Chapter 10
I
Lee and Foster turned onto the road to the Bellevue mansion. Winter had stripped the leaves from the trees and trampled much of the underbrush. There was an enormous billboard near the drive, celebrating plans for “Southern Shores,” a resort community to be brought to you by Coastal Development Corporation. There was also a small historical marker declaring Bellevue Plantation Mansion to be an historical monument.
Lee and Foster pulled up in front of the mansion. Much of the side yard had been covered with asphalt, and there were eight or ten cars parked there. The house itself was clearly in the process of being restored.
Lee stopped near the front porch to let Foster out.
“I’ll park the car and bring your suitcase up later.”
Foster was too distracted by the sight of the house to question Lee’s suggestion. He stepped out of the car without even speaking and looked around the grounds as Lee drove through the parking lot.
The garden where Foster first met Annabelle had been completely cleaned up, pruned and replanted. Where there had once been a riot of vines and flowers, there were now orderly rows of scraggly young hedges and stumps of rose bushes.
The impact of this was heightened by the partially repainted house. Even though the new porch furniture was very tasteful and completely in keeping with the style of the house, there was something too clean and fresh about it.
A brass plaque on the front door discreetly announced the presence of offices of the Coastal Development Corporation.
The change which greeted Foster as he entered the house was even more radical than the exterior renovation. Again every detail was tasteful in the extreme but sterile in comparison to the house’s former dilapidated glory.
There was a receptionist’s desk in the parlor, and the adjoining room had apparently been converted into a suite of offices. The living room had been preserved, and some of the original furniture had been kept on display.
One new item which caught Foster’s eye was a large antique oil painting above the fireplace in the living room. He gazed in amazement as he realized it was a portrait of Annabelle.
Foster was walking slowly towards the portrait when a group of tourists led by a Girl Scout descended the stairway into the hall behind him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t answer all of your questions, but I hope y’all enjoyed our little tour. Y’all can walk around the grounds for a while if you want, and the model home I told you about is open ‘til nine. And y’all help yourself to any of the brochures on the hall table. Thank you.”
She graciously declined a few tips and exchanged pleasantries as the group milled about the hall and started to leave. Then she noticed Foster in the living room and came up behind him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the house closes in fifteen minutes. Did you want to take the tour?”
“Where did this portrait come from?”
“They found it in the attic. That’s Amanda Johnston. She was the fiancée of Captain Joseph Abernathy.”
“He died in the war?”
“Yessir and so did she. Some say she died of malaria, but others say she died of a broken heart.”
Foster sank slowly into an easy chair as he sorted through this information.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not supposed to sit on the furniture.”
Foster does not respond.
“Sir?”
Foster remained lost in thought. Lee entered the hall carrying Foster’s suitcase. The Girl Scout hurried over to speak to him in hushed tones.
“Lee, there’s a man in here sitting on the furniture, and I can’t get him to stand up.”
Lee glances into the living room and spots Foster.
“It’s okay, sugar. I’ll handle it.”
“Oh thanks, Lee. You’re a doll. I’ll go let Lydia out.”
She went into the parlor, and Lee walked into the living room. He sat down on the couch near Foster.
“You all right, my man?”
Foster finally surfaced.
“Sure, I’m fine.”
He glances around the room.
“It’s just a little difficult to adjust.”
“Yeah. Things have changed a bit since you left.”
“Where’s Bubba?”
“In his room probably.”
II
Foster knocked on the door to Bubba’s room. “Who is it?”
“Stephen Foster Abernathy, recently returned from the war.”
“Come in. Come in.”
Foster entered the room to see Bubba coming towards him in a motorized wheelchair.
“How are you? Damn, it’s good to see you.”
“What happened to you?”
“What? You mean this thing? I just got this so I wouldn’t have to waste any energy on the mundane things in life. Watch this.”
He executed a tight figure eight in reverse, almost knocking over a lamp.
“Sit down. Sit down.”
Foster settled into a chair as Bubba came to a halt.
“Nobody told me.”
“I reckon they didn’t tell you a whole lot about anything in that place. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“I had a stroke, but you’re looking fit.”
“How’s Lydia ... and Sarah?”
Bubba can’t maintain his bouyant spirits.
“They’re okay, I guess. Ruthie keeps Lydia in her room all day, but she lets her roam around at night. And Sarah spends most of her time praying, of course.”
“The place looks really awful.”
“Yeah. Since she had it declared an historical monument, all the “improvements” are deductible. I stay up here most of the time.”
“What about Jack and The Colonel?”
Bubba smiles nostalgically.
“The Colonel’s run out of home brew, but I think he’s getting used to the store-bought stuff. Jack’s having the time of his life. With all the clearing they’ve done, he’s got a three hundred acre sand pile for his tractor.”
Foster smiled with Bubba.
“One of the last things I remember before the hospital was Jack coming around the corner of the house full steam ahead.”
Bubba laughed, but it faded quickly.
“I’m sorry I let them take you away.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I tried everything I could to stop her – even after she had you put away. The doctor thinks maybe I even tried too hard.”
“Well, I got out. It took me a while, but I figured out how to get out. And I’ll pay her back somehow.”
“I’d like to see you do that.”
“Is she living here now?”
‘No, she just moved into one of her fancy new houses. She has her office in the library though. What are your plans? Will you try to write?”
“No.”
Bubba expected Foster to elaborate on this, but he did not press him.
“That portrait over the fireplace in the living room… When did… Was that ever hanging in the house when I was a kid?”
“No, I don’t think I ever saw it before. You wouldn’t believe the stuff they cleared out of the attic. Why do you ask?”
“It’s a… I was just curious. She looks just like a girl I know.”
“You know, I had a feeling the face was familiar, but I could never place it.”
The Good Morrow Page 10