The Ghosts of Summerleigh Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  The three of us were alone now; it was just us Belle girls. This was the first time we’d been alone in so very long. I could tell by my sisters’ expressions that they were aware of the moment too and that they also felt the shadows of the ones who hadn’t made it to witness this glorious day. None of us mentioned Jeopardy or Daddy, and we didn’t have to. Addison’s lip began to tremble, but I prevented her from speaking a sad word with a squeeze of my hand. I refused to allow the Belle melancholy to settle over us and intrude on this wonderful day.

  “Addison Lee, you look every bit a dream. Frank Harlow is a lucky man. But never forget, even when you change your name, you will always be a Belle—and that means something special. To Loxley and to me.” Loxley nodded and smiled broadly beside me.

  “I will not forget that, Harper. I could never forget my sisters, and I won’t be far away. You can visit me anytime you like, both of you. In fact, I insist on it. Promise me? Promise you will come next week for tea or for lunch?”

  Loxley and I hugged her, and I clung to them so tightly it surprised me. How could I let either of them go when it had been my job to take care of them? I’d been doing it for so long. Just like Daddy would have wanted—and like Momma always expected me to. But Addison loved her Frank, and he most assuredly loved her.

  Tall, skinny Frank with his horn-rimmed glasses and slight overbite. He owned a gas station in Lucedale and perpetually smelled of gasoline, but he was a nice enough young man. I wasn’t surprised that he asked Addison to marry him, since he had been crazy for her for a long time, but I was glad that Aunt Dot had insisted that Addison graduate high school first. I think Addison was glad too. Now the only one left in school was Loxley.

  I had been out for two years now but still hadn’t left for college. For some reason, I dithered. I hesitated. In the back of my mind, I told myself that it was responsibility that slowed me down. How could I leave Loxley and Addison without safely depositing them into their futures? But that wasn’t the truth. I hid myself away here at Summerleigh for entirely selfish reasons.

  Because I didn’t want to face a world without Jeopardy Belle in it.

  And if I stayed here, I would never have to think about Ben’s secret. I wouldn’t be tempted to tell anyone. I could never do that.

  As we hugged, I pretended Jeopardy was with us too, that she was holding us and smiling, her wild hair in an unruly cloud around her face. Maybe she was. I didn’t see ghosts on a regular basis, not like Loxley, but I imagined Jeopardy hovering near us now as I often did. What silly thing would she say if she were here? What words of advice would she want to impart to Addison? I struggled for the appropriate words, the right encouragement to share with Addie, but I could think of nothing. Nothing that wouldn’t make us all weepy at the prospect of being separated forever. And we would be. No matter what Addison said or how we all pretended otherwise, we would be separated forever. Marriage was a forever thing.

  A tap on the bedroom door broke the spell of that poignant moment, and we fell back laughing and wiping away the odd tear. Mr. Foshee, the photographer, had arrived and wasted no time in ordering us about. Addison’s small room had been beautifully decorated for the bridal photo shoot, but we were taking some photos outside too. That was worrisome, as it promised to be warmer than any of us had expected. November was normally much cooler than this, but I wouldn’t complain. I would sweat and smile and be happy for Addison. Today would be perfect for her. It had to be.

  I think I was the first one to hear the footsteps overhead. The photographer reminded me to smile, and Loxley glanced in my direction, her eyes immediately rising to the ceiling above us. My eyes met hers as Addie smiled and fluffed her dress on the settee. She clutched my hand, and I remembered to smile at the camera.

  There it was again, clear as a bell. Footsteps. But not heavy footfalls, the sounds of high heels, a lady’s footsteps. And I could see that Addison heard them too.

  I said, “It’s probably a guest, Addie. Someone’s up there exploring is all.” Loxley began to shake her head as if she disagreed with me, but I frowned at her in an attempt to remind her that we should think of Addison.

  Ignore the ghosts, Loxley. Ignore them all.

  I knew she couldn’t hear me, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words aloud. Thankfully, Mr. Foshee decided that it was time to go outside and take our outdoor photos. He glanced at his watch and reminded us that we would have to hurry. We didn’t want to bring bad luck on the bride by letting the bridegroom see her before the wedding. We followed Mr. Foshee out of Summerleigh, but of course we were stopped numerous times along the way as everyone wanted to congratulate Addison.

  With just minutes to spare before we had to spirit her away, we gathered beneath the large oak tree in the backyard. Fall leaves were everywhere, and it was a beautiful setting for a wedding photo. I couldn’t help but smile at Addison’s beautiful face lit with happiness at long last. Mr. Foshee snapped his fingers and reminded us all to watch him as he took the final photo. The light popped, and we all froze for a moment, laughing and smiling.

  Everyone except me.

  All I could do was stare at the girl who watched us from the attic window. She didn’t move or try to hide from me. She didn’t vanish as you would expect a spirit to do. This wasn’t Jeopardy watching us from on high.

  The pale face, even paler than Addison’s, peered back at me, her expression sad and empty. Her eyes met mine, and I knew she wanted me to see her. She wanted me to know that she was there, that she watched us. And I knew who she was.

  She was the Lady in White.

  Chapter One—Jerica Poole

  I woke to the sounds of a circular saw whirring. Obviously, Jesse was trying to get a jump on the crown molding that we were scheduled to install today, but I really wanted to sleep. No such luck since the guest room overlooked his garage where he was hard at work. I groaned and pushed my hair out of my face. The clock said nine, but it felt much earlier than that. Too early, Jesse.

  I wanted to—no, I needed to sleep. Between the late nights we’d spent planning the renovation, my regular bouts of sleeplessness and my romantic interludes with Jesse, I felt like I’d never catch up on my rest. It was as if my biorhythmic schedule was completely out of whack. I felt drained and a bit cranky as I tossed around for one last minute before getting up to greet the day. For the first time, I didn’t feel like bounding down the stairs and kissing him on the cheek. There would be no lighthearted chatter as we ran boards, taped them and loaded them on the truck. This morning, despite having genuine romantic feelings for him, I dreaded facing Jesse.

  Why in the world would he ask me to marry him now? I told myself that it wasn’t that he asked but how he did it that bothered me, but I couldn’t be sure. Yes, Jesse Clarke was an amazing man. A skilled carpenter, a good friend and a talented lover. Yes, we were great together, but I guess I just didn’t see it coming. I, Jerica Jernigan Poole, was blindsided. Again. And I didn’t like it.

  “I think Jerica Clarke has a nice ring to it. Just think, we wouldn’t even have to fight over monogrammed towels.”

  “Tell me you’re joking. I’m not the kind of girl who has monogrammed towels.”

  I’d tried to brush it off, joke about it, but I could see the hurt in his dark eyes. Our conversation moved on, and so did our lovemaking, but that halfhearted proposal hung between us like a living thing.

  It’s time to go home, Jerica. And that’s what I planned to do. I wasn’t mad at Jesse, at least I didn’t think I was, but we needed to put some space between us. I mean, it wouldn’t be a long space since we had work to do together, but at least I could have a few minutes to myself. I slid on my jeans and t-shirt and searched for my shoes. How was it that I, a grown woman, could lose my shoes so easily? I was worse than a child. I kicked them off wherever I landed and never remembered to put them in my closet.

  And then I recalled last night’s dream.

  I dreamed of Harper and Addison and of course sweet Lo
xley; it had been so long since I’d seen them, at least a full six months. They were so happy and full of life, but the dream hadn’t really been about the Belles. I hadn’t been there to see them. It was someone else who wanted to be seen. Like Harper, my attention had been drawn away from Addison and her special day. Away from the coral crepe paper and the candles, away from the heavily frosted cake and the table of carefully wrapped wedding gifts. My attention had been on the ghost in the attic, the young woman we’d all believed was the murdered Mariana McIntyre. And now that I recalled the moment when our eyes locked, I remembered something else.

  She spoke to me!

  Just a few words; I heard them in my ear, but now as I woke, I couldn’t recall them. And that filled me with sadness.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d thought about the Lady in White this week. Not once but twice I’d walked into the Great Room during our renovation work to find the space filled with an unusual floral scent. No one else seemed to notice the aroma, so I kept my observations to myself. It was certainly a flowery perfume, old and sweet and not one that I recognized. But it had been just as if someone left the room right before me. And that made sense; history had proved that the ghost of Mariana McIntyre liked to avoid the living as much as possible. Now that the Belles were at peace and nobody lived at Summerleigh—not yet, at any rate—the Lady in White was free to roam the house again.

  And she was asking for something. Was it help? Yes, she’d spoken to me. My ear remained icy from the encounter. I rubbed at it while I wracked my brain.

  I had to get home. I had to go back to Summerleigh.

  Chapter Two—Jerica

  “Hey, I’m headed back. I’ll see you there, okay?”

  Jesse pushed his safety glasses up and stared at me questioningly. “I didn’t hear you. What’s that, Jerica?” He turned the saw off and leaned back on the flipped-down tailgate. “You’re leaving?”

  I shuffled my feet awkwardly as I slid my hands into my back pockets. I had my overnight bag tossed over my shoulder and apparently forgot to zip it up all the way because some of my underthings fell in the dirt beside me.

  Great, Jerica. Perfect timing.

  Well, no sense in being embarrassed by the sight of my underwear. It’s not like he hadn’t already seen me in and out of them. Still, my face flushed as I squatted down and stuffed the dusty items back in my bag.

  “Got to get back home. Need to put some laundry in and do a few other things,” I lied. “I’ll see you at Summerleigh, okay?”

  Jesse didn’t respond and didn’t try to stop me as I walked away and quickly wheeled out of his driveway. As I glanced in my side mirror, I could see his questioning look become one of steely determination. He shook his head, marked another board and made another cut with the saw. I gave him a halfhearted wave, not that he was even looking in my direction, and headed down the street feeling like a Class-A jerk. With a sigh, I turned onto Highway 98 and blazed a trail toward Hurlette Drive. Except for a few turns, it was basically a straight shot back; there was very little traffic and nothing but pastureland for scenery. At least it wasn’t a long drive and I wouldn’t have to think for too long about what an ass I was being. This was all wrong.

  Was I really mad at Jesse because he didn’t get down on one knee and propose? What was wrong with me?

  I turned down the drive and eased toward the house. Every time I drove up and cleared that last hedge, I caught my breath. Not because of the size of the house or the history it represented but because it was mine. Summerleigh was mine to care for and protect, and the responsibility of it all weighed on me.

  I didn’t bother pulling around back and parking at the cottage. This was where I was supposed to be, here at the big house. Mariana McIntyre wanted me to come here. She told me something important—why couldn’t I remember it? And why did it feel like a matter of life and death? I put the vehicle in park and slid out of the seat. I’d been in such a hurry to get here that I hadn’t even turned the air conditioner on, and I was sweating already.

  My eyes scanned the newly replaced windows, but there was nothing to see. No ghosts stared back at me as they had in the past. Had I imagined last night’s dream? Had I ginned up the urgency I felt to return to Summerleigh just to get out of an awkward conversation with Jesse? I hoped not. I walked up the front steps and slid the key in the door. There was no resistance, and as I stepped inside, no odd sounds. No ladies’ heels clunked on the wood above me, but for a fleeting moment I caught a whiff of that strange perfume.

  Then nothing.

  I walked around the bottom floor for a few minutes, still amazed at everything that had been accomplished in the past six months since Ben Hartley’s tragedy. And that’s what it had been, a horrible tragedy. There were no more burn marks, no evidence of a deadly conflagration. Everything was new and fresh. I waited, my ears pricked up for any noise. Anything at all.

  I whispered, “Harper? Are you here?” Of course, there was no answer. She was gone, at rest now. Right? As I put my foot on the stairs to go check the top floor, my phone rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I dug my phone out of my pocket and studied the screen. And that was the last name I expected to see.

  “Yes, this is Jerica,” I said coldly. Anytime I talked to Detective Michelle Easton, I always got bad news. Why would this call be any different?

  “Hi, Jerica. This is Detective Easton. I have an update I thought you should know about. It’s about your husband, Eddie. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Eddie is my ex-husband, Detective. What kind of update? Did you recover my stolen photos? Some of my property?”

  Of course this is a bad time. I never like hearing from you, lady.

  “Have you heard from Eddie at all, Jerica? Any calls from him? Have you noticed anything strange lately?”

  “No. He doesn’t have my phone number. Why are you asking me this?” My skin continued to crawl as the conversation dragged along. I felt an uneasiness growing in the pit of my stomach. I sat on the second step of the staircase and waited for the evasive detective to get to the true reason for her call. She went on and on about procedures and Miranda rights, and I wasn’t really sure what she was getting at. “Please bottom-line it for me, Michelle. Do me that kindness, please.”

  “He’s out, Jerica. Eddie is out. We don’t know where he is, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s looking for you.”

  “What do you mean, ‘He’s out’? Are you telling me that Eddie isn’t behind bars where you promised me he’d be? Remember that, Detective? You warned me that because he would be a three-time loser, he’d never get out. And I believed you. What the hell are you people doing?”

  Detective Easton’s voice was calm and reserved, but she couldn’t hide that she was concerned and embarrassed by his untimely release. “Nobody could have predicted that this would happen, Jerica. It’s just one of those weird things. A glitch in the system. I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner, but we’re looking for him now. And I expect we will apprehend him before he can make his way out of the state.”

  “Out of the state? And what do you mean it was a glitch? Somebody let him out on accident?”

  Easton sniffed on the other end, and her voice dropped like she was trying to be quiet. “Kind of like that. He made some accusations about his rights not being read properly—it was all bogus, but the judge had to hear his motion. For a poor guy, he has one heck of a swanky lawyer. Eddie was being processed for trial, and someone entered the wrong code. It’s as simple and stupid as that. That’s not the worst part.”

  I began to pace the Great Room wondering if I really wanted to know what the “worst part” could be. “And that is?”

  “He knows where you are, Jerica. He knows the address. It was on his paperwork. I’m really concerned for your well-being. I think it would be wise for you to go to the sheriff’s office there. What is that, George County? Go tell them about this situation. Give them my number so we can coordinate our efforts. I’m sure we�
�ll catch him soon.”

  I hung up the phone. She wasn’t sure of anything. She couldn’t be. She couldn’t protect me or keep Eddie away from me. He hated me, that much was true, and he’d never forgiven me for Marisol.

  I suddenly recalled Mariana’s words to me.

  You should run.

  Chapter Three—Mariana McIntyre

  I learned at an early age that my memory was quite superior to those of others. I could recall with near-perfect clarity the first song my governess ever sang to me. I remembered opening my first book; my chubby child’s fingers struggled with the pages. I recalled taking my first pony ride, and I remembered the many times my father’s soft whiskers brushed my cheek as he kissed me goodnight. Those memories I could easily summon, but the memory of my mother would forever elude me, and that filled me with a deep, gnawing sadness. Lillian Jane McIntyre, that was her name, lived to the age of eighteen and then died only six months after my birth. I felt a strange sense of guilt about her passing, although no one ever suggested that my arrival had anything to do with her death.

  No. I could not remember her. But my brother Jameson claimed that he did. Although he was only two years older than I, the difference might as well have been a decade or a century. Jameson would never willingly speak about her, except to say she liked to wear black and rarely smiled. How could I believe such things? Most everything my older brother said was a horrible lie. And it saddened me to no end to see that Jacob would follow in his footsteps so well. More like his shadow. His long, cold shadow. For most of Jacob’s life, I did my best to run interference between him and Jameson, to limit Jameson’s influence over Jacob, but I had failed in my efforts. Even though Jameson mocked him and treated him more like a servant than a brother, Jacob adored him.