The Stars We Walked Upon (Seven Sisters Series Book 5) Read online

  I finally asked the question I had been dying to ask, “Who is your mother, Miss Cottonwood?”

  With an even, steely gaze she answered me, “My mother is Isla Beaumont, daughter of Olivia Beaumont, sister of Christine Cottonwood.”

  “Are we related then in some way?” I asked her, my voice shakier than I expected.

  “I think we are cousins, Miss Page.”

  “And your father?” I asked, ignoring Mr. Keene’s scowl. It wasn’t the proper thing to ask, but people asked me all the time, didn’t they?

  “Jeremiah Cottonwood. Unfortunately I never knew him.” We three sat in silence for a full minute before she spoke again. “It seems there are a great many secrets here in this house. Don’t you agree, Miss Page?”

  “Yes, I do.” A flurry of questions filled my brain. What happened to my mother, to my sister? What did my mother look like? Did she leave me anything? A note or a letter? But it was too soon in our acquaintance to bombard Miss Cottonwood with those queries. I had already broken protocol with my rude question once, but I had to know for sure. The servant, the older angry one with the slick dark hair, came in with platters of food and plunked them down unceremoniously on the linen-covered table.

  “Thank you, Docie. Now please bring the wine for our guests.”

  She glared at Miss Cottonwood, who tried to ignore her. Our hostess placed her linen napkin in her lap, and I did the same. With a shiny gold fork she pierced a piece of ham and placed it on her plate. I helped myself to a piece of warm bread and a pat of butter. It was a simple but delicious meal. As she cut her meat into tiny pieces, she asked, “What are your plans, Miss Page? Do you intend to stay in Mobile?”

  “I do indeed. This is my home. Granted, I have legal battles ahead of me, but I don’t plan to turn tail and run. Mr. Keene is helping me adjudicate my case with the court. I am sure you have heard all about it.”

  “Where would I have heard anything like that? Do you think me a gossip?”

  Her question surprised me. “I didn’t mean to imply that,” I said defensively.

  Docie returned with a glass pitcher full of burgundy wine. She poured the young woman’s drink and set the pitcher on the table. She didn’t offer to pour ours or wait to be dismissed but glared at me again before leaving us alone. Aware of her servant’s rudeness, Miss Cottonwood’s cheeks reddened. She stood and poured our drinks, and then returned to her seat. Mr. Keene kept silent, watching the two of us. I thought I spotted a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “I think what Miss Page means is that she is aware her situation is the source of quite a bit of gossip amongst certain quarters of Mobile society. It would not surprise either of us if you had heard something negative about her. However, having enjoyed her acquaintance these past months, I can vouch that she is a kind lady with a good many fine qualities.” He sipped his wine and said seriously, “You know, it might be beneficial to you both to form some kind of alliance. Even an unofficial one. After all, you are family and face similar situations.”

  Ignoring the last part of his statement, she asked, “What sort of alliance?”

  “Because of your unique social positions, it might be wise to make a united front against anyone who would deny either of you your heritage. At least you could stand up for one another, if the situation called for it.” I watched the candles on the table flicker as I sipped my wine. My lips felt dry, and my heart pounded.

  “I agree—if you are so inclined, Miss Page.” She set down her fork and knife and watched me.

  “Very well, I agree. Do you have an attorney, Miss Cottonwood?”

  “Karah, please. If we are to form an alliance, then we should call each other by our given names, I think. And no, not yet.”

  “Please call me Delilah. And if you don’t think it out of place, I would like to recommend Mr. Keene. He’s been a great help to me. I am sure he could help you too.”

  She smiled broadly. “Would you be willing to take me on, Mr. Keene? I have had no luck with finding adequate counsel. At first lawyers were calling on me nearly every day to offer their services, and now I can’t seem to find any help. I confess I feel somewhat desperate. If it weren’t for my mother’s nest egg, I would have nothing at all. While she’s away, all I can do is wait—it’s most frustrating.”

  I knew exactly what had happened—Claudette Page. The woman held a lot of influence here. There was no doubt she was using that influence to force us both to leave Mobile.

  Mr. Keene nodded. “I would be happy to do some research for you. Let’s meet again to talk about the particulars.”

  His answer pleased her. She raised her glass to me and said, “To new friends.”

  It must have been the wine, but I smiled and added, “To family.”

  When we left that evening, I felt happy, happier than I had in a long time. Karah and I had plans to meet the following week. I was to return to Seven Sisters for tea, and my cousin promised me that I would be given full access to my mother’s belongings. I could hardly believe it. As the carriage rolled down the long driveway, I looked back just to prove to myself that I wasn’t dreaming.

  I saw the curtains move in an upstairs room of the house. A dark face peered down at me. It was an old woman, much older than the angry Docie. Even from this distance, I could see her expression clearly: she was afraid. She shook her head and mouthed some words, but I couldn’t understand them. I felt troubled and turned to ask Mr. Keene to stop and turn around, but when I looked back the woman was gone. I pulled my wrap closer.

  I didn’t look back again.

  Chapter Seven—Carrie Jo

  I woke up to a rough tongue licking my face. A friendly cat meowed at me before he stalked off. At least he was friendlier than the furry bag of claws that had assailed me in the cemetery. I sat up, wondering where I was. Cold, stone floor, wooden pews, high vaulted ceilings—I was in a church. I stood and dusted off my clothing. Morning light filtered through the stained glass windows. Under normal circumstances I would’ve found the imagery beautiful, but these were not normal circumstances. I picked up my purse from the ground and looked around to make sure I hadn’t lost anything. Checking my hands and legs, I didn’t see any injuries, but the side of my face stung. I touched a ragged scratch on my cheek, probably delivered by the evil cat.

  Have I really been here all night? How did I get here? And where is here?

  I heard the sound of a key ring jostling; the metal security gate screeched and then the side door of the church swung open. The emerging air felt fresh and warm, and I was thankful for the sunshine. I didn’t know whether to call out or to hide. My indecisiveness had me frozen to the spot.

  “Well, good morning. Have you been here all night? Get a bit of prayer in?” an older gentleman in a black suit called to me as he shoved the keys in his pocket. His head was semi-bald; white wisps of hair poked out from his temples, and the morning light surrounded him like a halo.

  “I’m not sure,” I confessed. “I must have fallen asleep. If you’ll excuse me.” Great. Now I was lying to a priest. In a church, no less.

  “No need to rush off. Is this your first time visiting the basilica?” The more he spoke, the more I discerned a heavy French accent. Odd to find a French priest in Mobile, wasn’t it?

  “Um, basilica?”

  “Yes, young lady. You are at the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. I am Father Portier.” After a moment he asked, “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “Yes, I am. I just…I’d better go. Thank you, Father.”

  “Very well, thank you for visiting. I must go ring the bells. Can’t be late.”

  “Yes, of course.” I strolled toward the open door. The downtown streets were becoming busy now with morning traffic. Then I thought if anyone could answer my questions about the supernatural, surely it would be a priest, right? I glanced at my watch. It was nearly eight o’clock, just two minutes till. “Father if you don’t mind, I do have a question.”

  He smiled
pleasantly. “And I will be happy to answer it after I ring the bells. I shall return in a moment.”

  I sat in a back pew and waited as he began to climb the narrow stairs that led to the belfry. In just a minute the bells began to chime, sure to wake up any nearby residents who were still asleep. It was a beautiful sound. The old man returned to the sanctuary and walked toward me. “Ah, still here. I was hoping you would not change your mind. Not everyone likes the sound of bells, you know.”

  “I think they’re lovely.”

  “That’s nice. Now what is your question, my dear?” He sat in the pew across the aisle from me, resting his gnarled hands on the back of the wooden seat in front of him.

  “It’s probably going to sound strange, especially coming from someone you don’t know, and…I must confess I am not a Catholic.”

  “We are all children of God. What do you want to know?”

  “Thank you for saying that. I am not sure God knows who I am, but it’s nice of you to say so.”

  “I have a feeling He knows all about you, young lady.”

  “Do you believe in the supernatural, Father? I mean, the world of ghosts and supernatural activity. Is it all evil? Maybe figments of our imagination?”

  He considered my question for a moment, then pointed at a nearby statue. It was the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus. The statue was painted in bright colors, and on her breast was painted a purple heart. “Do you see that statue?” I nodded. “Do you see the rose she’s stepping on?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Whenever you see a rose in a painting or statue of the Blessed Virgin, you should look for the secret.”

  “Secret? I don’t understand.”

  “Look carefully at her hands. Do you see anything unusual?”

  I got up from my seat and walked toward the statue. I studied Mary’s hands for a moment, then caught my breath. “She’s holding something in her hand…it looks like a pearl! What does that mean?”

  “That is the question.” He rose from the pew, walked toward the statue and studied it with me. He stood looking up at the artwork and then smiled at me. “Not even church scholars can agree on the reason for that pearl. Some say it’s a symbol of the purity of the Virgin, while others say it represents the Parable of the Pearl, and there are other more fantastic opinions with which I won’t bore you.”

  “That’s interesting, but I’m not sure what that has to do with…”

  He chuckled. “Ah, to be young again. So impatient to know all the answers. That is my point. The truth about the pearl’s meaning is a mystery. It is there, we can see it, we know it is an unusual thing and this statue is very old. Much older than even me, and that is quite old.” He smiled pleasantly. “But we don’t know what it means. You see, the world is full of mysteries, not the least of which is the subject of the supernatural. Like this pearl, it is something to be discovered and defined by each man, each woman.”

  I stared at the pearl and considered his words. He asked kindly, “Does that help you at all, or have I confused you more?”

  “Yes, it does help.” I did feel more peaceful. He didn’t answer my question, not directly, but perhaps he was right. This was a subject that had no answer, no black-and-white definition. “I’d better go now. My husband will be looking for me.”

  “I am sure he will be. Take care, and mind those steps. I would hate for an expectant mother to trip on the cathedral stairs.”

  “How did you know?” My hand flew to my stomach protectively.

  “When you get to be as old as I am, dear lady, it is easy to spot the glow on a young mother’s face.”

  I smiled and touched my flushed cheek before I turned to walk out of the church. Such a nice old man. Almost made me wish I were Catholic. I walked down the steps and out to the courtyard. I was on Conception Street near the intersection with St. Anthony. Yes, I knew this church; I just never knew the name. I turned around to get a better view of the old building and caught my breath. The place had two huge towers flanking the massive sanctuary. Round domes sat atop the towers, which must have housed the church bells. To my surprise, the gate was locked again. I couldn’t believe Father Portier had managed to close it so quickly and so quietly.

  Curious now, I walked back to the church, but it was locked up tight. A red-haired gentleman wearing green coveralls walked toward me whistling. “Need to get in there? I was just about to open up. Sorry I’m late. Hey, you’re new.”

  “Yes, I’m new, but I was just in there talking to Father Portier.”

  He pushed up his thick glasses. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was just talking to your priest, Father Portier. Older man, balding, with white hair?”

  He looked around as if someone might jump out at him. “Is this some kind of joke, lady?”

  “No joke. I swear it’s the truth. Just ask him yourself. He’s right inside.”

  With a skeptical look, the man opened the gate and stepped inside. There was no one around.

  “He rang the bells a few minutes ago. Are you going to tell me I made that up?”

  “Those bells have been on a timer since the early ’90s. Listen, I don’t know what you’re into, drugs, booze or whatever, but you need help, lady.”

  I backed away and walked out of the church. By the time I made it to the end of the sidewalk, I was already running. I didn’t stop until I reached Conception Street. When I got home I wasn’t shaking anymore. I was tired and hungry, and I had butterflies. Mostly, I was happy to have something else to think about besides Father Portier and the weird experience I’d just had.

  I walked up the sidewalk, happy to see Ashland’s truck in the driveway. What was I going to say to him, coming home in yesterday’s clothes? Sorry, babe, I passed out in a church.

  As if he could hear my thoughts, he bounded out of the house. “Thank God! Are you okay? Where have you been, Carrie Jo?” Before I could answer him, he put his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. “You had me so worried.”

  “I am sorry. I’m a jerk.” I clung to him, feeling ashamed that I had not told him the news about our child. Now was as good a time as any. “I will explain everything, I promise, but first I have to tell you something. I can’t go another minute without telling you. I should have already told you, but I was so angry. I know it was stupid. I’m so sorry.”

  “What is it?” His bright blue eyes searched mine, and he held my hands. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Ashland Stuart, you are going to be a father.”

  He dropped my hands, and his eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely. But if you don’t believe me, you can wait six and a half to seven months and see for yourself.”

  A big, beautiful smile crept across his face. He picked me up and kissed me passionately. Before I could say “Boo,” he carried me into the house. His worries had clearly vanished.

  “We’ll need a bigger house. And furniture.” He put me down and kissed me again.

  “Okay, calm down. I’ve had a rough night. That was the good news. Now I have something else to tell you. It’s about Delilah Iverson, and something else happened. I was at a church. Well, it was a gate and then a church. But Ash, I’m starving. I would love some of your cheese grits.”

  “I can take a hint. Why don’t you call Rachel and tell her you’re going to be late? She’s been almost as worried about you as I have. Why is your car at the office?”

  “It broke down. Brand-new BMW, and it won’t start. Food first, Mr. Stuart. I’ll go change if you don’t mind.” I touched his hand. “Are you sure you’re happy? We’ve never actually talked about having kids.”

  “Of course I’m happy. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Good. Then you go change, I’ll cook, and we’ll meet back here in ten minutes.”

  “Yes sir,” I said playfully as I walked up the stairs.

  Chapter Eight—Carrie Jo

  At 9:45 p.m., I finally presse
d the send button on the proposal, shooting it off to Desmond Taylor with a weary smile. I couldn’t have done it without Ashland and Rachel. Even Chip helped out by picking up the takeout and pulling up old purchase orders from our Seven Sisters job. It was definitely a team effort, and that felt good. Hopefully we would hear something positive from Mr. Taylor soon. I leaned back in my chair and sighed. What a weird forty-eight hours this had been! I’d been so busy with finalizing the prelim proposal I hardly had time to mull over my supernatural encounter with the cemetery light and the friendly priest. When I retold the story to my husband over breakfast he didn’t question my sanity.

  Looking as tired as I did, Ashland began picking up our dinner remnants, empty takeout boxes and half-empty water bottles, while I closed up shop on the computer. With bleary eyes I closed the folders, remembering to save our work one last time. I was just about to shut the whole thing down when my inbox dinged. I hoped it was Mr. Taylor emailing me back to confirm that he received the file, but it wasn’t my prospective client. The email was from Alice and Myron Reed.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “What is it?”

  “I just received an email from the Reeds. I wonder what this is about.” I could tell from Ashland’s raised eyebrows that he was as suspicious as I was. Nothing good ever came from chatting with the Reeds. Since their daughter’s arrest they barely spoke to me, but I suppose I couldn’t blame them. A few months after Mia’s commitment in the state mental hospital, I got a notification from the Reeds’ attorney of a pending civil action, but then they suddenly dropped it. I had no idea what they were thinking—then or now.

  “Babe, why don’t you wait until tomorrow to read that? I’m sure it’s not anything super important.”

  I tapped my finger nervously on the mouse pad. “You are probably right, but if I don’t check it I’m going to spend all night thinking about it. I mean, what if Mia somehow got free? Wouldn’t you want to know if she might be lurking in the bushes?” I said with a sad smile.