by Tammy Turner
At sunset, she pulled off the interstate and found her way down familiar Edisto Island streets to Black Hall Trail. She turned off the radio and slowed the convertible to a steady crawl. Crickets serenaded her as she made her way along the lazy twists and turns, while above her head a canopy of live oaks swayed in the light breeze blowing off the ocean.
The wind whipping inland from the sea carried the scent of saltwater and marsh, and Alexandra fully took in the air and smiled. Not a single car shared the road with the Mercedes as she slowed further to watch the sun set over the ocean, which was peeking from behind the trees.
She saw ahead in the twilight, on the right, a massive, ancient oak with a gaping, hollow hole. This hole scarred the center of the thick trunk. She knew that Black Hall Trail bent around the tree, and that Peyton Manor would be sitting on the other side.
As Alexandra approached the mighty, gaping oak, a single headlight suddenly loomed in the rearview mirror. It raced up fast behind the convertible and shot past Alexandra. She saw only a sleek, dark motorcycle and helmeted rider before it disappeared around the bend in the road just ahead. By the time she had passed the oak, only moments later, the motorcycle had disappeared into the night.
Alexandra squinted to see better in the darkness. A lightning bug flashed up against her eye. As she swatted it away, she decided to hunt for the Mercedes’s high beams. Her fingers fumbled over the knobs and switches along the steering wheel. She turned on the brights. As the headlights flashed brighter on the road in front of the car, what she saw made her slam on the brakes and scream.
“Get out of the way!” she cried. The seat belt caught her body from flying into the steering wheel.
Taylor jolted awake as her body rose upright in the passenger seat. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” she shouted to her friend.
Alexandra’s heart pounded in her chest and her fingers dug into the steering wheel. “I saw something!” she gasped, trembling, and threw the car into park.
Taylor whipped the seat belt off her chest and threw open the door. Walking to the front of the car, she stood in the headlights and stared at the hood.
“What’s wrong?” Alexandra asked.
“Come here,” she told her. “You’ve got to see this.”
Alexandra’s fingers shook as she unlocked her seat belt and eased her door open. Walking around the front of the car, she braced herself for the sight of a mangled dog or deer; but nothing dead lay on the road. Instead, she merely saw Taylor standing there, grasping at the hood of the car.
“What did this to my car?” Taylor asked, incredulous. With her fingertips, she traced a set of deeply grooved scratches across the paint.
The Mercedes’s engine purred in the darkness as Alexandra suspiciously scanned the tree line along the road. “Get back in the car,” she suddenly told Taylor and quickly pushed her toward the passenger seat. “We’re almost there, and if whatever did it comes back, I don’t want to be here.”
Pouting, Taylor slumped into the seat and fumed as the convertible sprinted the next hundred yards toward Peyton Manor. Turning off the asphalt, the Mercedes’s tires crunched on gravel as Alexandra pulled up onto the driveway and rolled to an iron gate. Her fingers found the intercom button on a side post. “Hello! Is anyone home?” she asked, still a bit breathless from their experience, and waited. In front of her, the gate slowly creaked open.
“Well, welcome to Peyton Manor,” she sarcastically told Taylor. She drove forward up the winding, gravel-and dirt-packed driveway toward the hundred-year-old brick home at the tip of her grandmother’s ten-acre estate. The Atlantic Ocean swelled up on the eastern border of the property, and a forest of magnolia trees and towering oak trees sprawled to the west.
She began to feel calm again. On seeing the house where her father had grown up, Alexandra felt his absence deeply. Her dad had told her that while he was growing up there, he had dug holes in the sandy earth all over the property, hoping to find bones, or buttons, or coins. He said that it thus came as no surprise to his parents when he announced that he wanted to be an archaeologist. After high school, he had accepted a scholarship to New York University. By twenty-five, he had a PhD and no aspirations to take over the family trading company. Luckily, his father, Thomas Peyton, did not need him. Wise investments in gold and stock had left the family secure. Alexandra had relished hearing her father’s stories of teaching archaeology at Oxford in England, where he spent weekends peering through the peat bogs of Wales for old bones. He told her that when he touched the bones, they spoke to him. He explained that he could see the life worn upon them, and the death that took them to their graves.
3
The Gift
At dawn, the bright morning sun shining through the window by Alexandra’s bed roused her early. She had not slept well. Instead, she had tossed and turned, struggling to recall what she had seen in front of the car’s headlights on Black Hall Trail. Yawning, she rose from the comfy blankets and walked to the window to watch the sun rise over the gently rolling ocean waves.
She grabbed a robe that her grandmother had left for her at the end of the bed and threw it over her nightgown. Cracking open the bedroom door, Alexandra heard the whistle of a teapot coming from downstairs. The smell of bacon and biscuits lured her toward the kitchen.
She tried to walk down quietly, but the wooden steps of the winding staircase to the first floor creaked beneath her feet. Hearing voices from the back of the house, she suddenly realized that even at that early hour, everyone was already awake. She pushed open the kitchen door and greedily sucked in the savory aroma of breakfast.
“Miss Alex!” cheerily announced a round, white-haired man who was stirring a pot on the top of the stove. “Good morning, my dear.”
“Good morning, Patrick,” said Alexandra happily, moving to the man’s side for a hug.
“Look at you,” he said. “You’re just in time for biscuits and bacon. The eggs and grits will be out shortly, and I better see you eat so much you burst.”
“Smells fabulous,” Alexandra enthused.
“Alexandra? Is that you?” Granny June’s voice sang through an open door on the other side of the kitchen.
“Miss June is on the porch with your friend,” Patrick advised her. “You go on out there,” he said, handing her a big glass of orange juice.
Alexandra stepped out on the wide, open porch that wrapped around the house and overlooked the ocean. Sipping coffee together on the porch, Granny June and Taylor had been giggling and chatting as they waited for Alexandra to join them outside.
“Good morning,” Alexandra greeted them as she sat down beside her grandmother.
“It’s about time,” admonished Taylor, who was nibbling on a piece of bacon. “We thought you were going to sleep the whole day away.”
“It is okay, Alexandra,” Granny June laughed. “You do whatever you want. I’m just so glad you are here.” She beamed, contented, at her granddaughter.
Alexandra glanced out over the water and breathed deeply. “So what are you two talking about?” she asked, turning her eyes back toward Taylor. “I haven’t seen you laugh like that for a while, Granny.”
“I was telling her about my trip to Italy and Antonio,” Taylor explained.
“And I was telling Taylor about the short time I spent as an army nurse in London after the Second World War,” offered Granny June, sharing a knowing smile with Taylor. “That’s where I met your grandfather,” she clarified for Alexandra with a twinkle in her green eyes.
A breeze whipped across the beach and blew across the breakfast table. Hugging her robe tighter to her body, Alexandra asked, “Can I use the phone, Granny June? I haven’t called Mom yet. She must be absolutely frantic by now.”
Granny June set down her coffee cup and placed her hand gently on top of Alexandra’s palm as it sat in her lap. “I called her last night, dear. You hadn’t been putting your bag away in your room but five minutes before I heard you snoring through the door.”<
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“Thanks,” said Alexandra smiling.
Patrick approached with trays laden with bacon, eggs, and biscuits. Placing a heaping plate of breakfast in front of Alexandra, he said, “Eat up, young lady, or you are going to hurt my feelings.”
“Yummy,” said Taylor as she reached for another piece of bacon. “I might have to steal you and take you back to Atlanta with me, Patrick,” she said, winking.
“I don’t think Miss June would give me up without a fight,” he laughed, walking back toward the kitchen door.
“What time is it, anyway?” asked Taylor.
Granny June glanced at her watch. “Almost eight,” she told Taylor.
“Excuse me, ladies,” said Taylor, dropping her bacon and standing up abruptly. “It is after noon in Rome right now. I’m going to call Antonio and try out the Italian I learned from that CD yesterday in the car,” she said, pushing her chair to the table and scurrying away through the kitchen door.
“Her parents don’t get much sleep at night, do they?” Granny June asked, watching Taylor scamper away over the porch’s wooden beams.
“Every time I see her dad, his hair is grayer than the last time,” chuckled Alexandra. “Her stepmother doesn’t seem to notice her much, but Taylor seems to like it that way. I know she seems self-absorbed, but somehow she’s always finds time to look out for me, too.”
“So tell me about you, Miss Alex,” her grandmother asked. “How has my smart, beautiful granddaughter been doing? You don’t call me enough,” she said, pouting.
“I’m good, Granny,” Alexandra began, hiding her face behind her glass of orange juice, the burden of her own great expectations weighing heavy on her shoulders. “To tell you the truth, my schedule at Collinsworth is going to be brutal this year, so I’m a little nervous. I have college admissions tests next month, and my desk at home is already overflowing with college applications.” Alexandra sighed and picked at the eggs on her plate with her fork.
“And you miss your dad?” asked her grandmother. Alexandra nodded her head yes. “You’re made of tough stuff, young lady. You’re a Peyton, after all. Leave the worrying about your father to me. He’ll come home one day; I feel it in these old bones.” Granny June smiled at Alexandra and shook her shoulders side to side.
“Did Taylor tell you about her car?” Alexandra asked, wanting to change the subject away from the topic of her father. “I guess I really conked out last night as soon as we came into the house. I don’t remember anything except walking to my room after we got here.”
“She did!” said Granny June sharply. “You should be careful in the dark around here, Alex. Your grandfather Thomas was always reminding me about that.”
Alexandra gulped her orange juice and stared wide-eyed at her grandmother, startled at how seriously her grandmother took the mysterious incident. “Sorry,” she apologized. Then she went back to her eggs.
Granny June glanced over the headlines in the morning paper. “Did you get enough to eat, dear?” she asked, noticing Alexandra pushing away her plate.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said as Patrick started to clear the table. “You’re the best, Patrick.”
“Dixie would love the rest of this bacon,” he said noticing Alexandra had not finished eating everything on her plate. “What do you think, Miss June? Does she deserve a treat in her food bowl this morning?”
“Yes, but not too much, Patrick,” Granny June chuckled. “She’s starting to get a little wide in the hips.”
“I haven’t seen her yet today,” said Patrick as he turned back toward the kitchen and dropped a slice of bacon into the dog’s dish. “She must be up to some type of mischief bright and early this morning. This will bring her around, though.”
A porch swing near the table swayed lightly in the calm morning sea breeze, and Alexandra excused herself to have a seat on the swing. In front of her, a lush, green lawn spread across the back of the house until finally a low, wooden fence butted up against the sandy shore. Gently rocking herself back and forth, she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the waves. This peace did not last for long, however, because she suddenly heard Granny June’s excited voice right in front of her, and she opened up her eyes.
“Alex, I have to show you something,” Granny June said. “It’s a wonderful surprise. I didn’t want to tell you about it until you arrived, but I can’t wait a second longer to show you. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Alexandra smiled politely and then calmly closed her eyes again while her grandmother disappeared inside the house.
In the wood-paneled library next to the kitchen, June unlocked a bottom-desk drawer and pulled out a brown, craft-paper-wrapped package hidden beneath old income tax paperwork. Closing her eyes, she cradled the box to her chest. It brought a spasm that shook her body so strongly that it made her sit down in a chair.
“Alex,” she whispered to herself, as if envisioning the future and fearing for her granddaughter’s safety. Slumped backward in her chair, June held her eyes closed, stricken with anguish over what might come to pass. “Help her,” June whispered softly. The old woman’s grip on the wrapped box loosened and the package fell to the wooden floor. As it crashed against the polished pine planks, her eyes popped open and she stared hard at the package, as if it personified an unalterable destiny. She stooped to the floor, retrieved the package, and cradled the box once more in her arms. Then she rose and went back out to the porch.
Waiting patiently on the swing outside, Alexandra watched a flock of seagulls gather on the lawn as her grandmother approached with her hands behind her back.
“Close your eyes,” she told Alexandra, and the girl obeyed. Alexandra felt the slightest pressure as her grandmother placed the wrapped box in her lap.
“Open it,” Granny June said.
“What is this? How could this be?” Alexandra gasped, confused as she stared at the gift that was placed in her lap, a package clearly from her father.
“Your father addressed it to you, but he chose to mail here,” Granny June said, watching Alexandra examine the brown-paper wrapping.
Hold on hope, Alexandra thought; but still, she was hesitant to look inside.
“Go on, Alex,” her grandmother urged. “Pick it up. It looks like it’s been all over the world,” she marveled.
“Look,” Alexandra said and pointed to the ink stamps of post offices in Russia and Egypt scattered across the wrapping. “It’s been to Moscow, Cairo, and everywhere in between.”
Misplaced for so long, she winced, just like Dad.
“Are you ever going to open it?” Granny June asked, bursting to know what could be waiting inside the package from her son.
Careful not to tear the wrapping, Alexandra gently took off the paper and pulled out a thin, white, cardboard box. Her heart raced as she held it tightly, her hands trembling. Sitting next to her on the swing, Granny June wrapped her arm around Alexandra’s shoulders. “Let’s see what it is, Alex,” she told her gently.
Her fingers fumbled to open the top of the box. Pulling it open, she peeked inside. She saw a folded piece of paper. As she lifted the paper, a necklace fell from the folds into her lap. She picked this necklace up and held it while she examined the paper. It was, indeed, a letter from her father! A bronze medallion, hooked to a simple leather strap, dangled in her fingers as she read the note aloud.
Dear Alex,
I found this today on a walk through the forest outside the village. It was lying on the bank of a river, as if it had washed ashore just for me to find. For some reason, it made me think of you. Maybe tomorrow I shall find another treasure for you, because I plan to explore more of the woods in my free time (though there is little of that!).
The excavation is well u nderway now at the castle ruins, and we are finding artifacts at every turn. Though I must admit that my colleagues seem to be keeping a secret from me—some of the items have started to turn up missing.
Anyhow, I won’t bore you further
, Alex. When you wear the necklace, think of your old dad.
Love you, kid. See you soon.
Love,
Dad
Alexandra read the note three times before folding the paper and placing it in the pocket of her robe. Raising the leather strap up to her eyes, she examined the metal medallion in the sunlight. In the light, she discovered a figure etched into the smooth bronze: a man’s head, spewing fire, sitting atop a dragon’s body.
“May I see?” asked Granny June. She moved closer to admire the necklace. When Alexandra handed it to her, Granny June whispered, “This is certainly a treasure.”
Grasping the medallion tightly in her fingers, Granny June closed her eyes as if to see a vision more clearly, and her body shivered.
“Granny, Granny,” Alexandra repeated, her voice growing louder as she lightly shook her grandmother’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Granny June roused back to consciousness. “Alex,” she stammered. Her eyes rolled in her head.
“I’m going to get Patrick,” Alexandra said and started to run off.
“No,” Granny June pleaded as she straightened her back and glanced around the porch. “I’m fine,” she said, stroking her granddaughter’s auburn hair.
“You looked as if you had fainted,” Alexandra anxiously told her. “You whispered something; you used the words time-walker, I think.”
“That’s silly,” Granny June said. “What does that mean?” But Alexandra suspected that her grandmother was not telling her everything she knew. “Hold your hair back, Alex,” Granny June told her. “I’ll put it around your neck for you.”
Alexandra pulled her long hair out of the way for her grandmother to tie the leather strap around her neck.
“I see your birthmark isn’t fading any this summer,” said Granny June, her eyes puzzling at the dark mark that resembled a pair of wide-open eyes on the back of her granddaughter’s neck.