“He’s got a terrific little sister—I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
She laughed dryly at the idea. “Relationship advice is truly not my field of expertise. If you need to evict a deadbeat, then I’m your girl. But I’m sure you’re right. My brother is kind, handsome and successful—like you. He won’t be lonely for long. Frankly, I would like to see him play the field a little more. Get out there and mingle. I think his biggest problem is he doesn’t know what he’s been missing.”
I smiled at the idea of Jeremy mingling. He had been an excellent receiver, the best football player on our team; the guy was fearless on the field, but when it came to women he could hardly put two sentences together, at least before he met Kelly. I was bummed that the two of them had split up, but that kind of stuff happened.
“Which brings me to my next question…what made you get into an all-fired rush to get married? I thought you would be single forever.”
“What makes you say that? I have never been a player.”
Libby took a seat beside me and carefully removed the plastic lid from her steaming drink. “Oh, come on. It’s me you’re talking to. The unofficial little sister to the entire Bulldogs football team—I know the truth, Ash. Let’s see, there was Shay Dawson, Aimee Wilkinson, Jenna Daughtry…”
“Shay and I are just friends, always have been. Aimee…I did like her, but she moved senior year. And Jenna wasn’t the kind of girl to stay with one guy for too long.”
“You know, Jenna’s changed a lot. Can you believe she married Tony Merritt? Better her than me. I don’t think I could ever be a preacher’s wife. And then there was Detra Ann. I always thought if I didn’t marry you, she’d be the one to put a ring on your finger. Y’all were inseparable.”
My phone rang, and I unplugged it from the charger. “This is Ashland.”
“Morning, sunshine! Is Carrie Jo coming in today? I told her I’d be here this morning, but she hasn’t showed up. If she’s going to be late could you ask her to bring some breakfast when she comes in? I’m starving.” Rachel Kowalski always talked like that. She threw whole paragraphs at you without taking a breath. Young, ambitious, and completely loyal. I felt guilty that I didn’t know what to tell her.
“I’m not at the house right now, so I’m not sure.”
“Did she mention coming in? Because that was the plan yesterday. Here I thought I was late. You two must have stayed up too late last night. Oh, the married life.”
“Actually, I stayed on the boat last night.”
She was silent for a moment. “Sorry, Mr. Stuart. Didn’t mean to be nosy. Well, I’ll call the house phone again. She’s not answering her cell, and her car is here.”
“Her car is there? Tell you what—I’ll head that way and bring you both some breakfast.”
“Sounds yummy. Thanks so much! Bye!”
I dialed Carrie Jo’s number, but she still wasn’t answering. Her cheery voice asked me to leave a voicemail. I hung up and tried the house phone. Still no dice. Doreen didn’t work on Sundays, so I’d have to go check myself. That familiar nagging feeling that something was wrong began to grow in my gut.
“Thanks for the coffee, Libby, but I have to go.”
“I overheard the conversation. I hope everything is all right with Carrie Jo. Need me to tag along?”
“No, I’m sure it’s nothing. My wife hasn’t been feeling well lately.”
“I’m just a phone call away if you need me.”
“Thanks.” I began collecting my things and practically ran down the pier to my car. What a jerk I’d been! I should have stayed home last night instead of pouting on the boat. I haphazardly dialed her phone again as I peeled out of the parking lot slinging rocks and dust. The harbormaster yelled at me, but I didn’t have time to explain.
No answer. This isn’t good.
Adjusting my rearview mirror as I sped down the causeway, I nearly screamed. For a second it appeared that someone was in my back seat. I saw a face—a man’s face. He had pale skin, dark hair that curled around the collar of his crumbling white shirt and empty eyes. I could barely form a thought before he vanished in a less than a second. My car swerved erratically until I got it under control. I swore under my breath as I tried to slow my breathing.
No. This isn’t good at all.
Chapter 6—Delilah
I ran as fast as my feet would carry me away from Adam’s shop. He shouted my name again, but I didn’t stop to answer him. I didn’t know where I planned to go—back to Maundy’s, I supposed. Where else could I go? Anywhere but with Adam. In my mind I could still see his sweaty back writhing over Blessing Harper, the leatherman’s middle daughter. She’d been panting beneath him, repeating his name hungrily, when I walked into the store room of the carpentry shop. I wouldn’t have even walked in if he’d bothered to close the door. It was almost as if he wanted to get caught.
Adam came running after me, still shirtless. “Stop, Delilah!” He reached toward me and grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around forcefully.
“Get your damn hands off me!” I shouted at him.
“So now you are swearing? What else has Maundy Weaver taught you?”
“Me? You have no room to criticize me, Adam Iverson! How could you do this?”
Suddenly he stiffened, his chin raised defiantly, and peered down at me with icy blue eyes. “This is your fault,” he said viciously as he pointed a finger at me. “You are the one who decided we should no longer be together. Remember the speech you gave me, sister? You are the one who wanted to forget about us, and for what? To claim an old name and a fortune you will never have. What would our parents think about you now, Delilah?”
I slapped him as hard as I could right across the face. My hand stung, and his pale skin instantly turned red with the vivid prints from my fingers and palm. He took a step toward me but then froze, his glance riveted to some action over my shoulder. I turned myself, relieved to see Jackson Keene walking toward us, his face dark with concern.
“Here comes your new lover to save you, sister. Now I see why you pushed me out of your bed.” I gasped at his insinuation, feeling now as if I had been the one slapped, especially in light of the fact Adam was walking away with bits of straw on his naked back. He didn’t wait around to hear my reply, not that I would have given him one. In his mind he would always be right, no matter how wrong he was. He was a fool. His tall, lumbering frame headed back to the carpentry shop.
Some women would have fallen apart; I knew a few who would do just that having worked in Maundy’s shop and in her private parlor for the past few months. The stories I’d heard I would never have imagined. Maundy was right—women did talk too much, about too many things and especially about one another. Unfortunately as of yet, I had heard nothing about Claudette Page. But I had heard plenty of tales of adultery, babies born out of wedlock, husbands who asked their wives for strange acts in the bedroom, and it was all proof of what I suspected. Marriage was not so much a thing to be desired as a hardship that crushed the soul—at least the female soul. The more I heard, the less I wanted to be Mrs. Anyone. How could I have ever imagined that I would be Adam’s wife?
Instead of weeping like a child, I relished the rebellion that rose up within me. Adam had been the one who wanted to return to Mobile, and I had agreed. He was the one who wanted to come back “home” and make a name for himself, and I had come with him. We had done everything he wanted and nothing else. I refused to live my life according to his whims anymore. I vowed to never be under the control of any man ever again. And I would never surrender my right to my family name and my inheritance. I was going to have everything I wanted in this life—even if that meant living without love! All the passion, all the love I had believed I felt for Adam had been nothing but an illusion.
“Miss Page, may I be of assistance?” Mr. Keene glared toward Adam’s shop, obviously ready to defend my honor. If only he knew that I didn’t have any honor left. But I did not worry that Adam would tell him. He would r
ather die than have the world know he had been romantically involved with his “sister.” Why? Half the town knew the truth—I was the bastard child of Christine Cottonwood and Hoyt Page. The other half believed everything Claudette Page and her unofficial “morality society” told them. That I was a nobody, an incestuous scam artist bent on destroying the Page family name and with that the City of Mobile. Last week the woman had the nerve to send me a check for five thousand dollars and a one-way train ticket out of town. I ripped up the check and sent it back with a little note of my own.
Keep your money, Aunt Claudette. In the future, please send all correspondence to my attorney, Jackson Keene.
“Yes, Mr. Keene, I believe you can be of help to me. I would like to find a new place to live. I think it’s time I moved out of the store. In fact, I would like to sell the whole building.” He blinked, his intelligent eyes full of surprise.
“Mr. Iverson may have something to say about that.”
“I have full confidence in your negotiation talents. If Adam does cause a fuss, let him know that I am willing to relinquish all the other Iverson properties to him…and remind him that he has as much to lose as I do when it comes to reputation. All I want are the proceeds from this building. I am sure that is what my parents would have wanted.”
“I’ll make the arrangements, Miss Page, and begin inquiries on a new home. I think we can find something for you…here in town, correct?”
“Yes,” I said with a smile, pretending that he didn’t look relieved. “I intend to keep working with Maundy Weaver. Maybe something on Florence Street or perhaps Carlen? Is the Winslow home still available? The yellow one with the wisteria out front?” He smiled and nodded. Together we walked back to my shop, side by side on the dusty wooden walkway. I glanced back once to make sure Adam wasn’t glaring at us, but I needn’t have worried. He didn’t show his face again. He wouldn’t with Mr. Keene around. Seeing the street now crowded, I decided to take the back way around.
“You know, if you sell the shop, Claudette Page will think she’s won.”
“Let her think that. What it really means is—what’s that poker term? Oh yes, ‘I’m all in.’”
He laughed. “I never figured you for a poker player.”
“It’s a recent hobby I’ve taken up, and I am told I’m quite good at it.”
“I believe that completely,” he replied, smiling down at me. “So a small home, like a cottage?”
“Yes, nothing too pricy.”
“You know, according to Dr. Page’s will, you technically own a few properties near here.”
“Yes, and if I step foot near one, his sister will have me tossed out before I unpack the first trunk. No, I don’t think I’m ready to go to war. Not yet, Mr. Keene.”
“I like your spirit, Miss Page.” By his smile, I could tell he meant it. Still, I refused to blush like a teenage virgin. “It is nearly suppertime. Will you do me the honor of having supper with me this evening? We could talk more about what it is you’re looking for, in the way of houses. Did I tell you that the judge who will be hearing your case came in on the train today? I have already taken the liberty of introducing myself to him. I think the high-and-mighty Claudette Page may find this new judge less flexible on the law.”
“Flexible. That’s a nice word for it,” I huffed, ignoring his question. “Judge Parker barely even heard our case before he ruled against me.” A few people walked down the side street and stared at us, but I had trained myself not to look at their faces. I didn’t even mind that some women saw me and crossed to the other side of the street, as if being illegitimate were a disease to be caught. Mr. Keene didn’t seem to mind at all.
“You were right to appeal, and you will win. Of that I am sure. The morality law that Judge Parker cited is a relic—almost as much of a relic as the judge himself. I feel sure that by this summer you’ll be sipping lemonade on the porch of some Page property.” He smiled again—it was a nice thing to see.
Jackson Keene was not overtly handsome, not like Adam with his chiseled, Nordic features, impressive height and fit physique. From working in Maundy’s shop I could take Mr. Keene’s measure without ever putting a tape to him. Barely 5’10”, he had a sturdy medium build with flashing blue eyes and a manicured mustache that hinted at pink lips. I knew for a fact that the ladies enjoyed looking at him because anytime he visited the shop there was a wave of excited chatter after he left and sometimes even while he was there. He was five years my senior but had a young face, and I believed if he ever shaved he’d probably look much younger than he was.
He paused at the back door of my shop as I pulled the key from my purse. I thanked him for walking me home, but he didn’t leave right away. He stood with his hat in his hand, waiting for my answer to his invitation.
With a polite smile I answered, “Yes, I will have supper with you. Step inside, Mr. Keene. You can make yourself comfortable in the shop. There are some chairs behind the counter. I would like to tidy up if you don’t mind. I won’t be a minute.”
“Certainly, I will be happy to wait.” He followed me into the shop, and I walked up the stairs sure that he was watching me. I changed my clothes quickly. Although Adam no longer lived in the apartment with me—he’d moved into the quarter house attached to the shop—it wasn’t beyond him to come stomping up the stairs without warning. Tidying myself as quickly as I could, I scowled at myself in the mirror. Hadn’t I just sworn off men? Here I was, going to dinner with my attorney. Tongues would wag, but weren’t they already? Again rebellion filled my heart.
What did these people know about me?
I dipped my fingers in the water basin and smoothed my hair in an attempt to tidy up the curls that sprang up around my face. I had a new gray dress with a thin black ribbon that ran across the top of the bodice. It had a modest neckline with three-quarter sleeves, a bit old fashioned perhaps but perfectly respectable for a business dinner.
In a few minutes I was ready, but I lingered at the mirror. I was still young and some called me pretty, although it had been a long time since anyone had complimented me on my appearance.
Like I had so many times since I first read that letter from Dr. Page, I studied my face in the mirror. I wondered whose eyes those were, whose nose? Did my mother have a pretty voice? How did she die? I would never know, but at least I had life. I supposed I should be grateful that I wasn’t abandoned at an orphanage or drowned in a river. With a frown I reached for my perfume and sprayed my hair once before I rejoined my guest.
I heard Mr. Keene sliding the wooden chair back; it made a hash sound, and I tried not to stare at the scrape on the floor. He walked toward the back door but I stopped him.
“No, not the back door. Let’s go this way, if you don’t mind.” I waved him to the front. I took the key out of my black satin purse and opened the front door.
“As you wish.” He followed me out and waited patiently as I fumbled with the key. My black lace glove caught the metal, but I quickly unsnagged myself and locked the door. “You look lovely,” he whispered.
“Thank you, Mr. Keene. Where are we dining tonight?”
“Let’s take my carriage. Have you been to Patterson’s yet?”
“No, I haven’t, but I am quite hungry.” I climbed aboard the carriage and arranged my dress neatly. Mr. Keene sat beside me, and together we rode through town with our heads held high. As we traveled, he told me stories about the war, how various businesses and families had fared and what he thought about the prospects for the city. He had been born in Mississippi but had been in Mobile since the end of the war. I did not think it polite to tell him I probably knew more than he did about Mobile society, as I was Maundy’s friend and was privy to much information. So I listened and nodded appropriately.
We drove at least twenty minutes, passing the cathedral and the expansive oak groves that lined Dauphin Street. I had not been this far down Dauphin since I was a child, and I could barely remember those times anymore. The carriage turned do
wn an unmarked road, and I suddenly felt a bit panicked. Where were we going? The carriage paused in front of a looming plantation at the end of a wide red dirt lane. As we drew closer, I could see that the house wasn’t completely empty; a few lamps shone through the windows, and gas lamps flickered along the carriageway. Despite the light it didn’t feel like a happy place, not in the least. I shivered and pulled my wrap closer. “Is this Patterson’s? I didn’t know we were going to someone’s home.”
“You’ve never been here, Miss Page? This is Seven Sisters.”
I caught my breath. “My mother’s home?”
“Yes. She moved here from north Alabama when she married Jeremiah Cottonwood. Truth be told, it was her money that kept this house in the Cottonwood name. It’s no secret that her husband could not manage his pocketbook, much less an estate of this size.”
In a determined voice I said, “I want to go inside.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I had no intention of stopping—I merely wanted you to see the place. I don’t think anyone lives there anymore, except for a few of the former slaves and occasionally some obscure relative. And…not to cast aspersions, Miss Page, but the current resident is probably a Cottonwood and thus is less likely to make you welcome. No offense, of course.”
“I want to go inside,” I said again as I slid clumsily out of the carriage seat. The red clay dirt crumbled into powder beneath my feet, evidence of the long dry spell Mobile had endured recently. Mr. Keene stepped down beside me and offered me his arm.
“Let us go and make our acquaintance.” I slid my arm through his and held my breath as the massive front door opened. A tall black man stepped out on the porch. Other faces peered at us from the hallway. My grip on Mr. Keene’s arm tightened as we walked up the steps.
The attorney called to the man in a friendly voice, “Good evening. We would like to call on the lady or gentleman of the house. I am Jackson Keene, and this is Miss Delilah…Iverson.”
The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection Page 52
