The Idlewood Collection: A Seven Sisters Spin-Off Series Read online

  The Idlewood Collection

  A Seven Sisters Spin-Off Series

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2017 Monica L. Bullock

  All rights reserved

  Table of Contents

  The Ghosts of Idlewood

  Dreams of Idlewood

  The Whispering Saint

  The Haunted Child

  The Ghosts of Idlewood

  Book One

  Idlewood Series

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2016 Monica L. Bullock

  All rights reserved

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Kim Heights, Joyce Jividen and Julie Summers. I will never forget my friends, the girls of summer.

  TALLULAH

  And when this body dies, shall I with thee

  Pass into brute, or bird, or wood, or stone,

  Until refreshed the vital spark shall be,

  And into human form again we run,—

  Thus changing ever till the work is done?

  And when this universe has passed away,

  And earth lies like a mist without a sun,

  What semblance shall I wear of perished clay

  Beneath th’ effulgent light of that unending day?

  And shall I recognize the different beings then

  Through which my fleeting essence shall have pass’d,

  And understand them all? as, with the ken

  Of angel thought, my curious eye is cast

  Along the varied chain from first to last,—

  Link after link, now glittering and now gone,—

  Yet bound together in one being fast,

  And ever reaching upwards, one by one,

  From cradled earth to God’s eternal throne?

  Excerpt from TALLULAH

  General Henry Rootes Jackson, 1850

  Prologue – Percy

  Mobile, Alabama

  1870

  Aubrey burrowed into Percy’s shoulder as they huddled together in the carriage that climbed the steep drive to Idlewood. The earlier rain made the red dirt road slick, and the wheels of the carriage made an unpleasant sucking noise as they rolled through the mud toward his family home. The air felt clean and surprisingly cold. It was rare to experience such a cold snap before January. They could have come home last night, for they were near enough to do so when they stepped off the train. But after all this time, Percy wanted to see the house in the bright light of day. He wanted his new wife to see Idlewood’s beauty and love it, love it like he did. And he wanted to make this a fresh start. He had a new life now. He could leave the shadows of the past behind and step into the light with Aubrey by his side. She brought sunshine into his dreary world, and she would do the same for his entire family.

  It was November. Percy had been gone for two months—two whole months away from Idlewood. He could hardly believe he had managed it, but he enjoyed the adventures of new marriage. Aubrey was a modestly pretty girl who was completely devoted to him and seemed to genuinely love him. He had been lucky in that regard. She was amiable and something of an intellect, which he appreciated, but after just one week of travel he’d grown weary of the constantly changing surroundings and of her need to talk quite so much.

  He daydreamed as his wife chattered on about one thing and another; in his head he was at Idlewood. He might be walking to the pond to fish or strolling through the wild patch of sage that grew thick and pungent behind the old barn. He had memorized every book title in the study and knew where to find even the least-read selections like Traveler’s Descent by Morgan Longwood. How he hated that book!

  But more than anything, he missed Tallulah.

  It had been two weeks since his twin sister had written him, although she’d been faithful to do so when he’d first departed. How she’d cried while he packed his trunk and prepared for the journey he would take without her. “This isn’t what you promised, Percy. This is not the way it should be!” He had consoled her with promises of gifts and letters until finally she’d quit crying and helped him arrange his things.

  Hansel and Gretel.

  That’s what their mother used to call them, when she remembered to notice them. Ann Ferguson spent all her time spying on their father, convinced he was up to mischief in the barn with the neighbors or in some other part of the county with someone else, although he never was. Their father would never have behaved the way their mother feared he did, but one would have had a devil of a time convincing her of that. As far as their mother was concerned, Charles Ferguson was a handsome and desirable catch despite the fact that he had been married to her for nearly twenty years, had gout occasionally and had a generally dark disposition.

  Hansel and Gretel.

  Percy fussed about the moniker, but secretly, he liked it. It tied him and Tallulah together, for they had always been together. Even the night the bad thing happened. They were together then, holding one another. That was before the other children came along. Not that they didn’t love them. But they were Hansel and Gretel.

  During these weeks of travel, Percy had read and reread each correspondence from his sister, and stayed up all hours himself writing her long descriptive paragraphs detailing all that he’d seen, tasted or smelled that day. Aubrey complained that he would succumb to eyestrain, but he assured her that he could see just as well by candlelight as he could by the light of day.

  Tallulah’s first letter had been waiting for him when he checked in at the Burfield Hotel in Atlanta. Each correspondence he treated like a welcoming breadcrumb that would lead him along his journey and then home again. Tallulah’s letters were bits of home; she would know that he needed them, and he savored them all along the way. But then, on the return trip to that same hotel, he arrived and there was nothing waiting for him—not even a letter from his father. Only the expected financial dispensation intended to be used on frivolous gifts for his wife and whatever experiences their hearts desired. All their expenses had been covered by his father. Percy had purchased his wife a set of china with pink and lavender flowers and had it sent home to Idlewood. He bought her hats, dresses, parasols and even a small white puppy she named Glad. The couple had traveled as far as Virginia and spent time on glassy Lake Moomaw in the Shenandoah Valley. Unfortunately, they’d lost Glad in the woods near the lake, and Aubrey had mourned him for all of two hours. However, to make her smile again he promised her another dog when they arrived home. A good breed, perhaps a greyhound. She had been satisfied with his thoughtfulness.

  Aubrey fell in love with the lake cabin and hinted that she would not be opposed to making the valley home. Percy smiled good-naturedly, but he wouldn’t even entertain the idea. No way would he ever abandon Tallulah or permanently leave Idlewood, although he suspected his father would support his decision to do so.

  Charles Ferguson believed that a man should make his own way in the world. A family man should be a force of nature—strong, determined and ever eager to promote the welfare of those he had a responsibility to care for. Idlewood had survived the war because his father had wisely invested the family fortune in overseas businesses long before the upheaval of war had begun. The Fergusons’ growing fortune irked many of the Mobile County bluebloods—some even went so far as to accuse Mr. Ferguson of being a Yankee sympathizer—but his father had not stood for that. No indeed. The loudest, most vocal accuser, a Mr. Oscar Loper, had been promptly sued for slander. He lost the case, and now the Ferguson fortune included the Lopers’ sawmill and a modest peanut farm. This new acquisition would someday be distributed to one of the Ferguson children. No further accusations we
re made against his family and all was well, as far as the family’s standing in society went.

  Fortunately for Percy, he had been too young to go to war. And unlike some of his friends, he did not feel as if he had missed out on anything. War had devastated the nation. He was glad he had not contributed to the destruction or spilled any blood.

  At least not in the War.

  As the couple rounded the hilltop and the carriage pulled in front of the house, Percy knew something was wrong. His unease increased as he noticed that only a few familiar servants greeted him. No members of his family stood on the porch as he expected them to, and he knew that his siblings would have heard his carriage. They would have known he was on the way; surely they had received his message last night. Yet they were not there to greet him. Percy sat stiffly in the seat for a few seconds trying to collect himself. Then he noticed the wide black ribbons hanging from the door knocker—a sudden breeze sent them sailing and fluttering as if they had a life of their own. He hadn’t seen those ribbons for many years. The last time had been when his grandfather Lane Ferguson died while stoking the fire in the Great Room.

  And only once before that.

  Percy’s heart fell. He set his square jaw and chiseled face and stepped out of the carriage. He straightened his jacket and helped his wife navigate the narrow metal step. She slid her arm through his and stared up at him with wide dark eyes.

  Without a word, he led her up the stairs. And although he only glanced at her, he could see that Aubrey’s face was very pale, as white as the columns of Idlewood. He should probably have inquired about her health, for that would have been the polite thing to do, but he just couldn’t muster one more polite thing at the moment. It was all he could do to walk up the painted steps at a presentable pace. But he did the polite thing. He always would because she needed him. Aubrey was his first priority now, according to the law. Percy wanted to spring ahead of her, run inside the house as he had when he was a child and learn the reason for the black ribbons, but duty forced him to walk slowly and treat his wife with care. She too knew something was amiss, but he ignored her questioning eyes.

  Mrs. Potts, the housekeeper, knew every detail of what was going on, but he couldn’t bring himself to question her. It was obvious she had been crying that morning. Her puffy pink face appeared even puffier, and her white cap shook and rested crooked. That struck him as extremely odd. She wrung her hands and then remembered herself and left them stiffly at her side.

  “Mrs. Potts,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “I am so happy that you are here, Mister Percy. Your mother will be glad you are home at last. And I am happy to see you looking so well, Mrs. Ferguson.”

  So it’s my father, then, he reasoned to himself. Something has happened to Father.

  “Same to you, Mrs. Potts,” Aubrey said politely. “I am happy to see you again.”

  With a final clip of his chin, Percy led Aubrey through the open doors of the house. He did not want to admit that his presumption about the death of his father left him feeling peaceful. His father’s death would make sense. He was getting on in years and worked far too much. Not that he hated his father. Percy respected him, but it was the kind of respect that all sons of larger-than-life fathers carried. Fathers should be loved from a distance, not like sisters or mothers. They were to be respected—revered, even. His father would not have approved of him crying like a girl at his passing. He jutted out his chin even more. It would be Percy’s time to be the man of the house, to take care of his mother and siblings. At least until Michael was old enough to help him manage things. And there was Mr. Quigley, the family attorney, who was more like an uncle than a legal consultant. Yes, he could do this. It was time to be strong for Mother and Tallulah and Aubrey and Bridget and Dot. They walked through the foyer; nothing had changed here. The square-topped Chesterfield table held a seasonal arrangement of fall flowers, burgundy candles and cheery pumpkins. They walked past the wide staircase that took up most of the room and through the arched doorway leading to the gallery at the back of the house. This was where his father’s body would be laid out, just as his grandfather’s had been.

  And the one before that.

  Yes, he could hear his mother crying softly now. No, that was not Mother. That was Bridget. How odd that she would sound so grown. Aubrey glanced up at him for comfort. He could offer none. He felt her grip tighten on his arm. The walls of the hallway had been freshly painted; the place appeared spotless, as it always did. Father insisted on neatness. That was a standard for the house that Percy intended to continue.

  He pushed the door open and walked through the anteroom into the gallery. The doors were slid back so he could take in the wide view of the somber party gathered there. The curtains were pulled back, and Percy’s eyes fell on the great gold mirror that hung at the end of the gallery. It had been covered with black cloth to prevent mourners from peeping at their own reflection. It was the Scottish way—and make no mistake, the Fergusons were Scottish, although their family had been in Mobile for nearly fifty years now. The family motto, Dulcius Ex Asperis or “sweeter after difficulties,” was plainly emblazoned in gold paint over the doorway of this very room. Percy felt Aubrey pause in the doorway. He did not drag her on or compel her to attend him. In fact, he felt relieved to be free of her grasp, at least for a moment. He released her arm gently, allowing her to linger in the doorway as he took a few more steps into the room. All eyes were upon him, but his light blue eyes were on the wooden coffin. The pedestal was draped in black and made the disturbing scene all the more like a play, one of Bridget’s plays, which were always depressing and sentimental if not bordering on pagan and evil.

  No, it had not been Bridget crying but Dot. The youngest of the Ferguson clan.

  One step, two steps…on he went, his sorrow deepening as his realization of the horrible truth grew with every step.

  He counted the faces as he made his way to the burnished wooden box. Percy acknowledged no one but just stared at them blankly. There they were, each and every one present, except the one he longed to see. Except she was there, tidily tucked in a box made to fit her perfect frame. He spied the glint of bright blond hair, the yellow dress and pale bare toes that peeked out from under the ribboned dress hem at the end of the box. Surrounding her resting figure was his family. His father stood beside his brother, Michael, near her head. His brother’s hand rested upon his mother’s shoulder as if to claim her. Their mother smothered her cries in a handkerchief, one of the new ones his twin had embroidered the month before he left. Bridget was there, her wild brown hair twisted into a neat wreath around her head. Standing close to her but not too close was Dot, whom everyone else called Trinket; her six-year old face appeared as pinched and as pale as Aubrey’s. Everyone was here.

  Including Tallulah.

  Tallulah’s hands were folded across her chest, a peace lily perched between her fingers as if she had picked it to take with her. He knew for a fact she would never have picked a lily for any occasion. She loved roses and honeysuckle.

  For a moment, he thought this might be some horrible joke. A horrid prank orchestrated by Bridget, who had a mind for such things. He stood ten feet away now. Yes, that must be it. He hesitated as he stared at Bridget, but she didn’t speak or smile. She merely stared at Tallulah as if she too hoped she would leap out of the box. Frozen in his tracks now, he stared at Tallulah’s chest to see if it would rise and fall. There was nothing to see. No breath of life present. She could not be dead, could she? Not death. Surely not. Another glance at Bridget told him this was not a prank, not a twisted joke. This was a nightmare come true.

  Behind him he heard people gathering, whispering. Mrs. Potts must have sent notice to the neighbors; he could hear the loud voice of Mr. Langley, the closest neighbor to Idlewood. Percy edged forward a bit more. Candles were lit around Tallulah’s face, although there was really no need for them. Diffused natural light poured in through the rectangular windows. He continued to s
tudy her perfect face. No eyelid moved, and the blue vein in her neck did not throb with life. No shifting of the hands.

  Yes. Tallulah was dead. He would never hear her laughter or her pleasant voice again. He would never pat her hand and assure her that all would be well. For in truth it would not be. Nothing would be well again.

  Then he remembered this moment.

  He’d experienced this before, in a nightmare or perhaps in a moment of déjà vu, as the French called it. He had seen this all before, not once but several times. The scene had been exactly the same too. He wore the same blue suit with the matching blue silk tie. The tie clip with the wolf’s head was a wedding gift from Aubrey, purchased on their last stop before returning home. He remembered the dream, the anguished look on his mother’s face, the purifying smell of paint, the cloudy sky, the biting temperature.

  And he remembered seeing Tallulah in her yellow dress with the ruffles at the sleeves. Her long, wavy blond hair perfectly cinched back from her face in ivory barrettes. She looked like an angel. An angel with a red raw stripe about her petite neck.

  Yes, he remembered it all perfectly now.

  And he screamed.

  Chapter One – Carrie Jo

  I honked the horn like a crazy person hoping to get the attention of the driver ahead of me. The light was green, and had been for a while, but this jerk was too busy staring at his cell phone to actually drive. “Not the day for this, buddy,” I complained from behind the wheel. Baby AJ gurgled in the back seat, and I immediately felt guilty. My son deserved a mom who had it together, who didn’t bark at distracted drivers, who didn’t look like she’d just rolled out of a barn. I couldn’t see him in his rear-facing car seat, but as always he sounded happy and playful. Waking up every two hours last night didn’t bother him, not one single bit. Me, however? I was a whole ’nother story, as Detra Ann liked to say.