The Memory House
“I wonder if I’ll ever sleep again. I miss him until I think my heart will burst. I want him to come home.”
“Soon, this war will be over and Tom will return. Then, we’ll have a grand wedding and invite everyone in Honey Ridge.”
“Oh, Charlotte, I dream of that day—” Josie clasped a fist to her chest “—when I glide down the staircase in Mama’s wedding gown and Tom is waiting in the parlor to marry me.”
“We’ll get your mother’s gown from the attic this very evening and check the fitting.” After the work. After the patients were tended, the bandages changed, the bloody floors scrubbed and food put on the table.
“Really? Could we?”
“Of course we can.” Though Charlotte was bone weary and would rather collapse on her bed, they needed distractions during these long, trying months of war. No matter how petulant Josie could be. “Tonight, I’ll ask Lizzy to prepare a tea for you. You’ll sleep like a baby and dream of your wedding day.”
Josie made a face. “Her potions taste horrid.”
Lizzy was Charlotte’s friend more than her maid, though Charlotte had been chastised by Edgar for saying as much. Slaves, he insisted, were property, not friends. Yet, he did not prevent her from tending their sick or teaching the slave children to read scripture. He was a strange man, her husband, and she despaired of ever fully knowing him.
“We’ll add a spoon of honey.” She moved to the window and glanced out. Soldiers raided the orchard, though peach season had waned and few fruit remained. She prayed they didn’t discover the storage in the cellar or the silver and heirlooms Hob and Lizzy had buried below the carriage house. “Have you seen Benjamin this morning?”
“He’s probably off fishing with Tandy somewhere. Or lurking with those horrible men. You really should speak to him, Charlotte.”
Another soft tap sounded at her door and Charlotte was grateful for the interruption. Short of locking Ben in his room, keeping him away from the soldiers was impossible. They were everywhere, and both he and Tandy were agog with interest.
When she opened the door, the small love of her life threw his sturdy body against her skirts. With him came the ever-present Tandy, Lizzy’s son and Benjamin’s playmate. “Mama!”
Charlotte’s dress pooled around her feet as she dipped low to embrace him. She thanked God every day that this baby had been spared the fate of the others. Though she longed for more, Edgar had turned away from her bed after the last tiny soul was laid to rest. Because she’d failed in that most fundamental of wifely duties, Ben was likely the only living child she’d ever have. So, she loved him all the more. Desperately, she loved him.
“You smell like horse,” she said, relishing the scent because it came from Benjamin. With deep affection, she smoothed his cowlick, a stubborn column of wheat-colored hair poking up from his crown.
“Captain Will let us pet Smokey. That’s his horse. He’s named Smokey because he’s gray but his mane and tail are black.”
Josie drew back like a rattlesnake. “You stay away from that Yankee. Why, your daddy will have your hide.”
Ben turned worried eyes to Charlotte. “Will he, Mama?”
“Of course not.” Though Edgar was not an affectionate or attentive father, he was not cruel to his son. He was, however, full of hatred toward the Federals. “But you be good boys and don’t bother the captain. He is a busy man.”
“Captain Will is nice. He said boys are no bother at all.” Tandy shared a nod with Ben. “’Cause he used to be one back in Ohio.”
Ohio. The good captain was a long way from home. She wondered what he’d done before the war and if a wife or a sweetheart longed for his return.
“I like him,” Ben declared, and his innocent goodness stirred both fear and pride in his mother. The captain was kind and had given the boy attention, something he often lacked from Edgar, though she felt disloyal for thinking so. “Mama, he wants to talk to you in the parlor.”
A sudden anticipation fluttered in Charlotte’s belly as unwelcome and disturbing as the onslaught of Yankees. These daily conversations with Captain Will Gadsden troubled her, for she enjoyed them.
Perhaps too much.
Edgar needed to come home.
8
Honey Ridge
Present Day
Eli glanced at the gas gauge as he pulled slowly through Honey Ridge. He was running low and had no idea where he was going. Right now, his head pounded and he couldn’t think straight. Remembering a park he’d passed on the way in, he headed there. Parks had been his friends and sometimes his bedrooms since his release. Saving enough money to rent an apartment wasn’t easy to do when all a man could find were odd jobs. The minute he filled out application forms and admitted he was a convicted felon, employment offers disappeared.
He pulled into the graveled parking space, got out of the Dodge and walked to a shady concrete table. Birds had been there first, leaving behind their calling cards. Glad to be outside in the fresh air with the deep green leaves hanging overhead, Eli propped his elbows on the hard concrete and watched red birds peck the ground for the remains of someone’s Cheetos.
Life was a dilemma. As much as he hated prison, he’d understood it. The boring routine, the men to avoid, the unspoken rules about keeping his mouth shut and his head down. But out here in the real world was different. He wondered if he’d ever adjust.
He had a son. That one fact hammered away at him like the woodpecker in the live oak next to the merry-go-round. He wondered if his son played here. Had Mindy brought him? Had she pushed him on the swings or had she been too sick and weak to play anymore? Opal certainly couldn’t. What kind of childhood would his son have with a sick old woman who could barely walk?
He tugged his wallet from his back pocket and counted his money. Thirty-seven dollars. A man couldn’t take care of a child on that amount.
When a black-and-white car pulled up next to his Eli tensed, watching a uniformed policeman exit the cruiser and walk around the Dodge. The cop would call in the out-of-town plates. Find them clean. No use getting in a panic.
But Eli’s palms sweated.
The officer saw him and stepped over the low cable fence. Eli drew a breath, releasing the air in a slow, calming exhale. He had nothing to hide. A stranger in a small-town park would naturally arouse curiosity. He shouldn’t have stopped here.
“’Morning.”
“’Morning.”
“I’m Trey Riley, Honey Ridge Police Department. Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
“Eli Donovan. I’m down from Nashville. Visiting family.” That much was true. He had a son in Honey Ridge. Poor kid.
“Is that your Dodge?”
Eli offered a wry expression. “Such as it is. I had a little car trouble this morning.”
“Yeah?” Officer Riley turned to look at the old clunker. “Anything I can help with?”
“Bad battery. It’s running now.” He chuffed. “Or it was when I stopped. A man at the inn gave me a jump.”
“Peach Orchard Inn?”
“Yes.”
“Nice place. Julia and Valery have done a great job restoring it. When I was a kid we thought the house was haunted.” Trey Riley chuckled, a nice easy sound as though he laughed often. “Mostly wild stories about Civil War ghosts to keep kids out, I think, but I’m glad to see the place inhabited by the living for a change.”
Eli didn’t know what to say. His conversation skills had taken a hit in the past seven years. “She makes good coffee.”
He remembered then, with guilt, that he still had her cup.
“You should taste her peach tea. Man alive!” Riley drew out the last word with a grin and a head shake. “Great stuff. I’ve been known to show up on her doorstep in the afternoons—official business, of course—” he laughed again “—to beg an ice-cold glass of pure Southern heaven. Julia puts up with me. My mom buys peaches from her.”
Eli couldn’t quite take in the fact that he was having a friendly, man-to-man conversation with a police officer who seemed to be a decent guy.
“I noticed the orchard.”
“I guess it’s blooming.”
“Real pretty.” Like pink, fluffy clouds.
“Spring’s the best in Honey Ridge. Lots of things blooming.” Officer Riley tugged at a well-creased pant leg and propped his gleaming black service shoe on the cement bench. “Gorgeous morning to stop here.”
“Nice park.”
“It is, isn’t it? Honey Ridge is a nice town. I lived away for a while but when this job opened up, I was happy to come home again.”
“You have family here?” There. That wasn’t so hard.
“All of them. Mother, Dad, three sisters.”
“Three?”
“Yeah, go ahead. Pity me.” Officer Riley laughed again. “They’re great. Really. They drive me crazy, too. Always trying to marry me off to one of their girlfriends.”
Eli smiled. Family. He wished he could go home to a loving bunch that would drive him crazy and care about his single status. Instead, he was alone. No, not completely. He had a child. A son who needed him. And he had nothing to offer but himself.
The thought depressed him. A kid deserved better. There was no way he could care for a child.
But if he didn’t, who would? The boy would be as alone as he was. He knew how that felt. He knew about having no one to turn to. He’d been thirteen when life had begun to unravel. His son was only six, a year older than Jessica had been, and already the boy’s life was in shreds.
Before he could operate the smarter side of his brain, Eli said, “You wouldn’t know of any job openings around here, would you?”
“Are you looking to stay on in Honey Ridge?”
“I might if I can find work.”
Officer Riley squinted up into the leafy oak where the woodpecker was having a heyday. “Let’s see. If you’re not picky, food places like Jose’s Pizza and Miss Molly’s Diner are always shorthanded. And you can check with the quick-stops, the horse ranches and Big Wave.”
When Eli tilted his head at the last, Riley explained. “Big Wave builds custom boats. They’re located west of town. I don’t know if they’re hiring, but it’s worth a shot. Ask for Jan. She’s the big boss.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and Julia out at Peach Orchard wants to renovate the old carriage house into guest rooms. I don’t know if she’s ready to start or if she has the money yet, but you could ask.”
A little thrill zipped through Eli at the thought of seeing Julia again. He tamped back the emotion, feeling foolish for even thinking about a good woman. Yet, he’d much prefer working on a remodel than being trapped inside a building all day.
“Thanks for the ideas.”
“I hope you find something. Honey Ridge is a good place for law-abiding citizens to call home.” He dropped his foot to the ground. “If you need any help with that Dodge, give me a shout.”
As the man strode back to his cruiser, Eli stared, bemused. His wallet still lay on the table but the officer hadn’t asked for identification. Other than the remark about law-abiding citizens, he hadn’t even seemed suspicious. Trey Riley was either a poor police officer or a very good guy.
Eli pushed to a stand and pocketed his wallet. He didn’t know how or why but, in the past ten minutes, he’d made a decision that would alter his future and that of one little boy.
He was going to find employment in the pleasant, family town of Honey Ridge. And he was going to be a daddy.
9
Julia dialed the police department by memory. After six years of regular calls, she was put straight through to the detective.
“Hello, Julia.” Detective Burrows’s voice was tired but kind.
He was a busy man. She’d get right to the point.
“Today is Mikey’s birthday. I just wondered if…” Her voice trailed away.
“Nothing new, Julia.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not since the false sighting two years ago in Huntsville, but Michael’s file remains active. I talked with the FBI last week.”
She swallowed, disappointed but not surprised. The police did their best. She understood that. For a full year after Mikey disappeared, either Detective Burrows or the FBI unit had called her every day with an update. Slowly, as the case grew colder and more frustrating, the calls dwindled.
“You’ll call me immediately if there’s anything at all.” The desperation and pain she heard in her own voice never lessened. It wouldn’t until her son was found.
“Of course. I wish I had better news.”
“So do I.”
Julia hung up and, heavyhearted, had started up the stairs toward the Blueberry Room when someone knocked at the front door. Deciding to leave the cleaning to Valery, she hurried down to answer, hoping for a drive-up guest. The inn had been slow this month and occasionally someone in town sent a customer her way.
She opened the door to find two older ladies standing on her wraparound veranda. Her mood lifted. No one could be around the twin Sweat sisters without smiling at the two old characters. Dressed in identical pink flowered shirtwaists, shiny pink pumps and jaunty white sunhats with matching gloves, Vida Jean and Willa Dean Sweat were throwbacks to the fifties when Southern ladies dressed and behaved with a certain uniform gentility. The octogenarian Sweat twins, however, were anything but conventional. With their painted-on eyebrows, startling red lipstick and hair dyed a specific shade of lemon yellow, they were entertaining icons of Honey Ridge.
“Ladies, good morning. Come in.”
“We can’t stay long, Julia darling.” This from Vida Jean. Julia knew because she was the twin with the mole on her cheek.
“Of course we can, Vida Jean. Julia, do you have any of your wonderful peach tea made?”
“Just finished. If you’d like to sit in the parlor, I’ll bring in a tray.”
“You are such a darling girl. I was telling Willa Dean this morning. Wasn’t I, sister?”
“Indeed, you were.” Hoisting an oversize straw bag, Willa Dean said, “I wouldn’t mind some coffee cake if you have it.”
“Peach muffins?” Julia offered. “Made fresh this morning.”
“Lovely. Thank you, dear.”
“Coming right up.”
With a smile, Julia left the twins in the pretty old parlor, a polished-wood space with a fireplace, the original chandelier and a toast-colored, camel-backed sofa. Across a persistent dark spot near the fireplace, she’d placed a colorful area rug. She’d heard rumors about the spots but didn’t want to think about bloodstains.
She returned with the tray and after serving the twins, joined them. Valery owed her a little break. There was always work to do—wood to polish, fans to dust or flowers to weed, even when business was slow. This was in addition to the restoration and eventual expansion that would probably never end.
The Sweat sisters, pinkies lifted from the condensing tea glass, regaled her with news of the townsfolk, including a new baby for the Perkinses and the news that poor Brother Ramsey had fallen while repairing the church roof and had broken his leg. Julia made a mental note to send the pastor a card, though she hadn’t darkened the church door in quite a while.
A clatter sounded overhead. All three women looked up.
“Guests,” Julia said. “Or Valery cleaning.”
The twins exchanged a glance. “Willa Dean and I have been wondering. Haven’t we, sister?”
“Indeed. Wondering. You know what they say about this house, don’t you, Julia dear?”
She’d been raised in Honey Ridge. Of course, she knew, but she’d always had an affinity for the old place even as a kid when the house peeled and sagged in exhausted disrepair and weeds choked the front veranda. She’d been a child when the last owners moved to Georgia and left the house to further deteriorate, a sad state of affairs that had fired ghost stories and led to keep-out signs and a locked gate across the entrance.
“They say that about all old houses that have sat empty for a while.”
“Have you experienced anything unusual since you moved in?”
“Unusual?” Like finding antique marbles in odd places or hearing children giggle?
“Granddaddy told stories. Wasn’t he a fine storyteller, Vida Jean?”
“His daddy fought in the war, you know. Chester Lorenzo Sweat, a corporal with the 1st Confederate Cavalry. Sister and I remember the stories, don’t we, Willa Dean?”
Julia didn’t have to ask which war. In Honey Ridge, the Civil War was remembered, revered and reenacted. Stories abounded, embellished by time and Southern pride.
“We haven’t encountered any ghostly apparitions if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh.”
“Well.” Vida Jean’s mole quivered.
Straight and prim, the twins crossed their hands atop their straw handbags at exactly the same time in exactly the same manner, both of them clearly disappointed by her statement.
“Would you care for more tea?” Julia asked.
“None for me, dear. The bladder, you know.” Willa Dean reached for another muffin. “These are delicious.”
“Thank you.”
“From your orchard?”
“The peaches are from the freezer, but yes, they were grown here.”
“Lovely.”
While Willa Dean fawned over the muffins, Vida Jean added another tidbit of local gossip. Or news, as the Sweat twins would call it. “Did you hear about the new family that bought the Akins farm? They have six boys. Six. Can you imagine six little boys running through the house?”
A cloud passed over Julia’s heart. She managed a feeble smile. “How nice for them.”
“Oh, dear, I’ve brought up a difficult subject. Forgive me. But that’s why we came, isn’t it, sister?”
Willa Dean drew an envelope from her purse. “Indeed. That’s why we’re here. You didn’t think we’d forget Michael’s birthday, did you?”
Julia was touched. Her own family wouldn’t say a word, but the twins remembered. She took the card. “Thank you. This means a lot.”
“Well.” Vida Jean wiped her hands on a napkin, fussing a bit as if she didn’t know what else to say, a rarity for either of the twins. “I suppose we should run. We have other calls to make, don’t we, sister?”
“Yes, calls to make.” Willa Dean leaned forward to pat Julia on the hand. “We don’t like to push, but you call us if you want to reminisce. We have photos of Mikey we cherish.”
A lump formed in Julia’s throat. “You ladies are wonderful.”
“Oh, go on now.” Willa Dean took the remaining two muffins, wrapped them in a napkin and slid them into her purse. “For Binky.”
Binky was their parrot.
Then with a flutter, a pair of hugs and two air kisses, the twins were off, leaving Julia standing on the whitewashed veranda wondering who was crazier, she or the twins, as she pressed Mikey’s birthday card against her heart.
* * *
“What were the Sweat twins doing here this morning?” Valery asked. She had finally dragged herself up to the Blueberry Room, looking better than Julia had expected, though her eyes were bloodshot and glassy.
“They brought a card for Mikey’s birthday.”
Valery paused in sanitizing the telephone. Her already pale face blanched whiter and took on a pinched look. “Oh.”
Julia replaced the last blueberry-patterned pillowcase and artfully arranged the pillows on the bed. A guest favorite, the Blueberry Room was painted in the original blue with white accents and a four-poster bed covered with a blue print counterpane. The fireplace, flanked by darker blue armchairs, was original to the house, and a lace-curtained window looked out on the circle driveway with a view of the peach orchard. There was something special about the Blueberry Room that people enjoyed. Except for now when Valery’s reaction to Mikey’s name irked her.
“Did you even remember?”
“Of course I did,” Valery snapped. She tossed her cleaning cloth aside, grabbed the vacuum cleaner and flipped the switch, filling the room with noise.
That’s the way it always was with her family. Silence. Don’t talk about the fact that Michael was alive, that he still had birthdays, that the anniversary of his abduction came around with painful regularity. If they didn’t discuss him, fragile Julia wouldn’t fly to pieces. She wouldn’t fall into another depression and forget to eat or dress or pay her bills.
Julia grabbed the Windex and headed into the bathroom, where she scrubbed the already clean mirror with a vengeance.
Valery stopped the noisy vacuum and came into the bathroom. “I saw Gary Plummer at Pico de Gallo last night.”
A change of topic. Naturally. “Okay.”
“He asked about you. I think he’s interested.”
“What? In me? No. Gary and I are friends from grade school. Don’t be dumb.”
“Dumb? Just because I want my sister to open up to the world and be happy again.”
What she really meant was that she wanted Julia to forget she’d had a son and stop waiting for him to come home. “Don’t, Valery.”
“Why not? Tell me that much. You’ve shut yourself off from everyone.”
“I’m with people every day.”
Valery scoffed. “That’s business. Guests who come and go. I’m talking about a personal life.”
“Like yours?” Julia wanted to suck the words back inside. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for.”
Valery’s lower lip trembled. “I had a couple of drinks last night. Stop making a federal case out of it.”
Julia pulled her into a hug. “Hey. Want me to do your toenails later?”
“Would you?” Valery returned the hug with enthusiasm and then huffed a short laugh and pulled away. “I’m such a pushover.”
Which was exactly the problem. Valery was too nice. Too Southern-girl-accommodating so that men who couldn’t even spell gentlemen took advantage of her. Julia had never understood why her sister thought so little of herself or why she chose the kind of men who misused her. They’d been raised by the same parents and as the younger sibling, Valery was the favorite. She should have been confident and strong. Instead, she was a rug for men to walk on, and Jed the jerk was only the latest in a long line of creeps Valery had allowed to make her miserable.
“I found another marble this morning,” she said as a peace offering. No point in pushing the topic closest to her heart. No one wanted to listen.
“Really?”
Julia took the stone from her pocket. “Looks similar to the others.”
“Where did you find this one?”
“On the rug under Bingo.”
They both glanced at the Aussie sprawled like an ink spill on the gleaming heart-pine hallway. His tail thumped. Bingo wasn’t allowed in the guest rooms, but that didn’t keep him from following his owner from room to room.
“Do you still think he’s bringing them inside?”
“He must be digging them up somewhere on the property. What other explanation could there be?”
Valery wiggled her fingers beside her head and grinned. “Ghosts?”
“Now you sound like the Sweat twins. If this old place had ghosts, wouldn’t someone have seen one by now or had some sort of supernatural experience?” Someone besides me, the nut job who hears children laughing.
“Maybe they have and were afraid to tell us.”
She was right about that. “Have you ever seen or heard anything?”
“I’ve had the creepies a few times as if someone was watching me, especially in the carriage house.”
The old carriage house was creepy but not because of ghosts. “Because we haven’t done a thing to it. The cellar’s the same way. Once we clean out the spiderwebs and all that ancient junk and start the remodel into more guest rooms, the creepies will disappear.”
“Oh, you’re no fun at all. I would love to have a ghost or two to make things interesting around here. Haunted inns attract crowds.”
Which is one of the reasons I don’t tell you everything. “I like things the way they are. Peaceful and quiet.”
“No excitement in your blood. I swear you are not related to me. Give me bright lights and party time. Give me Vegas and fast cars and hot men.” Valery spun toward the window and stopped. “Like that one. Holy guacamole! Come here, Julia. Check this out.”