The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  I loved Henri’s place. It had so much New Orleans flair; cool photos from his time there covered the living room walls. A collection of fleur-de-lis candle holders rested on a side table. One of the walls in the living room was painted a dark red, and an elegant gold-rimmed mirror hung in the center of it.

  He slid the papers out of the envelope and shuffled through them quickly before he began intently studying them. He didn’t ask me what to look for, and I could tell when he spotted it. “So he has a birthday in about a month?”

  I nodded, wiping my mouth with the linen napkin and pushing the plate to the side. It was wonderful, but I’d lost my appetite again. “Do you think it’s possible that we—that we’re…”

  “Cursed?” Rachel answered for me.

  “Yeah, what she said.” If I didn’t say the word, then we wouldn’t be, right?

  “Let’s look at the facts, and then we’ll look at the rest. According to this, every man in Ashland’s family tree—in this particular line of ancestors, anyway—has died at an early age. From these notations about the causes of death, it looks like a string of accidents.”

  “Some. I can’t be sure about a few of the others, so I left question marks beside their names. Even if you assumed that those men died of natural causes, that’s still a lot of early deaths.” Rachel added in a serious voice, “Men usually died around age 55 to 60 during the early to mid-1800s. There’s definitely a trend of men dying young in that particular family.”

  “No doubt there is. How old is Ashland now?”

  “He’ll be thirty. We’ve joked about the baby coming on his birthday. And that’s another thing—what about the baby? What if I have a boy? What will that mean?”

  “Hold up, let’s not jump to any conclusions.” Just then a bolt of lightning cracked through the sky and illuminated our faces in blue light. I winced at the closeness of it. The lights flickered, but the power didn’t go out. I heard the shop door ring downstairs; we’d left Henri’s door ajar on accident. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Feeling creeped out about curses, I turned to look and was relieved to see it was Detra Ann.

  You are being ridiculous, CJ. All the ghosts have settled down. You’re just looking for trouble. If you’re not careful, you’ll find it.

  Detra Ann slid her arms around my neck and hugged me. I needed all the hugs I could get right now. I squeezed her back, and she grabbed a plate. “I’m stealing some breakfast, but help me keep an ear out for customers. I’ve got the buzzer set. It sure got dark outside, didn’t it? I might have to bring my antiques table inside, Henri. I think it’s going to flood any minute. What are y’all up to?”

  It was just like Detra Ann to talk in a constant stream of consciousness. She plopped down in the empty chair with her plate and dug into the pancakes.

  “We’ve found something weird. It has to do with Ashland. Have you ever heard about a, well, I guess the thing you could call it is a…” Why was this so difficult to say?

  “A curse, she’s talking about a curse.” Henri filled in the blank this time.

  “What kind of curse? Like a hex or something?”

  “No. More like a family curse,” Rachel said. “All of Ashland’s male relatives from the Cottonwood line died early deaths. We’re just concerned about him since his birthday is around the corner.”

  “So you think Ashland is cursed? What would make you say that?” She put her fork down and stared at the three of us.

  Henri handed her the family tree, and as she flipped through it he questioned me, “What’s been going on? He mentioned he’s had some legal troubles recently. What else is happening?”

  “I don’t know. What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  Rachel raised her hand. “Um, I can answer that. The women in my family are experts on curses.”

  “Oh, so like they’re witches?” Detra Ann asked innocently between drinking orange juice and nibbling on her pancakes.

  “Lord, don’t tell them that. No, they aren’t witches at all. They’re just very superstitious. My mother and her four sisters break curses all the time. They can spot them a mile away too.” She snapped her fingers. “I am sure they would be able to tell if you or Mr. Stuart had one!”

  “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. We don’t know if he’s—if we’re…”

  “Cursed?” Detra Ann finished for me.

  “Well if you believe in curses—and I’ve always been taught that you have to believe in them for them to work—a number of things can cause them,” Henri began to explain.

  “Not to contradict my elders,” Rachel said with a smile, “but that’s not entirely true.”

  Henri leaned back in his chair and drank his coffee as another pop of lightning came close to the shop. “What can you tell us about curses, Rachel?”

  “Well, they manifest differently, and they can fall on individuals and families gradually. The way I understand it, curses work the opposite of a blessing. You know, when you say a blessing over food or you bless someone for some special reason?”

  “Or say, ‘Bless her heart’?” Detra Ann joked, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

  “Not quite like that, no. Bad stuff happens to people all the time, but when it hits you nonstop it might just be a curse. A curse is basically negative energy that gets bound to a person for some supernatural reason. For example, in our family, we believe that if you steal, you’ve put yourself under a curse. Negative acts bring curses. Sometimes someone can send a curse to you, but you would have to do them wrong in a major way for them to be able to curse an entire family for generations. I’m talking about a serious curse here.”

  “What other evidence do you have to support the idea that Ashland might be cursed?” I could tell by her tone that Detra Ann wasn’t convinced, and I was glad for that. I still couldn’t even say the word.

  “You know what? We have had some issues lately. He’s had lawsuit after lawsuit, things keep breaking around the house, we argue all the time. It’s like we’re in this funk and can’t get out of it.”

  Nobody spoke for a minute, and then Henri asked, “What about animals? Any weird encounters?”

  “On the way here, a flock of crows nearly caused us to have an accident.” Rachel’s voice sounded even quieter now, and I shivered when I saw her spill salt in her hand and toss it over her shoulder.

  I cleared my throat and made a confession. “That’s not all. Some stray cat on our street lured our puppy into the road, and he got hit by a car. He died.” I chewed on my lip for a second while my friends stared at me wide-eyed. “Also, things keep coming up missing, like we’ve got a thieving gremlin in the house. I just chalked it up to me being absentminded because of the pregnancy, but I’m thinking it’s something else now. Can this be possible? I mean, everyone here knows that the supernatural world exists, but this kind of thing…a…”

  “Curse, Carrie Jo. It’s a curse. Saying it won’t make you more cursed, I promise.” Rachel patted my hand.

  “Yeah, well, curses. That’s a whole other ballgame. This can’t be right.”

  “But that’s the thing about a curse. It’s not in your face. It’s sneaky. Most people don’t even seem to notice they are under one.”

  “I agree with Rachel. If we can do something to prevent it, break it, we should. If his birthday goes by and nothing happens, then we know we’re good.”

  “Until next year,” Rachel mumbled.

  “So I’ll just stress out for the next ten years every time he has a birthday? No. If Ashland is cursed, I want to break it, right now—today! It’s not just Ashland. It’s the baby too, if we’re having a boy. And there’s another thing.” I turned to Henri, who watched me intently with his warm dark eyes. “I saw Lenore, Henri. She was speaking, trying so hard to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand her. It was a word.”

  “If Lenore is involved, then the chances that something is wrong have increased dramatically. She would want to help, no matter where she was. No
clue at all what she was trying to say?”

  I took a sip of milk and shook my head. “I had a dream and was about to wake up. That’s when she came, at that in-between place. I can’t explain it any better than that. I could see her pretty clearly, but it sounded like she was trying to talk underwater. Then she was gone and I was awake. It was so fast I couldn’t work out what she said.”

  Detra Ann reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Hey. We’re with you. We all love you and Ashland. If there’s a curse, we’ll figure out how to break it. But…I have to say this. I think it’s a good idea to keep this to ourselves for now. No need to freak him out. We all know how much he hates this kind of stuff. You said yourself, he’s been under quite a bit of stress recently.”

  Rachel’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “What? If I was cursed, I would want to know it. I know I’m not as close to Ashland as you guys are, but I wish you’d reconsider that.”

  I looked from one face to the other, not sure what to say. “I think Detra Ann is right. For now—just for now, Rachel—we don’t say anything to Ash. But didn’t you say that for a generational curse to work it had to be sent by someone who was done wrong in a big way?”

  “Yes, that’s what I understand. Let me check with my mom, though. Like I said, she and my aunts are the expert on curses.”

  Henri put the papers back in the envelope and handed them to me. “While she does that, I’ll check with a friend in New Orleans. He’s a pastor there. Whenever I need prayer, he’s the guy I call on. Let’s get him praying over this situation. Maybe he can get some spiritual insight into what we’re dealing with. I think the big question is who put this curse on Ashland’s ancestors, and how do we break it? It’s going to be difficult to make things right if the curser has been dead for over a hundred years.”

  For some reason I just had to laugh. Like the old-timers said, “You either laugh or cry.” Everyone looked at me like I was sure-enough, put-her-in-the-loony-bin crazy. “I don’t mean to laugh. I swear. It’s just what you said.” I stifled more laughter. “About the curser being dead. I mean, these Cottonwoods and Beaumonts don’t die. I don’t know why you’re worried about that.” Then the tears came, and Detra Ann put her arms around me. I cried on her shoulder, feeling more tired than I had ever felt in my life.

  She whispered kindly to me, “It’s going to be fine, CJ. I promise you, I’ll stick close to Ashland. He’ll think we’re joined at the hip. Maybe I’ll start by meeting him for lunch today. Keep an eye on him. I can call Cathy in to work the shop for me.”

  I gave a sigh of relief. Not because I had all the answers. Quite the opposite. I had a bunch of questions. But at least I had my friends. We had friends.

  “That leaves me. I’ll do the one thing I know I can do.” My friends knew what I meant. I’d be dreaming, but with a purpose this time. It had been a while since I pursued the past through the dream world. I’d had plenty of dreams, but those came naturally and were less taxing than dreaming with a purpose. I didn’t mention what I had seen about Olivia and Isla. That might not be relevant…oh, who was I kidding? I was pretty sure the evil blonde cherub would be involved somehow. But why bring up Isla to Detra Ann? The dead girl had tried to kill her!

  It was always risky going back to Seven Sisters, but now that the spirits had settled down, I was sure it wouldn’t be so dangerous.

  I hoped.

  Chapter 5—Karah

  Sitting on the worn blue quilt, I shook my blue silk purse and listened to the sound of the last of my coins. Hoping it was more than it sounded, I loosened the cord and dumped the coins on the bed. This wasn’t enough to make it through the week, much less another month in Mobile. Out of sheer embarrassment I had refused to stay with Delilah, but my pride had cost me. I was no charity case, and I refused to allow Jackson to cover the expense of my continued stay here at the boarding house. I had to make plans for my future, but the truth was I had nowhere to go. Mother had sold our home in Virginia, and God only knew what she did with the money. Docie probably knew, but she would never tell me. She was always Mother’s creature, although I suspected she had abandoned her and taken Mother’s meager supply with her.

  This trip had cost me all my savings, but it cost me even more than that. I had been spent emotionally in ways I had not expected. Why had I come to Mobile? Why had I trusted Mother? The small stipend she gave me had long since disappeared, and I had no other means of support. When Mother sent me to Seven Sisters, she assured me that all would be well. Ah, she excelled at lying, and I excelled at believing her. But no more.

  She had made claiming my inheritance sound like a mere formality. She had assured me that my father had made provision for me and that local society would not question my parentage. “They will see your beauty and know right away that you are a Cottonwood. No, the Cottonwood.” But society had not accepted me at all, and neither had my father’s family; none had accepted my invitations to visit me at Seven Sisters. I had received a few letters from an uncle I did not know, but I had not been allowed to read them. Docie snatched them up and kept them secreted away until Mother arrived.

  “You let your mother deal with this man,” she warned me as tersely as possible.

  All I had to do was wait for her, care for the house and most importantly of all—find the Beaumont treasure.

  But she had been wrong, and no treasure had yet been found. Jackson informed me that the will was very specific and that I needed proof that I was who I claimed to be. I had no proof, only the word of my mother. I wrote her and informed her of the many challenges I faced in Mobile. She wrote me back, but it was only one line:

  I will succeed. I am on the way.

  I received no more letters, but a short time later Docie returned. She had hard eyes and a cruel grip, which she did not mind applying to my young wrists. Easy enough to hide the bruises. “Wear gloves, Karah,” my mother would tell me. She did not care one whit what Docie did to me.

  It wasn’t until I was almost ten that I understood that Mother went mad sometimes. During those dark times I would be sent away to a nearby girls’ home until she recovered. I had a few happy times, though. Especially when Captain Garrett came to us. He insisted that I call him Uncle David, which I liked. I much preferred pretending he was my father, but from my earliest age Mother made sure I knew he was not.

  “You are a Cottonwood, my dove. That is much better than being a Garrett.” I hated seeing the hurt on the captain’s face, but I did not dare argue with her. How I missed the captain! He brought joy into my dim life for a time, and when he left us for good, darkness descended.

  I had heard it said that Mother had been a great actress in her prime, but she did not speak of it much anymore. How I loved seeing her standing in the spotlight, although I had to witness her performances in secret. “Theaters are for mature minds,” she would say before she stepped into the carriage and disappeared into the night with a wave or a scowl. Thankfully Docie would leave with her and I would be alone.

  Occasionally, I would steal into Mother’s rooms for a while and read her plays. If the trunks were left open, and they rarely were, I would grab a gown and hold it up to my small body pretending that I was my beautiful mother. Of course I had to be careful to put the dresses back the way I found them.

  Once, while we traveled through Virginia, I did sneak into a theater to see her. It wasn’t hard to do. We traveled with a company of actors through a string of Virginia cities, and the hotels were often very near the theaters. I crept out at quite a few of them; often I pretended that I had to deliver something to Isla Garrett, as she sometimes called herself. The usher let me pass, but I never made it to the dressing room. I hung back in the shadows of the stage and chewed on my fingernail or a stolen apple as I waited for the play to begin. It was like watching someone I did not know. She wholly transformed herself each night and became whomever she pretended to be. I could not believe this breathtaking, living doll was my own mother. She was a magical creature fu
ll of light and laughter. It was almost as if she could change her features, her voice, her body shape. She could have played Hamlet himself if she had taken a mind to.

  That seemed a hundred years ago; now she sat in a mental asylum awaiting trial for attempted murder. I could hardly believe it!

  The weeks went by and shamefully I had not seen her once. How could I, after what she tried to do? That did not stop Docie from coming to see me. She demanded that I attend my mother, defend her, help her in some way. I refused. I did not know the devil she had become.

  But I had found a friend in Adam Iverson. One early evening, when I ventured out long enough to find needed toiletries, I ran into him on the sidewalk outside the boarding house. He was kind to me and offered to help me with my packages. I refused, of course, but he begged to take me to dinner. Overwhelmed with loneliness I accompanied him to a small dining room on the outskirts of town. He was flirtatious, as he had always been, but not too inappropriate. The following day he left a bouquet of flowers for me at the front desk, and I had spent much time with him since that first dinner. I had other visitors too. Jackson came a few times. He carefully let me know that it was Delilah who sent him. It was clear to me that she was the object of his true affection. I cared not, for I had my eye on Adam. He was strong, clever with his ideas and amiable enough. At least for a little while.

  But I did miss Delilah, and I was happy to hear that she got stronger every day. The slice on her leg had become infected, but she had recovered and was apparently anxious to see me. I couldn’t face her either. I made my apologies to the attorney and promised I would visit my cousin soon. I did not bother to inquire about my own legal status. How could I make a claim now when my only true witness to my parentage had gone mad?

  Imagine my surprise when Stokes showed up at my door. My mother had been released and was residing again at Seven Sisters, he told me in his loud, deep voice. Not only that, but a relative of mine, a Mrs. Torrence, requested my presence at the house. I considered calling Mr. Keene, as he had been gone only a few minutes, but I felt better about making this trip by myself. I left a message for Adam with Mrs. Shields, my landlady. I asked him to wait for my return at his shop. I would come see him soon. How could I involve any more innocent people in what could only be considered my family’s madness?