Chapter 34
Once I get back to my dad’s apartment and take a shower, I head downstairs to see Emmie. I’ve barely talked to her since putting in an offer on the house. She’s behind the counter when I get there, looking as lovely as always. “We missed you last night,” I say by way of greeting.
“I’m sorry we weren’t there,” my friend says. “Faye had a little fever. She’s got some new teeth comin’ in and was pretty miserable, so we decided to hang out at home.”
“I just found out that your cousin is my new neighbor,” I tell her.
“That’ll be nice, won’t it?” she asks faking an innocent tone.
“Why didn’t you tell me before now?” I ask
“I’ve barely seen you since you first laid eyes on it,” she says. And while she’s got a point, she knows very well she should have told me yesterday. I don’t push the issue though. Truth be told, it wouldn’t have made any difference in my wanting the house.
“I’m surprised a single man purchased a place like that on his own.”
“Why?” she asks. “You bought your house on your own.”
“Yeah, but you don’t normally think of men as being so domestic.” After the words are out of my mouth, I realize that I’m pandering to a stereotype, something I try very hard not to do.
“Beau will be a great neighbor,” she tells me.
“Shelby, too, I guess,” I don’t realize how forlorn those words sound until they’re out of my mouth.
She raises an eyebrow at me in interest. I’ve not told Emmie that I’m drawn to her cousin. There’s no sense making that information known when there’s nothing to be done about it. She says, “Shelby and Beau are not a done deal. I told you, I think he’s hanging in until she cuts him loose.”
My friend doesn’t seem to be aware that Shelby has no intention of letting him go. While neither she nor Beau have ever seemed particularly happy when I’ve seen them together, the moment they shared yesterday tells a different story.
I change the subject. “Your aunt said there were some antique stores in Creek Water. Which do you think I should go to?”
Her eyes pop open and her mouth forms a perfect letter O before she asks, “Are you looking for furniture for your house?”
“I am. I want period pieces, but I’d rather not buy them in perfectly restored shape. I’d like to save some money and do whatever work I can by myself.”
“I haven’t been home long enough to know where to send you,” she says. “Why don’t you walk over to the Creeky Button Factory where Davis has his workshop and ask him. That seems like something he’d know about. Or call Mama and Auntie Lee,” she suggests.
I’m afraid if I call Emmie’s mom and aunt I’d get so caught up in their excitement that I’d spend more than I intended. If dress shopping with them was any indication, I’m out of my league with those two.
I get directions to the button factory, wish my friend a happy day, and take off for the front door, peeking into the day-spa on my way out of the building. I normally wouldn’t think twice about treating myself to a facial or massage, but those two things are no longer on my priority list. Especially until I get the report from the building inspector and find out exactly how much work needs to be done on my new place.
Beau walks into the building as I’m exiting. He’s freshly showered and shaved and looks very tempting. He asks, “Where are you off to?”
“I’m going to visit Davis and see if he has any recommendations for antique stores in the area.”
A myriad of emotions fly across his face. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
“I don’t know. I guess I figured with Davis being in the business, he’d have a better idea.”
Beau doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and makes a call. “Hi, Sadie. Do I have any appointments today?” He listens to her response before adding, “In that case, I won’t be coming in. I’ll be on my mobile. Call me when you hear back from Homer.”
He disconnects and focuses his attention on me. “Lucky for you, I know the ins and outs of the antique stores in the area. I’ve been a regular customer since buying my house.”
I’m not sure I call that fortuitous. Something has changed in Beau since yesterday. Up until then, he’d been avoiding me, but now he seems to be going out of his way to spend time with me.
“Lucky me,” I say. “My car is parked out front.”
He takes my arm in such a way that I feel like we’re an old-fashioned couple out for a stroll. Even though it’s a totally foreign maneuver to me, it feels gallant and respectful, so I let him. “I’ll drive,” he says. “That way you can look around and take in your new town without worrying where you’re going.”
My new town. I like the sound of that. I realize I’ve been so caught up in the whirlwind of excitement that I haven’t even thought about what it’s going to be like not to be living in New York City. I don’t really own anything there anymore. The few things I have will have to be shipped. Of course, talking my mom into doing that might be a problem. I really do need to contact her, although I don’t know how to manage that if she won’t return my calls.
Beau is driving a different car than I’ve previously seen him in. This one is a two-seater vintage Mercedes. It’s super cute and makes me feel like an old-time movie star getting into it. “Nice wheels,” I say.
He replies, “I bought it in high school and restored it with my daddy. It doesn’t work for real estate though, as I can’t get more than one customer in it with me, but I like to drive it around town.”
He pulls out onto the brick streets and I find myself noticing him as much as I notice the town. He fits here.
He asks, “Which rooms do you want to furnish first?”
“I guess the basics. I’ll need some living room furniture and a table to eat at. I should probably look at some bed frames.” Suddenly, I’m so overwhelmed by how much I’ll have to buy in order to open an inn, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it.
Beau says, “I know the perfect place,” as he turns the car around and heads out of town.
Chapter 35
I’m enchanted by all the wide-open space as Beau and I drive through the countryside. “Did you like growing up here?” I ask.
“It was pretty great. I mean, I never moved away.”
“Did you ever want to live anywhere else?” I ask.
“No, ma’am. Creek Water’s my home. Don’t get me wrong, I love to travel and see the world, but I haven’t found one place yet that speaks to me like this town. What was it like growing up in New York City?”
“Good,” I answer. “I mean, it’s the only life I’ve ever known, so I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I always enjoyed it.”
“That doesn’t sound like a winning endorsement,” he says.
“I do love it, but it’s crowded and noisy. I think at my core, I’ve been craving quiet and never realized it until I came here. Does that make sense?”
“I think that we’re hardwired for a certain kind of life,” he says, “and it doesn’t matter how we grow up. When we find what we’re lookin’ for, we just know it.”
“My mom isn’t going to be happy when she finds out that I bought a house here.”
“You haven’t told her yet?” he asks.
I decide to come clean and say, “Regina isn’t currently speaking to me or my dad.” I explain, “Bertie up and left without telling her he was going.”
“I can see how she might not have appreciated that,” he says.
“And then he rented the loft without discussing it with her,” I add.
“Has he ever done anything like that before?”
I shake my head. “Never. My dad is happy to let my mom call most of the shots in their relationship. As long as he has a space to paint, he’s good. Mom has gotten used to their dynamic and I’m sure this is throwing her off balance.”
“I bet she’ll love it here when she sees it,” he says.
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sp; I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Regina is a New Yorker through and through. She’s told me many times that she wouldn’t be caught dead south of the Mason-Dixon line.”
“Are there any slaves in your ancestry?” he asks.
“On my grandmother’s side,” I tell him. “But Mimi considered herself a New Yorker and didn’t talk much about family history. So, all I know is that her great-great-great-grandparents were owned,” I emphasize the last word to indicate the ridiculousness of the concept, "by a family in Mississippi before escaping to some place farther north.”
“Your mama should love that you’re buying a house that was used in the Underground Railroad then,” he says.
“That’s probably the only part she’ll approve of. I’m afraid she considers all states that were part of the Confederacy undesirable and unsafe.”
“You can’t really blame her,” he says. “When you’ve had blood relations treated no better than animals, that has to unsettle your whole view of the world.”
“It hasn’t unsettled mine,” I tell him.
“You’re lucky, then. All I’m sayin’ is that your mama has a right to be cautious. While the Civil War is long over, it’s not quite ancient history.”
How in the world is Beau more sensitive to these feelings than I am? I think Regina would like him if she ever got to know him.
We continue to drive quietly for several minutes, each of us lost in our thoughts, when Beau turns into a gravel driveway. “Where are we?” I ask. There are no signs to indicate a store ahead.
“This here’s the old Peabody farm. Clovis and Myrah have lived here for as long as I can remember. They have a huge barn full of old stuff that they collect.”
“Do they sell it?” I ask.
“To the right people, they do. Otherwise, they hang on to it to make sure that it’s preserved and doesn’t end up in a junk yard.”
“Are they big fans of the era?”
He smiles secretively. “You could say that.” He doesn’t offer anything else.
As we pull up to an old two-story farmhouse, Beau honks the horn three times. Two giant German shepherds come running up to the car, barking their heads off. “Don’t get out yet,” he warns. “They’re sweet dogs when they know you, but they might tear your arm off if they don’t.”
Well, that’s a comfort. A man with skin so dark I can barely discern his features comes hobbling out. He hollers, “Git over here, dogs!” They sit down as though awaiting further instruction, their barking subsiding into low growling.
Beau gets out of the car and greets, “Clovis, my friend, I’ve brought you a special customer.”
“Who you got with you, boy?” It’s hard to tell how old Clovis Peabody is, but my guess is he’s eighty if he’s a day.
“This is my friend, Lexi. She’s buying our old family home on Dogwood Lane.”
Clovis’s smile is blindingly white as he comes over to the passenger side of the car to let me out. He opens my door and extends his hand. “Come on outta there, young lady, and let me get a look atcha.”
I get out of the car and say, “I’m very happy to meet you, Mr. Peabody.
“Psh,” he says, “Mr. Peabody nothin’. You call me Clovis.” This man has a contagiously happy energy about him.
“I’m very happy to meet you, Clovis,” I offer.
He inspects me and says, “Looks like that old house is going to be owned by a lady with some color in ’er. I’m darn glad to see that happen. Where’s your brown come from, girl?”
“My mother’s side of the family is African-American, sir. My paternal grandfather was a German Jew and my dad’s family are English.”
He nods his head. “Peabody’s an English name too, but I got no English in me,” he declares joyfully.
“Then how did you wind up with an English surname, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Don’t mind a’tall. My daddy’s people going way back was owned by a family named Peabody. He took their name the day they gave him his freedom. They was good to him and he needed to pick hi’self a name, so that’s how it came to be.”
It’s another world entirely down here. People talk about slavery like it’s still part of their lives. He continues, “You gotta come on in and meet my Myrah. She’s gonna be plumb tickled to make your acquaintance.”
I’m not sure why unless it’s because I’ve got color in me, as her husband says. I’m surprised that Clovis could even tell. In New York City, my ethnicity is ambiguous enough that a lot of people think I’m part Hispanic or Italian. Even Shelby’s mom thought I was Mexican.
We follow Clovis up his drive to the house. I might be being fanciful, but somehow, I feel like I’ve walked this path before.
Chapter 36
Myrah welcomes Beau with a hug and says, “We’ve missed you, son. It’s been a couple weeks since you been by. Everthin’ okay with your family?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I brought a special customer to meet you.”
Myrah turns to me with bright eyes. “I’m Myrah, young lady.” She extends her hand to me.
There’s an almost regal quality about Clovis’s wife. She has a much lighter complexion than her husband. Her coloring is closer to my mom’s than mine. She’s petite, and she holds her head high. There’s a grace to her motions that makes me think she might have been a dancer at some time in her life. I take her hand and say, “I’m Lexi Blake. I’m here visiting Beau’s cousin, Emmie.”
“We do love our Emmeline,” Myrah says. “We were so pleased when she came home.” Then she looks down at my hand and gets very still. She closes her eyes for a moment before turning to her husband. “What aren’t you tellin’ me?” she demands.
Clovis laughs, “Why don’t we give you a moment to figure that out fer yourself.” Then to me, he says, “Myrah comes from people with the sight. They know things in a way that don’t make sense for them to know.”
Wondering about Beau’s thoughts on the subject, I tell them, “My grandmother used to take me to a fortune-teller in Harlem where she lived.”
Myrah stares at me so deeply, it’s almost like she loses focus and I’m not sure what she’s looking at. “She told you somethin’ about a dog, din’t she?”
“Yes, she did,” I say, full of surprise. Maybe there is something to this nonsense Mimi trusted so much. Although to be fair, I haven’t really thought of it as nonsense since the day in Central Park when the dog jumped over me and my whole New York life started to fall apart.
“She’s buyin’ the old Frothingham place,” Clovis says.
Myrah stares thoughtfully at her husband, then happily at Beau, and finally eagerly at me, before whispering, “Honey, I have somethin’ fer you.”
“You do?” I ask, wondering what that could possibly be. She turns and walks across the room to open a drawer in her dish cabinet. She pulls out an envelope so old it’s yellowing. Then she hands it to me.
“What is this?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Alls I know is this here letter has been passed down in my family for generations. It’s been waitin’ for you.’”
“Why do you think I’m the one you’re supposed to give it to?” I ask, as chills shoot through me so intensely I wish I were wearing a heavier coat.
“The only thing ever told was that someday a young woman would buy the old Frothingham place and when that gal showed up, whichever one of us met her, we was to give her this. That’s you, honey.”
“Really?” I ask, curious and more than a little creeped out.
“You’re the first young gal who fits the bill,” she replies.
“And you don’t know what the letter says?”
“I don’t. But I have instructions that go along with this here letter.”
“What instructions?” This whole thing is getting seriously bizarre.
“I got some furniture for ya.”
“I’m actually here hoping to buy some pieces for the house. I want to turn it into
an historic inn.” I add, “I hope to give tours to schools and the like.”
“Well that makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” I ask.
“Clovis and I have a barn full of old stuff, but we have special items up in the hay loft that we don’t show folks.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Like I said, honey,” she says, “they’re yours. They belonged to Beau’s people who built the house.”
Beau finally speaks. “Why do you have them?”
“They were given to my people when the house was sold out of your family.” Then she looks to me and explains, “My people were servants to Beau’s people before, during, and after the big war.”
“They helped hide the slaves?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am. When my people came out of the Deep South, they was taken in by the Frothinghams. After that, they led parties to rescue others.”
“But how did you wind up with the furniture?” Beau doesn’t seem angry that his family doesn’t have it, just surprised.
“The lady of the house at the time was given a letter from my grandma that came from the first Mrs. Frothingham. All I know is that my grandma was given the care of some things and told to keep them until it was time.”
“Time for what?” I ask.
“Time for you, honey,” she says.
I have no idea what’s going on, but I do know I need to see what’s in this envelope. I suddenly believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s somehow going to be tied to what that old lady in Harlem told me all those years ago.
Chapter 37
I pull a piece of parchment out of the ancient envelope and unfold it carefully. When I see the feathery script, I read out loud:
The Move (The Creek Water Series Book 2) Page 14
