Series
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2018 Monica L. Bullock
All rights reserved
Dedication
To all the little liars.
Haunted Houses
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.
There are more guests at table, than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.
The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.
We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And hold in mortmain still their old estates.
The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.
Our little lives are kept in equipoise
By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the more noble instinct that aspires.
These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star,
An undiscovered planet in our sky.
And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,—
So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882
Prologue—Harper Belle
Desire, Mississippi
September 1942
Dressed in nothing but a cotton slip and a head full of rag rollers, I tiptoed to the rusty screen door. Poised impatiently with my hands on my skinny hips, I frowned at my sister’s shadow as she crossed the front porch.
“Momma is going to kill you D-E-A-D, Jeopardy Belle! You better get in here before she finds out you’ve been out all night,” I whispered disapprovingly at her silhouette as I reached up to unhook the screen door latch. My eyes felt like someone had thrown a handful of sand in them, but I could very clearly see my sister’s petite frame and the outline of her long, wild hair.
Didn’t she know I had gotten in late myself? Aunt Dot was sleeping in my room with me tonight. She’d been my chauffeur for the Harvest Dance. It had been the happiest night of my life, except for Jeopardy’s absence.
I had to protect my sister from Momma’s wrath. I had lain awake almost all night listening for the sound of her footsteps on the porch or her fingers tapping at my bedroom window. I’d just about given up hope that she would ever come home until at last I heard the creaking porch boards, the evidence of her late arrival. Maybe instead of covering for her, I should have told Momma or Aunt Dot everything—that Jeopardy went out smoking and drinking with whatever boy she took a fancy to just about every night of the week—but I couldn’t do it. I could never bring myself to break her confidence. Doing so would mean I would abandon my role as the family peacemaker; I might have been a lot of things, but never disloyal, especially not to Jeopardy—she had so few friends. She needed me.
“Honestly, Jeopardy. I don’t know why you have to be so stubborn,” I whispered as I struggled with the latch. It didn’t want to budge this morning for some strange reason. Daddy had installed it too high, so I had to stand on tiptoe to pop it open, but I finally got a good grip on it. Easing the door open slowly to avoid its obnoxious squeaking, I waited for Jeopardy to stumble inside. Once I smuggled her back into the house and up to her room, I was going to give her a real piece of my mind, and good too. Lightning popped across the dim morning sky; I expected it to illuminate Jeopardy’s guilty face. How was it that she was the oldest? Not only was I the most mature of the Belle sisters, but I was also the tallest and the plainest. And this morning, I was certainly the most tired.
Was tiredest even a word? Thank goodness I didn’t have school this morning, and thank goodness today wasn’t the George County Spelling Bee. My brain was too sticky and exhausted to put two letters together, much less o-n-o-m-a-t-o-p-o-e-i-a. I couldn’t abide it if Martha Havard won the spelling bee. I’d have to move to Mobile with some distant cousin just to escape the shame of it. Not that anyone in this house cared. Momma would show up for the Harvest Queen competition but never the spelling bee.
Suddenly the bottom fell out of the sky and rain trickled through the leaks in the tin roof porch, but to my surprise, my older sister was nowhere to be found. I closed my eyes and opened them again, but she did not appear. I flipped up the hook and opened the screen door, completely puzzled by this turn of events. I had seen her—I had certainly seen her! Suddenly, my tummy felt like a bowl of spoiled jelly, all wiggly and uncertain.
Something was wrong. Was I dreaming? Had I fallen asleep?
“Jeopardy? Don’t play games with me.” I stepped onto the wet concrete of the screened-in porch, and even though it was predicted to be a scorcher of a day after the rain, my feet were freezing. It was as if I were standing nude in the soda shop, the only place in town with air conditioning, and every hair on my body stood at attention. An unholy cold crept into my bones. Where could she be? We had no back porch furniture except Momma’s rocking chair, and a full-grown girl of fifteen couldn’t hide behind it. Even one as petite as Jeopardy Belle.
This had to be some sort of joke. “Jep?” She hated that nickname, but seeing as she wanted to play games with me, I had no alternative but to insult her. I searched the porch and even the narrow stairs leading up to it, but there was no sign of Jeopardy. I knew I had heard her footsteps; I had even seen her figure a minute ago. No way could she move on and off the porch that quickly, especially not in the clunky white high heels she wore last night unless she had managed to lose them somewhere. I prayed that was not the case because they were probably Momma’s. Jeopardy was particularly fond of them, and she was one to take risks. Momma would be fit to be tied if her favorite pair of heels came up missing. She’d had to send away to Montgomery Ward to get those shoes.
A voice from behind me surprised me. “Harper? What are you doing out here? It’s raining cats and dogs. You’ll catch your death. Are you walking in your sleep again?”
I had no choice but to lie to Momma. She and Jeopardy carried on a lifelong feud, and I was one to strive for
peace, even if that meant lying to one or the other if need be. I would do as much for Jeopardy to make her think more highly of our Momma. In some ways, it was as if I were the grown-up in our family.
Where are you, Jeopardy Belle? Maybe I had been dreaming or sleepwalking. I used to do it all the time before we moved to Summerleigh.
“Sorry, Momma. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” To my surprise, she hugged me. Hugs were distributed infrequently in our home and were rarer than a ribeye steak dinner. I breathed her in, enjoying her particular fragrance of peaches and cold cream.
“Come inside and help me make biscuits. You girls have choir practice this morning.” She kissed my cheek and patted my back as we walked into the house. I swallowed the lump in my throat and resisted the urge to spill my guts to Momma. Maybe if I knew she wouldn’t unleash her rage on Jeopardy, I would have been more forthcoming. In hindsight, I would regret not telling her everything right then and there, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as they say.
I heard my youngest sister crying loudly enough to wake up the rest of the household. As Momma lit a slender cigarette and took a puff, I said, “I’ll get Loxley, Momma. She’s probably soaked through her clothing.” Caring for Loxley would provide me enough of a distraction to gather my wits and come up with some sensible explanation for Jeopardy’s absence.
My mother looked tired this morning. I clearly saw the fine lines around her mouth and between her eyes despite the thick layer of powder she had applied to her face. She wasn’t even thirty-five, but she didn’t smile much anymore. When was the last time I’d seen Momma smile? It sure wouldn’t be this morning. “I don’t know why Loxley has to wet the bed every night. You girls aren’t giving her water at night, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
She frowned again. “She’s five now, too old to leave puddles behind.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed. “I will clean her right up.” Maybe if I softened the blow with some good deeds, my mother wouldn’t get crazy angry when she found out that her oldest daughter was nowhere to be found.
“No, I’ll go tend to Loxley, dear. You start sifting the flour.” My stomach did a double clutch as I watched her walk away. I hoped she wouldn’t go up to Jeopardy’s room and discover one Belle missing. Momma walked down the threadbare carpet runner toward the bedroom where Loxley and Addison slept. Jeopardy and I used to share the smaller room just beyond, but she usually slept in the attic of our dilapidated mansion now.
I dumped flour into the sifter and added the salt and baking powder. Darn you, Jeopardy! I thought as I tapped the flour through the sifter, pausing only a few seconds to light the gas stove. The stove was the only luxury in this big old house; Daddy had really come through for us with the new Wedgewood stove. It was a beauty and cranked up with just one strike of the match. I miss you, Daddy!
Daddy had been something of a dreamer, but you couldn’t help but love him anyway. He was so handsome and kindhearted that even Momma loved him, even if most of the time his head was in the clouds. I heard Momma once tell her closest friend, Augustine Hogue, that even when Daddy wasn’t away at war, he was there in his mind. War does things to people’s minds. Or at least that’s what everyone says. I wonder if Loxley is right. Does Daddy haunt this place? When he was away on the battlefield, he rarely wrote; he always promised to write but never did. And now Jeopardy was missing.
Oh, Daddy. What do I do?
Reaching for the biscuit pan, I greased it with a faded checkered kitchen rag and set about finishing up the biscuits. Loxley must have made a real mess because it was ages before I heard Momma again. At least Loxley wasn’t crying anymore, which meant she hadn’t been spanked for her accident this morning. That meant Momma was in a good mood. How long would that last now? Once the biscuits were in the oven, I started the coffee percolator going and took the peach jelly and butter out of the refrigerator. The phone rang, and Momma answered it and put a pouting Loxley in the chair beside her. It was Augustine Hogue calling to share the news that there was a new opening at the church. From what I could hear of the conversation, Reverend Reed needed a new secretary now that Ola got married, and there was going to be quite a bit of interest in the position. Even Momma thought it might be nice to apply for the job.
I must have looked out the kitchen window a half dozen times, but there was no sign of Jeopardy. A bright September sun rose over the thick clump of peach trees in the backyard, and still nothing. It was late for the peach crop, but the trees continued to produce copious amounts of the succulent fruit. Any day now, Momma would send us girls up the trees again to collect peaches so we could sell them to our neighbors. Jeopardy had always been the best at climbing. Where are you, sister? I supposed in some homes it would’ve been strange to have a child missing for breakfast. But that’s how things were around here.
Sometimes Momma and Jeopardy went days without speaking or even looking at one another. I didn’t understand it at all, but I had to believe they loved each other. I kept my silence during breakfast, and thankfully Momma didn’t ask about the missing Belle. Loxley chomped on her food, and Addison picked at hers but ate a few bites while Momma finished her phone call. She and Miss Augustine made quite a meal of Ola and Reverend Reed. I guess they’d closed their ears during the pastor’s latest sermon about gossip and the dangers of “wagging tongues.” Despite the evils of gossip, I was glad that Momma had something to distract her from Jeopardy’s latest escapades.
“Girls, get dressed for practice. I’ll tidy up here, and Harper can walk you down to the church. I guess your sister doesn’t plan on participating?” Momma arched an eyebrow at me over her chipped coffee cup, and I stumbled over an answer. Nothing sprang to mind, and my stomach churned as if at any moment it would reject the few crumbs of biscuit I’d eaten and the glass of milk I’d swallowed. I was no good at lying, and knew I would fail miserably at any attempt. I knew I should have woken up Aunt Dot. She would know how to soften the blow.
I am going to fail you, Jeopardy. I can’t do it, I thought as tears filled my eyes. Before I could open my mouth and confess my sister’s sins, someone banged like a freight train on the screen door. Startled at such an early caller, we all trailed behind Momma as she went to answer it, and she didn’t shoo us away. Unlike me, she didn’t have a head full of rag rollers but looked pretty as a picture, complete with a neat dress and perfect makeup.
To our surprise, the caller was Deputy Andrew Hayes. I couldn’t help but smile at him. He was almost as handsome as Daddy with his short brown hair, serious eyes and tidily pressed uniform. He spoke to Momma in low, serious tones, but I couldn’t hear a word he said. He clutched Jeopardy’s purse in his hands, along with Momma’s stolen high heels. Momma’s white hand clutched the doorframe as she listened to the deputy. Another vehicle pulled into the driveway at a high rate of speed. It kicked up dust and rocks, and Loxley began to cry. All I could hear was the beating of my own heart. Something bad had happened to Jeopardy. Something really bad.
This can’t be right! I saw her this morning—she was just here! Momma turned around with Jeopardy’s things in her hands. Her blue eyes searched mine and her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear her either.
Suddenly I heard something heavy hit the ground beside me, and then the world went black.
Chapter One—Jerica Poole
A year ago, my alarm clock was much sweeter than the one that screamed at me this morning. Marisol, I miss you, sweetheart. I missed being awakened by butterfly kisses and warm arms around my neck, and to add to my agony it had been another dreamless night. After I beat the buzzing alarm clock half to death, I reached for my daughter’s picture. Forever frozen in time, Marisol smiled back at me, showing her missing front tooth and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. I kissed the dusty glass and whispered, “Another day, baby girl.”
I took my time getting out of bed and knew without turning over that I was alone—again. Eddie showed up last night, and like a fool, I let him in. One
moment of weakness. That was all it took to welcome chaos back into my life…but I’d been so alone lately, and Marisol’s sixth birthday had come and gone. Eddie and I had shared a silent meal, avoiding talking about Marisol, and then made love, but it was an empty coupling without healing or emotions. It was not as it once was. I tried to remember that he was also a broken person, that he had also lost a child. He did not make it easy for me to have sympathy for him because as usual, sometime last night or early this morning, Eddie had left me. I had smartly hidden my purse in the cedar chest before our dinner together, but I had completely forgotten about hiding the contents of my medicine cabinet. The chances were good that my ex-husband had relieved me of my anxiety and depression prescriptions.
Please, God. Cut me a break.
Placing Marisol’s picture back on the nightstand, I pulled on my robe. Rain slapped the side of the house—the weatherman had gotten it right for once. He’d warned the residents of Portsmouth, Virginia, that it was going to rain all day. Yeah, that rain sounded ferocious, like BBs striking the windows. I had first shift today, and I couldn’t miss another day of work. I’d burned up my sick days with various personal appointments with therapists, wellness checkups—you name it. Nothing helped, nothing diminished my grief. I lost myself in an endless cycle of work, hence the ever-expanding collection of medications. It was better to pretend I did not feel than to actually experience the agony of my loss on a daily basis.
Might as well face reality.
I faced the mirror of the medicine cabinet and stuck my tongue out at myself. Why in the world had I let Eddie into my home, and how had he found me? Before this most recent hookup, I hadn’t seen him for six months. I opened the cabinet, and sure enough, my meds were gone.
“Damn it, Ed!” I closed the cabinet and dug my purse out of the cedar chest. It didn’t take long to figure out that he’d discovered my hiding spot. Everything was out of place, but at least he’d left my credit cards and checkbook alone. All my cash had disappeared. “Eddie! You bastard,” I said under my breath. I couldn’t have predicted that he would stoop that low, but his pill addiction apparently had a hold on him. If you’ll rob a grieving mother, your own ex-wife, of her cash and medication, you’re pretty low-down. “That’s the last time, Eddie Poole. The last time!” I wiped a tear from my eye. I had a few groceries in the house, but I needed that cash for gas and my lunches all this week.
The Ghosts of Summerleigh Collection Page 1