“Please,” I shouted, “please let me out!” I reached out to touch the shoulder of a man who swung by me in a perfect circle. He robotically turned his face to me, but none of his features were clear except his hate-filled eyes.
“Where is your invitation?” he demanded as he and his partner swooped around me.
Sobbing now, I pushed on. My side burned, and I imagined that I felt blood dripping from the wound. Time had no meaning here in this ballroom of specters, but I knew I had walked much further than was necessary to reach that door. Again silk slapped my face and bodies pushed against me as I shoved my way to the exit.
“Let me go! Let me out!”
My cries went unheard over the noise of the scratchy violins. Finally, in the briefest of moments, the couples in front of me moved and I could plainly see the door. I was almost there! Again they shoved against me. Weeping and reaching, I said, “You have no right to keep me here!”
Then the chandelier dimmed as I made a final push to escape the spinning crowd. I extended my shaking hand toward the door with every ounce of energy I had. Somehow I knew this was my last push, my last try. If I wasn’t successful now, if I couldn’t break free, I would be here forever. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes.
Then she appeared—Isla! Hovering between me and the door. With a kittenish smile and fierce eyes, she floated closer. I had nowhere to go. The dancers whirled behind me in their evil circles—the only way out was before me.
“No, Christine. You can’t leave yet. You haven’t been properly received, and he’s waiting for you. He’s been waiting, and now the wait is over. Take my hand, Christine, and it will all be over.” She reached her hand out to me, only a few feet away. I stared at it. It was a lifeless, pale thing, so small and childlike. So young, so perfect.
So dead.
I opened my mouth to protest, but all that came out was a scream.
Chapter Fourteen
I woke up to the smells of breakfast and the sound of Ashland calling my name. I stretched like a lazy cat and followed my nose to the kitchen. My husband had taken a shower, set the bar for breakfast and had everything ready for me before I got up. “Morning,” he said, “How did you sleep?”
“Great. How is your shoulder? I hope I didn’t drool on you.”
He laughed. “No but you do talk in your sleep.”
Sitting at the bar, I slid my plate his way to accept a few spoonfuls of scrambled eggs. “Did I at least say anything interesting?”
“I’ll never tell,” he teased.
I sipped the hot coffee and wolfed down my bacon and eggs. It felt like forever since I’d eaten. I had managed to grab some chips from the vending machine at the hospital but had never opened them. “Boy, that was delicious. Anything else in there?”
“Check the fridge. I think there is some fruit salad if you want that.”
“Yuck, I’ll pass. I better get a shower before we head to Springhill. I assume we’re going first thing?”
“I’d like to. I’ll tidy up here.”
Hopping out of the chair, I kissed his cheek and took my coffee cup with me. “Give me ten minutes.”
“You got it.”
During my walk up the stairs, I focused on not spilling my coffee, not on the spot where Detra Ann fell or on the tiny hole in the wall from the bullet. I hoped she was going to be all right. As quickly as I could, I rummaged for some casual yet presentable clothing and then headed to the shower. I didn’t look in any mirrors or even glance around the room. If there was something here, I didn’t want to know. Drinking down the last swigs of my coffee, I took my shower and got dressed in record time. No sense in dawdling and giving Isla a chance to reappear. I stopped for a moment. Nope, nothing. Hmm…things were oddly quiet this morning.
Ashland rapped on the door. “Almost done,” I called.
“We have to go. Something’s happened to Detra Ann!”
“What?” I flung the door open as I buttoned up my pants. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. TD said something about a seizure—now she’s in a coma. I don’t know. Are you ready?”
“Yes, let me grab my shoes and purse.”
“I’ll be in the car.”
“Okay, be there in a sec!” I towel-dried my hair and grabbed a hair clip. Not fooling with my hair today. Two minutes later I ran after him, grabbing my purse off the foyer table as I practically ran out the door. Locking it behind me, I yelled up the stairwell, “You’re not going to win, Isla!” I don’t know why I did it, but it felt good. I was angry, angrier than I had been in a long time. I didn’t hear a sound, not even a giggle.
As Ashland navigated the busy streets, I sent TD a few texts to let him know we were close, but he didn’t answer. “Must be with Detra Ann,” I told Ashland. “God, I hope she’s okay.”
“Me too. She’s like a sister to me, you know. She is the nearest thing to family that I have. Besides you, of course.” His voice shook as he turned into the parking lot.
I didn’t know what to say. I rubbed his shoulder as we whizzed down Springhill Avenue. A few minutes later, we pulled into an open spot. It was a good thing we’d gotten here early, as the parking lot was nearly full. A few minutes later we were stepping off the elevator onto the fifth floor of the hospital. When the doors opened Ashland and I both froze—the place was full of women from the Historical Society. A nurse approached our group and asked us to relocate to the waiting room. We complied, but some of the society did not go without some mild protests.
“Ashland! Carrie Jo!” People hugged me like they’d known me all my life. “So sad what’s happened! How in the world did she get shot? Now she’s in a coma!”
My plan was to let Ashland field these questions. I’d stay in the background until I could see Detra Ann. But Holliday Betbeze had other plans. She found an empty seat beside me and attempted to probe me for more information.
“Were you robbed? Is that what happened? Did Detra Ann protect you from a thief? You know, that is a very dangerous part of town. My own cousin was robbed down there just two streets over.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said, attempting to deflect her questioning.
“Tell me the truth, why on earth did you and Ashland ever give up that big old house? I would have stayed there until they drug me out by my shoelaces.”
“You know you don’t own a pair of shoelaces, Holliday,” another woman chimed in. For a few minutes, they forgot about me and chatted about the tragedy and the “Seven Sisters” curse. After a while, Cynthia came out of her daughter’s room and soon became the group’s new center of gravity. Ashland hugged her and said something in her ear. She nodded and smiled weakly before patting him gently on the shoulder. After a few seconds, he walked out of the room, leaving me behind without a word. I gave Cynthia a polite smile and tried to follow after him as quickly as I could. It didn’t happen.
“Wait, Carrie Jo.” Cynthia stepped in front of me. The crowd stopped their chattering, waiting to see what happened next. In a quiet voice she said, “I want to apologize to you. I said some very rude things yesterday, and I regret them. Detra Ann told me that it wasn’t your fault—and she told me what she thinks happened. And that lady detective called me to say you aren’t a suspect. I was wrong. I jumped to the wrong conclusion, and I am truly sorry for that.” Cynthia didn’t wait for my response. She scooped me up in her thin arms and hugged me.
I squeezed her shoulders and whispered, “Don’t worry about me. We’re here if you need us.”
She wiped at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all? My daughter mentioned that someone else was there. Isla, I think her name was. Is she a friend of yours?”
How should I answer this? “The only person I saw was Detra Ann. I swear to you, I didn’t see anyone else.”
She touched my arm and nodded. “It must have been the pain medication. She’s never been able to tolerate it.” She walked away slowly, and I went down the hall i
n the direction Ashland had gone. I pushed the door open to Detra Ann’s room. TD sat in the chair next to her, his long hair tucked behind his ears, his eyes bloodshot and tired-looking. Ashland stood on the other side of the bed staring down at her. Detra Ann’s blond hair was spread around her like a golden halo. Her face was serene; she reminded me of Sleeping Beauty. Even though she was the picture of peace, the air around her was not.
Bette popped in the room, and she practically ran into me. “How have you been, Bette? I came by to see you, but you weren’t there. Are you okay?”
With tears in her eyes, Bette nodded. I could see that she was a big old mix of emotions right now, but I had no idea why. I had not gotten the idea that she and Detra Ann were all that close. Maybe they were after all. People deal with situations like this differently.
For about the sixth time today I received an unexpected hug. But this wasn’t just an “I’m here for you” hug. Bette was heartbroken. “Bette, please. You’re scaring me. What has happened? Is it your son? Your boyfriend?”
She looked from me to Ashland, her heart on her sleeve. Her perfect white curls bounced as she shook her head. “Now isn’t the right time to share my news. As soon as Detra Ann is better, I will tell you everything. Right now, I just wanted to see you. And I know this may sound strange, Carrie Jo, but I wanted you to know that I love you. And you too, Ashland. I love you both. No matter what happens. Now I have to go help Cynthia. I’m going to make sure she eats, even if it is in the lousy hospital cafeteria. We’ll talk soon.” With that, she walked out. Ashland’s eyes met mine—he looked as confused as I did. What was going on with Bette?
“Ashland, we have to do something.” TD sounded desperate. “What can we do? I’ve been here with Detra Ann, praying for her. Can you believe that? Me, praying? I won’t quit, but there has to be something else. I have to do something.”
I nodded and said, “I agree. Of all the people in the world, this shouldn’t be happening to Detra Ann. She didn’t do anything to deserve this. I think we all know that this wasn’t an accident. Isla did this, and I can’t understand why. I thought her power was broken, but I guess she never left.”
“I can’t stand sitting back and waiting. I hate playing defense.” TD’s deep voice shook with a mixture of anger and grief. I could tell he was considering having a drink—or five. I touched his shoulder to remind him that he wasn’t alone.
Ashland shook his head. “No, we won’t sit back and wait for the other shoe to drop. I’m making the call. Henri needs to be here, and whatever he tells us, we’re going to do, right? Everyone agree?”
“I don’t know what else we can do,” I said.
“If it helps Detra Ann, of course. I’m in.” He reached out, took her hand and kissed it.
“I’ll go make the call.” With a resolute look, Ashland left the room. That was my Ashland, always ready to rescue someone. I sighed, hoping that he was right—that Henri knew more than we did.
I sat next to TD and quietly prayed for Detra Ann. Soon, the room felt and even looked lighter. The bells on her machine rang less and her heart rate was calm.
I knew it. We weren’t alone. And maybe this time, we’d get it right.
Chapter Fifteen
An hour later, it was quiet, which was a relief. The ladies had left, deciding to each cook a dish for Cynthia Dowd. It was like a wake lunch, only Detra Ann wasn’t dead. It was morbid, if you asked me, but I guessed they did things differently down here in Mobile. Just one of the social quirks that made this place so unique.
I settled on a corner couch in one of the many waiting rooms in Springhill Memorial. I had a water bottle, a bag of dried pineapple from the vending machine and the book that Mia had sent me. Ashland and TD were counting on me to get to the bottom of the problem—find out why Mia and Isla felt they still had a claim on Seven Sisters. When I knew what it was, we could come up with a plan. We needed a plan, big time! I’d deliberately left the ICU floor, at Ashland’s urging, in favor of the fourth-floor waiting room. There were more people here but they didn’t know me or try to chat with me. I needed quiet to read, but I didn’t want to go home. Not without Ashland, and he understandably wasn’t leaving until Detra Ann was better.
He’d gone home and grabbed me some snacks, a toothbrush, a pillow and my favorite chenille blanket. I hated the idea of dreaming here in the hospital, but I thought I’d gotten better at controlling who I dreamed about. I’d gotten quite good at calling out names and entering the right dreams. But I was the first to admit that I had a lot to learn about dream catching.
I hunkered down on the couch, which was remarkably comfortable given the circumstances. Kicking off my shoes, I examined the book again. It felt old, small and certainly not magical. It was a plain brown leather book, but hopefully there were some words inside that were going to set us all free. Especially Detra Ann.
I skimmed through the part I’d already read. I flipped through the section about Delilah’s time in Canada. Surely, whatever I needed to know about her had to do with her time in Mobile, after the war. No sense in wondering. It was time to find out.
For five years Canada was home even though it didn’t feel like it. I missed Mobile, but we were surrounded by people who loved us. The Iverson clan was a hearty lot with plenty of children to keep me entertained during those long, tedious winter months locked inside away from the cold Canadian wilderness. During our stay, I had picked up a bit of our mother tongue and developed a propensity for storytelling, which according to my mother was a family tradition. I got quite good at telling stories and even began to write my own stories and plays.
Uncle Lars and his wife Aida treated me well, but their daughters were far from friendly and liked to refer to me as the “dark bird.” I assumed they were referring to my dark hair and eyes, which were so markedly different from their own blond hair and blue eyes. Still, the small children liked me, and many of my male cousins treated me affectionately.
In fact, some of my cousins were so friendly that Adam came to me one afternoon and instructed me to behave less warmly with them. I admit that at the time, I was quite naïve about such things and didn’t know why he was making such a fuss. It wasn’t until one of my cousins proposed to me that I understood Adam warning. Marriage to a beloved cousin was an honorable thing to my family, and indeed to many people at that time, even though such an idea seems repugnant in today’s world. I had no mind to marry anyone at that time, even though I am sure my parents would have found such a match pleasing and acceptable. A year after our escape from Mobile, my mother died rather quickly. Right until the end she worked in the Iversons’ store alongside her sister-in-law until the morning we found her dead in her bed. Poor gentle Mother—she had been the sun in our sky, the warm embrace that held us all together.
Adam and I grieved like orphans even though our father was still very much alive. After our relocation, he spent much of his time on the trade routes with his brothers and didn’t know about Mother’s demise for several months. I had set pen to paper many times, but where would I send a letter? What would I say? After the trading season ended, he returned home to discover her long gone and buried. We found him there at her grave one afternoon, unable to speak or move his left arm and leg. Eating became impossible, and soon he shrank into a husk of the strapping man we knew. He followed Mother into heaven just a month after his return home. And then we were orphans in the truest since of the word.
One would think that such a tragedy, the loss of parents, would drive two siblings closer, but it did not. Adam became sullen, often angry at the mere sight of me. In turn, I did my best to avoid him, spending as much time as I could with my aunt and her many grandchildren. His moods were unpredictable—at times he would leave me bouquets of purple flowers on the sideboard. Other times, he would pore over his newspapers, reading news of the war, and would slam the door in my face if I approached his room. Soon he took to leaving me alone for days on end. I went to him once, begging him to speak to me
, but he refused—until one spring evening. He’d been drinking from the brown jug that Father had kept in his desk drawer. I thought that odd because Adam never drank and showed little regard for those who did.
I had retreated to my room, shed my day dress and brushed my hair before braiding it to make ready for bed. It had been a long day. Adam had sold our parents’ cabin on the outskirts of town, and we had moved into the rooms above the store as a way to save money. Adam had steady work, with many orders for new tables and chairs coming in all the time, but we had no need for a home with three bedrooms.
“Delilah!” I heard him call me. I didn’t go right away, for I dreaded the idea of squabbling with the brother I loved so much. “Delilah, please come see me.” Unable to resist his gentler tone, I walked into the other room, waiting to hear what he had to say. I sat in a chair near the hearth. It was chilly in my nightdress, and spring had yet to yield warmer temperatures. Adam’s blond hair shone bright in the candlelight, his cheeks were pink from working outdoors.
“I think we should go home.”
“We cannot go back. You sold our home, remember?”
“No.” He shoved a cork in the jug and set it back in its place in Father’s desk drawer. “I mean home to Mobile.”
“What? This is our home now, Adam. We have no one to go back for. How can you suggest that we leave our parents?”
“Our parents are dead, Delilah. We have property in Alabama, did you know that? We retain ownership of the carpentry shop and the store—even though they are empty. I had an inquiry from a woman, a Miss Page, who wants to buy them, but I can’t part with them. We could do it—we could make something for ourselves.”
The Stars that Fell Page 12
