In the Dreaming Hour

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Lucy couldn’t help but notice that he had clumsily changed the subject and she was fairly certain it was because he had been uncomfortable with her subtle flirting. Too bad, too. The guy was a hunk. Feeling moderately embarrassed for her failed attempt at batting her eyelashes, she rolled easily with the shift in focus.

  “I’ve been here many times,” she said, a bit less friendly and a little more pleasantly polite. “The last time I was here was about five years ago. It’s been a while. I had no idea the place was looking so run-down. I’m trying to talk my parents into selling it to me so I can fix it up.”

  Beau tore his eyes away from her long enough to look around the kitchen. “You’d sure have your work cut out for you,” he said. “I’m guessing this place needs a whole lot of work.”

  Lucy looked around, too, because he was. “Yes, it does,” she said, somewhat sadly. “I was just upstairs. I don’t think that the entire upstairs has been touched for fifty years. But what’s the alternative? We just can’t let the house fall apart.”

  He shrugged in agreement. “It’s definitely a piece of Tallahatchie County’s history. It would be a tragedy to see it go, although my dad seems to think that some people around here would be happy to see it torn down.”

  Lucy knew what he meant. “Destroying Laveau Hembree’s memory, so to speak.”

  He nodded. “Among other things,” he said, not wanting to offend the woman since they were speaking of her great-grandfather. “That’s actually why my dad came over here today – to apologize for our family’s involvement in the things Laveau Hembree did during his heyday. People around here still remember that stuff. I think my dad just needed to clear his conscience.”

  By this time, Lucy was looking at him seriously. “Well, I really don’t know all of it, but if even half of the stories I have heard are true, I think my family should apologize to yours. So, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry my great-grandfather was such a nasty bastard. But it seems to me that it’s really sad that a family and a house that have been around this area for almost two hundred years are only defined by one man. That just doesn’t seem fair.”

  Beau shook his head. “No, it really doesn’t.” One of the Presbyterian ladies offered Beau a cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepted before returning his attention to Lucy. “So, you’re thinking about moving here and fixing the place up, then?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you do for a living that you can sink money into this old place?”

  Lucy accepted her own cup of coffee from one of the church ladies. Before answering, she gave him a big, fake grin to preface what was to come. There was irony in the gesture.

  “I’m a partner in a criminal defense firm in Los Angeles,” she said.

  Beau didn’t react for a moment, sipping his coffee. His reply was deadpan. “So you’re my mortal enemy.”

  “Essentially.”

  He snorted into his coffee. She laughed softly into hers. But abruptly, the kitchen door that led out to the back porch suddenly opened and Clyde appeared. He’d evidently gone around the dining room completely, pushed out of it by Lucy’s parents, and come into the kitchen through the back way. The man wasn’t stupid. He’d seen where Lucy had gone. And he knew how to get there, one way or another.

  Startled by Clyde’s abrupt appearance, Lucy spilled her coffee in her haste to move away from him. Clyde’s eyes tracked her as she headed for the sink.

  “You’ve been avoiding me, you naughty girl,” he scolded. “Cousin Bill and Cousin Mary said you weren’t feeling well, but I think it’s something else.”

  Lucy was over by the sink now, setting the coffee cup down and trying to wipe the liquid off of her dark suit jacket. She couldn’t even bring herself to be pleasant to Clyde.

  “No, they were right,” she said. “I’m not feeling great. In fact, I’m just getting ready to head back to the hotel now.”

  Clyde was moving towards her. “I’d be happy to drive you over there.”

  He was coming close and Lucy moved away, heading for the waste basket to throw the coffee-stained paper towel away.

  “I have my own car, thanks,” she said steadily.

  Clyde didn’t seem to take the hint. “I’ll call you later, then,” he said. “Maybe we can have breakfast together.”

  Lucy was backed up against the kitchen trash because he’d cornered her. He was too damn close and, in frustration, she reached out and shoved him away by the chest.

  “Jesus, Clyde,” she hissed. “You need to stay out of my personal space.”

  Clyde looked at her as if he had no idea what she meant. “I was just going to hug you,” he said innocently. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

  Lucy was moving away from him and, in doing so, she moved in Beau’s direction. “There’s a reason for that,” she said. “I have no desire to see you. In fact, you really need to stay away from me. My parents tried to be nice about it but you obviously don’t get it, so I’m going to make it clear – leave me alone. Don’t call me, don’t try to hug me, don’t even think about me. Just leave me alone. Do you understand?”

  Clyde had at least stopped following her. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, his brow furrowed. “Have I done something to offend you?” he asked as if genuinely perplexed. “Lucy, I’m sorry if I have. I didn’t mean to.”

  Lucy waved him off. She didn’t have time to waste on the man. Turning to Beau, she forced a smile. “It has been a pleasure to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand. “What I said earlier about my family apologizing to yours – I hope you accept it.”

  Beau, who had been watching the entire situation with Clyde very carefully, took her small hand in his big one and shook it firmly. “You don’t have to ask twice,” he said. “The matter is settled as far as I’m concerned. And it was really nice to meet you, too.”

  Lucy’s smile turned genuine. “Thanks,” she said. Then, she jerked her head in Clyde’s direction. “Can you at least keep him here until I leave? I don’t want him following me.”

  Beau’s gaze moved to Clyde, still standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking confused. “You bet,” he said quietly. “Consider it done.”

  “Thanks.”

  With that, Lucy slipped out of the kitchen, clutching her big Louis Vuitton purse to her side. When Clyde started to move after her, Beau called out to him.

  “McKibben,” he said. “Hold on a minute. I need to talk to you.”

  Clyde wasn’t happy that his prey was getting away. He frowned at Beau. “What do you want?” he asked. “I ain’t got nothing to say to you.”

  Beau’s gaze was intense. “That may be, but I have a lot to say to you. We’re going to start with your cousin there – she told you to stay away from her. If you don’t do as she asks, I’m going to be showing up on your doorstep.”

  Clyde’s features twisted angrily. “You can’t threaten me.”

  “I didn’t. All I said was that I was going to show up on your doorstep. Take it any way you want to, but you’re going to stay away from her.”

  Clyde sighed heavily. “I can do what I want and you can’t stop me.”

  “You want to bet on that?”

  Clyde’s answer was to try and follow where Lucy had gone. Beau’s response was to grab the man by the neck and pull him back out into the dining room where Bill, Mary, and Tommie still were. Clyde was whining about police brutality until Bill got a hold of him and told him to shut his mouth. When Beau explained how Clyde had managed to disregard the request to leave Lucy alone, the gloves came off.

  Bill had several words with Clyde at that point and none of them were pleasant.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ~ In the Dreaming Hour ~

  “It’s about my daughter, Dr. Latling,” the woman with the neat Marcel wave spoke nervously, sitting in the doctor’s office that was attached to his house. “She won’t eat. She hardly sleeps. Is… is she well, Doctor? You’ve examined her so you must now. Her daddy wants to know if she
’s well.”

  A round, older man with thin gray hair and thick glasses gazed at the woman across the room. Seated at his desk, he leaned back, wiping the sweat from his brow. The day had been hot and, with his size, he always sweated profusely.

  “You mean Laveau wants to know if she’s going to lose that child?” he asked frankly.

  The woman with the Marcel wave nodded, once, and it took all of her strength to do that. Clutching her purse to her bosom, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the doctor.

  “It’s a sin,” she hissed. “I know it’s a sin, but he prays for it. He prays for it daily. Dr. Latling, I fear for my daughter’s life. Her daddy… he’s just so ashamed of the state she’s in. He won’t let her out of the house – did you know that? She’s not allowed to go out at all. When people come to the house, he locks her in her bedroom. He keeps her caged like an animal. It’s no wonder she won’t sleep or eat!”

  The doctor sighed heavily. “Ms. Caroline, the last time I saw the girl, she was healthy.”

  “But she had fainted! She’s been doing a lot of that, you know. That’s how we first found out about the… child.”

  The doctor nodded. “I know it,” he said. “Your daughter is pregnant and praying for her to lose the child just ain’t right. You need to make her eat. She needs to take care of herself or she may just die right along with the baby. As much as I’m sure that would make Laveau happy, I’m sure you won’t let that happen. You’re the girl’s mother, Ms. Caroline. You need to start acting like it.”

  Caroline Hembree stiffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  The doctor pointed a finger at her. “It means that ya’ll are letting your husband bully you around about that girl,” he said. “She’s your child, for God’s sake. Take care of her. Don’t let Laveau keep you from your motherly duties.”

  Caroline was flustered but she was also torn. She knew the doctor was right. He was probably the only man in Pea Ridge that didn’t subscribe to fear of Laveau Hembree because he’d once pulled Laveau through an episode of appendicitis and Laveau treated the man as if he owed him something.

  Therefore, Dr. Latling could speak more freely of Laveau than most and he did so, without reserve, when faced with stupidity caused by the man. And that included his terrified wife and a terrified town. Abruptly, Caroline stood up, heading for the door.

  “Thank you for your time, Doctor,” she said stiffly. “If… if you can come by sometime soon and see my daughter, I would be grateful.”

  The doctor stood up, too, taking his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiping his brow. “Ms. Caroline, I ain’t coming if Laveau is going to ask me to get rid of that baby,” he said frankly. “He asked me once before, when I first told him she was carrying. I won’t do it.”

  The woman sighed, hand on the door latch. She was trying not to succumb to the common and moral sense that the doctor was making, but it was difficult.

  “He may ask,” she admitted. “I don’t really know. I’m asking you to come to the house to make sure my daughter is well. That’s all I’m asking.”

  The doctor didn’t say anything and the woman continued out the door, out to the 1913 Maxwell Model-24 touring car that was waiting for her. Ms. Caroline’s colored maid sat in the back seat, as a traveling companion, and one of her husband’s men sat in the driver’s seat, the same man who drove Ms. Caroline everywhere. She wasn’t allowed to drive and she was only allowed out with her maid and one of her husband’s men to keep an eye on her.

  The doctor watched the woman hustle out to the car, climbing into the back seat because that was where she was allowed to sit. Still swabbing himself with his handkerchief, the doctor shut the door, wondering how on earth a girl like Victory Hembree got herself pregnant with a daddy who hovered over the women in the family the way he did.

  Of course, the doctor knew the rumor that had led to a colored man’s demise. Thanks to Terhune Meade, the whole town knew it had been a rape. Terhune had to say something to justify his complicity in the murder. But given the girl’s reaction to that man’s death on that sultry night, the doctor wasn’t so sure it was really rape.

  He suspected that was far from the truth.

  Dr. Latling further suspected that when that child was born, he would be the only one willing to protect it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Present

  The journal didn’t stay in her purse for long.

  It was a ten-minute drive from Mamaw’s house to the nicer chain hotel in town but in spite of all of the food at the house, Lucy hadn’t eaten any of it and she was starving. So she swung through a fast food restaurant drive-thru before shutting herself up in her hotel room for the night. To the smell of burgers and fries, Mamaw’s journal and the big white envelope were carefully pulled out of the safe haven of the purse and placed on the bed.

  The lure of food wasn’t stronger than the lure of what was in the second white envelope, so Lucy left the food on a side table as she inspected the envelope. The glue wasn’t very good and the flap came open with little prompting. With a good deal of anticipation, Lucy pulled out the contents.

  This envelope contained paper with a lot of writing on it; Lucy could see that immediately. Pulling the paper apart, she could see that there were two pieces of paper, just like the other envelope had contained, but there was careful writing on both sides of these papers. She recognized Mamaw’s distinctive cursive immediately and her excitement was building as she realized that this was the letter she had been hoping to find, great and meaningful words of wisdom from Mamaw to her only granddaughter. She had been building it up so much in her mind that she sincerely hoped it was something sweet and very personal. Knowing Mamaw, however, it would probably be family recipes she didn’t want to share with anyone else. That would have been typical of the woman.

  Don’t let Cousin Margaret have this recipe!

  The thought made Lucy giggle. As she unfolded the letter, a small scrap of paper fell out and drifted down onto the bed. It was an old piece of paper, yellowed with age and brittle. She retrieved it, noting that there was writing on it that she didn’t recognize. Turning on the bedside lamp to get a better look, she read the printing on the old scrap:

  In the Dreaming Hour,

  Where my heart is free

  The song of nighttime comforts me

  And brings me thoughts of thee.

  On beams of silver moonlight,

  Against the dark of night,

  The world beholds no color,

  No blackness and no white.

  And in this world, void of color,

  The heart and soul combines,

  For in the Dreaming Hour,

  My love unites with thine.

  It was exquisite. Lucy smiled, reading it over three or four times, wondering who had written this beautiful poem. Perhaps it was an old beau or perhaps it had been someone trying to woo Mamaw. It had made enough of an impression on the woman for her to save it all of these years and it was little wonder. People simply didn’t court like this any longer and it was a shame, for a poem like this bespoke of days gone by where more thought and effort might have gone into a courtship. Dating today was little more than clicking and swiping.

  My love unites with thine….

  As Lucy’s heart melted at the loveliness of the poem, it was also squeezed, just a little. She remembered her husband when they’d first met in college and started dating, and how sweet he’d been to her. Little notes, little texts, that kind of thing. He didn’t have the poetic aptitude that Mamaw’s suitor had, but he’d been sweet, at least as sweet as he’d been capable of.

  But times had changed.

  She didn’t like to think of that change. It hurt her heart still, badly, to think of how much her world had been altered. With a sigh, longing for a time in her life she’d never see again, she set the poem on the bed, carefully, and opened up Mamaw’s letter. Adjusting the light on the bedside lamp, she began to read.

  My Dearest L
ucy –

  If you’re reading this letter, then it must be because I am gone. I knew Vivien would give you my message and that you would find the journal in its hiding place. That journal has been there for many years and I’m the only one who has read the words in it until now. Try not to laugh too much at the silly ramblings of a child. For I was very much a child back then. But I was a child who had experienced too much in life and I want you to know what has been heavy in my heart for eighty years. It’s time to tell the story, but I do this with a purpose.

  If you’re reading this letter, then it must be because I am gone. I knew Vivien would give you my message and that you would find the journal in its hiding place. That journal has been there for many years and I’m the only one who has read the words in it until now. Try not to laugh too much at the silly ramblings of a child. For I was very much a child back then. But I was a child who had experienced too much in life and I want you to know what has been heavy in my heart for eighty years. It’s time to tell the story, but I do this with a purpose.

  I need your help.

  His name was Lewis. No, that’s not your Pop’s name. It’s the name of a man I knew, and loved, long before Pop came along. I met Lewis when I attended the Pea Ridge Female Academy under the tutelage of Mr. J. Duncan Franklin of the Hattiesburg Franklins. Mr. Franklin was a good Christian man who wanted to teach us to be fine ladies. But he also tutored coloreds and the coloreds from Rose Cove knew he would teach them to read and write, which he did after hours out in the barn behind the academy. Lewis was one of his pupils.

  Lewis Ragsdale was a fine man, smart and eager to learn. He was a good student and Mr. Franklin liked Lewis enough to give him a job taking care of the grounds at school. He would mow lawns and prune trees by day, and Mr. Franklin would teach him Hawthorne and Poe and Eliot by night.

  One day, I left my books in the classroom and Lewis picked the lock so I could retrieve them. He noticed I had a copy of the “Sonnets of the Portuguese” and he expressed a desire to read them someday. I saw no harm in loaning Lewis my book, which he took graciously and humbly. He returned it the next day, having stayed up all night to read it.