Loxley Belle

  Loxley Belle

  Book Four

  Ghosts of Summerleigh Series

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2019 Monica L. Bullock

  All rights reserved

  Dedication

  For all the younger sisters.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue—Loxley Belle

  Chapter One—Jerica

  Chapter Two—Loxley

  Chapter Three—Jerica

  Chapter Four—Loxley

  Chapter Five—Jerica

  Chapter Six—Loxley

  Chapter Seven—Loxley

  Chapter Eight—Jerica

  Chapter Nine—Loxley

  Chapter Ten—Jerica

  Chapter Eleven—Jerica

  Chapter Twelve—Loxley

  Chapter Thirteen—Loxley

  Chapter Fourteen—Jerica

  Chapter Fifteen—Loxley

  Chapter Sixteen—Loxley

  Chapter Seventeen—Loxley

  Chapter Eighteen—Loxley

  Chapter Nineteen—Jerica

  Shadows

  Gray, cold and gray

  Is the desolate wintry sky.

  As the colorless daylight fades away

  And the starless night draws nigh,

  I sit in my darkened room

  By the fire,—it is burning low,

  While fancy weaves in her pauseless loom,

  And swift and silent, amid the gloom.

  Her shuttle glides to and fro.

  Sad, sombre and sad

  Is the web that she weaves to-night;

  And it wraps my soul as the world is clad

  In the desolate evening light.

  Strange is this nameless sorrow!

  I weep, and I scarce know why

  It is the frown of some dark to-morrow

  That looms above me, and I must borrow

  Grief from by and by?

  Why, fancy why

  Hast done so ill thy task?

  Instead of a gloom like the starless sky,

  Oh, give me the thing I ask,

  It is just as easy to rear

  A sunny castle in Spain

  As to conjure up some faith or fear,

  Some shadowy grief that brings a tear

  From the ache of a nameless pain.

  Ellen P. Allerton, 1835-1893

  Prologue—Loxley Belle

  Desire, Mississippi, May 1954

  My walk through the overgrown woods behind Summerleigh never prepared me for the sad sight I knew I would see when I finally cleared the last hill. Summerleigh rose high, as high as she ever had, but she was empty. There was no life in her anymore because there were no more Belles living under her roof. The sight of the crumbling old home, all quiet and empty, weighed on me even though it had been nigh on ten years since I lived here. Aunt Dot, Harper and I moved out shortly after Addison’s wedding. That had been a happy event. Throwing rice at Addison and her husband had seemed a strange thing to do, but I’d been delighted at her happiness. I cried when we sent them off to Fort Lauderdale for their honeymoon. Daddy had been watching too from the staircase, but he didn’t come too close. He’d attended Addison’s wedding as a silent witness; I never saw Jeopardy, and I was glad for that.

  Yes, I had been back to Summerleigh many times since we’d moved out, but Aunt Dot never knew about any of my visits. She never caught on that I was breaking into the family home and walking the empty halls pining for days gone by. I hated keeping secrets from Aunt Dot, but she wouldn’t understand and I couldn’t tell her. The Ghost Boy followed me around but didn’t want to play with me anymore. I was too grown for that, I suppose. Or maybe he knew what a horrible sinner I’d become. A simply terrible soul. But I couldn’t help myself. I tried, but I couldn’t stop. This horrible secret was mine to bear alone. Everyone else in this family had secrets, so why not me? I was a Belle, after all; it was kind of expected of me, as all the kids at school reminded me every day. Especially Shannon Bohannan.

  “Would you look at that dress? Where does she buy her clothes? The Five and Dime? She’s about as exciting as home-churned butter. Come on, Betty Lou. You wouldn’t want Crazy Belle’s bad taste to rub off on you.”

  Crazy Belle. That’s what she called me. Like it was a big joke. But I was home now. And here amongst the odd shadows and the peeling wallpaper, I belonged. Why had we ever moved? One day, this place will be mine. And I will make it grand for you, Daddy. I will!

  Aunt Dot bought a house in Lucedale that had all the modern conveniences, which she was very proud of. “Loxley dear, we can have whatever kind of furnishings we like. We are not poor, not at all. How about this sweetheart bedroom set for your room? It has a lovely tufted couch for you and your friends to sit on and read your magazines. You need a radio too.” At first, it seemed a wise thing to have a new home with all the “modern conveniences,” but after a few years, the longing to return home to Summerleigh had not dissipated. I wasn’t afraid of the ghosts. I loved them all. Well, most of them. I didn’t love the Ghost Boy with the dead eyes or the girl who wore a blood-soaked dress and moaned in the attic from time to time. Despite these occasional unwanted visitors, I yearned for home. I missed the fireplace that smoked, the damp-smelling rooms and the creaking floor treads on the stairs. And I missed the orchard of peach trees behind Summerleigh and the wild tangle of rose vines in the overgrown front yard that always hid a new litter of kittens. I had a terrific time hiding those poor mewling animals from Momma.

  Those had been happy days before Jeopardy disappeared.

  Before Daddy died so suddenly.

  Before Momma lost her mind.

  I eased open the screen door; it made a shrill, squeaking sound as I went inside. Birds were nesting on the back porch. They added to the squeaking to voice their complaints before fleeing from my presence. Mind the floor, Loxley. I had to be careful right here. The floor had weakened a bit. I stepped over the doorjamb and into the kitchen. The door closed with a thud behind me as I walked into my favorite room in the house. I could almost imagine Harper at the stove and Momma on the phone talking to Augustine Hogue about one person or the other. I pictured Jeopardy sulking in the doorway, her wild hair unbrushed; her expression, as always, both sad and angry. And Addison? Where would she be? She would be blowing her nose in the other room. We weren’t allowed to blow our noses in front of Momma or in the presence of any company we might have. Not even Miss Augustine, who had been a fixture at our house for so long, had ever witnessed any of the Belle girls blowing their noses in public.

  Of course, these austere rules were relaxed somewhat when Daddy came home. Until he left on one of his many adventures. Miss Augustine agreed with Momma on everything to a T. Yes, Loxley. Blowing your nose in public is a very vulgar thing to do. And whistling, too. Ladies don’t do either of those things. I whistled as I peeked out the screen door to make sure no one had followed me. I couldn’t think why, but I had the feeling that someone was watching me.

  And not a dead someone. A living someone.

  I scanned the tree line as best I could, but I didn’t see anyone from my vantage point at the back door. Huh, there’s nothing to see, silly girl. Now take your walk and go home before you’re found out. I sighed as I walked into the parlor. The leaky roof had finally fallen in, just as Momma prophesied all those years ago. An entire corner of the parlor was covered in a landslide of rotting wood, shingles and chipped paint. My heart sank at the sight of time’s destructive powers. Poor Daddy never had a chance to bring this place back to life, and the restoration of Summerleigh had been his dream.

  I could easily imagine Momma’s disapproving voice in my ear. One day that roof will be the death of us all, JB. This old house is going to crumble around us, and
you wouldn’t care at all if we died here in this rotting disaster. I hate this house.

  I couldn’t remember Daddy’s answer. He mostly didn’t take Momma seriously when she said things like that. He would smile and wink at us girls behind her back, which always made us snigger. And we’d pay for that when he left again. Momma knew what we were doing. He always left too soon, and although we Belles missed him—we sobbed for days after he left—we didn’t speak a word against him. We all understood that Momma could be a handful. It was an unspoken understanding we girls had that Daddy had to leave for a while on occasion. Who wouldn’t want to escape the madness that sometimes erupted in our home?

  Except for Jeopardy. She never wanted Daddy to leave; she wrote him almost every day. I’d been too little to write him letters or send postcards. But from time to time, when Jeopardy asked, I would ask her to write a few things. Other times, I would draw him a picture and Jep would include it with her letter. And in all those drawings, he was at home at Summerleigh with all of us. I was always careful to add Momma to the drawing, though. She didn’t like being left out, and most of the time she read Jeopardy’s letters before she allowed my sister to send them.

  Best leave the parlor, Loxley Grace. Too many memories in this room.

  “Daddy? Are you here? It’s me, Loxley.”

  He didn’t answer me back, but that had been his voice. I waited a few minutes, just in case he had something else to say. Sometimes ghosts were slow to communicate, but he used to always come see me. Always.

  Heavens above! He must know my secret! He knows about me and is ashamed of me.

  “Oh, Daddy. Please don’t hide from me,” I half-sobbed as I waited in the musty parlor.

  I heard nothing and saw no one. I sighed as I began to make my way upstairs. My footsteps on the staircase resonated too loudly, reminding me that I was all alone. Usually, that comforted me. But not this afternoon.

  We all believed that Daddy would make this place a palace. Jeopardy believed in his dream most of all. Those two were like two peas in a pod. Daddy loved all us Belles, but I think sometimes he loved Jeopardy better than anyone else. I didn’t begrudge her that extra love; besides, Daddy had plenty of leftover love for the rest of us too. No, I didn’t hate my sister on account of it. She got so little love from Momma that she deserved extra helpings from our father. I tried to explain this to Addison once, but she got so excited that she developed a nosebleed right then and there. Or so she thought. It was actually the Ghost Boy that liked making Addison sick all the time. He’d tweak her nose, squeeze her throat. I told her so, but she never believed me. Momma certainly didn’t believe any of my stories, as she liked to call them.

  Momma did not have the ability to see the good in anything that did not come in a Woolworth’s shopping bag. She had high standards, to be sure. Too high for anyone to measure up to, least of all John Jeffrey Belle and his girls. Despite this awareness, I missed Momma, and I knew I was the only one who did. That was a heavy load to bear. Yes, I missed the coolness of her hands when she touched my feverish forehead and the occasional kind word she sent my way. I easily summoned up the gentle smiles she showered on me when I did everything just right. Like not wet the bed and brush my own hair and polish my teeth with baking soda after a good brushing. But even in those moments, when everything fell into place and I remembered when to smile, when to speak and when to stop drinking water for the night, there was always the presence of icy fear.

  Fear that Momma would disappear and all that would remain would be the monster of my nightmares. A wild, screaming banshee with smeared lipstick, crooked bobby pins and sweaty skin.

  And the transformation happened so quickly that it always took my breath away.

  But I forgive you, Momma. I forgive you and I love you.

  I felt a little sick as I pulled the bracelet out of my pocket and scurried off to the nursery. The dead boy wasn’t in here, thankfully. But most of the time, whenever he was at Summerleigh, he was in this room. I absently wondered where ghosts went when they weren’t haunting me. And why just me and no other Belle? What had I done to deserve such morbid “friends”? And where would I go when I died?

  I walked to the far closet and knelt down. The wood felt grimy beneath my knees. My fingers expertly pried the loose board up, and I set it aside. With a quick glance around the bare room, I lifted the cigar box from the floor and opened it. I had so many treasures in this box; I would have to find another box soon. And another hiding place. This would make six treasure boxes hidden around Summerleigh. I held the gold bracelet up to the light and admired it before depositing it in its new home. Strangely enough, I did not feel one shred of regret while doing it. But I should. I should feel regret. I closed the box and put it back in its hiding place. Replacing the board, I climbed to my feet and ducked out of the closet as I dusted off my knees. Oh, now I felt it. Yes, my familiar friends Guilt and Shame were here. They covered me like a heavy quilt—they weighed down my already-heavy soul. I would never get to heaven with a soul so heavy.

  What a horrible thing to do, Loxley Belle! Just horrible! What would your Daddy say?

  “I know, Momma. I know! I’m sorry!” I said to the dead air around me.

  But Momma wasn’t here, and she wasn’t dead. This was my own conscience accusing me of these terrible crimes. No, Momma was very much alive at the asylum, but I wasn’t supposed to talk about that. I was supposed to pretend that Aunt Dot and I were as happy as two clams. We were the peas in the pod now. Not because she wanted it to be that way but because it just was. Why couldn’t she understand that I needed to talk about Momma? I couldn’t remember much about my mother anymore, and I felt that I should. Poor Momma, locked away in an insane asylum for the rest of her life. I wondered if she ever thought about Harper or Addison or me. I wondered if she could think of anything except herself. She never could before. Did they have medicine for that? That’s what Aunt Dot said about Momma one of the few times she would talk about her. She’s in a better place and getting the medicine she needs, Loxley dear. Momma’s birthday was coming up, and I wanted to go see her. Maybe bring her a small gift or a card to cheer up her bedroom.

  But it was more than that. More than just wanting to cheer Momma up. I wanted to see her because I had to know. I had to see if my greatest fear was truly possible. Was I going to become a monster too? I had the makings of one, that was for certain. But Aunt Dot wouldn’t even entertain the idea of my visiting Momma, and Harper agreed with her.

  I’d brought the subject up again to Aunt Dot last night at dinner. “The only thing you can give your mother is your prayers. She’s broken, Loxley dear. All broken inside. All she needs is your prayers,” Aunt Dot answered in a wooden voice as she carried our nearly full plates to the kitchen and began tidying up from supper. She didn’t seem to notice that I barely touched my food or that she’d eaten even less. “Your presence wouldn’t do anything but confuse her.” Of course, I had no argument for that.

  I helped Aunt Dot with the chores, but I moped the entire time. Why couldn’t she understand that I wanted to talk about Momma? I needed to because a strange sort of thing was happening to me. A very strange thing. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but the fear of it grew bigger every day. One day, I would end up in an asylum just like Momma. Please, Daddy, don’t let that be true. But what if I was like her? What could be done? What if one day I would go crazy too? I thought perhaps I would. The kids at school believed it well enough.

  All those Belle girls are crazy. The whole family needs to be committed or put down.

  Shannon Bohannan didn’t care that my locker was only two down from hers. She didn’t care that I could hear every word she said, and Shannon said the most awful things. She wanted me to hear her. She made her thoughts known to whoever would listen, and that was everyone because she was the most popular girl in school. Everywhere she went, a flock of girls followed, and the boys were never too far behind. This afternoon’s diatribe had been the worst yet,
and nobody seemed to mind that her cruel tongue often brought me to tears.

  “It doesn’t matter how much money you have if you’re crazy, Betty Lou. Money can’t buy happiness or love—or sanity. Nobody wants to go to prom with a mental case. I bet she won’t even have a date. It’s probably for the best. We don’t want to have any episodes at our dance, do we?” My schoolmates agreed with a flurry of giggles and a few not-so-soft whispers. All derogatory. Even Louise Walcott turned her back on me. Once upon a time, we had been friends. Shannon rolled her eyes at me now and twisted her long ponytail with her finger before tossing it over her shoulder. The other girls were gathered so tightly around her that I was surprised she could take a step without tripping over one of them. Before leaving, she tilted her haughty head as if she smelled something bad. Presumably me. The rest of her flock followed suit.

  Nobody noticed that her gold charm bracelet hit the ground.

  None of her so-called friends asked her about it as they prissed away. Shannon Bohannan’s charm bracelet, the one that she’d spent all lunch period showing off to everyone, lay on the floor before me like a golden siren. I saw it and without thinking one extra second picked it up and dropped it in my jacket pocket. Nobody had seen me. I was pretty sure of that. There was no one in the hallway except one boy, a new boy, Harmon. He smiled at me, closed his locker and walked away. He had a pleasant enough smile, but it was a bit too big for his face. It made me shiver. Could he have seen me claim Shannon’s lost treasure? No, he hadn’t, and it was mine now. I felt powerful and a bit darker as I closed my locker and hurried off to class with no one the wiser.

  The rest of the day had seemed like a dream. Aunt Dot allowed me to drive the car to school on Fridays, in case I wanted to go to the ice cream shop. I never went, but she was always hopeful that I would one day. Poor Aunt Dot. I must truly be a disappointment to her. I’d parked the car down by the river and made the walk to Summerleigh.

  And now I was leaving, although I would have loved nothing more than to walk the grounds or explore Jeopardy’s castle room. I’d hidden one of my treasure boxes in the attic, but I couldn’t linger today. Aunt Dot would be expecting me home. She was determined to take me dress shopping for the school’s end-of-year dance. And I could think of nothing I wanted to do less. At least she would be present as a chaperone; her being there would likely shut the mouths of the girls who expressed their raw hatred of me so vociferously.