Chapter Four – Carrie Jo
I drove home in a fog—a brain fog. My mind felt sticky, and a sudden onset of the yawns hit me hard. Never had I wanted a nap more than right now. The lack of electricity at Idlewood had really been a blessing in disguise for this new mommy, because I don’t think I could have made it through the day without some shut-eye. I glanced at my watch. Yep, I had three glorious hours of uninterrupted sleep.
In five minutes I was in my driveway. Lately, Ashland and I had gotten in the habit of pulling our cars into the backyard. There’d been a rash of car radio robberies a few months ago, and although we hadn’t been hit, a few of our neighbors had. I loved living in historic downtown Mobile, but it did have a downside—the occasional outburst of crime. I hoped the city got it under control soon. Many of us were on edge, including me, but I was mostly just so darned tired. I pressed the button on the remote, pulled the car past the gate, closed it behind me and walked back up the sidewalk to my front door. I could have entered through the back door, but I locked the dead bolt when I left this morning. At least I thought I had. Dang. My brain was ti-red.
Unfortunately, my new neighbor, Mrs. Astrid Peterson, spotted me as I pulled in and was headed my way, her water hose in her gloved hand. She and my mother had become friends during Momma’s stay, but Mrs. Peterson was too much of a busybody for my taste. In my experience if someone was willing to gossip about your friends or neighbors, they would be willing to gossip about you too. Before I rounded the corner of my Victorian home, I dug my phone out of my purse. And like a big fat liar, I pretended to get a call and slapped the phone to my ear as I walked to the door, juggling my keys in my hand. With a cheery, awkward wave, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
Never had I been so happy to be safely inside Our Little Home. I locked the door and debated climbing the stairs to my bedroom. Nah, I’d just hit the hay in the downstairs guestroom. For all of thirty seconds, I mulled over calling Ashland. I wasn’t above eating some crow—I’d been snacking on it quite a bit lately—but I put it off until after my nap. I tossed my purse and keys on the dresser and kicked off my shoes. With sleepy eyes I set the alarm on my phone and pulled back the fluffy white comforter. It looked like a heavenly cloud, and I fell into it quickly. I was asleep in no time.
I slept so peacefully that I woke up only once, worried that I’d missed the alarm. I hadn’t. I had another hour. One more hour of restorative sleep. I cuddled back up with the comforter, still tired but thinking of all the things I’d intended to do today at Idlewood.
Idlewood was such a lovely old home.
I could almost see it as it had been, although there were no oil paintings of the home from that time period.
It was so lovely that I could practically imagine newly planted crepe myrtles in the front yard, blue hydrangeas filling up the flowerbeds around the porches. I could see the white curtains blowing in a cool spring breeze. The blue sky above, the grass freshly mowed with scythes, the hounds played with a little girl.
Yes, there was a little girl. A girl with large, expressive hazel eyes. And they had seen too much, too soon. She had streaks of pink on her cheeks, pink from playing with the dogs. Her long light brown hair was curled in ringlets that freely fell across her narrow shoulders. She wore an overly large pink bow in her hair, which made her look even younger since she was small for her age. Her name was Trinket…
***
Sister? Are you there? I can feel you with me. I listened but heard nothing, no whisper of acknowledgement. I must be imagining things. I like to imagine so many things.
I giggled as the dog tugged at the stick in my hand, and I finally freed it from the hound’s slobbering mouth. Feeling suddenly guilty for laughing, I tossed the stick away, and the brown and white spotted hound chased after it. I had no thought that moment beyond the desire to play forever until I heard his voice. And then my heart filled with fear, like a well fills up with cold water whenever one draws from it. It was the deep-down-in-your-bones kind of cold that stole all the joy from your soul. Yes, he was a joy-stealer.
And he was my brother.
“Coming, Michael,” I answered him dutifully. He was the man of the house now. Father was dead, and Mother had stopped speaking altogether and pretended that we were all dead. Not just my sister. Percy left Idlewood again and left weeping Aubrey behind. She’d mostly kept to her room until he returned because she believed there was a ghost in the house. I was partly responsible for her belief.
So in fact, there were only the three of us now: Michael, Bridget the Queen of the Fairies, as she commanded us all to call her, and me. I walked through the field of flowers to the house, rubbing my hands across the blooms, across the sea of purple blooms as I went along quietly. It was almost as if I were swimming in flowers. I wished I could swim away forever. There was no love in this house.
I reminded myself it was time to be an adult. Michael would expect it. And when he left again, I would be a child once more. Me against the Queen of the Fairies, for all the others were gone.
And how I miss Tallulah! I am told not to speak her name or think of her. She is forever separated from us—she is in purgatory for all eternity. That’s what they say, but I have seen her. How do they explain that? Yes, she committed a mortal sin, yet I could not stop weeping for her in secret because I knew she had never left us, and yet I must shun her. Yes, we were told to never speak her name, but the desire to do so is there—on the tip of my tongue. Just once I want to say it aloud. Just once, in honor of the girl who had been so lovely and kind and just a little mad. But she’d always been mad in a dear, sweet way, and we all wanted to protect her, love her. Even Bridget. I wanted to scream her name, for I loved her. I forgave her, so why couldn’t God? Sometimes I imagined myself climbing to the tip-top of the roof of Idlewood. Yes, even now I could see myself standing there, and there I would victoriously blast a scream…
“Tallulah! I miss you, Tallulah Ferguson!”
But it was only a dream, only a wish. For if I were to do it and the priest was correct, then I am sure God would strike me dead. The priest said, “She is lost forever. Do not speak her name or you shall bring damnation upon yourself, child.”
And I know someday I shall indeed say her name. She will not be forgotten. Not forever!
“I am coming, Michael. I am on the way!”
***
My alarm blared annoyingly, and as I reached for my phone, the sweet essence of Trinket’s spirit slipped away from me, evacuating my dream like a tiny cloud. What a strange experience. But it made me doubly glad that I was now working at Idlewood, a place where this loving yet fearful child lived some time ago. How sad to witness the pain of the broken family. I pulled the covers back and stretched but froze as I put my shoes on.
Oh my God! Someone was in my house! Was it Doreen? No, I could hear a man speaking in low tones—and there was a woman too. Hey! Was that Ashland? I wanted to run out of the room and put my arms around him, tell him all about my dream, but something told me to hold back. And I could hear them arguing about something. This seemed so strange.
I leaned against the bedroom wall, inched toward the door and listened like a nosy detective. If they were arguing, I wanted to know about it. I hoped it wasn’t about me. Libby Stevenson often put her nose where it didn’t belong. But I didn’t hear anything else. It was strangely quiet. I slid my shoes off again and walked quietly toward the sound of their voices. I turned the corner, and there was Ashland. He had his back to me, and Libby’s arms were around his neck. They were kissing! Before I could say, “You sonofabitch!” he’d pushed her away and said, “Whoa! What’s the deal, Libby?”
He just thought I was fuming earlier. I was highly ticked now. So ticked in fact that I shot across the room and let her know what I thought of her. “You’ve got a lot of damn nerve kissing my husband! Get out of my house, Libby, before I beat your ass!”
To my surprise she smiled at me coyly. “Now, Carrie Jo, I know you
haven’t been feeling well lately. I don’t know what you think you saw, but we weren’t doing anything wrong. Tell her, Ashland.”
Ashland backed away from her and came to stand by me, and together we glared at her. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m not part of it. Now get out, Libby. Our working relationship is hereby terminated.”
She looked shocked but didn’t make a move to leave our home. “No. I don’t think we’re done yet. You can’t deny what we have, Ash, baby. It’s time to make a decision. It’s her or me. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” She hovered in front of him seductively, just a foot away. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She batted her big cow eyes at him.
“You better call the police, Ashland, because it’s about to go down in here.” I started taking off my jewelry. I had never been in a fight in my entire life, but I’d seen this in a movie once. Stripping off jewelry meant you were ready to throw down, I think. I took out my pearl posts. Took off my wedding band and started on my watch. Libby didn’t wait for me to get my watch off. She threw herself at me like a high-heeled banshee, scratching at me with her manicured nails.
“What is your problem? Can’t find your own man?” I taunted her. “You are pitiful Libby!” I slapped across her face, leaving a nice red mark on her cheek. She raised a fist and punched me in my mouth. I tasted the blood but didn’t feel any pain. All I saw was red! I couldn’t believe how quickly my day was evolving. For some reason I laughed, and she looked at me like I was crazy.
“You think that’s bad? That’s the best you got? I just gave birth to an eight-pound baby! Is that it?” I have no idea where the smack talk came from, but I had it in abundance at the moment. I guess my nap had made me cocky.
Ash stepped in between us, but that was the wrong thing to do. “Stop that, Carrie Jo. Last chance for you to leave, Libby.” We were like two wild cats scratching and clawing at one another. Unfortunately, one of her freakish punches landed square on my jaw and sent me tumbling on top of the coffee table. I gasped as I hit the ground, smacking my temple hard on the table and then the wooden floor. The last thing I remembered was, “Darn, that was a lucky shot.”
Then everything melted away. I was no longer in Our Little Home. My husband, my son and Libby had vanished like smoke. For a second or two I didn’t know where I was, and I squinted against the light. It shone first like a pinpoint in a fabric of darkness and quickly expanded and became a bright sunny day.
If I hadn’t recognized the rounded ceiling with the painted wooden panels, the stacked gold fireplace sconces that I ordered replicas for and the view from the long row of windows, I would never have known that I was at Idlewood.
Chapter Five – Trinket
“The world belongs to Percy and Tallulah. They are the Golden Children, Trinket. Why do you bother to tempt Mother to speak to us? Do you think Mother cares or even sees us now that her favorite daughter killed herself?” I frowned at Bridget for those cruel words, but little did I know or understand how true they really were.
Percy and Tallulah had indeed been the “Golden Ones,” as we called them. My older sister and brother, twins, had golden hair, sparkling light eyes and perfect faces. And they were tall and slender like the elegant fairies in Bridget’s books—images that she practically worshiped. How she hated her own dark looks! I wanted to point out to her that Mother was neither perfect nor golden, but it would do me little good, and she was so distraught now that the point seemed moot. Percy and Tallulah had loved us, of that I had no doubt, but they kept the greatest part of their love for one another. When Tallulah was alive and we were all young and happy, they were rarely separated until Father told Percy it was time for him to marry. Percy and Father argued extensively on the subject, but Father was resolute in his commandment. For the “Golden Ones” there would be no more long walks together by themselves. No more riding around the countryside—Percy on Ol’ Blackie and Tallulah on the dappled gray she called Dumpling. They were cast out of their secret world, and Mother was powerless to intervene as she always had before. Something had happened that I did not understand. In the end I supposed they’d merely crossed the invisible silver line and entered adulthood, a land where there was no fun, only duty and unhappiness.
To gather more information, I attempted to spy on the household, for there was always plenty of gossip. We had many servants who liked to talk about the people they served. As I always did when I wanted to know something that I wasn’t supposed to hear, I’d climb in the dumbwaiter, the wooden box on a rope that the servants used sometimes to haul laundry and dishes up and down. I’d hitch the rope around my hand and lower myself down to the servants’ quarters or pull with all my might and take the box to the second floor. More than once I’d been discovered, for the dumbwaiter was a noisy thing.
Mrs. Potts would try to box my ears, but I always escaped her grasp. I don’t think she really tried to punish me, although she’d boxed Michael’s ears more than once when he stole food from the pantry or played with her matches.
Yes, Percy and Tallulah had been the Golden Ones, and the rest of us, Bridget, Michael and I, were not as beautiful or as intelligent. Or as special.
Bridget had dark brown hair with dark eyes like Michael’s, but I was the changeling, as my only living sister liked to call me. According to her taunts, and she was one to be cruel, the real Trinket Ferguson had been stolen from the crib and I, a product of evil fairies, was the child they chose to leave behind. I was a changeling, she said. “Probably belonged to some gypsy mother.” Her words no longer made me cry. I knew them for what they were, her own pain projected onto others. Bridget, the family actress, worked very hard to hide her feelings from anyone who might care. She didn’t want us to know she cared about anything at all, except her fairies, which she looked for day and night. She’d even taken to making them furniture and clothing from bits of leftover dress scraps. I helped her once in a while when she was in a mood for company. Most of the time she was not. She preferred her books and her tiny companions, which I could never see. I wanted to see them for Bridget’s sake, but no matter how hard I searched I never found one. And I wasn’t sure Bridget actually saw them either.
No, of my two sisters, Tallulah had been the kinder one. But it had not always been so. I remember when Bridget kissed me goodnight and said prayers with me. That stopped one night, and it was as if my sister left and she was the changeling. If it had not been for Tallulah, I would have had no kisses goodnight and no bedtime stories. She had been a gentle spirit with faraway eyes and a sweet voice that always sounded as if she were out of breath. How she enchanted us all!
Just before her death, the announcement was made that Tallulah had been promised to Richard Chestnut, a respectable young man from Conecuh County, whatever that meant. I supposed “respectable” meant people respected him, but who knew, really? I didn’t think much of him at all.
Tallulah met him only once when he came with his father to sign the legal documents. I hated him instantly. He licked his lips a lot at my sister like he was a cat and she a tiny bird-lunch. A shame, too, because he wasn’t old or ugly or poor. Repulsed, Tallulah kept her eyes averted for the rest of the meeting and stood shaking at Father’s side during their formal introductions. So disturbed was I by his behavior that I went to both Mother and Father and made my plea on Tallulah’s behalf. If she wouldn’t object, I would do it for her. I described Richard Chestnut’s unpleasant demeanor in great detail to my mother, who declared there were much worse things to be offended by. My father listened patiently for less than a minute and then dismissed me as a nosy child. I went seeking Tallulah to tell her how sorry I was and how I’d tried to help, but it took a while to find her. She was nowhere in the house, not even in the dumbwaiter. Bridget wouldn’t help me look, as she was headed to the pond with a new set of fairy furniture she’d stolen from my dollhouse. Feeling aggravated, more about her lack of concern for Tallulah than about the furniture, I stomped my foot to d
isplay my disapproval and continued with my search.
She was in the Great Oak behind the house. The one with the very long, wide branch that two people could lie on. Sometimes, when Percy wasn’t around, she let me lie beside her, and we’d watch the squirrels scamper across the branches above us. They sent showers of leaves down upon us, and we’d laugh and laugh. That was where I found her that unfortunate day. Only she wasn’t watching the squirrels. She was straddling the branch and had an oily-looking rope in her hands. I didn’t put two and two together at that moment, but I did as I heard the determination in her voice. Tallulah tied the end of the rope to the tree with a shoelace knot. Just the idea that my sister would consider such a thing offended me greatly. I’d never seen an actual hanging, but Bridget drew me an awful picture one time of a hanged man. Hanged for stealing a horse. He had a blue face and he had wet his pants. It made me gag and cry.
“What are you doing, Lula?” I called up to her as she fiddled with the noose. She didn’t answer me, and it was then that I noticed she was quietly crying and talking to herself. No, praying. That disturbed me even more.
“Please, please, Lula. Answer me!”
She paused and stared at me from behind a curtain of blond hair that covered part of her face. “Run away, Trinket! I don’t want you to see me like this. I can’t let you see me die.”
“Noooo! You can’t leave me, Tallulah! I would die too, and so would Percy!”
“Percy is here?” she asked, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She leaned forward and stared in the direction of the house. I wanted to tell her yes just to get her down from the tree, but I could not bring myself to deceive her. She’d been mistreated enough for one day.
“No, but it is almost time for the mail to come, Lula. What would happen if Percy’s letter came and you weren’t there to collect it? I heard Bridget say she would read the next one.” Well, that was a lie. Bridget did not care two flying figs about letters from Percy, but my sisters were famous for squabbling over everything. Why not this? And if it distracted Tallulah, surely God would approve.
The Ghosts of Idlewood Page 5