Dreams of Falling

by Karen White

  My interest piqued, I followed him behind the counter and into the back room that he used as his office. Tall, metal shelves covered the walls, stacked with a mishmash of boxes, all of them labeled with neat, bold lettering. I pointed to the one that read Napkins. “I’m assuming your wife does your organizing?”

  He looked genuinely surprised. “How’d you know that?”

  “Lucky guess.” I smiled. “So, what do you have to show me?”

  From a bottom shelf, he pulled a rectangular wood box the size of an ankle-boot shoebox with brass corners and a matching brass lock and key in the middle. The dark cherrywood had been polished to a gleam, and a brightly colored image had been painted on top and around the sides. He cleared a bit of space on his cluttered desk and placed the box on top.

  I stood in front of it, gently brushing my fingers over the paint. “Did Mama paint this?”

  Gabriel nodded. “She did. It’s an old cigar humidor that used to belong to Ellis’s daddy. When my mama worked for the Altons, she’d always admired it, so when Mrs. Alton died, Mr. Alton gave it to her. Before my mama died, she gave it to me. I was starting my business, and she thought I’d need a safe place to hide extra cash. She’d lived through the Depression and didn’t believe in banks. Can’t say I blame her.”

  I studied the small painting on the lid, noticing how it swooped and dipped along the sides and front as if it had been painted on a flat canvas. In the middle on the top was a painting of the store and Harborwalk, showing the river behind it with boats and gulls and even a tourist taking a photograph. An intricate time line that showed events in the business’s history and Gabriel’s story—his wedding, the birth of his children—were included, along with the introduction of new ice-cream flavors, complete with tiny ice-cream cones depicting each one.

  “It’s a history of Gabriel’s Heavenly Ice Cream and Soda shop,” he said proudly. “I hadn’t used the box in a while, and Ivy found it here in the storeroom when she was working on that last mural and asked if I’d like her to make it pretty.”

  He turned the brass key and opened the lid. Although it had been stripped of whatever mechanism there might have been inside to keep cigars moist, it still smelled of fresh wood and tobacco.

  “It’s empty,” I said, strangely disappointed. As if inside I’d find out what my mother had been trying to tell me the day she fell.

  “Sort of,” he said. “Look what she found while she was working on it.”

  He reached inside the box and touched a spot on the bottom near the rear edge. We heard a small click. Pressing his thumbs against the sides, Gabriel lifted the bottom out of the box, displaying an extra inch beneath.

  “It’s a false bottom,” he said, grinning like a kid. “Probably used to hide money or valuables. I’ve seen a few antique desks like it. It was empty when I got it, and I’m not sure if Mama even knew this was here.” He replaced the bottom, then closed the lid and locked it with the key. Then he picked up the box and handed it to me. “I want you to have it.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t, Gabriel. She made it for you. It’s your store painted on the top.”

  “I know. But I’m here every day, so I don’t need something to remember it by. I thought this would be a nice memento for you to bring back to your office in New York. Sort of a daily reminder of your mama and where you come from.” He grinned again. “And of your favorite ice-cream store.”

  I thought of my deliberately empty cubicle at Wax & Crandall, how stark and devoid of anything personal it was, and I couldn’t remember why I kept it that way. I took the box and smiled at Gabriel. “Thank you. I promise to put it in a place of honor.”

  He led me out to the front of the store, and I found myself staring at the mural again, at the corner where the bright orange flames licked at the white house. I turned to Gabriel. “Did Mama ever talk to you about the fire?”

  “No, not that I remember. It was more local legend than anything else.”

  “Local legend?” I straightened. “What did people say?”

  He thought for a moment, his eyes not leaving my face. “Just stupid stuff.”

  “I’d like to know, Gabriel. Anything, really.”

  “You want to know what gossip said, or do you want to know the truth? Because nobody knows the truth except for Ceecee. She was the only one there old enough to remember. The gossip’s just a bunch of lies.”

  “I want to hear all of it. Because for twenty-seven years I’ve heard absolutely nothing. Don’t you think I’m smart enough to separate the gossip from the truth?”

  The bell rang over the front door as a young couple walked in, a baby with a pink sunbonnet strapped to the chest of the man. “I’ll be right with you,” Gabriel called out to them, then turned back to me.

  “So, what does local legend say?” I pressed.

  “Really, Larkin, I don’t think . . .”

  “Tell me, Gabriel. Or I’ll ask someone else who will. But I’d rather it come from you.”

  The man with the baby looked impatiently over at us, making Gabriel raise his finger. “One second.”

  “Gabriel . . .”

  “Some people said at the time that the fire was intentional.” He pressed his lips together as if he didn’t want to say more, then spoke again as if he knew I’d keep at him until he told me everything. “They said your grandmother was murdered. That’s all I remember, and that’s the truth. It’s all a bunch of garbage, you hear? Just something for people to wag their jaws about. Except for the Sunset Lodge, there’s never really been a lot of news here in Georgetown. People had to make stuff up to give them something to do.”

  He squeezed my arm, then turned to his customers.

  I looked back at the mural, at the three young women sitting with their backs to me, then slowly allowed my gaze to slide to the right, where the tableau of a house on fire with people trapped inside played itself out.

  What were you trying to say, Mama? What do you want me to see?

  I waved good-bye and left the shop, hugging the box against my chest, then stood on the sidewalk, remembering the photos Mabry and I had seen of the three friends growing up together. Of their trip to Myrtle Beach. And how there weren’t any pictures from after that.

  “Larkin!”

  I startled at the sound of my name and turned to see Mabry approaching me, carrying a clear dry-cleaning bag with something yellow inside. She stopped next to me and tilted her head. “You all right?”

  I showed her the cigar box. “Gabriel gave me this.”

  “Nice,” she said, her tone questioning.

  “Mama painted it.”

  Mabry nodded. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “But that doesn’t explain why you look like they’ve just discontinued your favorite flavor.”

  I considered not telling her, not wanting to give voice to the dark thoughts running around my brain. “Do you remember ever hearing a local legend about the fire at Carrowmore?”

  She shook her head. “No. It happened thirty years before we were born, so probably not much of a topic of conversation on the playground, you know? Why do you ask?”

  “Gabriel just told me that some people thought the fire had been set intentionally. That it might have been murder.”

  “But that’s just legend, right? Like the old rhyme ‘Lizzie Borden took an ax.’” Mabry stopped. “Well, that probably isn’t the best example, but you know what I’m saying. People love stories—the more salacious, the better. That doesn’t make them true.”

  “Yes, except Bennett found the official report about the fire in your grandfather’s papers, and someone had written the word ‘suspicious’ under the cause of fire. So . . .”

  “So?” Mabry asked, her eyes looking steadily into mine.

  “So, I’m wondering if there’s a glimmer of truth to it. Isn’t that what they say? That every legend, or ghost story,
has a crumb of truth at its heart?”

  “I don’t know—is that what they say? What about Ceecee and Bitty? I’m assuming you’ve asked them?”

  “Of course. But Ceecee said she was sleeping and doesn’t remember anything, and Bitty wasn’t there.”

  “Sure, but maybe they’ll know why people would say something so awful about what happened. Let’s go ask. I was on the way to Ceecee’s house anyway.”

  I nodded, took a step, then stopped. “There’s one more thing. Something in the mural inside Gabriel’s store—the one my mama painted. There’s a hidden picture in the back corner that shows Carrowmore on fire. In one of the windows, two women are staring out, and in another window, there’s a figure of another woman—with red hair.”

  “Bitty?”

  “Who else could it be?” I asked. “Except Bitty wasn’t there.”

  I was afraid for a moment that Mabry was going to tell me to wait until my mother woke up and we could ask her about it then. But she didn’t, and I was glad. Mama had been in a coma for more than three weeks, without any change or good news from her doctors. Even I had stopped lying to myself.

  “Let’s definitely go ask Ceecee, then. She’s bound to have heard something. And then I can show you the dress.” Mabry smiled secretively and threw her bundle over her other arm.

  “The dress?”

  She nodded. “When your daddy went up to the attic to get the album and photos, Ceecee asked him to bring this dress down, too. It needed a hem fixed and the zipper mended, so she brought it to Mama, who is just about a genius with a needle. It looks practically brand-new.”

  I kept trying to steal a glance at the dress under the plastic, but she continued moving it out of my sight. “Why aren’t you letting me see it?”

  “Because it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

  “A surprise? For what?”

  Mabry rolled her eyes. “You’re the worst at surprises, Larkin. I don’t think I ever gave you a birthday or Christmas gift without you hounding me to death until I told you what it was. Can’t you just wait until I give this to Ceecee and let her tell you?”

  “Or you could just tell me now so I don’t have to hound you to death. It’s your fault—you shouldn’t have said anything.” I reached for the dress, but she twisted away from me.

  “Really, Larkin? How old are you, anyway?”

  “Old enough to know that I can keep badgering you, or you can just tell me. Either way, you’re going to spill the beans before we get to Ceecee’s house.” She stopped and I smiled. “I promise to be surprised when Ceecee tells me.”

  “Fine.” She held up the dress so I could see it better. “Ceecee said she thought it would be the perfect dress for you to wear to the Shag Festival.”

  My eyes widened. “What? I’m not going to the Shag Festival.”

  “Well, Bennett sure thinks you are. He’s already bought tickets—and Jonathan and I are going, too. You can’t back out now.”

  “I said I’d go—but only because he’d bribed me into it, and then he pulled that stunt with Ellis on the boat. I can’t believe he thinks I’d want to see him again after that.”

  “But I’ll be there, Larkin! You can ignore Bennett and hang with Jonathan and me. You know you love to dance—how could you even think about missing it? And Mama and Ceecee have gone to so much trouble with your dress.”

  I lifted the plastic to see the dress better. I couldn’t identify the fabric, but it looked like a heavy, high-sheen cotton. It had wide straps and a square neckline, a tight bodice and a flared skirt. I lifted the bottom to look underneath. “Crinoline?”

  Mabry nodded with excitement. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Considering how old it is, it’s hard to believe that it’s still such a bright sunshine yellow.”

  I frowned. “How old is it?”

  “It belonged to your grandmother—Margaret. I think Ceecee said she only wore it once—but that it was the happiest night of Margaret’s life. You can ask her about it. Mama wanted you to try it on today so that she can take care of any tweaks if you need them.”

  I dropped the plastic. “I’m not going. And I’m certainly not wearing that dress. It has a crinoline.”

  “You are. I don’t think I could stand Bennett’s disappointment if you didn’t show up. Just come. I promise you won’t have to say a single word to him—you can just talk to Jonathan and me. And what’s wrong with a crinoline, anyway?”

  “Besides its being really scratchy and old-fashioned, you mean?”

  “Fine—I’ll have Mama take it out. Problem solved.”

  “Mabry . . .” I stopped. We’d reached Ceecee’s house and started to climb the porch steps when I spotted Bitty. Her attention was focused on the dress Mabry carried. She stood, walked over to us, and pulled up the plastic.

  “It’s Margaret’s, isn’t it?” she said, her fingers brushing the fabric as if it were the face of a long-lost friend.

  “It sure is,” Mabry said. “And Larkin’s going to wear it to the Shag Festival tomorrow.”

  “I’m not . . .” Ceecee’s appearance at the front door interrupted me.

  “You brought the dress!” she exclaimed, taking it from Mabry before thrusting it at me. “Go try it on—I’m dying to see what it looks like. Although it was supposed to be a surprise.” She sent Mabry a disapproving glance.

  I looked around at the three expectant faces and knew there would be no arguing. It would be faster to try it on and then tell them no. “Fine,” I said. “But first, I wanted to ask you both another question. About the fire.”

  It seemed as if Ceecee and Bitty were studiously avoiding looking at each other.

  “Was either one of you aware of the rumors and speculation at the time?”

  “Rumors?” asked Ceecee, her tightly clenched fingers belying her indifference.

  “Yes, rumors. About the fire maybe being intentionally set, which would make my grandmother’s death a murder. But why would anyone want to kill my grandmother?”

  “Why, indeed?” Bitty said.

  Ceecee’s face remained impassive. “Like you said, they were just rumors. Now, go on up and try on that dress. We can’t wait to see you in it!”

  I looked at the two older women, then moved past Ceecee and into the house. I ran upstairs to my room, dropped the cigar box on the dresser, and pulled off my clothes, leaving them on the floor next to my suitcase. Impatiently, I removed the plastic cover and slid the dress over my head, fumbling with the zipper as I walked back across the room to the door, eager to have this over with.

  As I walked in front of the cheval mirror in the corner, I stopped, my hand involuntarily moving to my mouth. The woman reflected in the glass was the woman in the photographs, the woman smiling and laughing with her friends on a trip to Myrtle Beach. I stepped closer, studying the stranger staring back at me. Except she wasn’t a stranger. I recognized the eyes and the hair, the silver hoop earrings I’d put on this morning, and the pale pink lipstick.

  Yet I didn’t recognize her. That woman was beautiful. Intelligent and self-assured. The kind of woman I’d always wanted to be and for a long time had pretended I was. She couldn’t be me. But, somehow, she was.

  “Hurry up,” Ceecee called from downstairs. “We’re dying to see you in the dress!”

  I reluctantly backed away from the mirror, as if afraid the woman would escape and I’d never find her again. “Coming,” I called, then headed toward the stairs.

  The three women stood in the foyer, watching me walk down the graceful stairs, the stained-glass window in the stairwell shining a prism of rainbow-hued light around me.

  “Oh.” The sound came from Ceecee, and I wasn’t sure whether it was a sigh of happiness or distress. Bitty reached for her hand and held it tight.

  “You are stunning,” Bitty said, smiling widely. “Simply stunning.”


  “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Mabry said. She moved behind me and began tugging on the dress in various places to see if it gaped or might be too tight. “It’s a perfect fit,” she announced. “I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t even get rid of the crinoline. It accentuates your tiny waist, and it’ll look gorgeous when you dance.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but the memory of what I’d looked like in the upstairs mirror stopped me. This would be my first and only chance to live my girlhood fantasy, to play Cinderella before the clock struck twelve and I had to rush back to the life I’d salvaged from the wreckage of ill-advised fantasies.

  “You look so much like her,” Ceecee was saying, her voice wobbling. “Just like she looked that night at the Ocean Forest, remember, Bitty?”

  “Of course,” Bitty said. “How could I ever forget? Margaret always said that was the happiest night of her life.”

  “Why is that?” Mabry asked.

  Bitty and Ceecee exchanged a glance. Then Bitty said, “Because that was the night she met the love of her life.”

  “My grandfather?” I asked.

  The doorbell rang, and we all turned toward the front door. Mabry crossed the foyer and peeked out of the glass sidelight. She faced us and in a loud whisper said, “It’s Jackson Porter.”

  “I hope he brought back the brownie plate,” Bitty grumbled as Mabry opened the door.

  “Hello, Jackson,” Mabry said, standing in the doorway and blocking his view inside. “Can I help you?”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I could imagine his confusion at seeing Mabry and having her interrogate him. “I’m right here, Jackson,” I said, winding my way around the two older women. “Were you looking for me?”

  He didn’t say anything right away, his gaze taking in the dress, traveling down to my bare feet, then to my neck, settling a little too long on my chest before quickly moving back up to my face.

  “If I knew how to whistle, and thought you’d appreciate it, I would,” he said, making me laugh. “You look beautiful. What’s the occasion?”

  “She’s going to the Shag Festival tomorrow with Bennett,” Mabry said.