Scandals in Savannah

by Harper Lin

  “Didn’t I tell you to leave all that alone?” Cecelia snapped. “Now you’ve gone and done it. Both of you. And I am not sure that I can help you.”

  “What are you talking about? Do you know what those trinkets and jars are?” Becky asked.

  “Like your friend said. That’s hoodoo,” Cecelia said as she slowly laid out her cards on the table. “Hoodoo is a black magic. It is the blackest magic that revolves around decay and death. Like maggots, it feasts on what remains. It gathers its power from those things that normal people want to avoid.”

  “Like cemeteries?” Becky breathed.

  Cecelia nodded sadly.

  “So what does that have to do with you sticking us in the dunk tank?” Martha asked. “And where are our clothes?”

  “You were covered with a dust. Like you can tell a bee has visited so many flowers when its body is covered with pollen. That’s how you two looked,” Cecelia said, looking down at her cards for a second and then back at her guests.

  “Eww.” Martha grimaced.

  “What does that do? Why would we be covered in that? We didn’t touch anyone or anything,” Becky replied before nervously chewing her lip.

  “The person practicing the hoodoo obviously has coated the area with it. Let’s say it’s the same as a cop putting a tail on you. Wherever you go, you leave a trail behind you for them to follow,” Cecelia said. “But once again, you surprise me. You ladies wore disguises and jumped in a car. What was on your clothes when you got to me probably wasn’t nearly as much as what was on the clothes you had worn into the woods.”

  “That’s a relief,” Martha sighed.

  “How do you know what hoodoo is?” Cecelia asked with a sly grin on her face, her right eyebrow arching high.

  “We had a maid when I was a little girl who told me about it. Said her great-grandmother, who was still alive at the time, practiced it. I don’t know if that was true or not, but she told me that if you do hoodoo, you do the devil’s work.” Martha nodded. “I always thought that was catchy, so it stuck with me.”

  “Becky? Are you all right?” Cecelia asked.

  Martha looked at her friend. “Becky, my gosh, gal, what is it?”

  Becky looked at Martha with tears in her eyes. When Martha took Becky’s hands in hers, she could feel them shaking.

  “I went to that house by myself. If I walked through all that pollen, that means I led them back home. I led them right through the tobacco fields and back to my house. I have to get back there right away.” Becky jumped up from her seat, nearly tipping over the table.

  “Wait, you can’t run outside in a robe.” Martha held her hands tightly.

  “I’ll run naked if I have to. Mama and Daddy don’t know. They won’t know what hit them if I don’t try and warn them, or maybe I can make things right.” Becky pulled her hands away. “What can I do? Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  “Don’t say that. You make a promise to do anything, and someone may just take you up on that offer,” Ophelia replied as she once again seemed to appear out of thin air. Their clothes were in her hands. She tossed one bundle to Martha, who dashed behind the screen, telling Becky all the way that she was not to leave without her.

  “What can I do? What can I do to make sure they don’t hurt my parents?” Becky pleaded to Ophelia. “Will you help me?”

  “There isn’t anything we can do,” she said flatly.

  “But that doesn’t mean the hoodoo woman will do anything. You wait until the dust settles. Stop going over there or anywhere near the Ruthmeyer remains. Mother and I will put our heads together. Maybe we can find someone who can help,” Cecelia said.

  Becky took her clothes from Ophelia and slipped behind the screen after Martha had come out, adjusting her dress and stepping into her shoes.

  “I refuse to believe there isn’t anything that can be done,” she squawked over the screen to Becky. “Even the mob is afraid of the D.A. Everyone has a weakness.”

  “They know Becky’s. Now it’s up to us to find theirs,” Cecelia said.

  No one saw Becky behind the screen as she got dressed. She was glad. The last thing she wanted was for everyone to see her crying.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time Martha had driven Becky back to the Mackenzie plantation, the sun was setting. Ophelia had taken the clothes the women had worn on the Tobin property and thrown them all into the hungry, white-hot incinerator underneath the apothecary. Becky had hardly said a word the entire trip. Martha suggested getting out and tossing a few back just to clear their heads.

  “Come on. We’ll throw on some new duds, a little munitions on our cheeks, and find the first sharpshooter to come along at Willie’s. Get the blood flowing a little, Beck, and I’ll bet we’ll come up with a swell idea to help throw some ice on this inferno,” Martha pleaded, but Becky just looked out at the long lines of tobacco plants on her father’s land. She squinted off into the distance.

  “Do you hear that?” Becky asked.

  Martha tilted her head and listened. Her shoulders fell, her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open.

  “Well, I guess the party has come to you. Why didn’t you tell me Judge and Kitty were planning to trip the light fantastic?” Martha smirked.

  “Did you really just use that ancient term? You sound like my grandmother.” Becky shook her head. “Of all the nights. I’m going to be Edisoned to death. No matter who is here, Kitty has already told them I need a beau. Let the Spanish Inquisition begin.”

  “It won’t be all bad,” Martha said as she pulled up to see more than half a dozen cars parked in the front of the house.

  “Oh, no? That’s the Penbrokes’ bus.” Becky pointed to a large behemoth of a Ford. “They have a son our age. Mama is probably fitting me for handcuffs as we speak. Wedding dates are being tossed around. And I’m sure he’s already gotten more than an eyeful of Fanny. That sounds rather obscene now that I say it out loud.”

  “Don’t worry, Rebecca Madeline Mackenzie. I’ll be your escort tonight. However, if your father is making his famous Manhattans, I can’t promise I won’t be all in by the time your honeymoon has been planned.”

  “You’re a real pal,” Becky replied.

  Once they were out of the car and coming up the front steps, Kitty appeared with a drink in her hand. Her hair was in perfect finger waves, as it always was, and she was wearing the new dress she’d picked out for herself when they had all gone downtown shopping. She smiled at Martha but gave Becky a stern look.

  “Why, Miss Bourdeaux, I should have known my one and only child would be with you. What have you two ladies been up to?” Kitty asked, trying not to raise her voice.

  Becky knew her mother well, and had there not been a crowd of people, Kitty would have read Becky and Martha the Riot Act.

  “You know us, Kitty. Just a couple of angels with dirty faces,” Martha teased, making Kitty chuckle.

  “Becky, Mr. Stephen Penbroke is here to see you.” Kitty smiled deviously. “Why don’t you sneak upstairs and freshen up before I make formal introductions?”

  “Okay, Mama,” Becky replied without fuss.

  Her mother instantly knew something was wrong.

  “I’ll have her spit polished in no time, Kitty,” Martha replied, pushing Becky up the stairs before anyone could see them.

  “I can’t do this tonight,” Becky whined.

  “What are you talking about? Tonight is the exact night you need to do this. Hi, Fanny,” Martha said as they pushed past Fanny on the stairs.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Becky, I was afraid I’d have to do all the entertaining for the entire evening without you here. You know how everyone enjoys your sense of humor. If nothing else, you do have that.” Fanny grinned.

  “I’ve also got a size-seven shoe that will fit perfectly up your…”

  “We’ll be down in a jiffy, Fanny,” Martha interrupted Becky before she could finish her sentence. Without thinking, she grabbed Becky’s hand and pu
lled her into her room, shutting the door quickly behind them.

  “I’m going to bed. Maybe all this is just a bad dream, and I’ll wake up with nothing more than Fanny to give me the heebie-jeebies.” Becky crawled onto her bed only to have Martha poke her in the ribs.

  “It’s not a dream, and you are not going to bed. There’s a fella down there who wants to talk to you.” Martha stomped to Becky’s closet and began flipping through her dresses. She grabbed a dark-brown number with a drop waist that had black beads sewn in for extra sparkle. “When did you get this? Wear it. Put it on this instant, or so help me, I’ll have Fanny pick out your dress.”

  Becky looked at Martha and narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you’re right.” Becky sighed.

  “Of course I am. Here’s the scoop. If the Tobins and their witch are going to try and pull a fast one, sitting and waiting for it to happen isn’t going to stop it. So have a drink. Let your mind get a little fuzzy. Then tomorrow, we’ll look at it all with clear, hungover heads.”

  “You really are a good egg, Martha.” Becky wrapped her arms around her friend’s neck and squeezed.

  “And if we live through this, I want that dress.” Martha tugged on Becky’s hem, making her laugh.

  Within ten minutes, both girls were primped and looking very pretty as they greeted the guests.

  “Rebecca, Becky, honey, there is someone I want you to meet,” Kitty said as she walked up to her daughter with a fresh drink in her hand. She took her daughter by the hand, causing Becky to take Martha by the hand, and in a three-person train, they wove through the crowd to the back porch.

  “Who is that tall drink of water?” Martha whispered.

  “Beats me.” Becky shrugged.

  At the edge of the porch, a tall man with naturally wavy blond hair and deep-green eyes was talking with Fanny.

  “France sounds wonderful.” His voice was deep and a little scratchy, making Martha squeeze Becky’s hand. “I might have to take a trip there someday.”

  “Stephen?” Kitty called. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Fanny.”

  “That’s quite all right, Aunt Kitty. I’m sure I was just boring Stephen to death,” Fanny gushed as she pushed up her cleavage and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Not at all. I’d love to hear more about your trip to Paris at another time,” he said politely as Kitty pulled Becky along.

  “He shouldn’t have said that,” Martha whispered to Becky. “She’s going to pounce on him like a cat on a mouse.”

  Becky started to chuckle, but as soon as Stephen’s eyes met hers, she coughed and regained her composure.

  “Stephen Penbroke, this is my daughter Rebecca. I think the last time you two saw each other, you couldn’t have been more than five years old,” Kitty cooed. “And Becky, do you know that you told me you were going to marry Stephen?”

  “Mama! What kind of thing is that to say? I’m sorry, Stephen. My mother has obviously let the evening go to her head,” Becky said, rolling her eyes. “We’ve talked about having her committed, but so far none of the sanitariums are willing to take her. I guess they have a limit on how much crazy they’ll accept.”

  Stephen laughed out loud as Fanny gasped. Kitty, looking slyly at Becky, kissed her daughter on the cheek before turning to leave.

  “Kitty, can you get me one of those drinks you’re having?” Martha asked as she linked her arm through Kitty’s. “Fanny, why don’t you join us? You look like you’re running a little dry.”

  Fanny looked at Stephen and batted her eyes and flipped her bouncy blonde locks behind her shoulders. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  Becky cleared her throat as Stephen watched Fanny sashay into the house behind Kitty and Martha.

  “I thought she’d never leave.” Stephen sighed.

  “Really? Most of the men Mama tries to fix me up with are very happy Fanny is here. I’m just a stop along the way to the berry patch.” Becky folded her arms across her chest. Why hadn’t Martha offered to get her a drink?

  “I don’t believe that,” Stephen said.

  “Look, just because I live on a tobacco farm doesn’t mean I’m some apple-knocker. And I’m not looking to get married. Kitty is looking for me to get married, but I’ve got other plans,” Becky huffed. “So forgive me for being a wet blanket, but this bank’s closed.”

  “You are just like I remember you. Even when we were little kids, you were the one who stood out the most. Do you still go to the cemetery?” Stephen innocently asked.

  “What?” Becky took a step closer.

  “When you were a little girl, I quite clearly remember you used to like to play in the cemetery out behind your daddy’s fields. You used to pretend you could talk to the people buried there,” he said with twinkling eyes.

  “I do like to go out there sometimes just to get a little privacy. Walk and smell the fresh air,” Becky replied, making no mention that she did indeed talk with the people buried there.

  “Maybe you’d give me a tour,” Stephen said.

  “Maybe,” Becky replied.

  They stood and talked on the back porch for some time until Stephen made a bold suggestion.

  “I’ve noticed you haven’t had a single drink. How about it? Something to wet your whistle?” Stephen smiled as he ascended the steps directly in front of Becky, standing dangerously close and looking up at her with a sly grin.

  There was something in those big green eyes that told Becky she might be in trouble. But it was the best kind of trouble, and after the day she’d had, she was ready to forget about today all together.

  “I’ll take anything with ice in it,” Becky replied.

  Before she had a second to take a deep breath, Martha was at her side.

  “What is that?” Martha gushed.

  “What is what?”

  “That big cat that’s been chewing your ear off since we got here.” Martha smirked. “Don’t tell me that Kitty found her daughter a suitable beau?”

  “I’m talking with the fella and being polite. That’s all.” Becky tried not to smile.

  “Rebecca Madeline Mackenzie,” Martha whispered, “you act as if we just met. I know that look, and I know that stance, and I know everything about you. You can’t hide it from me. You are smitten.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes you are. And I think it’s wonderful. He’s a Southerner. He comes from a line of good stock. He’s easy on the eyes and has a voice that could snap your garters.”

  “Martha! I’m shocked at you. Talking like that when everyone knows you and Teddy are destined to be together. You shouldn’t be ogling the guests.”

  “Teddy,” Martha sighed.

  “What? Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise? When did this happen?”

  “I’ll give you one guess.” Martha pinched her lips together.

  “I should have known I’d find you two out here. Where’s Stephen?” Fanny replied before she started laughing. “Don’t tell me you scared him away already, Becky. My, you certainly do have a way with the gents.”

  Before Becky could say anything back to Fanny, she heard Judge shouting at the other end of the house.

  Without thinking, she walked into the house. With each step, it seemed like the conversation was getting quieter, the music was slowing, and everyone was collectively holding their breath. As she made her way to the front parlor, she saw people gathered at the windows.

  Through the front screen door, she saw her father’s tall, strong silhouette. She walked to the door, pulled it open, and stepped alongside her father only to see that they had a party crasher: Mr. Earl Tobin.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Becky could feel her heart racing. Had he followed the “dust” Cecelia said she and Martha had been covered in? Had she led this man directly to her front door?

  “Mr. Tobin, I’m not sure what all this is about, but I’d be honored if you’d come into my home and join me for a drink. We’ve got plenty of ice, and my wife did bake the most d
elicious peach pie for the occasion. Would you…?”

  “Don’t try giving me the high hat,” Earl Tobin growled.

  “Mr. Tobin, I assure you that I’m not,” Judge replied firmly. “We’re neighbors.”

  “I know what people are saying around town and in your fields about that no-good Ruthmeyer’s house burning down. You were there, weren’t you? You were trying to save that no-good chiseler,” Mr. Tobin hissed.

  He looked as if he’d scrambled through the brush himself to get to the Mackenzie home. His brown pants were dirty and torn at the knees. His shirt was dirty from sweat, and the undershirt that showed at his collar had spots on it. His skin was slick with sweat, making Becky think he had run all the way to their front porch.

  “Mr. Tobin,” Judge said, “you are well aware that my property butted up against Mr. Ruthmeyer’s. When we saw smoke, we didn’t think to ponder whose property it was. We went to help.”

  “But if it were my property, would you have jumped so fast?” Mr. Tobin asked.

  “Of course,” Judge replied.

  It was obvious to Becky that Mr. Tobin had no idea who her father was. He would never turn away a person who needed help. He had built his fortune with his own two hands and had known hard times. Many people had turned their noses up at him before he bought his first acre. Many nights he had gone to bed hungry. But that hadn’t stopped him.

  “Well, smell you. I know what you think of me. And I know what all of you have been saying about my wife.” He pointed at everyone on the porch. Becky looked him right in the eyes, but he didn’t act like he recognized her.

  “Mr. Tobin, what goes on between a man and his wife is no one else’s business. I can assure you that there has been no such discussion in this house. Now, I want you to state your business or get off my land.” Judge stared at Mr. Tobin without flinching. It was Mr. Tobin who blinked first.