by Lori Avocato
She checked her calendar. “The only time he has available is three o’clock.”
“Thank you. That will be perfect.” I gathered my things to leave. “I appreciate your patience. Please accept my apology for barging into the office and not calling first.”
I got a scowl in return before she returned her gaze to her computer screen.
I walked out of the building and made my way to a wonderful local coffee shop that made pastries fresh daily. After all the troubling dreams I’d had, I decided I’d earned an indulgence and ordered a chocolate brioche with my coffee. Slightly heating it made the chocolate just soft enough that it was warm and slightly melted in my mouth. Heaven. Pure heaven. For a few short moments, my mind was off my father’s recent passing, my terrible divorce, and a man from the 18th century inhabiting my dreams. It was just me, my chocolate brioche and a cup of strong coffee.
I pulled up the photos on my smart-phone and looked at the shots I’d taken of the portrait. A full shot and then several close-ups of different parts of the canvas. His clothing, his face, even his hair. Maybe something would give Professor Winston a clue as to the identity of my dream date
~ * ~
With over three hours until my meeting with the professor, I decided go to my office to check on things. I hadn’t been there since days before my father’s death and while Karen, the secretary of the century, was wonderful at changing appointments, delaying depositions and all-around managing my professional life, working on briefs would help me pass the time before I had to be back at the college.
This was the perfect time of year to be in Charleston and take a brisk walk downtown. The weather hovered in the seventies and the humidity wasn’t yet the slap-you-in the face kind Charleston was known for in late June and often into early September. I grew up here, and while I’d done a lot of traveling, this was home. Always would be.
I set down a bag I’d brought from the coffee shop on Karen’s desk. With a smile, she peeked inside.
“Vanilla latte…my favorite.” She all but swooned over her warm chocolate brioche. “Here, you take these while I enjoy this chocolate. You just made my day!” She handed me my messages.
“Thanks, Karen. I’m really grateful for all you’ve done holding down the fort while everything is happening.”
She smiled and gave a soft laugh. “You can show me how much at Christmas.”
We laughed and it felt good to smile. My face almost felt sore using muscles I hadn’t used in what seemed like a long time.
The smile disappeared when I reached my father’s office. I couldn’t continue down the hall to my own without going in his first. I sat in his hunter green leather chair and pivoted around to look out the second-story window. After my mom left, Father did a top-notch job raising three children who were barely teenagers. Missing him threatened to swallow me whole. I couldn’t stop myself. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks.
I allowed myself a few more minutes of grief before I wiped my eyes and turned back around to his desk. I had to get to work, if only for a few hours, and Dad would want me to take care of clients instead of crying over him.
~ * ~
Sitting at my desk suddenly felt awkward and empty. I opened the first file on top of the stack and the words blurred into an unintelligible mess.
I grabbed my files and went back to my father’s office. Sitting in his chair amongst his law books, photos and paintings helped me feel his presence. Calm settled within me and once again, I was my father’s daughter. A sure, capable attorney with people who needed me to help them with the law.
~ * ~
I was in Dr. Winston’s office promptly at three. Getting a fair amount of work done at the office had helped my nerves. I really hoped he could help me in some way. The photos of the portrait were pulled up on my cell phone and my notepad and pen were in my lap. I tried to think of the best way to open the discussion when his office door opened and a student emerged, an instructor behind him.
“Miss Alston? Sorry I’m running a few minutes behind. Helping a student get ready for finals. I’m Samuel Winston.” A hand thrust into my view.
Fumbling to put my phone down and shake his hand at the same time, it took me a moment before I looked up. His handshake was strong, firm and I used his grip to help me stand. When I looked at his face, I also had to use his hand to keep from falling! I trapped the scream coming up before it escaped my throat. Dr. Samuel Winston was the man in my dreams.
“You okay?” Concerned creased his brow as he put his free hand to the small of my back to steady me.
“Fine. Thanks.” Keeping it together was really important right now. “I’ve been walking around downtown a lot today and you know how the Charleston humidity can get.”
“Come in my office and I’ll get you a drink of water.”
He kept his hand lightly on the small of my back while he escorted me into his office. A fine sheen of sweat coated my forehead and I hoped he believed my story about the Charleston humidity and had no clue how close I was to passing out for the first time in my life.
He herded me into a chair across from his desk and left to get my water. I breathed in through my mouth and out through my nose to a count of four each time. My heart was still racing, but I could feel myself calming. My palms stung and I looked down. No wonder. My fingernails were digging into my hands. I slowly unclenched them and kept breathing.
“Here’s your water, Miss Alston.”
I took the glass, grateful for something to hold in my hands, and ran it over my forehead. The icy condensation felt wonderful. I took a few swallows, all the while aware of Dr. Winston looking at me, a frown on his face.
“I’m sure you didn’t expect a stranger to show up at your office and practically pass out.” I tried to keep my tone light, but I sounded like a nut-job even to myself.
“It is humid out and walking around downtown can cause a person to feel faint before we even know it.” Wasn’t he the perfect gentleman? “Is the water helping?”
“Yes, tremendously. Thank you.”
When I was finished, he took the glass from my hand and set it on a coaster with the initial ‘W’ on his desk.
He leaned against his desk, crossing one long leg over the other at the ankle. His khaki trousers were just the slightest bit rumpled, but he filled them out quite nicely. I wondered if he might be a runner or a cycler. But this wasn’t the time to notice how handsome he was—and he was really good looking. I decided to get right to the point.
“My family owns…”
“…Alston Manor.” He finished my sentence. “I know who you are.” His smile showcased beautiful white teeth. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”
“Thank you.” I pulled up the photo of the portrait on my smart phone and handed it to him. “Do you have any idea who the man is?”
His tanned complexion turned a lovely shade of white paste when he looked at the photo.
Now it was clearly my turn to help him. “Would you like me to get you a glass of water?”
“Where did you get this portrait?”
“A secret room in the Alston family attic.” Mentioning I first saw this man in my dreams as a child wasn’t necessary. “I played a million times in that attic as a child, but never noticed this room until yesterday.”
“Wh-what else did you find?” His eyes never left the photo of the portrait on my phone.
“More paintings of people who look to be from the same time period. My brother was up there with me and actually looked around more than I did. I think maybe there were some artifacts, but I didn’t get beyond the paintings.”
He handed the phone back to me and went to stand near his window, looking out. He clasped his hands behind his back and even through his shirt I could see his shoulders tense.
“Would it be possible for me to come to the plantation and look at these portraits?”
“I don’t see that as being a problem, Dr. Winston. I was hoping with your backgroun
d in Charleston history, you’d be able to help me.”
“I’ll have my secretary call you to set up an appointment.” He never turned back to look at me.
I’d clearly been dismissed. While I felt his behavior was beyond rude, I let it go for now. Something bothered him about the portrait and I highly doubted it was just the fact the man looked so similar to him. I took my phone, gathered up my purse and left.
He gave me information not in so many words, but his reaction spoke volumes. The portrait struck some kind of nerve in him. Maybe I was actually on some kind of path to helping the man in my dreams. I was anxious for Dr. Winston to look at the finds in the secret room in person.
Then maybe I could put all this behind me and move on with my life.
8
The doorbell rang exactly at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday. Dr. Winston was certainly punctual. Maybe he was as anxious as I to find out why my family had a portrait of a man who looked just like him in a secret attic room.
He wore khaki shorts and a black Polo shirt. He carried a black backpack over one shoulder. He looked like he’d just stepped of the catwalk for Ralph Lauren. Not the time to develop a crush. Sighing, I invited him in and offered him a cup of coffee.
“No, thank you. Not right now.” He paused and the room suddenly became uncomfortable. “I want to apologize to you for my rudeness the other day. I all but dismissed you and it was uncalled for.”
“You did dismiss me and I accept your apology.” I motioned to the living room. I sat on the leather sofa and Dr. Winston chose the wing-back chair across from me, the wooden coffee table keeping a safe distance between us.
Bitsy came in and asked if we wanted anything and Dr. Winston finally agreed to a cup of coffee. Before I could introduce them, she turned and left the room. I frowned at her rude behavior but turned my attention to my guest when he spoke.
“I’ll cut right to it, Miss Alston. I believe the photo you showed me of the portrait is my ancestor, Benjamin Winston.”
“I will admit, Dr. Winston, the resemblance is uncanny, but what is a portrait of your ancestor doing in my family’s home? This home has been in our family for centuries.”
He set down his coffee cup and looked at me for the first time since entering my home. “The Winston’s and the Alston’s are old Charleston families. As a historian and a lifelong Charlestonian, of course I’m interested to see if there’s a connection.”
“Dr. Winston, there are a lot of old Charleston families, so please forgive me if I’ve never heard of your family.” It was impossible to know all the families that had been here since the city was founded, so why did I feel guilty? “Would you like to see the portrait?” I wanted to see his reaction to looking at the portrait directly before I showed him any of the other items in the hidden room.
“Yes, I would very much like to see the portrait up close.” He took a loop and small penlight from his backpack and set them on the coffee table.
I’d had Zeke bring the portrait down to the library. With its large windows overlooking the back of the house, I was hoping the lighting would be better than in my bedroom. It also felt odd thinking of bringing this modern day man who looked so identical to the man of long ago in my dreams to my bedroom.
The painting was sitting on the window seat, leaning up against the window. Dr. Winston walked over to it and immediately took it from its perch. “The direct sunlight isn’t good for an old painting. If this is authentic, it could ruin it.”
“I’m an attorney, Dr. Winston, not an art connoisseur.” He was getting on my nerves again and for an instant I thought about tossing him out and finding other ways to solve what was going on in my dreams and my home.
He stared at me for what seemed like the longest seconds ever. A small smile turned up the corner of his mouth, but didn’t show any teeth. “I’m sorry, Ms. Alston, no offense was meant. Yet once again I have unintentionally offended you. Please understand, when you walked in my office and showed me the painting on your cell phone, even on such a small screen, it was quite unnerving to see what could easily be my twin staring back at me.”
“I understand.” More than he could imagine, I understood how it felt to have things happen that defied explanation.
“Please, Miss Alston, call me Sam.” That eased the tension a bit.
“Maggie. Everyone calls me Maggie.”
He smiled as he placed the portrait on the sofa. “Maggie it is.”
Turning on the flashlight, he closely looked at different areas of the painting. I had no clue what he was looking for, but I found myself peering over his shoulder out of sheer curiosity.
“It appears to be authentic, but it’s in terrific condition for a portrait that’s supposedly over 200-plus years old.”
He leaned in again toward the lower right corner. “If I am reading the signature correctly, the artist was Jeremiah Theus. He was a prominent Charleston artist of the 18th century and some of his works now hang in the Gibbes Museum.” He stood and looked at me. “May I ask where you found this–in what part of the plantation?”
The question made me uncomfortable because his face was so neutral. What difference did it make if he knew? “The attic.” I thrust my hands into the pockets of my jeans, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.
“Recently?” Damn, but he was persistent.
“Dr. Winston–Sam–since my father’s death, there has been his estate to handle. I had to go into the attic to see what was there to be distributed according to the terms of his will.” I gave him my best lawyer glare.
“”I really don’t mean to be insensitive.” He turned off the flashlight and turned to face me. “I’m a historian in one of the most historical cities in the country and I can’t find a missing chunk of my family’s past. And then, out of the blue, you show up at my office with a photo of an old portrait–a man in military uniform from the American Revolution–who looks suspiciously like me.”
I let out a sigh at the frustration in his voice. “I hear you, Sam. I understand how odd this must all seem.”
I made my decision and beckoned him to follow.
No matter what we found, I was going to show him everything in the secret room in the attic.
~ * ~
The overcast sky coming through the one window gave the attic an eerie feel. I turned on the overhead light, but the fixture’s single bulb didn’t do much to brighten the room.
Sam walked to the middle of the room and turned around, taking it all in. “I’ve never seen such an organized attic.” He gestured to the multitude of times. “An historian’s dream.”
He had no idea what he was about to see. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face.
Without saying a word, I pushed aside the items my brother and I had put back in front of the secret door. I picked up the large flashlight I’d left on the floor and shone it on the area of the wall. “See anything different on this wall?”
Sam furrowed his brow as he moved closer. He clearly could tell something didn’t look quite right. His hand looked ghostly in the beam of the flashlight as he ran it over the wall. He pressed with his palm and the door opened. I heard his breath catch in the back of his throat when I turned the flashlight’s beam on the contents inside. An historian’s dream, indeed.
“My brother and I played up here a lot as children. We didn’t discover this room until a couple of days ago when we came in here to begin sorting items per our father’s will.”
“Is this where you found the portrait?”
I nodded affirmatively. “Go on in and take a look around.” The room still gave me the creeps after what happened when Will and I were in here. “I’ll hold the flashlight.”
He brought the items out one by one and we lined them up in the hallway outside the attic for better lighting. I had been so freaked out when I saw the portrait; I didn’t bother paying close attention to anything else inside the hidden room.
After giving everything a brief once over, Sam turned to m
e. “Maggie, do you have any idea what you have?”
Surprisingly, the excitement I thought I’d see in his face and hear in his voice wasn’t there. He seemed perplexed and there was something else underlying his tone. If I wasn’t mistaken, he almost sounded angry.
“Like I told you, I only discovered this room and its possessions within the past week.”
He walked up and down the row of the items he’d brought of the room and looked at them again.
“These are Winston family artifacts–they’ve been missing for centuries. We’d thought they had been lost in the American Revolution or perhaps destroyed.”
“How can you be certain after just a preliminary glance?”
“Our family has a bible–a history of sorts–and it has small drawings of Winston family items. Folks did a lot of this during the Revolution. Much like people now who take videos of their possessions for insurance companies.”
“That was very forward thinking of them.”
“There are drawings of each of these items in the family book.”
I looked more closely at the items lining the hallway and really saw them for the first time. Silver platters and pitchers. More portraits. A wooden box whose contents, if any, were still unknown. Brass candlesticks that needed a good polishing.
The box had a latch, but not a lock. It looked like tin, definitely not in keeping with the other, higher quality items. The latch took a couple of tries, but I got it to unhook.
Inside was a worn, black-leather bound book. I opened it and saw writing on the pages.
Some of the pages were stuck together, but it was definitely a journal. I opened the front cover and stared. The journal belonged to Benjamin Winston, an officer during the American Revolution.
Maybe this journal would be the answer to all my questions and I could help Benjamin Winston with whatever I was supposed to do. At least now, I could tell him his name.
