Southern Secrets (The Southern Series Book 2)

by Shelley Stringer

  I finally turned, and he took my hand in his as we started out the door to the patio. It was a cool early spring morning, and the dew had just begun to dry on the kudzu around the side of the greenhouse. He pulled me over to where they’d laid out large flagstones to make a small patio area. Sitting down on a new swing he’d purchased, I sighed and leaned back, gazing up into the massive branches of the live oak shading our entire yard.

  “So, what did you and Everett talk about?” I finally asked.

  “Well, I did most of the talking first…yelling, actually. He tried to reason with me and berated me for making you tell me. I called him out for putting you in the position at all. But then he made me realize, I would have done the same in his shoes, if I knew telling you would help you to stop mourning Brie. But telling John…is an entirely different issue. I’m still not sure I can stay quiet, but I promised him I would talk to him before I do say anything to John.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Gabriella. She made me promise. I spent a long time with her last night, and I think it did both of us some good. Sometimes I would look at her, and it was if nothing had ever happened to her…as if she were still human. Then the conversation would take a different direction, and it was if she wasn’t human anymore…she was something else. She was calculatingly controlled until we started talking about John, and I pushed her, to see what her reaction would be. I understand now why Everett says we have a way to go.”

  “Why, what happened?” I asked curiously.

  “Let’s just say I pushed her a little too far. I’ll tell you, someday. I agree, we do need to wait a little longer, but I want to keep trying, working with her…” his voice trailed off.

  “That’s wonderful! We can go together,” I began.

  “Yeah, we will go together. This is the only reason I’m mad at you, lady! From now on you don’t go unless I’m with you. No arguments,” he stated. He took my hands in his.

  “Um, what did Everett tell you?”

  “You did something foolish and impulsive yesterday, something putting you and the babies at risk.” He glared at me as I nodded.

  “I know, and it was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking, she just seemed so normal, in such control. She was hurting, and it was just an instinct to hug her. The minute I did it, I realized I’d put myself and the babies in a precarious position. I’m sorry.”

  I gazed down at my hands.

  “Everett told me he’d had to toss you across the room to Mr. Philippe, and they’d been pretty rough with you. He was worried they might have hurt you, getting you away from her,” he commented, his eyes traveling over me, looking for injuries.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. But I’ve been wondering…was Brie upset?”

  “Only that she ‘fanged’ as Everett put it. It took her quite a while to put them away, and to get control of her eyes. But I stayed in close quarters with her for some time last night and I hugged her when I left, but we gave her plenty of warning. She controlled it well.”

  “That’s great! I guess the key is to give her warning,” I offered.

  “No, she just said to tell you your scent is sweeter than mine is…she thought you’d get a kick out of that.” He grinned at me as I laughed.

  “She actually made a joke?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Yeah, and Everett almost did a cartwheel. He seems to think her joking is a big step.”

  I stood, and stretched my back, and then rested my hands around my ever-rounding mid-section. He watched in silence, and then placed his hand under mine, leaving it there several moments. The babies rolled and kicked, an event happening more frequently with each passing day.

  He grinned and stood up to pull me against him. “I love to feel them, hold your stomach in my hands…I can’t wait for them to get here,” he whispered, his breath blowing in my hair. I leaned back to look up into his face. “I bet you’re tired, having been up all night crying, and then putting in a half-day’s work out here. Why don’t we go in and take a nap, little mama,” he teased. We walked arm-in-arm across the yard and into the house.

  “Sounds great, just don’t call me ‘little mama.’ It reminds me of my great-aunt Totsie and Uncle Earl. He called her ‘little mama,’ and neither one of them had a tooth in their heads.” I shook with the memory.

  He laughed as he guided me down the hallway and up the staircase. “Are you sure you’re family wasn’t from Arkansas?”

  “Never question a southern girl’s heritage, especially a Texas girl. You just might wake up missin’ an appendage,” I warned as he shot me the dimple.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Everett and Mr. Philippe helped us with the rest of our landscaping project, and Banton was especially pleased I agreed to supervise from the comfort of our new yard swing. I whirred away on my laptop under the shade of the enormous tree in our backyard, and spent quite a lot of time organizing my notes on the history of our house.

  It was during one of these sunny afternoons Mr. Jackson paid us a visit. I sat typing away on my laptop when I heard him whistle.

  “Woweee! I’d say yo fairy godmother done waived her magic wand at dis here yard!” Mr. Jackson exclaimed. I peered at him over my laptop screen.

  “Hey, Mr. Jackson! It’s good to see you!” I exclaimed, starting to rise to greet him.

  “No, Missy, you stay seated, now. I’m just gonna sit down here beside you and rest a spell. I had to come down here and see what all da fuss was ‘bout.” He grinned and patted my shoulder as he sat down beside me.

  “Your timing is perfect. I’m working on my notes for the house, and I had some questions for you.”

  “Well, I sho will tells you what I kin.”

  “Can you tell me, who built the greenhouse? Was it always used for plants, or was it something else? Was it built at the same time as the house?” I gushed, thinking about all the questions I had for him.

  “Mmm, let me see…I think it were built some years after da house. They built it fo my great-grandmamma to use,” he said proudly.

  “What do you mean?” I asked curiously.

  “Well, I done told you ‘bout her, and ‘bout her a-practicing da old Creole ways. Folks say dat she had a green thumb, and dat she could grow just ‘bout anything. She was skilled wid de herbs and spices, healing and what-not…she also had a gift for a’growin flowers. De ole missus, she loved flowers. My Auntie says dat she planted ‘bout everything here in de yard, the jasmine out yonder on dat fence,” he pointed out to the alley and the old ornate iron fence surrounding the back of the yard “was one of her favorites.” He paused, and looked around the yard. “And dat oleander over yonder,” he paused again, pointing to the side of the house where Beau had been bitten in the fall, “My grandmamma planted dat for its special powers. Some folks say dat it’s a powerful poison, if you knows how to use it,” he finished with a twinkle in his eye.

  I typed away as he spoke, not wanting to miss a word. When I realized he’d paused, I stopped and looked up at him.

  “You sho is good at dat, Missy. How much of dat book have you got, already?” he asked curiously.

  “Not nearly enough. There are numerous holes in my research, and the records from the courthouse are sketchy.”

  “Well, I do know ‘bout the greenhouse. De old missus, she built it just to please my great-grandmamma. My Auntie said dat Mrs. Johnson would come out here and sit fo hours, a-watchin my grandmamma tend to de plants and whatnot. Dey was good friends, and my grandmamma, she moved in and lived wid de old missus till she died. She took real good care of her,” he finished. I sat still, imagining the two old women sitting in the greenhouse, surrounded by the plants they loved.

  “Mr. Jackson, the last time we talked you said there was a place up in the attic where your grandmother and her brothers and sisters played…a sort of secret place. Do you know how they got up there? I’ve looked and looked, but I can’t find any place to go up to
the third floor. The stairs stop at the landing on the second floor, and there doesn’t seem to be any crawl spaces in the ceilings of any of the closets or the hallway such as in most houses.

  “Oh, no’um. In some of dese old houses, dey usually had a secret staircase. A back staircase dat only de slaves used. De house slaves, if’n dey didn’t have a cabin in the quarters on de plantation, den dey usually had a room or two in de attic. Especially de women folks, ifn’ dey weren’t married,” he finished, watching me type.

  I looked up at him abruptly. “So you don’t know where the secret stairs are in my house?”

  “Oh, let me see, now. It seems dat I remember somethin’ ‘bout a fireplace, or a bookcase…I don’t know, dem stories was told time and agin by my aunties around our kitchen table. I wish I’d paid mo attention now,” he chuckled as I smiled at him.

  “I was thinking just the same thing the other evening about my own mother. You don’t pay attention to the details you should, until they’re gone. Then it’s too late to go back and ask. You just think they’ll live forever, there will be more time,” I said wistfully.

  “You been a’missin’ yo mamma a right smart lately, is I right?” He leaned over to see my face more clearly.

  “Yes…yes I am. There are a lot of questions I wish I could go back and ask her, conversations I always assumed I’d have time for. We aren’t guaranteed anything in this life, are we?” I sighed.

  “Oh, yes we is…we is guaranteed of his love, the love of de almighty, and de truth in de good book. You build yo life around dat, and you’ll be all right.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon I cleaned away, scrubbing every surface in the house with a vigor I’d never experienced before. Cleaning was therapeutic, my mother used to say. Cleaning house and working in the yard as she did brought instant rewarding results. One of my favorite things to do was to polish the woodwork in the house. The grain of the wood on the staircase and the wood in the dining room were two of my favorite places to dust. As I worked away on the fireplace, I mulled over my earlier conversation with Mr. Jackson. He’d said the stairs to the attic might be hidden behind a fireplace or bookcase. I went over every detail of the fireplace surround, but couldn’t detect any loose piece of molding, or unusual space which might give way to a larger passage. Maybe the fireplace in the living room, I wondered. I picked my cleaning supplies up and headed there. Sitting my supply basket down, I paused to study the painted fireplace surround. I ran my hand around the tile in front but found nothing loose. A lever beside the grate caught my eye, something I’d never noticed before. I pushed on it, but it didn’t move.

  “Bebe, what’s going on?” Everett asked behind me. I jumped. I didn’t know anyone was inside the house. My two Aldon body guards for the day were lounged out on the front porch.

  “You scared the pee out of me, Ev! Don’t do that!” I exclaimed, holding my hand over my heart.

  “Sorry, Ma Petit, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He reached out to steady me. “I just wanted to check on you after your confession to Banton about Brie. I wanted to make sure you are okay. What are you up to?”

  “Just a little cleaning. Mr. Jackson mentioned the attic again yesterday afternoon, and he said something about there being a second staircase, one the slaves would have used. He said it might be behind a fireplace or bookcase, but he couldn’t remember for sure. I just noticed this lever here,” I pointed out as Everett crossed the room to inspect it.

  He kissed my forehead. “Sorry, I didn’t even say good afternoon.”

  “You’re forgiven. Now, try to see if you can get it to budge,” I commanded, standing back to give him some room. He pushed, but nothing happened. Then he grabbed it with both hands, and pulled toward him. It squeaked, and then a groan bellowed from behind the fireplace. He pulled harder, and the entire bookcase beside the fireplace swung outward.

  “We’ll I’ll be a hound dog! If that isn’t the wildest thing,” he said in amazement.

  “Let me look,” I said as I pushed around him. The passageway was dark, and the stairs were a dark wood, covered with what was probably eighty or so years of dust and cobwebs.

  “Oh, this is just so exciting! Bebe, where is your flashlight?” Everett fairly jumped for joy in anticipation of what the staircase might reveal. I ran to the kitchen and retrieved two flashlights I knew Banton kept in the drawer. When I returned, Everett was already fighting cobwebs with my broom, and had made it to about the sixth step or so.

  “Wait, I want to see,” I protested. I handed him the second flashlight.

  “You stay behind me. I want to make sure the steps are sound, and not dangerous. It is a bit precarious; the steps are steep and quite worn from use.” He pointed his flashlight down to his feet to prove his point. “See the wear, here in the middle of each step? The slaves used this staircase to come and go from their rooms upstairs. They weren’t allowed to use the main stairs. It’s why these steps are so worn, from years of use by countless slaves and servants.”

  “It seems cruel to make them use these tiny steps. It’s almost like dungeon stairs in some medieval castle.” I continued up behind him. When we reached the top, Everett stopped.

  “Holy Mary, look Bebe! We’ve hit the antique jackpot!” he exclaimed as I pushed around him. The roofline in the attic was pitched in several places where the dormers were on the roofline, and you almost had to duck to walk around. But the natural light in the attic was beautiful, even thru the dirt of eighty years caked around the window sills. We moved around the room carefully, testing the floors to make sure they were sound.

  “Solid as a rock, same as the rest of the house!” I commented. He began to examine some of the small furniture.

  “Look at this little table and chair set. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he commented, motioning me over. Even through the coating of dust, I could make out the beautiful details. It was a replica of larger oak drop leaf tables I’d seen from the period. The little oak chairs were ladder-backs, with beautiful press back detail and cane bottoms resembling the adult versions.

  “What cute toy furniture. It’s beautiful!” I exclaimed, looking at Everett in wonder.

  “I lived then, remember? I don’t think these were made for children, originally, but they do make a nice play set. I think they were salesmen’s sample s.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Salesmen’s samples. They would carry around samples of stoves, furniture and what-not, they couldn’t carry around the actual furniture because of space. Families would order their furniture from the salesman from looking at these small samples. Most ended up in children’s play rooms, and didn’t survive. This is a rare find!”

  “What is that over there?” I asked, pointing over to a dirty sheet, draped over something forming a teepee. Everett stepped over several boxes, and then flipped the sheet back with the front corner.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus. It’s just the thing! This is what I’ve been trying to design, but couldn’t come up with the right concept. Oh, I could just kiss Mr. Jackson!” Everett gushed as I struggled to follow the path he’d taken over the boxes. When I finally joined him, I could see what he’d discovered. There were two bassinettes, swinging from dainty wood frames. The bassinettes themselves were covered with antique padded fabric, and then the fabric was gathered around the outside, forming a sort of pleated teepee up to the top where they were attached to the stands.

  Everett stroked the delicate fabric, lost in deep thought. Slowly he turned to look at other furniture and toys in the room. Some more exploring uncovered a small black Windsor rocking chair, probably made for a woman. Another box held some children‘s toys, and at the bottom, two ancient stuffed rabbits.

  Everett turned back to me, coming back to the present. “I’ve got to run and fetch my laptop out of my car to look something up.” He quietly descended the staircase, leaving me to explore by myself.

  As I peered around at all of the beautiful toys meant for childre
n who never got to use them, I felt a sadness creep over me. A cold chill entered the room, seeming to come from a draft from the window, but as I held my hand up to the glass, I felt nothing. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and I had the feeling I was no longer alone. Turning abruptly, I detected nothing behind me but the last rays of light streaming through the small attic window, making swirling dust particles show in its beams.

  “Sweetheart, Chandler…where are you?” I heard Banton’s worried voice downstairs.

  “Up here, in the attic!” I yelled down to him, anxious for him to see what we’d discovered.

  “What the hell…” I could hear him swearing as he navigated the narrow staircase. His face appeared around the small doorway, and he grinned at me when he took in the small but cheerful attic.

  “Secret hideout?” he asked as he tried to stand up. His head brushed the ceiling so he had to walk stooped over.

  “Look at all this great stuff,” I said excitedly. I grabbed his hand and pulled him over to where the toys spilled from the ancient trunk. “I think we’ve found the nursery things the owners of the house bought in anticipation of the twins. It’s sad they were never used.”

  “Where was Everett off to? He ran past me and out to his car, barely even a hint of a ‘hello,’” he mumbled, pulling me over to kiss me in his usual greeting.

  “He was so excited about finding these toys, he ran to retrieve his laptop to look them up or something.”

  I lost interest in the children’s furniture. Banton’s kisses were always good for an immediate distraction from whatever event was at hand.

  “Come back downstairs. All this dust can’t be good for you. Besides, all this stuff isn’t going anywhere. Ev and I can bring it downstairs where you can get a better look at it,” he murmured against my neck as he nuzzled me.

  “Oh, no…don’t move any of it. I want to leave it untouched. It seems disrespectful, somehow, to move it. I just want to leave the room as we found it for now.”