The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  “That would be great,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m obviously not as fast a runner as I used to be.”

  “Where are you coming from? The boat?” I called from the bathroom as I dug for the last clean towel. I’d have to do laundry ASAP. I padded back to him and handed him the towel. His blond hair was dripping wet. “Or maybe you swam from the Bay?”

  He laughed. “I sure look like it, don’t I? No, I’ve been downtown at Matthews and Ladner.”

  “Oh, good. Did they finally give you all your files?” I knew he’d been after the law firm to turn over everything that pertained to him. They were hesitant at first, and Ladner, the surviving partner, didn’t even want to work with Ashland’s new attorney. But naturally, Ashland persisted and got what he wanted.

  “Yes, I got most of it yesterday, but I just got the last pack of paperwork this afternoon. You won’t believe what I found.” He was holding a folder, and his smile was almost electric.

  “Here, sit on a barstool in the kitchen and tell me about it while I dry your hair. Were we right? Did Hollis know about the necklace?” I rubbed Ashland’s hair vigorously with the towel and then rubbed his strong, broad shoulders in an attempt to dry his white button-down shirt. It wasn’t working, but I enjoyed every minute of it. Finally, I tossed the towel over a chair and sat down. “What did you find? I can tell you’re dying to tell me, and I’m dying to know! I heard something pretty amazing today myself.”

  He ran his hand through his messy hair and sat at the table with me. “Some of this might be hard to believe. But once you know everything, I think you’ll have to admit I did pretty good.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re the king of research, now spill it.”

  He opened his sheaf and pulled out some papers. Most were copies, old copies, from the look of it. I flipped on the light because the storm had made the room as dark as midnight.

  “How many living children did Christine and Jeremiah Cottonwood have?” he asked. “Just the one, Calpurnia, right?”

  “That’s right.” I didn’t know where he was going with this, so I listened as patiently as I could.

  “Take a look at this.” He slid me a copy of a marriage license, dated March 13, 1867, in faded ink. The text read: “The State of Alabama and the County of Mobile Probate Court. To any of the State Judges or to any Licensed Minister of the Gospel or to any Justice of the Peace of the said County. Know ye that you are hereby authorized to join together in the Bonds of Holy Matrimony…” I peered closer to read the names, “Edward H. Tulley and Karah Lahoma Cottonwood.”

  “What is this? Some cousin of Calpurnia’s? Maybe Jeremiah’s brother’s child?”

  “Nope. She’s not.” His face beamed with excitement.

  “Well, who is she?”

  He dug in his folder and pulled out a photo of the couple, seated in a studio. A tall young man stood behind a couch, unsmiling, with perfectly smooth dark hair and dark eyes. Seated on the couch was the bride, her hair piled on her head, the dress collar cinched around her long neck, a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.

  I stood up and carried the photo into the living room, turning on the desk lamp. I ransacked the desk drawer for the magnifying glass. Oh, that familiar smile and the shape of the neck! Even her piles of hair made me think of Calpurnia. It wasn’t her, but the resemblance was striking.

  “What? Who is this, Ashland?”

  “Meet Karah Lahoma Cottonwood Tulley, of our Cottonwoods. I think she’s Calpurnia’s long-lost sister.”

  “But how can that be? I mean, there’s no record of a living child other than Callie.”

  “No, but unlike the other children, there are no death records, not even a mention of her death in the family bible. Don’t you think that’s kind of suspect? I do believe this is the baby that Calpurnia heard crying the night her mother died. Remember, she was surprised to learn that the baby died because she’d heard it crying sometime late that night. Somebody must have taken the baby away.”

  “Or been ordered to remove it. I wouldn’t put it past Old Jeremiah to want to get rid of her. He didn’t want another girl, and he sure didn’t want to share that fortune, even if he couldn’t find it.”

  “Yes, but from what you say and what I have read, it’s more likely that Mr. Cottonwood would have wanted the baby dead.”

  “Ah, yes, but Jeremiah was a coward, except when it came to abusing his wife and daughter. He would have never done the deed himself. Just like Ann-Sheila.”

  “Who?”

  I shook my head, thinking of the poor slave who drowned herself in the river. “It’s not important right now. I’m just saying that he would have ordered one of his slaves to do it, probably Stokes or Early.” I paced the floor, the wheels turning like crazy in my mind. “But Hooney, she would have intervened. I’m sure of it. She cared about Christine. It would have been easy for her to have that baby hidden away somewhere.”

  “It’s hard to imagine how it all happened, but this photo seems like good proof to me. Somehow that baby lived. I wish we knew more.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to do but have a nap. Maybe a nap with that photo will trigger something. It’s hit or miss, but it’s worth a shot.”

  “No way, CJ. I won’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous, especially with all we know now. I’ve only scratched the surface of what my supposed friend, Hollis Matthews, knew. I don’t know how far down this rabbit hole goes.”

  “Literary references are appreciated, but you can’t stop me from dreaming, Ashland.” Lighting popped near the house, and the lights went off. Thunder shook the dishes in my kitchen cabinet. We both jumped and then nervously laughed at ourselves.

  He said, “I’m not trying to stop you from dreaming. I just wish you’d dream about me once in a while.” He stood close to me, his face the picture of seriousness, his shirt and hair almost dry now.

  “Why should I dream about you? You’re here, right now, aren’t you? That’s better than a dream.” I reached out and touched his chest, putting the palm of my hand over his heart. Through the thin cotton shirt, I could feel his heart beating strong and evenly.

  “Yes, I am here,” he answered in a hoarse whisper.

  I stepped closer. We were so close now that there was barely any space between us. My breath was coming faster, my heart pounded, my pulse raced. With a tilt of my head, I gazed into his blue eyes and whispered, “I am here too.”

  He took my face in his hands and kissed me. This was no “Bye, see you later” kiss. We weren’t two teenagers parked in the woods after the prom but two adults who, until this point, had managed to keep our hands off one another. We kissed again, and I felt the weight of my hair fall around my shoulders as he slid my hair out of its ponytail. I got the feeling that Ashland wasn’t leaving, and I didn’t want him to. He paused and looked at me; his eyes sparkled with desire, his unspoken question obvious. I didn’t speak a word but instead replied with a kiss. Yes, I wanted him to stay.

  And he did.

  Chapter 9

  Neither one of us fell asleep, but we lay in the dark together for a long time before Ashland slipped away. He took his stack of paperwork with him except for the photo, which I convinced him to leave behind. I posted the picture of Karah next to Calpurnia’s on my dry-erase board and sat in my curved chair clad in my t-shirt, my body half-wrapped in a sheet. The nearby streetlight cast a strange yellow glow on the board. I stared at the two faces looking back at me from antiquity. They wouldn’t pass for identical twins—Karah’s eyes didn’t have the downward slant of Calpurnia’s—but I could well imagine they might be sisters. Definitely related in some way. Their eye color could be similar. It was hard to tell with just a copy of an antique black and white photograph and a photo of an oil painting. I looked more carefully, taking note of the differences and similarities.

  Their lips, full and bow-shaped, the same. Both had high cheekbones, but Karah’s forehead was wider, like Christine’s. Similarities were there, but it would be
hard to know for sure without solid evidence. Here was another question: if Karah knew she was a Cottonwood, as the marriage license seemed to suggest, why didn’t she come forward and claim her birthright, claim Seven Sisters? What had kept her away? I sighed. Another mystery, like I need another one. Okay, no more distractions tonight. I had to get my mind back on my task here—finding Calpurnia. Last I knew, she confessed to Muncie that she wanted to leave. But to where and with whom?

  I picked up the journal and hunkered down in the chair. Thankfully the power had flickered back on, and I switched on the lamp. I ran my fingers over the cover of the journal and opened it to my bookmark. Talk to me, Calpurnia. Give me some kind of clue! Where are you?

  I sighed, closed my eyes to quiet myself and began to read…

  Dear Diary,

  Pichon’s Emporium delivered new dresses to the house today; some were mine, and the rest belonged to Mother. How easily I can call to remembrance her laughter when ordering those items. She’d given Mr. Pichon’s unfriendly daughter her measurements with a smile, promising me that she would indeed regain her trim figure after the baby arrived. I didn’t care what size her waist was—Mother’s beauty was impossible to hide, and I had told her so. Now those dresses would never be worn, although Cousin Isla would undoubtedly ask me for them. My Cousin has a Persuasive Manner, and Truthfully I rarely refused her, but on this subject I would be unmovable. Nobody would wear Mother’s dresses, not as long as there was breath in my body. I could not bear to see Isla preening about in them as if she were truly the Lady of the House. She’s already taken to ordering our meals, even purchasing supplies, and she recently had the houseboys rearranging the furniture in the Ladies’ Parlor. These privileges had been given to her by my Father, I supposed, and I did not challenge her.

  For these things I care not, as I do not plan to remain at Seven Sisters. Let Isla have her little victories over me, like telling Hooney I had not eaten or mentioning to my Father that I had not accepted Mrs. Meadows’ call. I had long abandoned the idea that Isla held any love for me. She was not a True Friend—like Muncie.

  But she will never wear Mother’s dresses!

  How oddly reassuring it had been to receive the packages, when just a few weeks ago I could have never dreamed that I would welcome such a delivery. Indeed to receive such an intimate package would have sunk my soul like an anchor into the depths of darkest despair. But this had not happened.

  As I opened the box lid and lifted away the tissue paper from the cream and peach dress, it was as if my Own Dear Mother had sent this gift to remind me to remain strong and hopeful. I had ignored Hooney’s yellow-eyed stare and removed the sumptuous fabric, hugging it as if it were my Dearest One. I spread it across the pillows of my bed and lay beside it, rubbing the fabric with my fingers. I hummed “La Mere,” feeling sleepy but happy. Hooney murmured a prayer, most certainly about me and my Addled Mind, and left me alone to my musings.

  Mother could never escape Seven Sisters now. I could not help her, but she wanted me to be free. She wanted me to run, as far and as fast as I could. That was the message I received from her dress box. I love you, Mother!

  Now, I have taken Great Care to behave as if All is Well again. I ordered a bath and asked Hannah to fix my hair. I greeted my Cousin with a smile and even inquired about her health. She chattered like the day we first met. My Cousin considered herself to be Crafty and Intelligent, but she had no idea what I had planned. I smiled through her retelling of a bit of gossip she had picked up from our neighbor and her friend, Ocie Chastang.

  “How amusing,” I commented as she continued her tale. Apparently some newcomer to the Mobile Social Scene discovered that the local “parlor fan language” was quite different from the fan languages used in her home parish. Miss Louise Holcombe had made a fool of herself in front of an entire new crop of debutantes visiting from Jackson County. Isla laughed and laughed, and I did my very best to echo her amusement.

  She cajoled me to come out and accompany her and visit with Ocie. She told me I looked lovely in my new dress and remarked, “I am sure that all the Gentlemen in Mobile County will be heartbroken when they discover you are to marry Mr. Langdon.” She leaned back against the upholstered chair, her blue cotton dress—my blue cotton dress—surrounding her tiny frame like a blue cloud. She told me she was Quite Jealous that I should marry and move away, leaving her in this Great House by herself. “How will I ever manage?” she said with a pout. She feigned sadness, but she did not fool me. I knew that she did not feel it. I suspected that Isla Beaumont had never felt sad a day in her life. She never cried. Not for her Mother or mine. Not for Baby Angelique. Not a tear for Uncle Louis beyond dabbing a handkerchief to her dry eyes the day he disappeared. Muncie had tried to warn me, but I had refused to listen. Now I knew.

  At the very least she had kept my Great Secret and never revealed to Father that I had spirited away a Collection of Letters from My Captain. Yes, at least there was that.

  Tonight, as I prepared for bed, I examined again his latest letter. How his written words tug at my heartstrings like a violin master plucks at his instrument! Apparently some fiend—some Agent of Low Caliber—has shared the news that I am to marry. Read his words to me…

  Were I not a Gentleman of the South, how rudely I would lambast Your Proposed Husband to his Bride, but Alas, Madam, I am such. Inasmuch as it Pains My Heart, I release you from any Inclinations or Dispositions in regards to myself, knowing that I could never attain the Stature of the Man you are soon scheduled to marry. Forgive My intrusion and think kindly of me, Friend. I will Treasure Our Memories beyond a mere tomorrow.

  With fondest farewell,

  Captain David Garrett

  My hand shook so when I sent my return. I assured the Captain that I had no desire to end our Friendship, that I considered him an Excellent Man and a Dear Friend. I refused to say goodbye, writing this…

  Now, my Friend, accept my heart-felt assurance that I continue to Value Our Amiable Acquaintance. That in truth, I have no designs to abandon you. Nay, how much more will I rely upon your Companionship as I navigate these Unknown Waters? I look forward to the Good Day when I may see you Face to Face. I pray that when that day arrives, I will have the Courage necessary to speak my True Heart.

  Yours in Friendship,

  Calpurnia Cottonwood

  My note is winging its way to the Captain now. I pray that I may hear a return soon. What will I say to him? I am determined to speak my heart at last. I want to be His Wife and the wife of no other. For freedom—no, for his Love—I would gladly shed all my earthly trappings, pay whatever price, even lose my inheritance to be by his side. Oh, to see the world! To explore the sights and sound of life beyond my white sepulcher! One more word of encouragement, and I shall run to him with all my strength. I pray that it is soon—Isla tells me that the Delta Queen shall leave Mobile soon, probably for the rest of the season. He must write to me! I will wait for him!

  How will I pass the time?

  Chapter 10

  I woke up with a weird startled feeling hanging over me. My phone buzzed on my nightstand—it was Ashland. It was never good when he called before 8 a.m. I pushed my unruly curls out of my face and answered the phone, trying not to sound like someone coming out of a love hangover from a night of passion.

  “Dreaming about me?” His question caught me off guard, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Of course, Ashland,” I started to lie but added, “well, kind of. I dreamed about Callie.” Naturally, he wanted to know all the details, so I relayed what I saw, from the dresses to the notes. He prodded me with questions, and by the end of the conversation, I felt sort of sad. Not about the dream, but about Ashland and me. What would happen to us when the mystery of Calpurnia’s whereabouts was solved? What if we never knew what happened? Nothing would be sadder than to discover that Ashland and I truly had nothing in common except for a love of old houses. I finished the conversation with, “Will I see you later?”<
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  “I’m thinking about driving up to Fayette. That’s where Karah was from, according to what I’ve found. It’s about four hours away. I was thinking we could ride up and spend the afternoon exploring the library records, stay overnight, come back some time on Sunday. How does that sound?”

  I waved my hand in the air in frustration—mostly at myself. My heart said, “Go! Go! Go!” but my brain was shouting, “Not so fast!” I won’t even mention what my other parts were saying. “I wish I could say yes, but I better not.”

  He laughed nervously. “I guess that doesn’t sound like much of a date.”

  “That sounds like the perfect date to me. It’s just that I’d like to visit with Myron and Alice before they go home, and I need to do a few things around here that I’ve been neglecting.” Like my laundry, I thought. “How about a rain check?”

  “Sure, but I don’t know when I’ll be driving back to Fayette, Alabama, population 2,400 again.”

  “I’ll take my chances. Besides, I have confidence in you. Keep your eyes open for anything you think might be relevant, and let’s talk tonight. I’m dying to know who this sister of Calpurnia’s is.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  The pause in the conversation grew. It felt like Ashland had something to say, but he never said whatever was on his mind. “You still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  Suddenly I regretted my decision. Maybe I should change my mind, pack a bag and head to Fayette for the weekend. But before I could, Bette tapped courteously on my door, giving me the excuse I needed to end the awkward phone call. How could this be? Ashland and I had finally shared an amazing intimate evening, and now I wanted to run the other way. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “I better go. Bette’s here. Have a safe trip, Ashland. Call me later?”

  “Yes, I’ll call before bed. Talk to you later.”