“Did you think that I didn’t know about you and Hoyt, about your bastard children—the ones you tried to pass off as mine? What a fine game player you were, dear! Granted it took me years to discover that Calpurnia was his ill-begotten stock, but once I knew, everything changed. You stole that from me! I will never let you leave, not now—not ever!”
“Christine! Christine! Come to me now! Please! Before it’s too late!” Hoyt cried out from his knees. Isla whirled around us, and this time she sailed by so close that I could smell honeysuckle and something else…death. I could feel her excitement as she waited to kill me.
“I can’t, he won’t let me go! It’s no use, Hoyt,” Christine cried pitifully. For a second, her face faded—I could plainly see Detra Ann! Jeremiah was holding Detra Ann!
“Fight, Detra Ann! Fight!” My friend struggled with renewed vigor, but it lasted only a few seconds.
Isla growled, but I continued to shout, “Fight! You are not Christine, you are Detra Ann Dowd. You are my friend, and I care about you! Now fight, damn it!”
Jeremiah seemed confused, but then Detra Ann’s face disappeared and it was just Christine again, crying hopelessly.
“Let her go, Jeremiah! She’s not Christine!” Finally, I could stand. I reached for Hoyt and helped him up too. A swell of terrible music rose in the ballroom, and the once-frozen dancers began to dance around us. The stale air moved like a brewing storm.
“You are a guest in my house now, my dear. Please join the dance,” Jeremiah said, squeezing Detra Ann’s neck, choking the life from her.
“NO! Detra Ann! TD, do something!” I screamed as a faceless man in a black suit whipped his arm around my waist and spun me about, lifting me a few feet from the ground. We danced in a circle, his invisible hand on my waist, pulling me tighter and tighter.
“Calpurnia, my darling,” he whispered. I recognized that voice! David Garrett! He was here too, trapped with everyone else! It took everything I had not to scream my head off as I struggled between my fear of falling to the ground and my terror at being held by this faceless ghoul.
The doors opened again, and the dancers froze to see who else had arrived. It was Bette!
I gasped and then screamed at the top of my lungs, “Bette! Run! Leave before it’s too late!” But she didn’t appear to hear me. The ghost that held me swirled us back to the ground, and I violently pushed away from him. I made my way through the dancers—I had to get to Bette!
“Let her go!” she commanded Jeremiah. “Now!” Bette stepped toward Christine as he visibly released his hold on her. Then the oddest thing happened—Bette transformed before my very eyes. Her perfect puffs of white curls grew, and her hair darkened to a lustrous dark brown. She appeared tall and thin, like Hoyt. In a flash, her blue capris with the yellow daisies all over were replaced with a flowing pink and white gown and a lovely white hat with a soft ivory-colored feather. She walked toward the center of the room and stood between Hoyt and Jeremiah. The bees went silent, and I noticed that even Isla slid as far away from Bette as she could. Fear, which had been tangible and sovereign just moments ago, fled into the shadows like a wild animal along with Isla and her cohorts. Peace filled the room. I alone stood out from the darkness. Hoyt (or TD, I wasn’t sure which) was only a few feet away from me. He watched with a rapt expression of pure love.
Bette wasn’t Bette. She was young and beautiful—she was Delilah Iverson.
“Can it be?” Christine’s hand flew to her chest, and she took a step away from Jeremiah. He did not reach for her again. I noticed that he too had retreated a little.
“Yes, Mother. I am Delilah, your daughter. I am here to take you home.”
In one bold move, Christine covered the distance between them and embraced her tightly. After a moment, Delilah stepped away, touching her arm as she walked toward Jeremiah. His typical haughty expression had vanished, replaced with a look of abject despair and anger.
“My mother doesn’t belong to you anymore. You were wrong—she is loved. I love her, just as my sister loves her. We are leaving here now, Jeremiah Cottonwood, and don’t think to stop us.”
He backed away as a light surrounded her. I couldn’t explain it, but love shone through her like a big bright candle. No. Like a star.
Arm in arm, they walked toward the outside door. Another light, brighter and bigger than even Delilah, shone brilliantly. As the door swung open, that light filled the ballroom in a flash.
Hoyt stumbled after them, pleading, “You can’t leave me again, Christine. I love you and always will. Don’t leave me now.”
Christine paused on the garden path and gave him a beautiful smile. She reached out her hand, and he ran to her.
“Wait! TD! You can’t go!” I cried out, unsure what to think about what was happening. I watched their glowing figures walk through the Moonlight Garden, Delilah on the right, Hoyt on the left and Christine in the middle. I didn’t dare take my eyes off of them, but I could “feel” the others around me disappearing into nothingness.
Instead of giggling, I heard Isla crying. Crying that her life and afterlife were now completely over. She would go down into the grave and be gone forever.
Worm food now, I suppose…
Jeremiah didn’t whimper or wail, but simply slid into a small black hole that appeared in the floor. He didn’t even make a sound as he slipped away down into the abyss. The hole closed, leaving only a small scorch mark on the floor.
I looked back up and saw the three lights, Delilah, Christine and Hoyt, fading away into the dark night. They were together at last. I wondered if they would simply go to sleep or if they would have time, their time—the time that was stolen from them. I didn’t know. I hoped they found Calpurnia waiting wherever they were going.
I sat on the hardwood floor and cried my eyes out.
Epilogue
Ashland and Carrie Jo stepped out onto the dais and faced the excited crowd. It was springtime in Mobile, bright and cool—the perfect day for unveiling the new Bette Marshall Museum and the Terrence Dale House. The new museum housed the extension of the Seven Sisters art collection, while the Dale House was the rebuilt slave quarters, reconstructed according to TD’s plans. It had been next on his list after restoring the Moonlight Garden. Ashland and TD had wanted to restore the plantation to be as historically accurate as they could make it, and this addition would do just that. Carrie Jo had commissioned a painting of Muncie that now hung in the foyer of the Marshall Museum. It was one of my favorite places to visit.
I wondered what our missing friends would think about the honors we bestowed upon them today. I wondered if TD remembered me—I liked to imagine that he did. I thought about him every day. At first, he was all I could think about. How could he have simply walked out of the hospital and disappeared? But slowly, the space between the crashing waves of grief grew, and eventually I found the strength to continue. But my future was forever changed by his absence.
Ashland made his speech, and the crowd applauded. I watched Carrie Jo as she stood smiling by his side. Funny how close we were now. She was like the sister I never had. I couldn’t imagine life without her, and I would forever be in her debt for what she did.
“But none of this would be possible without the help of Detra Ann Dowd, the director of the Seven Sisters Living Museum. Please make her welcome.” The crowd again applauded, and I solemnly took the podium. I closed my eyes for a second and let the sunlight beam down on me. We’d worked like dogs to make this happen in such a short time, but at least it was done. These weren’t just important landmarks and museums. They were memorials to our friends.
It was the least we could do.
According to the papers, Bette Marshall had died of a sudden heart attack in her home. TD had simply disappeared. For a while, rumors circulated that he’d fallen off the wagon again, but when he didn’t reappear, everyone changed their mind. I knew the truth. So did Ashland, Henri and Carrie Jo. That was all that mattered.
“Thank
you, everyone, for your support throughout this process. Special thanks to the Historical Society for your tireless commitment to Seven Sisters….” I read my notes and tried to keep a smile in my voice. I thought I did okay. When my speech was finished, I took a seat on the dais. Carrie Jo reached for my hand and squeezed it. Suddenly, I missed TD so badly that I almost cried. I squeezed her hand back, and she didn’t let go. I was glad for that.
When the ceremony ended, we stepped off the dais and I fell into Henri’s big arms. He’d become a dear friend to me these past six months. I was glad that he had decided to move back to Mobile. Within a month, he’d purchased the Cotton City Treasures antiques store, and I’d spent a bit of time there helping him set up his displays. It was peaceful work, and he seemed to value my opinion. Despite what some of the wagging tongues might think, we weren’t romantically involved. But I cared deeply for him.
We spent the next thirty minutes greeting visitors and answering questions. When it was over, I gave a sigh of relief. I was leaving Seven Sisters at the end of the month. My assistant, Rachel Kowalski, was taking over the directorship. I knew I was leaving the house in good hands. Of that, I had no worries. I’d given enough to the house. We all had.
It was time to leave the past behind…time to say goodbye to Seven Sisters. I took a walk through the Moonlight Garden. I touched the flowers and breathed in the scent of magnolias and roses. I picked a few petals off the ground and walked to the Atlas fountain.
“Goodbye, TD.” I tossed the petals into the water and watched them spin wildly and then slowly sink to the bottom.
I turned my face to the sun once more and felt peace wash over me. I couldn’t say for sure, but in that moment I believed he heard me.
For the last time, I walked out of the maze and back to the house. Henri, Ashland and Carrie Jo waited for me. We walked through the house and closed the door behind us.
We didn’t look back.
The Stars We Walked Upon
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2016 Monica L. Bullock
All Rights Reserved
This book is dedicated to all the fans of the Seven Sisters series. Thank you for walking through the Blue Room and strolling down the shady paths of the Moonlight Garden with me.
May you have many dreams, and may they all come true.
O Stars and Dreams and Gentle Night;
O Night and Stars return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn
That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew:
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!
—Emily Bronte
Excerpt from “Stars”
Prologue
Mobile, AL, 1851
Sunlight splashed through the tall conservatory windows, and I leaned back in the comfortable parlor chair, a glass of brandy in my hand. I closed my eyes, allowing the music to carry me to places far and away. The sound of the piano lent to the illusion of sanity and comfort, two things perpetually absent from my world of escalating darkness. The notes were light and choppy and full of happiness. If I allowed myself to, I could imagine I was in the music room of some talented debutante hoping to impress me, the elegant Captain David Garrett.
How many times had this been the case? How many musical recitals had been performed for me?
Sipping my brandy, I scanned through the memories with pleasure. The first face I recalled was that of the delightful Katrina Phelps, the daughter of Christian and Mary Beth Phelps of Savannah, Georgia. A pretty thing with light brown eyes, a sharp, clever wit and a sultry voice, a voice too sultry for one so young. Still, as charming as her face and figure were, she had not yielded to my ardent desire despite my best efforts to persuade her. The Phelps family welcomed me into their particular society; that is until that wretched letter arrived. And then Katrina was lost to me.
Ah, but there was always a fly in the ointment. One sour spinster who could not or would not leave the past alone. Yes, the past was my constant companion. I shook the memory of Miss Phelps and her tearstained face away. How she cried over me! At the time, I believed that I loved her—imagine that!
Oh yes, then there was Miss Virginia Lewis. The mother was so keen to make my acquaintance that I barely knew whom to seduce—the mother or the daughter. However, after meeting the woman’s husband, I decided that the latter would suffice. Unlike many of the maidens I dabbled with, I had not been able to control myself, so willing was she. I did partake of the young woman’s delights and so perhaps deserved the disdain of Red Hills’ society, but in the end, what did I care? Red Hills was no Savannah, nor Charleston nor even a Mobile. It was merely a farm community, and Miss Virginia Lewis nothing more than a glamorous wealthy farm girl with hefty arms, pink cheeks and skin that tasted like butter. My cheeks warmed at the thought of her, or perhaps it was the brandy. I smiled remembering our times together in the milk shed, the store cupboard, the floor of the carriage. But I had been a much younger man then, just hitting my prime.
The piano’s notes climbed higher and the music became lighter. I yielded myself to the tune, pausing only to sip the decadent drink in my crystal glass. I felt as if the notes could almost carry me to heaven—it was probably as close to that holy place as I could ever hope to reach.
Especially after what happened to Miss Cottonwood. Dear, sweet, gentle Miss Cottonwood. Now she had been a true lady. That had not been entirely my fault. The girl must have been out of her mind to seek me aboard the Delta Queen—or been encouraged to do so by someone other than me. With slitted eyes I observed my nude piano player. Loose coils of long blond hair hung down her back and stuck to her skin. How she sweated when we made love! She was no pasty-faced farm girl happy to endure whatever pleased me. No, she was an active participant—curious, hungry and eager to please and be pleased. It occurred to me that I should love her. After all, we were bound together in a dark world of our own making; perhaps I did love her in my own perverse way.
Although I told myself that she was the bane of my existence I admired her ambition, her skilled depravities. How I loved her constant scheming—her spirited aspirations far exceeded mine. She was like that biblical hussy Jezebel, and she deserved to be thrown out of the tower. I was the doomed Ahab.
I knew all this, and yet I was her slave.
Suddenly the piano made a crashing noise as her hands slammed down on the keys. Quick as a flash she was off her tufted stool and standing before me. Her damp tresses covered her goblet-shaped breasts.
“What are you thinking? I demand you tell me!”
As subtly as I could, I glanced at her hands to make sure that they held no object that might injure me, for my love had a deadly temper. Seeing no scissors, knitting needles or any other type of blade, I smiled at her peacefully.
“I think of nothing but you, my love. What else should I think of?”
“You’re a fool! Tell me you’re not thinking of her!” Her hands went to the curve of her naked hips, and she stared at me with unbelieving eyes.
“Calm down, dearest. Sit in my lap. Let us talk of the future—not the past. You promised, remember?”
I could see the struggle in her eyes as she gave in to my request and smiled that catlike smile. Her arms snaked about my neck, and her frame was as light as a feather as she perched in my lap. With insincere calmness I stroked her hair as she plunged her hand in my open shirt and rubbed my chest lightly. “Now. Where shall we go next, darling?” I spoke carefully in soothing tones. “To Paris? Perhaps to Boston? Where shall I take you?” She kissed my neck with her childlike lips—lips that always tasted of lemonade. How she loved the drink! “Nectar of the gods,” she called it as she added ridiculous amounts of gin into her glass.
“I want to see all of those places, my darling captain. All of them! But we must wait a little while.”
I wondered what plan she had concocted
in her feverish brain. Isla Beaumont rarely kept me in mind when she planned a scheme. Why should today be any different? She took my hand with her small one and kissed it. “Good news, my love. I am with child.”
I was shocked into silence. I weighed her mood to determine how to proceed.
“Isn’t that delightful?”
I responded with a confident smile. “If you are happy, I am happy. I must say I have never considered myself a family man. My, how you have changed me.”
She giggled. “Oh no, darling. I am quite sure that I am carrying a Cottonwood. A long-awaited boy for Jeremiah Cottonwood. Won’t he be delighted to hear the news that he will finally have a son!” She hopped out of my lap and spun about as if she were in the ballroom.
It was my turn to laugh. The whole thing seemed so outlandish I could not wrap my mind around it. “You and Cottonwood? Tell me, my clever love. How did you ever manage that? It was my understanding that the man had no appreciation for young beauties such as yourself, not of the female persuasion.”
She curtsied graciously, lifting the edges of a pretend dress. “Never underestimate my skills. That would be a mistake. He was like clay in my hands.” She giggled again and pretended to hide a nonexistent blush.
I raised my glass to her and said, “Well done.”
She frowned. “You do not seem as pleased as I imagined you would be. Isn’t this the cleverest thing? Just think. In a few months we will have what we wanted—Seven Sisters! Oh, and that is just the beginning! Imagine me with a fat little baby and all that money. Won’t that be funny?”
“Not to doubt your amazing ability to make men do whatever you desire, but what makes you believe that Mr. Cottonwood will welcome this news? We all know that man is an evil-tempered drunk.”
The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection Page 47
