The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  I smiled, determined to overcome my own pettiness. Tall and athletic, Detra Ann was a pretty woman, and the white handkerchief dress she’d chosen showed off her toned curves and exquisite tan. I strode to the Blue Room, where I found Ashland sliding a box on my desk.

  He turned around when he heard me come in. “Hi! Wow, you look great!”

  “You sound surprised,” I teased him.

  “Nothing you do surprises me. Remember the first night we met? You fell in my arms?”

  “That’s not how I remember it. I fell on my head—you carried me in your arms.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “What’s that?”

  “A delivery for you, but that can wait. Let’s go find TD and let him know we’re here. According to Detra Ann, he’s a nervous wreck. You know, I think those two might have something going on.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, she’s done a great job decorating for the party. I think maybe we should think about having that Christmas ball after all—if you’re still interested. Might be fun.”

  He smiled and said, “Let’s wait and see how many more bodies turn up around here. We may not be able to get anyone here for a ball, except a few ghosts.”

  “Don’t say that.” I was dead serious. The ghosts of the past were always listening. “Please.”

  “Okay, okay. Come on, I need a drink or two. Let’s put on our happy faces.”

  We found our way to the bar that had been set up in the ladies’ parlor. The two Rachels, their dates, James, Chip and Chip’s mom were already there. I hugged everyone’s neck, and Ashland and I posed for photos with our group. We wandered around, talking to the visitors and sharing stories about the renovation process. One thing I could say about Mobile was that it was full of interesting characters—that included the wealthy and elite of local society.

  At ten o’clock, TD finally appeared, welcoming us to the opening of the Moonlight Garden. He gave a brief history lesson on how the garden worked and then pulled aside the heavy dark curtains that covered the back doors. He and Detra Ann opened the doors, and the sight was nothing short of amazing. Moonlight bounced off the statues, the white flowers, the bleached walkways. I caught my breath at how perfectly TD had managed to recreate the garden that I knew from my dreams. I held onto Ashland’s arm; he looked down at me, searching my face, but I nodded at him. “I’m okay,” I whispered. The hedges were intact, although not as tall as they had been, and a few of the large trees were missing, but everything else was in place. I walked down the back steps and stood on the pathway. I could close my eyes and completely believe that Muncie or Calpurnia was very near to me.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I present the Moonlight Garden. Please take a tour and enjoy the grounds. Detra Ann has kindly provided a basket of flashlights if you need extra lighting. I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

  The excited gathering filled the garden, some taking flashlights but most opting for the “natural” tour. It was a sight to behold. “TD, you have done a wonderful job. You can’t possibly know how accurate this is to the original. It is simply breathtaking.”

  He hugged me and shook Ashland’s hand. “Thank you for allowing me to be part of this. This has been a real labor of love. Now go take the tour and tell me what you think.”

  I wiped a tear or two from my eye, chose not to take a flashlight, and walked into the Moonlight Garden with Ashland. The house disappeared behind us, swallowed up by the massive gardenias that TD had so carefully planted and manicured. It was as if they had been here all along, hiding, waiting to be recognized again. The garden path veered to the right from the entrance, leading visitors along the hedgerow, where it turned to the left. I didn’t need anyone to tell me where to go, because I’d already been here. The path led from statue to statue to the back of the property. I looked up at Ashland, and his blond hair made him look like one of the statues shining in the moonlight. His dazzling smile only added to the effect.

  Suddenly a scream filled the garden, and Ashland and I rushed toward the sound. We didn’t have far to go. Chip’s mother lay on the ground, her flashlight beside her. The skinny young man with the oversized glasses tried to help her up, but she screamed again.

  “No, let me sit for a minute, boy, or I might hurt myself worse. Oh, my ankle!” Chip shrugged and stood helplessly over his mother.

  Ashland squatted down beside her. “Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”

  She smiled, and her hand fluttered to her neck. “Oh no, I’m sure I will be okay. Maybe you could help me up? I just need to get off this ankle. I stepped wrong, is all. I won’t sue you or anything,” she said with a giggle, putting her arms around Ashland’s neck. “Wait a minute. You’re Ashland Stuart, aren’t you? I thought that was you. I’m Arnette, Chip’s mother.”

  “Nice to meet you, Arnette. Let me help you up.” Ashland and Chip awkwardly got her to her feet, and she held onto both of them.

  “I just need to rest. Oh, oh, it hurts.”

  I smiled at Ashland. He had his hands full, and I was more than happy to let him handle it. “I’ll see you in a few,” I said. I hated that we wouldn’t be walking through the garden together, but I felt compelled to continue the tour. I could hear the others laughing and joking about the dark, and someone even howled at the moon. I walked on, passing first Alcyone, the statue of the sister who was seduced by Poseidon. Next came Sterope, who had been ravished by Ares, then Celaeno, Electra, Merope and Maia, each statue representing in some way the tragic figures of the Pleiades or the Seven Sisters. Finally, the path took me to Taygete, the last of the statues before the Atlas fountain, and to me the sweetest. Taygete had a long, graceful neck and elegant arms that she waved above her head. Her foot was placed on the back of a deer’s head, a hind sent by Artemis to wing her away from Zeus’ unwanted advances. Around Taygete grew a myriad of white flowers. I plucked one from a bush; it looked like a star. Some species I didn’t recognize, but I saw some flowers that I did know: the Oxeye Daisy, Hepatica, devil’s trumpets. I also noticed that TD had placed mirrors about the garden to bounce the light around, creating an unexpected glowing effect. Taygete’s feet flowed in the dark like an unearthly spotlight. In my dreams, the garden was much darker, but this was lovely beyond words. I felt as if I had stepped right into another world. I stared at Taygete again, wishing Ashland could be here, when suddenly I got the feeling I was being watched. I wasn’t alone in the garden anymore.

  Creak, creak, creak. I froze after getting to my feet, the flowers in my hand. Creak, creak, creak. “Who’s there? Is that you, Rachel? Detra Ann?” Nobody answered me. The garden was so quiet that even the crickets had stopped chirping. It was as if I had entered a vacuum. I didn’t hear the voices of the partiers, and even the moon seemed different. I stepped into a clearing, feeling disoriented and slightly nauseated. Must be the champagne. I must have had too much. I leaned against the Taygete statue, trying in vain to catch my breath.

  Then I saw her—standing in the moonlight, in the gap between the two hedges. I blinked, staring into the night, still shocked by what I saw. It was Isla, stone-faced, her hands folded in front of her in her skirt. She saw me but said nothing, just backed away without turning, disappearing into the hedge. My first thought was, “Run! Run now!” but I heard the sound again. Creak, creak. I had to know what I was hearing. The white flowers slid from my hand, and I stepped as quietly as I could down the path to the spot where she’d disappeared. Suddenly I saw a gap in the hedge, which I was sure had not been there before. I held my breath and stepped across into another small clearing. An old oak tree towered above the clearing, preventing the moonlight from falling fully on the ground below. Instead, it shone in splotches, here and there. Under the tree, a rope swing with an old board for a bottom swung back and forth as if someone had just leaped out of it. I walked to it, stilling it with my hands, the old ropes creaking as I did. That was the sound I’d heard. I touched the wood; it felt real. This was real, right? Again my senses were pricke
d by the feeling that someone was watching me.

  Isla stood behind me. I knew without looking. I turned slowly, trying to prepare my mind for what I was about to see. It didn’t do me any good. She was about six feet from me, looking as real as anyone I had ever seen. Her hair was carefully curled and pinned up, spirals of golden hair dangled, covering her ears. A green jade necklace hung at her neck, and she wore a black and grey dress with billowing sleeves. Her young face stared back at me; it appeared twisted with anger, her fury ready to be released upon me. I was not wanted here! A breeze began to blow through the clearing, a swirl of air that tossed flower petals to the ground and moved the heavy tree limbs as if they were touched by giants. The air became wintry. Isla suddenly smiled, turned and stretched out her arms, welcoming an invisible stranger to her secret garden. As he came closer, a faint image appeared, the outline of a man. His long, dark hair and white collared shirt were unmistakable—it was David Garrett. He was heartbreakingly handsome in a storybook sort of way. He whispered in Isla’s ear like a caring lover would, playfully touching her curls. He smiled down at her and slid his arm around her small waist, and the two walked away to the entrance of the clearing. The captain was fully visible now but still unaware of my presence. Before the couple disappeared, the girl looked back at me with a bottomless stare. I stood by the swing, closing my eyes to avoid seeing everything swirl into blackness.

  I woke with Ashland on his knees next to me. The Taygete statue towered above me, and the evening was warm and balmy. No more coldness—no more Isla. “What happened?” I asked him.

  He laughed nervously. “I could ask you the same thing. Did you fall or decide this was a good place to take a nap?”

  “No.” I sat up, shaking my head. I felt okay, no bangs or bruises, as far as I could tell. “I walked through the clearing over there and woke up here.”

  “What clearing?”

  “The one over there.” I stood, knocking the fallen flowers from my skirt. I walked to the hedge, but the opening was now gone. My guess was it had never been there, at least not in recent years.

  “What happened, CJ? Did you see something?” His eyes searched mine. I hated seeing that desperate look on his handsome face. He had looked up at his mother like that, wanting to rescue her, save her. I didn’t want that. At that moment, I wanted him to see me as normal—I wanted to be normal. Maybe I would tell him later, but not now. He’d had enough for one day.

  “I don’t know, really, but I feel fine now. Can we go back to the house?”

  He nodded. I knew he didn’t believe me, but he was enough of a gentleman not to press me. We walked back holding hands. Once in a while, I couldn’t help but look back. I didn’t see anyone other than the invited, living guests.

  “Let me get you some water.”

  I smiled at him. “That sounds great. I’ll be hiding out in the Blue Room for a few minutes.”

  He laughed, and I strolled down the hall, closing the double doors behind me. I leaned against the cool painted wooden doors. What had this house done to me? Did I really want to stay here? How much more could I see? How much more could I take? I sighed and walked to my desk. There was the forgotten box. I read the return address—it was from H. Devecheaux. I reached for the letter opener and cut through the tape. On top of a wad of tissue paper was a note.

  Dearest Miss Jardine,

  I humbly ask your forgiveness for my involvement with Mia Reed and her schemes. I am returning this music box to you in hopes that, in some way, doing this might make amends. She left this item with me when she moved and asked me to keep it for her. Even though I didn’t want to, I did as she asked because Mia can be a dangerous, demanding woman.

  I cannot tell you how I worry for you, as Mia thinks of nothing else but reclaiming a lost treasure that she is convinced you are keeping from her. Please be aware that she is a danger to you and to anyone who stands in her way.

  As for my part, I regret the night at Seven Sisters. I regret calling up those old ghosts, for ever since that night, I have not had a decent night’s sleep. I cannot shake the feeling that I am being watched and that death hangs close to me. Perhaps when this box is returned, I shall finally have some peace. I am leaving Mobile. I do not plan to return. Please express my sincere apologies to Mr. Stuart, Detective Simmons and everyone else I have hurt.

  Yours,

  Henri Devecheaux

  I tossed the tissue and note aside and stared at the delicate-looking music box. My hands shook as I removed it from the box. I set it on my desk and slipped the necklace off my neck. Somewhere on this box was a hidden keyhole, the keyhole that operated not only the music but also a hidden compartment. Again I felt that someone was watching me. I rubbed my fingers over the enamel figurines, the dancing couple caught forever in a waltz. At the base of the podium that held the couple, I spotted a smooth piece of brass. I carefully slid the brass piece away. The hinge moved easily; someone else had found the spot recently but could get nowhere without a key. With shaking hands, I slid the key into the slot and turned it, hearing it click. The top of the box opened up to reveal a bright red, velvet-lined interior. Inside was a folded slip of paper. With trembling hands, I removed it without unfolding it. The lettering on the outside was perfect, like someone had written it yesterday.

  “Here’s your water…is that the box?” Ashland’s face went white, and he froze.

  I nodded up at him. “I found the compartment. It was in the base, and I found this note there. Ashland, I think you should be the one to read it. I suspect it is from Christine.”

  He put the water on the desk and accepted the note. He carefully unfolded the stiff paper, spreading it out on the table in front of me. “No, let’s read it together.”

  Dearest Daughter,

  Find your True Self, and you will Find a Treasure!

  All my Deepest Love,

  Christine Beaumont Cottonwood

  I blinked, staring at the page. True self, true self. Where had I seen that before?

  “This is impossible. I don’t get that at all. What does this mean? Was she out of her head when she wrote this?” Ashland’s discouragement didn’t bother me. I was a historian—solving mysteries was my job.

  I frowned at him. “Let’s think about this for a minute. It’s a riddle meant to confuse anyone who doesn’t have any business reading it. Like you and me. Wait a second. You read most of that diary, didn’t you? How did Calpurnia always describe herself? Her true self. She was a girl who liked literature. She would have identified with a heroine, a character, maybe even a… oh my gosh!”

  “What is it, CJ?”

  “Her neck, she hated her neck. Even Isla mentioned that Calpurnia had a long neck. That’s it!” I stood up quickly from the desk, the rolling desk chair flying away awkwardly. I know where it’s at!”

  “Are you serious?”

  I grinned and nodded, as excited as a kid running to the ice cream truck. “We will need a shovel, though.”

  “A shovel? If this requires digging anywhere around here, we’d better wait until after the party. Only thirty more minutes. Can you wait that long?”

  I pretended to bite a fingernail. “I can if you can.”

  *~*~*

  Shadows Stir at Seven Sisters

  By

  M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2015 Monica L. Bullock

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my father, Jerry Patrick. One day I will get the hang of identifying trees and plants. Until then, I look forward to our next walk together. And if I never learn, I’ll still know you loved me. Thank you for everything.

  Speak Forever

  Speak forever, childlike virgin;

  like a divine power,

  tear out from my bleeding heart

  the thorn,

  And you will see a poor infant crying!

  Speak forever, and the storm

  that is going to batter my youth,

&
nbsp; will stop and carry its rage

  far from me,

  As soon as you will tell me:

  “For you, my word!”…

  Camille Thierry (1845)

  Chapter 1

  What would Detective Simmons think about Ashland and me digging in the garden of Seven Sisters on a moonlit night? She’d probably raise a ginger brow, lick the lead of her pencil and waste no time whipping out her notebook. Yet here we were, dressed in white like two ghosts, slinging dirt from a hole we dug in front of the Taygete statue. We’d been digging for ten minutes—the adrenaline was beginning to wear off now, and I was starting to worry that my hunch had been wrong. Dead wrong. That nagging voice in my heart that only spoke when something was going horribly wrong began whispering in my ear. I can’t believe you didn’t take the time to do some research first!

  I leaned against the shovel, trying to catch my breath. The sweat that covered my face and neck was like sweet nectar for an irritating chorus of Alabama mosquitoes. They apparently couldn’t resist it. It didn’t matter that it was coming up on midnight. It was still hot out. “Ashland, maybe we should come back in the daytime, bring a metal detector or something.”

  “Are you saying you were wrong? Could we be looking in the wrong place?” He leaned on the rusty handle of his shovel.

  I frowned. “No, I don’t think I’m wrong, but I want to be absolutely sure before we tear up all of TD’s work.”

  “That only seems fair!” Ashland and I looked up to see our contractor, Terrence Dale, standing just a few feet away. He watched us with his hands on his hips, a cross between amused and aggravated. “May I ask what the hell y’all are doing? Ashland, I know I just work for you, but this was my project. Why are you digging holes in the….” A sudden realization hit him. He knew what was happening. “What exactly are you looking for?”

  Ashland gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, TD. We didn’t want to do this in front of you. I know this sounds ridiculous, but Carrie Jo thinks she knows where the Cottonwood treasure is located. We have good reason to believe that it’s here, under or around the Taygete statue. I promise I’ll get the garden looking like it’s supposed to again if it takes me all week.”