Haunting Refrain

by Mary Marvella

  “I grabbed it and fixed your coffee.”

  “I love your mama,” Eloise said. “Doesn’t anything bother her?”

  “Not much,” Sarah answered. She grinned at her mother. “Eloise asked if anything bothers you.”

  Her mom laughed. “I’d have been very upset if I hadn’t known about our resident spirits. It takes some adjustin’.”

  “Tell me about it,” Sarah muttered.

  “Want some breakfast?”

  “Sure, thanks, Mama.”

  “See you in the kitchen,” Eloise called as she grabbed Mattie by the arm and floated out.

  “Mama?” Sarah sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Are you and Daddy really okay with all this ghost stuff? You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Mama smoothed Sarah’s hair behind her ears. “Daddy and I can’t see your ghosts but we’ve seen evidence something strange is happening.” She took the empty coffee cup. “He and I’ve seen you and William when you have those episodes or memories or whatever they are.”

  “Eloise is right, you’re both so cool.” Sarah stood and hugged her mom.

  “It’s nothin’. We’ve both seen a lot and we learned to stay calm over the years. Your daddy has to stay calm in his job, and with a child, it helps in emergencies.”

  “Guess we’d better hurry before the ladies eat all the food.” Sarah laughed.

  “Now that I’d like to see. I’d be willing to cook more if ghosts can eat real food.”

  When she entered the kitchen she was relieved to see no new company. William hadn’t come over yet, as he’d promised. She wasn’t awake enough to face him yet. Yesterday had been stranger than usual and that was saying a lot. They had actually danced together in her attic after making up, making love, and arguing.

  Eloise and Mattie hadn’t eaten the bacon. They sat at the table, with coffee cups, as though they did it every day.

  “You’re not drinkin’ that stuff, are you?”

  “Of course not, but it smells so good.”

  Sarah grabbed the bacon platter and poured fresh coffee for her mother and herself. She grabbed cream and the juice pitcher from the refrigerator. She paused when she noticed the flowers on the table. “Ma, I didn’t see those flowers last night.”

  Mattie frowned and shook her head. “Peter Jackson brought them this morning.”

  Her mom laughed as she poured juice into tall glasses. “Peter dropped them off for me this morning.” She sat. “And a lovely pie, too. Looks like I have an admirer.”

  “He came by this morning?”

  “Yes, on his way to work. He said he’d call you later.”

  “Huh, why?” Oh, yeah. The mystery treasure and the feud.

  “Didn’t say.”

  Mattie looked ready to crunch on the cup. “Phony meddler. What would Walter think?”

  William – Walter? Neither would approve. “William hadn’t been by this morning, has he?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Oh, just wondered.”

  She really wanted to go back to the plantation. She could make William go with her this time and they’d check out the house. “Think I’ll shower, then go see William.”

  Sarah rose and carted the dishes to the sink to rinse.

  “Go ahead and I’ll clear the dishes.”

  “No, ma’am. You cooked, I’ll wash up.”

  She and her mom had the kitchen cleared in five minutes. Then Sarah went to shower.

  ##

  Peter washed up in the employees’ lounge. He grabbed a clean shirt from his gym bag. Chasing tennis balls around a court made him as sweaty and as a real tennis game would. Mr. Avery should be here any minute.

  Peter arrived in the lobby in time to see Mr. Avery, cell phone at his ear, barrel in as if he owned the place. Two oversized, no-neck men flanked him. Does he need bodyguards here?

  The Avery snapped the phone shut, handed it to one of his no-necks, motioning for Peter to follow him to the bar. Inside the cool, dark wood paneled interior, they found a corner table.

  “Sit,” Avery grunted.

  Peter did, but not before a bodyguard pulled out a chair and seated his boss facing the room, like a western movie gun fighter. He huffed as though he’d run a mile.

  The other bodyguard placed a whiskey in front of Avery and a Perrier in front of Peter. Well trained.

  Peter was as well trained and poured his designer water into a glass, waiting for the other man to take the first drink. The water was chilled and refreshing.

  Finally Mr. Avery called the meeting to order. “How’s the situation with the woman who’s gonna make you a rich man?”

  That had come out of leftfield. “Doin’ fine, why?”

  “Just wondering.” He sipped his whiskey, looking at Peter over the short glass.

  “How was your trip?”

  “The weather stunk, Roxie was in a strange mood, and my wife kept calling.”

  “Oh, “Peter said. “sorry you didn’t enjoy the getaway.”

  “You know, Mrs. Avery acts like she suspects I got a woman on the side. Can’t have her learning about Roxie. I’ll have to get a new secretary if she does.”

  “And you’d hate to loose Roxie?”

  “Hell, yes. Rox is the best secretary I’ve ever had. She’s great with computers, types like a whiz, adds figures in her head, she remembers all the things I forget, like my wife’s birthday, where I put things, and what I need to do.”

  “I’ll bet she’s a big help.”

  As Mr. A. drained his drink, another appeared within reach. “She’s the best damned secretary I ever had. Does anyone call her at the house?”

  “No, sir. Your men drop her off and we have dinner, then she goes to her room.”

  “Hmmm, maybe she’s got family problems. Hell, I’ll have to check her file at the office.”

  “Sir, what did you need from me today?”

  Mr. Avery stood and his minions moved closer. “Thought you might want to know if I have to give up Roxie, your credits will stop building.” He drained his second drink. “Just a warning you need to hurry that woman you planned to marry for money.”

  Peter gulped the last of his water as Avery's crew left.

  He’d remind her Sarah had suggested they work together to learn if there had ever been a treasure for his family to covet. Well, his problem had escalated. Oh, yes. His feelings for Roxie had grown to a confusing level. As much as he wanted to take her away from her job and the slob who owned her, he couldn’t afford to think about her. He still needed a way to pay off Mr. Avery. How? He’d better think fast. The big man had sent the two stooges for him again. Sarah still represented his ticket out. He’d spent his spare time surfing the Internet for information on the families’ plantations. He’d learned two surprising things. Both properties were available for purchase from the county. The Jackson family acreage had been surrendered for taxes owed a century ago. Why hadn’t someone bought the land, or at least part of it?

  ##

  William paced as he waited for an important call from his lawyer. In days he’d own the family plantation and give it to Sarah. Now that he had faced the past and the reality that he and Sarah were fated to be together he was ready to set things in motion. He’d shopped all morning for the perfect ring but hadn’t found what he wanted.

  He needed an heirloom. Years ago he had gone through his father’s safe and his safety deposit boxes but had left most of the stuff in them as undisturbed. His mother had worn little jewelry and he didn’t remember grandparents.

  Somewhere he had hidden the combination to his father’s safe. His safe, he just hadn’t used it. Yeah, under the desk drawer. Taped to the bottom. He found the paper his father had taped there long ago and memorized the numbers.

  William reached for the knob of the door to his mother’s room, the room where she had sequestered herself for as long as he could remember. Within months of her husband’s death she had committed suicide. Will
iam had avoided his father’s room and this room as much as possible. No room in this house ever represented happiness until Sarah had helped him open the place to life.

  Much of the furniture had remained, but it no longer resembled the dark cluttered room of a hermit. Sarah had supervised a cleaning crew and packed away personal things but his mother’s sadness remained, chilling in the atmosphere. Sarah hadn’t packed away years of his mother’s journals but he hadn’t been able to read them. Maybe now he’d find the courage to try to understand his parents’ pain, if they made any sense.

  Even replacing the dark, heavy drapes with light curtains and pastel sheers hadn’t lifted the mood.

  Moving the scenic painting behind the feminine white bed, he exposed a wall safe. With a series of twirls he opened the combination lock. He pulled out felt jewelry cases and velvet pouches. He’d been in shock when he’d opened the safe his father’s death. His mother had been so distraught he’d hurried through the neatly labeled envelops that looked important, ignoring everything else. He hadn’t looked for family valuables.

  Now he was ready to open the boxes. He could call Sarah. She’d made it easier.

  “William, where are you?”

  He smiled, dropping the treasures on the ruffled, peach bedspread. Sarah would bring warmth to the room. ”Who’s roaming uninvited in my house?”

  “I’ll never tell.” Her voice sounded closer. “You really ought to lock your doors. You never know who might wander in off the streets.”

  She stuck her head in the door, looking bright as sunshine in a pink sundress. Her smile alone chased away his gloomy mood.

  “Whatcha doin?” She sauntered toward him.

  He sat on the bed.

  “Waiting for you to help me face some ghosts of my own. What took you so long.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sarah always brought a whirlwind of energy with her.

  “I was getting ready to call you.”

  Her grin made his insides squish. Had he really thought that? Weird and par for the course for the last weeks.

  She frowned at him and the clutter around him. “I didn’t expect to find you in here.” She glanced around the room with its floral pastels on the wall, then back at him sitting on his mother’s feminine bed.

  “I needed to grow up and face my own ghosts. Don’t you think it’s about time?” He reached for Sarah’s hand and pulled her close. When their knees touched he leaned into her, burying his face against her firm breasts, loving the feel of her, inhaling her fresh herbal scent. He circled her waist and held her close, matching his breathing to the rhythm her heartbeat.

  He’d stay here all day, if he could. But he couldn’t. She stroked his hair, as he wanted to stroke her body. And therein lay the problem. As much as he wanted to make love to her, he needed to face his monsters like a man now.

  “Princess,” he said against her.

  “What?” She leaned back to look down at him.

  “Help me go through these boxes from my folks’ safe?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sit with me?” He patted the bed beside him.

  She sat, then studied him. “What do you want me to do? List the contents of the boxes?”

  He hadn’t thought about that. “Yeah, that would be good. Let me go get a pad.” He started to rise but her hand on his arm stopped him.

  She stretched over him to reach the nightstand. He coughed when she brought out a stationary tablet and a pink plumed pen. He swallowed hard. The scent of roses and gardenias drifted from the drawer. His mother’s scents.

  “I found these when mom and I sorted some of your mother’s things to box up for you, so I put these here.”

  He reached for the pink pad and pen. Tracing the outline of roses and gardenias on the cover, he remembered so many things. He and Sarah’s mom had shopped for his mother’s birthday present. Emotion formed a lump in his throat.

  He’d been six and his father had been too busy to take him shopping. He’d still tried to please his parents with special presents then. He’d thought he could win their love.

  Mrs. Overby had found him pouting in her porch glider. She’d sat beside him and teased the reason for his moodiness from him.

  “So, William,” she had used her funny kid voice that usually made him smile. “why so glum on this fine warm spring day?”

  “My mother’s birthday,” he’d muttered and shrugged. He remembered how warm he’d felt when the sweet neighbor had put her arm around him.

  “And that make’s you sad?” she’d asked.

  “No one has time to take me to the store to get her a present.” He patted his pocket. “I got money.”

  “What if I take you? Would that be okay?”

  He’d wanted to hug her. Instead he'd grinned. “Can we go today?” He hadn’t wanted her to have time to change her mind.

  She’d laughed at him and stood. “Go ask someone at your house if it will be all right. I’ll go inside and get my purse and car keys.”

  He’d returned before she could get to her car and open a door. “She said yes,” he’d said on a rush.

  “She?”

  “Yeah, the housekeeper said yes, just be back in time for supper so my father won’t be mad.”

  The ride to town was short, but he pretended Mrs. Overby was his very own mama for the whole trip. They looked in a good-smelling gift shop. He held her hand as they walked down aisle after aisle. He had no idea what to give his mother until he saw the letter writing stuff.

  There had been boxes and boxes of stationary of all types, but he’d been drawn to the roses and gardenias on the cover of the tablets, like the one Sarah held. He and his helper had selected pads of several sizes, a box of stationary sheets with the same design, and matching envelopes. They’d reminded him of his quiet, pretty mother.

  He coughed and cleared his throat of the emotion. “I can’t believe she kept that for so many years.” She’d used the stationary, he knew, because he’d seen her handwriting on neatly addressed envelopes on the mail table over the years. She’d hidden in her room but she had written many letters to people he didn’t know. Who were those people with whom she had shared more of herself than she had with her son?

  Sarah looked like a woman about to weep with him. “The pad was the only thing left with that design.” She said. “There was plenty of expensive-looking, engraved, cream stationary left in the boxes on the writing table.”

  William knew his grin was shaky. “Father wasn’t impressed with my gift, but Mama, I mean Mom, said it was a wonderful present. That was the last time he remembered seeing her look happy with him.

  Ah, Mother. At least there had been that one time. He never remembered seeing his father look happy about anything.

  Could he make peace with the people who had withheld warmth from a child? Would it help if he could learn why they had been so unhappy? There were dozens of volumes of diaries in this room for a start. Could he read them after all these years? Should he? Would it matter if he never learned what had made his parents so sad for as long as he could remember?

  Sarah kissed his cheek, then settled to help him.

  Back to the matter at hand. He opened the largest red felt box and looked up when Sarah gasped. A necklace worth a king’s ransom sparkled in the daylight. A stand of diamonds and sapphires that had matched mother’s eyes? He had never seen her wear anything like this. Dangling earrings and a bracelet completed the set.

  “My God, I had no idea.” Had this jewelry belonged his mother, or were these pieces family heirlooms?

  Sarah’s hand trembled as she wrote. “I hope are those insured.”

  William struggled to get past the shock of such riches hidden from him, as well as the world. ”I don’t remember seeing an insurance policy for jewelry.”

  “Did you keep your father’s safety deposit box? Maybe there was one in there.”

  “I’ll check with my lawyer. I handed all Father’s papers over to the guardians he appointe
d in his will. There was a fund to pay for Mother’s care, if she had needed it.”

  The long, heavy sigh calmed him. “Let’s see what’s in the other boxes.”

  Box two, black felt bearing a silver crown emblem, contained a double strand necklace of matching warm toned pearls and a bracelet. Only one earring hid among the other jewels. Had the other one been lost or stolen? There must be a story there.

  The air in the room seemed to chill. Sadness shimmered in the air, like a cloud. William could barely breathe as he opened another box and found rings. Sarah’s voice seemed miles away as he considered the wealth his father had hidden, jewelry fit for a queen but unworn because the lady in the castle had been afraid to face the world. Had his mother ever worn these jewels for his father? Had she worn them in this room, alone?

  “William?” Sarah shook him. “Say something.”

  “What?”

  “Who am I?”

  “Sarah, you’re Sarah.”

  “Not having a Walter moment, then.”

  “No.”

  “Look at this,” she handed him a ring made of two entwined gold bands. It looked battered, as though someone had tried to destroy it. “Read the inscription inside. I forgot my glasses.”

  He pulled his from his pocket. “Eternal,” he read. “My mother’s name's here, but the man’s name isn’t my father’s.”