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“Miss Delarosa.” I extended my hand to him, and he politely shook it. “Well then, we must see to it that the house is moved immediately.”

  He stared at me for a moment and then laughed. It was a laugh I would never forget. It was the most beautiful thing I ever heard. His voice was rich and deep, and when he laughed he threw his head back, completely committing himself to the thing. I immediately liked him. “Please give Mr. Nobel my regards.”

  “I shall, if I may know your name. You know mine, but I have not a clue as to who you are.” My voice took on a surprisingly scolding tone, but he did not let that deter him.

  “My name is Brian Dixon. I work with Mr. Nobel at the shipyards. Have a nice evening, Miss Delarosa.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Dixon.” I finally found my voice after he walked out the door. I immediately made plans to take Mr. Trufant up on his offer, for I suddenly had quite an interest in shipbuilding.

  That evening as I took down my hair and brushed it a hundred strokes as Mama insisted, I thought about Mr. Brian Dixon. He obviously wasn’t important enough to garner an invite to the birthday party, but he was trusted enough by Papa to deliver Jonatan’s birthday gift. That meant something. I stepped out of my gown, enjoying the freedom of my underdress. I pulled back the cool sheets and climbed into bed feeling completely exhausted. There were a few guests still lingering downstairs, but Mama had dismissed me an hour ago. I couldn’t say I was disappointed. I had spent the last hour reading in the study until both my eyes and my brain felt tired. I could hear Jonatan and Max laughing in the hallway. And that made me smile too.

  But then my thoughts turned again to Brian Dixon.

  As I dozed off, I pretended that we were walking together and talking. He was telling me about boats, and I was educating him on the subjects of butterflies and roses.

  And then I heard the woman crying again.

  Crying and walking up and down the halls.

  All my senses froze, and I resisted the urge to cry out in fear. No, now she wasn’t just crying but talking, talking to herself. Or to me? Oh God! Help me! My usually comfortable room felt cold, just as it had earlier when Memphis and I stood by the open window in the Blue Room. I wrapped my quilt closer around me and covered my head. I forced myself to remain quiet so she wouldn’t find me, even when I heard the doorknob squeaking.

  I wouldn’t scream. I wouldn’t move. Please don’t hear me, don’t see me!

  A few minutes later the crying stopped.

  And I finally fell asleep.

  Chapter Six—Carrie Jo

  I felt the blanket tighten around me and quickly realized this was not a blanket but the strong arms of a man. Austin Simmons. My first impulse should’ve been to step back—to push him away—but I had a difficult time catching my breath. It was as if I’d run a marathon. One that I had not prepared for at all.

  “I’ve got you,” Austin whispered in my ear.

  With my head on his chest and my hands on his arms, I muttered, “Thank you. I think I’m okay. I just need to sit down for a minute.”

  “What the hell is going on here?” Ashland had apparently decided now would be a good time to walk into the Blue Room.

  I said breathlessly, “Ashland, I can explain…”

  Austin carefully untangled himself from my grasp and said in an apologetic, good-natured tone, “She got light-headed. I was trying to—”

  “I know what you were doing, you bastard. Get your hands off my wife.” Ashland closed the distance between us in just a few seconds. He clutched my hand and tucked me away, nearly causing me to collapse on the floor.

  “Ashland! You’ve got this all wrong!”

  “Oh, really? I suppose you’re gonna tell me you fainted or some other convenient thing. Maybe he was praying for you. Tell me, Carrie Jo, what exactly am I supposed to have gotten wrong? I walk in here and find you hugged up with another man. How would that ever be right?”

  I stammered in surprise, unsure what to say to the angry man who wore my husband’s face.

  “Excuse me, Ashland, Carrie Jo. I assure you nothing happened, Ashland, and nothing inappropriate is going on here. But as you don’t seem willing to listen, I think I will say goodbye.”

  Ashland’s tanned skin turned red, and I saw him clench his fists like he was going to launch into Austin and give him a complete throttling any minute. This was so uncharacteristic of my husband. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I mean, we had lived through the Libby Stevenson fiasco and Mia’s meddling. Surely, he could give me the benefit of the doubt here. Now I was getting ticked.

  “Thank you, Austin. I do appreciate your help today. We’ll talk later.” Ashland didn’t say another word and just stared holes through Austin as he left us alone in the Blue Room. So ironic that this is where it would all fall apart. Right where it all began. How have things changed so rapidly between us? Doesn’t he trust me?

  “Ashland, you have made a huge mistake. Austin wasn’t being inappropriate. I was dreaming! Dream walking! He was showing me how to do it. That’s all it was. When I came out of it, I felt a little dizzy and he was trying to steady me.”

  Ashland snorted. “With his arms around you and his lips on your cheek?”

  “His lips were not on my cheek! That’s a lie!”

  My husband didn’t seem to hear a word I was saying. “That’s some bedside manner he’s got. I can’t believe you, Carrie Jo. Did you guys plan this? I mean, how long has this been going on? No wonder he offered to finance the house. I guess this was the plan all along. What an ass I am!”

  “Whoa! You are being an ass! I’m going home until you can think straight. You can do whatever you want, Ashland Stuart. I’ll see you later.” I was walking toward the door when Ashland let out an agonizing scream. The next thing I knew, he was clutching the side of the settee with one hand and his left temple with the other. He screamed again as I helped him take a seat.

  “What is it? What happened?” I was at a complete loss. One minute I wanted to choke the life out of him, and the next minute I was convinced he was about to die. What was going on here?

  “It’s my head! The pain is killing me, and I feel like I need to throw up.”

  “Should I call somebody? Maybe your doctor?”

  He gripped my hand and covered his eyes. From the strength of the grip, I knew he was in a great deal of pain.

  “Ashland, talk to me. Are you all right?”

  He caught his breath, held it for a moment and then released it. It seemed the pain was easing off.

  “That’s the second time that happened today. I think I’d better go home, Carrie Jo. Maybe take some ibuprofen or something.” Without another word, he got off the settee and left me squatting there. I heard the front door open and sat on the couch wondering what was going on. The strange thing was that even after all the chaos with Ashland and Austin, all I could think about was Lafonda. Well, I didn’t have time for that now. I had to go home and check on my husband and try to salvage whatever I could from today’s disastrous start. He probably wasn’t going to make it easy—he clearly didn’t believe me, but we were worth fighting for.

  With one last sigh, I walked out of the Blue Room and followed Ashland home.

  True to his word, he took some medication and went upstairs to get some rest. Around lunchtime I went to Small Steps to pick up Baby Boy, who was thankfully in a good mood. After some mommy time and a good lunch, our son was ready to settle down for a nap. As he dozed off on the loveseat I kissed his forehead. As always, it was sweet and sweaty. He pushed me away with his chubby hand, “No, Momma. Sleeping.” He was doing that more and more recently. Ashland James was becoming far too independent. I wasn’t too happy about that. But at least it gave me some time to think. Think about what I would say to Ashland when he got to feeling better.

  And what would I say to Austin? What was the protocol here? Should I apologize for my husband’s behavior? Or maybe Austin was the one in the wrong? I obviously hadn’t been on the up and up with
Ashland. I should have told him what I intended to do. I tidied up the living room, putting away Baby Boy’s toys in his plastic bins. I usually didn’t have a problem getting him to help with that. He liked to put things where they belonged. In fact, it was kind of a fun game. I hoped that habit lasted throughout his life. The last thing I picked up was my mother’s hairbrush, the small pink one that she kept in the downstairs bathroom. How in the heck did this get here?

  I clutched it to my chest and lay down on the couch, covering my chilly feet with one of Ashland’s many Alabama Crimson Tide throws. I ran my fingers over the bristles of the plastic brush. There were dark hairs tangled in the spine, Momma’s hair. I touched it and felt tears slide down my face. How could things get any worse? Momma was gone, and Ashland was furious with me. And sick.

  With one last bit of hope, I thought about Momma. Maybe I’d find her in the dream world. Somehow or another, I’d managed to connect with Muncie and Calpurnia in a similar way. Why not Momma?

  I whispered her name, but then I heard Baby Boy whimpering in his sleep and refrained from trying to reach out to her again. I didn’t want to disturb him or involve him in my quest for Momma, but I had every intention of trying again when I was alone.

  I had to know she was okay. Eventually, I managed to doze off. I felt the dream world opening like a flower, and I stepped across the worlds expecting to see Momma standing there. I even called out to her, but she didn’t answer. Nobody did.

  I was in a dark place. No—I was outside in the dark.

  I was under some trees. I knew this place!

  I was in the Moonlight Garden.

  Chapter Seven—Lafonda

  I hid behind a broken statue, hoping that whoever was in the garden would disappear quickly. I couldn’t bear another argument with Mama. I waited for Brian, who promised to accompany me tonight in search of the Banded Tiger Moth. I wasn’t sure I would capture the elusive creature, who preferred to do his flitting in the dark, although I’d spotted one a few evenings before. Above all, the thrill of spending time with Brian was almost more than I could bear. I was an unstable mixture of elation and despair—I was giddy about spending time with Brian, but the road to family reconciliation appeared less likely by the day.

  This was not how I imagined my life would be, hiding my affections, waiting on a man in secret in a run-down garden. Yet I waited.

  It had rained not a half-hour earlier, so the ground was drenched. I couldn’t imagine what the hem of my dress would look like when I slipped back inside later. How would I ever hide grass stains from Mama? Nothing escaped her interrogating eye, especially if it involved Brian Dixon.

  Wait! What was that?

  I thought I heard bushes moving, the shifting of overgrown hedges and wet footsteps on the garden path near me, but the sound quickly abated.

  Brian?

  Brian did not come. He was late, but not by much. I would wait a little longer.

  Our friendship had progressed fairly quickly; I had not expected that. This was so unlike me. I was a woman of science, was I not? I never believed in the concept of love at first sight or losing your heart to a stranger, but here I was, the prime example of such utter foolishness that I could barely stand myself. Perhaps if Mama had not forbidden me to see Brian, I would not feel so compelled to do so. And how had she known about him?

  Max, of course. He made no secret of it, and he didn’t deny it when I asked him. I rather think he wanted me to know he was the one who had revealed my secret friendship.

  Perhaps if Papa had not encouraged me to visit the shipyard I would never have seen Brian again. Yes, it was easier to blame someone else—anyone but myself.

  I heard the flapping of wings. An owl must be nearby or perhaps a bat. I hated those insect eaters. I shivered thinking that I might be out here with a family of bloodthirsty bats. My hand clutched the basin of the fountain statue. How much longer would I wait now? The rain had stirred up more than a few creatures, and I could hear them scurrying around in the thick, wet foliage underfoot. Get a hold of yourself, girl! Are you afraid of the dark?

  I would wait a little while longer. I thought about all that had happened today. As usual, Max had dogged my every step, and Jonatan was never far behind him. Max convinced my brother that I would run away. Jonatan regularly gave me speeches about his concerns and even took to crying on occasion, so worried was he that I would leave him. I told him repeatedly that I would never do so, but he was not comforted. I had taken the bull by the horns, as my grandmother used to say, and took my complaint to Max directly.

  “I do not know what your purpose is in spreading such discord within my family, but I can assure you that you will not succeed. I have every right to make friends with Brian Dixon or anyone else I please. If I may remind you, you are merely my brother’s paid companion. You are not his friend—you are not my friend. I must insist that you relent in your pursuit of me or I will tell my father.”

  He sprang to his feet like a cat on a hot brick. With his perpetual smile he said to me, “Go ahead, Lafonda. Tell your father, and I’ll be forced to tell him about your many visits in the Rose Garden at night, your long meetings in his carriage with your…friend. I’m sure he would love to hear about those. As far as our friendship goes, I assure you I have nothing but your well-being and reputation in mind. And the Delarosa name.”

  “What do you care about the Delarosa name? You are not a Delarosa. How dare you—” Before I could finish, Max put his hand out, his fingers touching my lips to silence me. And silence me it did. He drew even closer. I could smell the faint scent of vanilla soap.

  “Careful now. Don’t say something you might regret later.”

  And with that I stormed off, with every intention of going to my father to plead my case. But if I did, I would have to tell him everything. And I wasn’t prepared to do that. No, I would have to deal with Max on my own terms. There would be a day of reckoning for him, but in the meantime I would steal my happiness where I could.

  The truth was that nothing untoward had passed between Mr. Dixon and me, but how long would he be satisfied with our friendship? Already he’d tried to kiss me twice, and he wanted to hold my hand at every opportunity. But he was an appreciative student of my studies, and I also found a new love for the principles of shipbuilding.

  In other situations, Papa had always been my advocate with Mama, but in this I was alone. And Jonatan, poor Jonatan did not understand that people like Max were opportunists, that they would happily throw him under a carriage to suit their own ends. But Papa was not one to argue with Mama. Especially on subjects that he cared little about, and I apparently fell into that category.

  However, the subject of Jonatan had been hotly debated recently.

  Our parents argued repeatedly over my brother’s future even as Mama schemed to marry him into some distinguished local family. In her mind, he should be a Castilian gentleman overseeing his properties from afar, and Papa was equally determined to have his son become an American success story. Both were fantasies, and I alone appeared to appreciate the truth about my brother’s limited abilities. Perhaps Max also understood since he spent most of his time with Jonatan, when he wasn’t stalking my footsteps, but our parents kept up their expectations and I was happy to allow them this indulgence as long as they remained silent about Brian Dixon. It had been selfish of me and now, thanks to Max, that unspoken bargain had fallen through.

  Mr. Trufant came to Seven Sisters on several occasions in an informal attempt to court me. Although I did not find him repulsive—indeed, many women would consider him a great catch—I had already purposed my future. I did nothing to encourage Mr. Trufant’s attentions, outside of mere friendliness. After a few visits he appeared to read between the lines and essentially asked me if I had already pledged my heart elsewhere.

  “In matters of the heart, I find these to be truly personal questions. But as we are friends—and I do consider you a friend, Mr. Trufant—I must admit to you that my heart
is not available. I think of you as a friend and would be reluctant to accept any type of proposal beyond that, as I am dedicated to the study of science.”

  Perplexed with my answer, he politely excused himself, much to my father’s chagrin. But Papa said nothing else to me about it. I saw Mr. Trufant a few times after that uncomfortable conversation, but he neither implied his continued intentions on courtship nor indicated his disappointment in my decision. For that I was relieved.

  My feet felt chilly; I’d worn the wrong shoes for moth hunting. I stamped them slightly to get the blood moving. I was ready to start this search. The particular moth I wanted wouldn’t be out and about too much longer. It was a large breed and thus less likely to get eaten, but it was still only a moth and not impervious to bat teeth. Yes, I had to go. Brian obviously had been delayed for some reason. I picked up my net from the dry fountain and decided to go hunt on my own. I tried not to think about the heavy heart I carried with me.

  Then I heard the sound. A sound I dreaded.

  Crying…a woman crying. It was all around me, as if it had been carried to me on the evening breeze. Christine Cottonwood! She knew I was out here, and she was coming for me! The weeping grew louder and encircled me like a wicked cloud.

  “Stop! Go away!” I said as the wind caught my dark hair and whipped it about my face, but the urge to flee was too overwhelming. I couldn’t wait any longer for Brian. If I waited, who knew what would happen to me?

  And then I saw her, the crying woman at the end of the pathway, near the back of the garden. Her nightgown appeared wet, as if she’d been standing in the rain all night—or she’d met her demise in a lake or the nearby Mobile River. Was that blood on her gown? Her dark blond hair looked darker than before, and it was plastered to her head and face. “No!” I shouted to her, but she began to walk in my direction, her arms outstretched, her crying growing louder, more intensely frightening. She wanted to touch me, to claim me.

  “Oh God!” I shouted and stepped out from my hiding place behind the broken statue. I was a woman of science. I couldn’t be seeing this. It wasn’t possible! I didn’t believe in ghosts or hauntings. Those were old wives’ tales! But that didn’t matter, for there she was, nearly translucent now, except her head and shoulders.