Trifles and Folly 2

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Seeing ghosts now, in addition to feeling memories?” Teag’s tone was teasing, but the concern in his eyes was real.

  “It’s been known to happen, especially if whatever imprinted the memory on the object involved a very strong emotion.”

  “Like running for your life because something wants to eat you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I think that would do it.”

  A few hours later, after we closed up the shop for the day, Teag and I met Anthony for pizza, then headed out to the Wellright plantation. “I can’t believe that I’ve never toured this one before,” I said. “I thought I had hit all the big antebellum houses, plus quite a bit of The Battery during the Garden Show.”

  “The Wellright house has only been open to the public for a couple of years,” Teag replied. “It’s still owned by the family, but you can imagine what the upkeep on a place like this is. Allowing tours helps defray the costs.”

  “Which is better than letting another grand old mansion fall into ruin,” Anthony replied.

  “I can’t even imagine what their electric bill is like,” I said, eying the lit-up old mansion. Wellright plantation was a Greek Revival-style beauty, looking like something straight out of a movie. Tall white columns graced the three-story front, and sweeping stone steps welcomed guests. Each of the mansion’s floors had its own wrap-around porch with decorative railings. Twin rows of century-old live oaks lined the carriageway leading up to the house. Every window glowed with light, casting a warm glow. Artfully placed spotlights illuminated the house and lit the entrance path.

  “I imagine it’s gorgeous in the daylight,” Anthony said, and I guessed at what he did not say out loud.

  “But right now, with all that Spanish moss in the trees and how dark it is, it’s kind of creepy,” I finished for him. He nodded.

  “Yeah,” Teag said. “I was thinking the same thing. The shadows look awfully dark.”

  Drea was waiting at the foot of the plantation’s steps, surrounded by a group of twelve tourists eager for the tour to begin. “Yoo-hoo, Cassidy!” Drea called, waving. Petite and dark-haired, with the same energy as a Level Five hurricane, Drea’s enthusiasm is contagious.

  Valerie was next to Drea. She was Drea’s top tour guide, a real favorite with the customers. Many repeat visitors to Charleston requested Valerie by name when they scheduled tours with Andrews Carriage Rides. Valerie’s red hair was tied back in a ponytail, and with her delicate features and retro-ironic eyeglasses, she looked a bit like a bookish pixie.

  “Everyone’s here, so let’s get started,” Valerie said. “As we tour the house and some of the gardens, I’ll tell you about the Wellright family. They have a long and storied history, with many colorful ancestors including senators and pirates, scalawags and saints, and a few family ghosts as well.”

  Having been born and raised in Charleston, I was willing to bet there was a skeleton or two in the closet of any family that old, but since the mansion was still owned by the Wellrights, I figured I would have to wait on scandals until Teag was done with his research or Sorren got back to town.

  “How do you feel, Cassidy?” To anyone else, Teag’s question might have sounded like friendly concern for my health. Anthony and I knew he was really asking if I had picked up any psychic resonance.

  “Okay for now,” I replied, trying to pin down exactly what I was feeling. I hadn’t touched anything yet, but there was a restlessness that seemed to come from the house and grounds that felt off-kilter. Not exactly dangerous, but certainly not neutral.

  Anthony knew that I was a psychometric, and it was only recently that he had learned about Teag’s Weaver gift. He started out skeptical, but after he saw our abilities in action, he turned into a believer. Teag and I suspect that Anthony has a touch of clairvoyance himself, although he won’t admit it. Now, heading into unknown territory, one of them walked on either side of me, which was sweet but not likely to be much protection if any of the objects in the Wellright house served up a particularly strong vision.

  We followed Valerie into the home. She chatted on in a tone that managed to be knowledgeable and engaging without sounding like a lecture. Teag and I had decided ahead of time that he would listen to Valerie’s spiel for interesting details, while I focused on the objects in the home. Anthony was free to enjoy the tour, but I knew he was going to watch our backs whether we asked him to or not.

  I tuned out Valerie and tried to tune in to the beautiful furnishing and decorations. From the website, I knew a little about the Wellrights. They had settled the old plantation farther up the Ashley River in the early seventeen hundreds, raising crops and livestock to feed a growing nation. Fertile soil, good crops, and savvy business dealings soon made the Wellrights a wealthy and prominent family. When a series of disasters struck the family, and the old plantation house burned down, the Wellrights built on a new location and started over, managing to rebuild their fortune.

  By the look of it, the Wellrights had lived very comfortably. Chippendale and Queen Anne furnishings, Oriental rugs, and paintings by artists whose work I’d seen in museums decorated the rooms. I shied away from the big, gold-framed mirrors since mirrors were favorite portals for supernatural nasties. And since old objects could pack a psychic wallop, I was being very careful about touching anything. Mostly, I was hoping to make a connection with the girl I had seen in the vision, the one who had owned the ivory disk. But as we moved from one lovely room to the next, I began to think that finding a link was going to be impossible.

  “We owe the Wellrights’ collection of scrimshaw mostly to Theodora Wellright,” Valerie said as we entered the next room, and my ears pricked up. Valerie went to stand next to a glass case on a stately mahogany table.

  “Theodora fell in love with Aaron Baskin, a well-to-do ship’s captain,” Valerie continued. “Baskin traveled around the world, and when he came back to Charleston, he often brought Theodora a scrimshaw trinket as a gift.” She glanced up at an oil portrait that hung over the table. “Sadly, Theodora died in a Yellow Fever epidemic before she and Baskin could marry.” I startled at the similarity to the ghost I kept glimpsing out of the corner of my eye and wondered if she could be the one from my vision. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen a reflection so had no clue as to her appearance.

  “Is she buried on the land near this mansion?” Teag asked.

  Valerie shook her head. “We know her grave was near the old house, but some of the records were destroyed in the fire that claimed the mansion, so we aren’t exactly sure where she and the other victims were buried.”

  I maneuvered closer to the table with the glass case. Anthony casually shifted his position so that he blocked Valerie’s view. I knew the case would be locked, but I let my fingers brush the lid, hoping that the plantation wasn’t fancy enough to have a touch-sensitive security system. No alarms sounded, but the images hit me hard enough that I swayed on my feet.

  Love. Loneliness. Images of old-fashioned script on parchment letters that had been smudged from being read over and over again. A glimpse of a proud sailing ship leaving the Charleston Harbor, and the memory of a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man with a full beard and serious brown eyes.

  “Cassidy,” Teag murmured. “We’re moving into the next room.”

  Teag’s comment jolted me out of the vision, and as I turned to follow the group, I caught a glimpse of the young woman’s ghost near the case, her image much clearer now. She seemed to be looking straight at me as if she knew I could see her. The look on her face was fierce, but I could not tell whether she was angry or frightened, or merely determined. The image faded almost as soon as I saw it, and I hurried to catch up to the others.

  The rest of the house was lovely, but I didn’t pick up any more impressions that seemed connected to Theodora. We finished the tour in the large kitchen, and Valerie led us out onto the wide porch and a beautiful summer evening.

  “Wellright House has always been known for its elaborate gardens,” Valerie continued
. “It’s a tradition that began with the old house. When that home was destroyed, the family brought cuttings of the garden plants as well as the statues and fountains from the grounds, and created this beautiful landscape,” she said, sweeping her arm to indicate the carefully tended banks of flowers, flowering bushes, greenery, and hedges.

  “The boxwood maze was built in Theodora’s honor since she had loved the maze at the old house,” Valerie said. “There’s a statue in the center of the maze that was a gift to her from Captain Baskin. The grounds are well lit, and we have some time before we need to head back, so you’re welcome to explore the gardens. Just please stay where the lights are, and listen for me when I call you back to the bus.”

  I wasn’t surprised when Teag, Anthony, and I all made a beeline for the maze. The boxwood’s sharp scent contrasted with the roses and jasmine. The blue glow of the path lighting made it easy to find our way, although the hedge was taller than either Anthony or Teag. But as we wound our way deeper into the maze, the shadows seemed to grow darker, and the sound of the rest of the tourists faded.

  “I hope we can find our way out as easily as we’ve gotten in,” Anthony said.

  “I had a package of peanuts in my pocket,” Teag said. “I’ve dropped one every few feet.”

  We both turned to look at him. “Seriously?” Anthony said, with an expression torn between admiration and friendly mocking.

  “Hey, I come prepared,” Teag replied. “Unless there are hungry squirrels.”

  “Let’s go get a look at that statue and get back,” I said. The maze made me nervous, and the farther we went, the cooler the night became. Sudden cold spots often went with supernatural phenomena. I was torn between hoping we would learn something, and being afraid that we might.

  The maze doubled back on itself and presented us with a few dead ends that made us turn back. I took comfort in the crunch of the gravel beneath our feet, the only sound as we wound toward the center.

  “There it is,” Teag said as we emerged from the narrow boxwood alley into the wide center circle. A bronze statue of a woman stood in the center of a mound of flowers, weathered into a blue-green patina with age. It was a good likeness of the person from the oil painting, a pretty young woman in her early twenties in a flowing cape and long skirts. The woman seemed to be scanning the horizon, and in her hands, she held a model of a sailing ship.

  “Watching for her ship’s captain to come home,” Anthony murmured.

  “Take a look at her cloak,” Teag said, adjusting his glasses. He pulled out a small pocket flashlight and shone it on where the cloak gathered at the statue’s neck. “There.” Clasping the cloak shut was an oval disk engraved with an elaborate “W.”

  Just then, the lights went out.

  Something pushed me from behind, and I staggered. I stretched out a hand to catch myself, knowing that I had stumbled into the flowerbed, and I steadied myself against the statue. Longing and loneliness washed over me again, stronger than before, and fear so real that I struggled to breathe.

  Theodora Wellright’s image bore down on me, fixing me in a piercing glare. She was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her. I felt suddenly weak as if something was draining the energy right out of me. My knees buckled, and I was afraid I was going to faint. Theodora came right at me, and I cried out as I felt the spirit’s icy touch as she rushed to—and through—me. The awful drain stopped, but I was dizzy with exhaustion, and I collapsed into the petunias.

  When I came around, I was lying on the gravel path on my back. Anthony knelt next to me, while Teag shone his flashlight into the air like a beacon, flashing it on and off in a signal even I knew was SOS in Morse Code.

  “What happened?” I asked groggily.

  “You fainted,” Anthony replied. “And when we tried to carry you out, we had trouble finding our way back. The peanuts were gone.”

  “So I sent up a flare, so to speak,” Teag said, nodding toward his upturned flashlight. “Learned this trick in one of the Harry Potter movies.”

  Sure enough, we heard footsteps coming toward us on the gravel. “Is everyone okay?” It was Valerie, and she sounded worried.

  “Cassidy got a little light-headed,” Teag fibbed. “Must not have had enough to eat for lunch. Then we got turned around, and couldn’t find our way out.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, standing up with a little help from Anthony, who gallantly offered me his arm as if we were going to the prom.

  “If you feel up to it, we’d better get going,” Valerie said. “It’s time to head back.” I was just as glad that it was dark and she couldn’t see how I’d accidentally trampled the flowers.

  “We’ll follow you,” Teag said, staying close behind us as we wound our way back to the main garden.

  “Don’t worry, Anthony drove,” he assured Valerie as I climbed into the back seat of Anthony’s car. Since we had booked the tour late, we had needed to drive ourselves.

  “Glad you’re okay,” Valerie said. “I don’t know what could have happened to the lights.”

  No one said anything until we had followed the bus out of the plantation carriageway and were back on the main highway.

  “What happened?” Teag asked. I gave him a quick recap.

  “The thing is,” I said, “I didn’t faint from the vision itself. I felt as if something was draining all my energy and then the ghost came after me.” The full impact of what had happened hit me, and I felt shaky. “Something supernatural attacked me.”

  Burial Ground

  The next day was quiet at the store, and when Maggie, our part-time helper, came in I ducked out to do a little research. Alistair McKinnon, Curator of the Lowcountry Museum of Charleston, is a friend of mine. He knows everyone worth knowing in town, and more importantly, he knows the historical dirt on those old families, and he’s willing to dish for a good cause.

  I had already arranged to meet Alistair for lunch, and I was running late so I hurried, even though in the heat that would mean I’d be sweating when I got there. I swung by Honeysuckle Café to pick up boxed lunches for both of us, and took him his favorite latte, just to sweeten the bribe.

  “Good to see you, Cassidy,” Alistair greeted me when I reached his office. My guess is that Alistair is in his early sixties given how long he’s worked for museums, but he’s a sharp dresser and an avid runner, so he wears the years well. “That’s not a cinnamon latte, is it?”

  I held out the cup and handed him his boxed lunch. “Yep. And the turkey/cranberry/gorgonzola on ciabatta from Honeysuckle Café.”

  Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Looks fantastic. You must really want some major information,” he added with a grin.

  “Absolutely! I’ll tell you what I need while you eat, and you can fill me in while I eat. Deal?”

  Since Alistair was already unwrapping his sandwich, I figured we had an understanding. I gave Alistair an edited version of events, leaving out the urban explorer and minimizing the drama at the plantation the night before. Alistair may suspect about my psychometry, but he doesn’t know for sure, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.

  “So,” I said as I wrapped up my recount, “what can you tell me about the Wellrights? I’m especially interested in Theodora, and the disaster that destroyed the first mansion.”

  Alistair sat back in his chair and tented his fingers as he thought. I opened up my sandwich and took a bite, which I washed down with some sweet tea, ready to listen.

  “Since you were kind enough to tip me off about your interest in your email, I looked into what we have in the museum holdings before you came,” Alistair said. “The Wellrights claimed land in the Charleston area not long after the city was settled. That makes them one of the city’s oldest families. The name comes up often over the last three hundred years—Wellrights have played prominent roles in city leadership and philanthropy for a long, long time. The story of the old mansion—and of Theodora’s death—are a bleak chapter in an otherwise very successful history.”

/>   “I understand that old houses were at risk from fire back in the day,” I said, swallowing so I didn’t talk with my mouth full. “But why didn’t they rebuild on the old site? Why move the mansion so far away from where it was located before?”

  “You know that history requires reading between the lines,” Alistair said. “People are often less than truthful, even in their diaries, and certainly in public documents. But I’d say that the short answer is: they were afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “The fire that destroyed the mansion was the last in a series of incidents that went beyond bad luck,” Alistair replied. “At the time, there was talk of a curse.”

  “What kind of curse? Cursed by whom?”

  Alistair shrugged. “Well, that’s where the record gets spotty. A blight hit the Wellright crops, and then something killed some prize horses worth a small fortune. There was an outbreak of Yellow Fever that claimed Theodora and half a dozen of the servants, and then the house burned.” He leaned forward. “There was a rumor that the fire was set by one of the slaves,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “A witness swore that the slave admitted to setting the fire to ‘stop the Devil’ and break the curse.”

  “Did anyone believe the account?” I asked, finding that I was sitting on the edge of my chair.

  Alistair nodded gravely. “The man was hanged, and it was generally said that he had gone mad. Several of his family members had been among the servants who died of the plague.”

  “They didn’t know how Yellow Fever was transmitted back then, did they?” I mused.

  “No. The fact that mosquitoes carried the infection wouldn’t be discovered for nearly two hundred years,” Alistair replied. “You can imagine how terrifying that was for people. The disease seemed to rise out of nowhere, kill thousands of people in a few weeks, go away for a while, and come back years later. And if people don’t know what causes something, they’ll make up an answer. So there was talk of everything from curses and black magic, to the Devil or the wrath of God.”