The Stars We Walked Upon (Seven Sisters Series Book 5) Page 11

  As I pushed my way through the crowd, I reflected on the past few weeks. There had seemed no end to the line of women that flowed through Maundy’s parlor and dress shop. We worked as fast as our fingers would allow us, sometimes late into the night. Karah had gotten into the habit of sending the Brougham carriage around to pick me up at five o’clock, which was a blessing. But many was the night when Stokes had to wait for me, sometimes for hours. Regardless of the time of my return, my cousin would be there in the Blue Room with a plate of food and a smile, eager to hear about my day at Mobile’s busiest dress shop. I often invited her to visit me at the shop, to come get to know Maundy and the other women I worked with, but she always refused, saying that she did not want to miss her mother’s arrival. I pointed out that her mother was not set to arrive for a few days, but she said that she wouldn’t put it past her to arrive early.

  After all these weeks of being with Karah, I knew very little about her mother other than that she was a popular and gifted actress and quite a beauty. Karah showed me handbills with her image and even shared a tiny portrait of her in a locket that Karah wore about her neck. From what I could see, Karah looked very much like her only thinner and not nearly as flamboyantly dressed. I did not feel anxious about her arrival. I assumed that anyone related to Karah would be kind and friendly.

  During one of my late nights at work Adam came by the shop, but Maundy sent him away. She told him we were rushed to finish ball gowns and could not be bothered with a social visit. Listening on the other side of the parlor door, I heard the entire conversation. Maundy was polite but firm in her refusal to let him see me, yet she invited him to visit her for dinner after Mardi Gras ended. I said nothing when she returned but tucked the information away for later use.

  The following evening I arrived at Seven Sisters as usual, tired and hungry, but I immediately knew something was wrong. Karah wasn’t at her usual place at the round cherrywood table that we often used for our late-night suppers. She was thumbing through one of the many books of poems in the ladies’ parlor and barely noticed when I arrived. A stack of books was beside her on the table and I could tell she was looking for something important.

  “Good evening, cousin,” I said pleasantly and reached for the plate that Hooney left for me. The bread was dry and the soup was cold, but I was so hungry it didn’t matter. I dipped the bread into the oniony broth and snacked away.

  She turned around, her face in a book, then looked up and gasped. “Oh goodness. What time is it?”

  “It’s nearly nine o’clock. I didn’t mean to startle you. I spoke, but you were immersed in your book. Must be an interesting read.”

  “I was just…well, you’re here now.”

  “Yes, and I think this is the last late night for me, unless Mrs. Broadus brings her daughter’s dress back for some reason or another—which wouldn’t surprise me in the least. The way that young lady puts on weight is astonishing. Is there something I can help you find?”

  She shook her head and placed the book on top of the others in the nearby stack. Docie walked in, scowled at me and walked back out. Looking even more uncomfortable, Karah said, “Please excuse Docie. She’s not used to socializing with other people.”

  I wiped the crumbs from my hands and said, “Why do you keep her, Karah? She isn’t only unpleasant, she also is dangerous and has no regard for our family’s things. Not to mention how abominably she treats you. I do not understand. Surely you can find another maid.”

  She shrugged and absently ran her finger across the spine of the book. Since she was content to stare at her hands, I asked, “What is it? I can see that something is on your mind. Is it your mother? Should I leave?”

  “No, I do not want you to go. I think when she meets you she will like you, just as I do. But the truth is my mother is very changeable and I am never too good at predicting her thoughts or her moods. That’s not what has me puzzled, though.”

  “Oh? What is it?” My eyes hurt, and my fingers felt stiff and dry, but I waited to hear her revelation.

  “Adam Iverson came by Seven Sisters today.”

  I sat up straighter and began to apologize. “I will speak with him. I promise he won’t come back again. Did he behave inappropriately?”

  My lovely cousin pursed her lips in thoughtful expression. The ivory candles on the table sputtered on their shiny candlesticks. I felt an unmistakable draft in the room. The flickering flames cast strange shadows on the wall beside us. “He is in love with you, I think.” I could not hide my surprise at her observation. “Mr. Iverson is unashamedly flirtatious, but all he wanted to talk about was you. Do you love him, Delilah? He is rather handsome in a rugged, farmhand sort of way.”

  “I…” I felt my skin warm, and I toyed with my bread.

  Karah quickly added, “Perhaps your affections lie somewhere else now, as Mr. Iverson seems to believe.”

  How would I navigate this turn in conversation? Until tonight, Karah had never asked me about Adam or our relationship, and I was too tired to play parlor games with her. My rebellious heart won over the intelligent part of my mind that encouraged me to tread lightly.

  “I loved him as a brother, until I knew he was not my brother. I thought he felt the same way about me.”

  “So he mistreated you? Took advantage of you?” She tilted her head and folded her hands in front of her on the table. Seeing my hesitation, she poured me another glass of water.

  “No, not intentionally. Adam cannot be anything but who he is. I think we were naïve—I was naïve—but there were no promises made. I had no promise.”

  “You yielded yourself to him?” Karah leaned forward, the tiny lines on her forehead deepening as she whispered. I sipped my water and did not answer her but merely gave her a glum look. She obviously had never been in love. “What about Jackson? Are you interested in him, Delilah? Not to be crass, cousin, but I do not know any other way to ask.”

  Surprised by the question I unthinkingly blurted an answer. “Mr. Keene and I have a business relationship. I consider him a friend but only a friend.”

  “Then you would not mind if he called on me?”

  “I have no reason to object.”

  She reached across the table and squeezed my hand happily. “I am so pleased to hear that. Forgive me for being so forward, cousin. I just had to know. If I thought you had your cap set for him, I would never encourage his attention. I have strong feelings on this matter. I never want to be accused of competing with my dear cousin. There are too many men in the world for that.”

  I smiled back at her, pretending to be happy. Why hadn’t I told her the truth, that I was not sure how I felt about Mr. Keene? Now it was too late say so. Quietly I internalized the meaning of all this. Because of my confession, Karah now knew all about my involvement with Adam and she made it plain she had designs on our attorney. Maundy was right—I was too quick to speak my mind.

  “Did you hear me, Delilah?”

  “Yes,” I lied, then took a sip of my water. I did not drink often, but I suddenly felt the need for a glass of wine or some of Maundy’s strong drink.

  “Really? What did I say?”

  “I apologize, Karah. I guess I am more tired than I thought.” I stood up and stretched my sore back.

  “It wasn’t important. We can talk tomorrow. Can I count on you to help me get the house ready for Mother tomorrow? I want everything to look its best. I am sure Maundy can spare you one day.”

  “Yes, I will gladly help you. I think I will go to bed now. Do you need help finding your lost bookmark?”

  “Bookmark?”

  “Yes, or whatever it is you are looking for.” I pointed to the messy stack of dusty books piled on the table.

  “Oh, bookmark. No, I think I will retire too in just a few minutes. It is getting late. Good night, cousin.”

  “Good night, Karah.” Feeling unhappy, I left her in the ladies’ parlor and walked down the hall toward the staircase. No candles had been lit in the hallway,
and the entire top floor was like a yawning black cavern. The hem of my blue dress had torn as I stepped out of the carriage earlier. I would need to repair it, but now I just wanted to prevent myself from tripping over it and tumbling up or down the stairs. I picked up my skirts to climb up to Calpurnia’s room when an odd amber-colored light shining in from the glass door to the Moonlight Garden caught my eye. I paused to decide if I should call out to Karah, but the events of the evening still stung. I decided to have a look myself. It was not unusual to see lights on the property at night, but the color of the light attracted my attention. I had never seen anything like it. As I walked toward the door, the light moved away from the garden entrance, but I could plainly see it shining through the trees.

  I opened the door and hoped to avoid waking Stokes, who slept in the small room under the stairs. He was an odd man—an empty man who did not enjoy idle chitchat, especially with women. From what Karah whispered to me on the few occasions we had the opportunity to speak without enduring Docie’s disapproving stares, Stokes had been Mr. Cottonwood’s right-hand man, never too far from his master. I wondered what the former slave thought about me—if he even knew or cared who I was. The door clicked behind me, and I stepped out on the brick walkway.

  Karah and I had walked through the garden during my initial tour of the home, but there had been plenty of daylight to see by. In the day it was a marvelous place, full of hidden spots for reading a book or, as Karah put it, stealing a kiss. But it seemed a forlorn place at night. It was completely dark, with the exception of the half-moon above me and the odd amber light hovering on the other side of the trees.

  I walked the half circle to the opening of the maze path, pausing to see if I could determine the source of the light. Tendrils from my usually neat bun slapped my face as a blast of wind blew through the garden, almost pulling me down the path. My hand flew up to shield my face from an unexpected shower of damp magnolia leaves. Then I heard my name whispered on the breeze, “Delilah, Delilah.”

  “Who’s there?” I asked in a near whisper. My heart was pounding in my chest as if I had run through the whole garden. My skin tingled, and my lips felt dry. I stopped on the path, my mind torn between the choices—run back to the house or continue my search to determine the source of the unusual light. “Who’s there?” I said in a stronger voice. The wind blew steadily, but at least the trees were not pelting me with foliage. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I watched the light bounce further into the maze. Curiosity won the battle with fear, and I pressed on. In the half light of the moon I could at least see the path ahead of me, and the strange bouncing light seemed to have stopped on the path to wait for my arrival. Walking more quickly now, I called out again, “Who are you? Is that you, Stokes?”

  I walked deeper into the twisting garden, to the left and then to the right again until I felt disoriented.

  What was I doing? This was none of my business, was it? This was not my house or my property. I was only a visitor here. Who did I think I was, policing the grounds as if I were a true Cottonwood? I had no weapon or any other way to defend myself, but I wasn’t thinking clearly as I pushed toward the light that now began to pulsate. The amber color darkened, and suddenly the light disappeared. I scrambled down the hedge, scratching myself on a thorny branch. I swore under my breath—it was a word I had never used before, but I had heard Maundy use it plenty of times. Yet I did not stop. I could not explain this compulsion, but I had to find and identify the source of the light. I stepped out of the maze into a clearing and nearly fell over dead.

  Standing in the center circle of the maze was a man, a tall man wearing a fine suit with white collars and no hat. Unmoving, he watched me as I approached just as if he were a statue. I had passed many statues in this garden on my journey here, but none were as frightening as the man who stood before me. I paused about twenty feet from him, waiting for some indication that he was a living being. Another breeze blew through the Moonlight Garden, and on the breeze I smelled magnolias, burning leaves and something else…

  My hands flew into fists, and I looked around to see if anyone else had joined us. If there were two men I should certainly run, but I saw no one else. What should I do? Should I turn to flee the garden? I stared in disbelief as a whirlwind of leaves blew between us, blasting my gown and hair. In seconds, it had lashed my hair completely free from its pins. As the wind blew past me I could plainly see that the intruder’s hair did not move! He was certainly a statue—or something. A feeling of dread filled my soul with horror, and finally I gained control of my legs. As quickly as I had run into the garden, I began to run out.

  I took a right turn down the long hedgerow and ran left, traveling under the blooming dogwoods. I took another left and ran the length of the magnolia-lined trail. My eyes were wide, and my breath came fast and hard. I knew I was heading the right way—there were pods and leaves covering the ground, and the white petals shone bright in the moonlight. My forgotten torn hem caught my foot, and I tripped and went sliding across a pile of damp, musky leaves. I skinned my elbow, but I could not really feel the pain.

  I heard footsteps behind me on the leaves and knew I was not alone. I was too afraid to move.

  Maybe if I remain very still, he will not see me!

  Slowly I pushed my hair out of my face and could see a pair of shoes a few feet from me. With complete horror, I looked up…and there he was, glaring down at me. The stranger reached his hand toward me, and his long nails were dirty and gray. I scrambled away from him, scooting back on my hands and climbing awkwardly to my feet. I stood breathing hard as the thing surveyed me. Since I stood frozen, afraid for my life, I stared back. His unearthly pale skin appeared as if it had never seen the sun. He had a thin, narrow nose, sculpted lips and dark eyes—eyes that had no life in them. On closer inspection I could see that his jacket and trousers were dusty as if he slept in the dirt. My soul was offended on such a deep level, but I could barely understand it. Then it occurred to me. This man was not alive—I was looking into the face of a ghost.

  As the awareness of my situation dawned upon me, I could see the amusement in his eyes. I knew who he was—or at least what he was, and he knew that too. Since he was not leaving or moving I asked him, “What are you doing here?”

  He took a step toward me, and instinctively I moved backwards. In an elegant dead voice he said, “I am waiting for someone.”

  “Who are you waiting for?” I whispered in the darkness. He moved toward me without moving his feet. It was a sort of glide. He was only a few feet from me now, and as I watched his face began to change…the skin became pinker, the dark eyes took on a dark blue color, and he appeared to breathe. The breeze blew again, lifting the hair off of his collar. Despite the amazing effect, I knew it was all an illusion. He wanted me to think he was alive, but I knew he was not. A smile curled on his lips, and I could see his perfect white teeth.

  “It does not matter now, Delilah. She is not here, but you will do. Would you like to take a walk with me?” He offered his hand to me as innocently as a child, but I had no intention of reaching for it.

  “No, I don’t think I will.” There we stood facing one another, he unmoving and my feet locked in place. Then I heard a voice, a familiar voice, a living voice calling to me from the house.

  “Delilah? Come inside! There is a storm brewing.” The garden intruder glanced at the doorway and then at me. He smiled and rudely licked his lips before he disappeared, melting away until his image vanished. Finally free to move, I bolted toward the door, remembering to lift my tattered hem as I ran. I climbed the steps and scurried through the open door and into the arms of my cousin.

  “Delilah! Look at you! What happened? You are as cold as ice. Come inside now and I’ll make you a hot cup of tea.” I wept on her shoulder and clung to her as if she were the only thing that could save me from death. “Docie! Come quickly!”

  Kara’s servant walked serenely into the hallway, her hands clasped before her. “Yes? What is
it?” The older woman was wearing a long flannel nightgown, and her gray hair hung in a long braid over her shoulder.

  “My cousin has seen something that frightened her. Have Stokes search the garden, and please bring us a cup of tea. Quickly now!” Karah led me away, her arm about my waist. I glanced over my shoulder at Docie. The woman had not moved. In fact, she stood in the hallway watching us with a smile on her face.

  She knew exactly what I had seen in the garden, and she wasn’t surprised by it.

  Chapter Thirteen—Carrie Jo

  Before I left the house, I checked my email and was delighted to see that Desmond Taylor had replied with his answer: the Idlewood project was a go! I had done it—no, our team had done it! I felt excited by the prospect of beginning a new project. It would take a lot of time, probably a few years, but it would be worth it if we could stop the house from rotting into the Mobile landscape and return Idlewood to its proper place in society.

  Ashland had left early for a meeting with his attorney about some mysterious project. I wasn’t too sure about this new attorney. She seemed very hands-on, but she was a friend of his from high school; working with him would kind of be her big break. I trusted Ashland. He had been unfaithful to me only subconsciously. I had no reason to believe that there was anything funny going on, but my gut still told me to keep an eye on her.