Hideaway

by Fern Michaels

  “Nothing Toots undertakes is half-assed. Look at the Canine Café. She has people and their pets lined up at the door daily, according to Phil. She has the magic touch. And, more important, she’s good people, too,” Goebel added.

  Goebel’s total acceptance of her old friends and all their foibles meant a lot to Sophie because Toots was family. Ida and Mavis, too. All of them were lucky to have found men who were totally accepting of the entire group of women and, now, the other guys.

  And, of course, Abby, the link that had kept them together all these years. Seeking to calm herself with happy memories, Sophie recalled the first time she had met Toots.

  Chapter Three

  September 1955

  New Jersey

  Teresa Loudenberry hated the navy wool skirt and vest she was forced to wear. Hated the heavily starched white blouse, and what was even worse, the stupid white anklets and saddle shoes that made up the uniform for her first day of seventh grade at Bishop Verot Catholic School, her first day of junior high. She’d dreaded the day all summer.

  Right now she totally despised her parents for insisting that she attend this stupid school. She didn’t know a single person there since she’d spent her first six years in public school. Her father had insisted this was best for her, telling her he wanted to protect her from being influenced by the hooligans she’d hung with for most of her life. She didn’t get it. Teresa had hung around with the same group since third grade, and all of a sudden her father was referring to them as hooligans. And all because the guys had the beginnings of peach fuzz that they called mustaches, and slicked their hair back using Brylcreem. Her parents were so square, it was embarrassing. Of course, she would never voice those thoughts because doing so would ensure she’d be grounded for a month. For a year. Until she was older than her grandmother.

  “Teresa, hurry up. You don’t want to miss breakfast on your first day of school,” her mother called from the kitchen.

  Oh yes I do, she thought as she eyed herself in the mirror one last time. “Coming, Mother,” she dutifully replied, knowing that saying what she thought would certainly land her in hot water. She’d grown two inches over the summer, which made her taller than most of the boys her age. Her legs were way too long, and when you added in her red hair, she was sure to be doomed before she set foot in the sacred halls of Bishop Verot Catholic School. On the bright side, so far anyway, it was coed. At least her father hadn’t insisted she attend Our Sacred Angels of Mercy, an all-girls school. At least she’d be around boys.

  “Teresa!” her mother called again.

  “Sorry, Mom,” she answered. She grabbed her book satchel, then hurried to the kitchen.

  As usual, her mother and father were sitting at the table, her mother sipping a small glass of orange juice and her father reading the morning paper and downing cups of coffee as fast as her mother could pour them. Teresa liked coffee, even though her parents didn’t allow her to drink it. She’d spent a few nickels at the fountain down at Woolworth’s sampling the stuff.

  Taking his eyes away from his paper, her father said, “You look very . . . academic.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes but managed to refrain from doing so. “Thanks, Dad,” was all she could come up with.

  “I love your hair when it’s curled. Aren’t you glad we took the time to curl your hair last night?” Mrs. Loudenberry asked as she got up and pulled a chair out for her daughter.

  “Yes, Mother. I love it. I can’t wait to do it again.” This time, however, she did roll her eyes. “I hate it, if you really want the truth.” There, she thought as she saw the look of horror on her mother’s face.

  “Why, Teresa Amelia Loudenberry, I should wash your mouth out with Lava soap. We do not say hate in this household.”

  She refrained from rolling her eyes again. “Sorry, Mom. I’d just rather go . . . natural. I don’t want to do this every night. My scalp hurts.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I must have tied the rags too tight. Now”—her mother’s perkiness instantly returned—“what will you have to drink this morning?”

  Teresa figured it wouldn’t hurt to say what she really wanted, so she replied, “Coffee. Lots of sugar and cream.”

  Her father lowered his paper and peered over the top to glance at her. “Since when did you start drinking coffee?”

  Knowing she was caught and not wanting to start the day off with any more lies than she had to, she said, “I tried it at Woolworth’s. Once,” she added, crossing her fingers under the kitchen table.

  Her father grinned, then went back to reading his paper. “Ella, pour Teresa a cup of coffee if she wants it. Today is a special day for her.”

  “Sam! Surely you’re not serious? Why, I read in Ladies’ Home Journal that coffee stunts a child’s growth!”

  Teresa didn’t have to see her father’s face to know he was laughing when he spoke. “Go on, give her a cup. I’m guessing a bit of growth stunting doesn’t matter much to her. Right, Toots?”

  She hated it when her father called her Toots, though since he was just teasing, and he had said she could have coffee, she bit her tongue. “Right, Pops.” She’d gotten her height from her father, who at six-foot-four and 190 pounds cut quite the figure. God help her if she ever grew that tall. At twelve, she already stood a bit over five-seven. If coffee was supposed to stunt growth, it hadn’t worked for her.

  “Well, I suppose one cup won’t hurt her as long as she uses plenty of milk and sugar.” Her mother removed a cup and saucer from the cabinet and poured from the new percolator she’d recently purchased from the S&H Green Stamps catalogue.

  “Thank you, Mom. I do like lots of sugar and milk.”

  Her mother filled the cup with a few tablespoons of coffee, then added milk and several spoons of sugar. Teresa took a sip, her eyes lighting up. “This is much better than the stuff they serve at Woolworth’s.” Quickly, she gulped down the rest of her coffee before her parents caught on to what she’d said. “I really have to go now. I . . . don’t want to be late on my first day of seventh grade.” Actually, she did, but she didn’t want to hang around in the kitchen either.

  “You haven’t eaten one bite, Teresa. You can’t go to school hungry. What if your stomach growls? You’ll have the nuns thinking we don’t feed you enough.”

  Her mother’s goal in life was to feed her as much as she could. She did have a point, though. “I’ll just take this toast.” She grabbed a piece of toast from the plate in the center of the table. “I can eat on my way to school.”

  Her father shook the paper twice, then folded it exactly as he’d found it, laying it next to his plate. “I can drive you if you want,” he said.

  “No! I mean . . . I think there are a few girls who are meeting around the corner. We’re, uh, going to walk together.”

  “That’s wonderful, don’t you think, Sam? Already our sweet Teresa is making new friends.”

  Yeah, she thought to herself, and wondered just exactly how many Hail Marys she’d have to say to receive forgiveness. At the rate she was telling lies, she’d have to spend the entire year in the confessional.

  Sophia De Luca removed a cigarette from the cup of her bra and placed it between her lips. She could only imagine how horrified her mom would be if she saw her with a weed dangling out of her mouth as she walked down Conway Street. She giggled as she lit up. She’d been sneaking her dad’s Camels since she was ten, and her mother had yet to find out.

  She’d prayed all night this day would never come, but despite her best efforts, it had, and here she was with dark circles beneath her eyes, and as usual she was running late. She didn’t care, really, but she knew the prissy old nuns would chew her out in front of everyone if she came to class with a tardy slip in hand—not that she really cared, but it was the first day of school. Junior high, no less.

  She’d begged her mom not to send her back to Bishop Verot. She’d spent every stinking day of her life, well almost, in that dirty dump of a school. She’d
argued again and again with her parents, telling them it was time they allowed her to make her own decisions where her education was concerned, but, of course, they refused to listen to her, saying she was only twelve, a very mature twelve, her mother had added with a smile. But whatever Sophia thought, they had said that until she was of legal age or married and out of the house, they would continue to make all decisions for her. And then her father had threatened to whip her good if she brought the topic up again. Knowing that he meant every word he said, she’d swallowed the comeback and accepted Bishop Verot as her fate.

  “Screw ’em,” she said loudly as she walked down Conway Street. Sophia had been making this trek since third grade, when she was finally allowed to walk to school with the other kids on the block.

  “Hey, De Suck Face,” Billy Watson called out to her as she walked past his apartment complex.

  “Hey yourself, shit eater,” Sophia tossed back. It was a well-known fact among all the students at Bishop Verot that Billy Watson ate a pile of dog shit in fifth grade, all on a dare that the jerk didn’t have enough sense to know wasn’t really a dare at all.

  “Ah, go suck yourself,” he yelled back.

  Sophia stopped and waited for Billy Watson to catch up with her. They’d been classmates since before conception, according to her mother. Her mom often told the story of how she met Mrs. Watson the day they both found out they were expecting. Sophia hated the story and wished her mother would get a case of amnesia where her beginnings were concerned, but that wish hadn’t come true either. None of her wishes ever did.

  Surely she could make one wish come true today. She wished that Billy Watson would scream like a girl. When he was less than three feet behind her she decided to do something about it and tossed her cigarette butt at him, hitting him squarely in the face. He wiped at his face as though he were being attacked by a swarm of bees. “You tramp! You just wait! I’m gonna tell on you for smoking,” he screamed at her as she raced ahead of him, laughing until it made her side hurt. Sophia didn’t stop running until she reached the yard of the school where she was destined to spend the next six years of her life, starting today. The thought made her stomach twist in knots, but she knew she had to go to school. She wanted to be a nurse, and without a high school education, there was no way she would get into a reputable nursing school. She didn’t have a lot of friends and didn’t give a crud. Everyone thought she was as mean as her old man since she’d told the nuns at school that it was okay for a man to hit a woman because her father knocked her mom around all the time. That’d been in third grade. Most of the kids in her neighborhood were forbidden to play with her when word of her tale spread. She didn’t have time for friends anyway. When she wasn’t studying, she stayed close to her mother when her father was home because she knew he wouldn’t be as likely to use her mom as a punching bag when she was around.

  Sophia knew she was older than her years, but she didn’t mind. She listened to the other girls on the block talk about what was playing at the movies, boys, and the latest fashion fads, and none of it held her interest in the slightest; all of their talk seemed so dumb to her. Her mother was always after her to go outside, play with the kids in the neighborhood, and sometimes she did it just to make her mother happy, but she really wasn’t accepted in the neighborhood as one of the popular girls because her parents weren’t accepted either. It’d taken her a while to figure that out, but when she had, she made sure everyone knew she chose not to have them as her friends, making it appear as though she’d shunned them when, in reality, it was the other way around.

  Arriving at school on time in spite of her late start, Sophia saw the tallest girl she’d ever seen waiting by the entrance with a few others who didn’t realize this was the back entrance of the church and not the school. They’d miss the first bell, and all of them would be embarrassed. Trying to make up for her earlier meanness to Billy Watson, Sophia inserted herself in the middle of the group. “This is the church. You hang around here any longer you’ll all be late. Follow me,” she said before turning around and heading to the front of the church, where the entrance to the school was located. She hoped they followed her; otherwise, she would be making an idiot out of herself again. She dared a look over her shoulder. The only one in the group to follow her was the tall girl with the dark red hair. Sophia stopped so the girl could catch up with her.

  “Thanks,” the red-haired girl said as she walked alongside her. “I’m Teresa Loudenberry.”

  Sophia looked up at the girl beside her. She had an honest face, and Sophia liked her straightaway. “I’m Sophia De Luca. Hang with me, and I’ll show you the ropes around this place. I’ve been going here since conception.”

  She saw she’d made the girl blush. “It’s a long story. I might tell you all about it at lunch. Deal?” Sophia asked before they entered the door that would take them to their classrooms.

  Teresa held her hand out. “Deal.” They shook hands, both wearing grins as wide as the moon.

  Chapter Four

  Sophie and Goebel spent the better part of the morning with Toots at her house, then the afternoon working in the flower garden they had started as soon as they had moved in last year. Sophie hadn’t wanted to go inside after the episode with the cigarettes, so she’d spent the afternoon and evening at Goebel’s side, both working contentedly in the flower garden.

  A rainbow of color had taken the place of the overgrown, weedy lawn they’d had at the beginning. Dark green shrubbery formed a curtain around the front lawn. The oak trees were fertilized, revitalized, and now appeared strong and healthy. Sophie had fallen in love with hydrangeas on one of their many trips to the nursery, and the path leading from the back veranda to the edge of their property blossomed with ivory, periwinkle, lavender, pink, and yellow hydrangeas, a pastiche of colors flanking the stone path, their scent overpowering and intoxicating. Sophie never tired of stepping outside to view Goebel’s work. He’d become as passionate about gardening as she was about speaking to those who had crossed over. They often teased each other that the combination of their passions equaled a funeral parlor. Flowers and death. Someone else would have been mortified at the comparison, but Sophie knew death wasn’t as frightening as many were led to believe. It was the character of one’s departed soul, sometimes good and sometimes evil, that she thought of as frightening. She and Goebel had discussed this at great length, both admitting that they weren’t ready to kick the bucket just yet, but when they did, they promised each other they’d let the other know when they were around. She told Goebel he would smell the strong, heady scent of hydrangeas since she loved them so much, and he said she would see a hydrangea growing in a place where it shouldn’t. They had discussed so much in their short marriage, Sophie truly felt that Goebel was her soul mate. Bittersweet memories of her parents’ cruel and loveless marriage assured her that she would never allow a man to control her life again. When she’d married Walter she’d made the same mistake her mother had, but not the second time. No, this time around her choice was as close to perfection as it would ever be.

  It was almost ten o’clock that night, after Sophia and Goebel had spent a long afternoon in the garden and eaten dinner, before the rest of the Godmothers, along with their various significant others, arrived.

  “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started,” Sophie said, leading the group upstairs to the room they had yet to remodel and probably never would.

  “The table fits perfectly, just as I thought,” Toots commented upon seeing the wooden table she’d purchased for this exact purpose. She held Frankie, her adorable dachshund, in her arms. He growled when he realized he was not going to be the center of attention. Toots gently rubbed the space between his ears. He immediately quieted.

  “And tonight we’re going to find out if this . . . wood has all the magic Sophia claims it has,” Ida said, her voice shrill, an indication of her nervousness. Then she gave Toots a dirty look when she saw Frankie.

  “I promise not
to disappoint you either. Though I do want you to keep in mind that this wood ”—Sophie nodded at the long table in the center of the small room—“isn’t the kind of wood that has the sort of magic you’re referring to.” Sophie grinned, not caring that she had embarrassed Ida in front of Daniel. After a year together, he should know Ida’s uppermost thoughts always included a reference to sex, whether consciously or not.

  “Now, don’t you two get started. This is Daniel’s first séance, and we definitely do not want him to think that this isn’t serious business, now do we?” Mavis, ever the peacemaker, asked. She’d brought Coco, her Chihuahua, who was absolutely convinced that she—the dog, not Mavis—was royalty. “Can we keep Coco and Frankie in the kitchen?”

  “Of course you can. I’ve already fixed a spot for them,” Sophie said, then returned her attention to Ida.

  “Rest assured I have told Daniel of your successes, Sophia,” Ida said in her best know-it-all voice. “And thank you, Mavis.” Ida smiled at Mavis.

  “You’re most welcome, dear,” Mavis said sweetly.

  “Yes, and I must say, I’m impressed,” Daniel said. “I’ve never been too much of a believer in all this hocus-pocus, personally, but both Ida and Mother insist you’re the real thing. I know Charleston is a hotbed for anything paranormal. Last week, Ida and I went on a ghost walking tour. I have to admit, it was a bit unsettling.”

  “Then you’d best be prepared tonight because I can promise you, after an evening with Sophie and her séances, you will be more than a bit unsettled,” Toots informed Daniel. “She’s the real deal. Nothing phony or fake about her. Right, Goebel?”