The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  I accepted the parasol Hannah handed me. It matched my dress, the lavender one with the blue flowers. Mr. Ball and I strolled past the pink Bourbon roses with their round blooms and bright green leaves. They were sensitive things, those roses, prone to shedding their flowers at even the slightest cool snap. Who would care for them now that Mother had left us?

  Mr. Ball looked at me and said earnestly, “Miss Calpurnia, I feel that because of our Long and Continuous Friendship, I may speak frankly with you. With all Courtesy, of course.”

  I encouraged him to speak his mind, as I had no fear that my Distant Cousin would behave inappropriately. In all things he’d proven to be a careful observer of decorum.

  He began by apologizing for bringing up such matters as he was about to discuss, and then said he suspected that those who manage my affairs do not have my best interest in mind. He rang his hands as he talked.

  I had never received an apology before an offense! I spun my parasol, worried about what he might say, and begged him to speak plainly before I fainted there in my Mother’s Rose Garden.

  He confided to me that my Father had amassed a great deal of debt, so much so that the local bank was selling a portion of his property to offset the losses. Having depleted the Cottonwood Fortune, it seemed my Father wanted to take for himself the Beaumont Trust. That inheritance had been reserved for me, he told me. And if my Father managed those funds as ineptly as he had the preceding trust, I would have nothing.

  I froze in my tracks, surprised at the frankness of this conversation. As a rule no one spoke to me about finances, my inheritance or any such thing. I had never even considered the subject on top of everything else I worried over with faithful fervency. I somehow found my voice to say, “Nobody tells me these things. I don’t know what to say.”

  He asked me whether my Mother had ever spoken with me about it, and I shook my head, my ear bobs bouncing lightly. I stared at the thick green grass as we made another turn around the garden spot. “She did not.”

  He gave me a sad smile and said, “The elegant Mrs. Cottonwood was far too much of a lady for such crude conversations, I am sure. Still, you should know that the Beaumont Fortune is not in a bank—at least not anymore. Your Uncle Louis removed it before he arrived at Seven Sisters, undoubtedly to protect his sister’s interests—and yours. Now it is nowhere to be found.”

  I reached out and held onto his arm to steady myself, the panic rising. I asked desperately what would happen now. Mr. Ball suggested that I search in my Mother’s belongings for some clue. Suddenly my Father’s anger, his maniacal searching of my room and my Mother’s, made so much sense.

  Mr. Ball said in a low voice, “You need a Protector, Miss Calpurnia. Someone who will assure that your interests have the utmost Care and Concern.” He smiled through crooked teeth, and perspiration popped up on his brow; he sopped it away with a dingy handkerchief.

  “Like a Solicitor?” I replied.

  Bemused at my ignorance, he answered me with surprise, “No, my dear. Not like a solicitor—a husband. Surely you can see what I am suggesting. If you and I were to marry, all things would be well.” He held my hand as if it were a delicate porcelain teacup that he feared he might break. “You would have my name and my protection, and I would have the pleasure of your company.”

  I stared into his sweaty face and pulled my hand away in surprise. How could I answer this now, when my heart is so full of grief for my Mother?

  He assured me he would not have broached the subject if it were not Urgent and said that if I would trust him in this, he would be the Happiest Man Alive.

  I felt I could not bear one moment more. I hastily bid him farewell, blaming my poor health, and left my would-be suitor standing in the Rose Garden in the sweltering sun. My Mother would have been appalled, but I needed time to think about all that I had heard.

  Chapter 9

  True to his word, and his chivalrous nature, Ashland popped by for the car key and soon returned with my Honda. I smiled, seeing it safely delivered in my driveway, better than new with four brand new tires. I wondered how much that would set me back, then remembered that I made excellent money—I could certainly afford tires if I wanted them, or in this case needed them. I waved down at TD, who was giving Ashland a ride back to Seven Sisters in his big blue pickup truck. Hmm…maybe I should buy a truck. I was a southern girl, wasn’t I?

  Ashland ran up the stairs with a carton in his hand. “This is for you—an excellent wonton soup from the China Room over off Joachim. I think it will help you feel better. We need you well so you can get back to the house! We’ve got deliveries everywhere.”

  It smelled delicious! “Thank you, for the hundredth time—you are full of surprises! I guess you took me seriously on our date when I told you I can’t cook.” I grinned playfully, accepting the warm container.

  “Never doubt a lady. Call me before you go to bed, okay?” His hand touched my cheek. I thought he would kiss me, but TD honked his horn at us, then laughed. “Oh my! Bette will be out here in a second. I know I’ve said this a dozen times, but thank you again. I hope you didn’t spend too much on those tires. I plan on selling her soon. I’ll bring you a check Monday.”

  Ashland scowled, shaking his head. “No! Those are on me—it happened on my property, after all.”

  “Yes, but it was my psychotic friend—I think. Anyway, I insist.”

  This time, he did kiss me quickly. “We will argue about this later, lady. I have to go finish painting a parlor pink.”

  “Send me pictures!” I called after him as he climbed into the truck.

  They both answered, “No!” and drove away.

  I stood smiling on the balcony. It was broad daylight now, simply a beautiful day. I was going to have to get a sun lounger so I could lay out and get some sun on my off days. Bette’s car was in the driveway, but I didn’t see her kitchen light on. I thought that was odd but decided I wouldn’t bother her. I would make sure she was okay later on.

  I took my soup to my desk, fetched myself a silver soup spoon and sat down to enjoy my lunch. Calpurnia smiled back at me from the computer screen, and I stared at her. “Where are you, Callie?” I nearly jumped out of my chair when Bienville meowed outside my door. I had not seen the big cat climb the stairs, but there he was, peeking through the screen, no doubt wanting to cool off. I laughed at the fat little thing and opened the door for him. He came in and sat beside me at the desk, lounging happily on the area rug. I rubbed his fat tummy and turned my attention to the book. I remembered my antibiotics and took them with a bottle of water. I loved the soup—once again, Ashland had come through for me. You know, I should do something nice for him. Maybe cook him something. I can’t cook, but Bette could probably teach me something—something simple—like spaghetti! Yes, that’s it! I got so excited about the idea that I almost left immediately to go see her.

  I finished off my soup and cleaned up my mess. It was time to read again. I was getting closer to the truth—I just knew it! I settled down for a few hours of work. Classical music played softly in the kitchen, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the peacefulness in my apartment. I felt peace seeing my old blue car in the driveway. There was nothing like freedom—and that’s exactly what Calpurnia didn’t have. I sighed and turned to the next page.

  Dear Diary,

  Father’s absence brings hope and peace. He takes with him the Shadows that Steal the Joy from Seven Sisters and all those who call her home. Oh, Sweet Mary! Is it wrong to pray for my tormentor’s death? I dare not ask Father England, the priest who came to visit, although he is a kind man who was genuinely fond of my mother. Once, Father England served this family exclusively, but not so anymore. Father refused to support the work of the ministry or provide him with any recommendations into our society.

  “May that priest be damned for lying to us all!” he had shouted in a rage after the death of his son. Now the small chapel, the one with the stained glass windows, stood empty and forlorn, like my Father�
�s broken faith.

  Once my Father had cut a handsome figure in his coat and tails, but now his bitterness, his unrelenting anger with God, stole that away from him. He was gone now—and he had taken the storm with him. The slaves whispered about him, although they would not dare do so to me. I was his daughter and heir to this place. This trip, so the story went, was an effort to collect the many debts he was owed from renters and sharecroppers. Their debts to him would be paid by their blood if they did not deliver what he wanted. Before his departure, he crept up and down the halls of the house looking like a wild man, Early ever beside him. Father tore apart nearly every room looking for my Mother’s Fortune, which I pretended to know nothing about. Ignorance and ignorance alone had previously saved me from his wrath; why should now be any different?

  I would take this time to find that treasure, if it was the last thing I did, but I needed a companion, someone I could trust to keep my secret and help me cover the grounds. Of course, my mind first turned to dear, sweet Muncie, my Only True Friend, but nay. I could not place him in so grave a danger. He could die for helping me! It would be the same for Hooney, and she was old and more my Mother’s slave than my Father’s property. By reading a few of my Mother’s papers, I had discovered that all the house slaves now legally belonged to me. I could do with them what I wished, once I was married. How ridiculous a law it was! A woman could own a house or a slave, but she had to have the permission of her husband to manage either of them. I prayed that one day I would be free of such selfish laws, but I didn’t know how that would come to pass.

  There was no getting around it—I would have to marry, but it would not be to Mr. Reginald Ball. I had my heart set on another man, one whose dark good looks and explorer’s soul were surpassed only by his ability to write directly to my heart. Dear Diary, remember the letter Isla promised me? The one she was to put under my supper plate? I received it just the other day, and you will marvel at the words. Oh, how my heart sings his name, though I dare not speak it aloud—not even to Isla who insists that he loves me with all his heart, soul and mind!

  “My Dearest One,

  The days that have passed since I laid my eyes on your Exquisite Face might as well be a thousand, for one day is like a thousand when I am away from you. I stood on the deck of my ship tonight, planning my trip up river, my heart breaking; it is breaking because I will leave you behind once again. Why? Why have you not written to me, Dearest? Have you cast me out of your heart, perhaps in favor of another? With all that has come between us—these Herculean obstacles—I do not blame you, Sweetest, Daughter of the South. Do you remember sitting under the tree with me, the one that bends a little like a green bower from the Song of Solomon? I do. I dream of it. You put your gloved hand in mine, and you allowed me to carefully remove those pink kid gloves so that I might touch your hands with my own. Oh, how that delighted my soul!

  Now I must leave, My Darling. Once more I will speak to your Father and Request the Hand of His Daughter in Marriage. I fear that Once more he shall Refuse me and Rain Down his Cruel Words on me, but I am not Afraid. What are Words, Dearest? Nothing that can harm us, surely. I pray that one day we shall say the words we long to, speak the vows that our hearts have ached for. For now, I must say Goodbye, Dearest. I shall write again soon. Write me your heart and leave it with Cousin Isla, for she knows how to find me.

  Your Most Faithful Admirer,

  Captain David T. Garrett

  Oh, Diary! As always, I copy the letter here so you may read it, but I have tucked his letters in my leather book. It is my one Book of Love, and one day it shall set me free. One day, I will lay them at his feet and show him how he gave me courage with his sweet words. How they strengthened me as I searched day after day for the treasure that belongs to me. For with That, I Shall be Free and have the Thing which I Long for the Most.

  Dear Diary,

  I plundered my Mother’s things, grabbing bits of ribbon and her handkerchiefs and stuffing them in my drawer. I pray that Father will not demand that I return these items, as they are Precious to me. I found her music box and listen to it daily, when Father is not home, of course. The tune is a curious one, but I like it. I keep its key on a ribbon tied about my neck as a kind of talisman against my father’s hatred. He doesn’t know I have it, and I don’t think he cares any longer. He’s stopped searching for her Fortune and almost completely ignores me now. Instead, he stays away with Early, selling bits of our land to keep him in whiskey and clothing and gambling money. I wish he would die before he steals everything from me! Father English would be so ashamed of me, of that I am sure.

  With much convincing, I have persuaded Dear Isla to take up my cause. Somewhere, my Mother has set my fortune aside for me, and I must find it! I must have my freedom—even if I must buy it from the one who says he owns me. Like one of his Slaves—he says he Owns my blood and body. Father remains away, and I pray to God every day that he shall continue to do so. Together, my cousin and I search everywhere in Mother’s Chifforobe, but we searched high and low and found nothing. Also, my Sweetest Friend Muncie searches too, whenever he has a moment. He plunders the hothouse and the gardens for any signs of a new burial spot or anywhere my Mother may have hidden her dowry. I believe that one day we shall find these things and I, as Mistress of my Own House, will set my friends free! Stokes has become suspicious, and I must be the perfect example of carefulness or else he will hasten my father’s return.

  Oh, Mother! Please speak to me. Speak to my heart and tell me what I must know. I need you to guide me.

  Reginald Ball has not returned to see me, nor has the Captain. Alas, he has traveled up the dark waters of the Mobile River.

  You must keep a secret, Dear Diary! I saw him sail away! My Dear Cousin alerted me he was leaving and told me where to meet him. She gave me a flask of lemonade and ordered Muncie to attend me on my journey. “Dare I do such a thing, Isla?” I asked her.

  “Yes, Dearest,” she said. “You must see him off!” I took the flask and promised to drink from it when I got thirsty.

  My Dark Captain never knew I was there! How it thrilled me to see the boat’s wheels begin to turn! Muncie and I stood and smiled at one another in the moonlight.

  “One day, Muncie, I will ride that boat away from here.”

  “Me too, Calpurnia, I’m going too! Which way you go—that’s where I go. Wherever you go, I go too! You can’t leave me here, all right, Miss?” I hugged him, and we held hands running up the woodsy path back to the house. We had to hug the tree line until we made it to the very back of the house. When we came to the back of the maze, we stood panting, trying to catch our breath. Just this small escape off the grounds near the river had thrilled my soul. I could be free! How delightful it is to run across the grass and breathe the night air! I drank all of my lemonade and enjoyed the feeling of joy it brought me!

  The Moonlight Garden shone like an otherworldly heaven on earth. The moonlight bounced off the Atlas Fountain and then from statue to statue. I remember how when we were young, we would play in the fountain, dancing and spitting water like mystical water creatures. Even the copious white flowers of the garden shone like tiny ghosts. They waved at us as we traveled past them, caught in the midnight breeze. I danced around the fountain, feeling happier than I have in a long time. I danced, spinning around and around in my white dress. I was like another flower in the Moonlight Garden. Someday I would float away on a breeze. I laughed, and Muncie laughed with me. He snuck quietly into his rooms to avoid getting caught by Stokes. I was about to do the same when it started to rain. I went back into the garden and danced, dancing, spinning, moving, circling the many statues and hedges. I can’t explain how it made me feel. It washed me clean of all my worries, all my fears. They were gone, drenched now, washed away by the tears of the angels. For a while, I felt like a madwoman—I cried and laughed at the same time. Remembering the pain of the loss of my mother and laughing with the joy that filled my heart when I thought of leaving Seven
Sisters behind.

  I was completely drenched and dead tired when Hooney found me lying on a bench in the garden. She crossed herself when she saw me—Hooney, like my Mother, prayed to the Virgin for mercy and help. I laughed at that too.

  She said, “Child, you’ll be sick now. Sick like a dog out here in this rain. Whatcha think you doing out here in this wild place? This ain’t nothing but a wild place. Devils dance in here! Don’t tell Hooney you’ve been dancing with the devils tonight, Miss Calpurnia. Oh Lord!” she shouted out loud, shocked by my laughter. We walked into the house, and I leaned on her arm, still laughing. She called out for the doctor, Isla and Stokes, muttering that I needed a warm bath and some sleep. She crossed herself again, and I heard her say something about how I’d lost my mind.

  I vaguely remember getting in and out of the tub. Finally, I was dried and my gown slipped over my head. Hooney and Hannah rubbed my feet with special oils that they hoped would keep sickness away. When I awoke the next day, I was indeed as sick as one could be. The doctor said it had been brain fever, although I did not have a fever at all. In a few days I was better, but I was forever changed by the experience. I hoped one day that I would again experience such freedom.

  Chapter 10

  I marked my spot in the diary with a silk ribbon, closed the book and set it on my desk. I paced the floor, thinking about what I had read. Callie never knew about the fortune—the Beaumont fortune—until Reginald Ball told her about it. He wanted to marry her because he A: wanted to protect her or B: wanted her money. There might be a C too: he wanted both. Callie didn’t want to marry him, so she decided to find the treasure herself with the help of her friends. I walked to the coffeepot. This was going to require more brain juice!

  “What I want to know,” I said to a bored Bienville, “is did Isla spike that lemonade hoping that Muncie and Callie would get drunk and do something more than take a trip down to the river? What did she want to happen? Did she want Callie to fall in the Mobile River and drown? Did she want her to make a fool of herself onboard the Delta Queen, or did she maybe….” I tapped my chin with my finger. “Maybe she mistook Callie and Muncie’s friendship for romance and just assumed that the two would at least kiss.”